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. ((Jedi Knight OC based in Star Wars The Old Republic, other...
Maglor’s eyes slowly widened as the Jedi talked…and slowly, the pale blue became colored with horror. He looked paler than pale, shaken.
“You…saw…” His breath rattled in his thin chest as he tried to draw it in. “You saw…him.” His voice, once so melodious, now raspy with disuse, grew thin and breathy, stretched out and beaten down in abject terror. The Elf shook from head to toe, as if suffering from awful cold.
“You…have the gift of Sight…you followed the Sight of his servant, until you found…him.” He pulled in a breath, trying to steady himself, and his voice came out tremulous, ominous.
“Moringotto. Morgoth. The sower of discord…the father of lies…the origin of all evil upon this earth.” Rage rattled faintly in his tone as he clenched his fists at his sides. “My grandfather’s murderer. The architect of the slaughter of my people. He…he…”
Maglor let out a long breath, forcing it from his lungs as if it would carry with it all his fear and anxiety. He closed his eyes. His tone grew steadier. “Morgoth is exiled to the Void. The Host of the Valar came to Beleriand in the War of Wrath and destroyed all his holdings. They unearthed the pits of his fortress of Angband. The fall of his mightiest dragon crushed the dark mountains of Thangorodrim. And at last, they pulled him out of his own pits, and hewed his legs from underneath him. The pried the Silmarils from his Iron Crown, and beat the crown into a collar around his neck. They cast him into the Void. He is beyond the World, out of Time, out of any space that may hold life.”
“So…how…” The Elf chewed anxiously on his ragged nails, his old, stalwart anger turning into fear once again. “How could any servant stand before him, if none can reach him…?”
Iacho almost flinched at the sudden torrent of emotions he felt. Fear, anxiety, rage...whomever this Morgoth was, it was clear that there was very bad history involved.
He rubbed the back of his neck, thanking very carefully how to approach what was a clear sensitive topic. “Sight as you call it is a rare gift even among Force sensitives like myself...how to explain it. A pause. “The Force for us is a living energy that connects all things. Some speculate the Force itself might be...something with a will of its own.”
Iacho kept his voice calm. “You say he was...vast into the...Void? An aspect of our Force is what we call the Dark Side...it embodies dangerous and terrible things for those who carelessly draw upon it. Promise of quick and great power but at great cost to an individual. Those who often draw upon it...we know them as the Sith. They are the Jedi’s opposites...drawing on excess of emotions such as fear and hatred.” He shook his head. “They have used the Dark Side to create terrible things...and to tap into places they should not have. I suspect this Sith was using the Dark Side for some dark ritual or experiment...and clearly, he went in too deep...perhaps that is how he reached this unreachable place where this Morgoth is imprisoned.”
A shake of his head. “If this is the case...perhaps...the Force has decided to throw me here to right an imbalance, “ Iacho’s tone took on a slightly bitter bemused tone, “as it seems to be case more often then I would like to accept. Honestly, can it think of no other Jedi that can oppose a Sith...or always a Sith that decides to upend the entire table...”
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More unknown terms to him. And references that lacked context for him. The East? Perhaps this stranger was meaning natives of this world that perhaps shared similar features to his. Iacho’s sense that he was in very unfamiliar territory was deepening. Best to lay out the truth? Yes, it would prevent further confusion on both their parts.
Iacho folded his hands behind him, spread his feet slightly, and took an alert but relaxed stance he had picked up from serving alongside Republic soldiers.
“No, I am afraid I do not know what an Easterling is, nor this…East you talk about. As for where I was born.”
The Jedi hesitated. Truth be told, he knew very little of his origins. The Order had told him he had been found as an infant among the ruins of a colony that had been devastated…and supposedly he was the only survivor they found. It would be years later that he would find out what really happened. But that was irrelevant here.
“I was…born very far away from here. I’m not sure how to tell you this but…,” Iacho’s instincts prodded him along, “I believe I am from very far away…I am not a native to this…Arda you call home.”
Maglor stared at him. He no longer looked like a quizzical puppy. He no longer looked like a nervous fox. He blinked, slowly, dumbfounded more than anything–but thinking, deeply. Wheels were spinning behind his bright eyes.
