Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or Dragon Age.
Some info this chapter on what's happening in the republic, and some focus on Daylen's situation in the last half.
Now this Old Republic is a mixed timeline, it uses some characters from the different eras, so that's why we're seeing Army of Light era characters in the same timeline as Knights of the Old republic.
Dragon Wars: The Force of Others
Episode 22: Those who fall
It had stood for a thousand years, the galactic republic, a beacon of democracy, progress and unity between different systems. Progress though didn't always translate well, technology and science were not the only ways to advance. Coruscant was a marvel in that it was a singular city spread across an entire planet. But the only sources of its original life was the murky mountainous regions, no greenery, no grass or trees or oceans. Meetra Surik saw a great tragedy in that, just as she saw a tragedy in the number of senate seats empty. Once, the senate building had been filled with the chairs and voices of thousands of worlds. Now, its floating platforms had under a hundred seats, a sign of the dying times of the republic.
Meetra sat in the darkest corner of the senate building, watching the event of the day. A tribunal concerning the Supreme Chancellor's disarmament bill. The former Jedi Exile and reformer of the order was a middle aged woman, her once blonde hair had silver streaks in it. Traditional Jedi robes covered a body toned and scarred by combat, despite her age, even without the aid of the force she was still a great light sabre combatant. But her days as a military leader were over, at least she tried her best to ensure they were. To her flank, further in the shadows was one of her former apprentices, and member of the new council. Visas Marr's veil marked her as a Mirakulan. Also present of the council was the Vurk master Coleman Trebor, and the Quermian Yarael Poof.
"People of the senate, I present to you Admiral Carth Onasi!"
The speaker's announcement was followed by a singular platform floating towards the main podium. On it was the lone figure, the famous war hero. Carth looked the part, his uniform was neat and it had his multitude of medals on it. His greying beard and tired eyes showed he was like Meetra, a product of the war. Yet here he stood, and Meetra could sense the defiance resonating from him. In the years since the reformation of the Jedi order, its splintering (again) and the scattering of the republic, the republic navy and military had been overworked, underfunded and underappreciated. Carth stood in support of those living crippled without benefits, those whom had lost their homes and family, their sanity, yet had remained steadfastly loyal to the republic and the constitution.
"Thank you for coming admiral," said Gaian Valorum, Supreme Chancellor of the republic.
A human made with a clean shaven and aged face, he wore a black and gold uniform but lacked the build of a military man. He was flanked by human advisors, showing how the republic had fallen on some troubled times. Meetra remembered days when the 'trio' on the main podium consisted of members of different species.
"Ordinarily I would be managing the fleet, or overseeing operations in the border systems, both separatist groups have unmassed military forces, fleets, yet every day factories once known for producing war ships instead produce luxury liners, recruitment offices repurposed into education facilities, training camps into public parks," Carth explained. "It looks like progress from a distance," he muttered. "But there is progress and there is sacrifice, and the republic is sacrificing its own safety, disregarding the lives of so many whom have truly sacrificed for the republic."
His voice showed strength, and there were many voices whom agreed. But there were just as many whom remained silent. Valorum looked down at Carth, and Meetra could see the sympathy and understanding in his eyes.
"You have served the republic for many years Admiral Onasi, many would not be here if not for your sacrifice," he said.
"Debatable," said the Corellian senator.
"Yes, wasn't it Carth Onasi whom assisted Darth Revan in retaking the Star Forge, resulting in the deaths of Admiral Dodonna and Jedi Master Vandar?" asked the Duros senator.
"Admiral Onasi was betrayed, just as the republic itself was betrayed. Revan was not a true sith, but a pretender, drunk on the independence and respect he had gained from the Mandalorian war. The Starforge has disappeared, lost to the dark rim," Valorum explained.
"IT COULD STILL COME BACK!" the Shistavanen senator snarled.
"He's right, disarming ourselves is foolhardy, several of our people's migrant groups have gone missing, taken by slavers," the Twi'lek senator said.
"Your nomads knew the risks of exploring the outer rim, they only have themselves to blame!"
"What of the Jedi, what are they doing?"
"We're tired of the fighting, of the wars!"
"ORDER!" one of Valorum's aides yelled.
"Senate, please, I beseech you," Carth began, leaning against his podium. "Revan disappeared, yet his influence remains, raiders in the neutral zone, abductors in the outer rim, and on the borders of the unknown regions my ships have been hit by former Sith vessels. Reports across our territories indicate that a number of the abducted are force sensitive children, being groomed as we speak by former Korriban academy head Uthar Wynn, whom Revan secretly recruited into his service when he sought the Star map.
