Mandatory AN stating that I do not, nor have I, and alas I shall never, own PJO or Star Wars in any capacity except wishing I could be a Mandalorian… On with the show!
Nine-Hundred Sixty-Six Years After the Ruusan Reformation…
Yavin Four…
'Gotta keep moving… I can do this, I can do this…' I jog through the dense jungles in full armor, thanking the ancestors all the while that father left me my armor with me in that escape pod before he dropped me on this overgrown death trap of a world all while I was asleep... more likely drugged actually but only father or the household servants would be able to get that close at night. I should be screaming but I knew exactly what this was, Death Watch's verd'goten. 'Survive and you'll be a member of Kyr'tsad, you'll be a true Mando'ade if you just survive this. Keep going, Vizsla. If you can find and hold a defensible position for a week you should be in a good position to survive scot free. But where? There are temples scattered all over this damned moon - if I were to clear one of those I'll at least have shelter.'
Gritting my teeth behind my helmet, I raise my slugthrower and knife still moving forward.
'I hate this moon, but then again it wouldn't be worth it if Father left me on some world like fucking Alderaan, Naboo, or Scarif,' I feel myself smile slightly, 'Scarif... that would be a sight, always wanted to visit that world, a world full of abandoned beaches? Paradise in the highest degree, Naboo on the other hand... I think I may commit a Gungan genocide if I was forced to stay there for a week,' with that happy thought I pick up the pace once again, 'although Alderaan may just straight up die if I decided to visit - can't stand those self righteous pricks, though that Bail Organa guy seems like he'd a good man if Father's reports are even half true.'
I keep marching for hours on end letting myself get lost in my thoughts of other worlds and people I might kill all while keeping a sharp eye out at my surroundings. I don't know how long I've been trekking through this Ancestors forsaken world considering the first time I glanced down at the underside of my wrist I found my chronograph missing, 'damn you father, damn you. Now I don't have a way to keep up with how much time has passed except for the holo… damn it. Well at least they're consistent in their show times, never would have thought father liking that one soap opera would be any sort of help...' which is also useful considering the incredibly screwy night and day cycle on this moon. 'I swear, I woke up at dawn and it can't have been longer than five standard hours and the sun's already setting.'
Other than that slight issue, I know for a fact that A) the trail of animal corpses following me is going to attract trouble, 'well… bigger trouble than those aggressive kriffs were,' and B) night is falling and I don't want to be stuck on the ground, exposed, without a sun overhead. Thank the Ancestors I found a small clearing to blast off in just a few minutes after that thought crossed my mind.
I feel my lips quirk slightly, even after years of studying weaponry, Mando'a, fighting techniques, politics, galactic maps and star charts, hyperspace lanes, flora, fauna, and ten thousand different ways to kill humanoids alone it still wouldn't save my bacon from a situation like this. Those lessons were designed to help me survive situations just like what I'm in on this shit hole moon but sometimes all you need is a good jetpack and an even better blaster. I can't help the laugh that escapes me as I do a few acrobatics before resuming my search, ever since I qualified to own a Jetpack I've loved being in the air. Just something about that freedom but there's just something not quite right about it...
Those darker thoughts fade quickly even as I feel an even wider smile cross my face remembering my first flight with Father, 'what a mess that was,' and then training with his inner circle, 'what a mess that still is.' Ben, Maz, Blake, Jorr, and Lux all mentor me in different subjects or disciplines along with father's lessons on Mandalorian politics, planetary and our clan history, Clan Vizsla's culture, our House's ancient heritage, and what it means to be one of those who have carried the legendary Darksaber into battle. Father taught me the importance of what it meant to govern a world with a fist of beskar and a hand stretched out in friendship. Mandalorians require strength to rule, a weak leader would lead to us senselessly killing ourselves and then half the galaxy in our rage. Unlike those democratic pacifist pricks in the Galactic Senate, Alderaan, Naboo, or even our near sister world Corellia - our world was forged in war and baptized in blood, every drop of Mandalorian blood spilled makes us that much harder to kill because we always pay our debts, especially when they're paid in blood.
Ben and Jorr would always teach me on the same days - Ben teaching the arts of the battle rifle while Jorr did the same at a much longer range. Ben may be like most Mandalorians in preferring to carry twin blaster pistols into battle but he's incredible with a blaster rifle, I've never seen him miss a shot with that Umbaran rifle he stole from one of those prick Shadow People during his Verd'goten on the dark world itself. Ben usually always finds himself in the thick of things on the battlefield while Jorr would take overwatch. Personally, Jorr has made sure our brothers would come home to their families with accurate fire and a sharp eye. Strangely enough, the Sniper lives by an ancient Correllian code, one of the tenants of that code is apparently 'an ounce of sniper is worth a pound of suppressing fire' [1] and the Sniper made me a believer in that phrase three years ago.
