Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or Star Wars

And its back, in truth I have several chapters already prepared. I hit a bit of a rut with this story earlier which is why it took so long to update this. But my inspiration is back and I remembered my original plan for this series.


Dragon Wars: The Force of Others

Episode 33: The Rebel March

The North of the planet some called Thedas, but not the continent. It is a region of cold, where warriors sail on long boats and raid islands. These raiders painted their faces with white chalk, and sometimes blood. Screaming mages stood on the decks of their ships, chanting and waving bowls with incense in them. The Northern fleet sailed along the crashing waves. A storm flashed lightning across the sky. Scaled beasts slithered through those waves, beasts the desperate and reckless Northern rebels riled onto their side. The captain of one of the ships held onto a rope, hanging off of the edge of the ship and looking through a spyglass. Through the clouds in the sky, he saw the Sith fighter craft and their drop ships.

"LET LOOSE THE FLAMES OF HELL!" he roared.

Northern archers lit up their arrows, and the witches formed fire in their hands. They waited as the clouds cleared, the Sith fighters diving towards them. Then they loosed swarms of flaming arrows and fireballs. Projectiles that did nothing against the armour of fighter craft. Flurries of green beams came down on the Northern fleet, sending splinters of wood and sails across the ocean floor. Whole ships burned from single strafe runs.

"HOLD! HOLD!" the man yelled.

He raised his axe, keeping his crew calm as they rowed as fast as they could across the crashing waves. Runes glowed across the man's axe, a weapon enhanced by magic. Yet it was not his true weapon against the Sith. Pounding his chest, he roared, a sound that was mirrored by one ship after another. The scales sliding across the water rose and jaws of razor sharp teeth opened. With a sharp roar it spread the wing like fins across its snake like body. Silver scales shined in what light came through the clouds. In the North they called it Jormungandr, other areas of the world knew it to be the Leviathan, the dragon of the sea. Taking one of the fighter's with its teeth, it slammed it into the sea and the wave altered the courses of the Northern ships.


It was the island of the Far East where cannons blared. Warriors lit fuses to wooden sticks, unleashing volleys of projectiles on Imperial shore troopers. Lightning arrows flew into the imperial ranks, but it didn't take long for the Imperials to return fire and triple the Eastern casualties. These warriors of the east wore masks over their mouths and wielded the swords known as Katanas. And with those blades, they were far deadlier than their distant Ferelden allies. Sith vibroswords clashed with Katanas in duels across the beaches and villages of this Eastern land. Whole fortresses had been converted with Sith technology into mobile bases, literal walking castles that unleashed cannon fire and lightning arrows on Imperial ground and aerial forces.

"FIRE!" the red armoured general swung his fan, his forces firing their musket rifles.

He created a shield of wind when the imperials fired back, protecting himself. But his fellow Samurai fell to the superior blasters. Another warrior in red galloped across the field, wielding a flaming cross spear and riding the Dragon and horse hybrid of that region, the Qilin. In the woods and shadows, warriors of stealth raided imperial patrols, their pick axes attached to chains they used to drag away imperials. Mages had even summoned demons to twist the forms of men and women, leading to the Tengu crow men attacking Sith fighters, the Oni warriors laying waste to Siths and the Jorogumo spider women haunting imperial camps. Yet still, Sith drop ships came with more troops, and Sith lords stepped onto the battlefield and ignited their light sabres.


In another eastern land, where a Jade empire once ruled, warriors there too fought the imperial forces. Sith warriors decimated rebel soldiers with their sabres. A wall of shields reflected light into the Sith soldiers, followed by a volley of crossbow bolts. Then came volleys of bombs, here the basic alchemist and inventor had perfected black powder bombs to be greater than even the Qunari's powder weapons. A warrior with a great flowing beard ran through his troops, the dragon head of his staff emanating a great Mana blade. As the staff breathed fire, the warrior cut through many imperial soldiers and duelled multiple Sith warriors. The sky darkened and flames slammed down on the imperial forces. A great dragon slithered through the sky, the dragon of the east did not have the wings or body of the dragons of Thedas, yet its fire was still as devastating.