"Those raiders in the neutral zone are trying to provoke a war between us and the independent systems, and they are succeeding, we've barely prevented incidents in the past few cycles. The raiders are growing in numbers, if we disband our armies to appease the independent systems, we'll leave ourselves vulnerable to the raiders. The Jedi are not what they once were, they cannot protect us," Carth explained.
The chamber grew silent and Meetra saw the look of hope in Carth's eyes. He looked across each platform, measuring the doubt in each representative's eyes. As a gunslinger and a pilot, he had an eye for details as well as spatial awareness beyond the average person. In another life, Meetra pictured Carth being a Jedi. But his life was that of a military leader, desperately trying to ensure that the organisation he had dedicated his life to kept on going. In some ways, it made them quite alike.
"I appreciate the Admiral's stance, as well as his belief in keeping our borders defended, the supposed empire has its army of darkness, the separatists their droid army and the outer rim has its army of light. We must begin the preparation of an army of our own, the clone masters could build us such an army but it would result in a depression that would leave our people struggling," Valorum explained.
"Sir, at this point it would be irresponsible not to prepare ourselves for war," Carth said. "My experience with Revan taught me that one must never drop their guard, even if things seem fine!"
Meetra widened her eyes slightly, she sensed it in Carth. He truly had been betrayed by Revan. That man had considered the fallen Jedi to be a true friend. That made Revan's fall, the choice he made on that world even more tragic.
Naboo
Gold fighters in space, droids and armoured warriors on the fields. The force had always been strong with the people of Naboo. They maintained that perfect link with nature and technology, their cities never polluting the land and their economy prospering through their trade of their plasma and their link with the trade federation. A single system that could rival the republic, some called it. Through maintaining its military might, and encouraging tutelage of the force, it had become the 'ideal place'. The people of Naboo began to suspect that this place they lived in, if their king made the right choices, could become the next great empire. The Eternal Empire!
Cortosis and Beskarr were some of the toughest materials in the galaxy, capable of withstanding the plasma from a light sabre. But though the would be conquerors made their weapons to withstand the Jedi weapons, they lacked the duelling skills to adequately fight. Two brothers cut a path through the enemy army, all of them lacking any uniform to their clothes. One was the brother of light, the other, the brother of darkness. In perfect balance and synch they fought, the white garbed one slashing with his yellow sabre, his black garbed brother doing the same. Behind them, the royal red and black guards cut through with their force pikes and double bladed staves. They were some of the best melee fighters in the galaxy, and though they weren't considered Jedi, they had training in how to use the force.
Coming up behind the squad of red was the gold armoured BX series Battle droids and the human military. Men and women in red leather over yellow or blue robes. Prides of the alliance between the Naboo system and the confederacy of independent systems. The brothers cut through the warriors on the ground, whilst the gold and white Naboo fighters decimated the enemy ships. One fighter in particular weaved through the other fighters, shooting down one craft after another, launching photon torpedoes into the bridge of a command ship.
It was the sight shown to Lord Hoth and his lieutenants Valenthyne Farfalla and Pernicar. Lord Hoth stood taller than them, clad in an ornate chest plate, a blue cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He was a big man, his grizzled, bearded face reflecting his years of fighting experience, through the Mandalorian wars, the Jedi Civil War and the first Jedi purge and later reformation. Farfalla was a human and Bothan hybrid, his upper body and face that of a handsome, well kept human and his lower body a set of furry, cloven hooves. He dressed in fine armour and robes, much more elaborate than what Hoth wore. Even his hair was decorated with a jewelled circlet. Pernicar stood as the opposite to him, a human man as old as Hoth, dressed in simplistic brown robes, less like a Jedi and more like a priest.
In front of the three men, producing the holographic recording was a short man in a black robe with a high collar. His pale face and ginger hair were partly covered by the hood he wore. He was flanked by five people in red armour and robes, their bladed pikes held at ease. The diminutive man held a pose of confidence and dignity, putting the holographic emitter back in his pocket.
"There you see, our borders were breached, but we managed to drive them back," the man said.
"Tell me Prime Minister, how much blood stained the field of Naboo this time?" Hoth demanded.
"An unfortunate amount, but a massacre was not our desire!"
"Unlike the Gungans!"
"That is a part of our history we want to forget, even redeem ourselves for, it was the choices of a king that reigned a hundred years ago, a xenophobe who wanted every inch of Naboo for himself."
"But you can't deny Prime Minister that because of the genocide of the native people and the prioritisation of Naboo's military, you have become a system that even beat back the Sith invasion," Farfalla explained.
