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Complete Detachment (Star Wars Prequel SI)

Discussion in 'Creative Writing' started by 9adam4, Feb 1, 2019.

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  1. Winged One

    Winged One Not the Simurgh

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    ...I mean, it could be a double-bluff. Sidious could have changed plans and decided to have a go at corrupting Mace.
     
  2. Selias

    Selias Well worn.

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    Or maybe it's not from Sidious, and it's a genuine vision warning him that Mace's continued use of Juyo will result in him falling to the Dark Side.
     
  3. Thrackerzod

    Thrackerzod Just a regular, magical unicorn

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    A vision where this Obi-wan is actually skilled with a lightsaber? Obviously fake.
     
  4. Winged One

    Winged One Not the Simurgh

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    Also, did he actually share the bit in that vision where he apparently went so far up his own ass he thought working with the Sith to tear down the Republic was a rational course of action?
     
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  5. Belenus

    Belenus I trust you know where the happy button is?

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    Gonna be honest, I was more upset at the idea of skipping thirteen years of plot than Windu and Obi-Wan going Sith.
     
  6. Prince Charon

    Prince Charon Just zis guy, you know?

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    Same. I could honestly see this Obi-Wan going Sith in a really cold-blooded way (which would likely destroy Olana, psychologically), and as Selias notes above, Mace Windu is at serious risk of falling just from using Vaapaad.
     
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  7. Winged One

    Winged One Not the Simurgh

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    Oh, I don't think this version could become a Sith himself. They're too focused on the dark side to bring him into the cult. But he might side with them under the right circumstances. Circumstances which would include him failing to realize that even if a destructive force is called for, the Sith specifically would leave more corruption in their wake than they destroyed.
     
  8. Threadmarks: Ch. 28 - Youthful Zeal
    9adam4

    9adam4 No emotion, only "peace"

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    “I am a Jedi. The Force and my Master guide me.
    I shall transcend my emotions to achieve inner peace.
    I shall combat ignorance with enlightened knowledge.
    I shall quell passion with genuine serenity.
    I shall overcome death by the light of the Force.
    Neither personal power nor wealth shall be my goal, but I shall strive for greatness so that I can benefit the Galaxy.
    Forsaking all else, I shall protect and serve my Master, even as he serves the will of the Force.
    Neither sentient nor beast nor principalities nor powers nor fear nor Darkness nor death nor life, nor anything within this Galaxy or outside it, shall stand against the will of my Master while I draw breath.
    These promises I make, of my own free will, in witness of the living Force.”

    The two of us sat alone in the secure training area where I kept my less public projects. The words echoed strangely in the space, where the ceiling always seemed to loom despite it being well out of reach above us on the sparring mat.

    I had started by nodding along with Olana as she recited ‘her’ Oath, but by the end, I was stock still. She looked me with such hopefulness, such conviction…

    “You haven't… shared those last lines with others, have you?” I deliberately kept my tone even and soft.

    “I have. You inspired me with your own personal Oath, Obi-wan. I knew mine needed to reflect me the same way.”

    “And what did people say?”

    “They loved it! The other initiates are working on their own versions; everyone agrees this is so much better than the old standard one.”

    I swallowed, remembering what the remedy in Ancient Athens was for an annoying upstart who ‘corrupted the youth.’ Did hemlock grow on any Core Worlds, I wondered?

    “And what did your teachers say?”

    Olana jerked her chin up in that defiant look unique to teenagers. “They admitted that I had the right to adjust my Oath however I wanted.”

    “I see.” This had escalated from a choice to a matter of principle, which would make it far more difficult for her to back down. “They advised you against these lines, did they?”

    She breathed sharply, nodding. “I shouldn’t have anything in my Oath, they said, that referenced specific people or events. But… you do, Obi-wan. You swore to prevent the Galactic Empire and Darth Vader.”

    “And whatever happens, I will be working against those for the rest of my life. They’re not ephemeral goals; they’re permanent.”

    “So are mine,” she insisted. Her eyes were piercing; were it not for her strong mental barriers, I suspected I would find her will to be overwhelming. “The Force has bestowed upon you, and you alone, a map of the future. Not just one Vision, but decade after decade of events. You are clearly the Force’s greatest servant. And what greater goal could I have than to serve you, in turn?”

    I gave a great sigh, and stood from the sparring mat. Olana followed me over to the workbench upon which my most recent personal project laid open. As my student looked at the unfamiliar arrangement of circuits and back at me, I gave her a nod to encourage her questions.

    “Those clear fragments are from the kyber crystal that Annie shattered?” she began, and at my further nod, “Did you find a way to use them together by interlinking them?”

    “Yes, but not in a laser sword.” I passed a grounder over the device, then snapped each of the components into the casing before closing it up. “I've not tried this before, but” - a small feed of energy into one crystal, bouncing around among the matrix before dissipating - “I think it's ready.”

    She stood well back as I took the bronze-plated hilt in my hands, pointed it toward the firing range, and activated it. White plasma emerged from the blade, curving almost immediately, gradually banking a meter before abruptly slithering sideways, then upward, and back around. Even as the snaking plasma reached its full three-meter length, I extended myself into it, my mind reaching through the hilt and winding along with the still shifting, writhing energy.

    It felt just as intimate as holding my blade, but somehow more visceral. I flexed my will and the plasma shifted in response. With Olana looking on, the lightwhip moved, rotated, and suddenly extended itself to its full length with an audible snap.