“If…you are not native to Arda…” The Elf bit his lip, still thoughtful, but tense. He turned away, voice lowering, musing to himself. “But you cannot be from the Void, only spiders exist there, and…him.” He gnawed anxiously on his lower lip. “Then could it be…?”
The minstrel looked back up at Iacho, anxiety back in his face, but mingled with a sense of awe. “There was…a theory, put forth a long time ago, in the High West when I was young. The Elves amused themselves with all manner of philosophy and postulating…and among those theories was one that was considered more radical than many. It was the idea that Illúvatar created more worlds than just Eä–this one. They said it was entirely possible that more world-spheres existed not within the Void, but beyond it. Unless all things were situated in the Void, hanging in the black nothingness beyond the Doors of Night…” He shook his head, more to clear it than as a gesture of denial.
“But if you are from beyond the Doors of Night…then how did you come to be here? The souls of Men who die pass beyond the Doors of Night and into spaces which are unknown to the Elves–this much we know. But we also know that Men are not permitted to return to the world once they have passed beyond it. I would infer that, even if you had not been born in Arda originally, it would still be impossible to be admitted through the Doors.”
Iacho found himself lost for words. Frankly he had no idea how he ended up here, but he attempted to try to find the words that would adequately describe the events that led to him being...here.
“I...how do I put this? I was meditating outside in the woods that surrounded the temple of my order...I was convening with the Force...and then-”
And then how to put it? That he had felt a strange chill go down his spine. Brief and barely incoherent visions of darkness and greed? Iacho had glimpsed a face, marred and mutilated by the Dark Side. And then the sensation akin to that of a rancor punching him in the gut and feeling as though he was being strongly pulled through a howl of sensations before opening his eyes at the shocking thump and finding himself face down in the dirt in a setting he did not recognize.
“Something...the Force pulled me here, I saw a face of someone...Sith most likely...it was as though the Force was trying to tell me something but I can’t make sense of it.” He heaved a huge sigh. “My master always did chide that I was not that adept at interpreting such visions.”
He tried his best to describe to the stranger what he had seen. “That face...I saw it...its owner standing before a great vast darkness...something that chilled me straight to the core despite only seeing the barest sliver of it. A dark crown set upon a face...that burned yet froze. Smoke and fire...”
“Osanwe,” the Elf answered plainly, too eager for discovery to acknowledge caution, “is the art of mind-reading, mind-communication, and an intangible perception about a person’s nature, past, and future. It’s the means of communication that the Quendi used before they invented speech–or at least, that’s what the legends say.”
The Elf’s head tilted to one side, a little farther than it would for most humanoids using the gesture, giving him a vaguely canine appearance. “Now I do not know what a Jedi is, nor what your Order entails, but that is perfectly understandable–I haven’t been to the East in several thousand years.” He blinked at him, then gestured to…well, all of Iacho. “The East. Where you’re from. The Eastern part of Arda. You have the features of an Easterling…is that not where you were born?”
His eyes were bright now, the pale blue-grey shining with a growing, distinct inner light, almost like starlight, but more silver-gold than blue. A smile lingered on his tired face; despite his earlier paranoia, the thrill of curiosity had taken hold of the Noldo. He needed his questions answered before he could spare energy for caution again.
More unknown terms to him. And references that lacked context for him. The East? Perhaps this stranger was meaning natives of this world that perhaps shared similar features to his. Iacho’s sense that he was in very unfamiliar territory was deepening. Best to lay out the truth? Yes, it would prevent further confusion on both their parts.
Iacho folded his hands behind him, spread his feet slightly, and took an alert but relaxed stance he had picked up from serving alongside Republic soldiers.
“No, I am afraid I do not know what an Easterling is, nor this...East you talk about. As for where I was born.”
The Jedi hesitated. Truth be told, he knew very little of his origins. The Order had told him he had been found as an infant among the ruins of a colony that had been devastated...and supposedly he was the only survivor they found. It would be years later that he would find out what really happened. But that was irrelevant here.
“I was...born very far away from here. I’m not sure how to tell you this but...,” Iacho’s instincts prodded him along, “I believe I am from very far away...I am not a native to this...Arda you call home.”