Father allowed me to come along on what was supposed to be a simple capture or kill order based on Felucia. We were supposed to get in, get our mark, and get out, but - like any mission I join in on - shit went sideways in the most spectacular manner. We were bogged down in a firefight with Hutt enforcers sent to collect our mark without having the decency to tell us who they were or why they were there but... that may or may not have something to with the fact that they died before we could learn who they were.
Our mark was a rogue bounty hunter that somehow managed to rip off Jabba the Hutt. How, in the name of the Ancestors, he managed that was beyond all of us. Something to do with a case of mistaken identity? We weren't sure, just like we weren't sure how he managed to get out of Jabba's palace alive and managed to make it across the known galaxy back to Felucia. Yes... Back.
In his haste to get away, the idiot just had his droid input the last targetted coordinates into his nav computer. Jabba managed to track his trajectory and called in an incredibly high bounty on this one bounty hunter: ten million creds. Only trained Force-sensitives - or apparently people that have really pissed Jabba off - get bounties that high. But Jabba apparently thought better of it but since there's a twenty-four standard hour wait on either reducing or increasing a Bounty, the Hutt realized rather quickly that he didn't want to shell out that kind of money.
We arrived on the planet earlier than Hutt's enforcers but hunting him took a lot of time, time that Jabba's men took full advantage of to get to the planet in their slow ass Kossak-class frigates. While we were scouring the hellhole world, the Hutts took their time and also had the advantage of knowing exactly where the bastard was.
It took us twelve hours but we found the bastard holed up in an Old Republic era fortress, an army of his fellow idiots at his side. We took cover immediately as the Hutt enforcers swamped the gates, they died in minutes from the heavy blasters on the turrets. Yes, they knew where he was and that he had back up and still went for a full-frontal assault... idiots.
Blake and Jorr set up shop on the top of a rather tall mushroom roughly two kilometers out, the two of them insisted I join them. I had my macros set to watch the unfolding carnage while Jorr picked off the better shooters with his Verpine Shatter Rifle while Blake took out the batteries themselves.
Father, Maz, Ben and Lux Rau (who was father's newest recruit at the time) infiltrated the fortress while Blaster Bolts peppered the battlements with Blake's newest toy, a prototype MWC-35c "Staccato Lightning" repeating cannon and yes it was effective even at two kilometers away. After seeing HK-99's personal model, Blake was hellbent on trying to find another and, by the Ancestors, he did. He hit gold on a small world, 'well… more like a moon really,' called Morellia (located in the Corporate Sector) where he found the cannon's manufacturer. Blake not only managed to get his hands on the cannon but negotiated with the Morellian Weapons Conglomerate (MWC) for a factory to be built in Concordia's mines. The sneaky bastard somehow managed to get a contract with MWC for them to supply the cannons, and a few other wonderful weapons, to Death Watch and their newest faction - Death's Hammer - exclusively. Led by Blake Wren himself, the Hammer Commandos don't wear jetpacks anymore, preferring repulsor boosters built directly into their boots while being armored more heavily than a standard jetpacked Mando would be. Their armor covers almost every inch of their bodies, while this trades mobility for an impenetrable defense their true strength is the fact that the weapons seem to never run out of ammo thanks to the power banks and ammo belt being mounted where a jetpack would be.
Back on Felicia - Father, Maz, Ben, and Lux infiltrated the facility while executing any bounty hunter they came across until they found their mark. The idiot himself, a Correllian whose name I don't even care to remember other than the fact that he gained Death Watch the biggest bounty we had seen to date, had locked himself in a storage closet praying to his gods we wouldn't find him. We did.
One wack to the dome with a pair of restraints later and we had one idiot Corellian on the way to father's Kom'rk class transport.
We managed to make it back to Hutt Space before Jabba could lower the bounty, and made it to Tatooine before the Hutt could have known to launch another crew to capture the idiot - much to his displeasure. We think Jabba was so pissed at the man that he actually froze the Corellian in carbonate for a year before feeding him to the Rancor rumor says is in his basement... well that was Blake's bet anyway.