A land of desert and rock was a place where the Sith found greater difficulty. The people knew the region, they were devoted to their gods and they had mastered the tactics of ambushing. Warriors burst from out of the sand, slashing at the imperial sand troopers on patrols. Imperial armour was moulded and reshaped into the shape that befitted these people of the desert, whom converted crossbows and slings into tech based blasters and detonator launchers. Their dragons crawled through the sands, they had no horns or eyes and their maws were circular in such a way that it seemed their mouths were their faces.


Yet through all this, Dorothea could hear the wails of the dying. She had studied a great number of the languages across her planet. Though she wasn't an expert on all of them, she knew enough about people's voices and recurring themes in language to know when people were begging for help. According to her research on the ancients, language became nearly forgotten because of translation devices. But she liked to think that these ancients had achieved a state of mutual understanding that all of humanity had lost. She knew the only mutual desire all of the people of her world shared now was the wish for freedom from the Empire. She heard the dying, heard the cries for freedom and the roars of battle and defiance. These were the people she knew should form the Rebel Alliance.

"Maker," one of her aides whispered, as the ceiling above them shook.

It was another shelter in the deep roads, another dwarven site that hadn't yet been claimed by Bhelen's people. It was also another shelter that would soon be overrun by imperial military hunters.

"Pack everything up and get out of here," she said.

"Including communications?"

"Wait a moment for that, I need to send a message," Dorothea said.

She sat and took the speaker for the makeshift radio Dagna had put together. It sent messages through imperial satellites, as well as through the imperial grid. Such a thing made communication dangerous, which was why Dorothea and her entourage were always on the move, praying as they did. No kneeling, no stopping unless they needed to get equipment or Intel.

"People of my world, warriors for our freedom," she began, her voice going out across the planet.

Imperial academies heard her, filled with young and impressionable students. Waiting to be either indoctrinated by the empire, or awakened by the rebellion.

"Today we have been dealt a blow; Josephine Montilyet is dead, killed by an Imperial naval force, gunned down inside her own escape pod. An escape pod, a place of shelter, a place that the empire's military would have you believe is the ideal place for you to surrender from. But they showed no mercy, they show no mercy even now and they call that a good thing, a necessary thing," she explained.

Her voice was heard by rebel prisoners, all of them hearing the decrying of the empire and the rallying call of the alliance. It gave them either that final hope before their deaths, or the encouragement to endure just a little longer.

"They have come to our world and changed it, bringing gifts with a price, not loyalty but allowance. We must allow them to abuse us, destroy our homes, scoff at our customs and our history and deny us the potential we can craft for ourselves," she continued.

Imperial Divine Victoria scoffed as she listened to the self proclaimed Divine. Asher and his apprentice listened in as well, the latter continuing to construct his light sabre as the rebel leader spoke.

"I do not speak as a representative of the Maker. I do not call for you to cast aside your beliefs or to accept mine. What I do ask is for you to not give up hope, to not let go of your faith not just in those beliefs but in the possibility that we can forge our own path, free from the intervention of an empire that believes it is the source of perfection and the only path for all people's in the galaxy."

Moff Tarkin shook his head and turned off the broadcast. But even through the walls of his office, he could hear people listening to that woman and her call for rebellion, her call for disorder, her call to take away the authority that the Empire's might earned by right.

"Some of you are already fighting, do not despair, we claimed victory over the Sith when they built a super weapon. They may try to deny it but the dust of the elf homeland still rises to the sky this day. We destroyed their super weapons, freed Ferelden, we can do the same across Thedas, across every land on our planet. Unite people of my world, unite and rise as the mages of the Ferelden circle rose. Even their dark lords, clerics of their charlatan god emperor can be defeated. Darth Kaius fell at Ferelden at the hands of Daylen Amell. Unite people of my world, and take it back!"


Alistair and Irving walked amongst the troops they had managed to rally. They had stolen imperial equipment, broken down their armour to sell or reuse. Then they rebuilt the boats to use for transport, in order to meet with the forces that would go to Val Royeaux. Alistair looked at the dragon curled up on one of the boats, elf crafters already proposed the idea of a harness for him, but Alistair wouldn't let them. He wanted them to focus on arrows, grafting explosives taken from the imperial base onto the tips of their projectiles. The rebels were better archers than riflemen, despite how supposedly easy the blasters were to handle. When they reached the shore they saw Wynn standing with Finn.

"Good to see you succeeded," she said.

"That thing is safe right?" Finn asked nervously.