A strange feeling spread over Maglor, a sort of tingling at the back of his…head? No, of his mind. He could only conclude that some kind of telepathy was about to happen, but this felt nothing like Galadriel’s experiments with ósanwe when he and his cousins were young in Valinor. It was at once somehow less invasive, and yet more intimate. Maglor had the vague notion–and a faint flash of paranoia–that the Man could somehow see his soul, and then? Then, he could understand him.
The Elf’s pale-blue eyes widened, appearing quite too large for his gaunt face. “Yes!” he blurted, though even in his surprise, his voice was quiet, even a little scratchy, as if from disuse. “So you have skill in ósanwe!” The Quenya word wouldn’t fully translate; ósanwe was telepathy, but also not. “I did not think that was possible for Men to learn! What manner of teachers have you in the East?”
Maglor hardly noticed his abandonment of caution as a perfectly Noldorin curiosity stole over him. Here was a marvel; here was a thing about which he had to know.
Some of the tension in Iacho’s shoulders bled out when he sensed the wariness drain from the...whatever he was. However, confusion creeped in further as the stranger’s questions well...only gave the Jedi more question.
“I’m afraid I have no idea what ósanwe,” the word felt strange upon his tongue, “is...and I do not know what this East is that you refer to.”
Not that Iacho really knew his origins. He had been a mere orphaned infant when brought into the Jedi. No memory of his parents, his home, anything existed. As far as he knew, Tython was his homeworld. And this most certainly not Tython.
Not any world he was familiar with. The Force here felt...younger. That was the best way he could put it.
“...my name is Iacho, I am a Jedi Master of the Jedi Order. What you...referred to as ósanwe...I do not have a name for it, but it is a technique I used by wielding the Force.”
Relief bled from Maglor’s features as the Man removed his mask, and with it mingled curiosity. Blue eyes and dark hair…not a combination he’d ever seen in a Man. His eyes were almond-shaped and his skin a fair shade darker than Maglor’s own, suggesting blood of the vast and varied East, though not of any tribe Maglor recognized…but still, those blue eyes. Maglor could only conclude that there was still much he did not yet understand about the world, and this Man’s origins had to fall into that category.
The fact that the Man had indeed complied with his request set the wanderer a bit more at ease. He was still far from relaxed, but he looked a lot less ready to bolt. Curiosity was beginning to take root, beginning to drive out fear.
However, the language barrier was going to make it difficult to have his questions answered. Maglor sighed. If only… “If only I had some skill in ósanwe,” he remarked, half to himself–although his gesture was an unconscious attempt to somehow bridge their communication gap. He gestured with one hand from his own head to Iacho’s, a vague indication of thought-to-thought communication–telepathy.
That language barrier was going to be a problem indeed. Iacho pondered on how to fix that, He remembered a lesson from his youngling days, on how a powerful enough Force sensitive could reach through the Force for understanding of another. Sometimes it was just vague feelings...but powerful enough and especially if the other had some kind of latent Force sensitivity themselves..
It was worth a a try, because otherwise this wouldn’t go anywhere. The Jedi took in a breath and then exhaled, concentrating as he reached out through the Force. He could feel the stranger’s aura...bright, melodious...but darkened with grief and sadness. Iacho gently nudged it, allow it to mingle with his own and with it came a connection of sorts.
Now to test if it worked. He opened his mouth. To him, the language would still be basic...but hopefully to the other...
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He was speaking to him. The Man was speaking to him, his tones calm and soothing, even muffled as they were under the mask. But Maglor had no idea what he was saying; he’d never heard anything close to his language before. All the details of the Man’s uncanny appearance–his mask, his strange armor and garb, his stranger weapons, the fierceness of his battle prowess–gripped Maglor with renewed fear, and he took a step back, eyes widening. He looked very much like a frightened animal ready to bolt, but…something kept him rooted in place.
