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

[Versea Family]A New Name


Versea Estate
35 ABY

There had been many people Tasha’Vel had seen over the years, but this was going to be a fun visit for a new friend. She was dressed in a purple gown that ruffled along the edges. It was a short-V neck with ornate designs on the front. She placed a Tiara headband on herself and pushed back her lekku. It would be fun event. Gracefully, she walked along the hall and into one of the meeting rooms. In front of the her was the holo-projection table. She punched in a few buttons and waited. A faint image of Bentre could be seen. “Bentre, we will be having a new guest and member of the family arriving. Well I will be calling them shortly.” She smiled. “I hope you can join me?”

Bentre let out a sigh, pushing himself up from the chair below him. The holographics form of the Patriarch flickered momentarily before becoming a consistent semi-solid form again. The scarred man slowly walked out of the view of the holorecorder, with footsteps growing faint.

After a few moments of quiet, Tasha’Vel heard footsteps approaching her. The Twi’lek turned to see her husband walking up toward her, a haggard look on his face. “I was just in the laboratory. You know you can contact me by comm, right?”

“But I love to use the projector too.” She replied as she threw her arms around him and kissed him gently. “It is good to see you love. Now we just need to contact Drae’lath.”

“So do you think he is really ready for all this? I mean, he has not been in the Clan for very long. I mean, he has made a real splash. I would hate to see him get burned out.” Bentre made a very brief, very subtle glance at his prosthetic arm after he had spoken the words. Arms crossed over his chest, he raised both eyebrows expectantly.

She smiled a bit before standing a little straighter, her whole demeanor now fitting of a Matriarch as she looked Bentre in the eyes.

“He had me come over to see how I would react to him being in the Ryloth Insurgency so long ago. I surprised him by showing mercy and I forgave his past history. My grandfather would have done the same. As for inviting him, he doesn’t really seem to have much in the way for supporting people and I think it would benefit him to have someone in the clan to show support to a new recruit. Sort of like taking him under wing and showing him the ropes. Plus, it’s also easier to watch him. I find that sometimes it is good to branch out and test their strength, will, and endurance. To be a Versea means he is going to have a lot of trials ahead of him, but if he can endure and stick to it, he will succeed. If he proves to be a coward and traitorous, then he will be dealt with. Everyone deserves at least one chance to start out fresh and try to make something of themselves. Even you dear were given that chance.”

Bentre glanced off to the side, seemingly distracted for a moment. He closed his eyes for a moment in apparent concentration. Almost five heartbeats later, the man nodded slowly. “Well, you are the Matriarch here. He seems like he has a lot of potential. I just never quite got over my Rollmaster days. It has me watching every one of them, watching for a sign of weakness. That kind of knowledge is useful. It help you to know when they need support and when-” The words trailed off as Stahoes’ gaze seem to become unfocused. An odd smile played at the corner of his mouth for a moment before his gaze became focused again. “Wait, what was I saying?”

“Are you all right?” Tasha asked with a bit of concern in her face. “You seem a bit out of focus and distant. The last thing you just told me was that it would help you to know when they need support and when. Then you trailed off.” Just then Tasha became a bit rigid, her eyes flashing for a moment with emotion. Her husband gave a start, his eyes studying her face.

When he spoke again, the words were halting, more cautious and drawn out than his normally snarky, amused tone and pitch. “There are more things in sky and earth than we can know.” Nodding to himself, Bentre seemed to regain his normal vigor. “Don’t sweat your headtails about it, Oola.” He spoke the nickname with a wink. “I just don’t want to see him fall into some of the same pitfalls that I did. Maybe we can spare him a little pain. So, when do we meet with him? Do you want it to be in your office, or mine?”

“That is up to you Bentre, it doesn’t matter to me. I trust you will choose appropriately.” She smiled her eyes now a more vivid green again. “I think this will be fun.”

Bentre gave the first genuine laugh he had uttered that evening. “Let’s hope so.”

Personal Quarters

*Drae’lath rose from his meditative state and stood in the middle of the room, looking around his quarters. Staring at the same bleak and monotone colour reminded him of his day in the Empire. The relentless drills, the drill instructors screaming, the cleaning of weapons and armour while reciting litanies and mantras of obedience, order, and duty. He then began to remember the men from his unit. All the times they spent training, laughing as Velirus got thrown into the ground by Vileona.

He remembered about the time where Velirus spoke out of turn while the company was assembled outside performing their morning drills. He remembered the instructor’s remarks. “2808! 6248 has a slightly frame and always pivots her left foot towards the 10 o’clock to dock underneath your cross swing, before moving returning into the starting position to counter with a bilateral cross swing! I’ve told you this 100 times and you still never listen! You have to draw your body into a side straddle lunge guard and use the length of your weapon to counter! Are you trying to get yourself killed with your incompetence!?”

