Who Does She Think She Is?

[Fyston]

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Celtar was flying. For the first time in longer than that, Celtar was sober for a non-combat related purpose. Clothes still dirty from his battle on Ziost, the Knight was pushing the provided transport to its very limits. At one point in time, he had been a pilot. While not the best Jedi pilot ever, he liked to think that he had been a formidable opponent against any he came up against. While it had been a while since he had been in the seat of a starfighter, it had only been a few years since he began drinking and stopped flying.

Regardless, the transport's gear had not fully touched down and its metal underbelly screamed against the ground as it semi-crashed to a halt. Those watching the spectacle would see no pilot present at the controls. Almost comically, the transport rocked over onto its side as Celtar leapt to the deck and began walking with purpose away from the ship. Celtar didn't run except in an emergency or in a fight and, while this was a personal emergency and while there was probably going to be a fight, he knew he needed to save his strength. Instead, his authoritative fast walk, honed from years of leadership experience, propelled him quickly away from the ship and ensured that few stood in his way.

As he left the scene of the "crash," two security personnel intercepted him while barking questions or orders. Being honest, Celtar didn't hear them. His mind was focused on one thing and one thing only. When he made to simply walk around the officers, they drew their stun batons. It took little effort for Celtar to evade the first officer's strike and, using it to take out the second officer, knocked the first unconscious with a simple punch.

It took no time at all for Celtar to come to the quarters of the Grandmaster. Valen would know what happened at Ziost and why the battles had been lost. Celtar had received the news in enough time that he and his comrade could escape, though they had not been told why retreat was necessary. He wasted no time in knocking, though found the door locked as the brim of his hat folded against the durasteel. His poundings on the door failed to get a response and, wasting no time, withdrew both of his lightsabers. In the back of his mind, he realized that it was too early in the morning for most people to be awake, though he needed to see Valen and this door stood in his way.

As soon as the hole was big enough, Celtar stepped through. The man lit a cigar on the white-hot hole and was careful to keep his precious hat from being even more damaged. Brushing a bit of the Ziostian dirt from his clothes, the Knight spoke for the first time since the battle. "VALEN! WAKE THE HELL UP AND TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON!"

@Valen Pelora

 

[Valen Pelora]

Dreams were a comfort. In her dreams, she was a Jedi Master fighting valiantly for peace in the galaxy. In her dreams, her only responsibility was to those she commanded. In her dreams, Valen Pelora was alive. Alara enjoyed those dreams. She got very little sleep these days. The heavy weight of her new title had robbed her of rest. The Force kept her going. The Force fueled her long days and longer nights. She rarely slept, those sweet dreams escaped her.

Alara was trying to live up to the memory of the man she replaced. He had been everything to the Order, and everything to her. Now he was gone. She felt horribly ill-equipped to take his place. She was not Valen. She could never be Valen, but she would finish what he started. She would see every Sith burned. The Empire would fall. Alara’s foolish attempt at sleep was spiritedly interrupted by pounding at her door. The Force vibrated with panic. She knew that aura, Celtar Xyton. She had known the man when he was a proud General and when he was failed drunk. He was yelling for Valen. Alara stood and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She walked slowly to the door before pressing a panel on the wall. The door slid open to revel a disheveled Celtar. She frowned.

“General Xyton.” She tried to keep her tone measured and calm. “Grandmaster Pelora is dead.” She knew Celtar had been told of Valen’s death. The message had been wide spread and quickly. “You know he is dead, he was killed above Ziost. We all felt it. We were all told.” Her eyes met the former generals. She pushed compassion. “He is not coming back, General. We have to go on without him.” Alara did not think Celtar was drunk but he was behaving strangely. @Fyston

 

[Fyston]

As the door receded into the wall, the former General's eyes fell upon the form of Master Skyell, a Jedi with whom Xyton had disagreed numerous times in the past. His eyes flashed a number of emotions, namely curiosity, then irritation, then a hint of anger before returning to their normal white and black state. He had been careful to suppress his emotions in the Force, though he wasn't sure if it'd fool the Master.

Between the two was a galaxy's difference. Celtar, always the warrior, clad in his armor with a belt full of equipment and dirt covering his muscular form. The Knight looked almost primal, his thick facial hair covering his chiseled jaw. In stark contrast, Alara stood in her sleep garments, hair tousled from her rest. She seemed almost removed from the galaxy and the conflicts burning it to the ground. To Celtar, she looked fragile, her form almost frail in comparison. The Knight listened to her words as he paced around the room, his eyes taking in the various furniture.

