The Hopeful
Dreshdae, the one place in the entire Galaxy that no one would wish to be. The little makeshift settlement somehow played a significant role in the events that had shaped the Galaxy to what it was at the very moment.
Dreshdae was home to rogues, criminals and other vagrants who wished to never be found or to conduct business away from the prying eyes of the rest of the Galaxy. The settlement was founded in the one place few would dare to tread, as both superstition and fact had instilled fear into the hearts of people. The settlement had been founded on the deathbed of the Sith homeworld Korriban.
He had arrived there but a few short moments ago, knowing full well that this planet was now home to a failing Academy that had inspired the rebirth of the Sith into a full blown Empire that was crumbling the might of the Republic.
Apparently sources had begun to say that Revan had risen once more and that she had begun to fight for the Republic.
He didn't care about what fate befell the Republic or the Sith Empire.
All he cared about was learning the secrets of the Force—an ability few possessed.
It took some time, but by allowing himself to be duped by his instructors within the dark Academy, Dustil had played into their hands by killing off his dear friend.
He only thought joining the Sith would give him power and make his hatred of his father raw.
Now he wasn't so sure, anymore.
His father had arrived with a mysterious woman and an old man, who had done in a week what even he could not in the course of 3 years.
They had also proven to him that the Sith were not all they were cracked out to be.
The death of his friend had hurt the most, but he knew that his father did care for him by revealing the true nature of the Sith.
The old man had been worn and exhausted, while his features were weathered from the past years. It seemed that he had not taken the death of his family all too well.
Could I blame him? He couldn't help but think, as he sat in the cantina, nursing his drink and contemplating his chances of leaving the Academy now that it was under new leadership.
He'd done what he could to hamper the Sith training, but lately, the Sith had been hunting down the spy.
Dustil knew his work was finished and that his only chance now was to escape.
He sat there, wearing a black cloak over his grey jumpsuit. It seemed apparent that even the Sith lacked style, even against their Jedi counterparts. It's all come to an end, and in time, I will have no choice but to leave. His eyes shifted upwards, towards the exit, where people casually walked through, as well as hopefuls that were eager to join the 'winning' side.
Dustil knew that they were only kidding themselves. He slowly began to understand that by once taking the darker path, it would consume the person for their entire life.
He couldn't help but shudder, feeling disgusted and a little frightened of what he would have become were he to completely give himself to the Dark Side.
Before he could even imagine what he would have looked like, however, three distinct presences stopped in front of him.
"Dustil," she said, her voice a light hiss and filled with arrogance. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you back at the Academy? Master Ban would kill you—we have an important lesson today: finding traitors within our midst."
His eyes moved to her, as he made out her counterparts.
Both of them happened to be male. One was human; the other was a green twi'lek with a lekku wrapped around his throat.
"So why aren't you in the Academy then, Lashowe?"
She appeared taken aback by his sudden question.
The young man had always been a favourite of the teachers and therefore was deemed an untouchable, but it appeared as if he just didn't care at all.
"What did you say to me?"
His eyes met hers, cold glare for cold glare, as he repeated his question solidly. "Why…aren't…you…in…the…Academy?"
Her upper lip twitched and began to curl up before she replied, "the Masters want me to go and collect everyone. Besides, it also allows us a bit of fun, doesn't it, loner?"
Loner. The words stung slightly, coming even from someone such as Lashowe. He downed the last of his beverage and continued to wonder whether or not it was worth doing anything anymore. The Republic surely wouldn't have him; the Hopefuls would pounce on him, eager to get Lashowe's approval, and more importantly, Dustil wasn't sure whether or not he had it in him to give a damn about the Sith and all that he thought he once believed in.
He was too tired to accept being angry all the time.
He was too exhausted to worry about any repercussions.
Dustil just didn't have it in him to care.
He just couldn't care.
Lashowe's male counterparts sniggered derisively, eager to gain her approval as well.
Sniveling fools, Dustil thought. Too eager to be accepted and not enough brains to know that they'll never be accepted. They're fools if they think that they can continue to hope. Abandoning hope is one of the things that make the Sith the Sith. Ironically, having hope is one of the things that make the Sith continue to reign down punishment on the Republic.
"Are you sad and lonely now that your only friend is dead and gone? What happened to her? Oh yes, the tuk'ata incident." Lashowe smiled, enjoying her own idea of mentally torturing the young Onasi. "Seems they enjoy playing 'fetch' with her bones."
This garnered more laughs out of her pair of leeches.
It also garnered a few laughs from the trio of Hopefuls that appeared, eager to gain Lashowe's approval.
Dustil felt his blood boil at the thought of them insulting his close friend. She may have been weaker in the Force, but she was someone dear to me. He found himself growing angry, as they laughed in his face. He looked up at them, finding a calm, as he knew that this must have been how his father felt losing everyone so close to him and still having to fight the odds everyday of his life, until he found Dustil.
