Greetings, fellow writers, and thank you for allowing me into your forum for one more shot at writing one of our stories. Having looked through the history of this forum and its galaxy, the disappearance of the Jedi fits well. I know that forums can be highly territorial places - I was extremely picky about who I wrote with back in the old universe - so I will be respectfully staying out of your way, and strictly in this thread.
This story, One More Time, is intended to be Darwill Jinn's last chronological story, but is also an opportunity for others to join us and explore alongside. A small number of other writers will be invited to join us on this journey and will join in the coming days, and I extend that invitation to anyone else who wishes to join - noting the following items that (in our experience) can sometimes upset people.
1) My primary co-writer and I have a standing rule that unless we have specifically stated a detail in our writing, any of us can fill in those details when it's our turn to post. The expectation is that once a thing is in writing it is part of the universe and must be respected as such. We take our inspiration from events that are happening elsewhere in the universe, or things that you put into your posts - it's part of how we connect the dots, and is never about taking control of other players and their stories.
2) Participation in our stories comes with the understanding that each writer trusts each other - what was referred to as "GM"ing in the old universe is a plot tool in our stories. You may, from time to time, see us write from the perspectives of each other's characters in order to advance the plot. Rest assured that this is a deeply collaborative process and is aligned with a pre-discussed plot, or potentially as a challenge to each other - you know, for fun!
3) From time to time we like to tell our stories from the perspective of NPCs. Randoms on the street, bus drivers, shop assistants, droids - even your droids - might be part of this process. Should you join us on this journey, and you find that random NPCs discuss your characters, this is just part of exploring the environment that our story is taking place in. Also, speaking of NPCs, anyone who joins our thread will be treated as an NPC by us until we have a legitimate in universe reason to notice you - in most cases this is pre-planned, but in our experience some people like to live dangerously
All in all, we are just here to have a bit of fun and see if our old characters still fit. We'd love to write with you if you're open to it, otherwise we will just get on with our story and leave you to yours.
Bright lights and loud sounds assaulted his senses.
"Ugh."
The sound caused The Man's head to explode with violent pain. He stumbled down the rainsoaked street, holding his head, blind to all that was around him. Dimly, he was aware of others in the shadows, edging away from him as he stumbled past. He found shelter under an awning and leaned heavily against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to shut out at least one of his senses.
"Are you okay?" One of the voices had given in to curiosity, the man knew. "I'm fine. Go away." "You're fine. I'm going away." The sound of feet sploshing away through the rain.
The Man's vision was starting to clear, and he stared after the shadowy figure with a confused look on his face. What had just happened? Where was he? Who was he? Something about the interaction with the shadowy figure had changed The Man. The pain in his head, still present, was starting to recede. He blinked twice and looked about. He was on a city street. Shapes moved about overhead, rapidly. Some sort of vehicle, he knew, but he did not know how he knew that.
He had no memories at all. No idea how he had come to be on this street. No idea what his name was. He patted his clothing - plain and simple shirt and pants. No pockets. No clue.
The Man closed his eyes.
It was raining.
The Man opened his eyes.
This was not the first time that he had Awoken, he suddenly knew. He also knew that almost every time it happened it was raining. "Something about the rain." he said to himself.
Sirens filled the air. The Man felt a strong sense of ... urgency. He needed to move. He glanced about quickly, and just knew... he was being watched.
A group of tourists made their way past, oblivious to his existence. He fell into step with them.
Last edited by Darwill Jinn™ on Thu Nov 30, 2023 1:01 am, edited 2 times in total.
A flash of light brightens the space above the planet of Taris as what remains of an MC80 Star Cruiser begins to violently break apart after its exit from hyperspace. The ship, very nearly destroyed in battle before it made the jump, had clearly seen its final day as the wrenching force of reemergence was enough to cause a catastrophic failure in the vessel's structural supports. The blaring of the klaxons within was quickly overpowered by the sound of explosions that rippled through the ship.
Many Quarren lives were lost as the ship broke apart in the vastness of space, though a number of escape pods did manage to jettison in time and float among the various pieces of wreckage as they hurtled in all directions.
Along with the escape pods, a single light transport managed to escape the cascade of destruction - but not without substantial damage to its landing gear. Its lone occupant used his considerable skills to pilot the vessel towards the surface of the planet below with a singular thought in mind that he could not help but put into words.