    I tilted the hilt upward to still the weapon as it recoiled, and heard a gasp from Olana - combined with the mental spike of surprise - that almost disrupted my concentration. She noticed before I did that the blade had darkened, and was now a baleful orange color. That took me aback for just a second - matching as it did, my recent dreams - but I allowed the uncertainties to pass over me as I asserted myself more forcefully over the new weapon. Just a few minutes of basic drills quickly brought home the flexibility of the lightwhip, but after just a short time, I thumbed it off and replaced it in my chest.

    “Why do you think,” I began abruptly as Olana and I returned to sit in the sparring area, “that obeying and protecting me is how best you can serve?”

    Olana’s gaze had been inwardly directed as she watched my experiments with the new weapon; it had unbalanced her. Now she forced herself to return to the present, and I saw her jaw set in full commitment to her ideals. “As I said, Obi-wan. You are unique. If you succeed, the Force is vindicated.”

    I vigorously shook my head at this. “I am not asking, ‘why me.’ I am asking, ‘why obey and protect.’” I watched her eyes as they shifted, trying to shift her mental framework to accommodate the question. “Why do you believe that a servant and protector is what I need?”

    After some internal wrangling - and, I sensed, some suppressed excitement - she looked to me with curiosity. “Are there other options?”

    “There are. But first, tell me how you feel about the lightwhip.”

    Olana clamped down on her worry and irritation, and so quickly that had I not been specifically looking for it, it’s unlikely I would have sensed it. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you learn how to make it?”

    I smiled knowingly. “First, please answer my question. How do you feel about it?”

    “It took me entirely by surprise,” she admitted. “It looks like it will require an unorthodox fighting style, if you-”

    “Tell me,” I interrupted, “how you feel about it.”

    The girl inhaled and swallowed, giving me a look as though I had hurt her. “I… don’t like it,” she admitted, dropping her eyes. Her mind was closed down more tightly than usual as well, and her voice so faint as to make it hard to hear. “Orange is… I don’t know what it really means, but the rumors are that the orange color is like red. Something Dark, or at least grey. Not good.”

    I kept my gaze on hers, solemn, no smile now. “Anything else?”

    She only made eye contact in an occasional glance, but she answered. “I… don’t think you should be dividing your weapons training up so much. Soresu, then Jar’Kai, your cortosis shield, the blasters… now this? They say you’re the next Dooku, a natural, but… Master Dooku just uses the one dueling blade, right? Wouldn’t that be a better use of your time than all of these… tricks?”

    After her last question, she finally met my eyes again… and brightened when she saw my broad smile. “There it is,” I gestured at her proudly. “That is what I need more than anything else.”

    “Doubt?” Olana asked.

    “No, I have plenty of that,” I assured her. “I need another perspective. An intelligent, prudent person that I really trust to give me an honest look at what I’m doing.” I widened my arms where we were sitting to encompass all of my projects. “There is far too much going on, and I am trying to tackle a hundred different things, living up to the commitments of my past as well as preparing for the dangers of the future.” I stood again, and gave her my hand this time. “Nobody else knows everything I’m working on, everything I do - not even Qui-Gon. But if I have you with me, Olana, then I can also trust you to tell me when you understand things differently than I do.”

    I checked over all the equipment as we locked up the space. “So with that in mind,” I asked, “can we just get rid of that second-to-last line in your Oath? The one about nothing standing in my way?”

    “Because you want me to have my own ideas and beliefs, and not just be your servant,” Olana echoed.

    “Exactly,” I agreed.

    “In that case - no,” she answered, a mischievous smile on her own face.

    “Sorry, what?”

    “I said no, Master.” She stood with her arms to her sides, exuding confidence. “You want me to think for myself, and express it when we differ? Here, we differ. And, respectfully, you can deal with it.”

    So, in some sense, I lost the argument… but I could, in fact, deal with that.
     
  9. hyperspacewizard

    hyperspacewizard Versed in the lewd.

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    Kinky lol :p

    why the whip though that seems like it be just as dangerous for the user and any allies as the enemy
     
  10. 9adam4

    9adam4 No emotion, only "peace"

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    Most users didn't operate in close proximity to allies.

    The lightwhip showed up in Legends as something that regular lightsaber wielders had trouble defending against. Ben is trying to recapture strategies that work against lightsabers, because it's been centuries since Jedi have fought in wars that way. They've had lightsabers, and their opponents haven't.
     
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  11. Belenus

    Belenus I trust you know where the happy button is?

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    That's not a yandere flag, that's an entire color guard with drum line.
     
  12. Thrackerzod

    Thrackerzod Just a regular, magical unicorn

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    Like like our sub has a bit of a dom streak. ;)

    Seriously though, it's always great to see the supporting characters thinking for themselves, instead of just going along with what an SI character wants.
     
  13. Oh I am slain!

    Oh I am slain! ?

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    Was that ending primarily for a fun narrative stopping point? Or was Olana just teasing him, and will make some changes anyway? I couldn't see any Jedi master, even Adam-wan Kenobi, letting Olana have the last word on this. Seems like the Master bits of the oath is almost tailor built for angst and self-destructive attachments. Maybe just depends on how "Jedi Oaths" are used in this setting.