“Only if you go with me, Instructor!” *He gave off a small chuckle… “Blasted fool got us into doing the course again. It was already bad enough once.” *He chuckled once more. “Damn you Vel.”

Drae’lath started to tear up and choke on his laughing breathe. Remembering his old unit always made him tear up. Drae’lath was stopped crying and smiling. The cold tears that run down his face were soon wiped away, as the look upon his face turned into one of concern.

“Why am I thinking about this now?” He muttered to himself. “Is the Force trying to tell me something? Something related to all this?” His holoterminal then lit up. “A message? From who?” *He approached and activated the holoterminal. It was a message from Tasha’Vel.

“Drae’lath so nice to see you again. I am in dire need of your assistance. I can’t explain right now, but I need you to come outside your door and down the hall, I will be waiting.” The message then faded.

He looked surprised. He closed the terminal and walked towards the three tables along the wall.

“Vibroblade, training saber, blaster pistol. Alright. Now for clothing.” *He, in his usually brisk marching pace, walked over towards his closet. “Don’t overthink. Simple. Robes … training robes. Here. Got it.” *He remembered Tasha’Vel’s message. “Dire need of my assistance …” *He quickly rifled through his robes to see if the blast plates were still in there. “Damn … Not here … Where did I put the- My officer’s dress uniform!”

He dashed back into the closet and threw out his service uniform. The weight of the blast plates within the uniform prevented it from reaching his bed as he threw it and fell towards the floor. Drae’lath’s quickly reacted and used the Force to prevent them from landing and getting dirty. He then dress out into the uniform. He straightened out the rack of medals and ribbons and placed them neatly upon the upper left breast side of his chest. He then adorned his uniform with the holsters to his blaster and vibrosword. He slipped his training saber into the holster made specifically for his upper right forearm. He then hid the saber with his uniform sleeve. He finished by putting on a blackened pair of combat boots.

Buried into the wall next to the door was the knife he was issued when he into the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps. The handle of the blade was removed and replaced by the chains of at least 2 Imperial Service Tag chains. The pommel of the blade was a small ring big enough to hold the smaller chains that always came with the tags. There were 4 Imperial Service Tags. He removed the knife and placed it into the empty sheath underneath the sleeve of his left arm. The tags hung low enough to easily swing into the palm of his hand. He remembered how his unit always looked before they all head out for their assignments and how they smiled when they looked towards Drae’lath, and how smiled back. “Men. Let’s move out.” He muttered under his breathe.

*He exited the room, closing the door behind him, and locked it. He then began to march down the hall, his combat boots clearly making a distinct sound. The sound of a man marching off to war. He continued, making the turn, and looking shocked as he almost ran into a blue Twi’lek. He immediately frozen in his steps, but the momentum from his marching pushed him forward, losing his balance. He skipped a few steps forward, trying not to fall either into the floor or into the Twi’lek. The weighted plates in his uniform kept him grounded enough for him to maintain his composure. “Lady Versea. Oh right. You were waiting for me down the hall. I apologize if I made you wait longer than needed.” *He then give Lady Versea a courteous bow. “Now then. What is it that was so important that it required you to call me?”

The Twi’lek glanced at the acolyte. “I still can’t tell you yet, and where we are going I can’t have you see where we are heading. So if you could put this blindfold on, I will help lead you.”

“As you say.” *Without hesitation, Drae’lath took the cloth and bound his eyes with it. He was, of course reluctant with going along with doing such a task, but he did so anyways. “Oh before I forget. I would like to apologize for my actions when I introduced myself. I don’t usually cry when I first meet someone.”
“There is no worry, you are strong I can feel it. Now let’s go, we better hurry.”

“Lead the way.”

Temple of Sorrow
Orian Space

Drae’lath could only trust Tasha’s leading as he was blindfolded and almost dragged along. “We must hurry, but you cannot look yet until you are told.” He tried to keep up with her, despite the difficulty of not being able to see and could hear a door opening as he was being ushered inside.

“Come forward,” a deep voice called out to Drae’lath from the darkness. The sound of the door closing behind him caused the Acolyte to jump. Trying to keep his balance despite the disorientation, the man stumbled forward a bit. He felt a tug behind his right ear as the blindfold was pulled away to reveal the darkened outline of a man. Sitting almost nonchalantly in a sizable chair as he read intently from an old volume.