The twang of an out-of-tune lute mingled quietly with the steady patter of the acid rain as it hit the filth-ridden alleyway. The lute-bearer - clad in what was once the finery of an accomplished, well-traveled musician now dingy, torn, and ripe with the stench of gutter trash - plucked idly at his love as a bright flash lit the foggy evening air. He counted the moments afterward, the air pregnant with want of an accompanying thunder...but the clap never came. Instead, an inevitable scream of metal and fire eventually rent the sky high above the dismal alley and a pit began to form in the minstrel's stomach. A song was on its way to him - whether a ballad or a dirge, he could not yet say.
Control panels on a ship in distress would usually light up like a Coruscant red light district. Bishop Kenobi knew this both tirelessly and intimately.
Bishop knew this tirelessly because he had spent many a sleepless night tailing disreputable types in the bowels of that city-planet's most seedy of establishments.
Bishop knew this intimately because he had sat at the helm of more ships in distress than he cared to count.
The good news was the EE-730 transport that he had commandeered was definitely in distress. The bad news was the control panel was completely dark.
"Noʇ ƃoop˙"
The Jedi Knight acted quickly, turning knobs and pushing buttons. At one point he even bumped the console with his hip like he saw in an old holovid one time, but still the only light came from the blazing fires that raced across the entire bow of the ship. An idea came to mind and Kenobi hastily crouched down and tore open the paneling from beneath the controls to find a rats-nest of wires. As he began yanking them out, a shower of sparks came from a few and his face finally showed some signs of hopefulness and a mechanical voice chimed through the cabin.
= Partial system reboot commencing, Two minutes to completion =
Just as minstrels pluck their lutes, so too the starship mechanics of the Taris Industrial Hanger bay tended their own endeavors.
Jaren Fanro had been working on the same Aethersprite for nearly a week now. This was his pride and joy. His crowning achievement. The final test of his skills as an apprentice mechanic. He had heard from one of the other journeymen that the final test ship was sometimes given to the mechanic as a reward for all their hard work and dedication, but he'd never seen it happen. He was determined to be the first to leave this kriffing planet.
The young man slid out from beneath the forest-green Delta-7 and stood slowly, rolling his neck and shaking the stiffness from his legs. The paint of the ship gleamed so that he could see in its reflection the smear of hydraulic fluid on his cheek as it mingled with the sweat of the day. Smiling contentedly, he took the rag from his waist and wiped the grime away as he turned to the hangar at large and met the gaze of many envious apprentices.
Just then, a flash of light lit up the dim and weeping sky far above the planet's surface, followed quickly by a dazzling display of fiery bursts. Jaren found himself joining the rest of the crowd as the current throng of hangar occupants were all drawn closer to the bay opening and the cool night air it brought.
There was no one to hear the exasperated tone that accompanied Bishop's reply to the ship's automated systems. In the minute that had already passed the EE-730 had already lost enough of its outer plating to build a small town. The only slight victory was that the ship had made atmosphere and was no longer as on fire as it had been previously. Hooray.
= Thirty seconds to completion =
As Bishop strapped himself in for a final approach, his eyes kept darting from the display at his fingertips to the transparisteel windshield in front of him and the mounds of scrap and towers of steel that disappeared beneath him as quickly as they appeared.
The quiet awe of the crowded hangar-goers was replaced with murmurs of worry and confusion as all of the lights of the sky slowly faded - all but one. One of the lights seemed closer now than any other. And then it, too, went out. In its place now, though, was a smudge. A smudge that was quietly screaming through the sky at the horizon.
"Is that a bird?" Vartook asked, his eyesight long past gone from years of reading parts manifests and engine manuals.
"I think its some kind of plane..." Varnash replied, but Vartook's twin brother was as identical in looks as he was in sight.
Jaren turned and reached over into the open cockpit nearby to retrieve a pair of electrobinoculars. He headed to the front of the crowd and looked to the sky.
= Partial reboot complete in 3...2...1...Partial reboot complete =
"Ⅎᴉuɐllʎ¡" Bishop exclaimed as the control panel began to light up sluggishly, emergency thrusters kicking on to slow the descent of the crashing ship, "┴ɐɹᴉs ᴉupnsʇɹᴉɐl ɥɐuƃɐɹ ɔouʇɹol ʇɥᴉs ᴉs qᴉsɥod ʞǝuoqᴉ po ʎon ɔodʎ¿ ┴ɐɹᴉs ᴉupnsʇɹᴉɐl I,ɯ ɔoɯᴉuƃ ᴉu ɥoʇ dlǝɐsǝ ɐpʌᴉsǝ˙ Is ɐuʎouǝ ʇɥǝɹǝ¿"
= Remaining systems reboot in 34 minutes =
Bishop's eyes closed as he let out a sigh - his head beginning to throb in an all-too-familiar way.
