The Force Always Says Yes [Star Wars]

[Hyenanon]

Spoiler: Author's Note

A/N
Got sidetracked while making a CYOA into working on this old fanfiction I started several years ago, and after some personal life experiences and advice from friends, decided I should post it online somewhere rather than let it rot on my hard drive like I originally planned. I have not posted a fanfiction anywhere on the internet in many, many years, and I have never done so here, so I have fairly little idea of how to do so and I ask that you be patient with my butterfingers. I'll try to figure out how things like how threadmarks work as we go.

This story takes place in 200 BBY, over a century before Palpatine was even born--although Yoda has been Grandmaster for quite some time. It's the last dregs of the Golden Age of the Republic. For the purposes of canon, I'm going by the old EU continuity as I recall it from the games, books, comics, extraneous details like the holonet, and most of all the movies. I don't really consider anything done by Disney, pre- or post-purchase.

I've already written something like 30,000 words of this, but I'll be editing the chapters before I post them, so I don't know how quickly they'll be coming out. Each of the chapters are usually pretty short, and I've named all of them after lines of dialogue in the movies, because...it's like poetry. It rhymes. If you're up for a game, try to guess how it will apply to the chapter in question.

------

Chapter 1: Is That Legal?
​

Of all the odd ones—and there certainly were a few—Nerim had to be one of the oddest. This was readily apparent to all of his instructors, and presented itself clearly to the quartermaster of the Initiate Tournament when he provided his request to her.

"I would like a lightsaber, please, as well as those two blaster pistols, and some sunglasses," he politely asked as he pointed.

She raised an eyebrow. The temple on Coruscant was halfway through its annual exhibition, designed meticulously to show off the potential of younglings in the Jedi arts as quickly as possible for the benefit of busy masters and knights looking to take on their own apprentice. Nerim had performed below average in all former categories, and now as it came to combat testing, he asked for a blaster.

Which is why, in this case, she looked at him incredulously. "Child, you realize the meaning of this tournament, yes?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Then why would you bring such a tool? I admit that they are useful in certain circumstances, but the purpose of sparring in this tournament is to show your skill as a potential Jedi."

He frowned. "Nowhere in the Code or any accompanying texts does it say we have to use lightsabers. Trust me, I had to recite half the library backwards earlier today."

"Do not make light of our tenets," she warned while reaching out with the Force to call a training lightsaber to her hand. "Regardless, Masters are here to see that their student can defend themselves in the way expected of a Jedi; and the expected way is through lightsaber combat."

Then, he raised an eyebrow. "What, lightsaber on lightsaber conflict? Isn't that a bit defeatist about this whole Jedi Order thing? I thought everyone with a lightsaber was supposed to be on our side now. And besides, there's no reason a Master would reject a potential Padawan simply because they won or lost in an unexpected way, unless they only want things that they expect, and that's arrogance right?"

"You ask many prickly questions, Nerim."

She carefully handed him the hilt of a training lightsaber, which he daintily took and holstered upon his belt as he watched her retrieve his requested pistols. "I suppose I do," he managed to say.

"I sense an apprehension in you, in regards to the gravitas of this day. Is something troubling you?"

He shrugged. "I do not expect to become a Padawan by the end of the year. If you want me to be honest, there are times I wonder if you're all just wrong and I'm not sensitive to the Force at all."

"The Council does not make mistakes of that nature, young Nerim. You were born with the spark. The Force flows through all beings, but especially you, and the rest of us here. You know this. One need not even be born with the spark to rival a great Jedi born in a temple itself, but you are, and it is a great advantage. So why do you wish to sabotage your own chances?"

His frown deepened, and his cheeks puffed out with restrained annoyance. "I am not sabotaging myself. Do not presume I'm not trying to reach my limits simply because I know they exist. I want to win at least one or two matches, and I am a poor lightsaber combatant, thus I need other options. In fact, I need more options than my opponents, so I may pursue them down an avenue they are also poor at. This is a sound tactical decision."

"For now," she finally relented and handed him a pistol as well, "However these tactics of yours will age poorly. Form with a lightsaber gets better with age and repetition; tricks and deceptions decrease in value the longer they are known."

He took the blaster, unwilling to bargain for more equipment at the cost of annoying teacher-student conversing. "To a point, perhaps, but lightsaber combat is on the same general trajectory of getting worse. I'd think you would be well aware of that," obviously referencing her age.

Though the comment poked at her ego, she retained control and watched him with a serene expression as he turned and moved to his own waiting area. "Wit is not the same as wisdom, nor intelligence, young Nerim," she spoke to him, her voice carrying easily through the wide corridors of the Temple.

He pretended not to hear her as he entered the chamber, wanting little more than to sulk. He convinced himself to keep trying, however, at least a little. He was careful to hide the pistol he picked out, more of a holdout weapon than anything, barely capable of two stun-shots without lengthy reloading. But it was small, and fit in the folds of his tunic where most wouldn't look, instead keeping their eyes on his utility belt, ankles, and other likely places for surprises to come from.

Most of the other initiates had already taken their seats, level to the arena floor, while the prospective knights and masters loitered around on an upper level to look down upon them. The lights were set up on the high ceiling in such a way that it was difficult to make out the faces of any of the hooded masters in the crowd. Nerim often wondered if he would simply forget how ominous-to-the-point-of-parody that seemed once he grew up, as he knew of no other explanation why it would still be that way.

Still, it was easy for him to find his seat, a simple mat on the floor next to another initiate, a human of the name Douno Var-Noim, the prospective opponent for his first match. It was tradition for two opponents to sit beside one another before a battle, so as to feel one another's emotions and quell any sense of hostility, keeping the duel a clean and non-passionate display of skill.

Nerim presumed that actually worked, but as for him, he couldn't sense a damn thing. They both pointedly avoided making eye contact as they waited for the rest of the competing initiates to filter in, and then the opening speech to end.

