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[fancybox4= http://i64.tinypic.com/wbcscw.png]FULL NAME: Joffoc Dol-Haddon
AGE: 28
SPECIES: Human, Dantooine
HEIGHT: 5’11”
WEIGHT: 190 lbs
EYE COLOR: Brown
HAIR COLOR: Black
SKIN COLOR: Fair
MARKINGS: Light lightsaber scar vertical along left bicep; significant lightsaber scar on abdomen and multiple scars from surgeries surrounding it
FACTION: Jedi Knights
RANK: Knight
The fields and farmlands of Dantooine were Joffoc’s home as a child. He grew up on a simple plantation to poor parents ill-equipped to raise a family; in time, these parents saw fit to deposit him at the Jedi Temple some distance away. There, the confused Jedi administered tests to the abandoned toddler and found that he was force sensitive.
Joffoc has never learned if his parents were aware that he was force sensitive, or if they were simply abandoning him. [/fancybox4]
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Joffoc was once a quiet, reserved, calculating man. His brilliance and tactical aptitude were evident in his performance as a padawan. But at some point in his life, perhaps unbeknownst to the Council, Joffoc lost touch with the core elements of his sanity; since then, he has become far stronger and far less reserved.
Now, Joffoc is known for his razor sharp wit. None are safe from his sass, and even the Council has seen the shine of his silver tongue. No one is entirely certain of how much the Council is aware; do they know that Joffoc struggles to remain hinged, that his grounding to reality is sometimes weak? If they know, they have yet to act—and in the meantime, Joffoc continues to clash with those around him who expect reasonable, adult behavior from a Jedi Knight.
Brave and foolhardy, perhaps arrogant but never unprepared or unready, Joffoc can be easily underestimated, and knows exactly when to capitalize on such a mistake.
The most glaring skill Joffoc possesses is his intellect. Blessed with a brilliant mind and a sharp tongue, Joffoc often finds that the two make beautiful music together. While his antics often leave him at odds with others, he has ways of using them to his advantage and has an impressive ability to strike just exactly at what he wants. He always exudes the impression that he has a plan.
Beyond his wit and charisma, his greatest attribute is his combat ability. His tactical prowess has translated seamlessly into his ability in lightsaber combat; he is an accomplished duelist, and his abilities have had plenty of opportunities to be tested during his tenure as a Jedi. He is especially known for precise and deadly trikata attacks that often catch his opponents off-guard, or circumnavigate their defenses entirely. While he excels at saber combat, he is weaker in force application; while he has improved dramatically since becoming a Knight, his force abilities in combat have yet to catch up to his physical abilities—an issue that has been attributed by his trainers to a lack of focus, possibly due to his mental state.
Joffoc’s field gear most notably consists of his lamellar armor and his twin lightsabers. The armor, made from thin lames of phrik laced together intricately with armorweave cord, has been with him since his early years in training, when he crafted it himself with materials gained through trading over several years of junk collecting (much to the chagrin of his master). The armor does an excellent job of protecting the vital spots of the body without providing much hindrance; Joffoc occasionally wears additional bracers or greaves, but often prefers flexibility and movement to the additional weight. The phrik lamellar cuirass provides excellent protection to his core and shoulders, as well as supplemental protection to his biceps, thighs, groin, and buttocks. It weighs approximately thirty pounds.
While he is often wearing his lamellar armor, his garb otherwise consists of a variety of clothing. He generally prefers garments that fit tight in the chest and are sleeveless of have very loose short sleeves, and baggy pants such as wrap pants. He frequently wears a red and purple hooded jack that buttons in the front and extends to his knees, with sleeves that flow to his elbow and are embroidered with his colors. While much of his garb is red and purple, a pair of colors with which he identifies strongly, he also wears a considerable amount of black and white together; he can often be seen wearing a sleeveless coat in black and white floral pattern. His attire is infamously flamboyant for a Jedi, something that has made him rather identifiable.
His lightsabers were originally a saberstaff constructed at the Dantooine Jedi temple at the completion of his Padawan training. As he became more versed in saber combat and dueling, he felt the need to modify them to fit his adapting needs. He separated the hilt in half and condensed some of the internals, fabricating a quick-release coupler that allowed him to rapidly switch from flourentine to saberstaff. The color crystals of his saber were original yellow, to represent his station as a Sentinel; however, after the final mission completed with his master to exterminate a rising Sith lord, he seized the Sith’s saber and extracted the crimson crystal. The purple crystal was taken from his master’s saber, who later died of his wounds received in battle.
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Born to a poor family of farmers in the remote plains of Dantooine, Joffoc had an unassuming and fairly normal childhood. Life on his family’s settlement provided few of the modern comforts; they had no power, no advanced technology, and occasionally hardly even a shelter due to the lack of maintenance to their home. Their crops never seemed to flourish and it felt as though their family was always the last to be able to sell what few goods they produced. Joffoc has never been entirely clear on why his parents took him to the Jedi; was it because they knew he was sensitive to the force, or simply because they could no longer afford a family? All of his parents he learned from his master, Lokarram, and Lokarram could not discern that.