"True we did, but because of our unwillingness to compromise, we have been one of the few systems that the Chancellor has petitioned to have kicked from the republic," the man explained.
"There are concerns," Pernicar said.
"No one will forgive your people for the genocide of another," Hoth snarled.
The Prime Minister grit his teeth for a moment.
"Tell me lord Hoth, did you not recently state that across the galaxy, there were pockets of Sith and Rakatan colonies, the last survivors of their species. And did you not declare your intent to wipe them out. In fact, did you not go to the system of the former Star Forge, and attack the Rakatan tribes on the planet below?" he asked.
"The Rakatans are no better than animals, slaves to the dark side of the force, death is their only release and the Sith, they too must be wiped from existence so that the dark side can truly be eliminated," Hoth explained.
The Prime Minister squeezed his hand into a fist and looked away from Hoth.
"In this age where dark Jedi and crime bosses fancy themselves as war lords, it makes sense for independent systems to ally, hence our alliance with the confederacy. Tyrannus Dooku has been instrumental in the formation of a parliament, smaller than the republic senate, but voices are being heard, reforms are being made," he explained.
"Do you intend to form a New Republic?" Pernicar asked.
"The republic is dying, not from some threat from the outer rim, or a renegade Jedi, or some Sith artefact or plot, it is falling to ruin because of politics, politics done not in the best interest of the people. I like to think that despite our opposing beliefs, we want what is best for our people, for the galaxy as a whole," the Prime Minister explained.
"So you believe the old must be replaced by the new?" Hoth asked.
"Call it replaced if you want, but certain compromises must be made in order to improve a galaxy that stands on the precipice of ruin," the Prime Minister said.
"Compromise, there will be no compromise, the Army of light will protect all, find the evil that has corrupted this world and destroy it, if anyone gets in our way then they are our enemies. There is a darkness in Naboo Prime minister, bring it to heel, or we'll do it for you," Hoth explained.
The three Jedi turned and walked away from the Prime Minister, who looked up at the stars and smirked. For he knew that the darkness was closer than the army of light thought.
Closer, and far away, for on Korvis business continued for Torvan. He signed off on the import of many of his slaves, many he had bought to sell at a different price. In the sands of the slave pens, he watched his droid guard drag children away from their parents. Those parents whom fought were repaid with shock stick burns and bruises from metallic fists.
"Please, please don't take them, PLEASE!" Torvan covered his ears to blot out the shrieks of one mother, she had twins and apparently had lost two more children to the Crimson Dawn slavers.
So she was an extremely fertile woman, Torvan knew of Cerean and Theelin breeders whom would be interested in bidding. He'd part with some labourers, but his client was paying a high price for the children. Torvan always oversaw the transfer of his slaves, apparently the state of the children didn't matter but he wanted to see what he was parting with. Boys and girls, the demand was human, which meant the alien ones could be raised as servants for his house. Or the houses of other buyers.
'Make up your mind Torvan,' he chided himself.
It was a delicate business, and he had gotten a lot of competitors lately. As the droids took slaves from their cells, Number 13 sat against the wall, arms resting on his knees. His eyes were set on the ground, trying to ignore the duo of blue ghostly figures that stood either side of him.
"Disgusting, are you seriously going to watch this Amell?" said Mhairi, the Ferelden knight clad in her winged helm and heavy chainmail.
"He can't do a thing, as tragic as this is he'd only endanger those children by charging in," said Aedan Cousland, arms crossed over the Grey Warden scout armour he wore.
The dead heir of the former rulers of Highever huffed, looking away from the sight of slaves and down at Daylen. This time Daylen was looking ahead.
"Don't be a fool, what do you think is going to happen? You destroy those droids, rally the slaves and beat back the masters, you don't know a thing about this galaxy," Cousland explained.
"So he should do nothing?" Mhairi demanded.
"I'm not saying that at all, but he needs to be smart, smarter than he was before, what's the point of winning a battle if you lose half of your forces doing it?"
The ghosts faded as droids marched into Daylen's cell. He stood on their order and followed the other fighting fit slaves into the training pens. Looking at the wooden sword he was given, his eyes narrowed for a moment.
"I wouldn't," Soris said, patting Daylen's shoulder.
"I don't know, maybe he could if he hits them hard enough," Kinnon said.
The elf and mage exchanged looks as Daylen walked into the training area. The slaves were surrounded by high walls, fortified by electrified fencing and floating remotes. Both ghosts shook their heads and disappeared. The Twi'lek given the designation fourteen was partnered with Daylen. Whilst Daylen had been given a wooden sword, the Twi'lek had a type of edged staff, to mimic a Vibro-double blade.