    Also, I'd have thought that he would at least reemphasize that Force visions can be misleading or incomplete, especially when the dark side is active. I suppose that off-screen, in the next in-setting months, he'll be able to reemphasize this over and over, and try to ward off the idolization. Unless if part of him actually likes the idolization, and thus doesn't consciously stop it as well as he could. His didactic remarks to Olana were along the lines of "yes, your idolization is correct, and I need you, and only you, as a fully trusted partner to give second opinions on my overworked burdens."

    I did like this scene for illustrating their relationship though. And for reminding us of how overloaded Adam-wan's tasks are. Hehe, poor Olana. Hope she'll get more trusted close friends besides just her new friends Obi and Anakin.

    I'd enjoy more glimpses and specific mentions of Adam-wan's interactions with peers who knew him when he was a youngling. And with his non-Jedi contacts from his various projects. I know that some have been shown, but I'd enjoy more.

    This would make the world come alive beyond the canon characters + Olana.

    Hrm. I suppose this might just be an accepted convention, though. Due to plot and word bloat constraints, fiction stories lean towards everyone only ever having a handful of social relationships both during the story and for their entire backstory too. Everyone else is often dead, estranged, or non-existent.

    But even merely offhanded, one-sentence references to these other people would be neat.

    Well, unless if you're intentionally trying to portray how he never opened up to others till now. Which seems kinda true, too. Even a canon character like Siri was only briefly mentioned, then disappeared for 16 chapters. If that wasn't intentional, you might need to maintain a list or chart that shows which characters were mentioned in what chapter.
    How much of Adam-wan's various projects and concerns are the Jedi Council working on at the moment?

    I'd think they'd be constantly picking his brain as much as safely possible, and some of the masters would be going out of their way to interact with him more.

    I guess readers don't quite know the depths of Adam-wan's meta knowledge. Nor the breadth of what he has told the Jedi Council.

    But I presume there are thousands more things he could be addressing than he has even begun addressing, for which the Jedi Council would be desperate to delegate and work on. Ranging from specific major conflicts in the future and checking up on worlds & leaders discontent with the Republic, to following up on future talent or obscure Jedi/Sith archives or distant Force-using groups. Some of these merely need a single Jedi and a week. Some of these need hundreds of Jedi over the course of years, plus lots of non-Jedi resources. If anything, I'd be expecting a massive chunk of the Jedi Order mobilizing to address a bunch of potential issues noted by his meta knowledge, once the Jedi Council members have verified enough and are constantly chatting with him.

    Story-wise, this would set up delicious moments when significant setbacks arise. While most Jedi might not know that Adam-wan's "visions" were the originator of these missions, some of those in the know would point the blame at him, even when many of the Order's leaders support him. Memetic fanon mastermind!Dumbledore is a fun trope for a reason,

    Well, I guess maybe there'd also be some cases like the Kaleesh-Yam'rii situation, where Adam-wan seems to have decided to fully support the Kalee killing all the Yam'rii, and to keep all this secret from any other Jedi besides Olana and Anakin.

    Hrm. I also don't know the length of Adam-wan's list of "things that need to be addressed based on meta knowledge". Probably also depends on how much he remembered years into the setting. It's not as if he brought Wookieepedia with him. I'm really curious what the author's OOC brainstormed list of known/unknown metaknowledge info looks like. But I guess that'd be spoilers. That list could also still be a work-in-progress as the author plans and researches, which seems like the common approach for most serialized self-insert fics.
     
  14. Edifier

    Edifier Trusted within thoughts.

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    Wow! That made me laugh out loud.
    Olana's definitely my favorite character now.
     
    Last edited: Mar 27, 2019
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  15. Pef

    Pef Versed in the lewd.

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    • Once more, do not necro. This is against Rule 7. Also, what the heck are you on about? That was excessive and looking way too hard into stuff. Rule 1 breach too.
    An Obi-wan avatar dos not change you're a normie and worse, a Disney employee.

    Lucas had young Anakin say "laser sword" once, to show that he was uneducated, being a slave and all..

    Your character has no excuse, except licking Disney boots for a pat on your lackey head.

    However, if you go to a store selling SW toys, you'll find that Ray's weapon is called a lightsaber, because they actually know which side the bread is buttered, no matter how much they hate the fans.
     
    Last edited: Aug 16, 2019
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  16. 9adam4

    9adam4 No emotion, only "peace"

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    Considering my username and profile are tied to my real name, you can directly confirm that this isn't true.

    I'm a patent attorney. I do not now, nor have I ever worked for Disney or any affiliated company, although I did once vet a copyright licensing agreement for a client planning to use Disney characters in an ad campaign.

    As for being a "normie," I'm both perplexed that you could read through the story and think that (considering the amount of old EU material I've expanded on), and also rather amused that you had to read through so many chapters to find a single reference that you felt was out of character.

    Despite Lucas's comment, a substantial number of more technical-minded characters have referred to the weapons that way in various books and game dialog.

    But thanks for the feedback. I'll keep it in mind when I get around to continuing the story.
     
  17. Threadmarks: Ch. 29 - Dirty Work, part 1
    9adam4

    9adam4 No emotion, only "peace"

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    "Simon!" the woman behind the bar bellowed a greeting as I entered.

    "Tesh," I nodded back, not making the mistake of returning her smile. I looked around the dingy room, a popular dive for menial laborers and petty criminals here on the lower levels of Coruscant. The poorly lit area was more than half-full, a roil of repressed desires and hostilities that could move to violence at any time.