Having never known his parents but for a few sparse memories, Lokarram became all the family he had. At first, he seemed standoffish; Lokarram was a Cerean with a perpetually serious demeanor. That suited Joffoc just fine, but they had trouble connecting. When Joffoc was a teenager, some years into his Jedi training, he realized he hardly knew his master at all. It was not until his combat training that he began to get to know him. Lokarram was, in secret, an amazing practical jokester; often times, silly things that happened in the temple were his doing, and none were any the wiser. Things like switching all the chairs in the Council chambers and replacing all the power crystals in the workshop with rock candy were often attributed to the younglings or initiates, because no one ever suspected the stoic Jedi Knight An-Doborro Lokarram. In fact, Joffoc himself may never have learned his terrible secret had he not let him in on it—but only because as he grew in age, he needed an accomplice to pull off increasingly daring pranks.
The two grew much closer, bonding over their alternate identities. Lokarram brought out the funny side of Joffoc, and together they became the most unassuming clowns the Jedi had ever seen. But it was not always fun and games; after Joffoc passed his combat training—with excellence, no less—he was cleared to join his master for missions set forth by the Council. Joffoc’s young adulthood is full of memories of the missions and pranks he shared with Lokarram.
When Lokarram was recommended for promotion as a Jedi Master, Joffoc spoke at his recognition. He told of the character he had witnessed in his time as Joffoc’s padawan, and of the many adventures they had shared. Some were somber, others funny, but all showed the type of graceful mentorship that Lokarram had provided to him for years—still keeping their secret, of course. Lokarram received the title of Master, and Joffoc, not long after, was recommended for promotion to Jedi Knight.
He remembers fondly the construction of his lightsaber. With amber crystals to represent the Jedi Sentinel, he constructed a gold and silver phrik saberstaff thin enough to fit comfortably in his hand. Then, as his first assignment, the Council called him to their chamber to discuss a mission.
A suspected Sith cult had arisen on nearby Mygeeto, and the locals were becoming increasingly concerned. Rumors were spreading that a Sith lord had taken up residence there, and the Council believed these rumors credible. A small team was assembled to investigate, consisting of four Jedi; because of their history, the Council chose to send Joffoc and Master Lokarram as the first team, while the second team consisted of a Jedi Knight named Cora and her zabrak padawan, Zu-bara. The team was dispatched immediately. The four-man team landed in a small frozen Lurmen village, and the investigation began.
The first few days passed while gathering information; while it consisted mostly of rumors, some appeared reliable. Knight Cora spoke with a Lurmen that claimed his son was abducted by humans, and that when he attempted to help his son escape their clutches, he was threatened with a “crimson lasersword.” Another told them that a colletion of other species were coming and going from the surrounding villages, and were causing problems such as stealing goods and exacting petty violence on the inhabitants.
After moving through a handful of villages, the Jedi deduced that the epicenter of the activity was coming from a cave formation in the tundra between the villages known as the Burndak Crags, which were allegedly notorious for contributing to the disappearances of Lurmen across several villages. After some reconnoitering, the Jedi identified two primary entrances to the formation. Electing to split up and assault in tandem, the teams took position and prepared for their task.
At first, the attack went smoothly. Stealth was their ally, and the teams remained in communication as they infiltrated. Knight Cora and Padawan Zu-bara were the first to find enemy contact; they dispatched them without raising alarm. Soon, Lokarram and Joffoc encountered the same. As they forged deeper into the caves, icy tunnels gave way to furnished fortress, and it became apparent that the enclave had been here for some time; a databank that Joffoc was able to hack provided some insight into the operation that the Sith had undertaken. It seemed that the enclave was a group of exiled Sith under the leadership of Lord Hogoth, a formerly esteemed Sith lord that was banished for some slight against the Sith leadership that none dare mention in any written record. This discovery changed their mission parameters; as the ranking Jedi, Lokarram made the decision that, knowing the exiled cult would have no outside assistance and given the light resistance they had encountered thus far, the team could exterminate them. Joffoc communicated the new objective to their team immediately.
Stealth continued to carry their efforts for some time, until they reached a linear room in which stealth was not an option. Joffoc and Lokarram planned an overwhelming assault against a trio of Sith, and met with some success; while they emerged victorious, the Sith had managed to call for help, and the rest of the fortress was on alert. With reinforcements on their way, Lokarram and Joffoc prepared to ambush them, and communicated to their allies for assistance—but they did not respond. Soon, reinforcements came, and in numbers the two had not foreseen. The battle that ensued was furious and brutal, but without assistance from their allies, the Jedi could not defeat the numbers. Lokarram was badly wounded, and when a lightsaber caught Joffoc’s left arm causing him to fumble his blade, he was forced to surrender.
