Welcome to Star Wars Legacies, featuring the Third Galactic War from 1,011 ABY and 1,013 ABY. Star Wars Legacies is based on the stories from the Fifth Timeline of . An abridged version, it will focus on the major events that occurred, focusing on characters such as Andraste, Jhon Cordatus, Ebberla Daw, and Corden Vencu. Deuteragonists will include Darth Exodeus, Della Frey, Aiysha Remy, and Geist Weiss, among others.
Not all characters and stories were written by me. I would like to give a special thanks to Sreeya (Andraste, Thaed), Bac (Jhon Cordatus, Nathaneau Bastele), GABA (Ebberla Daw, Sigur Vainkainen), Vencu (Corden Vencu), Xenomorph (Darth Exodeus), Tweed (Della Frey), Rev (Aiysha Remy), Endling (Andelka), Will (Beric Kanasur), Malon (Darth Judicar), Rom (Darth Vereor), Sovereign (Iona Peller), Black Noise (Lain Derisma, Sogar Derisma, Konstantine Arkydvach), Phil (Predor Logeth, Roxton Dagger), and many more.
The Third Galactic Civil War is the main element of Star Wars Legacies. The War has not officially begun yet, in the next couple chapters, those chapters showing the events that sparked the war. The war is taking place between the New Sith Imperium and the Galactic Alliance with its Jedi allies. The Mandalorians also will show that they will not be a force ignored.
Again, welcome to Star Wars Legacies and enjoy the stories.
The horizon was turning into a soft glow of oranges and deep red, slowly fading into cooler blues as the sun set. Andelka sat, her knees drawn to her chest, eyes flickering over the towering obelisks and distant ruins. There was a dark energy carried on the harsh winds, and if she listened, she could hear them whispering to her bones. Andelka often wondered what her bones would look like inside of her body. Like filigree, she thought.
She was pondering her work here. In a way it was an education in itself, a chance to watch real energies being worked, with real things at stake. But there was no fun in it. There was only silence at dinner, and useless anger, and a new kind of dread.
Darth Vereor had been around earlier in the afternoon, an interesting display of the Dark Side, but Andelka had since lost track of the Warmaster, suspecting he had returned to the academy. A Sith crusader named Geist Weiss stood by one of the excavation sites, giving a lecture to a balding acolyte. Right now Andelka was too focused on the beautiful sunset to really care about what he had to say. The crusader was a well-known sight in the Sith. An illusionist and alchemist by trade, he was normally wrapped by illusions, his skin the appearance of reflective silver. She hadn't taken a class with him before, but had heard he was a bore. The only interesting part about him was gossip about what he truly looked like under his illusions. There were a few others in the Valley, mostly minding their own business.
Pulling a rock towards her, she let it levitate, focusing her mind on its spots of weakness, letting it turn red hot. It glowed so brightly she had to squint her eyes, and when it finally cooled down, wispy, seductive curls of smoke beckoned to her. Dipping her fingers into the molten rock, she formed smooth petals, and a stem, making an intricate stone flower. When it cooled, she let it float beside her, mimicking another certain acolyte's trick.
Admiring her piece as some lost idol did Andelka realize someone had approached her. An Arkanian. The person was vaguely familiar. Named Makkun Telkanin, he was a Sith sorcerer who had obtained some popularity with current Dark Lady of the Sith Darth Aevum for silencing a meddlesome Moff. Other than that, she knew little of him. Even littler so, she knew not why he was approaching her. However, the sorcerer made his cause known quickly, annoyance unveiled. "A flower, Acolyte? Is this a weakness I've found? Perhaps I should cleanse you of it," he said suddenly, his voice crisp and loud in the cool night air.
He walked around to stand in front of Andelka, glaring down upon her. It would be quite obvious that he thought he should shatter the flower and then use the shards to torture the love of plant life out of her. "Recruiting standards must have dropped since I joined the Sith," he continued. One of his four-fingered, and clawed, hands came forward, aimed towards the girl's little stone flower, as if he were offering to destroy it for her. Then he burst into mocking laughter, hiding his hand once again. "Tell me, little girl, why are you so close to the Valley, at night, with no one else with you? Don't tell me you don't know about the beasts that live down there," he finished, flashing a darkly-humored grin.