"Not really, just don't poke him and you should be fine," Alistair said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Has there been any word on the group that went into the deep roads?" Irving asked, walking across the water and taking Wynn's hand.

They both bowed, the old friends and last survivors of the circle exchanged smiles over one another's safety. Wynn turned and led the pair whilst Finn saw to the transfer of equipment.

"Zevran came back with a few men, carrying equipment from the Deeproads, the spoils of one of the ancient vaults," Wynn explained.

Alistair and Irving widened their eyes slightly when they saw the assassin with a few of the other rebels. He was trying to demonstrate the 'Omni-Tech' he had found in the Deep roads. One of the rebels accidentally used a flamethrower on one of the tents, prompting Zevran to take the gauntlet off of him.

"Weapons, so this is what Leliana found, but where is she?" Alistair asked.

"She's going further down, Zevran said that they found something else, but we need to go somewhere out of ear shot of the others," Wynn said, motioning to the hilltop.

So she told them what Zevran had told her, shock and anger filled both Alistair and Irving in equal measure. And they were torn between trust for Leliana and suspicion of the Architect and his supposed awakened Darkspawn.

"There's nothing we can do right now, at least not anything we can do for Leliana," Alistair said.

"Only trust in her decision and the good that may come from it. Has Loghain been in touch?" Irving asked.

"He's joined with De Chalons, Cullen's Knight troopers have rendezvoused with Knight-Commander Meredith's forces and the Dalish have begun moving to the fighter yard," Wynn explained.

"What about the attack on Halamshiral?"

"False intelligence to get the empire to prepare for a larger force, not a small one that Loghain has planned," Wynn said.

"A smaller force, who exactly?" Alistair asked.


Six Days ago

It was a solitary mountain within the north of the Frostbacks, just beyond the reach of the Empire's weapon. Loghain stormed through the cold, the otherworldly wind that nearly blew him off of the mountain. Then he found what he sought, where the rumours in the villages had led him. A hut built from stone, yet attended by droids and smaller creatures. There was a banner on the house's roof, showing a starburst with a line running through it, either side of the starburst was a set of wings. Loghain had seen it painted on the walls of village alleys and on some imperial holdings. Taking his blaster and knife out, he dropped both before drawing his sword.

"I am told that a great swordsman resides within this house, come, prove yourself the better of the Hero of the river Dane, the Son of the land," Loghain threw off his cloak and brandished his blade.

A moment passed and a young man walked out of the hut. He wore a simple white shirt, bandages wrapped around his knuckles. The young man had a frown on his youthful face and his hair had been cut short, save for the small braid hanging off of his shoulder. He drew a short sword from his belt and began to approach Loghain.

"You are a boy," Loghain said to him.

"And you are trespassing," the young man said.

Loghain gripped the sword with both hands as the young man raised his hand, the blade held over his head. He scoffed at the stance; no traditional swordsman would be stupid enough to use one like it. To mock the young man, Loghain rested his sword on his shoulder and raised his fist as if holding a shield. His opponent twirled his sword, impressive enough but again Loghain suppressed the urge to laugh. Then they attacked one another, swords clashing. Despite the first impression of his technique, Loghain admitted he was fast. But the best part of his opponent's skills was his defence. Loghain knew of a few swordsmen whom could defend themselves with only a sword, mastering the defensive techniques that made shields redundant. This young man was better than that, yet still lacked some experience. Loghain's time in the dirt gave him more imagination too. Kicking that dirt into his opponent's eyes, he roughly elbowed him in the cheek.

"You're skilled, but this isn't a dance," Loghain brought his blade towards the young man's neck.

But then the tide of the duel shifted, and Loghain knew he had found who he was looking for. Not in the young man himself, but the force that threw Loghain back. His sword span and imbedded itself in the ground. And the young man raised his sword over his head, ready to strike a mortal blow to the rebel leader.

"Enough," a sharp and firm voice spoke from the hut.

The sword rested at Loghain's forehead, the young man let out a few deep breaths as he stepped back. Loghain tipped his head and looked at the new arrival. He was an extremely tall man, a neatly cut beard and long brown hair did little to hide his calm features. The shirt he wore was a dark shade of brown, the sleeves loose around his wrists. This possibly hid a powerful physical frame built by combat. It was the eyes that told Loghain who this man was, a warrior, haunted by failures yet still very competent and wise.