We left the Hutt's palace eight million credits richer and in possession of one of Jabba's pristine and modified Marauder-Class Corvettes with a complement of twenty Old Republic era Talon Striker-class fighters with shielding, and a few spare hyperdrives at my own request. Father thought it was brilliant for a ten-year-old but I simply saw an opportunity and took it, those fighters were worth five hundred thousand credits each if you consider you can't usually find one in working order but since there's no demands for old republic starfighters we managed to get the small fleet of twenty well maintained and thoroughly upgraded starfighters for the same price as the Corvette which, with mods and all, was worth at least a million by itself and Jabba, a Hutt may he be, pulled every penny he could from that Corvette while letting go of the fighters surprisingly easily.
One day I'm going to lead Death Watch and, as of the moment, Mandalorian ships aren't exactly subtle. We're going to need space superiority fighters that aren't as obvious as the Kom'rk. Don't get me wrong, The Kom'rk is an amazing fighter-transport ship but it's just too damn big to fit into a corvette or use to slip under an enemy's sensor grid. If we're going to sneak behind enemy lines then we're going to need fast, lightweight fighters to do that - and the Talons are as good a start as any until we can manufacture our own fighters.
But the key to all this expedition? Well, his name is Lux Ray. The recruit was - and has proven to still be - an infiltration specialist with a slicing history that would make a Coruscanti astromech droid nervous and Death Watch's premiere hand to hand fighter. He's an assassin trained in Teras Kasi by masters in his family and from other shadow organizations across the galaxy. Each taught him fighting styles other than Teras Kasi but only after he passed his Verd'goten.
Blake and Jorr were on overwatch but Ben fell somewhere in the middle of the two. He has always preferred a blaster rifle to the heavy weapons Blake enjoyed but his WESTAR 35's always saw the most use. Blake was always fond of the phrase "There is no 'overkill.' There is only 'open fire' and 'reload.'" [1] Ben though... back on Concordia Ben has always drilled me on the rifle until he was satisfied with my shooting, which isn't very often - I always took to Lux's lessons better after all.
Then there was Maz, Maz taught me how to shoot blaster pistols while on the move, in the air, on my back, crouched, probe and in ways I didn't know existed. He was the man who taught me to always press an advantage, how to use my armor to it's fullest for defense and offense, and was my overall combat trainer. While Blake and Jorr have their own creeds Ben has his own motto that he starts every lesson with "an offensive not taken is a battle lost, a battle lost is a war set on the path to defeat. We are Mandalorians, we are never defeated," and all that training is currently keeping me alive.
Blaster fire mixes with jetpack blasts ring through the temple complex as I fight against whatever this thing is. The beast is canine with glowing red eyes with malice almost dripping off of them. I thought I had managed to find a semi-safe area to hunker down in with this Temple thankfully I didn't have to use too much of my Jetpack's fuel cell in the trip here or else I'd be a little bit more than Bantha Fodder right now. The Temple looked to be a rather small complex, barely ten meters high, but I couldn't have been more wrong. The Temple entrance was a large, cavernous hanger but there was a staircase that opened when I walked by it but that forced the entrance to slam shut. Cursing, I realize there's no place to go but down. Activating my helmet's infrared and ultraviolet scanners, I start my way down the stairs with a slugthrower in my left hand and one of my blasters in the other.
I marched down the stairs for hours and hours on end but they seem to never. Fucking. End. I almost stopped to turn around to take off back up the stairs when they finally leveled off. The small room I end up in is nothing impressive, probably three meters by three meters but with an incredibly intricate door on the other side. I cautiously push the door open and step through with my blaster raised.
When the first growl sounded off in the catacomb I was instantly ready with my blaster. Pulling the trigger in the direction of the sound, I dove off to the side leading me to where I'm at now. Thankfully I managed to dive behind a barrier, with a quick breath I pray that there is only one of the damnable things in here with me, the only glimpse of the thing I got were the eyes and its body shape.
Breathing heavily, I peer around my cover to see if there are any more of those things that are making me the prey. I almost relax but my senses scream at me to move, I blast off out of place I was standing in just in time to watch one of those things slam into the spot I was just standing in. I land on my feet with one thought running through my head: 'Oh, Rancor shit… that's a big dog.'
I finally got my first good look at the beast, thank the ancestors that there's only one, trying to make me dinner. The thing has six legs, glowing red eyes, mangy black fur, and too many teeth to count.
"You're one ugly mutt aren't you?" I raise my Enforcer pistol and fire off a round directly into the thing's forehead as it leapt toward me - it didn't even get a foot away from where it was before it died.