The two were stripped and chained, and dragged into separate pitch black cellars where they were strapped to wooden crosses and left for an indeterminate amount of time. No medical assistance was rendered, and Lokarram was too weak to fight; Joffoc, wounded and unwilling to leave his master behind, was forced to bide his time until an opportunity presented itself to escape.
Days or weeks passed. The only event that Joffoc had to tell the time was that every so often, once a day perhaps, a middle-aged Sith woman would enter his cell to torture him. She needed no light, and as such Joffoc never saw her face or the tools she used; only her voice, and the blinding, unimaginable pain. Each visit persisted until Joffoc was left unconscious.
Joffoc’s mind wandered. The torture left him unable to sleep but for passing into unconsciousness from agony, and so he spent his time awake in his own mind; he would think of colors, wondering what they looked like, how they smelled, how they moved. He would wonder what he looked like there in the blackness, naked and probably opened up like a box, innards and gizzards possibly hanging from him like a mobile for an infant. Oh, what an absurd mobile that would make! He would sometimes smile to think of how silly that was, or some other passing thought—what did his fingers look like now, without nails? Did he have his own fingerprint beneath them, a separate set? Perhaps he could use those to defy authorities—wouldn’t that be an adventure?
When they came for him, Joffoc was actually in quite good spirits. He was dragged by bleeding feet to a room dimly lit by arcane torches, his naked body bloodied further by being pulled across the gravel. His blood left rainbow swirls in the stones—so this was what light looked like? He’d nearly forgotten! When they stopped, he was told to stand. He did, and he felt his bones creak and his blood flow and his muscles shift—and he the smile on his face.
”I am Lord Hogoth,” said a hooded fat man with a gravelly voice. What was under those robes? Two gammorean midgets on each other’s shoulders, maybe? A hutt with legs? Joffoc smiled again. ”I will ask you questions, and you will answer me, or I shall begin killing your comrades. Understood?”
Understood, he said—but Joffoc wasn’t standing under anything. He looked above him just to be sure, but he was wrong—there was a large chandelier overhead alight with three torches. ”Oh,” he said, corrected. ”Why, yes.”
”Why did you come here?”
With a smile, Joffoc replied with a chuckle, ”Your fellows came and got me, if I recall.”
The Sith Lord did not appear amused. With a snap of his fingers, two more acolytes dragged forth the frail and failing naked bodies of Lokarram and Cora. Dropping them to the ground, the acolyte drew what appeared to be Joffoc’s saberstaff. The yellow blade shot from the hilt and hovered over Lokarram’s body. ”I’ll ask one more time, Jedi,” said the Sith lord. ”Why did you come here? How much do you know?”
Joffoc’s eyes did not leave the lightsaber until he heard her voice. ”If you want him to talk, let me have him for a while.” It was that voice—the woman that spent so much time in the dark with him. He turned around to see her in the corner, arms folded; she had deep bags under her eyes and thick purple veins all over her skin, a slender build sheathed in dark robes and a silver tool with a sharp circular blade in her hand. Was that the tool that she had used on him?
Not anymore. Never again.
The series of events happened so fast. With a flash of power in the force, Joffoc reached out and yanked down the chandelier with invisible hands and brought it down upon the figue before him—the Sith Lord. As it crashed to the ground, he spun and lashed out to yank his lightsaber from the flinching sith acolyte’s hand. It spun and cut through the Sith’s neck as it left him, slapping into Joffoc’s right hand; with a spinning slash, he eliminated both the Sith that had brought him to the chamber, both of which had just retrieved their hilts. In a flash, he was upon the woman, the last remaining individual in the room; terror was painted on her face, and he gently took the tool from her hand. He smiled as he looked at her—she didn’t look anything like he had imagined. He felt an intimacy with her, a strange connection—she was the only person that had been there in the dark with him. He shushed her as he dragged the tool across her throat, and cradled her until the light faded from her eyes.
When he stood, he saw that Cora stood before him, her face painted in pain and concern. ”Lord Hogoth is dead. I finished him.” She nodded towards the freshly dead woman and said, ”Was that necessary? She was surrendering…”
Joffoc looked down at her. ”I just wanted her to feel the pitch black. Now she never has to leave.”
Taking slow steps toward him, Cora placed a hand on his shoulder. ”Joffoc, she said earnestly, ”be careful. You are dangerously close to the dark side.”
”Oh, no,” he said with a delighted laugh. ”I’m not in the dark anymore, Cora! Never again!”
The two talked no more, and surveyed the body of the Sith Lord. Joffoc recovered Lokarram’s hilt from the dead Sith that stood near him, and seized Lord Hogoth’s saber from his crushed hands. As he checked the corpse of the exiled Sith, he found on his finger a swirling black ring with a deep purple stone. It enraptured Joffoc’s mind, and he slipped it from his finger. He and Cora donned Sith robes and gathered Lokarram, who was unconscious but yet alive. Cora revealed that Zu-bara had been killed in combat before she was taken captive; she had suffered the same torture, as it appeared Lokarram had. They encountered no resistance as they fled the caves and made the arduous journey to the nearest Lurmen village. Finally, they received medical attention and passage was arranged to return to the Jedi temple.
