A Phantom Pain

[StandbyRanger]

Ruination! The Republic, once a bastion for peace, has rotted from the inside. Now ruled by the Emperor, the Republic was mutated into the Galactic Empire. It has been four years since the galaxy had been dominated by the Sith.

However, the Dark Side has yet to corrupt everything; pockets of resistance have began to surface, and despite them being all but destroyed during Order 66, the Jedi Order continues to exist in small numbers.

One such pair of Jedi, Padawans Alanna Noymara and Krellis Odorin, have managed to survive the unceasingly hounding Imperials for the past five years. But now, their luck is beginning to run short.

With their remaining allies scant, and their list of places to run becoming short, the duo make haste to Ossus; a dead planet that could harbor them, and is rumored to contain ancient histories on the Jedi…​

“Padawan Vastra, do you know why we called you before us today?”

The Jedi Council room was underlit; the curtains were drawn, making the faces of the attending Council members hard to discern. Rane Vastra, sixteen years old and led to believe he was on the cusp of Knighthood, pretended to ponder the Master’s question, “I assume something important; If I didn't, you'd be so kind as to tell me, right Master?”

“Please take this serious, Padawan,” sighed one of the shadowy masters, “We do not take as much joy in this as you think we do.” The voice was stern, matter of fact, and to the point. Hearing it made Rane tense on reaction, as though he were about to be put through a rigorous inspection. Rane knew this voice well; spend nearly a decade being lectured by the same person and it felt like you could pick them out of a lineup of all the galaxy’s citizens.

“Of course, Master.” Rane complied along with a bow of humility. A moment of silence passed before the same Master spoke again.

“You were called before this council to discuss the past events on Korunnai, in which we have been led to believe that you endangered the code that we live by and let your emotions claim the best of you. This is a very serious accusation for such a prospective learner such as yourself, Padawan Vastra. If you have anything to say, now would be the time.”

_____________________________________________________________________​

Five Years Later…

“Vastra…. Vastra.” The voice was lighter and less pissed off than the one Rane had listened to in his dreams, but that soon changed. It repeated his name rhythmically, as though it would call life into the man’s inert frame.

Rane was face first in his pillow, ignoring the nagging voice rather poorly. He grabbed both ends of the pillow and stuffed them into his ears, drowning out the nagging but making it rather difficult to breath. Worth it.

The voice ceased its vain efforts. It chuckled, and went silent; Rane thought he finally won, but was proven wrong as a steel toe boot promptly entered his side. He grabbed at the pain and rolled over to look his assailant in the eyes.

Gaz Talcna, an aging Duros and Rane’s bunkmate, stood over him smirking; his yellowing teeth highlighting his mouth in the darkness of the room. Rane jabbed at the air with a finger, aiming it at the grinning alien.

“Hey! We agreed--*cough* to take it easy on the wake up calls!”

“We sure did,” Gaz goaded his bunkmate, “but that’s only when your lazy ass gets up the first time I call you.” He leaned in close to the prone man, swatting the prodding finger away, “Now get your ass up; it’s your watch.” Toothpaste was a luxury at this point, but that doesn't mean Rane could ever get used to the scent of an alien with tooth decay.

Rane swatted at the Duros with his pillow, but Gaz snatched it from his friend’s hand before it could connect with his face, “Mine now.”

Rane groaned dramatically before he rose from the cot. It took him only a few minutes to collect his appropriate gear (including a salvaged DC-15 rifle), and for Gaz to make himself comfortable on the now vacant cot. The Corellian was getting ready to head out when Gaz stopped him, “Hey, almost forgot: Captain wants to see ya.”

“About?” Rane asked, stopping in the doorway. Captain Auxian never spoke much to those she didn't have to, so a face to face conversation usually meant she had some shit to hash out with you.

Gaz was laid back with his legs crossed, hands folded behind his head when he gave Rane a shrug, “No clue, but she’ll be waiting at your post. Now get out and let me sleep.” With that, Rane stepped out of the bare, stone room and into the similar looking hallway. The hallway belonged to an ancient ruin on the planet Ossus, the latest bastion for the ousted Antarian Rangers.