Once the wisdom of the ancients—a term that started meaning less and less to Nerim as it got thrown around more often—was finished being dispensed like cola from a vending machine, the first duel began. A Nautolan and a Togruta clashed and danced about one another skillfully, coming to a swift end with a false edge feint and a swipe to the legs.

Nerim knew the names to all these techniques he saw. He did not know how to perform any of them.
The instructor watched as the victor helped the loser stand up, and then asked them to explain what they learned in their duel, and why it ended up as it did. Despite not using the Force, Nerim could predict everything they would say. And yet he still doubted he could replicate it.
The malaise of his impending failure began to set upon him. As much as he lacked understanding as to why the Masters thought the way they did, he did understand the end result of their thought pattern: a tradition he could not conform to.

He was born here, on Coruscant, among the trillion permanent residents. It was somewhat of an anomaly, with the thousands of inhabited planets in the galaxy, and surely more in others, that a Force Sensitive happened to be born on the relative doorstep of the Temple. Due to the proximity, his signature in the Force was picked up on almost immediately, and he was in robes before he had even opened his eyes.

You might think that would give him a head start, and one of his greatest anxieties was that it did and he was just that bad. But 15 years of training had not progressed into him being able to so much as lift a leaf with telekinesis, nor jump a story high, nor twirl a lightsaber with the best of his class.

And so, when the initiates bowed to each other and the second match, his match, was called for, he sighed and retreated to the one mindset that allowed him to survive his trials. The hope that he was, if not stronger, if not more powerful in the Force, at least smarter than his classmates. And in a sense, that hope was justified, for his memory was greater and his academic intuition was of higher quality. He remembered being perplexed as a toddler that his peers did not understand multiplication, simply not understanding why the others did not.

He bowed to his opponent, and they ignited their lightsabers. Nerim's was green, a happy coincidence as it was his favorite color, while his opponent's was blue, the traditional color of the Guardians, those who could beat him up any time of the day in a fair fight.

Now, that school memory gave him a sense of confidence. Confidence, despite his apparent lesser nature. Confidence, verging in on a sense of superiority to the simple blank pages that were his peers, accepting the traditions given to them and excelling in the arts of the Force, maturing as Jedi. Well, he had something they didn't.

The match began, and his opponent began a measured charge at him. Nerim waited for his opportunity, and when his opponent swung, he moved to clash with his opponent's blade instead of parry or dodge. His opponent hadn't expected that, because they both knew Douno would win a test of strength, and so their blades stuck together as the plasma fields intertwined and made it difficult to slide or disconnect.

Nerim then mustered the strength he could into his right arm, and let go with his left. With his right arm, he jerked the blade to the side so that both lightsabers went off course, unable to be used against either opponent for a split second. In that moment, he drew his pistol and fired a stun blast into Douno's right hip, sending the boy clattering down onto the ground with his legs locking into twitching fits.

Less than 10 seconds after the battle begun, he stood over his defeated opponent, an opponent that was undoubtedly superior in skill.

It was because Nerim had one thing his 'wise, intelligent' peers didn't. Wit.

 

[Dovahkiin]

*Insert 'We will watch your career with great interest' meme*

 

[noobody77]

Nope not for me. The "weak in the force but uses tricks" mc is the oldest most unoriginal starwars fic cliche and it's never interesting or well done in my experience. Non force mc's are only slightly more original/interesting and that's only because they can be occasionally well done.

 

[Hyenanon]

Nope not for me. The "weak in the force but uses tricks" mc is the oldest most unoriginal starwars fic cliche and it's never interesting or well done in my experience. Non force mc's are only slightly more original/interesting and that's only because they can be occasionally well done.

Click to shrink...

That's fair if it's not for you. But for the record, you're placing a lot of trust in this youngling by assuming he's correct when he says he's weak in the Force.

 

[Redblood2222]

That's fair if it's not for you. But for the record, you're placing a lot of trust in this youngling by assuming he's correct when he says he's weak in the Force.

Click to shrink...

I will give it the same ten chapters I give everything if it can not get my attention after ten chapters I will unwatch

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 2: The Negotiations Will Be Short

​

With a self-satisfied grin, Nerim offered a hand to Douno, who gracefully accepted it and deactivated his lightsaber, shaking the numbness out of his lower body. They stood side by side, awaiting the instructor's commands. He was an older man of a species Nerim couldn't name off the top of his head, but even with the unfamiliarity, he could tell a perplexed expression when he saw one.

Finally, the instructor asked them. "What did you learn, from this duel?"

Douno was first to answer, with a very 'correct' statement. "I learned to rely more upon the Force, and retain patience so that I do not fall into my opponent's traps."

"Very good," the instructor said, "Such lessons will take you far. And you, young Nerim?"

He thought for a moment. "I figure that, since initiates are not given training in Jar'Kai themselves, they also have a blind spot when it comes to proper defense against dual-wielding opponents."

The instructor sighed through his nose. "Perhaps, but that is a very literal and temporal lesson to learn. Unlike the lesson of patience, which will help regardless of time or location, a lesson on how to fight other younglings shall only get you so far. Any thoughts upon that?"

Nerim tilted his head. "Those who do not experience things, even if they know those things exist theoretically, will not tend to plan for these un-experienced situations. I think the lesson he learned is quite applicable to other situations."
"Very well," the instructor nodded, keeping his expression opaque as to whether he was pleased or disappointed, as Masters so often and annoyingly did. Thankfully, his second sentence confirmed it well enough. "It is good to learn from others as much as from one's own actions. You may return to your seat, Nerim."

Nerim returned to his original position, while Douno sat on the other side of the room where disqualified students were relegated. At this, Nerim let loose a sigh of relief. He was at least mathematically guaranteed to have performed above average in one event of the exhibition.