The Council was surprised to hear of the resistance the team had encountered on Mygeeto. Eight months had passed since the day they were captured, and another team had been dispatched to find them; after Joffoc and his allies were discovered by the Sith however, it appeared that the Sith had attacked several of the nearby villages in an effort to silence the indigenous population. Their efforts worked, and the Jedi sent to recover Joffoc’s team was unable to find them. Joffoc and Cora were commended for their fortitude, for their victory over the Sith Lord and for his elimination. Joffoc received special notice for his recovery of the ring, with was revealed to be a creation of Sith Alchemy for an uncertain purpose— however, the Council believed that its use, or perhaps its theft, was the reason for Hogoth’s exile. The Council was very impressed that Joffoc was able to resist the temptation of the alchemical creation and its power, a feat only possible by someone with a true attenuation to the light side of the force.
The coming months were difficult. Joffoc struggled with a disconnected perception of reality, connecting only to Cora in that they shared a traumatic experience. Lokarram remained in a coma during this period, and Joffoc regularly spent time beside him, caring for him and managing his needs. One morning, however, Joffoc awoke to find the Lokarram had stopped breathing in the night; he had succumbed to his wounds and finally passed away.
Joffoc was granted Lokarram’s belongings, including his lightsaber. In honor of his fallen master, he replaced one of his color crystals with the purple stone from Lokarram’s lightsaber. The other he replaced with the crimson crystal from Lord Hogoth’s saber, to remind him always of his perseverance over the horror they endured.
As he struggled with the loss and with his distorted perception, he confided in Cora continuously. The two became close friends, but Cora became increasingly concerned about Joffoc’s mental health. The only thing that seemed to help ground him was sparring; Cora dueled with him regularly. He became well-known throughout the temple as a duelist, and in time, the Council began sending him on investigations to confront suspected Sith agents. Cora hated to see him on missions again, but it appeared to help him; as long as he performed regularly, he seemed to have a more stable grip on his mental health.
Cora and Joffoc remain close friends these years later, and while Joffoc’s sanity still ebbs and flows, he has remained stable enough to perform for the Council on regular occasion.
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The Sith acolyte blinked a bead of sweat from his eye as he caught his breath. His lightsaber crackled in the Coruscanti drizzle, and tiny plumes of steam arose from it—a distraction from the foe that stood before him. The man was eccentric, to say the least, and he fought with a vigor the acolyte had not faced before. The cantina balcony was barely large enough for the table that now lay cut in two around them, and yet the man somehow managed to spin and flourish his blade effortlessly without striking any of the nearby obstacles or onlookers. He didn’t look like a Jedi, and he fought like a Sith. ”Who are you?” the acolyte demanded.
”Who, me?” the man replied, eyes wide. ”I’m sorry, aren’t we trying to kill each other? I’m usually not much for conversation when I’m busy committing justifiable homicide—but then, it is the weekend, so who am I to judge?”
The acolyte ignored the confusing sidestep to his question, and tightened grip on the hilt of his lightsaber. “You’re no Jedi, are you? And you’re no Sith—Grey Jedi, are you?”
The man gave an appalled laugh and replied, ”Gods, no. I’m much too colorful!” At that, an indigo blade shot from a second hilt in his left hand, and with twin lightsabers in the red and purple that matched his clothing, he smiled at his adversary and waited.
The Sith grew weary of his remarks. Steeling himself, he lunged at his opponent with his blade poised high for a strike to the head; but just before he was within range, the man’s red blade disappeared, and suddenly the hilt left his hand. It collided with a sharp ‘clink’ with the acolyte’s mouth, taking teeth and some of a lip with it, and the Sith’s slash fell far too wide. The man brought his purple blade down upon the Sith’s lightsaber so close to the hilt that bright orange sparks flashed across his hands, and he instinctively flinched; the hilt clattered to the ground and the blade shorted. Now disarmed, the Sith’s attempted to seize the blade of his opponent—he was able to grapple the wrist, but with his free hand, the man summoned the nearby half of a table through the force, and as it flashed to his hand, he brought it upside the acolyte’s head. In a spray of expensive wooden splinters, the Sith jerked against the railing of the balcony, blinded and dizzy and feeling hot blood pouring over his face. Disoriented, he reached a weak hand out for his lightsaber, which lifted from the ground—but it was the strange man’s hand that caught the hilt. For a moment, nothing happened.
Leaning down close, so close that the sense-deprived acolyte could feel him, the man whispered, ”Say it.”
”What?” choked out the young Sith with a wet cough.
”Say that the Sith are super lame, and that black robes are so out of style.” The acolyte recalled their spontaneous conversation just before the Sith drew his blade; the strange man had approached him, and had said that very same thing. It was what had provoked him to attack. After a moment of confused and disbelieving silence, a flash of rage came across the man’s face and the second half of the table screamed from its place nearby to his hand. As he hoisted it over his head, one hand on the leg and the other on his lightsaber, he screamed, ”Say it!