He couldn’t have said whether it was fear or not. He felt like a scared rabbit, frozen in place by terror, a hair’s breadth from bolting–but there was something else, too. Curiosity. Maglor was still Noldo, and the Noldor craved knowledge, craved understanding like they craved being able to craft anything with their hands. Maglor was not just Noldo, but a son of Feanor, perhaps the most inquisitive of all Noldor who had ever lived. And though Maglor was no craftsman, but a musician in his heart and soul, that sense of curiosity, the need to learn had been imbued into him at a young age.
He took a step forward, undoing the retreating step he had taken, and tried to force himself to calm. “Good afternoon,” he said quietly, in Westron. But the Man’s language was so strange to his ears, he repeated the greeting in Andunaic, in Sindarin, and in Quenya, just in case.
Staring at that mask was unnerving him. He made a gesture, pantomiming grabbing his face and removing the mask, and gave the Man a pleading look, hoping the nonverbal communication would get through.
Iacho’s head tilted as the...stranger tried to speak to him. Multiple times. But none of the phrases made any sense to him and Iacho considered himself rather learned when it came to languages. He rubbed at his chin in thought as he tried to make sense of what was going on. The stranger was clearly afraid of him...but there was something else now...curiosity?
Now the next motion did convey meaning. He sometimes forgot that his mask could be intimidating to say the least. Iacho usually did not like relinquishing the protection of it, but in this case.
He reached up and the metal tipped points of his gloves clicked softly against the mask as he began to remove it with practiced hands. There was a soft click as the clasp released and with a gentle tug, the mask now lay in his palms.
Dark blue eyes blinked as they adjusted to the sudden light and for good measure, Iacho pulled his hood back as well. He ran his fingers through his short black hair and tucked the mask under his arm. The Jedi stared quietly at the stranger, hoping that this gesture further cemented his intent to be helpful, not harmful.
He knew the sounds of battle, even a small skirmish, and even from a long distance away. He knew the sounds of Orcs; he had fought them for so long that he could almost feel their foulness even from afar–or was he merely imagining that? He had none of the power or subtleties of mind that his cousin Artanis possessed, so he must have been. And yet he knew how many Orcs there were, and how many brave warriors fought them, before he ever came within sight of the battle. Hearing the sounds, using the clues his senses gave him to piece together a mental map of the battle had long since become second nature.
All he had on him was a hunting knife–that was all he needed in his solitary, wandering lifestyle. His weapons and armor of war he had buried in a cache farther north, wanting to be rid of them, but unable to truly part with them in case evil should ever rise again. The hunting knife was certainly no crude weapon; it was a dagger of the Noldor, among the finest craftsmen in Middle Earth or Valinor, but by the standards of the Noldor it was a humble tool, bearing neither adornment nor crest. But it would serve well enough to kill Orcs. Although he had tried his best through the Ages to purge himself of hatred, Maglor hated Orcs so much that he could have found the strength to kill them with his bare hands.
His dagger was in hand by the time he dashed to the foot of the wooded slope, and finally came within sight of the fray. One Man, hooded and masked but definitely a Man from his build and gait, stood alone against a dozen of the beasts–foul, bow-legged things, probably dwellers of the caves under the Misty Mountains, judging by their unusually large eyes.
Maglor’s frantic pace shuddered to a stop as he realized two things. One was that the Man did not need his help at all. He’d already dispatched six Orcs by the time the Elf came into view, and as he made two paces in his approach, had sent two more still to oblivion. The second was there was something strange about this Man, many strange somethings that clashed in Maglor’s senses and set his mind on high alert. The strangest thing was his weapons. They were blades, undoubtedly, but they were too straight, and they glowed. Not in the way that the blades of Gondolin glowed when the servants of Morgoth drew near, but these blades glowed as if lit by a fierce inner fire. To Maglor, who had been born under the gentle light of the Two Trees of Valinor, the brightness made his eyes ache, and he had to look away. He tried focusing instead on the man’s face, but he wore an eerie mask, white trimmed with gold, and his eyes were hollow orbs. Maglor felt his hackles begin to rise.
And suddenly, all the Orcs were dead, and Maglor was left standing in a clearing with a knife drawn, facing a tall and deadly foe with strange raiment and stranger weapons. He hastily sheathed the dagger and took a step back, his pale-blue eyes wide.
