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Star Wars: A Jedi’s Soul.
By David "Crazedwraith" Cutter

NB: This is sort of a sequel to Star Wars: Conflicting Views. You might want to read that first. Hopefully Soul would make sense anyway but you'll have a better idea what my main characters on about.

Part 1: The Price.

Courscant; glittering jewel of the galaxy, glorious centre of the Republic and the most brilliant feat of engineering ever accomplished by the thinking peoples of the universe. And also the most wretched hive of scum and villainy one could possibly come across but that’s in the lower levels so it’s not in the brochure.

The bar was no different than thousands of other on the planet. It had two levels, was badly lit and reeked of smoke, boozes and Spice. It had sleaze, it had pole dancers and it had more forms of alcohol than a heavily inebriated individual could name. Which wasn’t that many but more than enough for its sozzled patrons. It was also home too more than Twi’lek ogling under age teens and career drunks. It was home to the base of a quite powerful drug ring. Not that the patrons cared, their revels continued until one sound broke through the badly tuned band’s cacophony:

Snap–hiss.

From the darkest corner of the Bar’s upper floor came an unearthly blue glow. It was the very worst sight any of the low lives could think off. That strange sound signalled the coming of law and order. It was the sight of an ignited lightsabre.

The Jedi stepped up to the edge of the second floor, if he hadn’t been a Jedi he wouldn’t have been an intimating figure, he was of average height and slender with light brown hair cut short, but he was a Jedi and He did. Or more specifically his azure lightsabre and curious dead hazel eyes were intimidating to his prey. When he spoke the force carried his words so they reverberated around the room, missed by no one and shaking all:

“I am Jedi Master Davos Quin. You are drug dealers and runners. You are also under arrest.”

At this point, the fear of Jedi sorcery was overwhelmed by the thugs’ sense of self-preservation. In the span of three heartbeats a dozen thugs aimed heavy blasters at Quin and pulled the triggers repeatedly.

Most of the shots went wide. Blasting the chairs, tables and walls behind Quin. Davos deftly picked up the few on target bolts and sent them back towards their origins.

Screams filled the drug den as reflected bolts found their marks. Kneecaps, blasters and out–streached limbs of several varieties were burnt as their owners screeched out their disbelieve.

Weapon fire continued to streak up and wreck the upper floor but the Jedi was no longer there. He had been replaced by a whirling blue vortex in the midst of the thugs.

Davos was in his element, his blood and the force pumped through him like fire in his veins, no–one could touch him, he was in complete control. He deflected a bolt through a man’s shoulder then swept his lightsaber blade through the next man’s carbine. A couple of deft elbow strikes later both men dropped to the floor. A Rodian and a Twi’lek tried to get the drop on him. He slammed a foot through the Rodian’s knee and took to the air smashing his other heel into the base of the Twi’lek’s head tail. More Blaster bolts darted towards his back. Davos contemptuously sidestepped out of their way. Then a Aqualish dealer, who’d been too drunk to pull his Blaster led alone fire it, lunged him.

Even with the reactions and speed the force gifted the Jedi, Quin couldn’t avoid the collision. The best he could do was save the Aqualish’s life by shutting down his ‘saber. Quin had no tasted for extinguishing life upon his lightsaber he’d done it too much recently. The blow stunned Davos and sent him sprawling meters across the bar’s grimy floor, his lightsaber skidded off in the other direction and Davos was too winded to call it back. The Aqualish charged in for the kill…

…Straight in the brilliant blue rings of a stun shot. Davos quickly down two more thugs with the Aqualish’s Blaster. He’d palmed it when the Dealer had lunged him and now was putting it to much better use. A smile cross Davos’ face has he dropped three men, a dozen metres away. It seemed to him that Blasters while inelegant where not by any means ineffective. He could get used to this. Calling his lightsaber back to his offhand, Quin continued firing. For the next few minutes there was nothing but the elegance of his sabre rebuffing every Blaster bolt and the roar off his Blaster as he stunned his every adversary. Then the return fire whittled down to just on man and he was consistently firing wide anyway.

