A read-only archive of discourse.darkjedibrotherhood.com as of Sunday May 01, 2022.

[Firestorm] - DarkHawk & Muz Keibatsu Ashen


As the time of our assault on the Dominion world of Agua’tah draws near, you and a partner - among other teams - have been assigned the task of destroying hydroponics facilities on the world’s surface. This will disrupt their food supply and distract them from our main assault.

However, we have a secondary objective, for your eyes only…

With the Grand Master’s recent campaign against undesirables and Jedi, the clan has suffered from the vocalness of Jedi sympathizers in our ranks and we now believe that the Inquisitorious has sent agents into our ranks in order to search for them. We cannot overstate the danger this puts Sadow in.

We suspect that your partner may be a Jedi sympathizer or loyal to the Inquisitorious. You are to discover the truth and confront them, if necessary.

This is a joint fiction competition. Members will sign up individually via the google form at this location and be paired randomly with another member. Each pairing will have their own Discourse thread made by one of the competition organizers. Each individual member must make at least two posts. Judging criteria will follow the Fiction Grading Rubric, but also take into consideration the flow of the story between posts. The rubric remains the same, but we will consider this factor when looking at realism and story.

Each pair will place together, so 1st place will be two members, 2nd place will be two members, etc.

Additional Rules:

Each post must contain a minimum of 250 words
No back to back posting by the same member
This competition will run for the entirety of the event, from March 10th-31st.

Good luck!


Skyhook Corridor
Argu’tah System

The Lion moved at a steady pace. Solid bootfalls seemed to throb through the senses of everyone who bore witness. He did not break stride as the Trandoshan charged at him, froth and bloodlust pouring from his maw. The beast found himself caught in the air, twisted as his body crumpled, then smashed into the wall until the durasteel was painted the color of his guts.

And the rhythm of the Lion’s footsteps did not falter.

The blast door tried to seal before him, the commands issued from deep within the skyhook. The screech of warping metal drew around them, sparks and grinding gears pouring from the portcullis meant to keep him out. He stepped through the wreckage, keeping perfect time.

The equite watched him pass, his mind trying to dig, trying to see the invisible hand of the Force as the Lion commanded it. Eyes widened as another Trandoshan found itself …disposed of. He cast it aside without so much as looking at it, a ruin of scaled flesh and spilling blood, the burnt offering to the Grand Master’s will.

He didn’t smile, but he felt the urge. DarkHawk followed the man, watching him tear through everything that stood between himself and his prey. He recalled ages ago, the Equite arriving with the Justicar to settle a dispute with the Ketoans displaced by the Dictum of Two Skies. It felt a lifetime ago, like a memory of a dream half lost in the wee hours of dawn. He stepped closer, careful to make sure he was seen.

His pace did not change, stepping over the dead and broken. He felt the halfbreed, felt the strands that tethered him to this world, to the next. The clatter of ill-fitting armor and hastily shouldered weapons came from behind them. Two of the Dominion’s knights, if they could be called such. He felt a fearful Iktochi, he felt a prideful Clawdite. He felt their fear, tasted their hatred. He knew their story, their path.

And he did not stop.

DarkHawk’s weapons sprang to life, a cruel grin splitting thin lips as he tore into them, one blade sailing through a shoulder as he drew the other man close, battering his face with his helm. Staggering backwards, blood bloomed from the Knight’s nose, a sloppy defense erected in haste, keeping the pale blade between him and the Sith. His compatriot fell to the floor, shock setting in and making the Iktochi’s face grow the color of clouds. DarkHawk let the knight try to regain his composure as he stepped closer, casually dragging a blade against the floorboards, slicing across the Iktochi’s throat. The Clawdite gasped as he saw the light leave his fellow’s eyes, the sound a symphony to the Sith as he paced toward him.

It was done in a flash, the drip of blood on the dark plates of the Sith’s armor all that was left moving of the Clawdite as he bounded back toward the Lord’s side. It was not his first kills of the day, but he relished the opportunity to do so in front of a Dark Lord, to show his worth, to bring his skill to bear.