I holster the slugthrower and the blaster, scanning the room for anything that could make an effective camp. But I need light first, 'where are the light pannels in here? I know there have to be some somewhere… may have to use my flame thrower.'
I scan the walls around the room before giving up and unleashing a salvo of fire on the thing's corpse, my air filtration unit working overtime to keep the smell out but thankfully I have some light now. I nearly relax until I hear a voice call out to me.
"Your approach to slaying the creature was uncivilized… yet effective, Mandalorian," the voice is masked by a modulator but it comes from behind me, I whirl around with my blasters ready to fire on whoever's down here with me until I see that the voice didn't come from a who but a what. A glowing purple figure with a black cloak covering its entire body, with random plates of armor across the figure's chest and arms, with an antique Neo-Crusader helmet covering the figure's face.
"Who are you?" I reholster my weapons, whatever this is it isn't alive - obviously enough - so blasters aren't exactly necessary, well... more like they'd be completely ineffective.
"I have gone by many names, but - in my time - most called me Revan."
My blood freezes in my veins, "Revan? The Butcher of Mandalore?"
"Yes."
"Why are you here?" I growl at the apparition.
"You are standing in my grave, adiik. The Force guided you here," I scoff internally at that, "as to why? I do not know. Perhaps it is penance for my sins or perhaps an opportunity for you to learn, maybe both. The Force is strong with you, though you will never be a Jedi, no… your emotions are too powerful for that already. You would become a powerful Sith, young Mandalorian, yes… I can see it now. You would crush the Galaxy under your heel. The greatest Jedi slayer since Mand'alor the Avenger with the strength of Emporer Valkorian himself - you would be great, strong in the dark side indeed."
"But I would be hated," Revan doesn't move, so I continue on, "Valkorian may not be remembered by most of the galaxy but Mandalore knows the truth, but you? We respected your strength but hated what you did to us, although we know you tried to reunite our clans under a Mand'alor once more. As for a Jedi-slayer? The Jedi are beloved amongst the people now if I were to kill them I would be looked down on by the entire galaxy. I will hear what you must say, Revan, but say it quickly."
"I see you are true to your home and to your customs, I will guide you in the Force even though our time be short. When you are finished here, you must go to Korriban. Find the Tomb of Tulak Hord, he shall teach you the way of the blade but you must prove your strength. You will need to be strong in spirit and in your convictions to face the dread lord."
"Oh, my dear Revan," a new, female voice called out in basic, "we both know that Hord won't train the boy, even alive he refused to teach any apprentices… no, he'll have to strip the memories from Hord himself and I can teach him how," said the red-tinted ghost of a stunningly beautiful blonde woman, she's one of the most attractive women I'd ever seen but her eyes... her eyes are the most terrifying feature she has. They're a pulsating, ominous yellow ringed by a throbbing red that seems to exude menace and something else unidentifiable.
"Kallig Nox, I can not say it is a pleasure to see you once more."
"Revan, Revan... you disappoint me," the woman says to the figure who did not even turn to look at her, "You know my name is Darth Nox, I earned that name after all," she traces her ghostly finger down the side of the butcher's mask in a slow, sensual manner that leaves me just a bit unsettled but also wanting to see more.
"Nox, you're making the boy uncomfortable," another voice calls out but from behind me this time, "and I know you speak the warrior's tongue, heir of Tulak Hord, speak it among the sons of Mandalore."
A blue ghost appears at my side, a cape covering his beskar armor and helmet bearing my crest, the Shriek-Hawk of House Vizsla.
"Tarre, always the one to ruin my fun aren't you?"
"Someone has to, my dear Kallig."
"Be silent. We are not here for ourselves, we are here to guide the boy, are we not?" Revan interrupts the two but I bearly hear them - this is the legendary Jedi Knight of Mandalore?
"Yes, we are," Tarre says in his rich baritone.
"Well, I do suppose so," the woman pouts, genuinely pouts before her lips quirk into a predator's smile. Revan steps forward and slowly sinks into a cross-legged position on the floor between Darth Nox and Knight Vizsla who join Revan in similar positions. I cautiously join them but never let my guard down.
"Listen well, padawan," says Tarre.
"For we have much to teach but not long to do so," says Nox.
"For you to become the Mandalorian you wish to be, neither the dark nor the light can win within you," says Revan.
"Listen and know, Perseus Vizsla, the code of the Jedi, the Knights of the light," says Tarre.
"The code of the Sith, the Lords of the dark," says Nox.
"The code of the ancient Je'daii, Guardians of the balance," says Revan, followed immediately by Tarre's soothing baritone.