It briefly crossed Maglor’s mind that he, too, must look like a strange sight to this Edain: he knew he looked more pale and thin than any Elf had a right to be, and some had even thought him to appear sickly by the standards of Men. No Elf in his right mind would wear his hair as Maglor did, either; the dark brown locks were hacked off around his earlobes, scruffy, shaggy, and badly in need of a wash. His clothes were stained and dirty as if he’d been sleeping in the bush for years–and he had. Most off-putting of all was the vacant look that lingered often in his eyes–although now his look appeared skittish, hunted. He was well aware that he had an almost feral air about him, but he made no effort to hide it now. The only effort he had a mind to make at the moment was to struggle with himself over whether he should stay still with his knees locked up as they were, or turn tail and bolt.
Iacho always wondered if the Force had a sense of humor or perhaps a mischievous streak. That was the only explanation he could come up with to explain the circumstances he sometimes found himself in. Like this one.
He had been alone in his meditations out in the wilds of Tython when a dizziness had overcome him. His senses finally cleared only to reveal he was most definitely not where he was supposed to be. The Force here felt strange...more like an undisturbed stream instead of the vast ocean. It felt...young.
The Jedi Master didn’t have much time to ponder on this oddness before he sensed something else. Something wrong. That wrongness revealed itself to be creatures that seemed to materialize from the greenery around him.
He didn’t have to look at them to immediately have to bite back the rise of revulsion he felt. Whatever these creatures were, they were foul. Their appearance was twisted; dark hideous creatures with nothing but malice and cruelty shining in their large eyes and reflected in the filthy garbs they wore. The Force twisted and roiled around them much in a way that Iacho had only sensed in the most of twisted of Sith. Rage, fear, sadism, the creatures REEKED of the Dark Side.
The creatures were also wary of him, perhaps they had never encountered a Jedi before? No matter, one of them licked the curved and barbed knife in his hand and it chattered to its fellows in a language Iacho didn’t recognize.
Iacho knew there was to be no negotiation with these things, they had one purpose in mind and it was not a friendly one. He sensed the danger as his lightsabers were pulled from his belt by the Force and ignited in his hands. The dark blue and black blades shine brightly against the gloom as he instantly deflected aside an...arrow? The crude projectile sizzled and fell to pieces. His weapon caused an instant chatter among the creatures and suddenly a lot more arrows were heading his way.
The Force flowed around him like a whirling maelstrom, several arrows were deflected by the lightsabers and others he merely pushed away with the Force. One arrow did manage to strike him, but it barely made a scratch on the armor that lay underneath the cloth of his robes. Iacho felt the rising fear and bewilderment of his opponents, but they were relentless at trying to take him down. When it became clear to them that their arrow were useless they attempted to take the battle much closer.
A mistake. Two were swiftly beheaded, the sound and smell of sizzling flesh polluting the air. Another had the hilt of a lightsaber shatter its chin before its blade bisected it. Three attempted to jump him from behind, he spun and with a thrust of his hand shoved them with the Force hard enough to smash their heads and spines against the rocks nearby. Iacho moved with a grace and speed that belied his large frame.
They attempted to hem him in and with a fist punched into the ground, Iacho used the Force to widen the gap once again. Vaguely, he sensed the presence of another nearby...not hostile...slightly confused and worried, but he decided to worry about that later.
Whatever these creatures were, they were no match for him. He dispatched every one of them in short order and only after he made sure they were not going to get back up again did the Master finally let out a breath and his shoulders relaxed. The fight didn’t even get him breathing hard and finally he turned his attention to the newcomer who had caught him attention.
He was faced with....well, he wasn’t sure what this one was either. Tall, thin...rather bedraggled looking. Also pointed ears that poked out from red hair. And pale blue eyes that were currently looking at him with fear. iacho blinked behind his mask...then remembered his lightsabers were still in his hands.
The newcomer clearly had not made a move yet...and was afraid. With swift and practiced motions, Iacho’s lightsabers turned off and were returned to their place on his belt. The Jedi then put his hands up in what he hoped was a mollifying gesture.
“Peace, I mean you no harm.” He kept his somewhat deep voice mellow and calm. Iacho had no idea if this one would understand him...but hopefully the tone would carry through if the words didn’t.