Idly, he wondered if winning the tournament all together would make him an appealing candidate for Padawan. However, the idea just as quickly made him unhappy. If he was seen as a prodigy in combat, he would likely be taken in by someone focused on combat. As much as he was better at it than tests in Force usage or raw athleticism, he wasn't very interested in it.

Perhaps it was because he knew the quartermaster was right. His tricks would wear off sooner or later. Or maybe it was a general distaste for violence, coming from a pacifist mindset. Or perhaps—and this may seem wild and crazy, but it may have been his rather rational fear of death.

He sighed as he settled in to watch the remaining 14 matches roll by until his next duel. Completely without his notice, his next opponent, the Nautolan sat beside him.

He jumped with surprise when the alien finally spoke as their match neared. "Your thoughts are racing, Nerim. Are you attempting to think up a way to outwit me as well?"

"Nah, don't expect any tricks from me, I'm all out. It'll be a straight up fight," Nerim lied as naturally as breathing, even when it was obvious to such an absurd extent.

The Nautolan, named Tzai, smiled. "I am impressed at how well you hide your deceptions, despite their dishonorable nature. Logically, I know you must be lying to me now, but I feel no ripples in the Force."

"Yeah, you wouldn't, would you?" Nerim raised an eyebrow.

"Hm?"

"I mean, it kind of freaks me out, actually. The Masters must obviously know how to invade our minds or cloud our senses, but they never have."

"Why would they? Such things are methods of the Dark, and the Dark cannot be brought into this sacred place," Tzai frowned.

Nerim hid the desire to give away his liar's smile. Tzai had bought every poetic line and superstition hook line and sinker, even when the Masters didn't mean it literally, as they were fond of saying. "Well, think about it. It's never happened to you...as far as you know. But you have no way of knowing what it's like for someone to try that. Just like how Jar'Kai worked on Douno even though I'm probably horrible at it, he's just never come across it, so it completely swept him away."

Tzai meditated on the information for a moment. "I suppose. But it is not anything we as younglings must deal with, yet. If we were forced into the recesses of our minds too early, it could be harmful."

"Yeah," Nerim chuckled, "I for one am not ready for that kind of conflict. You thought we were scared when we first had to block training droid blasts while blindfolded, but man, I can't imagine anyone here wanting to deal with that kind of Darkness."

"Yes, surely."

"I imagine even the Knights and Masters don't like training in it, honestly. I mean, who would, right? It must be horrible every time, even if you're just training, because if it didn't affect your mind, then you wouldn't be training your mind. It'd be like trying to get stronger by only ever lifting 2 kilogram weights. Your muscles need to be straining, so your brain would have to be straining to get stronger against mind tricks, right?"

Nerim noted the furrowing of his fellow student's brow, as Tzai took a deep meditative breath. "I hadn't thought of it that way. It must be stressful."

"Mm," Nerim nodded, "I can sometime feel cooped up in here, but thinking about things like that makes me thankful I live in a more enlightened time. We don't have to worry about stuff like that, as kids."

Tzai let loose an uncharacteristic, if small, nervous chuckle. "Yes. I now worry that I may have nightmares of such things."

"Oh, you know what the Masters say," Nerim carefully scratched his left cheek with his right hand as he turned to his classmate, "Jedi don't have nightmares. Our dreams are visions the Force shows us, to prepare us for the future."
Tzai blinked, tight lipped as he listened, not saying any of the thoughts hiding behind his alien mask.

"Anyways, I want to wish you good luck." Nerim said, taking his right hand back from his left side to its natural position, just so happening to wave it in front of Tzai's eyes as he did so, in a motion that could very easily be construed as accidental. He then placed his right hand out, in anticipation of a handshake. "I know you'll be keeping a close eye on my hands for any deception, but it's not out of disrespect. Truly, it's out of respect for your skill that I would have to do such a thing. You don't have to fear any hostility from me."

A few seconds passed of the Nautolan staring at Nerim before he reciprocated with his own blubbery hand. "Of...course. Same here."

As if on cue, the instructor turned to the initiates. "Tzai, Nerim, please take positions."

Nerim quickly jumped up, and motioned for Tzai to follow suit. Tzai jumped to his feet as he usually did from strict obedience to the masters, but then stopped for just a split second to doubt himself, as to why he felt so compelled to do such a thing. Nerim contained a grin, having not even planned for that.

They took their positions, bowed, and ignited their lightsabers once more. After a short few moments staring at one another, the instructor called for the beginning of the match.

Tzai immediately began moving forward, while Nerim simply leaned to the side and let gravity carry him to the left, with sloppy footwork following beneath him that would be easy to trip up once Tzai was in range. The boy scrutinized the every motion of Nerim, until they came into contact. Two quick lightsaber clashes, the flashes of bright light from their combined green and blue hues sticking around as discolored splotches in their vision.

Then a third clash, and Nerim carefully angled it into a T position so that his blade hovered over the Nautolan's sensitive aquatic eyes. Without warning, Nerim deactivated his lightsaber and stepped backwards.

By the time his confused opponent had regained vision, Nerim was standing with his arms at his sides, in no kind of combat stance. Still as a statue. Tzai furrowed his brow, as if unable to determine if the fight was still happening. Then, Nerim hit him with one last push.

"You don't want to keep fighting." He spoke in a soft, sing-song voice.

Panic spiked, even for just a moment, in Tzai. He turned to the instructor, not verbalizing his suspicions, but with a silent plea for guidance nonetheless. It was that diverted attention that gave Nerim his chance; for with his lightsaber deactivated and out of sight, the Nautolan forgot the full range of it.

Nerim lunged forward like a fencer, activating the blade once more. It extended quickly, though so did Tzai's reaction catch up. He moved to parry Nerim's lunge, and did so, but only after the very tip of Nerim's lightsaber had made contact with his chest. The parry dragged the lightsaber's point across Tzai's chest and down to his left bicep, bringing out another yelp of pain. With a burn confirmed, though only superficial, the duel came to a halt, and Nerim stood victorious once more.