”T—the Sith are super lame, and black robes aren’t cool!”
”Aren’t in style!”
”Aren’t in style!” the acolyte sobbed, bringing a hand over his head to shield from the impending crash. ”Out of style! Out of style!”
He heard the wooden table crash to the ground, and felt a hand on his arm, hoisting him to stand. ”You know, I’ve been saying the same thing for years! We have a lot in common, you and I!” The confused young man watched as the fellow bent down, picking up both hilts on the ground. He brandished the Sith’s lightsaber and said, ”I’m keeping this. You don’t like it? File a complaint.”
The acolyte did not protest as the man departed the cantina.
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Joffoc Dol-Haddon
The Mad Jedi
The Mad Jedi
[fancybox4= http://i64.tinypic.com/wbcscw.png]FULL NAME: Joffoc Dol-Haddon
AGE: 28
SPECIES: Human, Dantooine
HEIGHT: 5’11”
WEIGHT: 190 lbs
EYE COLOR: Brown
HAIR COLOR: Black
SKIN COLOR: Fair
MARKINGS: Light lightsaber scar vertical along left bicep; significant lightsaber scar on abdomen and multiple scars from surgeries surrounding it
FACTION: Jedi Knights
RANK: Knight
The fields and farmlands of Dantooine were Joffoc’s home as a child. He grew up on a simple plantation to poor parents ill-equipped to raise a family; in time, these parents saw fit to deposit him at the Jedi Temple some distance away. There, the confused Jedi administered tests to the abandoned toddler and found that he was force sensitive.
Joffoc has never learned if his parents were aware that he was force sensitive, or if they were simply abandoning him. [/fancybox4]
theMan...
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Joffoc was once a quiet, reserved, calculating man. His brilliance and tactical aptitude were evident in his performance as a padawan. But at some point in his life, perhaps unbeknownst to the Council, Joffoc lost touch with the core elements of his sanity; since then, he has become far stronger and far less reserved.
Now, Joffoc is known for his razor sharp wit. None are safe from his sass, and even the Council has seen the shine of his silver tongue. No one is entirely certain of how much the Council is aware; do they know that Joffoc struggles to remain hinged, that his grounding to reality is sometimes weak? If they know, they have yet to act—and in the meantime, Joffoc continues to clash with those around him who expect reasonable, adult behavior from a Jedi Knight.
Brave and foolhardy, perhaps arrogant but never unprepared or unready, Joffoc can be easily underestimated, and knows exactly when to capitalize on such a mistake.
The most glaring skill Joffoc possesses is his intellect. Blessed with a brilliant mind and a sharp tongue, Joffoc often finds that the two make beautiful music together. While his antics often leave him at odds with others, he has ways of using them to his advantage and has an impressive ability to strike just exactly at what he wants. He always exudes the impression that he has a plan.
Beyond his wit and charisma, his greatest attribute is his combat ability. His tactical prowess has translated seamlessly into his ability in lightsaber combat; he is an accomplished duelist, and his abilities have had plenty of opportunities to be tested during his tenure as a Jedi. He is especially known for precise and deadly trikata attacks that often catch his opponents off-guard, or circumnavigate their defenses entirely. While he excels at saber combat, he is weaker in force application; while he has improved dramatically since becoming a Knight, his force abilities in combat have yet to catch up to his physical abilities—an issue that has been attributed by his trainers to a lack of focus, possibly due to his mental state.
While he is often wearing his lamellar armor, his garb otherwise consists of a variety of clothing. He generally prefers garments that fit tight in the chest and are sleeveless of have very loose short sleeves, and baggy pants such as wrap pants. He frequently wears a red and purple hooded jack that buttons in the front and extends to his knees, with sleeves that flow to his elbow and are embroidered with his colors. While much of his garb is red and purple, a pair of colors with which he identifies strongly, he also wears a considerable amount of black and white together; he can often be seen wearing a sleeveless coat in black and white floral pattern. His attire is infamously flamboyant for a Jedi, something that has made him rather identifiable.
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theMyth...
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Born to a poor family of farmers in the remote plains of Dantooine, Joffoc had an unassuming and fairly normal childhood. Life on his family’s settlement provided few of the modern comforts; they had no power, no advanced technology, and occasionally hardly even a shelter due to the lack of maintenance to their home. Their crops never seemed to flourish and it felt as though their family was always the last to be able to sell what few goods they produced. Joffoc has never been entirely clear on why his parents took him to the Jedi; was it because they knew he was sensitive to the force, or simply because they could no longer afford a family? All of his parents he learned from his master, Lokarram, and Lokarram could not discern that.
