Encounter on Onderon

[Chir'daki]

Hyperspace exploded out of existance in a shower of star lines, light snapping back into coherant points as the starscape resolved back into view. The fiery orb of Prael - just two orbits away - assaulted the cockpit canopy with wave upon wave of radiation, the visible spectra within it pestering the photoreceptive treatment on the transparisteel screen to darken, saving the pilot's precious vision.

Swooping into the gravitational field of the nearest planet, the scanners projected their holographic telemetry onto the inside of the cockpit. Topography overlayed with data from air traffic control, superimposing the shapes of ships moving through the atmosphere over the undulations of the Onderon geography. With mild disinterest, the pilot manipulated the controls, tumbling his Firespray 31 into a dive towards the surface. A light flashed on his console; with little attention, he reached over and jammed a finger into the corresponding control. A vocabulator burst into life somewher within the ship, synthesizing a female voice that would conduct the loathesome task of conversing with whatever controller wanted to query his landing clearence.

The Lethan - so named for the aquamarine Twi'leki dancer painted on the side of the fuselage - slipped gracefully through the upper atmosphere, speeding towards the jungle wastes that surrounded the few islands of civilizations that pockmarked Onderon's surface. Coordinates told him that he was closing on his target: some compound, abandoned by the military centuries ago, and left for nature to reclaim it. If the aerial surveys he'd procured through the black market were anywhere accurate, the jungle was only half-way done.

His instructions had been somewhat vague - travel to the facility, and dispatch whatever he found there. Ordinarily, he would have thought the task beneath him and, if it had come through the proper channels, he would no doubt have passed it off onto one of his subordinate - and inferior - fellow hunters. But this had been different; the orders came from him, through the maze of covert channels and communications networks that they used to veil contact between them. Who he was retained an air of mystery; the two of them had never met. His mysterious benefactor always paid well however; and at the end of the day, as a Bounty Hunter, that was all Chir'daki cared about.

As the target grew closer, he enabled a device installed on his craft that would hide it from pretty much any kind of sensor hardware that was available - legally or otherwise - on the market. Perhaps it would have been prudent to land a distance away, and hike the remainder through the jungle; but that option came with the threat of complications and distractions, from the local fauna and whatever else lived in these jungles. Chir'daki had no aversion to tangling with whatever beasts or bastards Onderon chose to throw at him; but it would no doubt make a ruccus, and he had no desire to give his targets any more warning than necessary.

A dramatic entrance, then; haulling back on the stick, he swept the Lethan up onto her back, and switched from the main thrusters to repulsorlifts, lowering the craft gracefully to land atop a structure that scans - fortunately - informed him was structurally sound enough to support the ship's weight. Relying on the autopilot to do the rest, Chir'daki stabbed the controls that would open the main hatch, and leapt from his seat. His helmet and blaster were stowed en route; pulling one over his head, and shouldering the other, he advanced down the ship's ramp, hopping from it onto the roof before the servos had even finished their descent.

His stride was confident, but not lacking in caution; tall enough to harness the full length of his legs, but hunched enough to prepare his muscles to spring into action should that be required of them. He advanced across the roof at a low jog; a booted foot, armoured in the blue of a Mandalorian Supercommando, kicked at a half-open rusted door, sending the remaining splinter of corroded durasteel clattering down the stairwell that lay beyond. He didn't hesitate, spiralling down the stairway with his blaster held ready. At it's root, another hatch stood closed before him; less assaulted by Onderon's humid weather, it offered more resistance than his boot could overcome. Fingers wrapped around a device on his belt, slapped it into place and then, after he had retreated a few steps, activated a transmitter built into his glove. The door exploded outwards, twisting aside what metal wasn't instantly vapourised.

Smoke hung in the air as Chir'daki stepped through, enhancements in his helmet stripping away whatever obstacles to vision the fog and darkness might have provided. Thermographics analysed what filled his field of vision, scanning for the telltale heat signatures of life. Fewer here than he had expected; perhaps the others had been on patrol, or had fled elsewhere in the compound. No matter: he'd hunt them down in time, provided he didn't spend too much time hesitating here.