Andelka looked up at the towering Arkanian, and smiled at his words. The young Acolyte very much wanted to Force Push the smug bastard into a copse of boulders, but he looked like he was powerful. Much more powerful than she was. Instead, she wielded her words like a scalpel, and like a precise surgeon, she knew exactly where to strike.
"A weakness?" He was standing in front of her now, glaring down at her like she was not worthy of his presence. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, is it not? Do not be so quick to assume that enjoying the company of flowers is a weakness." She motioned to the flower. "That is a replica of a white oleander, a very poisonous flower. So poisonous, in fact, that if it were real you'd be a writhing mess.
"As for beasts, the only beast I see at the moment is you." Her tone was not mocking, nor arrogant. She was simply stating her dislike for his intrusion. "No one else with me? I see you. Or do you not exist?' She tilted her head slightly, her long silver hair brushing against her side as she studied him intently. She considered making a Geist Weiss joke, the man was the butt of many existential jokes, but decided against it.
As if to counter Takkun's claim, a young man approached the pair. "Singularity does not entail ignorance," he said. Andelka turned to see the quiet form of young man. He had stepped into the circle, steeped in what seemed like the air of a king, and he looked at her flower, disregarding the Arkanian. The contrast between the flower and the stone it was carved from made it beautiful. A work of art. "Pretty. Did you make that yourself?" The corners of her lips turned upwards slightly, pleased that finally someone had admired the beauty in her creation.
"Oleander time," she said. "Lovers who kill each other will blame it on the wind."
The flower floated up to the man's face, hovering in front of him like a twirling, deadly flora. Carefully, she made a few quick gestures with her hands, and the petals pulled apart from their earthen stems, circling the now bare stalk like a flock of birds. As quickly as it had started, the flower cracked in a million places and dropped to the floor. She briefly glanced back to the Arkanian, wondering what he thought about all of this.
"Basic Alchemy," Andelka said quietly. "Some mock me for creating kinetic, beautiful sculptures like that but I don't see a problem with it. It's all I ever wanted, that revelation. The possibility of fixed stars."
"I see no reason to mock such beauty." The voice belonged to Geist Weiss, having abandoned his student to address the situation. "You seem to have a gift," praised Geist. Andelka felt pride in her. Geist Weiss was a master alchemist, so the compliment held weight. She was glad more people saw the beauty in the flower than disgust, like Makkun had.
The illusionist eyed the Arkanian. "It would advisable not to pick fights so early and with too many people. Fight too much and eventually you'll bite more than you can chew." He gave a quick acknowledgement to the young man who had complimented her flower just moments ago. "Acolyte Gabriel." The young man Gabriel bowed slightly with moderate respect, though didn't break visual contact with Telkanin.
The tips of Telkanin's lips twitched as his rage built. It was one thing to be insulted by two acolytes, who weren't even considered true Sith yet. However, a fellow crusader dared to take the side of these teenagers over his fellow Sith. The Arkanian eyed the three of them with contempt as they went on with their conversation, acting somewhat like he wasn't even there. Finally, his rage flared and he reached towards the ground beside him, using his command of the Force, and his skills in Alchemy, to show the insolent girl that he'd first approached what true skill in the art was, if she were going to craft something from the ground.
A chunk of the earth was torn from the ground, and then the Arkanian began to form the chunk into the shape he'd pictured in his mind. The stone was being crushed with pressure unimagined and infused with energies of the Force, forging into the shape of a spear. Makkun unleashed his fury like gunpowder. The spear spun through the air, embedding itself into one the large walls around the Valley of the Dark Lords. Then he turned and glared at them, allowing his anger to be seen plainly in his eyes, the dark gaze lingering a bit longer on Geist, letting him know he would not have himself insulted by another Sorcerer of all people for reprimanding an Acolyte for using Alchemy for such a mundane purpose.