Jaren stared up in shock as he took Vartook's helping hand. He'd been knocked to the ground in the pandemonium that ensued from his description of the incoming vessel. Mechanics and laymen alike were scurrying about the hangar as they moved as much of the hardware and works-in-progress as they could to the far edges of the bays. What few ships were able quickly filled with pilots or whole crews and took flight from the hangar like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
= EE-730 this is Taris industrial hangar control - do not land in the hangar - change course to heading 3372 =
Jaren gasps as he realizes that the Delta-7 is still in place near the center of the hangar. He takes hold of the surprised Vartook and races with him to the interceptor and the two are quickly joined by a few of the journeyman mechanics and a shocked Corellian in their efforts to push the starfighter out of harm's way.
"Come on...come on!" Jaren grunts, teeth clenched from the exertion.
= EE-730 please redirect to the emergency landing strip at heading 3372 - the hangar is not equipped for emergency landings =
Bishop smiled as he took the sticks in his hands, the manual controls all that remained in working order, and looked down at the altimeter. Thrusters were nominal, for once, and his descent was slowing, albeit not as much as he'd like. Finally it was close enough to deploy emergency landing gear. He had been pleased when he saw that they were intact when the control panel had lit up. He flipped the switch to engage them - and nothing happened. He frowned and flipped the switch off and on again. Still nothing. He did it once more. Still, no rumble of gears or happy sounds or indication of it working. He tapped the light on the control panel and it blinked out.
Jaren laughed in disbelief as tears streamed down his cheeks. It had all taken the blink of an eye but the crash had seemed as if in slow motion. And there was no mistaking it - it was a crash if ever there ever was one. Pieces of wreckage were strewn about the hangar from the opening all the way to the back. Some pieces were on fire, some were already extinguished by the various mechanics and safety staff that had already recovered from the sound and light of it all. Acrid smoke wafted up in plumes from the various piles here and there - the source of many teary eyes. Jaren turned once more to the Delta-7 beside him, bleary-eyed now with ash and soot replacing the hydraulic smudge on his face, though he could no longer see his reflection in the equally-tarnished ship. It was unscathed, thankfully, as was pretty much everything else but the hangar floor itself. With that, Jaren's legs buckled beneath him as the adrenaline drained from his body. The last thing he remembered before passing out from sheer exhaustion was the sight of what he assumed was the crashed ship's pilot - still on fire a little bit - but arguing heatedly with the comm's operator as if nothing were wrong.
"⅄on ɔɐll ʇɥᴉs ,dɹǝdɐɹǝp ɟoɹ ɐu ǝɯǝɹƃǝuɔʎ¿, Mɥǝɹǝ ɐɹǝ ʇɥǝ ɯǝp pɹoᴉps¿ Mɥʎ ɐɹǝ ʇɥǝɹǝ uoʇ ɯoɹǝ ǝxʇᴉuƃnᴉsɥᴉuƃ nuᴉʇs¿" Bishop patted out the small fire on his left trouser leg while he berated the poor speechless woman. Although his words could not have been clearer to him, to anyone else in ear-shot they were complete and utter gibberish.
"I,ll ɥɐʌǝ ʇo ɥɐʌǝ ɐ ʇɐlʞ ʍᴉʇɥ ɥǝɹ sndǝɹʌᴉsoɹ˙" Bishop muttered as he made his way away from the hangar and into the building proper.
Perhaps he would help clean up later, but probably not, as there were far more dire and foreboding circumstances afoot and time was of the essence...
It was a special day on Taris. A planetwide celebration – the Bastila Festival – was in full swing. It was an ancient festival too, having been celebrated for literally millennia. Nobody could really remember why, but the legends spoke of an ancient prophet called Bastila who visited the planet and cast out the rich and powerful – “The Promised One came and delivered Taris to the meek”, so it had been foretold.
In ancient times the planet had completely consumed all of its resources, and had been obliterated because of it. Only the followers of Bastila had remained after the purge, and the legends said that those remaining had emerged into the Promised Land and rebuilt Taris as it was meant to be.