And Yet the Lion hadn’t even paused.

“My Lord, the Jedi…” He spoke, then immediately debated inwardly if he should have. The blackened visor of the Lion’s helmet turned a tiny degree toward him as he kept moving, simultaneously seeming to ask him to continue and that he was bothered by his speech. Darkhawk cursed at himself, remembering what he had read. Darth Ashen had inexplicably given mercy to many Jedi, even gave some of them succor when he allowed them to rally under the Banner of Odan-Urr. It was unthinkable that the Grand Master would be a Jedi Sympathizer, that one who had held the Iron Throne for so long could still have divided loyalties such as that. Which, in DarkHawk’s experience, made it all the more likely.

Muz felt the equite’s mind race, the Force seeping through his thought patterns and betraying his emotions, his concerns. He hated the Jedi. He would burn them all to cinders if he could manage it. That rage was not entirely unfamiliar to the Lion. He had seen that sort of all-encompassing hatred before in many Sith, but in smaller doses. This hatred boiled beneath the skin too readily in the Equite. An Equite that had been out of contact with the Brotherhood since before he had joined the Council all those many years ago.

He scraped the threads of the Force, seeking any temptation, any binds to the avatar of anger. The Cursed Throne drew out all the cruelty, manipulated any who sat upon it. It corrupted worse than anything else in the galaxy, twisting the hatred within his Shadow Hand, amplifying the broken shards of his soul. It had sharpened him into a weapon, but dulled his heart. He was barely in control of his power, and shunting that rage off into sleeper agents was well within his capabilities. It was very much his method.

Yet there was no tie there.

The Lion never broke his stride, feeling the man’s mind twist with hundreds of questions, begging for answers to questions he dared not ask. The idealized versions of ancient Lords swam in his thoughts, his mind trying to track pieces from each as he tried to apply them to every passing moment now. There was no peace in him, and his rage was unbalancing him. It was creating doubt where none should be, drawing him to conclusions that he would not otherwise. Being in the presence of Lords was almost too much for him to process, it seemed.

It was there, a few meters ahead of him, through the duracrete and thick blast shielded doors that the prize stood, cowering as he drew near. He-who-remembers paced, trying to not feel what was coming for him. Beneath his helm, Muz smiled.

“You’re not here for the Jedi, are you?”

“Balance your rage.” The sparse words came from his helmet, the speaker imparting a metallic tinge to the Lion’s weighted voice. He felt the Sith stiffen, his resolve flaring, then subsiding as he considered the wisdom there. It would have to do for now.


Skyhook Corridor
Argu’tah System

Boom, boom-boom, Boom! DarkHawk could hear his heart beat like crashing waves against the rocks. The words from the Grand Master resonated to him, “Balance your rage.” DarkHawk drew a breath, centered himself and drew upon the Dark Side. His heart beat slowing, boom,….boom,….boom.

The Lion felt the Sith’s balance, “Good” said the Lion. With that single word, both men made their way across the corridor closing the final gap between them and their intended target.

The blast doors were obviously locked from within. The Grand Master stopped a few meters in front of the door, DarkHawk moved to the control console to make the necessary commands to open it. As he made keystrokes to the panel DarkHawk saw his Master, in a trance like state, arms open. The rumble of steel began to echo throughout. DarkHawk was witnessing his Master single handedly crushing the blast door with his telekinesis. DarkHawk watched in awe.

As The Lion was concentrating on the blast door, DarkHawk stepped back from the control console and readied himself. DarkHawk could not believe that he was not only in the presence of a Grand Master, but was saber to saber by him on a mission. The equite knew of the history of the Grand Master, followed his path, and was even taught by the same family line as the Grand Master. There is no way the allegations that The Lion was a Jedi Sympathizer were true. No way!


DarkHawk paused for a moment, he heard the sound. The Lion was making quick work of the door, they were almost through. Click, again he heard the sound. DarkHawk pushed a button on his gauntlet and changed his cowl’s vision to heat vision and that’s when he saw it. Six Trandoshan warriors inside the opposing corridor. Click, two bombs being activated, the timer was ending. DarkHawk was about to yell for his Master. DarkHawk did not have to alert his Master, Muz saw what their adversaries were up to on the other side. The Lions precognition was on point to say the least.

BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!! The door exploded as The Lion swung his arms to one side. He immediately put up a force barrier to shield himself from the blast. DarkHawk saw the barrier, it glowed red, red like the blood of their victims. The explosion was defining, smoke riddled the corridor, the Transdoshan’s were flowing out in search of their prey. Little did they know what fate had in store for them. DarkHawk jumped at the opportunity of the diversion. DarkHawk leaped behind the rushing beasts. Maneuvering to their backs taking them out from behind. Muz moved through their front in a classic pincer strategy.

DarkHawk was amazed at how well the Grand Master cut through the beasts with such a precision, effective fluidity of motion. He could not believe that the brotherhood, the Dark Council believes this man is a Jedi Sympathizer, why would they think a man so fluid, so true to our cause could do that. It made no sense, it was inconceivable, the council was wrong. DarkHawk never questioned the council, this time, this time he believed he would. And yet, a doubt remained. He had no joy in his work. He did not relish their deaths.

Blood filled the corridor, the remains of scale and entrails lined the walls around them. “Master, I sense more coming. We need to get into the control room.” DarkHawk kicked the severed head of a Transdoshan against the wall. “Filthy beasts” he scowled. The Lion just pointed towards the other corridor. DarkHawk felt a calmness to the simple gesture, he must let go of all doubt. Doubt will cause hesitation, hesitation will cause failure. Not in the presence of a Grand Master, not in the presence of one you studied during your training. Let go of the doubt, he told himself.

Two corridors left and the control room would be theirs. The two made their way down. Muz and DarkHawk both sheathed their weapons. DarkHawk opened a control panel and started hacking the system for an override of that sectors security control. Muz watched as the equite worked the keyboard. It was too obvious. Long removed from the fray, suddenly returned. And the Rage, unfettered and distilled. Like he had seen in…

DarkHawk made little work of the remaining locks, “The locks are free Master, I am shutting down the rest of the security over-rides on this wing and the East wing.” DarkHawk looked up at his Master, He seemed overwhelmingly calm throughout this incursion. Dispassionate. Calm. Very much like…

Muz was standing at the door watching DarkHawk with his arms crossed, almost relaxed. The Carnage. He is an addict.

DarkHawk made the final key strokes, “We are clear Master, we can make our way to the control room” said the equite.

With one keystroke the blast door opened, Muz made a confident stride toward the end game. The prize was waiting, they both thought, the prize was waiting. DarkHawk equaled the pace, following his Master. DarkHawk could not help himself, the confidence he felt walking alongside his Master. DarkHawk turned to his Master with his gloved hand and extended his talons, “I sense more than Transdoshans here Master, and I want to open them up.” DarkHawk said smiling. The Lion pointed ahead…

DarkHawk looked in the direction his Master was pointing, “I feel it as well Master, the Transdoshans are definitely not alone” replied DarkHawk.

They heard the pounding of what seemed like claws on steel coming towards them. The lights dimmed, and smoke still settling from previous explosion still filled the corridors. The first to come into sight was a massive Transdoshan covered in armor. Behind him followed his faction of pawns, but that is not what bothered the two the most. What bothered them was what was behind the brood of Transdoshans.


Skyhook Corridor
Argu’tah System

It took three men to roll the Apparatus from the lab, the aperture the size of a man’s head. Salbor Vier smiled as he watched the Trandoshans move ahead, stalking and stomping toward the interlopers. They followed the champion, a follower of the Scorekeeper’s ways, tallies of successful hunts adorning the lizard’s heavy armor. Salbor had seen the Trandoshan fight before, the holofeeds a gruesome reminder of the need for their skillset.

He hoped it would be enough.