This was the man Davos had come for. He was tall with black hair and very fine clothes and expensive looking blasters. He was the one who had balked orders to men ten years his senior and had them obeyed. He was the one in charge.

He screamed like a schoolchild as the Jedi stalked towards him. The Jedi dropped his Blaster and held his sabre his good right hand. The azure blade swept through his fancy chrome Westar pistols and then came for his face. The man was still squealing when the unlit ‘saber impacted with his temple to grant him temporary oblivion.


The Courscanti Police found him there, glass in hand, an hour later. Davos gave them a Datacard.

“My statements, there. Anything else you need you can contact the Jedi. You can take all of them in to custody ‘cept this one,” Davos tapped the emitter of his lightsaber on the Ringleader’s skull.

The Police milled about for a while but then they left with the majority of the thugs.

Two hours later, She arrived. She was a Jedi. A hand-span shorter than Davos and except for the purple in her hair and irises and a collection of silver and grey moles and small scars she was completely black. As in pure jet black. She walked up silently and slid on to the stool next to Davos. He didn’t look at her.

“Jedi Knight Cyra Daine. What do you want?”

“What are you doing here, Dave?”

“You should call me master now, remember?”

“Yes, I do, Dave.”

Davos sighed. Women…

“My job” He stated brusquely.

“The Jedi council didn't authorise this.” She said with a sweeping gesture that encompassed the smoking ruin of the pub.

“The Jedi Council is merely the first among equals, Daine, A Jedi master can do whatever he pleases within the confines of the Jedi Code and I’m a master now, they promoted me for killing my best friend. You were there if I remember correctly. I protected the weak here. I maintained order and Stability. That is the Purpose of the Jedi is it not?”

“The Council didn’t promote you for killing Del.” Her face was now stony.

“Didn’t they? He’s dead and I’m a master. What more needs to be said, Daine?” She changed tacks at light speed.

“Daine? You used to call me Si, you used to be my friend.”

“Friends die Daine, or I have to kill them so it makes no difference. Go now go running back to the council to report.” She looked shocked. She opened her mouth to respond...

“GO!” Davos cut her off. She left. He kept drinking.
***

Thats it folks. Please comment and 'Part 2: The Mission' up soon (or whenever I can be bothered to write it) Draging a dissillusioned Jedi master on a delicate hostage exchange sound to you? (You can properly guess who the council is gonna make do the Dragging)

EDIT: Spell checked version added.

There are some typos but I'm not your proof reader, so I won't nitpick. Typos aside, this is awesome. And how Davos is pissed off at the Jedi for letting him kill his best friend, well, this could get really interesting. I like this very much.

It's a good story, but the grammar mistakes undermine it. Check your work a little more carefully in the future.

“The Jedi council did authorise this.” She said with a sweeping gesture that encompassed the smoking ruin of the pub.

“The Jedi Council is merely the first among equals, Daine, A Jedi master can do whatever he pleases

Should that be didn't?

But otherwise good.

Prozac the Robert wrote: Should that be didn't?

But otherwise good.

It does say Didn't. Well it does now. Sorry case of thinking faster than I type.

You ought to check before you post. Proofreading and all that.

Shroom Man 777 wrote:You ought to check before you post. Proofreading and all that.

I did Just not very well.

Well folks time for part 2. I did proof read it this time which will make the mistake yet more embarassing. Enjoy and review please.

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Part 2: The Mission.

The Council’s word was final. Davos Quin was going on a mission. Quin stood in the centre of the council room feeling rather exposed, with all twenty-four eyes of the most distinguished Jedi masters of this age fixed on him. Wait that was twenty-five eyes, one of them was a Gran. Would they take it amiss if he leaned on that wall. His back was so exposed here, just waiting for some one to stick a knife into it…

“So,” he began just to take his mind of the itching in his back, “What am I going to be doing?”

One of the Gran’s eyes twitched.

“Overseeing a Hostage exchange, we handing over one of your old friends. An individual name Carl Fort.”

Davos raised an eyebrow.

“Never heard of him.”

A Twi’lek Jedi, dressed in a typically skimpy costume which she could still pull off despite the lines on her ageing face and lekku, responded.