He may have imagined applause or at least appreciation of some sort, but as always, the hall was silent beyond the whispers of its inhabitants. After all, clapping wasn't very serene.

 

[Xodarap]

So trickery based on reality while Psychology for the manipulation of what a enemy thinks they know to shake their resolve.

 

[NakedFury]

So so far he is a 15 years old teen jedi that cannot even use the force to telekineticaly lift or move a leaf?

 

[Hyenanon]

So so far he is a 15 years old teen jedi that cannot even use the force to telekineticaly lift or move a leaf?

Click to shrink...

More or less. Or at least, that's how he would tell it. Nerim has a tendency to accentuate the negative.

 

[cheesyme]

huh, well this looks like an interesting story to start, gonna go ahead and set it to watched, my thanks to your friends Hye.

 

[Fellow Human]

Didn't read yet but I'll be watching your career with great interest, if this is a fixit with a splinter Jedi sect?

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 3: Out Of Hand​

Nerim could, however, feel dozens of eyes set upon him. The instructor gazed at him with suspicion, while both boys deactivated their lightsabers and stood at attention. Explaining what lessons they had learned was something kept to the first round, for expediency, and so they should have quickly been instructed to bow and return to their seats.

Yet Nerim felt somehow that he was being prompted for an explanation. When he didn't provide it, the instructor turned to the Nautolan.

"Young Tzai, is something troubling you?"

Tzai looked to the floor for a moment, before returning eye contact. "I believe my vision has been clouded."

The instructor placed a hand to his chin, stroking the wispy beard that had formed there. "What do you think has happened?"

Tzai simply closed his eyes and focused for a few moments. "I'm sorry, Master. I do not know."

"There is nothing to apologize for, young Tzai. Eddies and hiccups in the Force come by us all, in our early years. Meditate on this and the answer should become clear with time. You may take your seats."

Nerim knew what Tzai had gone through--He was simply emotionally upset, and such emotions and doubt (so he was told) disrupt one's connection to the Force. He felt almost insulted that the problem was not addressed--it was unclear to him if the Master himself even knew what Nerim had done. The recommendation was just the same thing they always said; meditate. Another one of the things Nerim was not so talented at, and doubted the efficacy of in the first place.

The two opponents turned and bowed to one another, before returning to sit down. It was to be a short rest, as not long after, the final round of the tournament was to be held; a 4 person free-for-all. This is where his plans somewhat fell apart.

He may have been able to outsmart someone one-on-one, but each and every one of his tricks left him wide open. Pulling out the gun during a clash was effective to fight one person, not so much when his tired arm was contending with two, and fake mind tricks were right out. Now it would just come down to how well he could think on his feet, and that depended on how much time he could buy with his lightsaber.

So essentially, he was doomed.

Each of the four moved to the corners of the fighting mat. The long rectangular shape of the arena lead to the four being split into two pairs, making for an easy choice as to who you would combat first.

His opponents were each Human or Near-Human, two boys on one end of the mat, and himself and a girl on the other. They each respectfully bowed towards the center, and ignited their lightsabers one last time. At this point, the best trick Nerim could come up with was to fight normally, and hope that caught them off guard.

And then it began.

He turned to the one across from him, a blonde girl perhaps two years younger, yet light and sure in her step. She lunged towards him, and he used his superior height to ward her away with threatened counters. A difficult facet of lightsaber combat was the extreme ease of mutually assured destruction, where one hit would lead inexorably to a dying counter and kill both Jedi. While it wasn't quite so serious now, it would still lead to a double disqualification.

They stood in a standoff like that for a while, slowly circling one another while occasionally batting at the tip of each other's blade in failed attempts to create an opening. His opponent was patient, seeing no need to rush, as every second that passed favored her.

And not too long after, one of the boys on the other end of the arena was struck, though Nerim did not see how. He quietly stepped aside, while the victor of their duel, a pink-skinned Zeltron, approached.

"Oh great, now there are two of them," Nerim mumbled to himself under his breath. He hopped backwards to gain some distance between the girl and himself, and lowered his blade, holding out a hand to the recently victorious Zeltron. "Hey, hear me out for a second, okay?"

The steady pace of their approach did not waver, and neither responded to Nerim's request. Without a recourse, he decided to keep going. "Listen, I'm obviously not the best swordsman here, but you're both quite good. Perhaps equally, even," he said hopefully, "So how about this. You and me team up on her, and then we have it out fair, and you'll still probably get me. It's the tactically sound decision."

The Zeltron raised an eyebrow. "That goes against the spirit of this competition, and I have no reason to trust you either."

"Don't disrespect this uniform, brother, I am a part of the Jedi Order just as much as you are, and that's enough reason to trust me," Nerim weakly attempted to convince him. However, the Human girl spoke before he could continue.

"Not likely. You'd just pull out your blaster and fire it in his back. You don't see this tournament like we do: A chance to prove our training was not in vain. Yet, you seem fairly convinced that your training was, indeed, in vain."

"Okay, rude," Nerim pouted, "But also not wrong on the last count. I never fancied myself number one material, you know that. Nevertheless, we have to be logical about our—"

Nerim had to cease his conversation, as he desperately ducked underneath the Zeltron's swing. He backpedaled as far as he could without risking stepping out of bounds, and watched as the boy just as quickly switched his attention to clashing with the Human girl.

Catching his breath, Nerim drew his pistol and fired a stun round towards the two, who in unison disengaged from their fight in order to reflect the ring-like blast back towards him. He tossed his pistol—that was its last shot anyways—and reflected the stun bolt once more.

Due to the size of the stun ring, nearly as wide as two fists put together, and its relatively slow movement, the three initiates managed to continue redirecting the ring towards one another with deflection after deflection. They stepped towards each other each time, independently coming up with the idea to quicken the travel time and thus lessen the reaction time of their foes.