"I will not be insulted by an Acolyte, let alone two of them!" he snarled venomously, his rage coming through in his voice. "If you have an interest in Alchemy, that's fine, great for you. How about you find a way to experiment on a real white oleander one day. I'm sure the results will be most enjoyable for me," he continued, his rage coming back down to a simmer after allowing himself to vent for a moment. He knew there was no way to experiment on that flower any time soon for the Acolyte, at least, not without some form of death involved. That had been partly the point, in his moment of fury.
"Insult is in the eye of the beholder," Gabriel said. "Inferiority is a perceptual disease. You can taste its stench for miles." His eyes leveled on the Arkanian.
A young woman approached the group, the commotion obvious to others in the Valley of the Sith Lords. "How about being insulted by three of them, then?" The voice was smooth, chilling to the bone, like the icy winds of Hoth. She crept out of the shadows, the darkness almost begging to cling to her as the dust trailed behind her. The setting sun painted the sky a blood red behind her, serenely amalgamating with the azure stretched out behind it. She paid no heed to this, however. She had been observing the group for a few moments before making her presence known. Andelka knew the woman well. Her name was Andraste. Apprentice of Darth Exodeus, she had been the one to teach Andelka how to make the flower in the first place.
Andraste came to stand next to the two acolytes, surveying the situation. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a glass rose she had concocted from sand. She held it up in front of Telkanin. "Look what I made. Isn't it a travesty? A complete and utter betrayal of the Sith? Won't this make the Order crumble and fall to its knees?" Her voice grew mockingly concerned. Her eyes were wide. "Oh no! Not… Not a flower! Surely anything but a flower…"
Andraste was not alone, though. The student who had been in a lesson with Geist Weiss was coming over too, to defend his fellow acolyte. Geist glanced at the acolyte. Geist urged the acolyte to not approach by a warning of "Inquitious…" but the acolyte Inquitious continued forward." You insult four, fool," Iniquitous spat, his deep voice carrying powerfully. Iniquitous twirled dual blades experimentally; the whoosh as they cut swiftly through the air came off to compliment Iniquitous' already menacing air. He sent a sharp prod towards Gabriel to alert him in the Force before tossing the second blade to him, taking on a strong two handed grip of his single blade. "Your insolent tongue will be the end of you this day," he called, taunting the crusader. He radiated confidence in waves, and his eyes glinted with defiance. "The power of the Sith will be strengthened this day as we cull those unwise enough to seek beauty and watch one's own mouth." Others were watching, including a well-dressed crusader who was keeping his distance. He like a few of the other spectating Sith who were watching the scene like a bunch of tuk'ata awaiting their prey, watching to see what would happen.
Things were spiraling out of control. Geist had hoped that Makkun would back away, but neither he nor the acolytes were conforming to his hopes. Geist tried putting himself between Makkun and the acolytes. It was obvious the acolytes were edging Makkun on. "Now, now, no need for violence. Don't let ignorance of beauty be interpreted as arrogance. It would be bad form for all of you to gang up on one measly crusader, thinking he insulted you." He was not giving a lesson. His voice was not like a lullaby putting a bored mind to sleep but silk trying to defuse an itch.
Makkun's rage was very quickly turning into hatred, and the Dark Side began building up around him, preparing for a surge of power. His hand fell to his very real lightsaber, and he brought it up for the Acolytes to see. "You insolent brats! You want to fight me? Then come on!" he snarled, particularly at the latest Acolyte that had arrived.
Geist reached to his side and pulled out his lightsaber, igniting it. However, instead of pointing it at the acolytes, he twirled it around to point at Makkun. While his face was hidden by the metallic looking illusion, the tilt of his head indicated he was staring at Makkun. "Pathetic," Geist said to Makkun in a cold voice. "I expected more from a fellow alchemist. Just because a work of art came from one of lower rank than yourself doesn't make it 'ugly'. If there's anything 'ugly' here, it's the disgrace you're showing. Bad form is an insult to Darth Aevum and her beautiful empire. Perform another offense, and I will kill you myself."