Rane thought back to the Collapse of the Republic while on his way to his post; his thoughts were given a tempo of echoing boots in the empty hallway. Rane had been alongside the Rangers, charging Separatist lines on the planet Orto when he felt as though someone lit his veins on fire; his legs gave way in the middle of the battle, which forced a few of his squadmates to disengage and carry Rane to safety. No one in the Rangers knew exactly what happened during the Collapse, but when next they came across Clone Troopers, and were almost immediately fired upon, Rane had to figure that someone in the government wasn't in their right mind.

And he was right.

Chancellor Palpatine, now the Emperor, had branded both the Jedi and the Rangers as traitors to his new galactic order.

Rane couldn’t figure out the details about how all of the events of the past few years came to be; the Rangers had no secure access to the HyperNet, so the best they ever got were rumors from farmers or merchants on backwater planets. The ex-Jedi was well aware of his current situation, though: wandering the halls of an ancient Jedi ruin, just like the ghosts that still cling to the living.

Rane’s post was near close to the precipice of the aging temple; a short lift ride a few floors up and another vacant hallway ferried him to his home for the next four hours. His post was a balcony with an overwhelming vantage on the neighboring lands. What has now been affectionately referred to as the “Crops o’ Dust” by the Rangers continued to do what it did best: rot. The loose sands of the barren planet were easily picked up by the weak breezes of the morning; and, just as expected, Captain Auxian sat on the handrails watching the sunrise while waiting for the young man.

Captain Auxian’newa was a female Twi’lek who had been with the Antarian Rangers for far longer than any Ranger could guess. No one knew her real age, but it was quite obvious that no matter how old she was, the Captain aged extremely well. Plus, she was a kick-ass soldier. Rane had seen her wrestle a Super Battle Droid to the ground and gut the thing with her vibroknife firsthand. He had been head-over-heels for the woman ever since.

Rane stood there for a moment, admiring the view of his CO and the natural “beauty” of the sky. Her auqamarine skin made her seem like a refreshing oasis in the sickly brown desert of Ossus.

“Are you just going to stand there, Corporal Vastra? Or, are you going to join me at your post?” The Captain’s words, spoken with her back to Rane still and a gentle pat of the rail, shocked him back to the real world.

“I’m gonna have to get a raincheck, ma’am,” Rane said as he approached his Captain’s side. He peered over the edge of the balcony at the battlements below. They had initially been hastily set up in fear that the Empire wasn’t far behind, but the lack of contact with anyone beyond the sector had given the Rangers the time needed to turn the temple into an actually defensible position, “If I sit now, I’m just gonna fall back asleep.”

Captain Auxian chuckled, “Fair enough, Corporal.” Rane could see her lekku twitch and undulate slightly as she spoke, “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, if you like dead things.” Rane was deadpan as he studied the barren wastes about him. It was something the Captain always found amusing about him, “Is that why you came to visit me, ma’am? To enjoy the sunrise?”

“Well, there’s that,” Auxian said, still gazing out into the distance, “And this too.” She offered him a datapad, a new model by the look of it. Rane accepted the device with some hesitance.

“Where’d you get your hands on this?”

“Scouts returned last night from the Core Worlds. Brought that with them.” Rane fiddled with the datapad as Auxian talked. Within, he found an assortment of articles from the past few years. They were all categorized under the keyword: “Jedi.”

“‘Jedi Temple Burned to the Ground following Intense Battle between Jedi and Imperial Army; Renegade Jedi Apprehended by Loyalists on Corellia; Jedi Scum Put to the Sword in Public For-- Captain, what the hell is this?” He had been reading of a select few headlines from the list, his anger growing word by word, “You trying to scare me into hiding?”

Auxian shook her head, her lekku following suit, “No. The opposite, really. Just… Keep reading.”

Rane sighed and continued to scan the headlines; there was more of the same the further he went down the list. He was about to toss the damned datapad off the balcony when he came across a peculiar title, “Empire to Revitalize Archaeological Programs: Searching for Ancient Aliens on Ossus... It’s from a few days ago… What does this mean?”

“It means, we’re not safe,” Auxian finally stood up to face Rane. She was about his height, maybe an inch or two shorter, “You know exactly where we are, Vastra: an ancient Jedi temple, ripe for the pickings. And now that we've found that in the catacombs...”