Raising his blaster rifle back to his shoulder, he dropped his head to sight casually along the barrel, and prepared to fire.

[Darth Callidus]

The core of the compound should have been a haven for the inquisitive creatures of Onderon's jungle, yet the centre-most chamber – the room which provided the greatest shelter and security – was empty. No living thing had made its nest there, nor had any vine spread a leathery tendril across the long since deactivated command consoles. Yet... something sat on the floor, dark cloth pooling around it and its head bowed in the depths of a heavy hood. Though it heard the sound of Chir'daki approaching – and how could it not? - it did not move. It did that which it had become so accustomed to, as did the spice spiders of Kessel upon laying their diaphanous webs: it waited.

[Chir'daki]

No movement. No reaction. Nothing. Something tugged at Chir'daki's mind: something primal, animalistic. It was like an urge - like bloodlust or rage - but instead of spurring him to act, it stayed his hand; prevented him from firing. What it was - Curiosity? Pity? A sense of honour? - he couldn't be sure, but it annoyed the hell out of him.

With a predatory growl he advanced, booted feet clicking against the ferracrete floor, and echoing eerily around the emptiness. "You," he ordered, words twisted and changed by the comm unit in his Mandalorian helmet. "Stand up and turn around. Slowly." The rifle didn't falter, still aimed squarely at the figure, centre-mass. "Hands where I can see them."

[Darth Callidus]

The growl elicited an unseen smile. It was a warning, a reminder to any within earshot that this creature was not one to be trifled with. Yet the grinding of metal against metal, the clink of iron against stone, told another tale – of a being hidden within a protective cocoon.

Slowly, just as he had been asked, Callidus rose to his feet and began to turn towards the voice that had broken the silence.

[Chir'daki]

The figure was tall and - what the hell? Masked? Granted, Chir'daki's features were often concealed behind the mask of his helmet, but that had always been for purely tactical reasons. He had no qualms with his face being seen: anyone could pull on a suit of armour and make themselves look like Jango Fett; any old Duros could pull on an oversized hat and look like Cad Bane; |uckuss was only distinctive because of the novelty factor of him being from Gand; for hunters like that their recognition, and their reputation, was just an over-reliance on costumes. Those with reputations for which they could truely be proud were the ones who could walk down a street and be spotted instantly: those who could meet eyes with a target across a crowded room, and have them flee in panic because they knew the end was nigh.

At least though, this Masked Man was compliant. Not allowing his blaster to falter, Chir'daki narrowed his eyes at his target. He didn't need to know who this man was: he had a contract; had orders. Either this Masked Man was one of his targets, or he was collatoral damage. Didn't need to know a name. Didn't care to. And yet, he was overwhelmed by the urge to ask regardless:

"Who are you?" he issued though clenched teeth.

[Darth Callidus]

The masked figure stood with his hands apart at his sides, his palms half-turned towards Chir'daki not so much in surrender as in welcome. The hollows of his masks' eyes seemed to turn slow whorls, whilst the shadows around him - that clung to his robe as dark and viscuous as tar - breathed and drew in what scant light there was with the irresistible pull of a black hole.

“What does your instinct tell you, hunter?”

[Chir'daki]

My instincts?

Chir'daki had precisely no patience for this kind of mysterious and cryptic game of wordplay. His finger was itching to end this entire frustrating spectacle, and he was aching to allow it to do so. And yet, now that he mentioned it, his guts were growling away at him; clawing away at the edge of his consciousness; prowling at the back of his mind. Ordinarily he would have dismissed it out of hand; normally he ignored the whispering voices in his mind. But something in the figure's tone resonated. Hunter. A good hunter didn't ignore anything that the body told him. His external senses told him what surrounded him, true, but his other senses - hunger, thirst, pain - whispered messages that were important as well. So what then was his instinct, his gut, telling him now?