    Tesh set a local brew on the bar as I sat down, eyeing my appearance curiously. "The beard looks shite on you," she quipped, "but it's still good to see you. Looking to earn?"

    I shook my head as I raised the beer to my lips. I was wearing metal-laced leather with a heavy jacket able to conceal weapons - an outfit appropriate to 'Simon,' a young tough that took jobs as a bouncer between mercenary hires off-planet. "Not just yet, although maybe soon. You hiring?"

    Fear and excitement pulsed from the woman as she leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "Not here, but we need a bruiser for some of the back room stuff. You were always good for it," she added a wink that was meant to be flirty, but her mind held no hint of romantic interest.

    "I could be persuaded," I assented, and she nodded as she went to attend other customers. Tesh was one of the good ones, and in my past dealings with her, I'd had more than one occasion to talk down (or take down) an irate or amorous customer.

    Qui-Gon had asked me more than once where my time went as a Padawan that I wasn't able to keep up with my standard training. He knew half of it - my involvement in political and financial matters dealing with the future of the Republic. But while he had some inkling that I spent time down here (and lots of it), I'd never shared with him what it was I worked on. That would have largely defeated the purpose.

    As I nursed my drink (I was effectively immune to alcohol at this point, although early on I had taken a pill to denature the alcohol before it could affect me), I immersed myself in the chaos of the large room. The flashpoint was immediately clear - aggressive hostility between two groups sitting at adjacent tables near the back of the area. The groups were mainly human, but each notably contained a single Aqualish companion that other members of the group were focusing their attentions on.

    Aqualish are not universally churlish, as diplomats of the species have assured me, but the ones that choose to leave the homeworld tend to be aggressive and antisocial. They were each broadcasting their animosity toward the other quite loudly, and so I took a few moments to listen.

    The issue was a mate. The same Aqualish female appeared prominently in both of their minds, and I could feel both the lust and aggression quite clearly. One of the two men, an Aquala named Dusnat, had a history with the woman, who from their mental images was clearly an attractive member of their species.

    I went to work on the Aquala first. While much of his surface attention was on commiserating with his friends and complaining about the other guy (a Quara named Borni), the back of Dusnat's mind kept returning to the female and their shared history. A very small push from me led his mind to wander into thoughts of his homeworld, and memories of his turbulent departure, tinged in loss. Drawing out his grief and self-loathing led Dusnat to ignore the glares from his rival and mull over his own failures, pushing his whole drinking contingent into a similarly dark mood.

    Borni was at first emboldened as he and his friends saw the tone of the other table change, but I stabbed out at him strong enough that he physically winced, as did the men immediately around him. I quickly enveloped his mind, pulling forward memories of him losing fights, being yelled at and having to back down. I fostered fear in him, a lack of confidence intense enough that it would be hours before he could make any sort of aggressive move.

    The flashpoint was diffused, but now it was time to pay for it. My eyes never left my drink, and I retreated firmly into the recesses of my own mind as the backlash hit. Having fostered both sadness and fear in others, it was inevitable that I would contact both myself… a reason why such gross manipulations were not taught at the Temple. I detached myself from my emotions and experienced them from a distance.

    Grief, particularly nostalgia-laced, usually brought me back to scenes from my old life. But today, I instead found myself thinking about Siri. Our missions together - particularly the one where we rescued Olanna - had raised the specter of romance between us. Although the original Obi-Wan had pursued the matter, I had not, my memories still too fresh and my connection to my previous life too strong. I occasionally wondered if my more… relaxed views on relationships and duty might have provoked a happier ending had I allowed it. A foolish fantasy to dwell on, particularly in light of my deepening relationship to Shmi - but a reminder that I needed to see how Siri was dealing with the untimely loss of her own master.

    Fear, well - the fear was the same as it always was. High-definition images of an angry Anikan hurting and killing innocents, of Vader terrorizing the Galaxy. Flashes of Qui-Gon’s injuries… of Maul’s unambiguous demise… of the unknown, now that the timeline had been changed so much from what I knew. It chilled my core, and I sank deeper into myself, making certain not to reach out to the Force in this dark moment, even as it called to me.

    You are not a Master, I told myself, and it was both a plea for control and a manifestation of my fears. You are barely a Knight. Your powers amount nothing if you cannot wield them with precision. Your plans mean nothing if you fail in your detachment. Your actions accomplish nothing if the Empire still rises.

    The wave of emotion passed. Only two had noticed whatever expression had betrayed my face during the backlash: Tesh the bartender, and a young man sitting at the opposite end of the bar. They exchanged a glance. Tesh swapped my nearly-empty glass for a fresh beer.

    “Somethin’ eatin’ at ya?” the other man tossed at me. He had the stained overalls and tool belt of a day laborer, and his tone was soft, friendly, concerned. I reached out to him emotionally - and only barely steeled my recoil as I felt his cold, predatory response. This was not a good man, as he initially appeared even in his surface thoughts. The clothes and demeanor were both part of a ruse to… I dug deeper… single out men with cash, mug or murder them, and strip them of their valuables. He was an opportunist; he didn’t go after well-connected locals or larger groups. He had thug accomplices nearby to affect an ambush once he had identified a likely target.

    To women, they did worse.

    “Nothing a couple of beers can’t fix.” I gave the man - Rondil - a respectful nod, and moved down when he pointed to the stool next to his. Chatting him up was easy; he made it so. I made sure not to give any answers to his carefully probing questions that might reject me as a potential mark.

