Half a galaxy away, on Coronada Prime, old death also
kept a residence.
Deep within the recesses of House
Qel-Droma, the Jedi Hunter known as Vassan Rokir
continued his studies of ancient Dark Jedi lore. Among
the faded and tattered scrolls of ancient evils long
since forgotten by most historians, he had slowly
expanded his knowledge over the past year, gaining
more and more insight into what true power really was.
His motivations were of the highest honor: Protection
of hearth and home.
After the fall of the Emperor, the
Empire had been split along boundaries of ego. With
warlord after warlord claiming to be Emperor, none of
the planets under Imperial protection could feel the
safety once provided by a unified government. As such,
the man known as Chanlin Marr returned from military
service to his homeworld of Ricaldi, to do what he
could to protect his people, and his family.
Then came the rise of the Emperor's Hammer, and hope
was renewed in Chanlin's eyes. Soon, a cloaked
representative from the EH came to Ricaldi on a
diplomatic mission. But, while there, the Robed figure
was drawn to the household of the Marr family, and to
Chanlin in particular. There, Chanlin was given the
chance to join the Dark Jedi Brotherhood, and learn
the extent of powers that lay dormant within him. But
moreover, Chanlin had the chance to learn how to
better protect his home.
And so, he left, assuming his Dark Jedi name: Vassan
Rokir. Vassan, an old family name, and Rokir, an
ancient hero from the long history of Ricaldi. Vassan
was bound for Coronada Prime; bound to join a lineage
shadowed in the Dark Side of the Force.
That was a year ago.
Now a dedicated member of the Order of the Krath,
Vassan continued to delve into the ancient texts,
searching for understanding. Searching for control.
On this day, as he began reviewing a worn and dusty
tome on "Force manipulation of the feeble-minded,"
Vassan was brought out of his academic reverie by a
sharp rapping on the library door. Looking up, with
unveiled suspicion in his eyes, Vassan's gaze met a
cloaked figure, bowed in a submissive posture. He
recognized the garb as that given to the uninitiated
applicants to the Clan Arcona.
"What is it?" Vassan inquired of the boy, his tone
dripping with annoyance.
"Jedi Hunter Rokir...I apologize for the disturbance.
A HoloVid message awaits you in the communications
chamber. It is...it is coded to your family name."
Vassan's eyes widened. But only for an instant, as
they returned to their glaring slits before the boy
might have noticed.
"Very well. Leave me."
The hooded youth bowed, backing away with such grace
that it almost appeared that he were sliding across
the stone floor on wheels.
Vassan considered: He hadn't had contact with his
family in quite some time. In fact, he hadn't spoken to
his mother or father since the day he left Ricaldi for
Coronada Prime. This fact gave him pause for a moment.
Had his dark studies so consumed him that he hadn't
noticed an entire year without his loved ones?
Loved.... The concept itself made Vassan stumble,
mentally. He pushed the thought aside for the moment.
Setting the aged book down, Vassan rose and proceeded
with a steady pace up the five flights of hard, stone
stairs, past the private chambers, past the meditation
hall, until he reached the communications chamber.
The chamber stood in stark contrast to the rest of
the small temple Qel-Droma called home. The ancient
rough-hewn stone walls and floors had been overlayed
with plasteel and electronics; a veneer of the modern
age grafted upon the foundation of the ancient times.
"It was poetic, in a way," Vassan had always thought.
Stepping wordlessly past hunched technicians, Vassan
selected an unoccupied viewing room, and punched his
personal access code into the HoloEmitter. An image
appeared, floating in the space above the emitter. The
image was of a brick wall, a representation of the
encoding that locked the message from prying eyes.
Vassan spoke, keeping his voice low to prevent
outsiders from overhearing.
"Chanlin Marr, son of Haylon, son of Juspaar, son of
Timolion."
As Vassan spoke each name, a corresponding section of
the brick wall dissolved into nothingness. Once the
last name was voiced, the message began.
Before him
appeared the haggered image of his mother, Kara. Kara
was not a young woman, by any means, but Vassan could
not remember ever seeing her look so "old" before.
Within him, for an instant, jumped a...feeling, one
he'd not felt in some time. But whatever it was, it
faded too quickly to register.
"Chanlin," his mother began, "I hope you're doing
well...I miss you so. I hope I'm not...interrupting
anything important. Your father has taken ill,
Chanlin. He's...he's dying."