Having never known his parents but for a few sparse memories, Lokarram became all the family he had. At first, he seemed standoffish; Lokarram was a Cerean with a perpetually serious demeanor. That suited Joffoc just fine, but they had trouble connecting. When Joffoc was a teenager, some years into his Jedi training, he realized he hardly knew his master at all. It was not until his combat training that he began to get to know him. Lokarram was, in secret, an amazing practical jokester; often times, silly things that happened in the temple were his doing, and none were any the wiser. Things like switching all the chairs in the Council chambers and replacing all the power crystals in the workshop with rock candy were often attributed to the younglings or initiates, because no one ever suspected the stoic Jedi Knight An-Doborro Lokarram. In fact, Joffoc himself may never have learned his terrible secret had he not let him in on it—but only because as he grew in age, he needed an accomplice to pull off increasingly daring pranks.
The two grew much closer, bonding over their alternate identities. Lokarram brought out the funny side of Joffoc, and together they became the most unassuming clowns the Jedi had ever seen. But it was not always fun and games; after Joffoc passed his combat training—with excellence, no less—he was cleared to join his master for missions set forth by the Council. Joffoc’s young adulthood is full of memories of the missions and pranks he shared with Lokarram.
When Lokarram was recommended for promotion as a Jedi Master, Joffoc spoke at his recognition. He told of the character he had witnessed in his time as Joffoc’s padawan, and of the many adventures they had shared. Some were somber, others funny, but all showed the type of graceful mentorship that Lokarram had provided to him for years—still keeping their secret, of course. Lokarram received the title of Master, and Joffoc, not long after, was recommended for promotion to Jedi Knight.
He remembers fondly the construction of his lightsaber. With amber crystals to represent the Jedi Sentinel, he constructed a gold and silver phrik saberstaff thin enough to fit comfortably in his hand. Then, as his first assignment, the Council called him to their chamber to discuss a mission.
A suspected Sith cult had arisen on nearby Mygeeto, and the locals were becoming increasingly concerned. Rumors were spreading that a Sith lord had taken up residence there, and the Council believed these rumors credible. A small team was assembled to investigate, consisting of four Jedi; because of their history, the Council chose to send Joffoc and Master Lokarram as the first team, while the second team consisted of a Jedi Knight named Cora and her zabrak padawan, Zu-bara. The team was dispatched immediately. The four-man team landed in a small frozen Lurmen village, and the investigation began.
The first few days passed while gathering information; while it consisted mostly of rumors, some appeared reliable. Knight Cora spoke with a Lurmen that claimed his son was abducted by humans, and that when he attempted to help his son escape their clutches, he was threatened with a “crimson lasersword.” Another told them that a colletion of other species were coming and going from the surrounding villages, and were causing problems such as stealing goods and exacting petty violence on the inhabitants.
At first, the attack went smoothly. Stealth was their ally, and the teams remained in communication as they infiltrated. Knight Cora and Padawan Zu-bara were the first to find enemy contact; they dispatched them without raising alarm. Soon, Lokarram and Joffoc encountered the same. As they forged deeper into the caves, icy tunnels gave way to furnished fortress, and it became apparent that the enclave had been here for some time; a databank that Joffoc was able to hack provided some insight into the operation that the Sith had undertaken. It seemed that the enclave was a group of exiled Sith under the leadership of Lord Hogoth, a formerly esteemed Sith lord that was banished for some slight against the Sith leadership that none dare mention in any written record. This discovery changed their mission parameters; as the ranking Jedi, Lokarram made the decision that, knowing the exiled cult would have no outside assistance and given the light resistance they had encountered thus far, the team could exterminate them. Joffoc communicated the new objective to their team immediately.
Stealth continued to carry their efforts for some time, until they reached a linear room in which stealth was not an option. Joffoc and Lokarram planned an overwhelming assault against a trio of Sith, and met with some success; while they emerged victorious, the Sith had managed to call for help, and the rest of the fortress was on alert. With reinforcements on their way, Lokarram and Joffoc prepared to ambush them, and communicated to their allies for assistance—but they did not respond. Soon, reinforcements came, and in numbers the two had not foreseen. The battle that ensued was furious and brutal, but without assistance from their allies, the Jedi could not defeat the numbers. Lokarram was badly wounded, and when a lightsaber caught Joffoc’s left arm causing him to fumble his blade, he was forced to surrender.
The two were stripped and chained, and dragged into separate pitch black cellars where they were strapped to wooden crosses and left for an indeterminate amount of time. No medical assistance was rendered, and Lokarram was too weak to fight; Joffoc, wounded and unwilling to leave his master behind, was forced to bide his time until an opportunity presented itself to escape.
Days or weeks passed. The only event that Joffoc had to tell the time was that every so often, once a day perhaps, a middle-aged Sith woman would enter his cell to torture him. She needed no light, and as such Joffoc never saw her face or the tools she used; only her voice, and the blinding, unimaginable pain. Each visit persisted until Joffoc was left unconscious.