    Inside, I worked hard to quell my excitement and stay properly collected, even as I thrilled at resuming the ‘field training’ that I had neglected for some time. Killing Rondil and his friends would be satisfying, but it was important that I not make the mistake of enjoying it.
     
  18. Threadmarks: Ch. 30 - Dirty Work, part 2
    9adam4

    9adam4 No emotion, only "peace"

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    I feigned a stagger as Rondil led me down the alleyway toward a lift that - to give the man credit - would have led to my apartment if I actually lived where I had said. It was unclear just exactly how his bigger, less congenial companions found us, as it was unlikely they would be waiting down one of the dozens of shifty corridors in the lower levels. But find us they did. Two more humans, like Rondil, and a Gamorrean male.

    They hunched together in a recess at the side of the alley, seemingly lost in their own conversation as they waited for us to pass. In fact, their attention was wholly on us, apparently waiting for a signal from Rondil to make a move.

    As I sized up the group, I realized that the Gamorrean threw a wrench into matters. He wasn’t wearing the leather armor of a clansman, but rather the colorful synthetic clothing of Coruscant… and they fit poorly. But more importantly, unlike Rondil and his two human friends, Stubby (as he thought of himself) exuded not malice or anticipation but simple confused fear. He… didn’t know what his companions were planning to do to me. They’d brought him along as muscle, but hadn’t even explained to him the nature of the job. It wasn’t unusual for the low-intelligence Gamorreans to be treated as little more than beasts, and Stubby’s ‘friends’ had taken that approach with him.

    I met his deep-set dull eyes above his pig-like snout, and felt his spark of pity and disgust. He’d go along with hurting me, I realized, not because he wanted to, but because he always went along with what his group did. He found the idea distasteful, but standing up to his companions never even occurred to him. He widened his mouth in a grimace, and only then did I see four points sticking up from his lower jaw. This boy was only starting to grow out his tusks, and his horns were similarly small nubs (likely the source of his nickname).

    So now the matter was complicated. I wasn’t going to kill this kid; but that left me in a situation where killing the other three was no longer a clean, zero-witness affair. I’d have to subdue him non-fatally, then hopefully get him to understand the situation he was in. Rehabilitating a rogue Gamorrean was hardly -

    My thoughts were interrupted when Rondil gave the signal, bodily throwing me towards his companions. I began to reach out a hand to steady myself with the Force, but I pulled back, realizing that I could probably win this battle without breaking cover. None of these thugs were sensitives, and knowing where to move to avoid their Force-telegraphed blows made the battle easy. They weren’t drawing blasters, having expected to carve me up with knives (not even vibra-knives, just the regular kind), and the humans yelped in surprise as I put one, two, and three of them on the ground with wrist grabs and disarming flips.

    I cheated a bit with Stubby, putting enough Force behind my leather-clad punches to penetrate his thick hide and knock him down. The fear wafting off of him now mirrored that of his friends perfectly, but the outcome would be very different.

    The experienced thugs made no attempt to rise, and I could sense them lining up their placating entreaties as they caught their breath. They never had the chance to say them; my hand blaster spoke six times in rapid succession and three human corpses returned to the alley floor.
    My attention turned to the Gamorrean bull, who was grunting something that I sensed to be the equivalent of a plea for mercy. I knew nothing of his language, and couldn’t have physically spoken it even if I did. I tried a reply in Galactic Standard. “Where is your matron?”

    He snorted a response, and I caught whiffs of loneliness. Images of an armed conflict, Gamorrean against Gammorean, and the clear impression that he and his clan had lost.

    “So there’s no one that you really answer to, then,” I said, as much to myself as to Stubby. “If I tell you to run off, where will you go?”

    No verbal response this time, but he recalled his recent past. Sleeping in unlit passages farther underground, scrounging for food. He had nowhere to go.

    “The Gamorrean Consulate Office,” said a voice behind me, “encourages the return of what they call ‘maverick males.’ I believe he’d qualify for their assistance program.”

    I rounded on my apprentice-to-be, not bothering to hide my deep surprise. “Your shielding is really quite good, Olanna. How long have you been following me?”

    “Long enough.” She frowned darkly at the bodies surrounding us, clearly having many questions but wanting to focus on the issue at hand. “Do we need to cuff him?”

    “I don’t carry handcuffs. That’s… not what I do down here.” She made as though to press the point, but I quickly changed the subject. “Stubby,” I ignored Olanna’s eyebrow raise at the name, “if we hire you a cab, will you go where we ask and talk to the people there?”

    He was clearly confused, but he breathed out assent, and I sensed no intent to deceive us. He didn’t know what a consulate was. I hoped he’d be happy back in the care of those who knew what he needed.

    It was a very long lift ride up to where I could hire Stubby transport, and while I couldn’t sense her mind telepathically, the hostile tension in the elevator was palpable.. Olanna waited until the Gamorrean was safely in the automated flyer before she turned on me.

    “Obi, what is going on?” She asked as we walked along another corridor with bad lighting.

    “I was getting ready to ask you the same thing,” I shot back. “How did you follow me? Qui-Gon never managed it.”

    “I suspect that Qui-Gon just never got caught,” Olanna pointed out. “You’re easy to sense, even from a great distance, when you open your mind up to others. Particularly non-Jedi.”

    I nodded. “Perhaps that’s something we can work on together? I’d rather be able to investigate others without broadcasting my own activities in return.”