In the modern day, the festival was a celebration of life and one-ness. Though the entire planet was covered in city, each of the city planet’s towering skyscrapers were covered in moss, various plants, and some even had kilometres tall trees growing through them in a combination of permacrete and living forest that just seemed to work. Taris was a shining beacon of hope within the Republic – one that showed everyone what Coruscant, and indeed the whole galaxy, could be if they were to put aside greed, money, and power.
As the work day came to an end on the day side of Taris, the populace made their way home to change and shower quickly so that they could go out into the night to partake in the festival. The smell of cooked coin crabs and Tarisian kelp filled the streets – it was truly going to be a night to remember.
* * *
It was getting worse. The Man blundered through the streets of the city, blinded not just by the rain, but by the distortions that seemed to be bombarding him from within. He had been doing better and starting to get vague feelings of familiarity about the city when suddenly he felt as if he was bursting from the inside out.
The world around him flashed and shattered, so quickly that he was not sure he had actually seen it – but he knew that he had felt i-
The city, shining and vibrant with its unique flora infused buildings, was gone. Replaced by darkness and filth, the streets smelled of death, blaster residue, and urine. In the shadows voices murmured, and a woman screamed. Growling – he was sure it was growing – combined with the shining of reflected firelight in small eyes that watched him menacingly from the darkness.
“Jinn, they’re going to attack” said a voice, urgently. Familiar, yet not.
The man glanced at the speaker – scorched robes, stunning beard, and unlit lightsabre in hand.
“Wh-“ the words died in his mouth as The Man realised he too was wearing robes, and holding an unlit lightsabre.
He could feel it – the growing tempest. It would not stay in the darkness for long.
“I’m sorry Jinn.” the other man spoke again, “I tried to stop it from happening this time.”
“I know.” the words came out of The Man’s mouth before he realised he was saying them. And he realised that it was true – he did know.
The creatures – Rakghouls, he knew they were called - in the shadows were insatiable. A chorus of growls and shrieks reached a crescendo. The two men ignited their lightsabres – brilliant green and silver – as the beasts leapt upon them.
* * *
<<Citizens of Taris! I declare the Bastila Festival … OPEN!>>
The lute-bearer, pretending that he was not bitter at being left out from another year of performing at the Bastila Festival yet again, thanked a passerby for their meagre credits thrown into an upended cap.
As he plucked at his strings, he glanced up at the first stars of the evening. He was sure that the Taris Peace Force, floating about up there, could hear what must surely be the entire planet cheering. Those cheers had been for him, not that long ago.
* * *
Something was wrong. Jinn – The Man knew that was his name now – held his head as the world changed around him again. Thin yellow lines, forming like a spider had spun the web of reality, pulsed brightly around him as-
The feeling of life abruptly ceased. Taris was silent, and had been for thousands of years. Jinn knew this as he stood among the ruins. Something horrific had happened here, resulting in no life anywhere on the planet.
Jinn had seen places like this before. Bombarded from orbit. Oceans boiled, forests vaporised, all life killed within minutes. A chill ran through him – as if the Force was remembering something that had happened long ago.
“I feel it too.”
There he was again – the man with the burnt robes and stunning beard.
“Wh-“
* * *
Admiral Lionel Pendergast stood in place on the bridge of the Taris Peace Force’s flagship – The Taris Majestic.
“Thirty and out, sir?” his Lieutenant commented.
The Admiral stroked his magnificent moustache. “Indeed, Lieutenant Skywalker.”
“You must be proud sir.”
Pendergast was a proud man, who had served proudly at the head of the Taris Peace Force for 30 long years. It was a long and distinguished career – one where he had had the privilege and fortune to revolutionise the Tarisian Peace Force, transforming it from an ageing, poorly maintained fleet, to one which served humanitarian purposes and served the people of Taris and surrounding systems. Over 30 years he had improved sustainable outcomes for Taris and its neighbouring systems, and participated in quite a few rescue campaigns. He was a decorated hero – and he had never fought in any sort of interstellar conflict outside of the occasional scrap with pirates and criminals who sought to make their fortunes on Taris.
But Taris was not a safe place for the scum and villainy that plagued other planets. Gangs, warlords, drug dealers, and other undesirables simply could not take hold in the modern Taris. Pendergast knew that it had been his dedication, and that of his crews, that had made this Utopian future a possibility.