Joffoc’s mind wandered. The torture left him unable to sleep but for passing into unconsciousness from agony, and so he spent his time awake in his own mind; he would think of colors, wondering what they looked like, how they smelled, how they moved. He would wonder what he looked like there in the blackness, naked and probably opened up like a box, innards and gizzards possibly hanging from him like a mobile for an infant. Oh, what an absurd mobile that would make! He would sometimes smile to think of how silly that was, or some other passing thought—what did his fingers look like now, without nails? Did he have his own fingerprint beneath them, a separate set? Perhaps he could use those to defy authorities—wouldn’t that be an adventure?
When they came for him, Joffoc was actually in quite good spirits. He was dragged by bleeding feet to a room dimly lit by arcane torches, his naked body bloodied further by being pulled across the gravel. His blood left rainbow swirls in the stones—so this was what light looked like? He’d nearly forgotten! When they stopped, he was told to stand. He did, and he felt his bones creak and his blood flow and his muscles shift—and he the smile on his face.
”I am Lord Hogoth,” said a hooded fat man with a gravelly voice. What was under those robes? Two gammorean midgets on each other’s shoulders, maybe? A hutt with legs? Joffoc smiled again. ”I will ask you questions, and you will answer me, or I shall begin killing your comrades. Understood?”
Understood, he said—but Joffoc wasn’t standing under anything. He looked above him just to be sure, but he was wrong—there was a large chandelier overhead alight with three torches. ”Oh,” he said, corrected. ”Why, yes.”
”Why did you come here?”
With a smile, Joffoc replied with a chuckle, ”Your fellows came and got me, if I recall.”
The Sith Lord did not appear amused. With a snap of his fingers, two more acolytes dragged forth the frail and failing naked bodies of Lokarram and Cora. Dropping them to the ground, the acolyte drew what appeared to be Joffoc’s saberstaff. The yellow blade shot from the hilt and hovered over Lokarram’s body. ”I’ll ask one more time, Jedi,” said the Sith lord. ”Why did you come here? How much do you know?”
Joffoc’s eyes did not leave the lightsaber until he heard her voice. ”If you want him to talk, let me have him for a while.” It was that voice—the woman that spent so much time in the dark with him. He turned around to see her in the corner, arms folded; she had deep bags under her eyes and thick purple veins all over her skin, a slender build sheathed in dark robes and a silver tool with a sharp circular blade in her hand. Was that the tool that she had used on him?
Not anymore. Never again.
The series of events happened so fast. With a flash of power in the force, Joffoc reached out and yanked down the chandelier with invisible hands and brought it down upon the figue before him—the Sith Lord. As it crashed to the ground, he spun and lashed out to yank his lightsaber from the flinching sith acolyte’s hand. It spun and cut through the Sith’s neck as it left him, slapping into Joffoc’s right hand; with a spinning slash, he eliminated both the Sith that had brought him to the chamber, both of which had just retrieved their hilts. In a flash, he was upon the woman, the last remaining individual in the room; terror was painted on her face, and he gently took the tool from her hand. He smiled as he looked at her—she didn’t look anything like he had imagined. He felt an intimacy with her, a strange connection—she was the only person that had been there in the dark with him. He shushed her as he dragged the tool across her throat, and cradled her until the light faded from her eyes.
When he stood, he saw that Cora stood before him, her face painted in pain and concern. ”Lord Hogoth is dead. I finished him.” She nodded towards the freshly dead woman and said, ”Was that necessary? She was surrendering…”
Joffoc looked down at her. ”I just wanted her to feel the pitch black. Now she never has to leave.”
Taking slow steps toward him, Cora placed a hand on his shoulder. ”Joffoc, she said earnestly, ”be careful. You are dangerously close to the dark side.”
”Oh, no,” he said with a delighted laugh. ”I’m not in the dark anymore, Cora! Never again!”
The two talked no more, and surveyed the body of the Sith Lord. Joffoc recovered Lokarram’s hilt from the dead Sith that stood near him, and seized Lord Hogoth’s saber from his crushed hands. As he checked the corpse of the exiled Sith, he found on his finger a swirling black ring with a deep purple stone. It enraptured Joffoc’s mind, and he slipped it from his finger. He and Cora donned Sith robes and gathered Lokarram, who was unconscious but yet alive. Cora revealed that Zu-bara had been killed in combat before she was taken captive; she had suffered the same torture, as it appeared Lokarram had. They encountered no resistance as they fled the caves and made the arduous journey to the nearest Lurmen village. Finally, they received medical attention and passage was arranged to return to the Jedi temple.
The Council was surprised to hear of the resistance the team had encountered on Mygeeto. Eight months had passed since the day they were captured, and another team had been dispatched to find them; after Joffoc and his allies were discovered by the Sith however, it appeared that the Sith had attacked several of the nearby villages in an effort to silence the indigenous population. Their efforts worked, and the Jedi sent to recover Joffoc’s team was unable to find them. Joffoc and Cora were commended for their fortitude, for their victory over the Sith Lord and for his elimination. Joffoc received special notice for his recovery of the ring, with was revealed to be a creation of Sith Alchemy for an uncertain purpose— however, the Council believed that its use, or perhaps its theft, was the reason for Hogoth’s exile. The Council was very impressed that Joffoc was able to resist the temptation of the alchemical creation and its power, a feat only possible by someone with a true attenuation to the light side of the force.