    “Please don’t change the subject,” my student frowned. “You come down here to, what, slake bloodlust? Experiment on the helpless? Give me a foothold here.”

    “It’s training,” I shrugged, making an abrupt turn into a cross-corridor. “Listening, reading, and guiding the thoughts of others in an environment where my influence won’t be noticed. Hand-to-hand and blaster combat, to lethal ends, against multiple enemies that don’t have Force training.”

    “That wasn’t combat,” Olanna replied. “It was carnage. You disabled those humans with ease, and then executed them coldly.”

    “You’re… right,” I begrudgingly admitted. “I was expecting them to put up a lot more of a fight. Detaching myself from the act of killing is still useful practice, but I certainly didn’t learn anything new from the violent exchange itself.”

    Olanna muttered something under her breath that I didn’t catch. “How long have you been doing this?”

    “Four years.”

    I felt more than saw her jaw drop at that. “Why?”

    “That’s… a complicated question.” I finally arrived at one of the numerous low-cost, low-security storage walls that dotted the lower levels, and popped open my locker with a quick code sequence. Shucking my leathers, I saw Olanna turn away blushing as I donned my Jedi garb. “I’m hungry. Let’s grab a bite, and I’ll explain.”
     
  19. Belenus

    Belenus I trust you know where the happy button is?

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    The legality isn't in question, so it really comes down to morality.
    In my opinion, if these sorts of criminals would be given just trials resulting in a just sentence (I'd say death, given that they're definitely murderers and either rapists or slavers as well), then summary execution in the gutter is immoral.
    On the other hand, if they cannot be guaranteed justice, then it is entirely moral to exact justice on the street. For example, the Corsuscant judicial system is known for being corrupt, so if it would restrict their trial to being held in the local jurisdiction, it would be reasonable to suspect corruption would get them off.

    As for the legalities, that really is a cultural artifact. Of course it's not legal to play vigilante in Coruscant, even for a Jedi. But legality and morality have always had a love/hate relationship at best.
     
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  20. Simonbob

    Simonbob Really? You don't say.

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    I see she's already doing her duty to him.

    I mean, pointing out how idiotic and monsterous he is is a full time job, and his last master was a bit to busy.....
     
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  21. Threadmarks: Ch. 31 - Role Reversal
    9adam4

    9adam4 No emotion, only "peace"

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    We went to one of the only 'dry' Mon Calamari restaurants in the district, a place that specialized in cooking their planet's dishes for a non-native palate. Each table was screened-off for the privacy of its diners. Once the large steaming plate was delivered, along with two heavy pitchers of flavored water, the servers left us to finish the meal in peace.

    "Not had this before?" I asked Olanna as I grabbed the serrated cutlery, slicing into a flank of some aquatic lizard. It had been steeped in a strong, tangy sauce that I could smell as I plopped a thick slice onto her plate before taking a larger one for myself.

    She swallowed her misgivings and gamely picked up the meat by her fingers. "I wasn't aware that humans could eat their food."

    "Not the way they usually prepare it, no," I pointed out. "They don't use heat; they pickle it. Way too acidic and tough for human digestion." I bit into the tender flank, and absent-mindedly reached for an eel. "But some enterprising soul figured out boiling it in an alkaline bath. Then you just need to add enough sugar to-"

    "Obi." The interruption was firm if not loud. "Enough stalling. Explain, please."

    I nodded, taking a minute to try the punch, which was heavy in citrus. "What is the Jedi Order teaching us?"

    Olanna perked up immediately; she was always game for when a teacher used the Socratic method to make a point. "How to better commune with the Force, and how to use our gifts to help others throughout the Republic."

    "A very orthodox answer," I acknowledged with a smile. "How do you think I might clarify it?"

    My apprentice frowned. "How… do I think you would adjust what I said? Something cynical about the crumbling Republic, I would imagine."

    I laughed at that. "Right." I took another bite, and Olanna did the same. Despite her initial skeptical looks at the seafood, she was clearly enjoying it. "The Jedi Order teaches its children, initiates, padawan… even its knights… to fit into the large organization it encompasses. An organization that does amazing work, by the way. If I land on a random farming world off the established hyperways and the people there can speak to me in Galactic Standard, chances are that’s the Education Corps at work.”

    “You don’t have to sell me on that,” Olanna reminded me. “I thought I’d be training to join them by this time next year.”

    “And you’d have been an excellent teacher, no doubt. You are,” I send a wave of approval and saw her positive reaction under my praise. “But the obvious limitation to the Jedi Order’s training, is that they are assuming the persistence of the Order. They are training Jedi - and other Force-sensitives that join the Corps - to be one additional cog in their large machine.”

    She nodded. “We all receive the fundamentals, but then very quickly we specialize. Consulars get different training than Sentinels. Workers for the Diplomatic core don’t train the same as Templars.”

    “And many skills and whole areas of knowledge,” I continued this line of thought, “are carefully set aside and reserved for only those deemed to need them. The less savory aspects of our history, for example, or the mental exercises used by the Seers.”

    “You don’t agree with this apportionment?” she chewed thoughtfully the innards of a shellfish.

    “If their assumptions are correct, it makes sense.” I met her eyes solemnly. “But I had my Visions. A world where the Jedi Order is absent, where a few lone Jedi carry whatever they happen to know, or can learn, to the next generation. Where a Jedi isn’t working within a network of his peers and with the resources of the Republic, but surviving entirely on his own, with what resources and allies he can cultivate.”