His focus shifted, eyes faltering ever so slightly from their scrutiny of him to concentrate on the mutterings inside his mind. His brows furrowed, a frown forming as a thought resolved.

What does your instinct tell you?

Chir'daki's jaw clenched, realisation dawning in his mind. A mix of confusion and frustration sparked around alonside it. "You brought me here," he stated: there was no question in his words. "There was no hunt. Was no hit. You brought me here."

[Darth Callidus]

“Correct.”

Backed into a corner, the robed figure should have been the once squirming with anxiety and malcontent, but for the time being at least their roles were reversed. For all his restraint, anger bled out of Chir'daki as plainly as blood from a wound.

“Now... lower your weapon.”

[Chir'daki]

Lower your weapon. That was a stupid idea. And yet, Chir'daki had to fight to stop himself from complying. To disarm himself in the face of something dangerous - and despite the complete lack of obvious weapons, Chir'daki could sense just how dangerous this figure was - struck him as beyond foolish. He knew nothing of this person, save for the fact that they hid their identity, lurked in the shadows of a life-threatening wilderness, and apparently had manipulated him into being here for some purpose that Chir'daki could as yet not discern. Trusting him was out of the question. It was absurd. It was -

The barrel of his weapon dipped, body complying with the instruction to lower his aim without the full consent of the logical aspects of his mind: instinct it seemed perceived something that conscious thought did not. Still, he grumbled in frustration at himself nonetheless; with will he twisted that frustration, forging it into an alternate weapon that he could aim at his mystery summoner instead.

"Why am I here?"

[Darth Callidus]

“To learn.”

With a gesture as casual as the turning of a page, Callidus snatched the rifle from Chir'daki's hands. The weapon crossed the distance between then in an instant, halting mere moments away from the Sith Lord's fingertips. There it hovered, the barrel swinging around to point directly at the hunter himself.

“You have served me well thus far, Chir'daki, but your skill-set lacks a certain... refinement I believe essential to those in my employ.”

[Chir'daki]

Frustration curled Chir'daki's lip. As if mind games weren't enough, this cloaked figure, whoever he was, appeared to be a Force user as well. To say that he wasn't startled would have been untrue; but this was hardly the first time Chir'daki had encountered someone with an ability to wield the mystic energy field that the Jedi of old were so obsessed with. Rogue Force users fetched a pretty juicy bounty from the Imperials - and an even juicier one from elsewhere, if you knew the right people to sell to - and more than that: they made for damn good sport.

Sport was what this figure should be, by rights. A note of disgust chimed in his mind as he realised that he had been covertly manipulated into the employ of a Jedi; and worse, he had been completely unaware. He considered his options; adrenaline that had flooded his system in response to his rage had sharpened his instincts, and begged him to lash out. He could dodge the rifle, probably; long enough to get a hand around it and wrench it free from whatever psychic grip held it aloft.

But then what? The voice of reason chose that moment to speak up. It was right to call fault to his plan. There was something about the figure before him that gave Chir'daki the feeling that floating blasters was the very least of the abilities in his arsenal. And besides: in all honesty, the figure's cryptic allusions to possible benefits for Chir'daki were at least a little intriguing.

He reined back on his anger, but only by a fraction. His arms folded across his chest. "I'm listening," he prompted, eyes narrowing in consideration.

[Darth Callidus]

Anger rippled beneath the surface of the hunter's controlled exterior, visible only as minute bubbles were upon the surface of near boiling water. Callidus cocked his head very slightly to one side, as if he too was listening - trying to put an ear to some distant and puzzling sound.

“Perhaps you are under the impression that what I have brought you here to discuss is... an offer, some matter over which we might negotiate the terms and conditions.”

With a gesture that dropped the ineffectual blaster rifle to the ground with a clatter, Callidus dropped the weight of an invisible yoke down upon Chir'daki's shoulders, the overwhelming pressure of the Dark Side forcing the hunter to his knees.

“That is not the case.”