Tasha’Vel stepped around Drae’lath’s right side, making her way toward an empty chair off to her husband’s left side. Stahoes glanced between his wife, his book, and gave a shrug. Three moments passed without a reaction. The book, held in one hand, was folded with a sigh. “Drae’lath Rahath, you stand in the middle of the very stronghold of your Clan. So tell me one thing. Do you know why you might have been brought to stand before your Proconsul?” Bentre’s voice seemed to rise with each word until the air seemed to shake with the bellow.

*Drae’lath stared at the floor. Pondering at the question presented before him by the looming Proconsul.

Bentre let the book drop as he strode toward the former Imperial. The sound the book made resonated throughout the halls, causing Drae’lath to twitch in reaction. The Patriarch Versea stood up from the chair by pushing himself upward with a grunt to stand tall. Locking eyes with the Journeyman, the Battlelord slowly closed the gap between the two of them.

*Drae’lath stood firm before the Proconsul. But it wasn’t an act of defiance, but instead one of fear. The presence of the Proconsul had left Drae’lath unable to move, lest it meant giving him an opening to strike down the young Journeyman. Drae’lath used his Battle Meditation to still his body and calm his mind. Drae’lath began to enter into semi-trance state of calm and serenity. He readied himself not for a fight, but instead for his death.

“Maybe … It’s to answer for my crimes during the Insurgency. Or maybe you wish to hire me as a spy. Or to, probably, reward me for my service to the Clan, even if I just recently come into its fold.”

Bentre laughed, placing a hand on either of Drae’lath’s shoulders. “I don’t think that we need to do something so drastic as the first two. It is nothing of that manner.” The man turned his head, giving his wife a nod. “Tasha, I believe that this is your territory by birth, is it not?”

The Matriarch rose from her chair, her blue tattooed lekku dropping gracefully behind her as she walked down the stairs. Her bright green eyes gazed down upon the Acolyte. Drae’lath could feel her command respect at her presence. “ Drae’lath, I have brought you here for a special occasion. You will no longer be an outsider to the clan, but you will be known as a part of the Versea family. As the Matriarch of the Versea Twi’lek Family Clan I hereby bestow upon you the right to be a fellow family member and brother to the Versea family.”

“Wait a minute … I don’t mean to interrupt Lady Versea, but you brought me here to take me into your clan? You’ve read the file, yes. But has the Lord Proconsul read that file?”

The Twi’lek smiled slightly. “Yes we both have and I have made my choice. Welcome to the family Torkana’Tel Versea. You are hereby now an official member of my family. Congratulations, now be aware you will have a mark made on you that brands you into the family. The Patriarch will perform the branding. Bentre if you please. Mind you this will sting a lot.”

“I’ve endured worse. I will proudly accept this with honor. I solemnly swear to serve this family in my fullest capacity.” *Drae’lath removed the top half of his service uniform and removed the holster to on his forearm, exposing himself to the Lord and Lady and presenting to them the body of a man forged by the fires of war itself. His most noticeable feature is the point on his body were the cybernetic meets his body. A series of scorch marks illustrate a wall separating his untouched skin and the cybernetic arm. Impact sites from slugthrower rifles and blaster bolts, and scarring made from blades could also be found across the front of his body. Drae’lath presented his left arm to the Proconsul. He indicated towards his upper forearm. “Right there.”

The Patriarch took a calming breath before placing his flesh-and-blood hand upon the indicated portion of the Journeyman’s forearm. Closing his eyes, the man seemed to whisper something. Blue sparks of energy coalesced around his fingertips. As his new Patriarch prepared himself, Drae’lath pondered if he should as well. ‘No.’ He thought to himself. He just placed his arm onto his leg and left it there, he sat ready to endure the pain. As the energy peaked, the soldier could watch it arc briefly through the air before the pain began. Pain enveloped the man as it spiked down the length of his arm. Bracing himself, Rahath gritted his teeth. He was determined to endure what he considered a small pain.

The smell of burnt flesh curled up to his nose, and he heard a grunt from Bentre. Looking at the spot he had indicated previously, the new Versea could see a fresh wound, etched into the image of a stylized wolf. Smiling warmly, Bentre gave him a nod.

“Welcome to the family, Drae. Welcome to the Versea, Torkana’tel.” Offering his new brother a hand up, Bentre threw one arm around Drae’lath. With the other hand he clapped the man on the shoulder. “If you are feeling up to it, we have a bit of food so we can celebrate.”



This fiction was a collective effort between Bentre, Drae’lath and Tasha’Vel.

Word Counts:

Tasha’Vel Versea (14192) – 802
Bentre Kairn’tel Stahoes (14185) – 811
Drae’lath Rahath: (15036) – 1268

Total – 2881