The coming months were difficult. Joffoc struggled with a disconnected perception of reality, connecting only to Cora in that they shared a traumatic experience. Lokarram remained in a coma during this period, and Joffoc regularly spent time beside him, caring for him and managing his needs. One morning, however, Joffoc awoke to find the Lokarram had stopped breathing in the night; he had succumbed to his wounds and finally passed away.
Joffoc was granted Lokarram’s belongings, including his lightsaber. In honor of his fallen master, he replaced one of his color crystals with the purple stone from Lokarram’s lightsaber. The other he replaced with the crimson crystal from Lord Hogoth’s saber, to remind him always of his perseverance over the horror they endured.
As he struggled with the loss and with his distorted perception, he confided in Cora continuously. The two became close friends, but Cora became increasingly concerned about Joffoc’s mental health. The only thing that seemed to help ground him was sparring; Cora dueled with him regularly. He became well-known throughout the temple as a duelist, and in time, the Council began sending him on investigations to confront suspected Sith agents. Cora hated to see him on missions again, but it appeared to help him; as long as he performed regularly, he seemed to have a more stable grip on his mental health.
Cora and Joffoc remain close friends these years later, and while Joffoc’s sanity still ebbs and flows, he has remained stable enough to perform for the Council on regular occasion.
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...theManiac
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The Sith acolyte blinked a bead of sweat from his eye as he caught his breath. His lightsaber crackled in the Coruscanti drizzle, and tiny plumes of steam arose from it—a distraction from the foe that stood before him. The man was eccentric, to say the least, and he fought with a vigor the acolyte had not faced before. The cantina balcony was barely large enough for the table that now lay cut in two around them, and yet the man somehow managed to spin and flourish his blade effortlessly without striking any of the nearby obstacles or onlookers. He didn’t look like a Jedi, and he fought like a Sith. ”Who are you?” the acolyte demanded.
”Who, me?” the man replied, eyes wide. ”I’m sorry, aren’t we trying to kill each other? I’m usually not much for conversation when I’m busy committing justifiable homicide—but then, it is the weekend, so who am I to judge?”
The acolyte ignored the confusing sidestep to his question, and tightened grip on the hilt of his lightsaber. “You’re no Jedi, are you? And you’re no Sith—Grey Jedi, are you?”
The man gave an appalled laugh and replied, ”Gods, no. I’m much too colorful!” At that, an indigo blade shot from a second hilt in his left hand, and with twin lightsabers in the red and purple that matched his clothing, he smiled at his adversary and waited.
The Sith grew weary of his remarks. Steeling himself, he lunged at his opponent with his blade poised high for a strike to the head; but just before he was within range, the man’s red blade disappeared, and suddenly the hilt left his hand. It collided with a sharp ‘clink’ with the acolyte’s mouth, taking teeth and some of a lip with it, and the Sith’s slash fell far too wide. The man brought his purple blade down upon the Sith’s lightsaber so close to the hilt that bright orange sparks flashed across his hands, and he instinctively flinched; the hilt clattered to the ground and the blade shorted. Now disarmed, the Sith’s attempted to seize the blade of his opponent—he was able to grapple the wrist, but with his free hand, the man summoned the nearby half of a table through the force, and as it flashed to his hand, he brought it upside the acolyte’s head. In a spray of expensive wooden splinters, the Sith jerked against the railing of the balcony, blinded and dizzy and feeling hot blood pouring over his face. Disoriented, he reached a weak hand out for his lightsaber, which lifted from the ground—but it was the strange man’s hand that caught the hilt. For a moment, nothing happened.
Leaning down close, so close that the sense-deprived acolyte could feel him, the man whispered, ”Say it.”
”What?” choked out the young Sith with a wet cough.
”Say that the Sith are super lame, and that black robes are so out of style.” The acolyte recalled their spontaneous conversation just before the Sith drew his blade; the strange man had approached him, and had said that very same thing. It was what had provoked him to attack. After a moment of confused and disbelieving silence, a flash of rage came across the man’s face and the second half of the table screamed from its place nearby to his hand. As he hoisted it over his head, one hand on the leg and the other on his lightsaber, he screamed, ”Say it!
”T—the Sith are super lame, and black robes aren’t cool!”
”Aren’t in style!”
”Aren’t in style!” the acolyte sobbed, bringing a hand over his head to shield from the impending crash. ”Out of style! Out of style!”
He heard the wooden table crash to the ground, and felt a hand on his arm, hoisting him to stand. ”You know, I’ve been saying the same thing for years! We have a lot in common, you and I!” The confused young man watched as the fellow bent down, picking up both hilts on the ground. He brandished the Sith’s lightsaber and said, ”I’m keeping this. You don’t like it? File a complaint.”
The acolyte did not protest as the man departed the cantina.
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Joffoc sees you.
Joffoc is not impressed.
Joffoc is not impressed.
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