The one in the dark armor kept walking toward them, a steady and constant pace. The other, taller and broader, darted from soldier to soldier, fast hands constantly in motion, the whirring of his saber scorching broadly. Salbor cursed himself quietly, flipping the safety off of the power controls, the Apparatus cycling up, drinking deeply from the power cells that they had rigged together. They all had hoped it would be enough, but the Ancient Traveler’s technology was still a huge mystery in more ways that they all would have liked to believe.

Particles concentrated around the apurture, dust motes shifting phases into plasma, burning themselves out brightly, their molecules dancing into the fourth state of matter and then into the abyss of nothingness. Salbor watched the kitbashed control panel as it indicated efficiency, throughput, frequency. He needed a few more moments. He would have liked more time, if only to shuffle the artifact off onto a transport before the fool of a commander decided to allow their own to bomb the skyhook. He understood why he would not want the Sith to have the secrets held on the skyhook, their power too frightening to leave on the surface, vulnerable and tragic if abused. Involuntarily, he recalled the collapse of the Farfield Labs, another artifact of the Ancient Traveler’s pulling more power than they had expected, blacking out half the continent, and then erupting with the fire of angry gods, killing thousands. They kept the labs in the stars now, high enough that if anything happened like that again…

He shook the thought from his head, watching as the Champion smashed against the Sith, the cowled one bounding between his blows, meeting skill with skill. And yet the other, moving dispassionately, stoic beneath a black helmet, the hair of the stylized animal head atop his helm wafting in his wake. He kept moving, silently contrasting the bravado and brutality of the other.

Eyes darted back to the control panel. Only a few seconds now before he could warn the Trandoshans to run, before he could activate the artfact, the seige machine. His communicator chirped at him, the voice of He-Who-Remembers coming through, trembling behind his accent.

“Do you see him?”

Salbor winced. He-Who-Remembers was never a fearful man, and the tone in his voice frightened him. “Who?”

“You’ll know.”

The second team reached the calm one, and calamity ensued. Salbor knew of the Force. He had seen the mystics weave their ways, seeking the truth, the future, knitting together broken flesh and broken relationships. It was a path of love.

This was not love.

The first Trandoshan snapped. He didn’t even really see what happened well enough to understand. Just that the Lizard got close to the man, and suddenly, he was broken, falling to the floor. The second one was lifted from his feet, flung back as though hit by an invisible monster. His back gave an audible crack as it smashed into the bulkhead so hard that it was dented afterwards. The third fared even less well, hatred dripping off of it’s teeth at …whatever it was under that armor. Salbor shuddered as he saw the third, the fourth, and the last of the team were set aside, their lives extinguished as if they were insects. He didn’t even raise a hand, twist a finger. They were just gone.

Salbor’s eyes widened as he came to the realization that he hadn’t even broken stride, stepping toward him, toward the artifact. He screamed, diving for the control panel, his hand sliding to the activation stud. It was only at 70% efficiency, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

Darkhawk, finish.

The command came inaudibly, worming its way through the Sith’s head. He darted sideways, bringing his saber to bear against the champion, wistfulness in his eyes ans he tasted the blood on his lips. It was a valiant foe, a worthy challenge, but in the end, all too disposable. His weapon sang through armor, bone and flesh as easily as it would have cut butter, the light in the Trandoshan’s eyes flickering as he realized his own doom. Darkhawk’s blade swung sideways, freeing itself from the dying foe. He turned, seeing the Dominion scientist break for the contraption that they had been wheeling down the hallway. It was the size of two men, dull metal with an enormous hole in the side facing them, and whatever it was doing, it was frying the air around it.

Realization came quickly. It was a weapon. Something that could change the balance of power in the clan, in the Brotherhood. He looked quickly at Muz, at his unrelenting pace, aiming directly for it. To what purpose would the Lion of Tarthos use this tool, DarkHawk wondered. To the benefit of whom? His mind returned to conspiracy and politics too quickly, weighing the alternatives, all too many paths from this singular moment.

And a moment later, it would not matter.