Alice barely stirred when she was caught. She was still in the limbo between the conscious and unconscious. In her in-between state, the sounds of the outside world jumbled with empty thoughts that her mind couldn’t quite grasp at yet.
Whatever was sprayed on her wound stung for that moment. Alice wanted to make a sound, jerk, do something! But her body, plus the heavy command that sleep had on her conscious thought, would not allow her to.
The death rattle should have woken her. It didn’t. Her battle with staying conscious and falling into sleep was starting to become a lost cause.
In fact, just as the Jedi Master turned to her, she had slumped over more. She had given in to the feeling of sleep.
The medics had said all they could do was wait. They’d patched up her wound as best they could and they hoped that within the safety of the base that she’d be able to wake up.
Iacho checked up on her when he could, but his duties kept him busy. Being a Jedi Master often meant people wanted you to fix their problems. And there were always a lot of problems that needed fixing.
Only when a blizzard finally kicked in and made it too dangerous even for him to venture out did Iacho finally find time to actually give a real check up on her.
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Now she remembered why she could not portal with serious wounds. They severely impaired her thinking.
It also caused her to lose consciousness. The ginger closed her eyes as she felt the air of the portal jump, and her consciousness slipped some. The only thing that woke her up was the blast of frigid air.
Wherever this was, it was cold. And she liked it. The cold only kept her awake for so long, however, before her eyes closed again. Her body demanded rest, and it was going to get it. Especially if she was suffering from a stomach wound.
So, however was there to catch her, would definitely need to get her medical attention.
Of all things Iacho was prepared for, a girl falling out of thin air was not one of them. He wasn’t even sure how that was possible as he was inside a wampa cave, but there was no time to figure that out.
Powerful arms came up and caught the girl with a slight grunt, he broke her fall and settled her against his broad chest.
That is when he noticed she was bleeding. Badly. And already had a lot of blood soaking her clothes. He barely had time to react when a very loud roar echoed through the cave.
Uh oh. Iacho bit back a rude remark as he gently but quickly pulled up the girl’s shift to assess her wound. Serious and deep, damn it all. He then scrambled for the kolto spray. It would at least stop the bleeding long enough that hopefully he could deal with the more immediate problem and he settled her against the nearby wall.
Which happen to crash around the bend. A huge and hungry Wampa roared as it sniffed the air. Its beady eyes fixed on the wounded girl and drool visibly dropped from its fangs. Giving another roar it charged.
But Iacho wasn’t about to let it go unopposed. He drew one hand back and with some concentration, thrust the hand forward. A powerful Force blast knocked the beast back and it snarled as it scrambled to regain its footing.
It never got the chance. With a furious leap and a hiss of his lightsaber, Iacho plunged the blue and black blade through the creature’s chin and consequently, its head.
It screamed a death rattle and clawed usefully against his armor before finally collapsing in a heap. The Jedi Master let out a breath that was hidden behind his mask and only after he was sure the creature was dead that he turned his attention back to his mysterious guest.
She obviously couldn’t be questioned now. It was best to take her back to base and let the medics take care of her for now.
Something was wrong. Iacho felt the prickle of anticipation that the Force always warned him with. When trouble was heading straight for him. But why here and now? The newly appointed Jedi Battlemaster had been watching over a group of younglings…well not quite younglings anymore. The three were getting up to their teenaged years when they would be selected to be Padawans. They were helping with a small task of clearing out a cave infested with some less then friendly wildlife. It was just something that would get them to have some fighting experience. These particular students had been chosen because they had shown remarkable promises in the advanced lightsaber class.
Iacho had rolled his eyes inwardly when the Master who had given him the assignment had of course strongly hinted that the Battlemaster take on a Padawan himself. But Iacho had sworn off the idea. With the ongoing war and his own issues, he felt it would be irresponsible for him to take on a student. For now, he was content to help out once in awhile to teach lightsaber combat classes.
He held up a hand and the students all stopped what they were doing to look at him. That’s when it happened. The Force screamed at Iacho and his hand flung out. His lightsaber was pulled from his belt with a Force pull and once he felt it thump into his palm, he ignited it.