"Control," he said to the boy.

"Yes master," the young man said.

"Go and retrieve a rabbit from the woods, our guest is weary and in need of sustenance."

The young man nodded his head, sheathing his sword. Loghain took the tall man's outstretched hand.

"Thank you," he said.

"You have come a long way, Loghain Mac Tir," the man said.

Loghain huffed, either the man was clairvoyant or he was just smart enough to figure out his 'Son of the land' reference. Either meant that he was useful, and he at least had good manners. Leading their guest into his house, Loghain looked upon a Fereldan home that had been part converted with technology. There was a heater where the stove should have been, remotes, and a forging iron and pot. The host heated a pot of tea and poured some into a cup for Loghain. Then he extended to Loghain a bowl of salt and a loaf of bread. An offer of guest rights that Loghain accepted, sprinkling the salt on a slice of bread and eating it.

"Thank you, I've come a long way to find you, they say that you wield the force, but that you are different from the Sith," Loghain said.

"Once I could have been considered the other side of the coin to the Sith, the light to their darkness. My understanding of the force and of the conflict with the Sith has evolved since then," the man explained.

"Your student confirmed to me that you are a force user, yet you don't encourage him to use his anger."

"The Sith follow a code as such: 'Peace is a lie, there is only passion.' But my former order believed the opposite, 'There is no emotion, there is only peace,'" the man explained.

"Yet moments of peace can be found in passion, in the embrace of emotions. Without emotions, then peace is meaningless. The emotion of lover's embracing, of a father holding his daughter," Loghain said, thinking of his own child and a long passed wife.

His host nodded his head in agreement, standing and stirring a pot with the rabbit meat his apprentice had prepared. That young man sat in meditation with a hooded cloak wrapped around him. By the time Loghain finished his tea, the tall man had poured out two bowls of stew for himself and his guest. As Loghain ate, he withdrew the map fragment in his pocket. The red circle he drew over Halamshiral caught the man's attention. But he continued with his lecture on the force:

"The Sith believe that through passion they gain strength, my former order believe that there is no ignorance, there is knowledge," he said.

"Yet to gain knowledge one must be ignorant, it is through ignorance and overcoming it that we can gain knowledge. As for passion and strength, it's a double edged sword; a fool reacting will lose to a level headed opponent. But a paid enforcer will not stop a man seeking to protect his home," Loghain stated.

"Through that strength, the Sith believe that they will gain power and that that power will set them free. Whilst my former order believes that there is no passion or chaos, but serenity and harmony," the tall man continued.

"Both seem fair, how can one say the other is wrong?" Loghain asked, though he really didn't expect an answer.

His host's student opened his eyes slightly, fascinated himself by Loghain's philosophy of the two codes.

"There is no death, there is the force," the tall man finished.

"A comforting thought for those who die, and those whom lose them as well as those whom sacrifice themselves. But I've always preferred to give a different philosophy to my troops, live, live with everything you have. Victory does not always come from those who are willing to die!" Loghain explained.

"You have the perspective of a general and a father Loghain," the tall man said.

"I do, it makes me wise in some ways and ignorant of others, but that's life. Experiencing things, learning things, succeeding and failing but fighting and trying with all you have. I will try to free my planet, that is all a man can do," Loghain explained.

The tall man smirked as he stood up.

"An old friend of mine had a different solution, do or do not, there is no try. If all you are doing is trying, then you don't truly believe that you can succeed, you may succeed or you may fail, but there is no try," he explained.

Loghain laughed, more out of the word play than the meaning behind it. He stood up as well and walked outside.

"Thank you for the meal and the tea, and for the insight, I came here to ask if you would help us fight to empire. Or to at least aid us in taking Val Royeaux, I heard you were one of the knights who fought before Fausten Amell," Loghain explained.

"I did know Fausten Amell, I heard things as well, that you met his grandson Daylen," the tall man said.

"I did, he was quite a brilliant young man," Loghain said.

"Is he really dead?"

At first Loghain was tempted to lie, to further the story of Daylens sacrifice with the other mages of the Ferelden circle. But he knew the man in front of him was capable of seeing through deceptions, even if they were for the right reasons.