These last words were spoken almost incoherently
through a burst of sobs and tears. Vassan felt his
heart begin to break...but snarled to himself of his
weakness, pressing down his pitiful sorrow with anger
for his lack of control.
His mother continued, after a moment of recovering
herself: "He's asking for you, Chanlin. He needs to
see you...as do I. We need to see you, before it's too
late. Please, if you're able, come back home. Come to
see us, if only for a day. Your father needs you,
Chanlin. Goodbye. I love you."
The ghostly image of Kara Marr dispersed in a spray
of holographic static, then was no more.
Vassan Rokir stood there for a moment, contemplating.
He had come to the Dark Brotherhood, initially, to
increase his personal power; power that could be used
to bolster the safety of his homeworld. It only made
sense that he return home, if only for a day or two,
to show his people the progress he had made, and the
security he would be able to bring them in time.
Thus decided, the Jedi Hunter punched a different
code into the HoloEmitter, this time for an internal
communication to his immediate superior, Quaestor
Shadonyx.
After a moment, the Krath Priest's image appeared, an
impassive and cold expression across his face.
"What is it, Rokir?"
"My master. I request a short leave of absence, so
that I may return to my homeworld of Ricaldi and
galvanize their faith in the Dark Jedi, and the
protection we provide them."
Shadonyx gazed at Vassan through the electronic
stream of Holography, as if attempting to pierce some
hidden meaning in the Jedi Hunter's words. But,
outwardly, Shadonyx's countenance did not alter in the
slightest.
"You realize that the only reliable hyperspace route
between here and Ricaldi will take you directly
through New Republic space." It was a statement, not a
question.
"Indeed, my master. But the time required within
their territory will be minimal; only long enough to
make course adjustments for the next jump to
lightspeed. The risk is small."
Shadonyx seemed to nod, but Vassan was hard-pressed
to be certain.
"Very well. The risk you take, whatever the size, is
your own. You have two days to visit Ricaldi, not
including your travel time. There is a Lambda Shuttle
available in the hanger: the Slipstream. I'll record
your requisition of it. It had better be returned
undamaged."
And with that, the image of the House Quaestor faded,
leaving Vassan with nothing but the background hum of
computers and comm stations.
Within an hour, Vassan had signed for and boarded the
Slipstream, plotting in a course for Ricaldi. The trip
would require two hperspace jumps: one from Coronada
Prime to Bascal, a region controlled by the New
Republic, and then one more jump from there to the
Melantha region, home to the planet Ricaldi.
It took Vassan a moment to reorient himself to the
controls of a space vessel. He'd been secluded within
reading rooms and libraries for so long, the use of
any technology other than pen and scroll seemed almost
alien. But soon, the skills learned from his years in
the Imperial TIE Corps returned to him like an old
instinct, and he was jetting away from the surface of
Coronada Prime and out into space.
Once he'd reached a safe distance from the planet's
gravity well, Vassan locked-in the coordinates for the
first jump, pulled back the controls, and watched as
the darkness outside exploded into starlines, and then
settled into the mottled blue of hyperspace.
Looking at the trip chrono, Vassan saw that it would
take 9 hours to reach Bascal. Nodding to himself,
Vassan rose from the pilot's chair, and walked back to
the empty cargo bay. Settling himself down in a
cross-legged position, Vassan took a deep breath,
clearing his mind, filling it only with anger, and
focus. Easily, he slipped into a meditative trance,
one of the first things he had learned in his time
with the Krath. While in this trance, time had no
meaning. Hours, days perhaps, could slip by in the
proverbial instan...
Before Vassan knew it, the ship controls were beeping
from the cockpit. The ship was about to revert to
realspace. It took a moment for Vassan to bring his
mind fully out of the trance, but it took him even
less time to realize that he was coming out of
hyperspace too soon. Vassan rushed to look at the
chrono, as the mottled blue began to change back to
starlines, and then to the blackness of space.
"Ten minutes too soon. What would..."
Before Vassan could pose the question to the
nothingness outside the shuttle, he had his answer.
Looming over the viewport, about three kilometers
away, sat the familiar wedged and rounded form of an
Interdictor Cruiser. Flashing his gaze at the threat
display, he saw the Cruiser's transponder code
proclaimed it to be the Interdictor Tranquility of the
New Republic.
As soon as the information registered in Vassan's
mind, a hailing message from the Tranquility filled
the small cockpit.
"Unidentified Shuttle, this is the New Republic
Interdictor Cruiser Tranquility. You have entered a
New Republic patrol zone. Please identify yourself and
your business."