“You gave him a mild concussion, Last week.”

Davos pretended that that narrowed it down a bit and faked a look of realisation.

“Oh him. Right, where am I going and who am I exchanging him for?”

Quin had directed the question at the Twi’lek but one of the human masters the opposite side of the room responded. Davos sighed; this was getting on his nerves.

“Nar Shadda, the smuggler’s moon.”

The Human Master to the man’s right answered the latter question. What was it with the council and finishing each other’s sentences?

“And no–one.”

Davos raised his other eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

A third human master, short and stout with a long grey beard, answered.

“You are giving the boy back to his father. In return his father will give us information that will enable us to cripple his main competition.”

“And why would the council wish to do that for him?”

The Gran spoke again:

“His main rival is Black Sun, Quin.”

And thus it was decided. There was just one final question:

“When to I leave?”

“As soon as we’ve briefed your partner. She will meet you at Jedi Slip # 113 in three hours.”

“Excuse me? Partner?”

“Yes, Quin, Partner. You didn’t imagine we’d send even an accomplished master as yourself into Hutt Space with out back up did you? We’re sending Jedi Daine with you. You’ve worked well with her in the past if I recall correctly.”

Davos just sighed, bowed his head respectfully and departed.

***

Three and a quarter hours later, she found him looking over their ship.

“Your Late, Jedi Daine”

“Your annoyed, Dave”

“How perceptive of you, Cyra.”

“How’s the ship?”

“Well the Jedi council pulled out all the stops for this one, It’s a brand spanking new YT–Thirteen hundred tramp freighter, goes by the name of the Millennium Falcon. It’s Just a pity its hyperdrive is a pile of shit.”

“Fancy. Why do you have a problem with me being here, old friend?”

Davos visibly tightened up. His next words came short and sharp.

“Actually I count myself quite lucky it is you, I mean I could have been landed with that young hotshot Yoda or something.”

Cyra laughed at that.

“He’s three hundred years old, Dave.”

“That doesn’t stop him being a reckless over–powerful fool.”

And that was more or less the end of that.

***

The Falcon’s hold was filled with the humming of Lightsabers. The opponents circled each other, making exploratory jabs and slashes. They had once been friends. They weren’t anymore and thus they fought, endlessly.

Davos lanced a trio of thrusts towards his opponent’s chest, only for the blue point of his blade to be caught up in a lavender swirl and deflected. The pink blade swept in for his legs but he leapt clear above it, twisted in mid–air and stabbed down towards his adversaries’ neck. But she dived forward, came up and slashed for his head. Which he ducked and riposted.

And so the fight continued the thrum of Lightsabers, liberally interspersed with noises of exertion and the crash of impacting sabers, rang throughout the cabin. Until their Lightsabers deadlocked. Cyra coughed lightly.

“I don’t know how you talked me into this, Dave.”

They both twisted their blades trying to break the lock and not get sliced for their efforts.

“Because you now you’re rusty and don’t want to get killed on this mission.”

The vying for control of the lock continued: shift for advantage, counter– shift, twist, and counter–twist each matched the others moves perfectly.

“It’s a hostage exchange Dave, not likely to see much action. And anyway they’d use blasters so I’d be fine.”

She was skilled in the third type of Lightsaber combat, specialising in the ultimate defence. Masters, such as she, of form III could render themselves virtually impervious the most intense Blaster attacks.

“So you would be, I on the other hand with my inferior archaic style would be hard pressed, is that what your saying?”

Davos took a slight step sideways. She sighed patiently.

“Off course not, Dave, mastery of Form II is nothing to be sneered at.”

“No, it just meant I had to kill my oldest friend because everyone else was too afraid to face him, blade to blade.”

“Davos… It wasn’t your fault...”

Suddenly Davos shifted his weight completely, cutting her off. He disengaged their ‘sabers then smacked his azure blade at the base of the violet one forcing the hilt from Daine’s hand through surprise and brute power. Milliseconds later his point was levelled at her throat as he snarled a warning.

“Don’t try to fix me, Si, I’m not broken.”