However, stun beams quickly lost their energy, and had a maximum range hundreds of times lower than their lethal plasma counterparts. Perhaps his opponents did not study blasters enough to know this, but Nerim did.

While they were ignorant of the signs, once he saw the telltale crack in the magnetic ring, and smelled the heavy exhaust of electric energy into the air, he knew there was only a split second remaining. He deflected it towards the girl, and then without warning sprinted forward, lunging at the Zeltron.

She moved to deflect the ring back at Nerim, but the self-sustaining magnetic seal around the stunning energy came apart at the stress of contact, and dissipated around her lightsaber with an electric hum and the scent of burning ozone.
Caught off-guard, the Zeltron moved to make a horizontal slash at Nerim. Nerim dropped as he ran, sliding the remaining distance and slashing at his opponent's ankles as he moved past the boy. However, the Zeltron dexterously jumped over the blade and landed unharmed with his lightsaber raised, preparing to chop down at the now supine Nerim.

Yet then the Human took her chance, with his back now turned to remain tracked on Nerim. She leaped forward with the assistance of the Force, and chopped down with her own blade, slamming against the Zeltron's shoulder and causing him to flinch and tense up--Though he did not cry out in pain. He gracefully accepted his defeat, simply taking a deep breath and quickly exiting from the mat.

Nerim rolled backwards and onto his feet, smiling wide. 'Second place', he thought to himself, for he had no delusions that he could win a lightsaber duel with her. 'Not bad.'

He readied himself to take one last clash between the two of them. She did the same, using the Force to dart to her left just a slight bit quicker than a Human should naturally. He preemptively swung his lightsaber towards her, and then she darted to her right, even faster than before.

Her feet spun beneath her, causing her arms to whip like a whirlwind, and her lightsaber's afterglow to trail after her. He attempted to swing his blade back out to block her, but knew his wrists likely couldn't take the impact, especially with the hasty handwork he was having to use to get the blade between them in time. And so, he closed his eyes, and breathed out the stress of the fight, patiently awaiting the strike.

"It is decided!" The instructor spoke. Nerim opened his eyes and only barely managed not to roll them, disappointed that the old man didn't even give him time to lose before calling the match.

The girl froze as well, her lightsaber a terrifying five inches from Nerim's side.

"Young Nerim is the victor," the instructor calmly announced.

"What?" He asked, blank-faced. Only a moment later did he think to look where her feet had actually landed.
The heel of her boot had landed a mere inch out of bounds. For all her fancy footwork, and how much it definitely would have ended in a kill shot, the smallest lapse of perception had disqualified her. She unfroze, standing up straight and deactivating her lightsaber, expressionlessly taking the defeat despite the disappointment he knew she must have felt.

Nerim stood still for a few seconds, before deactivating his own blade. "I do not feel like I won the match," his tongue spoke honestly before his mind could stop him. "I feel like I just avoided losing."

The other three students walked back to the mat and stood side by side next to him. The instructor held out his hands. "Interesting. What constitutes 'winning' to you, young Nerim?"

"I'm...not sure," he admitted, "It just doesn't feel satisfying."

The instructor nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. But as Jedi, should we crave to slash other beings with our sabers, or is that simply a means to an end, and it is the end we should be satisfied with? We must ask ourselves what we expect to feel satisfying about dueling. Perhaps we should all meditate on that, this evening."

And with that, the entire group of initiates were brought to their feet, and bowed deeply to one another, to the instructor, and then to the Knights and Masters watching from above. Then, they were shepherded out and back into the corridors of the Temple, each placing their equipment back into the training armory.

Nerim returned his lightsaber and pistol to the desk of the quartermaster, not sharing a word with her, though she did bow her head slightly in respect of his victory. For the first time in a long time, he felt a need to meditate.

 

[Xodarap]

Man acts like every correlian smuggler only apparently the force has a higher luck index going for the corrusant born force user.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 4: No More, No Less​

With their trials concluded, the initiates began to filter back to their living spaces. There was no final grand ceremony or mixing with the Knights and Masters; instead, it was expected that those who wanted to take an initiate as their Padawan would approach the youngling on their own time.

As such, Nerim felt it safe to get lost in his own thoughts as he wandered aimlessly, his legs unconsciously taking him to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The hot mist rolled out across the duracrete floor of the Temple immediately prior to its entrance, but it was the distant roar of the waterfalls echoing down the halls hundreds of feet that first gave it away.

As he entered the room, his feet found purchase on the moss growing over old stone that was eternally wet with morning dew. The ceiling above him was a rich, orange shade of sunset painted across false clouds, with expertly placed panels and lighting giving the illusion of an open sky. Jedi often wished that it truly was the sky, but opening the greenhouse to the Coruscant atmosphere, especially at this altitude, would be very harmful to the plants. The Living Force flowed through here more than anywhere, and perhaps hinted at the foolishness of intertwining the Jedi Order with the Republic's industrial powerhouse capital--the roaring of the waterfall lamenting the abandonment of far-flung Temples across the Galaxy.

Nerim found himself stopping to gaze into a rather small and unassuming fountain, half-hidden behind a bush. Even still, though the basin was humble stone on the outside, beneath the water it was littered with gemstones, and the light filtered into it and then refracted in a wondrous sparkling manner, sending glittering waves of light across the nearby flora. After a while, he felt a presence closing in behind him, though he did not know how he knew it. Still, his eyes were glued to the water, almost as if he had relaxed too much to bother moving again. He let the jungle air fill his lungs, and the one behind him spoke, the voice of a somewhat bemused older woman.

"Jar'Kai, Tràkata, Sokan, even Dun Möch. You've managed to use nearly every auxiliary form of lightsaber combat, and yet no proper Form of lightsaber combat."

Nerim managed to turn to her, rubbing his tired eyes and sitting down upon a flat boulder. "Yeah, I know, right? I jumped to the advance stuff, don't know the basics, it's gonna bite me in the butt one day, yada yada..."

