LegendsLog:Legends: True Light
Under the red skies of Haashimut, before the stepped pyramid of a Jedi enclave tens of thousands of years old, a gathering has occurred. The Haashimut circle has a well founded reputation for traditionalism, with its Master- the aged Tammor Vanda- being a respected figure within the philosophers of the Order, so when the enclave assembled to present its findings on the nature of the Force and the present Sith invasion, it was well attended by Jedi from far afield; some had come to debate, others merely to observe.
It is a dry oration to some, discussing the awakening of Terentateks from hibernation, events which in the past have marked resurgences of the Sith in the galaxy. Sithspawn have been seen in greater numbers than at any point since the final fall of Exar Kun. The echoes grow surrounding Malachor V and other Wounds in the Force have grown darker. The initial message of Master Vanda is clear and concerning: the power of the Dark Side of the Force in the galaxy is growing. Master Tammor's choice of language to describe this growth is telling: works like cancer, disease, and rot. The Jedi Master's voice is firm and focused, as the oration turns toward reversing this dark rise..
"One's soul cannot be 'half' rotten. To invite corruption in any measure will plant a vile tumor which must be cleansed without delay, to save the health of the body. There is but One True Light, untainted by darkness toward which we must strive as Jedi, and there is but one true path toward that light: a path free of moral compromise, without hands or soul stained by fell powers and arts of the Dark Side. One cannot drive back darkness with more darkness. Only light can drive back the dark-"
Gerus Blaze was here. Why was he here? Even the Sentinel Jedi wasn't sure. He wasn't one to ponder over philosophy. He never really 'felt' the pull of the dark-side. Never had the need to lord over others and pretend he knew what was best. People asked for his help, he gave it... and perhaps sometimes got paid for it so he could afford a place a bit better than the credit stipend the Order gave him to stay. His only desire was to better himself and therefore others around him. He would strike first sometimes, but with the purpose of defense being a good and better offense. So the words from the Jedi Master confounded him a bit.
The white haired Echani was leaning up against the railing to the steps up the pyramid, arms crossed over his chest. "Huh..." Was all he offered in a deep a rough voice. "Alright so... what do we do about it. Shine at it?" It was probably a bad joke.
Among those crowded in to listen to the oration of the anicent Jedi Master, his council, and the surrounding debate of what surrounded the one true light, darkness also surrounded this very gathering. It was not clear who, or even what, but an elusive whisper teased.
Seated among the other Jedi and even wearing their clothing, a wolf among the sheep watched from beneath the comfort of their hood, listening quietly, patiently, and attentively. Her legs were crossed, and hands neatly folded. --She-- was none other than the fallen star, the prodigal Knight, the conqueror.. Revan.
Gerus' comment draws a few unamused side-eyes as well as a few mild laughs. The aged Master Tammor Vanda falls among the latter, favoring the much younger Sentinel with a smile. "Though the good knight jests, he is not incorrect. After a fashion, we *do* 'shine at it'. And we all shine brighter by cleansing the corners of darkness which dims our full embrace of the Light Side." Tammor stands at no grand dais, or any high podium, instead standing in front of a humble wooden chair, in a circle formed by other similarly plain chairs. Masters tend to occupy these, while those of lower rank and those not wishing to sit take their shade from the seetting red sun further back, as Gerus does. Tammor speaks on, "Too well do we all know the trials of war which have scarred the alaxy, and wounded our Order. And in times of fear and desperation, even the virtuous can be drawn into darkness by the insidious lure of 'compromise'. So many of our finest and stronggest have fallen to this foe: no Sith, no terrible beast, or dire war machine, but by the hubris that whispers *we* are strong enough to grasp the rot without growing rotten. That *our* judgement is more clear than the wisdom of the ancients, grown over millennia before us. And I pray you all heed me in this much, masters, knights, learners alike: the Dark Side leaves no hands unstained. It is its nature."
"Alright, fair enough I suppose. So just... dont be a prick. Got it." Gerus says aloof. He's more interested in the impending doom that he's feeling along with that lone sense of Darkness. Were they together and/or the same thing. It was familiar but not overly so to him. As if he had sensed it once or twice before. "Something's off..." He comments, yellow eyes scanning the area hawkishly, not sure what he's looking for.
Why was Meetra here? That thought crossed the brunette woman's hair as she waited. Sure it was appropriate for a 'master' to be present at such a gathering, but as a walking 'Wound' in the force, a soldier and someone who had strayed to grey more often than not...this kind of felt a little personally directed in some ways. After all, there were plenty of members of the order begrudging her reinstatement from exile in the face of the Sith invasion.
As distraction from recent discussions and confrontations go? This outright sucked, but Meetra Surik rested among those listening, nodding lightly to Gerus comment with a frown. At first she'd been distracted by her own thoughts though, her agreement half-instinctual and her discomfort more personal, but the woman blinks and turns her focus outwards. -Was- something wrong, or was she merely unhappy?
Revan's chin lifted slightly as she turned her hooded head to glance to one side, an older Jedi Master commenting about the stifling feeling he felt. Part of Revan thought it may have been her presence, that somehow she imposed her emotion, her 'darkness', in a way that others could feel it. Though, this time Revan was certain her thoughts were quiet, her center focused and calm. She had even used the ritual calming meditation techniques to ward off the need to stand and debate philosophy. Her senses, just as attuned as most, clued her in on a lingering danger. Curious.