She swung her telekinetically shielded arm horizontally in a block pushing his blade out of line with her neck and then smashed her other palm into the centre of his chest. He attempted a sidekick but was off balance and stumbled backwards. He brought his blade back round in a low crouch, just in time to intercept a slash. He couldn’t intercept Cyra’s glare though.

“Yeah? Well you’re doing one hell of an impression of it Mr. Quin.”

She shut down her Saber and walked out of the hold. Quin went after her, slightly peeved now.

“The kriff is that supposed to mean?”

Just then the entire Falcon shuddered. The Sprightly transport burst from hyperspace into orbit around the smuggler’s moon.

“Davos, never mind. Just get us landing clearance. I’ll check on our guest.”

***

The Millennium Falcon burst through the atmosphere of Nar Shadda with all the grace of a gut shot Rancor and made an equally inelegant descent and touched down on the landing pad at about 10% faster than it was designed for.

Seconds later, Cyra staggered into the cockpit.

“You call that a landing?”

Davos replied with a phrase that would be used aboard the ship an improbably large number of times over its life time or maybe not so improbably considering the fact is owners would all be the same kind of man.

“It not my fault!”

Cyra merely raised her lavender eyebrows.

“Do I look like a hotshot flyboy? The controls have to much play in them.”

Cyra slid into the co–pilo’ts chair and raised several diagnostic screens.

“Well at least you didn’t break anything and you got us here a day early. So all in all, I think I’ll forgive you for almost making me lose my lunch but I don’t think Mr Fort will. He got vomit on that fancy jacket of his.”

Davos didn’t crack a smile. He never cracked a smile even back in the good old days, with her and Del he didn’t crack smiles. He only smiled when it was a sought of façade directed at his enemies to throw them off. But at least back them you could tell he was amused by a sparkling in his eye or a slight tilt to his head. No more. Those hazel eyes she was so fond of were just cold hard discs, showing no more emotion than petrified wood. He frowned at her.

“Gods. Why are you here, Daine?”

“The Council sent me.”

“And don’t think I know why. They think I’m cracking up. You’re just here to make a decent judgement as whether I’m still useful for them or if they should just commit me on some mental issue or just eject me from the order all together and send you to kill me a decade later.”

Cyra’s mouth was slightly agape after that tirade. She closed it, then opened it to speak.

“Am I? Well if I were I’d have to report your obvious growing paranoia and Instability. Does it actually occur to you that my assignment here might be due to my own skills rather than an association with you? Or that I might have volunteered because no matter what you say I’m your friend and I care about you?”

That set Davos off snarling again.

“I Told, I don’t have friends. I decided that after the last one fell lifeless from Lightsaber blade.”

“Oh for crying out loud, that wasn’t your fault.”

“Really? That’s strange I seem to remember me stabbing him through the chest!”

“Yes, you killed him but that doesn’t make his death your fault.” For some reason tears seemed to be forming in her eyes, “ It was his fault for going Dark and mine.”

That shut him up. He coughed slightly.

“Yours? That ridiculous.”

“Oh don’t be a fool Davos, you knew how he felt about me. I rejected him and it tore him up. That’s why he screwed up the Asjo mission, that’s why he was expelled, that’s why he went dark. My fault. Mine, all mine.”

He was starring now. One word left his mouth, sort of faint and quaky as if he was afraid of the answer.

“Why?”

“Because, you idiot, I love you.”

When Cyra had imagined admitting this to Davos, she’d imagined he gape at her, or stutter randomly, hell on her wilder days she’d imagine he’d finally crack an amused smile and sweep her up in his arms. She’d never imagined his real response:

“Some how I just can’t seem to care.”

Needless to say that was more or less the end of The Mission.

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That's it folks. Whatdoya think? Too talk? Davos a whiny anakin style figure? Cliched? Badly written? A master peice WHAT?

Next: The Solid Waste matter really hits the air circulation device. Things get worse (for the character, not the writing I hope!) and Davos talks to dead people (well person) thats all in Part 3: Heart's Forge coming soon.

Are people not commenting becuase they haven't read part two, or are you all just practicing "if you can't say anything nice..."?