She smiled down at him. She was a Mirialan, a near-human species, with silvery hair done up in a bun. Her yellowish skin was interrupted every so often by ornate tattoos in the shapes of diamonds and triangles, bespangling her wrists and face like the scales of a dragon. They curled around from her chin and up to her cheekbones, then inwards as if to emphasize her gaze by underlining her eyes. Each tattoo on a Mirialan was to signify some deed they had once done, as complex as a language of its own--one that Nerim never got around to learning, but he could tell she was quite accomplished.

She knelt down in her ceremonial robes, cut and shaped with leather to appear somewhere between an elegant dress and a suit of ancient armor. "On the contrary, I believe you to have the basics down extraordinarily well."

"...Really?" Nerim questioned, his curiosity piqued. Never, repeat, never in his life had a superior told him he had grasped the basics of something well. "How so? We just went over my lack of ability."

"Not at all," she said, locking her muddy-green eyes onto his sharp amber ones. "We've only established your priorities. What is 'Sokan'?"

"The awareness and utilization of environmental advantages and disadvantages," he rattled off the definition like a datapad.

"Exactly. And I, for one, can think of little more basic than the ability to recognize the general structure of the world we live in. One would think that comes far before knowing how to utilize a laser-sword, hmm?"

"I...suppose. But the purpose of the tournament was to show off one's lightsaber skill. If we're being honest, I made myself look worse by competing the way I did," he raised his shoulders defensively and leaned forward.

"Oh, but on the contrary once more, I think you had startlingly good lightsaber control. It's just not your lightsaber you were controlling."

He raised up his eyes to make contact with hers again, and mulled the thought over in his head for a moment. "What is 'Dun Möch'?"

The light of the simulated sunset moved slowly across her face, covering in it speckled light that filtered between the leaves. "It is to your opponent what Sokan is to your environment. The understanding and manipulation of other people. It's an advanced skill, a very advanced skill, that requires significant power in the Force, as other Force users can generally sense deception in those of equal power. And that is why I was so surprised as I studied you."

He felt like a rock was dropping in his stomach. "You uh, studied me talking to him? What do you mean? W-what did you see?"

She grinned and raised a finger to him. "That's right, Nerim. The others might not have realized it--even yourself, maybe--but I caught on to your little trick. You were trying not to use the Force. You failed, of course, but you were trying, and that created such a distance that it was hard to sense."

He looked deeply into her expression for a moment, and then down to his own hand. "I...failed at not using the Force? I don't understand. I thought I was...deaf to the Force. That I didn't have the spark."

She put her hand to her chin, "And that's what fascinates me. You're just choosing not to use it--at least not in the way that we've taught you. You may not realize it now, but even though your development is stunted in certain respects, you could use the Force to a much greater degree than you know. There's just one thing that bothers me. I have heard that you personally believe you will never be a Jedi, and have not for a long time. Why are you participating in the Jedi Order, if you do not believe it to be your path?"

Nerim pursed his lips, looked to the floor of the garden, and thought. He thought for a while, perhaps longer than was polite. Thinking whether he should lie to make himself sound better—thinking about what his honest reason truly was, and if he even knew anymore. In the end, he decided to tell her the reason he had come up with two years ago, and stuck to in his plans since. "I wanted to succeed in my Trials, even though I'm not going to be picked up as a Padawan. They would then put me in the Service Corp."

She blinked in surprise, and then tilted her head in confusion. The Jedi Service Corps was considered almost disgraceful, only a step above total banishment from the Order. The members lived ascetically as the Jedi proper, going from place to place to ply their skills as a sort of charity, so there was no material reward either. It was something done only of the bitterest duty, or by those who were too afraid of becoming normal.

"Why would you want that?" She asked, bewildered.

He smiled a nervous smile, of the type that is done out of embarrassment more than levity. "I was going to join so they would train me in something useful, and then I'd quit before they actually sent me on a job."

She balked, and then laughed. "You were going to steal an education in a material science from our charity? I admit there's a sort of pragmatic charm about that, but..."

She trailed off, and he shrugged in response. "Well, your 'Order' also stole about 15 years of my life, so I'd say 5 or 6 years of education stolen in return is pretty heavily in your favor, actually."

Her laughter quickly turned into a frown. "We 'stole' a portion of your life?"

"You took me here to become a Jedi," he spread out his arms to the wide jungle around them, resentment building up in his voice. "And then you admit that I am stunted in the Force, and not suited for it in the first place. All my life, I've been training to become something that you people took me here to do, and then you people changed your minds and said I'm not good at it. I don't see how that can be classified as anything but stealing."

"Ah," she tapped her chin once more, "Well, besides the litany of other things I could say in response, I will settle with saying this: You misunderstand why I am here. I'm not here to tell you that you cannot be a Jedi."

He rolled his eyes, letting the welled up anger fall out of the bottom of his heart and sink into the atmosphere around him, until he returned to a sort of calm-yet-annoyed state once more. "What, you're going to give me advice on how to clear my mind and everything will work out? I promise, there's already a dozen old guys talking about kicking me out for winning their stupid tournament the 'wrong' way, and you're not going to change their minds."

"No," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "My name is Arwain, and I want you, Nerim, to be my Padawan."

He stared wide-eyed at her, his mouth opening to form a response, though none came out.

She grinned wide at him. "And don't worry, I'll chase off any of the angry old guys trying to kick you out."

Studying her expression, he then looked back to the sparkling fountain for a moment, only half the basin lit now as the false-sun ducked behind the treeline. "Can I uh, say no? I kind of still like my 'get an education' plan."

"Hah!" She shook her head, "No, I'll tell them all about how shifty and untrustworthy you are and you'll just get banished."

His lip curled back in disgust. "That's kind of...really annoying of you."