“You know, Skywalker,” he said, allowing his guard down ever so slightly, “I am extremely proud.”
He had recently retired from the service, and had passed the torch to the next generation of Peace Force hopefuls. The brass had asked him to stay on until the Bastila Festival – where he would be recognised with full honours.
He didn’t need it, but he did deserve it – and he knew that those he had trained and mentored over the years needed it too, so he had agreed.
“Thirty and out.” Pendergast repeated wistfully.
<<Our planet has become a source of hope in the senate – a shining beacon, lighting the way for other planets devastated by centuries of on and off again wars and conflicts. Though much of our history has been lost to time and those very conflicts, what matters is what our people have done today. Whatever faith you may follow, whatever the historians may agree or disagree on, what we know is this – Taris is the Promised Land of today!>>
Dak Mondell, Galactic Senator for Taris, was addressing Taris via holofeed. The crew of The Taris Majestic nodded quietly as the speech played over the bridge speakers.
<<They look to us. And we will lead the way.>>
The bridge erupted in klaxons and flashing lights.
“Anomaly detected, bearing 234!” Skywalker cried. The viewscreen lit up, showing the location.
“Report.” Pendergast said calmly. Officers don’t panic.
The viewscreen flashed brightly. As it cleared, the image of a burning space craft filled the screen – and it was hurtling towards Taris. "Cruiser sir, badly damaged. It's launching life pods. She's going t-"
On the viewscreen, the ship disintegrated. Fiery debris drifted towards Taris. Pendergast moved over to Skywalker's station and viewed the data himself. It looked like the majority of the debris would burn up in the atmosphere.
"Commence rescue operations - let's find out who these people are."
"Aye sir"
* * *
Jinn was torn in two – or so it felt. The spun web of thin yellow lines grew in intensity, and as each moment passed the lines grew brighter and brighter and –
Hunger.
The planet of Taris smelled of fear, and anger, and hatred, and The Man – he had had another name once, but it didn’t matter now – was insatiable. All of these feelings swirled in the Force, luring him in. He must feed. He must.
They rush at him. Fools. They are nothing to him. He inhales – and they drop, devoid of all life. Not just dead – they are husks, with their essence and everything that made them unique … consumed.
The Man moves slowly through the streets of Taris, and with each breath the life in his vicinity winks out as if it never existed – and the Hunger is held off for just a little longer. The distant echo of who The Man used to be still exists within him, and it whispers to him that it will never be enough. He cannot be satiated, and eventually he will run out of life to feed on – and then The Man will die. The echo apologises – I am sorry.
The Man dismisses the apology. Jinn is dead. Always was – he just didn’t know it.
“Stop!”
The Man stops. Not because he was commanded to do so, but because the newcomer is not afraid. A green lightsabre burns brightly, sizzling in the Tarisian rain. It sparks a memory – but the memory is quickly consumed.
“You cannot be allowed to continue.”
The newcomer, robes singed and beard glorious, assumes an offensive stance with his lightsabre.
The Hunger intensifies.
The newcomer knows it is now or never. He draws upon the Force – and The Man consumes him.
* * *
The thin yellow lines converge suddenly, enveloping Jinn and arcing up into the sky, where the utterly destroyed MC80 Cruiser barely holds together. A moment passes – an eternity in the Force – and the thin yellow lines explode, taking the cruiser with them.
That is how it feels to Darwill Jinn, former Jedi Knight.
He screams as the Force rips through him, and the visions he has experienced in the moments just passed collide.
”NO”
A massive Force wave bursts from him, throwing nearby civilians dozens of metres into the air, destroying food stands and shattering windows.
People approach his writhing form, some out of concern, some out of anger – but it doesn’t matter. He is lost – and they are all the enemy. Taris Peace Force officers arrived on the scene in moments and attempted to apprehend him, but Jinn did not want to be apprehended.
He fought hard. He incapacitated several peace officers, wounded a number of burly civilians, and eliminated a team of medical droids before he finally ran out of energy and collapsed. He felt restraints being placed on his arms and legs. He was lifted bodily and thrown into a vehicle.
As the darkness closed in on him, he could have sworn he saw a familiar figure – and yet not familiar – in the gathering crowd.
* * *
The lute-bearer, forgotten in the commotion, closed his eyes and began to play furiously. He was not playing in anything in particular - and yet a mournful and haunting melody was seemingly plucked out of thin air...