Taking an instant to steady himself with the Dark
Side, Vassan engaged his communications array.
"Interdictor Tranquility, this is the shuttle
Slipstream. I am a private citizen traveling on
personal business."
"Thank you, Slipstream. As mentioned, this is a New
Republic patrol zone. This area of space has been the
victim of many pirate attacks of late. As such, we are
conducting random screenings of incoming traffic to
prevent unlawful acts. Will you submit to a scan of
your vessel and its contents?"
Vassan, keeping his anger out of his tone, responded
cooly: "Of course, Tranquility. Anything to help with
security, and all."
"Thank you, Slipstream. Scan will commence now."
Vassan sat motionless. Through the Force, he could
almost feel the low frequency energy waves as they
penetrated the ship. He kept his eyes locked on the
Cruiser, its irregular shape growing larger in the
shuttle's viewport as Vassan proceeded by it at
sub-light cruising speed.
The Jedi Hunter attempted to
do his "own" scanning, reaching out through the Force
to sense if he was in any danger. This shuttle, like
all generic transport craft held by the Dark
Brotherhood, carried no indications or markings of
political, or "philosophical," affiliation. If the
Tranquility was going to pick up on anything about the
shuttle, or its pilot, it would require someone
schooled in the Force. Someone Vassan did not sense
aboard the Interdictor.
"Slipstream, our scan is complete. We thank you for
your patience and apologize for any inconvenience. You
may proceed in your travel."
Vassan keyed the transmitter once more: "Thank you,
Tranquility. And good luck in catching those pirates!"
Without another word, Vassan veered the shuttle off,
away from the Interdictor and its gravity-well
generators, and keyed in the coordinates for a
mini-jump, in a direction away from the hyperspace
corridor to Melantha. There was no need to give the
New Republic any idea of where he was really headed.
Space burst into starlines once more, and Vassan was
away.
The rest of Vassan's journey was not nearly as
dramatic. The 12 hour jump to the Melantha region was
spent, like the first jump, deep within a trance, the
hours slipping away like nanoseconds.
The Jedi Hunter awoke at the proper moment, this
time, and found himself rocketing through familiar
territory. Before him, slowly growing from a bright
pinprick in the darkness, was the blue-green, cloud
swathed planet of Ricaldi. Home.
Vassan felt an instinctual tug in his chest, as if
the place of his birth were a magnet, drawing his cold
iron heart near. But something else was there, in the
pull. Something Vassan tried to deny...but found he
could not: longing. He longed to return home; to see
the vast emerald fields outside of Ricaldi Center; to
watch in wonderment at the activity of the insects as
the sun warmed his shoulders....
"NO!" Vassan mentally slapped himself!
"Weakness...weakness! Sentimentality leads to
vulnerability. Vulnerability leads to defeat."
Vassan righted himself, both physically and
spiritually. He had to maintain control, else all of
what he'd spent the last year learning would be for
naught. As he willed himself back into a stable
mindset, the Ricaldi traffic control radioed him the
directions for landing. Stable or not, Vassan
Rokir...Chanlin Marr, was home.
The air taxi ride from the spaceport held little
interest for Chanlin. Even though the sights and
people he so loved were there for his eyes to take in,
his mind was occupied on anger, and power. He had
already seen what this trip had done to his sense of
balance. Concentration was the only thing that could
keep his mind in check now.
Concentration...concentration on rage, on terror.
Concentration on what he would someday bring to him
and his people: Power.
It was because of this concentration that Chanlin
hardly noticed as the air taxi set down outside of a
small country house, colored white and bright, with a
kaleidoscope of flowers framing its exterior.
And, standing there in the front doorway, was the
gray and delicate figure of Kara Marr, his mother.
Chanlin exited the taxi, passing a credit chip to the
driver, and approached his mother, throwing back the
hood of his Dark Jedi robes as the taxi lifted off and away. He had to squint,
momentarily. He was not used to such brightness.
With a sad but happy smile, Kara rushed forward,
snapping her arms around her son, hugging him as
tightly as her elderly arms could manage. Chanlin,
somewhat surprised, hesitated for a moment, his face
stony. But, rather than fight her, he thought he might
as well humor her, and placed an arm around her
shoulders, tentatively pulling her close. But, as he
did so, his anger began to melt; his loyalty and honor
brimming to the surface. And with a small sigh, he
encircled his arms around his mother, holding her
tight.