Makkun was furious with Geist's maneuver. "An offense? It is a flower that I insulted, fool, not the Empire, and you are an idiot to make of it something it's not. And now you side against me?!" he growled. He activated his double-bladed lightsaber, the two violet blades casting their glow across the rocks around them. He brought his weapon up, sending Geist's weapon off to the side as a warning. "How dare a coward who hides behind masks thinks he can defeat me!" Energy formed around his hand, and then shot forward, exploding at the feet of Geist and his pupil, a warning. "I will fight you if I must, but I will not hold back if you attack me! Not even against a fellow Sorcerer and Alchemist, Geist," A snarl filled his voice, though waved slightly. He knew that it was more of an empty threat for Geist, since he and Telkanin were actually equally matched, but for the Acolytes, it was more than an empty threat, although in his anger he was not taking into thought the fact that he was completely outnumbered and outmatched with Geist helping them.
Geist hadn't moved from where he stood, though Inquitious had taken a step back. Andelka wasn't sure if it was confidence or arrogance that had kept the illusionist there. "How hideous," Geist complained. "And here I was trying to end this needless mob by intervening. I see that you don't care for help. Since you'd rather have me as an enemy, then I accept. Good bye, Makkun."
With a burst of speed, Geist charged at Makkun, lightsaber arcing to slice his fellow crusader. Makkun barely had time to react. However, before blade could kiss skin, Geist was suddenly hurled ten feet away landing in sand by an invisible force.
Andelka didn't need the Force to deduce who had caused the divergence of movement. The well-dressed crusader was closing in, smelling blood. "Geist, you weak fool! Makkun is already being circled by sharks and you join them as if they need additional help? You take the easy route where you think you will be safe, avoiding any danger to yourself. I cannot tolerate your existence in our Order." The well-dressed human threw only a quick glance over his shoulder to all of the Acolytes. "I care not what you do with Makkun, he is all yours Acolytes, this one is mine!" The lack of care in his voice told a tale different than what he told Geist. The man wasn't seeking to prevent Geist from ganging up on a fellow crusader. The man was only seeking to find excuse to attack Geist.
The newcomer bellowed in rage and channeled Force Lightning upon Geist Weiss. The illusionist raised his lightsaber, the beam absorbing the energy. "Enough with the fake comradery, Montross!" The words were barely out of his mouth when the crusader Montross smacked Geist square in the chest telekinetically. The strike knocked the lightsaber to the side. The electrical machination found its target, throwing the alchemist farther away from Makkun. A smug grin on his face, Montross began to walk towards Geist.
Makkun was distracted for only a few seconds by the carnage between Geist and Montross but that was all Gabriel needed. Opportunities forged alliances. His grip tightened on his new blade. It was lighter than what he was used to. But it would suffice. Rocks were everywhere in the Valley of Dark Lords. Gabriel's eyes fell on one behind the Arkanian. It was too big to be called a rock. Too misshapen, too rough. It was a boulder in its rawest form. Perfect. Gabriel's hand rose, palm beckoning. The boulder heeded his call. It flew through the air, soaring towards the Arkanian's upper torso.
Right as Gabriel launched the boulder at Makkun, Andraste jumped into action, ducking out of the way of a Barabel she barely realized had been there. She had opened up a telepathic link with Gabriel and Inquitous. Without a word, she pulled on Telkanin's legs using the Force. This was a forward motion meant to work right along with Gabriel launching the boulder. Inquitious was moving in synch with the others. Lightsaber in hand, he charged with the intent of stabbing the crusader as he was unbalanced by Andraste and Gabriel.
"Enough!"
Andelka stood suddenly, rising to her feet and shouting like a feral beast. Dark energies swirled at her fingers, crackling like the static of a lightning storm. She looked over every one in the circle, cold eyes wide and brows furrowed as if she were calculating some complex and impossible formula. She looked to the lascivious Inquitious, to the boiling Makkun, to the mysterious Andraste, to the other acolyte steeped in sin, and finally to Geist. The older crusaders were spitting like animals.