When she finished, Celtar couldn't help but shoot her a look not unlike that he would give a pupil who he was about to chastise. His jaw clenched, he took a drag from his cigar and spoke in a forced calmness. "I have heard nothing since Ziost. I was told to retreat and nothing else. And I am no General, Master Skyell." His use of the title seethed with contempt and dripped with venom and sarcasm as if the last two words he spoke were red hot and burning the inside of his mouth. Celtar was not entirely telling the truth, though he wasn't lying. He had felt a disturbance in the Force, though had chosen to avoid processing said disturbance, instead choosing to push it to the back of his mind and ignore it. He knew something was wrong, though it was easier to avoid it.

In order to avoid focusing on the very thing he was ignoring, he took a swig from his flask and set it on the table before moving his hands to his vest and looking at Alara once again. "You know, I don't quite understand you, Alara. We promoted you to Master and offered you a seat on the Council but you declined. I remember you being of the opinion that you disliked the title of General and felt it unlike the Jedi and yet you gallivanted across the galaxy doing exactly what I did: commanding Jedi and engaging the Sith. What's changed?" As he finished, the Knight looked back towards the gaping hole in the door. Perhaps he shouldn't have done that, though it wasn't the first time he had cut his way into Valen's chambers and it certainly wouldn't be the last. After his exile, Celtar tended to drunkenly bother Valen on a nightly basis and remembered fondly the time he urinated on the Grandmaster's wardrobe.

 

[Valen Pelora]

Alara’s breath was short and shallow. The torrent of emotions streaming from Celtar threatened to overwhelm her carefully crafted visage. She was used to rebuffing poorly controlled feeling on the battlefield. Celtar may have thought he was suppressing his unraveling thoughts, but to her, he was an open book. Emotions were a tricky thing. Her Hapan heritage had tried to hammer them from the Grandmaster. Now, she simply preferred to keep them to herself. Alara fought hard to suppress a sigh as the former General finished his rant. She was tired, this was truly the last thing she wanted to handle. She knew Valen would want her to.

“You will always be a General. It is who you are.” She pushed two hands through her hair. It was not very Grandmaster like. Alara tried to keep any scorn from her voice. “I do not have big strong muscles or a manly voice.” Her eyes swept over Celtar. “I declined a seat on the Council because I couldn’t be glued to a chair. While you crawled into a bottle, I climb my way across a dozen worlds.” Her voice was as calm as she could possibly make it. “I rebuffed the title of General because I know myself. I know who I am. I am no great tactician, no brilliant commander.” She paused. “I am a warrior.” Alara turned away from Celtar to stare out the window.

“I did not choose this. Valen did, because he knew the Order needs a fighter. A killer.” She turned back to look Celtar in the eyes. “Valen is dead, Celtar. I am going to kill every single person responsible until the Empire is in ruins.” There was no malice, no hatred, no anger. Only the cold truth of her words. It was why she was Grandmaster. @Fyston

 

[Fyston]

Celtar respected his fellow Jedi enough to listen and think on her words, at least until she told him that he "crawled into a bottle." With that remark, anger flashed in his eyes and crept across his body, its distinct sharpness changing Celtar's stance. Where he was once relatively relaxed, he was now shifting his stance to be wider, his weight on his back foot. His hands, though he tried to control them, moved almost without his input. His left remained on his vest, inching closer and closer to his pistol and thumbing the release mechanism. It wouldn't be obvious, of course, though he didn't quite care whether she saw or not. His right hand moved towards his belt and, between two flasks, his crossguard lightsaber.

Yet, despite moving slightly, he did not act on his instinct any further. He listened as she proclaimed herself a warrior and a killer. He listened as she spoke the truth that he did not wish to hear. Deep down, he knew the truth. He felt the heartache. He understood the loss felt by both himself and the Order. That did not stop him from ignoring it, from building a wall around the truth and proclaiming it to be the false words of a potential saboteur of his friend's name. At the same time, he felt his anger rise from the earlier insult and the fact that she insinuated that Valen believed him to not be a warrior stung deeper than any reference to his habit of drinking.

Through it all, Valen had been his closest friend. They had been Padawans together and Celtar had "defected" from the Jedi Order at the same time as the former Grandmaster. He had been able to tell Valen everything and it was only through Valen's mentorship that the former General did not renounce his Jedi-ship following the disaster at Tython. While they had drifted slightly after Valen became Grandmaster, Celtar had always sworn to protect his one true remaining friend, even at the cost of his own life. Considering what Alara had to say, he did not find it amusing, nor truthful, despite its truth and worth almost staring him in the face.