"BEGIN!" Maximus yelled.
Those gathered listened to the drums, the crack of Maximus's whip and fought one another. He walked amongst the recruits and shouted out orders to adjust footing, their grips on their weapons. As much as the Mandalorian kept them in line, he also taught them how to fight with melee weapons.
"Forget all you know about blasters, in the arena such weapons offer no entertainment. Sword, axe, shock stick, spear, these are the weapons you will use in the arena. You will learn to block and dodge, or turn a cut into an advantage, or you will perish as nothing more than a five second thrill for the mob," Maximus explained.
Torvan stood at a balcony, watching the recruits. He spotted a Trandoshan handling a club well, a Mon Calamari adjusting to a wood trident (go figure, he thought) and a Nikto and Twi'lek evenly matched with swords. There were a few he knew he could turn into the next great contenders for the role of arena champion. Some however would only be good for dying, as he thought this he focused on Fourteen and Thirteen. Fourteen had his weapon at the ready, but Thirteen had yet to strike, or even so much as raise his sword. Maximus took notice of this and approached the duo, two droids at his side.
"Attack him Fourteen," Maximus commanded.
Fourteen looked nervously at the human slave, striking his arm. If it had been hard enough to hurt, then Daylen remained silent.
"Harder," Maximus said.
Again Fourteen struck Daylen's arm, with more force this time, leaving a red mark on his skin. But it still wasn't satisfying to Maximus, whom wanted a reaction from Daylen. The second strike was enough to make Daylen step to the side, forced to by the strength of the blow.
"Again," Maximus said.
Fourteen apologetically struck Daylen's cheek, moving his head from the force of it. But Daylen still stood, eyes empty, the grip on his weapon weak. He made Torvan shake his head when he cast the sword aside. Maximus unravelled his whip and gestured to Daylen's sword.
"Pick it up, or there will be pain," he said.
But Daylen ignored him, drawing a smirk from Torvan.
"Very well," Maximus electrified the whip and swung it.
It swiped across Fourteen's back, drawing a scream from the Twi'lek. The other pilgrims looked towards the torture, some glaring at Maximus, others glaring at Daylen. Daylen's eyes trembled, his knees shuffling. Maximus struck the Twi'lek again and again, looking at Daylen as he did it. It was as if the Mandalorian was saying 'this is your fault'.
"Damn it boy, pick up the weapon and do as he says, just for now," Knight-Commander Greagoir snarled at Daylen.
"PLEASE NO MORE!" Fourteen yelled.
Maximus brought the whip down again and Daylen took a step forward. He ran in front of the Twi'lek, brought his arms together and shielded him, leaving a bruise on his wrists. Daylen stood firm as Maximus struck him three times, and even more resolute when four more furious strikes hit his shoulders and legs.
'Like a shield he stands,' Torvan thought, leaning over the balcony and watching Daylen closely.
Maximus wrapped the whip around Daylen, trapping his arms. He brought the slave to his knees, surging electricity through his body. Daylen yelled defiantly, roared like an animal against the crackle of lightning. An element that lit up his eyes and sparked across the sand. He forced himself to stand, taking slow and aggressive steps towards Maximus. Both Torvan and the Mandalorian raised their eyebrows in shock. They both smiled though for very different reasons. Maximus twisted the whip, unwrapping it from Daylen. Then he delivered a hard kick to Daylen's chin. His lower right first molar struck the ground at the same time as his body, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.
"Perhaps there is a fighter in you after all, and something more," Maximus mused, wrapping the whip around his arm.
'Such strength, in his eyes, in his stance, yes we definitely have someone formidable for the arena, with the right training,' Torvan thought.
"Rest for now, cherish the food and water you're given, for before this day is done you will each run the gauntlet," Maximus said.
Serving droids came into the practice area. They began giving out bowls of some kind of slop. The tired and broken slaves were too hungry to question what it was. Daylen knelt by Fourteen's side, only for a group of Twi'lek's to push him aside. They uttered what he presumed was a curse in their native language. Seeing that the man would be well cared for, Daylen walked to his cell and sat as he had earlier.
"You might want to take this opportunity to make some friends," Niall said to him.
Petra leant against the wall closest to the door and rolled her eyes.
"You summoned a little bit of lightning, next time you might want to go with fire," Jowan said, pacing around the cell.
"No not fire you idiot, that spreads, and lightning can get drawn to conductors," Petra said.
"You haven't seen Daylen use fire at his full potential Petra."