“You think the Empire is coming here? For whatever the hell we’ve been trying to dig up for the past year? Something they'd have no frikkin' clue of knowing about?”

“Not just that. The Emperor is calling for our heads.”

Rane scoffed, tossing the datapad back at his Captain, “You’re paranoid, ma’am.”

“You don’t get to a position like mine without a fair bit of paranoia.” Captain Auxian cradled the datapad in the fold of her left arm, “They’re trying to snuff out the last remnants of the Jedi; your people… you.” She came closer to Rane; he could discern her scent from the pungent death of the planet around him. She smelled like sweat and fear, just like the rest of the Rangers.

“Afraid of losing me, Auxian?”, Rane asked jestingly.

“I’m afraid of losing all my soldiers, Corporal.” Auxian’s tone changed from concerned to annoyed like the flip of a switch, “But what I’m truly afraid of is losing all of my friends, in a way that I couldn’t stop. In a way that would break my heart.”

Rane lowered his head, embarrassed, “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Auxian shook her head, “Don’t be. That’s the reality of command.” She turned away from Rane, facing back towards the decaying plains, “Just… When the time comes, don’t get carried away. If the rumors we keep hearing are true, you’ve already lost more friends than I could ever bear to.”

Rane nodded silently, his thoughts being pulled back to his days amongst his fellow Jedi; the days of his youth, a simpler time.

Silence hung around for what seemed like a lifetime, the two soldiers silently accompanying the other, keeping eye contact. Rane was the one to break the silence, “Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”

“Yes, there is,” Auxian sighed. “In preparation for what’s to come, I want you and a few men to establish a listening post close to the ruins a few miles east. If we’re not the Empire’s first stop on their whirlwind tour of archeological pursuits, I want to know immediately.”

Rane nodded, “It’ll get done, ma’am.”

Auxian smiled; it was weak and weary, but it still managed to warm Rane’s heart. She placed a hand on his shoulder, “You’re a good soldier, Rane.”

“Only the best soldiers for the best commander, ma’am.”

With that short exchange, Captain Auxian left Rane to his own devices. The Corellian returned to the balcony and his view of the “Crops.” He stood there for a time, cradling his rifle in his arms, before noticing the Captain had left her datapad behind.

Can’t be coincidental, thought Rane. Despite his misgivings to the shoddy journalism he had witnessed earlier, Rane snatched the datapad up and began familiarizing himself with what the galaxy had done to his people over the past few years.

@Oncaro @Tristar

 

[Tristar]

In life there are many qualities that define the individual. One may not necessarily be perfect in the grand scheme of things but the size of their heart and the intentions behind their actions are clear beacons of their shining and radiant personality.

Facing the great sandy beyond with the half buried spacecraft behind his back, Krellis was experiencing a moment of perfect bliss, achieved by ignoring the right proper blunder they were currently in. His shawl wrapped around his body, the sweaty clothe clinging onto his sweat stained back like a persistent lover; the scorching heat was their reward on this dead planet and as the silent moments passed the knot in his stomach twisted even tighter.

A small astromech wheeled itself to his side, the lovably named 53N-3.14159 bleeped forlornly at the man. He sighed, raising a hand that went to rustle his hair, but hesitated before giving the pessimistic trash can a punch.

The droid recoiled but so did the fist that struck it; cussing silently to himself, Krellis gave the droid a glare if admonishment as if it was the droid's fault that his knuckles stung.

'It's all your fault, you know, ' he said miserably in a sleepy, smooth voice. 'You told me that our engine could last us until we made contact with the ground.'

The droid bleeped back, this time somewhat aggressively. Krellis graced its retort with another smack on its cylindrical head, only to swear even louder at his own self inflicted pain. 'I don't regret buying the star chart that lead us here especially since it came with those textbooks about the local star system- those are very hard to find, you know. Real actual paperback books, not just-'

'Well you don't have to say it like that. I'm sure the ship's manual suggested that we have it undergo maintenance every few cycles, but who was the one that reassured me the engine was fine in the first place?!'