Also my process on part three has hit a big fat stone wall with "writer's block" grafitited in obscure colours and in an illegible font to boot.

I have the first nightmare scene written and I could properly still write the ass kicking finale but the slow joint bits have me stumped.

That is all.

I like it, I like it very much. You have some mistakes though...like some lines missing a word or something, but I like it. I like the interaction. Dave rocks. Now let's see him kick ass and...KILL!!

Part 3: Heart’s Forge.

It started at the setting of the third sun. The entire temple was cast in the hues of the dying light in mellow golds and pinks. Only it wasn’t. Davos frowned. The temple was barely lit. The Sky outside was overshadowed with storm clouds and a dull blood red light flooded the place of worship to the darkside. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Snap–hiss

A red blood blade stabbed towards his chest. Davos lunged sideways as the blade of a dead–man passed through his shoulder. White agony exploded in Davos’ head. The red blade withdrew and then strangely acted as if it had been blocked as it had the first time.

The Sith’s blade struck high, Davos deflected it one handed and weakly but it reacted as it did in real life. The blades kissed again and locked in a high guard and Davos looked deep into the eyes of his opponent. They were red. His adversary was nothing more than a ghost of writhing black mist. The features on the ghost face could have been anyone but they were twisted in a mad grin. Davos was fighting a wraith, a crazed wraith.

A surge of Power forced Davos backwards as the shade lanced three thrusts at him. Davos blocked and countered. This time Yain’s wraith didn’t even dodge. The Lightsaber blade passed right through his head.

The shadows got a little darker and much large. One could hardly make out the temple in which they fought.


… the temple turned into a whirlwind of power. Force lighting burst from the wraith. The air was turned into a sandstorm as it whirled, bringing up dust. Millennia old tiles, piles of dusty bricks and wreckage were lifted into the air and joined the storm to flense Davos alive.

Davos just though this isn’t what is supposed to happen. and punched the shade in the head. It had no more substance than particularly humid air. The shadows seem to roar and expand over everything. The only light left was Davos’ lightsaber…

…And he shoved it through the shade’s chest. Instantly the ethereal form of the crazedwraith faded to be replaced by the worst thing imaginable. The pained figure Dellos Yain but this was not the Dellos Yain Davos had killed, but Dellos as a young man in a Padawan’s finery. A slight look of shock painted on his face.

“You’ve killed me…” He muttered before his knees gave way.

Davos’ hands shook, his lightsaber dropped from nerveless fingers. He had done it. He had killed his friend. Again. Tears streaked his face as the shadows loomed around him. His saber had deactivated as it hit the ground so he stood crying in the pitch-black temple.

Until a hand closed around his throat.

Davos urked as he was lifted bodily from the ground and slammed against a wall. He couldn’t breathe and the hand strangling his life from him burned. No sooner than he finished that thought than the hand around his neck lit up as if it were aflame. Light ran along the arm and outwards until the entire body was illuminated in a flickering and inappropriately cheerful light and Davos saw who it was. Dellos was pinning him to the wall with a savage strength he had never possessed in reality. Davos would have screamed then but lack of air turned into more of an elongated wheeze. The hole in the man’s chest was black, crusty and still smoking but he was smiling that malignantly crazed grin. Davos sight flickered and faded as he choked to death but he could still hear the words the dead–man whispered in his ear as he died.

“Yes, you killed me and you also killed yourself, old friend. But you are still breathing. So I’ll I think I’ll take your woman down with us to.”

***

Davos’ entire body jerked spastically as he woke up. He rolled right out of his sweat–drenched bed and landed on the cold hard deck hard. He lay there shaking wondering, what had happened to him. His shoulder and throat burn and his entire body felt battered and bruised. Then he remembered and he screamed.

Running to the Falcon’s fresher Davos dunked his head under a stream of ice cold water. The sight of Dellos’ living corpse seemed burned to his retinas.

