#thereisonlymaul

@thereisonlymaul asked: "you saw what they did out there."

Even a decade ago, the mere idea of staying his blade while the Force sings of corruption would have been an impossibility. The consequence of experience, of fighting the very war the Republic would use to leash the Jedi half of his people. The Sith had been many and had been wondrous, creatures of horror and terror and that one faced because they had to be faced.

This is not his time. This is not his people's blood on the floor. And this is not the Republic he knew. An Empire, they call it now, even as Tarre doesn't know where he stands, or where he is at all.

"You know who they are." Tarre speaks. Cautious, yes, but one does not become Mand'alor by refusing to be a pragmatist, even if in this time he is not a leader. "And who all these were. Tell me." He offers.

“And you think you are the accurate judge of that?” Maul asked dryly as he turned his gaze back at Bo Katan. The Zabrak wasn’t all to complicated to understand untill it got to a more personal level and by that point most people tended to be dead.

@thereisonlymaul - Mand'alor again verse starter call

He knows, before he enters the room, that his darksaber awaits him across. He doesn't need anything but his own reach, and his own bond with its crystal.

But what he gets, as he lets the Force move before him, is another presence, and one he dislikes by sheer instinct and practice. One that is, perhaps, for the better: he would have held doubts over retaking his weapon from a Mandalorian who was using it correctly. But recovering it from a darksider sitting on a throne that too many Sith have occupied is not something he'll lose sleep over.

And so he appears, steps quiet because his mere presence is warning enough, and he doesn't doubt that his presence in the Force is clear. He was a Jedi Master, once, and the Light has not abandoned him.

"You," he speaks, as he commands the doors open because he's had to knock out the guards already, "have something that belongs to me, darksider."

Or Sith, perhaps, but if he's a Sith he doesn't doubt that the correction will come soon.

“You maybe do, i don’t.” Maul replied with a shrugg. To get the Zabrak to feel guilty about.... Well anything he did was something that was easier said than done.

"Oh, you're serious?" There's a slight hesitation to the way Obi-Wan drops from his position in the rafters and even more so to the way he trails Maul around the corner (as if chasing after him has ever done anyone any good). There's always more than one emergency escape exit for a vessel this large, but he's never heard the Sith so coherent before and it has him awfully curious, has him following despite his gut instinct against it. He can't help himself, it's in his nature to question and Maul is nothing if not a man completely shrouded in mystery. An enigma waiting to be unraveled. "Well, if you insist!"

It only takes a moment to match their paces, though Obi-Wan is careful to remain about a meter behind so neither of them are tempted to slash at each other while running. He's even clipped both his sabers to his belt in a sign of tentative truce.

Cal had seen the Clones turn against them. The very men who had been cheering him on earlier that day began to shoot at him. He had hoped, however naively, that whatever had happened had been an isolated event – that the Jedi Order would save the day. Nobody was coming though. At least, nobody Cal wanted to be found by.

The order had fallen, and his Master was gone. Jedi weren't supposed to form attachments, he knew that, but Master Tapal had been the closest thing he had to a father. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. His master had told him to trust in the Force, and the message from Master Kenobi had said the same. The Force was being pretty quiet right now though.

His face stung where the blaster had burned him. He'd cleaned it as best he could, but Bracca wasn't the most hospitable of places. He'd barely eaten since they'd crash landed a few days ago. He'd have to do something soon. He supposed he could go to the Scrapper's Guild. As long as he could pull his weight, they probably wouldn't care much about hiring a child. The problem was that with his braid and clothes, he looked too much like a Jedi.

"I wish you were here, Master. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Meditation isn't working..." The boy mumbled to himself.

                    “ i’m not your enemy here. really, i’m not. ”          ——     @thereisonlymaul​

               the blaze of the white-hot light bore deep into her temples, the throb beneath them begging for relief.      but before the enemy, she refused to raise her restrained hands to even press against the pained skin.     no quiet laid behind her glare, no peace.      if not for the reams of speeches where she championed non-violence, no being could detect the pacifist in her form.     these hands, wrists aching with the weight of her bonds, would not lift against him, yet her eyes promised a swift snap of his neck if they could reach.

              ❝  forgive me, darjetii, if i do not believe you.  ❞         pale lips curled against the very thought, the sneer almost involuntary.          ❝  you aided death watch in killing my people, in manipulating them to choose that monster.    if you don’t consider that enough to make us enemies, what will?  ❞