The droid went silent, as if acknowledging its defeat. Krellis gave it a little smug smile before returning back to his previous activity. Standing with his arms crossed, his viridian eyes swept the dunes and crests for any distinctive markers. He sighed in exasperation, something akin to regret tugging at the hem of his cargo trousers. The news reel at the cantina had mentioned about the latest "alien archaeological effort" by the Empire and as a self respecting scholar-in-hiding that he was, his mind immediately exchanged the words "alien" with "Jedi".

Everything they did was a front for a witch hunt for any Jedi that managed to escape the net sanctioned by Order 66. His forehead scrunched up in annoyance: not that he didn't feel traumatised by the event, but before the clones started to open fire on his mentors and seizing ancient delicate records he had lead a perfectly peaceful, if reclusive life. Order 66 was a huge mess and despite fighting tooth and nail, he barely left the archives with anything in his satchel.

It was a painful loss. Perhaps it was because he hadn't made any actual lasting bonds with anybody in the library that he was simply able to shrug it off. He could remember more names of lost valuable records better than recall the faces of the library archivists that fell clutching their sabres.

Bweep!

'You told he- I should have never listened to Alana and rescue you from that junker! You're the worst partner in crime I've ever had; you don't go about revealing that we did the bad thing to anybody, least of all her. You're not getting a maintenance check yoursel- Ow!'

He watched sullenly as the astromech did the equivalent of sauntering off, patting out the spot where the rascal had singed his pants. The pain flared up as grains of sand slid through his fingers and made contact with the sensitive patch of skin. 'Ah nerf herder's crap that stings so much. . . Stupid sand.'

 

[Oncaro]

"Harris wrench," the young woman said, holding a hand out from her position underneath the ship's engine. She heard whirring servos and a conversational beeping, to which she didn't respond immediately. Her focus was on the engine-- namely, cleaning it and repairing what damage she could.

This was partially her fault, she figured, as she took the Harris wrench and began loosening a stripped bolt along its casing; gently, slowly working it back and forth. Several bolts she had removed in this manner already, and a light sheen of perspiration was on her forehead, her tank-top already soaked with sweat in the heat. But she wouldn't have needed to be doing this in the first place if she had simply checked the engine more regularly instead of leaving it solely to their droids. These were the mistakes of a rookie, and something she couldn't afford. Coming across new ship parts in the Outer Rim that weren't exorbitantly priced was hard enough as it was.

"No, I'm not mad, Arfour," she answered at last once she loosened the bolt and, finally, was able to remove the panel keeping her from the deactivated engine. Yoda's walking stick, it looked filthy! Why oh why did Krellis not get this thing looked at?!

"Scrubber," she said, holding her hand out, and Arfour tootled as he propped a tool akin to a scalpel in her hand. Sticking the tip of her tongue out of the side of her mouth in effort, she began scrapping at the gunk as delicately and precisely as she could, ignoring the way the sound and sensations made her skin crawl a little, like nails on a chalkboard.

"I'm just... baffled, really," she continued. "Why Krellis said the ship was good enough for a landing is beyond me."

A few sour beeps, and the woman chuckled.

"Yes, well, I suppose we did land... now the objective is getting back in the air."

Roughly an hour later, finally crawling out from under the engine, Alanna Noymara stood up and brushed herself off. Her long red hair was bunched up in a bun, and grime covered parts of her face and her slender, toned body. But even with that, there was an undeniable beauty and sense of graceful serenity about her, amplified when she removed her scrunchie and allowed her lovely red locks to flow freely down past her shoulders.

"I'm gonna take a break, Arfour. Be back in a few," she said, her boots thudding along the flor as she walked away. Retrieving an ice cold bottle of water from their kitchen fridge, Alanna strode out into the desert sand, her beautiful blue eyes falling upon her companion and the droid she had insisted they adopt.

She and Krellis had known each other since they were children, and she considered him a friend, but there were times where she looked to him and wondered just how in the Galaxy he had been trained as a Jedi. He certainly never really acted like a Jedi was to properly behave even before the Clone Wars.

"Engine's coming along," she said, opening the water bottle and taking a swig of it as she walked over to the two. "I'll be able to get it working, no doubt, but... Next time, when we get asked for a maintenance check, let's at least not be in actual need of one, yeah?"