    “You were looking to train, not for the way the Galaxy is, but for what it will become,” Olanna smiled in comprehension. “But… aren’t we working to change that? To preserve the Galaxy, and the Order, from the destruction you saw?”

    I shrugged, acknowledging her point. “A lot of my time and training has been spent working on skills and knowledge that I think might be needed for the conflict itself. Methods of fighting that bypass the traditional defenses of Force users, mental skills strong enough to identify and combat manipulation and clouding by the Dark Side.”

    “Why does that involve the lower levels of Coruscant?” She seemed surprised when looking down at the large dish and realizing there were only a couple of morsels left; I nodded my assent at her and she happily scooped them up.

    “I needed an outlet where I could separate my actions from their emotional impact on my Jedi identity. And where I could hone even invasive mental skills without rebuke from the Masters.”

    Her expression screwed up again. “You’re violating peoples’ minds.”

    “Very much so.” In response to this omission, I felt a wave of alarm leak out of Olanna past her shielding. “This upsets you?”

    In her seat, she seemed to shrink in on herself before saying, “You know what’s been happening with Partha. Now I find out my Master’s doing the same thing, to those who can’t fight back.”

    I shook my head. “Hardly the same thing. I’ve been careful to limit my exercises to the same ends where the Jedi Order consider a Force Suggestion to be acceptable. Diffusing violence, misdirecting from my own mission, augmenting a compelling argument, bolstering will over misgivings.”

    “And yet you felt the need to hide it from your Master. You must have known he wouldn’t approve.”

    I shrugged. “I only recently told Qui-Gon the details of my Visions.”

    “I’m glad he got you to be less secretive. The Council should have the opportunity to work based on the information you have.”

    “And the Sith now can, as well,” I quipped.

    “We’re one for one in dealing with Sith Lords,” she sipped her punch with a tight-lipped smile.

    I shook my head. “The point is that my training is focused on, not what an average Jedi living here in the Republic will face, but what I have reason to believe that I, specifically, will face. I may need to rethink how I go about that training considering where I am now, but I still consider it important.”

    Olanna nodded. “When we return from Ilum, we can consider how to go about this.”

    I frowned. “Ilum? Have you given up on attuning Maul’s crystal, then? Once you finish your initiate tests, we can -”

    “I’ve spoken with the Council of Seers,” she interrupted me, her voice low in volume but firm. “They agree, you need to travel to Ilum and confront your Visions directly.”

    “You… spoke to the Seers about me, by yourself? As an initiate, not even a Padawan yet?” I scowled at her, surprised.

    Finishing her cup, she shrugged assent. “Qui-Gon, Anakin, and I went to speak to them. Although the petition was mine.” She met my eyes, and I felt the warmth emanating from her like a blanket. “Master, your newly unlocked memories, the events on Naboo - you’ve been running at full speed away from them, doing everything other than addressing and making peace with what has happened.”

    “What is there to make peace with?” I asked, genuinely uncertain at what she meant. “Qui-Gon survived; we won the battle. The Trade Federation is in shambles.”

    “And so that memory is filed away in you, directly beside the one where Qui-Gon dies at the hands of a Sith Lord. You remember a dozen battles won by Adi Gallia, set next to a world where Darth Maul ends her life and deeds.” She held my eyes and mind more firmly, letting me feel her concern for me. “A world where you fall in love with Shmi Skywalker,” she pushed through my feeble protest, “is parallel with one where she remains on Tatooine until her violent death. The incongruities are starting to affect you, Obi-wan.”

    “Your trials,” I reminded her. “You need to finish your time as an initiate so you can be officially declared a Padawan.”

    “Everything is already arranged,” she insisted. “My cohort is undertaking its last two tests this coming week, and the week after. I will pass both, and then we will head to Ilum.”

    Sighing, I gave her an appraising look. “Who is the Master, here, and who is the Apprentice?”

    Calmly, and with no trace of humor, she responded. “You told me what you needed me to be, Obi-wan.” She rose from the table, ready to go, and I rose with her. “I remind you again: don’t set me to a task that you don’t want fulfilled. You’ll get what you ask for.”
     
    Last edited: Dec 6, 2019
  22. Simonbob

    Simonbob Really? You don't say.

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    Accurate.

    What a woman!
     
  23. Ph34r_n0_3V1L

    Ph34r_n0_3V1L The Best Monkey

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    Should be Council.

    Counsel is advice (Gandalf gave wise counsel) or a lawyer (He's counsel for the defendant). Council is an advisory or deliberative group (City Council).
     
  24. 9adam4

    9adam4 No emotion, only "peace"

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    Considering my job title was "Counsel" until very recently, you'd think I'd not make that mistake nearly as often as I do. Thanks.
     
  25. Extras: A New Hope for Old Friends
    9adam4

    9adam4 No emotion, only "peace"

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    (Years later, in an a different canon far, far away...)

    Luke looked up from the breakfast table with a smlle as his uncle walked in "Ben! We weren't expecting you until later in the week. Something up?"

    The old Jedi nodded thoughtfully, a concerned frown on his face. He gave Aunt Beru a quick hug as Uncle Owen came in the room. "Have you guys been keeping an eye on the telenet? The space battle last night?"

    The old married couple exchanged a look before Lars, answered, "We really haven't had time; you know how busy we are this season."