Her fingers were spread so far apart that the webbing between each digit began to burn. In the strange circle of malice they had formed, the ground in the middle began to glow a white-hot, smoking rising up in strange curls. She twisted and pulled her hands, lips drawn tight in concentration, watching as a large lump of molten earth rose from the ground. She walked over, kneeling, focusing her attention on her fingers to make them impervious to the heat.
"Some of you mock us who use Alchemy to create beauty," she said assertively. It was not in her nature, but she had come here to watch the sunset. And it was gone, now. She dug her hands into the mound of liquid sand. She was forming a large, curling stem, pulling the leaves and thorns out like a skilled glass-maker would. The petals were large and meticulous, her fingers working delicately to make them razor-sharp yet appealing to the eye. The double-edged sword of vanity.
She stood up, using The Force to keep the wobbly still-hot glass from falling over. And suddenly as she had started, she was finished. It took a few quick hand gestures for the glass to cool and she sat back down, drawing her knees to her chest in the same manner when she first came here.
Andelka looked at her creation: A large, gleaming glass flower in the middle of a barren waste, petals and leaves as sharp as any sword. "You call yourselves Sith?" She had resumed her quiet, analytic nature, still a tad bit embarrassed that she had exploded like that. She was supposed to save that side of her for the canvas. "If we are to be evil, we must appreciate good." She looked up the sky, the stars twinkling with jovial mirth. She smiled weakly. "The wages of sin are not measured by one's actions alone," she walked over to her flower, running her fingers carefully over the glass edges. "They are measured by reactions. If there is no one around to witness evil, is evil valid? The beauty of my creations is being judged right now, so tell me, what do you all think?"
Brave her words were, her speech had only distracted the acolytes temporarily. The boulder missed its target, so Gabriel was running after Inquitious to plunge lightsaber into the heart of the insolent Arkanian. The Barabel in the crowd let loose the Dark Side energy he had been gathering with an explosive roar, the Barabel dropped down into a crouch and pressed both palms down into the ground while pushing out with the Force, causing the ground to rupture with cracks splitting off for several yards. Igniting his lightsaber with a sharp snap-hiss, the Barabel drew himself up to his full height and said in a low hiss that echoed loudly and stopped anyone with a wish to keep their life in their tracks, his tail snapping out like a whip threateningly. "What iz it exactly that you all think you're doing?"
Telkanin turned and stared at the Barabel for a moment, and then tried to come up with a reply to the scaled Sith's question. Andelka could understand the fear of this Barabel that flooded into him, more than the crashing wave of acolytes had instilled. The Barabel was Warmaster of the empire, Darth Vereor himself. Few were thought to be more skilled than he in battle. An excuse pieced together in desperation, the Arkanian spoke. "My Lord, this fight has erupted because of these fools here turning an insult against a flower into an insult against the Empire. They continued to enrage me further with insults and otherwise, and so I thought to teach them a lesson in respect," he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He was tense, ready to spring back towards any of the Acolytes as soon as they tried to make another move on him. He knew he sounded like a tattle-tale, but he was infuriated at the moment, and he simply didn't care all that much for anything other than severely harming those Acolytes, and in more ways than one.
Andraste wielded a different opinion. "That fool attacked us acolytes over mere words. We consider him unworthy and wish to end him." In that moment, Andelka wondered how much Darth Exodeus' favoritism could benefit the young woman. The Barabel looked at Andraste with an unchanged expression. He was at least taking her seriously.
Montross landed in a crouched kneel before Darth Vereor and hissed an answer, "Purging the weak from our ranks, my lord." He kept his head lowered as he struggled to hold back his anger, "I request your permission to finish the culling, my lord." The crusader hoped to attach himself to the same plea the acolytes held.