"I don't think magic is something you'll want to show off yet, plus there is the issue of mana, it can be very slow to recover without a potion," Niall explained.
"So no buffing spells," Jowan suggested.
"It won't change anything, he'll still drain his mana," Petra said.
"Oh, new friends," Niall clapped his hands before the mage trio faded.
They did this just as a blue skinned Twi'lek came in, three other Twi'lek's at his side.
"So, the human thinks he's too good to train?" the Twi'lek asked.
"This isn't the first time one of our own suffered for a human," said one of the others.
"Renton could have died because of him," the third one said.
The leader kicked at Daylen's hips, and the other two forced Daylen to stand. Two punched him across the face and stomach, and Daylen saw the fury in the blue skinned Twi'lek's eyes.
"That's enough," an authoritative voice spoke behind them.
They looked towards an orange skinned Twi'lek.
"Leave him be Saylew," the man said.
"Moorint, because of this man..."
"Look at where we are," the Twi'lek elder spoke plainly and severely. "We cannot be perfect, nor can we be foolish, this man at least tried to be the former, he took the hardest strikes for Renton. This is not what the Matriarch or your wife would have wanted."
"My wife is dead because Ranna led us to this, she is as much responsible for us being here as the slavers. I hope they rape her..." Saylew let out a yell as Daylen's head slammed into his.
"Don't you ever..." he seethed.
"So the human can talk," Saylew spat blood onto the sand, raising his fist.
"Enough!" another voice rang out.
They looked towards one of the pillars. A hunched man was standing there, his beard and part of his face the only thing visible from the ragged robes and hood he wore. He kept his hands half raised, fingers tense as he walked towards them.
"Take it from a man whom has survived his share of arenas, do not be eager to make enemies of one another, and he is also right, what you wish for on your Matriarch is not something that should be wished on anyone," the human man explained.
"Your wife would be ashamed if she heard you say such things," Moorint said.
"Damn you both," Saylew and his friends let go of Daylen, letting him fall back into a sitting position.
Moorint looked down at Daylen as the other Twi'lek's left. He mouthed a thank you and followed them, leaving Daylen with the elder, seemingly crippled human.
"Having fought in the arena before, I see in you perhaps what Maximus saw today. A man with a broken spirit in need of repair, a man whose spirit was once strong. But if fixed, perhaps," the man groaned as he sat beside Daylen. "Perhaps my boy, your fighting spirit will be stronger than ever. Numbers are all we have, but occasionally we prove worthy of a name, Vim Arena is mine, simplistic I know but suited for one whom buries the dead of the arena."
"I'm no one, from nowhere!" Daylen muttered.
Vim shook his head in disappointment, rising with a creak of his knees.
"Perhaps, perhaps," he whispered, smirking as he walked away.
"Is that it?" another voice asked Daylen.
He couldn't look at the ghost, didn't want to look at the ghost. A delicate hand touched his chin, forcing him to look up at the pale form of a red haired elf mage.
"Don't let this be the end Daylen," she said.
Training continued, Daylen serving as one part training dummy, another part example for Maximus to make of the other slaves. Torvan made arrangements, and surgeon droids arrived with what he needed to repair his broken merchandise. Or at least patch up acceptably for the matches they would soon have. The sound of surgical instruments filled the house as Torvan's droids took in slaves with amputated limbs and brought out new men and women, some literally rearmed. Daylen was one such, dragged bruised and uncaring to the gurney. The droid carrying out the surgery moved a syringe towards Daylen's neck, only for Maximus to grab it.
"No anaesthesia for this one," he said.
The droid didn't ask Daylen, likewise Daylen didn't object. His yells of agony echoed out of the house, drawing the attention of every slave. As the process continued, Daylen's cried became less painful and more defiant. When he passed out, he as injected with adrenaline to wake him up. Maximus even moved his face to see what the droid was doing, fusing metal to his stump, inputting circuitry. Daylen was dropped into his cell unconscious, the three fingers of his new hand twitching. Maximus looked down at him, prepared to walk away and dismiss his interest. But then he saw Daylen's body tense, and both his hands form fists.
'So could there still be some fighting spirit left in him?' he wondered.
The Mandalorian walked to Torvan's office, seeing the Nikto in a fury.
"DAMN THEM!" Torvan yelled, throwing the holo communicator against the wall.
"What is it?" Maximus asked.
"Kalla the Hutt, the bitch called in a favour to the arena board, apparently we'll be receiving a visit from the emperor and a representative of the dark brotherhood," Torvan said.
"Impossible, they can't spend time in the same room without trying to kill each other," Maximus said.