    "I heard something about it," Luke supplied. "A renegade smuggler taken down by Imperial forces, right?"

    "That's the official story, anyway. Actually it was a diplomatic transport. And Darth Vader was the one in pursuit."

    "Vader!" Luke snarled. "Does that mean it's time??"

    "Time to leave, yes," Ben looked to Beru, who was already pulling out a cooler to stock with provisions. "Not time for you to face your father. You are nowhere close to ready, and I think you know that."

    Luke started to argue, but seeing even Owen hastily packing, realized it wasn't the time. "Then where are we going?"

    "The Dagobah system. We're going to need to lay low, and accelerate your training." His wrist communicator beeped and squealed in droidspeak. "Understood. My droid says we need to be on our way within the next ten minutes." Another sequence of beeps. "I was rounding, Artoo. We've talked about this."

    "How are we getting off-planet if the Empire is here?" Owen asked.

    "I made a call to an old friend who thinks he can smuggle us off in his ship. Any of you speak Wookiee?"
     
    Last edited: Dec 8, 2019
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  26. Rinn

    Rinn Coffee Addict

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    My Nerd Nazi bone bit me on this one...
     
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  27. 9adam4

    9adam4 No emotion, only "peace"

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    I'll take the spelling correction, but I don't think it's unheard-of for humans to refer to the language as 'Wookiee' in-universe.
     
    Last edited: Dec 7, 2019
  28. MutantRancor

    MutantRancor [Suspected Sithspawn]

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    Lars is Luke's aunt and uncle's surname. His given name is Owen.
     
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  29. 9adam4

    9adam4 No emotion, only "peace"

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    Right! Entirely right.

    I'm probably going to continue on with these little throwaway divergences whenever they occur to me, and they likely will be as sloppy as this one was. Feel free to disregard.
     
  30. Extras: A New Hope and An Old Enmity
    9adam4

    9adam4 No emotion, only "peace"

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    "This isn't the time for a confrontation," Ben insisted. "I can only cloud a part of the station at a time, and there's no guarantee it'll work on Annie for long."

    "Annie?" the rude smuggler parroted.

    "Darth Vader, he means. Anakin Skywalker," Luke supplied.

    "And you're Luke Skywalker," Solo mused.

    Luke already felt like he had said enough, but the man's infuriating stare prompted more somehow. "Vader is my father. He killed my mother in anger during his fall to the Dark Side."

    "You don't have to convince me, kid," Han said as Chewbacca purred in agreement. "Vader is a mass murderer, everybody knows that. And while I haven't seen much of it myself, Chewie insists this Force stuff is the real deal, and he's never steered me wrong before. So... what's the plan?"

    *****

    Luke hadn't really had to lift his weapon, what with Ben easily deflecting incoming fire and the smuggling partners returning it. Still, he was excited to be the one to grab the Princess from her cell. To think after all these years, to finally get to meet the twin sister he'd been forced to live apart from...

    The Princess's corpse lay blue along the metal bed of the cell, her face twisted in a rictus of fear. "No!" Luke screamed, running into the cell, but it was far too late for her. "No! Ben, help!"

    He heard rather than saw the movement at the cell door, but neither Ben nor Han had made it into the room before Darkness fell across the entire cell block. Looking around, Luke saw that none of the lights had dimmed, and yet it was as though his sight itself was fading, a deep and pressing Fear occluding his very soul. He stumbled out into the hallway, finding it hard to move.

    "What, what's going on?" Han was already on his knees, his blaster forgotten, and Chewbacca seemed little better.

    It was Ben who spoke. "This is a mental attack. Luke, center yourself, draw strength from your own courage. Feel the fear but do not join it; let it flow through you."

    "He is too weak, too inexperienced," the booming voice came from a nearby cell where a caped cyborg in black had been waiting, Luke realized, for some time without their notice. Vader took a single step forward to size up the four intruders. "Even you, old Master, can hardly resist me, much less this youngling."

    "I am hardly as frail as all that, old friend," Ben rejoindered, his lightsaber hilt suddenly in his hand. "And you'll not a lay a hand on the boy."

    "You lost the right to give me orders long ago." Vader's blade hissed on, a brilliant crimson, and Ben's joined it as though in response. "My powers have grown, even as yours have diminished in your exile. I am the Master, now. And I have much to teach you."

    "Strike me down," the old man warned, "and I shall become..." he panted, breathless, "more powerful... than..." his statement dwindled as his eyelids flickered.

    "Strike you down?" the Sith Lord intoned. "Oh, no, Obi-wan. What would that profit me?"

    "Poison gas? Really?" Ben sank to his knees; Luke's own head was swimming.

    "An obvious weapon when you, alone, are on a respirator," Vader gloated. "No, my old nemesis. You shall not be struck down. You shall be shown the power of the Dark Side, and you shall come to embrace it, as all great heroes eventually do." He caught his ex-mentor's blade as the old man crumpled to the floor. "Your turning, and my son's, will be my greatest triumph yet."

    "You know?" Luke screamed, but it came out a whisper as his anger let him hold on to the barest edge of consciousness. "You know what you've done?"

    "My daughter or not, I saw no profit in leaving a Rebel Princess alive to be rescued." The black mask met Luke eye to eye, and seemed to glare deep into him. "But you're very much a different story, boy.

    "Who would ever come to rescue you?"

    The hatred enveloped Luke along with oblivion.
     
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