"Mother. I've...I've...I've missed..."
"I know, son. I know. I've missed you too. So very
much."
Kara disengaged from her son's embrace, pulling back
to look into his eyes. What she saw there gave her
pause for a moment: coldness, a detached coldness.
But, she kept her smile big and bright for him, not
wanting to betray the love she truly felt for her son.
"Come...come inside. Your father needs you."
Chanlin, wordlessly, let himself be dragged into the
modest house by the arm. He barely glanced at the
variety of memories that lay about the place in
mementos, holopics, and furniture. He followed his
mother up the short flight of stairs to the master
bedroom. The room was dark, and shaded, the only light
coming from a half-opened curtain on the opposite side
of the room from where Chanlin and his mother stood.
On the bed, Chanlin saw the withered, dying husk that
was Haylon Marr, his father. Chanlin felt his heart
begin to give way to emotion. And, for once, his mind
was too distracted by the image of his dying father to
fight it.
"Haylon," Kara began as she approached the bedside,
"Haylon...Chanlin's here. He's come as you asked..."
The weak body of Haylon Marr adjusted itself on the
bed, the soft creaking of bones and tendons
accompanying his movements. With some effort, the eyes
of his father, still chillingly blue, despite age and
disease, locked onto Chanlin's.
"Son...Chanlin...come to me."
Chanlin, allowing his mother to move away from the
bedside, approached and knelt down next to his father.
Haylon extended a wrinkled and boney hand and Chanlin
took it, gently, surprised to see his own hand shaking
as he did so.
"Chanlin...I needed to see you. I needed to see you
before I was gone..."
"I'm...I'm here father. I'm here." These words
Chanlin said as his voice began to crack, as the
sorrow and sadness he'd repressed for a year began to
overflow his training, and his discipline.
"I know...Chanlin. I know what you've become. I knew
it when...he...came for you...that day. I...fooled
myself...into thinking it was for...for the best...but
now..."
"No, father, I'm learning so much. Soon, I'll be able
to protect the Planet all by myself. We'll all be
safe: me, mom, and you, father, and..."
Haylon scowled, waving his other hand to bat his
son's words away. "No...no! My time done,
Chanlin...and so will yours be, if you don't stop
this, and give up what they've done to you."
Chanlin lurched back, slightly, struck dumb for a
moment by his father's words.
"Give up? Give UP?! Father, I have never given up in
anything I've done! And neither have you. How can you
ask me to give up-"
"Because it's making you ROT inside,
Chanlin! Making...you rot. You must...end
this. For me...for your mother...for yourself."
Chanlin finally felt his heart shatter in two: the
sight of his father, being home, and the tiny voice in
the back of his mind that knew his father was right;
knew that the Dark Path would only lead to his
destruction.
"I...I'm sorry, father...I..."
"It's alright son...tell me you've given it up...tell
me it's over..."
"It...it's over father. I...I give myself...back to
the Light...."
And with those words, it was as if a heavy dark cloud
were lifted from Chanlin's spirit. As if by
providence, or some other force, the curtain on the
window was suddenly thrown open by a gust of wind,
filling the room with the bright rays of the Ricaldi
sun. And, as the warmth of redemption washed over him,
Chanlin closed his eyes, overtaken with love for his
family, and peace within himself.
"My son...I knew you would...just as I know...how I
must make sure...they never take you back...."
And in his last act upon this plane, damning himself
so that his son might be safe from the evils of the
galaxy, Haylon Marr withdrew the serrated dagger from
beneath his pillow, and slashed his arm out, slicing a
bright line of thick blood across his son's neck.
Chanlin's eyes opened in shock and surprise, but then
settled into calm, resigned peace. And before a single
drop of blood could collide with the floor, Chanlin's
body evaporated, his clothes falling into a small
pile, as his tormented spirit became one with the all;
one with the Force. And within the light, he was
unborn.
Haylon Marr fell back into his bed, his spirit, too,
gone to another place. And for the rest of her life,
Kara Marr's cries of sadness and anguish seemed to
echo around the small house, not comprehending what
had happened, or why.
For Kara Marr did not understand why death was a
safer alternative than to fall victim to the revenge
of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood.
-by Tetrarch Vassan Rokir
(Note: The elements of this tale [specifically my turning to the Lightside and my dying] were required for the Krath Competition in which it was entered. Consider this merely as a "hypothetical" account of Vassan Rokir's adventures, and not a literal fact. -VR)