There was no–one else on the Falcon. Cyra of course hadn’t been talking to him after their little snit. Hadn’t left on the mission even before he’d drunk
Himself unconscious? He couldn’t recall. He glanced at his chronometer and frowned. He couldn’t have been asleep THAT long. He tapped it again but it defiantly remained as it was. Davos slumped into a chair defeated by his timepiece. Despite having slept for the better of a local day (27 standard hours on this planet) he felt incredibly tired and more than slightly worried. Despite the formidable reputation of Nar Shadda, the mission was a cake–walk. Cyra should have been long back and wherreting at him once again. Davos frowned again. What had the woman got herself into and why did he care? She’d been nothing but trouble since they left Coruscant. Actually scratch that now that he though back, she’d always been nothing but trouble since they were both younglings. Always prodding and poking at him and Dellos, all in the name of friendship. Silly Girl. Davos sighed deeply.

At that point his deep thoughts were interrupted by a loud beep. He glared at the offending mug. (For he was still rather hazy) As a rule most mugs he had drunk from didn’t beep, it ruined the whole drinking atmosphere, as a rule. This mug however had the effrontery to beep not once but twice more.

Davos staggered over to it. This took him quite a while in his inebriated state, what took him even longer was realising the mug wasn’t beeping. He had set it down on the Comm station. After refilling the mug and getting back with it in hand, Davos hit the ‘play message’ button. Nothing happened. Davos narrowed his eyes at the unruly console and tried again. It was stupid the way the designers made the buttons move around like that…

A ¼ size hologram thrummed to life from atop the Comm console and resolved into a man dressed in a snappy business suit.

“Esteemed Jedi,” the hologram said in a cultured accent that was laden with sarcasm, “I am Harlan Isildur Fort. Recently you embarrassed me Jedi. Not only did you disgrace my heir but disgraced me by actually thinking I would bargain with you, filth. Know this scum, I know you came here and I hold your companion. She has been most forth coming. Surrender to me and pay for disgracing me and I will let her live. If you defy me, she dies. Slowly. You have three days.”

The Hologram faded away and Davos was left considerably more sober than he had been just half minute ago. What the kriff had happened? How had Cyra been captured? If that rat bastard had hurt her… then what? Davos asked himself. His earlier thoughts came back to him. What was she to him? Nothing. They weren’t friends, as he’d forceful insisted on the trip. And yet he felt the mad compulsion to jump straight into this Man’s stronghold and rip and shred these inbred morons as he went. He supposed over the years he become accustomed to the woman’s nagging so much as with out it, with out her he felt completely over balance… Or maybe that was the Whyren’s Reserve.

Davos sighed; he was in no condition to mount a rescue besides the Jedi council got mighty hissy when he did things unordered. They stared muttering about loose cannon and rogue missiles. He should properly go back to Courscant and report on this whole mess…

He was half way through the Falcon’s start up sequence when it hit him. A waking vision so powerful it drown all else out of mind.

“Don’t Dry to Fix me, Cyra, I’m not broken”

“Oh yeah? Well you’re doing one hell of an impression!”

Davos’ hands froze half way through flipping the system ignition switches. Was he broken? What was he doing? Why was he doing it? He was running away. His hands frozen over the control board shook. He was running away from the mission, he was running away from contact from friends. He’d taken the old adage: Once Burned, Twice wary to ridiculous extremes. His hands shook violently. First he’d try to run to fill his life with action to hide to constantly drown the pain in a rush of adrenaline and alcohol and it hadn’t worked so he was just settling to run and keep running. His hands quaked almost painfully. It was time to stop. To turn and face it. He couldn’t leave his friend to die at the hands of a madman. The he realised what running had cost him. All he had said and done over the last few days. She’d said it and he rejected her like a fool send her away because he couldn’t face that his feelings for her had long since been reciprocated. A wave of anger and fear smashed into him and washed him away.

***

As befitted a crime lord, Harlan Isildur Fort’s mansion had a large security force and unlike the majority, Fort’s were all intelligent well-trained beings. Armed with good blasters and comlinks they were competent and ready to lay down they lives defending against a similar well-armed set of intruders. They could not be blamed for what was about to happen.