"The Dark Brotherhood representative will be hidden amongst the crowd, Krayt and his entourage however will be taking the VIP seat. I knew Kalla would try to find some way to ruin my plans, once again she flaunts her success, uses it to block the path of other fortune makers," Torvan explained.
"What is her plan?" Maximus asked.
"She intends to put her champions at the forefront of the event. The final stretch will be her seven best fighters against several of the cannon fodder, and guess whose slaves have been declared fodder?"
"No," Maximus groaned.
"Indeed, it seems your efforts are wasted," Torvan shook his head and batted aside some of the papers on his desk.
"Perhaps, we'll have to see," Maximus said.
He knew Kalla the Hutt's prized team. Though he did not care to remember their names. All except one, a human by the name of Rorcha, a man who mocked the name of Mandalore by wearing the armour. He wielded two Vibro-swords in combat. His allies in the arena would be a Gamorrean axe man, two humans adept with shock sticks and a vibro blade respectively. A Quarren with a net and trident, and two human hybrids of Zabrak and Twi'lek respectively. Though Rorcha was the strongest amongst them, they all possessed considerable skill alone. Together though they were considered the deadliest team, ideal recruits for any warlord.
"Something tells me though that we will be pleasantly surprised this year," Maximus said.
"Hopefully," Torvan said. "Because I can't afford another set back!"
The suns set and Daylen looked up at a blood red moon. He looked at his new prosthetic hand, imagining the hand he had before. Ahead of him he saw instead of the dust and rock of his cell, the grand majesty of the circle tower training hall. The magic coursing through his finger tips, forming intricate shapes.
"Well done Daylen," Jowan had said.
"Keep this up and they might accept you for apprenticeship," said Niall.
"You'll at least be away from this place," Petra had crossed her arms as she spoke.
The vision faded and he shook his head, smacking the back of it against the wall in frustration.
"Why, why me? What's the point?" he muttered.
"A broken will, as I said," he heard Vim's voice.
The hooded man lingered at his cell door, grinning from ear to ear as Daylen looked away.
"Don't stop the brooding on my account boy, there's a story in you I can tell, go on tell it, I heard little of interest in this boring place," Vim touched the bars and pressed his head against the door.
"Go away," Daylen said.
"By the force a man can't have as many scars as you and not have a story to tell," Vim said.
"Shut up," Daylen seethed. "Don't talk to me about the force!"
He slammed his new fist against the wall, gritting his teeth together. Vim stepped away from the door and put his hand to his chin.
"Maybe there's some fight left in you, there will have to be for tomorrow, remember what drove you to fight before boy. Because your life will depend on it!"
As Vim walked away, Daylen lowered his head and snarled.
"Who said anything about wanting to live?" he asked.
Talon lived for her master. For he was the embodiment of their order. Walking off their drop ship, they were welcomed by the Hutt slug.
"Welcome lord emperor," she said, daring to offer her hand to Lord Krayt.
The only reply he gave was a dismissive stare.
"We have prepared your spot on the balcony, the greatest view in the arena. Today we will be offering the finest of imported foods, company if you or your people demand it, and of course entertainment," the slug ranted and raved.
She could sense that Nihl shared her desires to open the Hutt's body down the middle. The only restraint was the calm of their master. Krayt had obscured most of his body with his cloak, but Talon knew that unlike the predominant black and red that was the uniform of their forces, Krayt wore the scaled armour of the creature that was native to his home world. He was not here for entertainment, but to be on the lookout for another acolyte. Yet already Talon could sense little in the way of force potential on this dismal planet. That wasn't to say it wasn't there, but that it didn't compare to her, and certainly not her master.
The arena was spectacular, and the crowd of vicious and bored colonists of the planet roared so loudly that it shook the arena. Criminals from the deepest depths of the underworld gathered here, even officials from the republic came, and if they weren't here they recorded the events through a proxy. Krayt sat on a throne that had been set up on the VIP balcony, looking down at the first sacrifices of the arena. To Kalla's disappointment he showed little interest in the opening matches. When her champions took to the arena, they cut a bloody path that was impressive for non force sensitives. But Talon knew it didn't even wake her master from his slumber, for that was what this world had driven him to.
Daylen looked up, hearing the roar of the crowd. People blood thirsty enough to enjoy the sight of people killing each other. It was just another reminder to him of why he had been wrong about people. He'd seen good, but there was just as much evil in it as well, and he grew tired of making excuses for it. The minutes became hours and Daylen saw scared men dragged into the arena. Some were lucky enough to come out, bloodied, but relieved that they had survived. He wasn't going to judge them, they wanted to live after all. Even if it was a hopeless life.