"No, he is not dead, he's just somewhere else right now, I don't know if he's dying, if he's turned his back on the rebellion. Or if he is as Alistair and Leliana believe, biding his time and gathering his strength so he can return," Loghain explained.

The man nodded his head and smiled, looking up at the sky and closing his eyes. Loghain felt a shiver run down his spine; he was no expert on the force. It went against his logic sometimes, contradicted the science that had been used in an attempt to understand it. Midichlorians, bloodlines, it seemed to be that there was no set method to the force. No recipe to creating a strong force user, and no set path to truly understanding it. It transcended people's ability to understand. Was the tall man searching for Daylen? Was that smile because he somehow did find him and knew through the force, or in his heart that the young man would be okay? Loghain was curious, but accepted that it truly didn't matter. He just looked towards the tall man and faced him when the man opened his eyes.

"What would you have of me?" he asked Loghain.

"First I would have your name," Loghain said.

The tall man extended his hand to Loghain, and he grasped it.

(OST-You Say Run)


Halamshiral

Troops stood in the courtyard of the governor's home, parading for the formal occasion. Celene stood in her blue dress, a contrast to the Imperial officer beside her. Inside the house however, a mist spread through some of the corridors. The Orlesian guards kept their swords at the ready. Flinching as two blades glowed through the mist. One green, covered by Ferelden runes, the other blue and covered in the same runes. The swordsmen rushed through the mist, swinging their blades into the Orlesian swords.

Planascene fighter yard

'Qui Gon Jinn, and Obi-Wan Kenobi, those are names I will try to remember,' Loghain thought.

He pulled his scarf over his mouth, nodding to Cauthrien. Though she was used to wearing heavy armour and wielding a great sword, she took to smaller weapons well. She released the signal, the hoot of a barn owl. Brandishing his daggers, Loghain moved with stealth as he had a lifetime ago against the Orlesians. These tactics of striking from the shadows were taken by the former Chevaliers too. Gone was honour, now they were murderers in the dark. Gaspard's clothes were darker, he wore an Orlesian mask painted black and dragged his sword across the throats of his targets. Officers, guards, rogues and bards scaled the platforms and walls of the factory, sniping look outs with arrows. Rebels even came through the front door, the delivery of the night technicians. Rebels were amongst the technicians in their orange overalls, and the guards had been replaced by Sebastian Vael and his men.

Meredith's weapon of choice was the great sword. But scaling her armour down to the gauntlets and tearing the skirt of her robes, she moved with her Templar rebels. Some in scout armour with the skirt armour ripped, some in the more technological trooper armour. One shot a cable from his wrist and pulled himself up to one of the guard posts. A few moments passed and he looked down at the group, instead wearing the Sith trooper helmet. They moved around the transport speeder, using the confusion of the worker's arrival to mask their approach through the front gate.

At the northern entrance, where fighters would launch, hooded figures climbed up with grappling hooks. The elves, carrying bows and drawing their elven blades. But they were not alone, Swiftrunner and Lanaya had an uneasy working relationship. She was the first of the one whom cursed Swiftrunner's family, but the clan of werewolves had chosen their curse and Zathrian vowed to free them once their planet was free of the Sith. For now, they would unleash their rage on the Sith and their soldiers.

Halamshiral

Obi-Wan and Qui Gon burst through Celene's bed chambers. She and Briala covered themselves as the two swordsmen entered. Qui Gon wore metallic armour over his robes, gloved gauntlets and his sword stopped glowing as he removed from his pouch a disc shaped device. Celene pushed the device, whilst Briala reached for the pistol she kept underneath their pillow. Obi-Wan thrust his hand forward, his wrist covered by leather guards. The force pulled the blaster to Obi-Wan's hand. The device emitted a hologram, showing Moff Tarkin.

"Honestly we should do away with the outdated monarchs of this world, a single planet only requires a handful of governors," the man was recorded saying.

"There is more to this recording, a context your spies have left out," Celene said, appearing dignified despite being caught naked.

"Perhaps there is Lady Celene, I was not sent to kill you, merely to protect you. The question remains, are you willing to take the risk?" Qui Gon asked.

"My own spies report that a large number of your attempts to pacify our citizens have been rendered useless because of imperial intervention. Celene, I think there is more you can do from within the empire, but it is a truly dangerous game at this point. That foolish boy Cailan thought the Sith were on his side too," Briala explained.