"The person responsible for these lies is you, Alara. You Jedi always have the same jokes, the same holier-than-thou regimen. Only Valen treated me like I was still worth more than a bantha's backside." Anger and years of pent up frustration seeped into his voice as he spoke, the harsh nature of his words reverberating across the room. "He sent me to Ziost when the likes of you said I was too much of an imbecile to have any positive contribution to the Order. Yes, I drink. Yes, I'm not the picture boy for the Jedi Order. Yes, I've made mistakes. Who can say that they haven't made a mistake? Regardless of my title, I still fought and I still hit the Sith. You, on the other hand, come in here and claim that you are the one Valen would choose in his absence. I have no expectations that I would be chosen but to come in here and proclaim yourself Grandmaster while the true Grandmaster is still en route from his battle is, to me, the act of a traitor. Defend yourself, 'Grandmaster.'"

As he finished, he drew his crossguard hilt from his belt and, with both hands gripped around the weapon, ignited it into an aggressive Form X opening stance. That she felt herself the better warrior while she rested and Jedi like him fought on worlds across the galaxy was an affront to the experienced Knight, one he would use against her. He would surprise her, much like he would surprise the other Jedi when Valen returned. To this end, he feinted a stab to her right side before sidestepping and using that momentum to turn it into a slash towards her left side.

But he is gone

@Valen Pelora

 

[Valen Pelora]

He wasn’t’ listening. Celtar was blinded by grief, deft to Alara’s words. She was not disparaging the fallen General. She would never assume herself superior to any Jedi. She respected Celtar, more so than most of their brothers and sister. Alara was not the model Jedi. She had no room to pass judgment. Her life had been filled with mistakes. Her path a twisted jaunt through the thicket of the Darkness. This was not what she wanted. This was not who she was, but it was what the Jedi needed. Celtar could not see that. He could not see that she needed help from those like him. He could not see her heart was broken.

No. Celtar saw and heard only what he wished. He saw every Jedi who had ever looked down at him after Tython. Alara shook her head. There was nothing she could say, it would never matter what she said. The anger bubbled over before Alara could gather herself. Before she could stop Celtar from making a terrible mistake. She was facing her fellow Jedi when the Lightsaber popped to life in his hand. They were three meters apart when he began to move. Alara didn’t think, she acted. The Force had been flowing through the Grandmaster. It was a simple thing to direct the Force outward. A blast erupted from her left hand towards Celtar’s chest. An indigo blade sprung to life in her right as her feet shifted into a defensive stance. The aim of her attack was to put some distance between the two of them.

“Celtar!” Her voice was strained. “Think about what you are doing.” She carefully kept her eyes the General. “Think about what you are throwing away. Valen wouldn’t want this. You don’t want this.” She breathed deeply of the Force. @Fyston

 

[Fyston]

Righteous fury danced in Celtar's eyes as he moved forward, though was temporarily replaced with a look of shock as he was pushed backwards. As he moved backwards, the Knight moved his left hand and moved it to his pistol, though did not bother unholstering it. Instead, he landed with the weapon's barrel pointing towards his opponent, ten meters from his foe. "You don't know me, Alara," began the Knight, poison stinging her name. "And you certainly don't know Valen. Do not dare speak his name."

Celtar's eyes unfocused for less than the time it took for him to blink, though it seemed like forever. More memories of the two as Padawans and as Knights entered his field of view and took him back to a time where the two seemingly took the Galaxy apart board by board for the sake of the Jedi. Celtar's blade swung in his mind's eye while Valen always had a way to heal those who needed it. Celtar felt Valen's presence as if he were there and, rather than paying attention, took this moment to believe that he was right in his course of action.

He blinked and the memories faded, his former look returning to his face. He looked like a whipped dog who decided to turn on its master, overcome with emotion and the betrayal apparent in his eyes. He fired four bolts at Alara and, with the last gentle squeeze of the trigger, rushed forward, blade ahead of him. If she deflected the bolts back at him, he would be able to bat them harmlessly off to the side or to sidestep. If not, he sought to stab forward right where her hands would be, hoping to at least incapacitate her, if not end her immediately if the thrust entered her abdomen.

@Valen Pelora

 

[Valen Pelora]

Alara fought to remain calm. She was the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, dealing with grief of her own. There was nothing Celtar felt that she had not already pushed through. She could not fight one of the Jedi’s last remaining bastions of hope. She would need Celtar to finish the war, but she had to get him back. Alara’s own frayed emotions began to pulse around the edges. Why could Celtar not see? How could he be so blind? The kid gloves came off. If Celtar would not listen to her, she would make him understand.

Her eyes were carefully trained on Celtar as he spoke. She never once took her eyes off the wayward General. She was ready as the bolts came forward. Years on the battlefield helped her keep her eyes on Celtar as she batted away the bolts. Alara sent the bolts directly back from where they came. As the bolts sailed towards Celtar she reached with the Force in her left hand and ripped at his legs. She sought to sweep his legs out from under him as he batted away the bolts. If her attack failed she would keep her blade in a defensive position to deflect Celtar’s attack.