The cloak struck midnight and the fancy orowood doors of the mansion exploded. Splinters rained horizontally through the lobby. Sentries who had moments before been smoking and chatting casually screamed and clutched gashes on their un-armoured arms and faces. A figure stalked in the doorway, a brown cloak whipped out behind him like the wings of an avenging angel and his face was contorted in an odd mixture of pain, grief and rage. The guards met him with Blaster fire.

Davos didn’t even raise his Lightsaber; it trailed behind him in a reverse grip. The force flowed through like a red tide of blood. Blaster bolts flew at him. Their course bent through extreme angles to waste themselves on the walls or the bolts simply detonated. He reached his range with the first guard. Then the frenzied slaughter began.

With rise of his arm Davos bisected the first man and filled his hands with the man’s carbine. Three Blaster bolts punched through his cloak into his back, Davos cocked his head sent the energy back as a telekinetic shove. A rodian was lifted bodily from the ground and smashed through a precious piece of artwork and smacked into a wall, which cracked and crumbled in the impact. The half dozen remaining and severely shaken guards fired blast after blast at Davos. Most of them missed an exploded on the wall behind him back–lighting him in crimson flashes. The men looked at the demonic grin on the man’s faces and knew they looked at their doom, at Vengeance Incarnate.


Harlan leant on his heavy desk, which had been moved against the wall for the occasion. A fine corellian brandy in his hand. Then the screaming of his man began. Harlan was unmoved; death was what he paid those men for. No more, no less. The screaming stopped. And Harlan stood next to the door and prepared himself.


Davos stalked through the rooms of the now wrecked mansion’s corridors. Through a pair of doors he hadn’t quite got around to smashing dramatically yet. In the centre of the room, cuffed to a sturdy metallic chair with highly illegal restraints that covered temperature entire forearm, was Cyra. Looking heart rendering beautiful despite a decided battered and bruised appearance. Davos blood ran hot with rage at the sight of her. And that was what got him. He took two steps into the room, his rage overriding any inkling of a danger sense, and was smashed in the back of the head by a sword hilt. Davos collapsed on the ground and promptly curled around the foot that was smashing into his solar plexus with enough force to send him sliding along the floor. Davos staggered upright to face his foe.

Harlan Isilidur Fort was not that much like is son at all. Sure they had a similar facial and body sets as one could expect of such close relations, other than that similarity there was no Likeness at all. Harlan was taller than his son was, his face more lined his dark hair had streaks of white at the temple and in his sharp pointed beard but for all this, he was stronger than his offspring muscles rippled down his frame and bulged under his suit. He moved with more grace and his entire body language spoke of his supreme confidence. Even Harlan’s clothes and Blaster spoke of how different he was from his son. Carl Fort had worn a loud and conspicuously expensive shirt and sported flashy WESTER blasters, all polished chrome and flash. Harlan by comparison wore a dark suit; the only telling of its expensive nature was in the fineness of the fabric and in how excellently tailored it was. Still was worn had thread bear in places, obvious Harlan was not a man to by dozens of flashy suit that’d he’d only ever where once. On his hip was a DL–44 Blaster that had obviously seen heavy use. It was a weapon of war not a symbol of wealth like his son’s gun. At this moment Harlan had his Blaster holstered and instead he hefted a strangely archaic long sword. He thrust it straight at Davos’ Heart.

Davos wondered what the fool was trying to play on him. Surely a simple metal blade could not prevail against a lightsaber’s energy shaft. Time seemed to slow as the metal plunged towards his chest as if it were struggling through particularly viscous oil, Casually Davos called his Saber to hand and side blocked the sword. The point stabbed hard through his left shoulder. Davos stepped back shocked before realising what had happened. Too late he noticed the strange keening of the blade and the slight coruscating translucent energy field about it. He had expected his Saber to sheer right through the metal instead he had mere deflected it with pitifully weak force.

Fear sloshed around inside Davos’ brainpan. He was injured. His shoulder… a sudden intense recollection of his dream passed through him. Yain’s blade punched through his shoulder in exactly the same place. To Davos it seemed as if Harlan had stabbed his blade into the crusty hole left by Yain’s Saber. The pain in it tripled then doubled then tripled again for good measure. And he couldn’t concentrate enough to send it away. He’d failed. He’d failed himself and he failed him when he went dark and now he’d failed. He was going to die here. How embarrassing.