The very air around them erupted into blue flame, scorching their senses like the painful howls of a million dying souls. It overwhelmed the senses, muscle memory the only thing permitting them to raise sabers, to deflect, to absorb some of the brutality that was directed at them directly. Yet it was nowhere near enough.


emphasized textSkyhook Corridor
Argu’tah System

DarkHawk never felt raw unsustainable power like this before. Every one of the equite’s senses were overloaded. He centered his being leaning into the blast. But not enough. The blast was still pushing him backward. Harder he centered himself. DarkHawk look at his master and even the Lion was not faring very well against this onslaught. DarkHawk knew he had to make a move, this had to stop, this is not how this mission was going to end.

Mustering every bit of strength DarkHawk held both sabers in one hand and went to reach in his utility belt. His plan was to throw a couple of shurikens at their assailant.

No, DarkHawk.

He heard the words crystal clear. As he looked at his master the equite saw the gesture. A small grin came across DarkHawk’s face.

Ready yourself, Warrior.

The words bellowed through DarkHawk’s being, the incendiary device that had their heels dug in, was completely out of focus at the moment. The words, his Master’s words are what beckoned to him. DarkHawk once again centered himself, position his weight to his absolute center. The equite gave the nod to his master. In one fluid motion The Lion dropped one hand and pointed it at his Equite. A grey cloud engulfed DarkHawk and he started to rise from the floor of the corridor.


Muz swung his arm forward and completed a Canon force throw of his equite. DarkHawk went soaring through the corridor towards Salbor Vier. DarkHawk kept his eyes on the target, what seemed like a lifetime lasted mere seconds. Just before he reached his target he extended his talons and drove them into the chest of the science officer. DarkHawk’s blows were ripping the Iktochi to shreds.

Blood was spattering all over the equite’s face and chest. The Iktochi was drowning in his own blood as he held his shredded throat. DarkHawk immediately spun around and slashed the control panel. A loud zap and small puff of smoke emanated from the box. The box wound down and the generating force vanquished from the narrow walls of the corridor.

Darkhawk snapped to his feet and stood over the science officer, still gurgling on his blood. The equite activated his saber the glow of the blade seemed to dissipate the blood on his uniform.

The Lion walked to the scene, He is an addict, his thirst for blood in not filled.

As DarkHawk prepared for the killing stroke, Muz walked behind him and snapped his fingers. The Iktochi’s body snapped like a twig, lifeless and unfulfilled.

DarkHawk did not flinch at what just happened. All that went through his mind the equite’s mind was why?

The Lion walked around the box, studying its lines. DarkHawk watched his Master, watched how he followed each inch of the box. It’s almost like he is familiar with it. What does he need the use of this for? The doubt of his Master once again flooded through him.

The comm unit on the fallen Iktochi crackled, “Did you see him, Salbor did you see him?" A pause of silence, then the comm unit crackled again. “I can only assume that Salbor is dead and you are listening, so I will take matters into my own hands.” Both DarkHawk and Muz could sense not only the fear in the atrocious voice at the other end of that comm unit. But also the shear narcissism to the ending tone.

The Lion crushed the comm unit under his boot heel. One-who-remembers will pay for this….

Just then the box reactivated and the power cell was started to emanate the blue flame. The Lion shoved DarkHawk towards the turbo elevator and both men made no haste getting inside the elevator and away from the overwhelming pulses of the weapon.

The turbo elevator started moving, DarkHawk was almost in disbelief at what he just witnessed. This cannot be true, it simply cannot.

DarkHawk stared at his Master and he could feel the doubt erupting inside him.

The Lion once again gazing back at his equite with his arms crossed, “Say it young one” said the Lion.

DarkHawk starred at his Master, contemplating the next words.

“You care for the Jedi, don’t you?’ asked DarkHawk

“Is it Pravus who asks, or his slave?” replied Muz

DarkHawk took those words in, they resonated in him. Almost insulting he thought, be still no emotion from his Master. The doubt still swirling, nothing……

“Pravus is our Master, he is Master to us all.” replied the equite.

Muz gazed at the warrior, blood still fresh on his face, the disbelief in his words which he asked were real, but the doubt was to apparent he is torn….

“Not mine”, replied The Lion.