"Alas, it is not so simple as that," the old Master answers Gerus' succinct summary. "Good *intention* is not enough. The best of intentions have dragged good souls into temptation and doom all too often. The Dark Side is a great, lightless fire burning in the Galaxy, and it rows stronger still when we grasp the Force and use its purity and power to work harm. The Jedi must face our coming trials with purity of heart and mind, for it is with such strength and humility that the fires of pride and corruption are doused-" All present can recognize such speech for what it is: an eloquent traditionalist statement to clarify Jedi orthodoxy, in the wake of recent reverses.
Another master poses the moral quandry of ends, means, and justification, as Master Tammor sits in the plain wooden chair to allow another the floor.
They can all feel it in the instant of doom, even old Master Tammor exhales wearily in the half-heartbeat before an explosion blasts up and out of the red earth from beneath the Haashimut Master's chair. Powerful enough that several seats to either side of the master's are toppled and thrown away by the blast's force. Even before dirt and debris have time to fall back to the ground, the distinctive ripple of Stealth Field Generators deactivating can be seen amid the wind, dust, and smoke, encircling the assembly at a distance. Dozens of bipedal war droids, with perhaps one in every ten igniting a red bladed lightsaber.
"Well... if I wanted to go... that would be the way." Gerus says after Master Tammor erupts into a fireball, with a sort of charm that any anchient warrior who knew he was going to die would. Acceptance and slight annoyance. He pushes off the railing and reaches for his trusty lightsaber, activating the weapon. A hand reaches out and unleashes a force push against one of the apperating droids.
The blast, that attack? It's...sudden. Sudden enough that Meetra can't help feel a pang of guilt that certain factors might have distracted her from noticing it. Or maybe people attacking this many Jedi were simply well-planned and organized. It's a pang that lasts only about as long as the time it takes for the woman to call on the force and draw her lightsaber from her hip. She surges forwards, swinging her blade at the nearest droid.
Revan was up the moment the explosion consumed the old master, her brows raised in surprise. This was not her doing. Curious.
A Jedi Master near her is felled by the swing of a droid bearing a lightsaber. Revan rises, kicking her chair away from her before drawing an ornate lightsaber from her hip and activating it in the same action. A violet blade emerged from the hilt, hungry and humming.
The droid brought its arm up to attack, but Revan walked a straight line, taking a duelist's stance. She cut the arm bearing the weapon, cut off the second arm, and in a final attack, split the droid in two.
She walked between the sparking mess, each piece falling beside her. She ducks instinctively beneath the fire of blasters, and evades the bite of another lightsaber amidst the chaos. Her free hand rises, keeping her hood in place, the other holds the steaming violet blade still, its electrum hilt hungry and buzzing.
Even as clods of dirt, rock, and ash fall back to the ground, rattling on the robes and vaporizing on the blades of the assembled Jedi, blaster bolts begin to fly. Though so many masters and knights (even the more cerebrally focused among the order) are adept at defending themselves, but the sheer volume of violence directed at them from all sides is enough to fell several of the Order's philosophers. The ring of war droids is fractured, but not yet turned back.
Gerus was but a lowly Knight but many, even some masters, respected him as a swordmaster among the Jedi Order. Especially after seeing him in action in a couple of sorties and the siege of Balmora. He advances without hesitation, his face set and stern. he humming and deadly blue blade rises and falls quickly upon the pen-ultimate Saber Droid, cutting them decisivly before they can even compute a riposte. As it crumbles before him in a molten slice and diced heap, the Echani settles his Yellow gaze on the rifled Karth droids.
Revan approaches the next droid, disarming it in a common counter before striking a devastating blow across its chest. She attempts another common strike, but the droid moans before falling into sparking pieces. She smirks.
<<"H-kay forty-seven, prep my vessel. The meeting is under attack.">> Revan says into her wrist, walking calmly away from her felled opponent and away from the other Jedi. <<"Statement: Your ship will be ready, master.">>
The most dangerous of the attacking droids are cut down quickly- even advanced weapons and programming are no match for the same weapons in the hands of a Jedi (or a former Jedi). Blaster bolts continue to fly, but the Jedi by now have formed a defensive circle around the less combat adept among their number, and the dwindling number of humanoid war droids cannot claim any further victims. Revan's use of the Force to mask her nature is unbroken, but in the moments between her swordwork and her disappearance, at least one set of eyes takes notice, before being distracted by self preservation. The attacking droids, being lower order ear machines, lack the sentience needed for self preservation, and continue their assault, trying only to drag more targets down with them.
Gerus isn't really paying attention to the purple bladed queen of darkness. He's more focused on eliminating the immediate threat. He's sure he'll hear about it later though. He cuts through some of the less dangerous droids, chopping three of them down into useless scrap metal to be sold to the highest bidder and pad the Order's coffers.
Revan deactivates her weapon, flipping the hilt in hand so its hooked end is efficiently guided back to her belt. Combat was exhilarating, but it was only a matter of time before she was spotted. Walking briskly away, she makes it to her ship and ascends the ramp. At the top, a single shadow in the bright light, HK-47 waits with a massive blaster cannon. "Statement: It is good to see you still functional, master. Your ship is ready for departure."
The eight foot tall droid is passed, but not without an endearing pat to its arm. "Thank you, HK."--"Statement: I live to serve." The ramp closes under the watchful red eyes of Revan's personal assassin droid.
The remaining attackers are dispatched in short order, with several of the defending Jedi showing a distinctly impure desire for revenge on the automatons. As the immediate threat passes, others are gathered mournfully around the blasted, burning, and empty robes of Tammor Vanda. Several other bodies of slain Jedi lie about, but the Master's body is gone, his last words hovering in the air, a whisper that is lost with the next passing breeze: *Be true.. to the light.*