Geist struggled to his feet and bowed to the Sith Lord, a process evidently painful. The illusion hid the pained expression on his face, though one could feel it in the Force. "My apologies you had to see such barbarianism and savagery being shown by us Sith here," said Geist to Darth Vereor. "It appears that those of higher ranks think of themselves a little bit too much. Makkun Telkanin got into a fight with acolytes, bound to be a losing battle. When I had attempted to stop the fight from occurring, since Sith killing each other only weakens ourselves and makes us easier targets for our mortal enemies, the Jedi, Makkun attacked me, misjudging my attempt to end the conflict as an act of support to the acolytes in an attempt to take him out. Unlike some self-centered individuals-" Geist made a near-unnoticeable glance at Makkun Telkanin. "-I felt it necessary to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, especially Sith blood; if any blood needs shedding, it should be Jedi blood. However, I am not foolish as to not defend myself. I countered. However, Montross Vandergruff thought to find it amusing to put himself and his ambitious over the better good of the Sith by taking advantage of the situation. While I was in conflict with Makkun, Montross attacked me. As I serve the Empress to create her machinations of alchemy, my strong suit was ill-useable-"
Darth Vereor glared in annoyance at the simpering attitude Weiss conveyed. Snapping his tail out, Vereor swept the injured Alchemist off of his feet, glaring down at the man as he fell into the sand, ending Geist's brown-nosing speech. "You will do well to remember your place, Weiss. You have just been defeated, and rather handily. Perhapz you should spend less time on making yourself a master of illusion, and more time on learning how to handle yourself in combat." A smirk fell across Montross Vandergruff's lips.
Turning away in clear dismissal of Geist, Vereor turned his attention to Montross Vandergruff. The Barabel reached a clawed finger down and used the sharp point to push Montross' chin up to face him. "This one witnessed your attack on Sorcerer Weiss. It waz an impressive display of the Force, without a doubt..." He trailed off for a moment, allowing the complimentary air to hang before jerking his hand up, his sharp claw lacerating the skin cleanly from the chin up along the cheek to his left ear. Reaching out with the Force and growling under his breath, the Sith Lord picked the ambitious crusader up by the throat and threw him into the rocky outcrop behind him, pinning him there. His sanguine eyes clearly promising death if he struggled, Vereor prowled forward and hissed, "Fool! Through your actions you could have very well maimed or even killed one of the few high-level alchemists the Sith Order has. We need both of your skill setz for the coming war against the Alliance! What did you think would happen once you killed the only other powerful alchemist who specialized in a form of Alchemy different than yourz, that you'd just be able to catch up to what he knew and excel at it within a few weekz?
"Despite your excellent showcasing of ambition and opportunism, allow this one to make something very clear. If you ever sacrifice the combat readiness of the Sith Order in the coming war for your own personal ambitions again, I will see you thrown upon your very own creations. Are we clear?" Dropping Montross and turning to face the other Sith, Vereor took a deep breath and started to pace in front of them, his tail snapping out in agitation the only physical sign of his anger. Through the Force however, his rage could be felt as clear as the heat of the sun beating down on them, threatening to suffocate them.
"Allow this one to clue you into something, my fellow Sith. Very shortly, we will be at war. The Alliance is our enemy, the Jedi our true nemesis. You are all behaving like vulturez, swooping in to attack and kill people for no real grievance but to satisfy your blood lust. The Acolytes were within their right to defend themselvez from a foolish Crusader who thought himself the better. You all on the other hand... you shame the name of Sith. Treachery is our way... but so iz cunning! So iz intelligence, and with that comez knowing the time and place to act. The initial advantage may, in the long run, turn out to be your humiliation." As he finished his mini-lecture, Vereor hooked his thumb back towards Montross, citing him as a primary example of the flawed thinking that seemed to have poisoned this group into warring with each other.
Turning his back towards the crusaders, almost daring them to go against what he had just said and strike at the open target, Vereor gripped his lightsaber and whispered in a hiss that carried over the entire area as he observed the Acolytes, "This one trustz that he will never be force to witness such blatant stupidity again."
Horror entered Makkun's eyes as he realized what Darth Vereor was granting. Taking little time to contemplate their allowance, the triad of acolytes engaged the crusader. Makkun had one thing left he could do. Using the Force, he threw his lightsaber at the closest Acolyte, hoping to disperse them. Then something happened; the Force warned him too late. His instincts told him to turn and defend himself, but he could no longer move, his injuries to great for him to defend himself any longer. Suddenly, pain flared in his body, and he knew he had lost...