The old man's right, he determined, albeit reluctantly. The Sith are evil—taking delights in the suffering of others and by trying to cover up for the fact that they are derived from failures in the Jedi Order. The Dark Side is not powerful, it is merely the idea that they cannot control what they fear and thus, they make the illusion that they control the Dark Side.
Lashowe continued to laugh, as she threw biting remarks at him.
He casually ran a hand through his hair, rising and calmly saying, "you can go ahead and make fun of me, Lashowe, but we both know that you're merely trying to cover up for the fact that you're unsure of yourself."
"What!" She hissed, looking as if she had been slapped in the face.
"What? It's true," he said, shrugging. "Why do you think you need to have people hang on to you? You're desperate—you never were Sith material. That's why you've been an initiate for far longer than me."
They all grew silent, and the Hopefuls began to look at one another and between Onasi and the trio of Sith.
Even the patrons in the cantina had grown eerily silent.
"You shut your mouth, whelp!" Lashowe's pale face had become distinctly red, either with embarrassment or anger.
Either way, it didn't bother Dustil. "You seem to be losing your cool. I figure that's all right, since the Sith are derived from failures."
She grew angrier.
Dustil knew she wouldn't make a move. She was nothing compared to his abilities, which had far surpassed her own several weeks ago.
He didn't care about her biting remarks. He merely tried to reveal the true, weak, pathetic creature within her and hope that perhaps she would learn.
Lashowe, growing angry, was facing two choices: leave and lose face, or kill the Onasi brat where he stood.
Dustil faced her with a serene calm, and knew what her decision would be.
The Hopefuls looked on with anticipation, eager to see who would win out the day.
Lashowe, for all her bark and bluster, finally lived up to her word. She withdrew her lightsaber, along with her compatriots. The snap-hiss in the room caused everyone to take a step back.
Dustil opened himself to that calm and trusted in the Force to let things work out the way they would. He had removed his own lightsaber and in the same movement, he ignited his blade.
Everyone gasped.
Dustil's blade had not been the crimson blade it had been but a few short days ago.
It was, in fact, a pure shaft of blue. A parting gift from the lady, old man and his father.
"You're a Jedi!" One of the Hopefuls exclaimed.
"He's no Jedi," Lashowe barked, her lips parted and revealing sharp cruel teeth. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time."
Dustil found a new strength in him, one that was eager to protect the patrons and to reveal that the way of the Sith was not the correct path to follow. "I have no doubt that you have."
She lunged at him, followed by the others.
The people in here, Dustil found himself thinking, they need to be protected from this—even if some are vagrants. He dodged the cleaves and rolled out, away from the cantina and towards the adjoining hallway.
The table where he had once sat, however, had been cleaved into three molten pieces of slag.
Dustil brought his lightsaber up, blocking the blow of Lashowe's blade, as he sent her flying back.
Then the twi'lek was upon him, his expression revealing his long awaited eagerness in killing the young man. "Soon I shall have her to myself," he said, licking his lips as they struggled in their lock.
"Maybe," Dustil managed, feeling the third presence moving towards him, along with the rising Lashowe. "But let's see how she likes you when you're missing a limb!" He summoned all of his strength in his body and shoved their blades away, causing the twi'lek to lose balance, as Dustil quickly slashed down.
The clanking of the twi'lek's lightsaber and his forearm, had put the humanoid out of the fight—along with his screaming.
Dustil pivoted on his hips and extended his right leg, sending his maimed opponent away and out of the fight.
Now it was just two.
They came at him, their blades a flurry of crimson death, forcing the younger Onasi to block with everything in him.
He continued to feel that embracing calm, and he opened himself more to it, allowing the Force to guide his movements.
The distinct presences of the three Hopefuls turned around the corner to watch the duel.
There were other presences that were making their way towards the fight.
Dustil continued to backpedal, as he blocked their strikes, whirling his blade in arcs and attempting to catch them off-balance.
Lashowe leapt over him and brought her blade to rake up his spine.
Dustil, with the Force as his ally, caught the strike deftly and snapped out with his elbow, knocking the brash woman back and face first into the wall.
The male human came at Dustil with an overhead swing, hoping to take the young man down at that moment.
Dustil brought his blade up horizontally and blocked it, while he pirouetted and slapped the crimson lightsaber away.
The man took an involuntary step back, losing his own balance.
Dustil seized the moment and crouched, impaling his blade through the man's thigh, which was followed by a howl of pain. Quickly removing the blade, he rose and spun about in the opposite direction and with a casual flick of the wrist, he eliminated the hands of his second opponent.
The man shrieked in more pain and found himself flying away from the fight.
Dustil brought his blade up in front of him, the blue shaft of energy thrumming at an angle towards his left.