[Chir'daki]

Chir'daki unleashed a growl, but it was the only protest he could muster; despite his best efforts, he couldn't fight against the invisible magic that was compelling him to kneel. He wasn't sure what frustrated him more: his powerlessness to resist, or the nerve of this mysterious figure, pressing him into subservience like this. No matter how powerful and deadly they apparently were, Chir'daki wasn't all too hot on the idea of having to bow before anyone.

"Let me guess," he asked, breath hissing out before tightly clenched teeth. "Either I surrender myself to your teachings, or you kill me, right?" His jaw clenched; defiance mustered in his eyes. "No doubt you're expecting to be called 'Master', too."

[Darth Callidus]

Behind his mask, Salem Ave wore a clement smile.

“You need only say the word and I'll release you from your bondage.”

As he spoke, the Sith dipped one hand to his belt, brushing aside the heavy folds of his cloak to reveal the dull metal hilt of a lightsaber.

[Chir'daki]

Say the word.

Chir'daki could think of several words to unleash from his tongue at that point. A handful of them were in Basic; the rest were mostly variations of fringe insults in Twi'leki that would cast doubt on the morality, occupation, or species of the dark figure's mother. He longed to unleash a salvo; even the smallest sampling of those words would bring him intense satisfaction. But they would spell his doom, as surely as if he grasped that lightsaber, and plunged it into his chest himself.

The hunter felt his shoulders sag. If he wanted to survive this encounter alive, there was only one course of action he could pursue. His only solace was the promise of some knew knowledge or skills being imparted; he grasped onto that consolation, and clung onto it tightly as he forced the words from his lips. And yet, he found himself unable to resist one last modicum of defiance, tiny and fleeting:

"That being the case, I have one small request." His head bowed, as close as respect as he was willing to get for the moment. "Spare me from pledging loyalty to a mask and a cloak: what is the name of my new Master?"

[Darth Callidus]

“Darth Callidus.”

Without any motion or gesture, the weight that had held Chir'daki in position was suddenly gone – invisible manacles slipping away from the hunters joints. The Sith allowed his cloak to fall back into place, the lightsaber no longer visible though the threat of its presence remained.

“What do you know of the Force, hunter?”

[Chir'daki]

Further mention of the Force sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. Anger stirred within him, but it wasn't new and current: it was a latent memory; a relic of the man he was before. He grasped hold of it and shoved it down deep into his subconscious, burying what he had fled from all those years ago.

Nothing showed on his face, or in his eyes, though Chir'daki had his suspicions that none of his usual efforts would hide his thoughts or emotions from the man opposite. "It is an energy field," he answered, "And it gives the Jedi their supernatural abilities; makes them particularly hard to kill."

His eyes twitched involuntarily towards his cast-aside weapon. And you, apparently.

[Darth Callidus]

“History would beg to differ.”

He smiled again, unseen. For all their supernatural abilities, the Jedi had not foreseen the betrayal that would so cripple their Order and had been powerless against the Great Purge that had thinned their ranks to near extinction. For all their faith in the Force, mere blaster fire had brought down Knights and Masters alike.

“But that is beside the point. The Force is more than the Jedi would have had the galaxy believe. It is in all things and, most importantly, is capable.. of all things.”

[Chir'daki]

Capable of all things?

Chir'daki had certainly seen Jedi do some pretty impressive things at the past: seen them make impossible leaps; move with more speed than was naturally possible; lift objects with the mere power of their mind; pluck thoughts from, and dominate the minds of lesser beings; but that hardly constituted everything in the galaxy. There were forces that the universe could bring to bear that surely, not even the Force could match, no matter how powerful it was.

In the interests of self preservation however, he fought the urge to scoff, and merely watched the masked figure before him intently, processing every word in intensive detail. He frowned, momentarily, puzzled by some of the information that this man had to reveal. "If it is in all things," he asked, "Then why is it that some are able to percieve it, and influence it, while others are not? What makes one man Force ignorant, and the other Force sensitive?"