"You are so broody, can't you try to cheer up, have a little hope, come on Day you led a rebellion," Jowan said.
"To slaughter," Daylen retorted.
"Bring forth the next fighters, sacrifices or champions, let your blades decide," said the gladiator handler.
Torvan's droids pushed Daylen's group forward, he noticed amongst them was Moorint and Saylew and his men.
"Wait," Maximus blocked their path. "This one," he pointed at Daylen.
"What? You must be joking, the people demand a spectacle, one man against Kalla's champions," the handler had disbelief in his voice.
"Think of it as drawing the event out," Maximus said.
"Is this Torvan's latest project, or yours?"
"Mine," Maximus looked at the handler with a frown.
The handler gulped, filled with fear from the Mandalorian's glance alone. He grabbed his communicator and spoke to the announcer. In the observation booth of the arena, the announcer worked. He was a Troig, a two headed humanoid, though he lacked the fourth arm most of his species had. His left head spoke basic, and his more energetic second head spoke in Huttesse.
"Loyal viewers of the arena, people and guests of Korvin, now we present to you a special treat. Brought to you by the Renal trading company, we have the champion of Torvan Renal's house. Hailing from a galaxy far, far away, allow me to introduce the mysterious, the brooding, the defiant..." he listed off some things the handler told him to say, drawing out the introduction and dramatising it.
It got the crowd worked up, eager to see what kind of monster would emerge from the gates.
"THE RED EYED STRANGER!" the announcer yelled and the gates opened.
Daylen was pushed, sword in hand past the gate. As he walked on, medical droids walked in dragging bodies behind them. One came close to him, and Daylen spotted the lifeless face of the Twi'lek he had only known as Fourteen his arms cut off and a stab wound through his neck. He walked deeper into the arena, hearing the many languages and seeing many alien faces. Species he hadn't seen in Thedas, when the monsters occupied his world. The arena shook with yells of outrage and even laughter. Clearly he disappointed them, not that he cared.
On the VIP balcony, Talon saw her master open his eyes. He leant forward on his seat and crossed his fingers together. The red skinned Twi'lek focused on the scarred human, his stance indicated someone who didn't want to fight, even as Kalla's champions surrounded him. From one of the viewing vents, Moorint and some of the other slaves watched the red eyed stranger being circled by the fighters. The Gamorrean was the first to strike, punching Daylen in the gut and drawing saliva out of his mouth. He backed away, yet still stood. Then the human with the shock stick struck Daylen's back. He stumbled forward, tripping on the Zabrak hybrids foot. Bloodied sand covered Daylen's hair and he was quickly thrown onto his feet by the Quarren. They cleared the way for their apparent leader. He was wearing sleeveless Mandalorian crusader armour, the T shaped visor marked with a few notches for kills. Fingerless gloves and gauntlets covered his hands and a cape hung off of his shoulder. He held a Vibrosword in each hand, and the applause of the crowd grew as he elbowed Daylen in the face, drawing blood from his lip.
"Entertain them," Rorcha said, kicking Daylen in the stomach and knocking him to the floor. "Entertain them stranger, for they decide your fate!"
"KILL!"
"KILL!"
"KILL!"
He heard them chant and it infuriated him, how could a world be this cruel. Then again, his world was no different.
'Why did I try to save it?' he wondered.
"The same reason anyone tries to save their home," a voice whispered in his ear.
"Well at least you're not as pathetic as that Twi'lek we cut up, he never stopped begging," Rorcha rested his swords on his shoulders, walking away from Daylen.
He nodded to the Quarren, who began to swing his net around. Daylen stood up, hearing the people crying out, demanding his death. Some sounded desperate, as if this was the only good thing in their lives. Daylen looked up at the suns and closed his eyes, soon it would end, soon he could...
"Damn it Daylen, what was the point of us dying, if you give up here?"
He stepped to the side, dodging the Quarren's net, stepping out of its range. The arena grew silent, the champions themselves shocked from the sudden quick movement by their previously easy victim. Daylen clutched his heart, listening to the pounding, the pounding of a man who wanted to live. His hand shook, holding the sword he had been given, he realised that even as he was beaten he never let it go. He stopped shaking and his eyes narrowed at the champions.
"Fuck," he growled.