"There is no emotion, there is Peace. There is no Ignorance, there is Knowledge. There is no Passion, there is Serenity. There is no Chaos, there is Harmony. There is no Death, there is the Force."
I feel myself frown even as Nox starts her code in a tone created to sway masses or incite riots,
"Peace is a Lie, there is only Passion. Through Passion, I gain Strength. Through Strength, I gain Power. Through Power, I gain Victory. Through Victory, my Chains are Broken. The Force shall free me."
I must admit, the code is tempting. A code that would ensnare even my people since to a true Mandalorian Peace is a Lie. The Jedi code preaches enlightenment while the Sith's promises freedom. The Jedi code would to most sound like slavery, to the Force or to the Jedi order itself but that's not quite true is it? The Jedi code preaches peace and enlightenment but at the cost of cutting yourself off from your emotions, from your humanity. 'No wonder the Jedi hated the Crusaders, they violated almost every single tenant of their code.'
The Sith code is far more dangerous but aligns with the Mandalorians much better. It preaches freedom but freedom of your emotions. And to me, that's the most terrifying concept I have ever heard. The dark side of the Force is supposed to feed on emotions, amplify them even. If a force-sensitive were to give in to their emotions completely? They would be a slave to the Force, to their worst impulses.
And they would be a menace to the Galaxy.
The Mandalorians that fought with the Sith never had an issue giving into their rage on the battlefield, they didn't have the Force making them superpowered psychopaths. Revan doesn't give me any more time to ponder the meanings of either code further, though, as the final code is given.
"There is no Ignorance, there is Knowledge. There is no Fear, there is Power. I am the Heart of the Force. I am the Revealing Fire of Light. I am the Mystery of Darkness. In Balance with Chaos and Harmony, Immortal in the Force," the purple ghost's visor flashes purple in time with Tarre's pulsing a deep blue and Nox's eyes change from yellow to a dark crimson for a beat.
My breathing stops, the air thickens as something presses on my mind almost like there's a presence flooding through the temple and my mind. It's mind-boggling. It's… right? 'What is this?'
"You feel it, Mandalorian," Revan asks in a calm, quiet voice but the words aren't a question.
"The power," says Nox.
"The peace," says Tarre.
"The heart of worlds, this… this is the Force. Be one with it but do not…" Revan falls silent while Nox's face, the only one visible, goes from an arrogant expression to one of confusion for a few seconds until she shatters the silence with a gasp.
"Your connection to the Force is blinding… Yet it is not of you and you are not of it… What are you?" a troubled Nox whispers as her eyes slide shut leaving me just as confused as her.
"He does not know the answers to the questions you seek, I sense his confusion. Open your senses, Kallig, and you shall see this as well," Tarre says in his soothing baritone.
"You are wrong, Tarre," Revan almost whispers, "it is deep in his mind, the memories of Childhood that he does not know he remembers… Open your mind, Mandalorian, together we shall discover this mystery that plagues you. The Force itself wills it."
I take a breath, trying to recreate the concentration I can usually only find behind a rifle. This time though, instead of the target or the blaster itself, I focus on the darkness and the darkness alone.
"Good Percy… Good," Tarre's voice whispers in my mind.
I feel… something press against my mind, followed by another, and another. In my mind, I see Tarre, Nox, and Revan standing in the blackness alongside me.
"This is… not what I expected…"
"Nor I, Kallig," Tarre says.
"Nor should you have," the voice of the Legion rings through my head like a bell.
"Who are you?" The three ancients ask in unison while reaching down to where their lightsabers would be.
"It matters not for my names are many…However, great-grandfather may suffice for you - Mr. Jackson."
Wait. What?
"You're talking about me?" my mind (inside my mind?) works furiously as I try to figure out just what the hell is going on.
"I am. Your name was Perseus Jackson and your grandfather made a mistake in regards to you…" the face of an old man promising to take me away, the face of another man, a question, falling… "I see you remember Kronos, but do you remember what came before?"
"I… there was a man?" my brows furrow underneath my helmet.
"And a flash of light, perhaps?"
Blue and green, the color of… of water?
"Indeed. That light was your father's gift to you, your inheritance if you would. But do you remember your grandfather's final will?"
Perseus Jackson, I name thee my heir. Should I fade, you shall take the lordship of Time. So I say, so it must be.
"Yes… Kallig Nox was correct, you are not of the Force and the Force is not of you. This Galaxy is the Nexus of the Force, but the Force is not truly omnipresent for all time and it is not omnipotent for all the Universe."