The familiar woosh as a skyblue blade with a black core emerged to deflect something that been fire out of the forests of Tython at him. And then another. Soon, a rapid volley of projectiles was blocked.
“GET IN THE CAVE!” The Younglings dared not argue with his tone and they all piled inside. Iacho immediately moved in front of the entrance and with his armored attire and mask, he presented a formidable guardian. Just as suddenly as the volley had begun, it stopped. All of the Battlemaster’s senses were completely attuned as he scanned the treeline.
Then he could finally see them, their stark white uniforms stood out against the forest. Iacho’s eyes narrowed behind his mask he considered the weapons they carried, nothing he had ever seen before. They appeared human…but did not look like Imperials.
Better question was how had they managed to get on Tython in the first place? After the attack on the Temple, security had increased significantly. Yet here were intruders. Five of them. And they looked ready to fight some more.
“So this filth will prove to be a challenge after all.” Iacho narrowed his eyes behind his mask as one of the strangers boldly moved into view. She was dark skinned human and with violet eyes that gleaned with arrogance and malice. Her stark white uniform was bare save for some black trimming and she wielded an unusual weapon. As she moved closer, Iacho managed to get a better look at it. The sword was ornate and he could have sworn that parts of it were moving.
“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” Iacho did not relax his stance, his lightsaber held in a defensive pose. He could sense the malice and hostility radiating off these intruders. But above it all…he sensed disgust.
“That isn’t important. I’d ask you to surrender quietly, but that wouldn’t be any fun.” A gesture from the woman and the other strangers immediately attacked. They seemed confident in their numbers.
Except it appeared they had not considered who their opponent was. Iacho ignited his second lightsaber and with a flurry, blocked the attacks of two of them. The other two who were closing in for melee gave howls of triumph, thinking their allies had him pinned down.
But Iacho was calm and focused. With a thrust of one hand, he send a Force push that blasted one of the ranged attackers into a tree with brutal force. He only vaguely heard the sharp crack of that one’s skull breaking on the tree. He yanked his arm back and pulled the other ranged attack toward him. That one was sent head over heels into the rock wall next to the cave entrance. By now the other two were already on him.
And found themselves sorely outmatched. Iacho was Battlemaster for a reason, considered one of the most skilled lightsaber fighters among the entire Jedi Order. Compared to him, their strikes were sloppy and slow. There would be no mercy for them, Iacho could tell they would never go quietly.
One found his hand severed at the wrist and then the blade impaling him through the heart. Iacho swung him into his comrade, sending her reeling. She died with slash across the waist, severing her in two. Iacho whirled to face their leader, who was now staring at him with wide eyes.
“I suggest you surrender stranger.” Iacho kept his sabers pointed at the ground. Faintly, he could sense the awe and fear of the students in the cave, but he ignored it. He pointed the blade in his right hand at his enemy. “One chance.”
The only answer he got was her snarling and leaping at him. Her weapon literally hissed as a faint glow enveloped the blade and Iacho barely got his blade up to block the blow. The moment the blow connected, he knew that this one was leagues above her subordinates.
It was truly a dance of death. Both gave no inch and their blows aimed to do more than just maim. Even though the stranger only used a single blade, she was holding her own against Iacho’s favored Juyo form. But she found little chance to counter under the furious barrage of blows. So far both managed to score nicks, but no solid blows.
“Why can’t filth like you just die? The multiverse would be better off without your taint!” Iacho only blinked at the woman’s vitriol. What was she babbling about? Multiverse? Did she hate Force users? It was hardly uncommon for some to be resentful of those who could tap into the Force but…
The Jedi could sense that this battle would turn into one of endurance until he did something. Especially against someone as skilled as this one. So he decided to take a risk. One blade was pulled back to create a feinted opening and Iacho hoped she would fall for it.
And she did, her bloodlust and arrogance took over her good sense and she immediately went for the trap. Just as Iacho had wanted and he almost grinned.
Almost.
Instead the arm he had just drawn back surged forward in a brutal punch that connected with the woman’s face. He could feel her facial bones break beneath the force of his strike and she opened her mouth in the start of a scream of agony.