Lashowe rose, wiping the small bit of blood from the corner of her lips. "you'll pay for that."
"It's over Lashowe," Dustil said calmly. "She may have died, but I know she is one with the Force—the true Force. You are beaten and it is useless to resist. Give up now and leave, the Force is my ally."
Lashowe growled, angry and too proud to accept the fact someone who wasn't eager to use the Dark Side of the Force had beaten her.
"It's over, Lashowe," Dustil repeated, firmly, "accept it: you've lost."
"Never!" She screamed, as she raced at him, swinging her blade wildly and with reckless abandon.
Dustil continued to deflect each swing, sometimes missing another one completely, as he continued to defend himself against her.
She slashed at him, and watched helplessly as he parried the blow. She sent a wave of the Force to throw him off balance, but he accepted it and walked through it.
Dustil continued to block her flurries and even block against a powerful attack as she leapt high into the air and brought her blade down on him with all of her might.
He locked blades with her for a moment, taking the time to angle the blade away as he snapped out with his elbow, hitting her nose with a sickening thud.
She cried out and stumbled back, looking at him and wincing through the pain. She brought one hand up and touched her sensitive and pained nose. She hissed as she moved her hand away and caught a look at the blood that had covered her hand. Her gaze shifted to Dustil, who appeared ready to defend himself. Her eyes became narrow slits as she said, "you'll pay for that."
He sighed, knowing she would not give up so easily once she had finally committed herself to fighting against him. He took comfort, however, that the Force was giving him some purpose. He no longer cared about inflicting pain for pleasure. Rather, he found himself elated with a steely resolve that the Dark Side no longer held any grip on him. I won't fail you Father, and I certainly won't fail you, Selene.
Lashowe renewed her flurry of attacks, causing Dustil to spin his blade in his hands and continue to block each slash at his chest and legs.
"I won't be beaten," she hissed at him, as she launched her blade into a figure eight pattern, forcing Dustil to do the same.
He locked his eyes on her, as he continued to move his blade at a deadly pace. "You've only beaten yourself," he said, his voice filled with resolve.
She opened her mouth to reply, but found herself squealing in pain as heat seared through her wrist. She closed her eyes shut and collapsed, only to open them a moment later and see her right hand on the floor next to her. "My hand!" She screamed.
Dustil deactivated his blade, holstering it to his belt. "I am sorry, Lashowe, but you have to be stopped. I've spared your life—be thankful that I am not going to kill you. Leave now—you've only confirmed that the Dark Side is not worth living with. The price would be too much." He turned to leave, only to see no sign of the three Hopefuls.
Perhaps they have already left to return to the Jedi. Perhaps they seek forgiveness from the Masters. He sighed, bringing his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose.
"No!" She shrieked, while she rose. "I won't be beaten!"
Dustil turned around and faced the bewildered and hysterical young woman.
Lashowe raised her remaining hand and tried to close a fist on him.
Dustil felt his throat constrict for a moment, as he brought a hand up to his neck, seeking to free himself from the invisible vise-like grip.
She panted heavily, her face filled with murderous rage as she continued to savour causing pain and suffering to Dustil. "You're going to pay for that!"
Relax, came a voice to his ears.
Dustil tried to speak and fight against the pain, only to hear the voice again.
Relax, Dustil.
He tried to speak, but a light gurgle started to come from his voice.
Relax, Dustil. Trust in the Force, my friend.
It was the warm and comforting voice of the friend he had convinced to join him. It was the friend who had died in the freak accident with the tuk'ata. It was Selene.
Relax, my friend, you are at peace. The Force is embracing you, now you must trust in it.
He relaxed his grip, feeling the crushing weight squeeze more of his precious air from his body.
Lashowe began to laugh sadistically, as she watched him struggle in pain.
His veins in his temples had begun to bulge.
Good, now reach within you. There is an old family legacy that is a part of you. A gift, from your father, who loves you dearly. Take it and know that you must do what must be done. She is far too gone, my friend. Nothing will save her.
"Se—Se--," he managed.
"What?" Lashowe asked him, smiling gleefully. "I can't hear you. You must have something stopping you from speaking." She laughed again.
"Sel—Selene," he rasped.
She gasped and tightened her grip.
Dustil closed his eyes and felt a warmth rush over him. There was something hanging from his belt. He couldn't grab his lightsaber, but he could grab the other thing.
He touched with the Force again, eager to feel what the other thing was.
It was coarse, worn and holstered on his hip. It was old, trustworthy and a legacy of his family. It was another present his father had given him, as a means of saying that he did love his son and trust him.
Dustil reached for the Force, strengthening his resolve as he found the will to live win out over his weaknesses. He knew Selene was contacting him and he knew that the Galaxy needed to be healed after these dark times. He knew he would be instrumental and that he would forever follow the Force, wherever it may lead him.