"He is not of this Galaxy," Revan whispers.
"No, he is not. He is of a world that has yet to be born, a place that shall die long before the light of her star touches where this galaxy's ashes lie. He is of a people born of the Force," Kallig's eyes bug out but mine are just as large.
"He's of the Celestials?" Tarre whispers as he falls to his knees.
"If only it were that simple, my dear child. Perseus' people come after the Celestials albeit with the power to manipulate their world in ways the Celestials could only hope to do. They are my own children, my own creation. I wished to create a world of power, a world that makes the Force's power seem a simple plaything, for what is the ability to move mountains when a single being can rock the planet itself with a thought?"
The remaining two Force-sensitives fall to their knees.
"There is a world full of such beings?" Tarre whispers with horror in his voice.
"Is it possible to learn this power?" asks Kallig, already coveting such a power - not remembering she is a simple ghost.
"Nay, Perseus will develop the power to shake the ground on which he walks but he will not be able to tear planets apart stone from stone. No, his power is over water itself."
Knowledge floods through my head, dropping me into a kneeling position - my hand coming up to clutch my forehead through my helmet. Memories that I never lived flood through my mind: an equine-man hybrid with a stick and string slung over his bare chest and shoulder, a fresher exploding water into a beady-eyed girl's face, a canine even larger than the one I fought earlier, a small river healing me… Crashing into a river from hundreds of meters in the air but surviving, breathing and staying dry in the filthy water… the memories speed up until they're nothing but a blur, a volcano exploding underneath me but living to tell the tale, a storm whirling around me, an ice sheet exploding under my feet, fire and glass surrounding me with an army ahead.
"Behold, the destiny of another life, another reality. A reality where your father's abilities within you were able to grow to new heights. This knowledge shall serve you well as I can help you no more. Lady Revan, I place my progeny into your hands."
Lady Revan? I turn to the infamous figure as she sighs deeply, "Yes, I am a woman. Are you disappointed youngling?"
"No, you know Mandalorians do not judge by gender but by acts. I am simply surprised, not disappointed."
"Excellent," the three masters rise to their feet surrounding me before I can blink. Revan before me, Tarre behind on the right with Kallig completing the triangle.
"Reach out with your senses, Perseus," I close my eyes, confused. 'I'm not a Jedi, what do they expect me to feel?'
"Darkness," said Nox.
"Light," said Tarre.
"Death."
"Life."
"The beauty of Life."
"The inevitability of Death."
"Peace among us."
"War on the horizon."
"Overwhelming Light."
"Dying Darkness."
"The Balance has been disrupted by the Jedi, but they will come to their own end as the Force demands that the Jedi Order is to fall. There's a crossroad approaching, do you feel it?" Revan asks me even as the darkness of my mind splits in half, one to grey the other to darkness, "the day of the Jedi is at its end. If the Jedi are to survive they will need to transform."
"And I shall be with you to see it through, clan of my clan."
"As shall I," Kallig Nox's sensual voice wavered in my ears.
"Balance has always been my goal. I will be with you, Perseus Vizsla, I will be with you in Truth, Mind, and Heart. Who you were matters not, only who you are and who you shall become."
My eyes snap open to the sight of the temple glowing purple, red, and blue lights circling around me. The lights intensify as Revan's, Tarre's, and Kallig's voice ring out a chant in a language I had never heard before anywhere in this galaxy or my old one.
The rotations intensify as the lights merge into a haze of purple while the blue and red merge into Revan's purple. I gasp as the purple light congeals into a dome around me, washing out the stonework of the inner temple I can't help but take off my helmet at the sheer feeling surrounding me in that instant.
"Perseus Vizsla, warrior of Mandalore, you are the Wayfinder. You shall blaze a path unto the dawn, a brighter future! Son of Mandalore, May the Force be with you."
The light washes over me and I knew no more.
AN: [1] From 'The Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries' rules 37 & 64.
As for Revan, Valkorian, and any Old Republic references, please know that I have not played Knights of the Old Republic or Star Wars the Old Republic and that my information comes from YouTube, Wookieepedia, and the Fandom sites for the Old Republic.
All mando'a phrases come from Wookieepedia or the online Mando'a dictionary.
964 After the Ruusan Reformation is equal to 36 BBY. I'll use Ruusan Reformation until the Battle of Yavin like characters in Canon would.
Oh, and the Corellian Bounty hunter isn't Solo or Solo Sr, just a bit of shameless fan service :)
Update: 2/1/2020 – Clarity.