She spoke at first as a spy master, but the crack in her tone was enough for Celene to know she spoke as her lover and not her advisor. Celene stood, letting go of her bed sheet.

"Very well, I will trust your judgement, do you have a way out for us?" she asked.

"You must provide the way, bring only what you can carry, and only those whom you trust," Qui Gon said.

"There is only one," Celene cast her eyes to Briala, whom smiled at her.

"As for us, we'll have to retrieve Moff Weasel," Obi-Wan said.

"That's Moff Wessel!" Celene said, though she smirked in amusement.

Planascene Fighter Yard

Fires had been lit and bodies piled onto them. Prisoners were taken, though Sebastian executed a few as an example to the others. Loghain pulled off his scarf and met with Gaspard, whom had removed his mask.

"This," Loghain said, pointing to the Imperial symbol being scratched by the elves. "This is how we take our planet back, one convoy, one factory, one base at a time, and one official dead or alive."

"Just like you did it to the old Orlesian emperor to free Ferelden back then," Gaspard said.

"Celene will have a long road ahead of her, not just to reach safety, but to redeem her actions in the eyes of the people," Loghain explained.

"Of course, I have no interest in a throne Loghain, like you I love my country and have no desire to see them suffer under the Sith rule anymore. I've cast aside honour, taken the path of an assassin, made alliances with mages and outsiders from the stars. These 'Jedi' will they be enough to turn the tide?" Gaspard asked.

"Sir Qui Gon said that his old order will not aid us, though it would take something great to convince them to, he'll fight for us at least. But we need something we lost with young Montillyet's death," Loghain said and Gaspard nodded his head.

"Pilots, we need pilots," both men looked up at the stars, imagining the battles to come.


Dorian could hear them, could hear the tortured screams of the people recovered from the rebel ship. The screams of his allies, their cries for the interrogators to stop, their promises to tell them anything they wanted to know. One of the blast doors opened and Fausten emerged, wiping blood off of his hands.

"Maker, what did you do?" Dorian demanded.

"The Karnax shipping yard, two systems away, the Montilyet's are the most successful merchants of our planet. It appears their loyalty to the empire was a ruse, and that they're using their new ships and influence to hide rebels and gain resources. Karnax shipping yard is one of these places where the Montillyet trade group gather's its resources," Fausten explained, unrolling his sleeves and straightening them to uniform standard.

"You believe there is a rebel group there?" Dorian asked.

"No, we can prove there is a rebel group there," a second door opened and another officer walked out.

An elf woman with dark hair and a cut on her hand. She wiped the blood away, sealing the wound with a gel on her equipment pouch.

"Nadir was from the Starkhaven circle, though the Knight-troopers still frown on blood magic, the summoning of a demon can be quite the effective interrogation tool," Fausten explained.

"It also provides us with the images of a person's mind, and the confirmation such a thing can bring," Nadir said.

"Forgive me Dorian, but this lead can't be ignored," Fausten said.

"Of course, for the empire's continued security I will serve," Dorian said.

"I'm glad you feel that way Dorian," Fausten smiled as he touched Dorian's shoulder.

He pulled Dorian with him down the corridor of the holding cells. Dorian saw through some of the gaps of the doors the recovered rebels, recovering prisoners, contractors taken from the old rebel ship. One, a dark haired man looked through the gap at Dorian and glared. In one cell, a brown haired woman nursed a young man with a black eye.

"They will be taken to an Imperial facility at the earliest opportunity, Dorian; I took no pleasure from interrogation," Fausten said, his voice soft and almost compassionate.

"It was necessary," Dorian said.

"Actually physical torture is one of the least reliable ways to gain information. If I had more time, I would have built a rapport and gotten the information with no bloodshed or pain. Threats, blackmail, these are all better than physically breaking a man, getting them to tell us whatever it takes to stop the pain. But conversion, that's a much better way to get information. What could be more effective than to turn an enemy to your cause, to use their knowledge against them?" Fausten asked.

"Nothing comes to mind, but what are you getting at Fausten?" the Tevinter mage asked.

"You're a necromancer Dorian," Fausten opened the door to the brig infirmary.

No prisoners were being treated, but the sight on the gurney horrified Dorian. It was a deathly pale woman, her Antivan tan no more in death. What was worse was that Dorian recognised her as Josephine Montilyet, one of the alliance's chief allies.