 

[Fyston]

Celtar could sense the frustration present in his opponent, though he didn't have time to make a witty remark as his view on the world changed. Rather than looking at Alara as he ran, he felt his legs yanked forward just as he moved to deflect his own bolts. While he wasn't injured by the bolts, they had simply dissipated harmlessly upon impacting the walls and roof, he felt his breath leave him with a barely audible -oof- as his momentum carried him towards Alara.

It certainly wasn't the first time his breath had been knocked out of him and certainly wouldn't be the last. Experience allowed the Knight to push through the pain and ignore the stars that were forming on the edge of his vision as a result of his impact with the floor. Two can play at that game, thought the General as he threw his lightsaber like a spear directly towards her left leg. As he did so, he moved his left hand to his second lightsaber and ignited it in a defensive position.

As soon as his crossguard lightsaber left his hand, Celtar felt an oh-so-familiar nudge in the Force. He knew it was Valen and ignored it before it had a chance to do anything more than annoy him, though the Jedi couldn't help but wonder why his friend kept choosing to bother him during a fight. When I see him again, he's getting an earful and buying me a drink, thought the Knight as his secondary lightsaber ignited.

 

[Valen Pelora]

Alara saw the saber fly from Celtar’s hand. She side-stepped to her right, the saber sailing by and clanging against the wall. She didn’t forget where it had landed just incase Celtar had any bright ideas. As soon as the General hit the floor she dropped her Lightsaber. Both of her hands shot out as the Force rushed into her body.

She breathed easily of the Force, her body filled with the Light. The Grandmaster was one of the strongest Force users in the galaxy. She brought her full strength to bear. The Force wrapped around Celtar, slamming him into the floor and holding him in place. Her vocal cords strained. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

“Enough!” She poured herself into the Lightside. “This is over Celtar. Valen is dead! He left us!” Alara could feel the pain bubbling beneath the surface. “He would never have wanted this.” She took a deep breath. “The Order needs you, find yourself.” She did not know what she would do if Celtar kept coming at her. She did not want to hurt him, she couldn’t.

 

[Fyston]

Again he was slammed into the ground as he watched his lightsaber fly harmlessly into the wall. While Celtar had been able to ignite his lightsaber and was in a defensive position, he hesitated when she yelled. Alara never yelled, not in the years Celtar had known her. Celtar's eyes grew steely, his resolution to destroy the impostor made even more clear, though the Light flowing through her and the calm truth to her words, the same words she had been speaking the entire time, broke through the former General's wall.

At the same time, he paid more attention to what he felt was Valen and, while he was correct, the tiny voice through the Force was now yelling obscenities at Celtar and making it known that he had been far from advocating violence. His eyes went wide with realization and, thumbing the activation stud on his lightsaber once more, went limp. He realized that Valen had not been talking to him from across the galaxy but from across the plane that separated life and death. He realized that his friend, whom he had bid good luck and joked with just before boarding the transport to Ziost. He lay still on the deck as he remembered his friend's laugh, the smile lines and worried creases etched onto his green face and the hopeful confidence in his eyes.

The Knight sat up, presuming that the new Grandmaster would allow him to do so, with his legs splayed out in front of him like a "v.". At the same time, his face would have looked unfamiliar to all those who knew him. His face was once a face of rigid determination in the face of the enemy and of the galaxy in general. His eyes once held the experience of over 40 years of life and of the confidence that decades of battlefield experience brought with just a hint of temperance and self doubt brought upon by his defeat over Tython and the subsequent destruction of his homeworld. Now, however, the Knight looked more like a child who had just been scolded by a parent. He looked like a man who had made it through years of torment and tribulations but who had lost his one remaining friend, the one thing tethering him to any semblance of sanity.

The Knight tossed away his lightsaber and, removing the blaster from its holster, took the barrel off of the weapon, slid them away from him in two different directions. Handling his pistol had been the only thing helping keep it together and, for the first time since he was a child, Celtar felt tears well up in his eyes. His vision clouded, he looked in the direction of Alara, his body entirely limp minus the strength it took to keep himself sitting. A billion thoughts flew through his mind and, as the tears began streaming down his face, he could only utter the most simple word.

"Why?"

The Knight's question could have been asked by a child who had never heard of death, much less lost a friend, yet it came from the mouth of a man who, through his own actions or through orders, likely killed thousands of people. He was a Knight no more and his mind kept flashing back through every memory he had with Valen Pelora. They had trained together and gone on missions, sometimes returning by the skin of their teeth and sometimes not returning at all due to having been temporarily captured. He was remembering every joke, every sarcastic quip, every judgement passed down that saved Celtar from permanent exile. He smiled for the slightest second as he recalled his fondest memories, though the pain from his friend's death overwhelmed him once more. Celtar completely lost his composure and, hiding his face in his hands, could hold back the torrent of tears and sadness no longer.