"C'mon," she stood up, dragging him by the shoulder to his feet, "Six months of Padawan training won't kill ya, so just give it a shot before you turn me down. I promise you'll get to read plenty of books no matter what happens, so...give me a chance?"

"...Can I ask you the reverse of the question you asked me?" He stepped back, smoothing out the shoulder of his tunic. "Why don't I want to be a Jedi, huh? Well why do you want me to be, so much?"

She crossed her arms and took a long, soft breath in, holding it as she turned and watched the fountain. The last of the artificial sunlight rolled over the lip of the stone, and the sparkles suddenly came to a cease.

She breathed out. "I think you are the best hope the Jedi Order has in this new generation. There's no way to change the Order from the outside, Nerim. It's up to people like you and me to get this ancient beast back on the right track."

He clasped his hands together, and sat back down. "...Why?"

"So many 'whys' you could be referring to. Why do we have to change it? Why is this the only way to change it?" She turned back to him with a new solemn gravity in her expression. "Or why is it up to people like you? The answer is the same. I don't want a future where the Jedi Order spends ten thousand more years like it is now. Old, stubborn, and ever training to fight a war that even our ancestors hundreds years ago did not remember. The war against the Sith has to end some time, Nerim. Or it never had a point. So long as we're still conscripting children in the ways of war and secluding ourselves in a fortress on Coruscant, the war never had a point, because nothing changed when we won it. So we need people who can understand our faults--who see the Force from unconventional angles and yet love it all the same--to help nudge us towards a path of a more holistic view of the Force and our responsibilities to all living beings of the Galaxy. I think you have a possibility to grow into such a guide. For the very same reasons that you do not want to be a Jedi, I believe that you must be."

They shared one, long glance with each other. The artificial moon rose, and the fountain began sparkling and refracting wavy light once more, even if a little dimmer this time.

Nerim felt something, like a buzzing in the back of his skull, a feeling that she was telling the truth, an instinct that she was right. No, it was more than that. It was as if he understood her on a fundamental level, even if just a small part of her. "Come on, Arwain. Don't do this to me," he whined.

She gave him a wide smile, and held out her hand to him. "Hey, it's like I said, a bit of time as a Padawan isn't going to kill you. I can tell you're good at heart. I know you don't want to admit it, but can you own up to it, just for now? For the sake of no more wars, at least in our era? And you'll even get a laser sword out of it. It's a good deal!"

He sighed, stood up, and took her hand. "Fine. But if anything goes wrong, I'm blaming it entirely on you."

 

[Stivanderen]

This is very interesting ill wait for more

 

[Aezei]

She's pretty cool, I like her. He needs somebody that'll call him out on his bullshit.

 

[deadal]

Such an interesting MC jedi! I really hope to read more!
BTW, what period is this fic in?

 

[Snuffles]

Chapter 4 seems to be in a different threadmark section than the other chapters, but beyond that, nice chapter

 

[Turncoat]

I like this. Though I'll say the post needs to be threadmarked properly.

 

[Hyenanon]

Such an interesting MC jedi! I really hope to read more!
BTW, what period is this fic in?

Click to shrink...

Thank you! The fic takes place in 200 BBY, so at the very end of the golden age of the Republic and significantly prior to significant events like Palpatine being born.

Chapter 4 seems to be in a different threadmark section than the other chapters, but beyond that, nice chapter

Click to shrink...

I like this. Though I'll say the post needs to be threadmarked properly.

Click to shrink...

Whoops! Sorry, I think it should be fixed now.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 5: Rethink Your Life​

"Is this an appropriate location for our first mission?" Nerim asked, holding his coarse robes tightly to himself as they passed the belching exhaust pipe of an airspeeder. The mid levels of Coruscant were better than the lower levels, but they were much closer to that anarchic hell pit than they were to the gleaming skyline. As it was, he could only see the sky if he looked straight up, and even then only sometimes.

He had heard that Corellia and Taris had much more reasonably civilized mid and lower levels, barring times of plague, but it was now readily apparent to him why city-planets were so rare. He wasn't sure what these colossal steeples were built to worship, but it seemed to him inferior even to the old Order. It made him wonder from where, exactly, did he come from in this strange world? A glittering skyscraper, a dingy alley? The thought quickly passed though; he felt even less connection to his infancy than he did to the Jedi.

"This is the perfect place, young Padawan," Arwain spoke as she strode forward, here eyes scanning the crowds. "Breathe in the mortal vapors. Sweat, smoke, shouting of foreign voices. These have accompanied sentients since the dawn of time, far before even the most rudimentary spaceflight."

"Barbaric," he shuddered, and she chuckled. "Master, when will you give me the holograph of our target?"

She thought to herself for a moment as they walked. The mission was rather simple; a series of murders and missing persons cases had recently occurred to the southeast and downward a mile or so between the durasteel towers. However, the victims were generally other wanted criminals, and were all from different sectors of crime, suggesting an unlicensed bounty hunter.

A simple database search by the police later brought up a viable suspect, a human mercenary by the name of Jianno Wahl-Dei. Of course, such people are difficult to find, and Arwain decided to swing by and involve herself in the case, for the sake of training Nerim. The police didn't really get a say in it, of course, but they welcomed the help regardless.

"I am not going to show you her holograph," Arwain decided. "I'll give you a description, and I want you to find her with just that."

He frowned. It was obtuse, but if he knew simple things like just the bounty hunter's hair color and species, it would be relatively easy to figure it out, he thought.

"Ah, there, I know where we can find her. Follow closely behind me."

Nerim moved just one step behind her, and moved his eyes up to the bawdy LED screens above the doorway they were about to enter. "A cantina? Really, Master, is this what we have been brought to?"

"Don't dismiss it, Nerim. These are popular meeting spots for the black market, for a variety of reasons. For instance, it's beneficial for your secrecy if everyone within eavesdropping range is mentally impaired and shouting."