[Darth Callidus]

“Most beings of the galaxy will go through their life, knowing the Force only as a mystical and untouchable thing, the stuff of fairy tales and ghost stories – but there are those of us who are born with... a gift. A natural awareness of the energies that connect everyone and everything together.”

Canting his head very slightly to one side, Callidus studied Chir'daki in return.

“I see the potential for such an awareness in you, hunter.”

[Chir'daki]

Scattered memories flashed through his mind, reminding him of the scant few details of what had happened when he'd left the Empire's service. He felt that anger again, and that rage - though by now he'd long since forgotten what the cause of it was - and remembered the power that had come with it; and the carnage that he'd found once his senses had returned. Part of him fought against the rising memories; part of him willed himself to surrender, so that at least he would finally know. The metallic tang of blood was recalled to his nostrils; the scar from the blaster bolt to the shoulder that he'd taken, but then kept on fighting, twinged in memory.

He tried to batter the memories - and the feelings - aside, and restore a little focus, but he found himself in a loosing battle. He thought of Ryloth, the world he'd fled to. He thought of the oppressive, murderous heat that had almost claimed his life; this time though, he percieved an unnatural presence looming over him, as if keeping him safe; staving off death. He thought of the hunter who had trained him there: the Twi'leki warrior he'd ultimately slain, and whose ship - a chir'daki: a Twi'leki death seed - he'd stolen, and ultimately named himself after. He'd felt the power then, too, when he'd killed him; and that insatiable, relentless relentless anger.

The feelings subsided enough for him to think clearly once again. His eyes snapped to the masked figure, eyes laced with confusion. "That ws the Force?" he asked, voice twisted with disbelief. "All I felt was rage."

[Darth Callidus]

It was never an easy thing, to come to terms with the fact that you life was not entirely your own. An often insidious thing, the Force worked without seeking consent or compliance to achieve its own ends, to ensure balance was maintained. In his mind, Chir'daki had acted independently, but no amount of self-deception could change the fact that the Force influenced all things.

“Such is the nature of the Dark Side. Fear, anger, hatred... all of the emotions that the Jedi were taught to shun. They have empowered you as they do me, hunter, but you have so little understanding of how. That is what I can teach you.”

[Chir'daki]

Fear. Anger. Hate. They'd been constant companions to him for as long as he could remember. The masked figure had provided him a name, a reason for that presence, looming over him. He wasn't sure if knowing that it was the Force - worse, the melodramatically named Dark Side - made him relieved, or even more nervous.

Still, power was power, regardless of the source, and at the end of it all it was power that Chir'daki craved. His career as a bounty hunter gave him power over life and death. Learning the ways of the Force had the potential to provide him with power over so much more.

"Teach me," he said softly, echoing the figure's own words. He nodded slightly to himself, resolve steeling his bones; a new sense of certainty drove away the confusion that had brought a slump into his shoulders, and restored his posture as a proud hunter once more. "Where does my learning begin, master?"

[Darth Callidus]

“Not here.”

Onderon was not without worth, but its usefulness as a training ground was debatable. The potential for discovery was too great and more than that, there was little else either it or Dxun could yield to Callidus. It's secrets were known to him and there would be nothing to profit from once more scrabbling through the ash and bones of Freedon Nadd.

“You will take us to Ambria, and there we will see if my.. faith in you has been misplaced.”

[Chir'daki]

Ambria. His mind mused over the name for a moment. Relatively close, in astronomical terms, the planet was part of the Stenness Node, which most likely made it an under-developed, under-inhabited, and under-interesting planet. How such a world could possibly hold anything of potential value was an utter mystery to Chir'daki.

Of course, as he had already demonstrated, his new mentor knew of things that Chir'daki couldn't even concieve; the mystery, to him, was no doubt far less enigmatic. And when you recieved instructions from someone who could probably kill you with a merest thought, it was hardly the time to ask undue questions.

Instead, he simply bowed his head in obedience. "As you command, Master."

[Darth Callidus]

continued in The Alchemist's Workshop (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=20930)