"She has information I believe will be most useful to our cause Dorian, the identity of whoever is aiding the rebellion in the ranks of the Sith," Fausten stated and Dorian put on a look of shock.

"A spy within the Sith's own ranks, such a thing…"

"Oh come now Dorian, you know that the Sith way is betrayal. I need you to get the information from her," Fausten said.

"Fausten, my necromancy is quite different from that used in Nevarra, I don't so much as reanimate corpses as use the residual energy left from the dead to construct a thrall. They are projections that respond to my commands," Dorian explained.

"But in theory you should be able to recover information through the fade, spirits have been known to relive certain moments we mere mortals have carried out, besides Nadir will help you," Fausten explained.

"You use Montilyet's corpse to summon a thrall, and I'll use blood magic to draw out the information," Nadir said.

Dorian looked at Josephine's body, resisting the urge to shake his head or do anything that showed his shame. He hated the Nevarran Mortalitasi, and their manipulation of the dead. Through his father he hated blood magic too, to them both it was the resort of weak minded individuals unable to grasp or strengthen their own magic. He walked up to the body on the gurney, removed his gloves and took a deep breath. Wisps of blue energy gathered around him, there was a pulse and the fade became visible for a moment. Nadir drew a knife from her belt and dragged it over her hand, red wisps crackling around her wound. Blood came out of her cut, fluttering towards the body like a thread. There was a cracking sound, Josephine's fingers, paralysed by rigor mortis snapped and twitched. The monitor beside the gurney blinked, a momentary heart beat. Then Dorian put his hand forward, and the blue wisps marked Josephine's corpse.

A scream suddenly rose from the twitching body. It was formed from the blue wisps, shaping into a being that resembled Josephine. She gasped for breath, looking around in fear and terror. Words spouted from her mouth, Antivan words of regret and apologies to her parents and sister. Nadir tightened her fist, and the spirit gasped. The blue shifted into a red colour, Dorian's thrall became Nadir's.

"Josephine Montilyet, you failed in your mission, but you can still please the empire," Nadir said.

"No, don't try to force your ideals on others," Fausten said, squeezing Nadir's shoulder.

The shift in his eyes told Dorian of the utter fury Nadir's comment had filled Fausten with. He looked at the spirit and lowered his head slightly.

"Please, there isn't much time Josephine, tell us whom has been assisting you in acquiring technology?" he asked.

"M-mother, Leliana…we have to, please stop! NO I FAILED!"

The spirit's scream echoed through the room, stinging Dorian's ear drums.

"Pilots…WE NEED PILOTS…NO PLEASE STOP!" it screamed in agony and Dorian had to tell himself again that it wasn't really Josephine.

"Who was your contact?" Fausten asked.

"CAN'T…NO…PLEASE! ANCIENTS MUST BE FOUND! DAMASK! WINGS NEED PILOTS! HEGO! MUST FIND THEM! PROTECT THEM! MAKER PLEASE! HEGO DAMASK! HEGO DAMASK!"

"Hego Damask," Fausten said.

The spirit faded with a scream as Nadir covered her hand. Fausten turned and walked to the doorway, looking over his shoulder at Dorian.

"I apologise for asking you to do that Dorian, but rest assured, you've helped us deal an excellent blow against the rebels," the captain explained.

Dorian nodded his head, inwardly cursing himself. Yet he also knew that opportunities could be hidden in these imperial successes. Opportunities for him to turn the imperial success into a rebel one.

"What now captain?" Dorian asked.

"We go to the Karnax Shipping yard, confiscate all the materials gathered by the Montilyets and arrest any pilots or technicians they were trying to recruit," Fausten said.

"And if they resist?" Dorian asked.

"Then we do what we have to, for the glory of the empire," Nadir said.

"No Nadir, we're just going to kill them!" Fausten said.

Fausten's eyes became darker as he walked through the door. He made his way to the turbo lift and pushed up for the bridge.

"Soon father, soon!" he whispered.

Next Episode 34: Against darkness


Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, as I said before characters from other eras appear in this story, I went with versions of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, whose lives get given a Dragon Age twist. Their swords and appearances are based on the great art of Jake Bartok, which has been used in the videos of Samuel Kim for his Medieval style music remixes.

We return to Daylen next time and the galaxy far, far away.