@StandbyRanger @Tristar

 

[Tristar]

The hooded figure flinched a little as his more mechanically inclined compatriot joined by his side: she had the beauty to bewitch the senses but was about as deadly as poison in a drunkard's cup. The combination made for something of an anxious situation for Krellis, who already saw the world through very narrow slit holes.

He noticed her sweaty and oil-stained overalls, her report on the engines twisting the knot in his gut even further; was she soon to explode in a blaze of anger?

In a painfully stark contrast, books were so much easier to understand. He fished out a bundle of papers bound together by a thin layer of leather, what the trader generously called a "book". He waved it in front of Alana, putting on a smug smile on his face. 'Never fear: I shall leave all mechanical problems to you from now on.'

53N chose that moment to wheel back into the conversation, bleeping with machine gun frequency at the lady. Krellis returned the favour by "gently" nudging the droid away. 'Yes well, 53N will say plenty of things but half his predictions rarely follow through. . . The crashed ship for one. Speaking of which, this-' he said, flourishing the book in her face, '-makes our unfortunate situation less unfortunate. '

He stood there with what constituted as an attempt for a genuine smile but quickly dropped the act as his cheeks begun to ache. 'At least, according to the book's rather discreet author. Then again. . . The book is supposedly over several hundred years old, so me not recognising the name shouldn't be taken as seriously as it seems. For instance, on page 364 we can see that the author- a man, I think judging from the way he writes and phrases things. Also because he directly refers to himself in male pronouns. '

By now Krellis too had a similar sheen of perspiration on his face, though now warped in an expression of a lecturer teaching advanced algebra to a first grader in primary school. His metallic companion had finally uprighted itself with an undignified squeal and the robotic equivalent of a huff. It moved to give its master a good beating but was veered off course by a sudden inexplicable gust of wind that only seemed to target the trash can on wheels.

It gave another angry bweep, thoroughly ignored by Krellis as he continued with his explanation. 'He makes a certain number of references in his notes, sometimes on things beyond logic and comprehension- typical for a raving lunatic that he seems to be- but still brilliant, yes. Of a container of vast knowledge that fit within his palm.' A crazed smile that didn't suit his lazy features slow slid onto his face like a mask, though in all fairness was as sincere as Krellis could be to himself.

'I think he speaks of a holocron somewhere in the ruins of this misbegotten, twice damned planet. ' he turned around and stretched his arms wide open to the great beyond, the smell of adventure- and sweat- eminating off of his slender body. 'Somewhere out there, Alana. Somewhere there's something much more valuable than a sandy patch of dirt. '

BWEEP BWEEP BIP BOOP BWEEP BIP!

'Yes? Oh right.' The astromech was finally extracted from its compromising situation by its master, who dumped the droid unceremoniously on the pain of the conducted heat from the planet's sun. The two engaged in a sort of ritual as the droid proceeded to zap its master, threatening arson with its miniature flamethrower as the scholar dodged the many attempts, vocally threatening to send the droid to a compactor.

The poor choice of words only increased the ferocity of the droid's attacks.

 

[Oncaro]

Alanna frowned, half-listening to Krellis' explanation of what he had found, half watching he and 53N attempting to hurt each other. Alanna was an ardent supporter of the rights of droids, and certainly didn't appreciate Krellis' abuse of the droid-- she had convinced him to adopt the droid precisely to try to get him to show kindness to another being. 53N's attitude didn't help either, though, and Alanna had repeatedly tried to get the droid to treat Krellis more kindly.

"Guys, please-- Stop. That's enough," she said as they continued bickering. Then the flamethrower came out, and Alanna spoke much more loudly and firmly.

"STOP!" she called to them, amplifying her voice through the Force. Her voice carried for miles around them in the empty wasteland, and the vibrations of her voice actually caused the top layers of sand below her feet to shift away from her by at least an inch, possibly more. Looking at them both with a look of motherly disapproval-- something that had become increasingly common as of late-- she marched over to them both. She wasn't angry; she rarely really got angry at anything, to be honest. But she needed them both to stop trying to hurt each other and listen to her.