The human with the shock stick ran in first. As he swung his weapon down, Daylen sliced his wrists, then his thighs, bringing him to the ground. In a blur he had stabbed his sword through the man's mouth and viciously ripped it out. Moving towards his opponents, he passed fire through his blade. With a slash, he obscured the vision of the Quarren, making him miss his thrust. Turning to dodge the swing of the Gamorrean's axe, Daylen slashed the back of his legs, throwing his sword through the Quarren's throat. He raised his hands behind his head, grabbing the Gammorean's horns. With all his strength, he pulled the pig man up and slammed the back of his neck onto his shoulder. He felt his opponent's neck break. The human with the vibro blades approached alongside the Twi'lek hybrid. With a mind blast, Daylen dazed them and rushed forward. He pulled the sword out of the Quarren's chest, grabbed his trident and threw it through the Twi'lek hybrids head. The Zabrak hybrid twirled his Vibro-double blade, parrying a few of Daylen's strikes. But Daylen was vicious and relentless, hitting fast and hard and forcing the Zabrak back until he couldn't raise his defence in time, suffering a slash to his throat and then his face. As he fell, Daylen grabbed the man's double blade and turned, throwing it at the human with the duel Vibro-blades. Though he missed it made the human stumble, giving him a chance to move in and go on the offensive. He struck the man's blades with a flurry of blows, continually crossing them together. Elbowing the man in the face, Daylen grabbed the man's blade with his new hand and ripped it from his grip. Then, holding his sword in a reverse grip, he shoved it through the man's chest before stabbing him through the mouth with his own Vibro-blade.
"I knew it," Maximus said. "Yes, there is a fighter in that man, his spirit can be repaired!"
"Finally, a man WORTH KILLING!" Rorcha screamed in delight just like the crowd.
He ran at Daylen, swords at the ready. Strike, parry, feint, both circled one another with their swords clashing. As they fought, Rorcha noticed the man's sword glow, some kind of field surrounding it. Daylen locked his sword with Rorcha's, diverted them to the floor, then above Rorcha's head. Stepping to the side, Daylen knocked Rorcha off balance and with his sword alight, sliced through Rorcha's belly. The Mandalorian widened his eyes in shock, before Daylen took his head off with a final slash. Kalla looked at her champion's helmet rolling across the sands and gulped in fear, slithering slightly away from the Dark Jedi on instinct. Krayt however leant over the balcony, looking at the young man and rubbing his chin with intrigue.
"INCREDIBLE! THAT'S IT FOLKS! YOUR NEW CHAMPION THE RED EYED STRANGER!" the announcer yelled.
Daylen took in the roar of the crowd, their sudden shift towards seemingly supporting him. He looked up when he heard clapping. Krayt clapped his hands together, looking down at Daylen and smirking. Daylen's eyes widened as he looked at the objects dangling off of Krayt's belt. A hiss echoed in his ears, the twin red beams of a light sabre appeared in his mind's eyes. His knees shook and utter fury filled him. Flames began to spark around his arm as he looked up.
"Sith," he seethed. "SITH!" he roared.
His hand swung around, flames flying from them. The arena gasped, seeing the impossible sight. The fire ball crashed into the VIP balcony. Shooting fire into the ground, Daylen launched himself towards the balcony, a mana blade beginning to form in his hand. As soon as he landed, Daylen thrust his blade through the smoke. A red beam stopped the glowing red blade, Daylen grit his teeth together, looking into the eyes of Talon. She held her light sabre in a reverse style grip, keeping Daylen's mana sword inches away from Krayt's face.
"Bastard Sith, I'LL KILL YOU ALL!" Daylen screamed, overcome completely by the rage, flames and electricity rising from his body.
There was a sudden red flash, Nihl twirling his sabre staff and stepping around to Daylen's right. An object fell to the floor and Daylen's magic faded.
He froze, looking at his hand in shock. Gone was the anger, gone was the defiance. The memories of the Sith faded, where he was faded from his mind. His eyes remained locked on the appendage on the floor, the dry skin, the bitten nails, callused knuckles.
'No, it can't be,' Daylen thought.
His hand was, Daylen looked at the stump and stepped back in horror. The familiar sound of a force technique echoed through his ears. He heard nothing else as he was suddenly thrown from the balcony, slamming into the sand beneath him.
Next Episode 23: Courtly intrigue and plans
A shocking and tragic ending, well you'll have to wait for the chapter after next to find out what happens to Daylen.
Furthering the Spartacus homages, Vim I based facial features and voice wise on Liam McIntyre, whom as well as playing the title character, also provided face model and voice work for Taron Malicos of The Fallen Order (a Star Wars game I still have yet to play :)
Next time we go back to Thedas, with a look at the Imperial occupied territories through the eyes of Dorian Pavus.