Through the hazy mist of pain and grief, Davos saw the blade descending to his left, the shimmer of light reflecting off metal. Reacting on instinct he blocked putting all his strength into it. He swotted the sword away easily. A second later, Harlan’s fist caught him in the right temple. His roundhouse punch had added momentum from the force of Davos’ block. Davos was staggered and collapsed when Harlan’s heel caught the back of his knee. A second later the same foot kicked his Lightsaber away. Davos felt the cold touch of steel on the back and heard the contempt oozing in Harlan’s voice.

“Look’s like your simple tricks aren’t enough anymore. A pity I thought a Jedi would be harder to kill.”

Jedi The word bounced around in Davos’ skull like a rampant toddler smashing things and unlock memories and suddenly he was youngling sitting before esteemed old master Harkin again.

A Jedi acts when he is at peace. Only when he is calm will the force flow. Remember always the Jedi code: There is no emotion, there is Peace.

Harlan’s blade rose for the killing strike and Davos looked deep into his own soul. To his mind’s eye, the force emanating from his life was whirling morass of red rage, blue fear and steel grey grief. It stained his use of the greater force of all and deadened him to its warnings. This would not do. Davos both pulled himself in from the force and pushed out with the force. It was a strange sensation, his own core remained a swirl of emotion but outwardly he drew on the calm white of the force in all living things. He was a true Jedi once more. He was at peace, he was calm and he had no emotion: no anger, no fear and no mercy.

Harlan’s blade descended in fast killing stroke. It was far too late. Moving so fast it almost appeared instantaneous. His Lightsaber flew back to his hand with a snap–hiss. Harlan’s mouth was agape bur he still managed to bring his blade round in hasty parry.

Davos went on the offensive moving his blade in ever-faster sweeps and strikes. Harlan tried to keep up; sweat pored down his face. Davos casually increased the pressure, moving still faster and faster until Harlan could barley keep the energy blade from his skin. Then his block came a faction a second too slow and the energy scored a furrow along Harlan’s ribs.

With a scream Harlan swung his sword in one final desperate swing. Davos merely took a step back. The point whizzed past a few centimetres from his eyes. Then Davos stepped in a kicked it the man in the stomach. With a breathless wheeze Harlan collapsed. Then bull rushed Davos, even with surprise on his side Harlan managed nothing. Or so Davos thought as he side stepped. Leaving Harlan’s way to his true objective clear.

Harlan pulled his DL–44, miraculously still in its holster, and rammed hard against Cyra’s ribs. Then he moved around behind so her body shielded him from the Jedi. He grinned mirthlessly.

“Well, I certainly got your attention it appears. Walk away, Jedi. Or your woman gets it.”

Rage filled Davos but his control meant none of it reach it voice.

“On the contrary, put down your weapon and realise her and you may yet live through the night.”

“Not happening sorcerer. Even you can’t take me down before I pull this trigger.”

Davos prepared simply to throw this petty man aside with a thought.

“Would you really care to test that?”

“Yes,” said Harlan and pulled his trigger the same instant he was slammed against a wall with a bone–breaking crunch.

Cyra, barely conscious as it was, screamed as the scarlet bolt slammed into her ribs. It warped weirdly and cascaded across her chest burning and smoking even has she tried to absorb the energy.

Davos ran over and undid the restraints. Cyra slumped and fell to the fall. Davos knelt over her, tears streaking down his face. She was breathing, thank the force, she was breathing. Her eyes bleary she gazed up at him at coughed.

“Great Rescue, Dave. Thanks.” Davos gazed back into her eyes, she was quite serious, so was he.

“I love you, Cyra.” And he kissed her. Her eyes widened and she responded at the exact moment Davos gently pushed her into a sorely needed Healing trance.

Lifting his love in arms, Davos turned and walked back into the light.

***

Hopefully that first scene had some familiarity for you. And I donit thing I puleld off the final scene very fell but there it is. A Jedi's Soul complete. Please review.