"When I convinced you to take Sen into your care, Krellis," she said, her tone gentle yet firm as she marched up to him and looked him in the eye with those haunting blue orbs, "I wasn't doing it to give you a metal punching bag. That droid isn't simply some robotic toy you can bash around when he acts up; he is your companion, your responsibility, and he has thoughts and feelings just like you do. And you..."

She turned to the droid, putting her hands on her hips as she looked down at him. "Krellis isn't the kindest person in the Galaxy, but that doesn't mean you should treat him badly either. When I saw you, I saw a lonely droid who needed a home, but that home isn't just something you should take for granted. Krellis isn't perfect, but I know he does his best. If you treat him more kindly, he should do the same to you."

She began walking back to the ship, taking another swig from her bottle.

"You should both come inside, get out of this heat. We'll talk more about this holocron business once I'm finished with repairs. Sen, I'll work on cleaning you up too, get that sand out of your system. Sound good?"

@Tristar @StandbyRanger

 

[StandbyRanger]

Watch had been predictably dull. Rane spent the necessary four hours doing a combination of flipping through holonet news stories and staring out at the barren dust fields; in the year since the Rangers arrived on planet, it had been nothing but staring at the decayed husk still considered a proper planet. Rane hated it there; the planet’s aura was suffocating, as though Ossus itself were trying to share the pains of being dead on whatever poor sucker was reeled into its grasp.However, his more philosophical side tried to convince him that the Force itself, having been mutilated and torn apart by the execution of so many Jedi, was crying out in pain as its metaphysical wound grew deeper with each passing day. Rane knew Master Windu would have been proud to hear his Padawan contemplating the nature of the Force during a crisis, but would have wondered why he was not spending more time on his lightsaber skills instead.

Rane mentally scoffed as he thought back to his old master; ever serious and a difficult taskmaster, it was a wonder Master Windu put up with the rebellious Vastra for so many years. Though Rane would love to state that his time under Windu was both a mental and physical hell, the young man knew he would not be the same person he was this day without his master. The dry winds of Ossus tugged at Rane’s hair as he searched the Force for any signs of the Jedi Master; he came up empty handed.

It was then that Rane’s relief arrived. The two exchanged pleasantries, but nothing further. The ex-Jedi then wandered the aging halls of the temple, gathering together a handful of idle Rangers to go out and fulfill the orders the Captain entrusted him with. The group, five in total, was on their way out into the dusty plains in short order.

________

“How far out does the Captain want this thing, Vastra?” The Rodian who had been unfortunately saddled with carrying the listening equipment spoke up after a long period of silence.

“There’re ruins further out still this direction,” Rane responded, pointing out into the ever-expanding wastes before them, “It’s out in the open, no other structures around for miles. Should keep the air waves nice and clear, and give us a plenty of time to react to any Imperials that could come our way.” The walk was beginning to wear on his troupe, Rane could feel it. He had snuck into the ration stores and picked out some treats for the squad before the departure; he knew that squad would be out in the wastes for a long time, and with the deteriorating conditions that the Rangers lived in, the men and women around him could use the pickmeup.

Something tugged at the pack of Rane’s mind as they continued walking, almost like someone was toying with the locks of hair on the back of his head. Determined to ignore it, Rane trudged along, but the tugging soon turned into a pounding. He stopped mid stride as the feeling became stronger, before exploding inside of his head. It did not hurt, but it made him dizzy and he lost his footing. Gaz was there to keep Rane from tumbling to the ground.

“Woah, woah. Easy there corporal.” The Duros righted Rane, allowing him to stand and recollect himself, “You skip out on food again today? Didn’t the Captain already berate you for that? Supplies are low and al but that doesn’t mean you-”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Rane cut his friend off, “There was this… presence that I felt, in the Force. A presence I haven’t felt in…” His mind began to race as he tried to come up with who, or what, could be on this dead world other than the Rangers.

“Keep heading to the ruins,” Rane instructed the Rodian from earlier, “Set up the equipment, and we’ll meet back up there in a few hours.” Rane slapped Gaz on the shoulder without any further words, indicating to the Duros to follow him, and setting his mind on the presence (or presences he found, as his mind became clearer) he felt not to far away.

@Oncaro @Tristar