Lashowe's eyes went wide as she saw a black blur reach into Dustil's hand.
Dustil opened his eyes and brought the blaster up and fired.
A single crimson bolt slammed right between Lashowe's eyes, sending her collapsing to the ground in one smoking heap.
Dustil felt his constricted lungs open wide and he sucked in precious mouthfuls of air as he coughed and wheezed.
He fell to the ground, on all fours as he continued to suck on precious air. His eyes shifted to the object in his hand. It was the worn blaster of his family. It was his father's blaster and the blaster his father's father had used. It was the Onasi family blaster.
Trust in the Force, came the voice, almost as if it were a whisper.
"Selene," he whispered back, looking at the blaster. "I'm so sorry." He could feel tears starting to form near his eyes. "I am so sorry, my friend. Could you ever forgive me?"
Of course, the voice replied, as it dissipated.
Dustil felt a little weak, but far more stronger than he had been when he wallowed in his own hatred.
Almost as if to pull him away from his thoughts, the footsteps of clanking metal were rushing towards him.
He inhaled deeply and rose, wiping any tears from his eyes. He knew the Sith would come back for him. Now he had to make his stand before they would attempt to take him again.
A group of silver and black clad Sith soldiers ran towards him, blasters raised. "Halt!" One of them ordered.
Dustil kept his blaster in his left hand and withdrew his lightsaber, igniting it.
"Hold!" Yelled a commanding voice from behind.
The soldiers kept their blasters trained on Dustil, while the young man kept himself in a defensive posture.
The Onasi blaster was primed and ready.
"I said 'hold!'" The voice yelled again. It was obviously feminine and had Dustil wondering where he had heard it before.
And there came the footsteps, followed by the figure of a lithe and beautiful purple twi'lek. Her beauty was only matched by her deadliness and it made Dustil wonder what was going on in Yuthura Ban's mind.
"Don't kill him!" She moved towards the captain of the group of Sith. "Do not shoot him! He's on a mission from Lord Malak himself! If you kill him, I assure you, the Dark Lord will not be pleased."
The soldiers began to look at one another and the captain spoke, his voice fearful of retribution. "I, uh, am sorry, Mistress. We, uh, heard, that there was, um, a fight and it involved a Jedi."
Yuthura rolled her eyes. "Of course it would seem like that, fool. But this man is on a secret assignment, hunting down for insurgents within our ranks!" She glared at the captain icily. "Do you want to be the one to tell Lord Malak that you hampered his goal of ensuring total loyalty?"
"N-no, ma'am."
"Good," Yuthura hissed, "now get your men out of my sight and get rid of those bodies!"
The soldiers did what she said rather quickly, eager not to suffer the retribution of the new head of the Sith Academy.
Dustil kept his lightsaber poised, along with his blaster.
Yuthura looked at him and sighed. "Are you going to lower your weapons now?"
His eyes narrowed. "What's your angle?"
She scowled at him. "There is no angle. Let's just say that your father has some interesting friends and that--," she looked a bit apprehensive, "well, let's just say that they taught me that there is no point to being a shadow of what I once was."
He lowered his lightsaber, and probed her mind through the Force. To his surprise, she allowed him to and he sensed no deception, only truth. "So what was with the 'I'm working with Malak' bit about?"
She cocked an brow at him. "Listen, kid, sometimes we just need a cover to save ourselves from certain death." She flashed a smile at him, "unless of course you'd want me to call them back and recant that statement?"
He shook his head and deactivated his blade and holstered it, along with his blaster. "No thanks."
She looked at him, earnestly. "I have no love for the Dark Side. For the last three years it has covered my life and I've never felt as complete as when I once was a Jedi."
He looked at her, still unsure of her intentions, but sensing no deception.
She sighed. "Come on, kid. I know that you feel the same way."
They began to walk away, towards the starport in hopes of catching a ship away from the deathbed of the Sith.
Dustil found himself liking the woman in an instant. There was something about her that caused him to feel relaxed. "Think the Jedi will take a pair of Hopefuls such as you and I?"
She wrapped an arm around him and leaned in and whispered, "between you and me, I think they would love to take us back. The Light is far more embracing than you could ever imagine, kid, believe me."
He smiled, knowing that he was free from Korriban and its grasp, as well as whatever fate befell the Sith Academy.
The Force would guide him to his destiny, and he knew that whatever the Force had in store for him, he would know no fear.
Author's Notes: I hope you liked this one. I know it didn't really do much with the Onasi Blaster, but I guess I was just curious about what Dustil would have done with it on Korriban. Stay tuned for the last two Onasi Blaster fics. If you really want to request a fic or one-shot about anything in KOTOR, send it toTrillian4210's 'Request a Fic' Forums.