But she never got to finish it because as soon as Iacho’s punch connected, his other arm had swept away her blade. With a flick of his fingers, his lightsaber’s blade momentarily disappeared until he repositioned it. Only this time when it reappeared, it found a new home through the woman’s heart.
Her scream turned into a gag instead, but even with this blow she was defiant. Her arm attempted to bring her weapon up to slash at Iacho but he shoved her back with a Force push that slammed her against a tree. Amazingly, she still managed to get to her feet, but Iacho felt the life drain from her even as she gave him one last hate filled glare and then feel silently forward, dead at last.
Iacho just concentrated on breathing. That had been one of the most difficult battles of his life and now with the adrenaline of battle fading away, he was feeling the strain. Shaking his head to clear it, he turned to see his three students slowly emerge from the cave.
“Are all of you alright?” Iacho made sure to keep his weariness out of his voice. The young male Twi’lek nodded, his blue head tails swaying slightly..
“We should be asking you that Master Iacho-“ The young student never got to finished his words as suddenly the stranger that Iacho had thrown against the rock wall was suddenly behind the young alien and had an arm snap around the Twi’lek’s neck. The other two students yelled and back away immediately even as Iacho brought his lightsabers up once again.
“PUT THEM DOWN! THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS OR I SWEAR I WILL SLIT THIS ONE’S THROAT RIGHT HERE!” The stranger’s violet eyes were wild and he seemed unhinged as he felt a blade to the Twi’lek’s throat. “NOW!”
Iacho fought back a growl. but he obeyed. The lightsabers hit the grass with a soft thud and the Jedi lowered his arms to his sides.
“FILTH ALL OF YOU! YOU WILL BURN IN BLOOD AND FLAMES! THE MULTIVERSE WILL FINALLY BE CLEANSED! AND YOUR BLOOD WILL BE THE FIRST!” Iacho’s alarm shot up when he realized that the crazed attacker was going to do what he threatened anyway. He brought his hand up hoping to at least stop the blade that even now was about to begin its grisly task.
But he never go that far. He heard the quiet sound of something slicing through the air and suddenly the crazed man’s arm was severed at the elbow. He screamed as part of his arm fell uselessly away and blood streamed from the stump that had been his elbow. As his hostaged managed to scramble away from him, there was another quiet sound and this time the man’s head exploded like a ripe melon. The body swayed for a brief moment before collapsing to the ground.
A footstep behind Iacho made him whirl around and yet another stranger stood before him. Unlike the others, this one was dressed in nearly all black. A long duster coat covered a lightly armored form and a sniper rifle cradled in the crook of the stranger’s arm. Their face was almost completed masked behind a visor, with only a mouth with pressed lips visible. The only symbol that Iacho could see adoring the breastplate of the stranger was a dark lavender eye sigil.
“Sorry about that, but I had to take a chance.” The stranger’s voice was melodious and feminine. “Are any of you seriously hurt?”
Iacho’s lightsabers were once against again in his hand as he glared at the stranger. “I am starting to get a little tired of people suddenly appearing.” His dry remark got a lip twitch of amusement from the other person.
“Peace Master Jedi, I am not the enemy. Unlike these Liash. I see that you took care of them quite handily for the most part.” The stranger’s rifle folded up as she slid it onto her back.
Liash? Is that who these people were?
“Yes, Liash. It’s a long story and actually part of the reason why I’m here.” Iacho started, had the person read his mind? “No, it was just obvious what you were thinking.” The visored gaze swept over the stunned students, who were huddled together. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll accompany you back to the Jedi Temple. We have much to discuss.”
((Omfg people I am so sorry for disappearing. My life got super hectic and I kinda lost this muse for a good while. But some friends have convinced and encouraged me to return.
Also helps I decided to resub back to SWTOR.
So um...I know I had threads with people and I’m not sure if I want/can continue them. But if you really want to, TALK TO ME AND WE’LL FIGURE IT OUT!
Quite honestly I’ve missed Iacho and I am involving him in a big plot thing I have whipped up with my friends. I’ll reblog that stuff here eventually when things are rolling if people are interested in joining.
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