"It's all so bothersome," he sighed as they moved in. He half expected to be asked for an ID, but the bouncer seemed to be drunk to the point of unconsciousness as well.

The raucous noise and banging of fists on tables and inebriated mishandling of dishes only got louder as they crossed the threshold into the den. There were flashing lights of red and green and yellow, all warm colors and gentle patterns that seemed designed to put higher brain functions to rest, while the holographic dancers on the small stage to the right and the drinks being pumped out to the left served to overstimulate the lower brain. Nerim could not recognize any music playing; either it was so estoeric and alien so as to not register, or the speakers had been broken halfway through the night, and both seemed equally likely.

Arwain quickly found a booth and slid into it, thumping down on the seat and gesturing Nerim to sit across from her. He did so, finding the booth to be quite a tight fit, the table barely having enough room to rest their hands on without having to overlap each other. Arwain knew—though he did not—that this was a table more for romantic 'socializing' than normal leisure, but its compact nature also proved a useful excuse for why they conspiratorially whispered to one another.

Before he could make to complain, Arwain leaned forward and spoke into his ear. "I've spotted the quarry. She is indeed in this cantina."

Nerim made careful not to scan the room visibly, though he donned a more serious expression. "Alright...any clues?"

Arwain, without looking at her target, still studied Jianno in depth. The Master's use of the Force was such that Nerim could make out no tells as to where she was focusing, only that she was. "Jianno saw us enter, and will shortly get up and leave. Close your eyes."

He balked at her, staring blankly into Arwain's eyes. "You said you were going to give me a description, Master. I'll remind you that it violates the Code to lie to your apprentice."

She smirked. "Yes, yes, but I'm teaching you something right now, so hush up and focus."

Heaving a sigh, Nerim shrugged and closed his eyes. Without the distraction of Twi'lek dancers or sloppy bar-side brawls across the room on his eyes, he was simply left to the sounds of the cacophonous voices, the smells of the fizzing alien concoctions, and the touch of his robes and the old leather seat beneath him, as well as his Master's hands against his.
"She's standing up," Arwain quietly announced to him.

"Okay, can I look?"

"No," she said, holding his hands in hers. "Reach out. Listen."

He sighed through his nose and did as he was told. Boots scuffled the floors, someone bumped into someone else and an argument broke out. A glass was spilled, and a round of laughter erupted from the east corner. There was the soft jingle of a keychain, and—

"That's it!" She softly exclaimed. "That keychain is hers. Focus on it. Think of nothing but that."

Biting back his frustration at the ridiculousness of his assigned task, he did as he was told. It was hard to make it out, at first, only irregular jingles heard in between loud advertisements on the sportscasts and shouted, poorly timed jokes in languages he half-knew.

"Just reach out for it, young Padawan," she gently guided. "Open yourself to it, and the Force will respond."

'Not a peep out of the Force, I'm afraid', he thought to himself. Nevertheless, he tried to at least fake it. He imagined the chain clearly in his head. From the time between jingles and the general pitch of them, he could tell that the links in the chain were minuscule, almost small enough to have been threaded as if the metal were a fabric. Each step the bounty hunter took was steady, none taking longer than the next, making for a monotonous beat as the chain swung back and forth. He imagined the tone of silver it must have looked like, what digital or old-school analogue keys it might have been carrying.

More and more time passed, and he slumped down, keeping his eyes closed and his mind focused as he spoke. "Master, I'm getting nowhere. She's just walking around, that's all I can tell."

"No, Nerim," she gripped his hands tighter, "You are. She left nearly a minute ago."

With a start, he nearly opened his eyes. Still, he managed to maintain focus.

"Expand your awareness," she spoke. "You see the chain. What else do you see?"

It was distinct, the links were just so, and her stride was confident and consistent, content to let other people get out of the way rather than walk around them. From there, he tried to determine ever so slightly more, her face, or at least what weapons she might be carrying, but the jingling was near his limit already. The shape of the belt slowly came to his attention, the leather making it, and the motion of the hips it wrapped around. He found it perhaps easier to focus on the hips, now that they were brought to his attention.

"Careful, young Padawan," his master chided playfully.

He pouted, but continued to reach out. Eventually, he felt her hand come in contact with the belt, and then the chain, pulling out a key. With a start, he found himself able to follow the key, as well as the hand that grabbed it. At first it was just the vague outline of gloves, but then he saw Jianno's hand, young yet occasionally scarred by burns and old wounds. The mechanical key was placed in the docking port of an electronic keypad, and her hand quickly traced out the numbers 243607 before just as quickly ripping the key back out, and walking in through whatever door she had opened.

Nerim left his consciousness behind, and stared at the mental image of the keypad. The metallic dust coating it from the pollution, the faint remains of fingerprints, and the text accompanying a successful code entry. 'WELCOME TO BOGA N'DARO ESTATES'

His eyes opened, and he startled to find himself half slumped over on the table as though he had fallen asleep. It was surreal to find his body somewhere he did not remember putting it. He hastily wiped away a small trail of drool from his mouth, and looked to his Master, who sipped a glowing green drink from a gourd-shaped glass.

"I know where she is, Master. It seems to be a motel of some kind."

"Good work, Padawan! I knew you had it in you."

She smiled and stood up, pulling him by the wrist to follow her. Nerim's eyes newly examined the room in a daze. "I used the Force. I used the Force!"

"Of course you did," she chuckled, walking the two of them outside and then bidding him to lead. "How do you think you learned to deflect bolts while blindfolded?"

He placed a hand to the back of his neck as he walked a path he vaguely recalled, despite never having gone. "There was a lot of trial and error. I just predicted it."

She looked to him curiously. "Of course. That's what the Force does."

"No—I mean," he bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to find the right words. "I mean naturally."

"The Force is quite natural, I assure you," she laughed as one would skipping through a meadow, while she instead dodging puddles of obscure garbage and keeping an eye out for potential muggers.

"No, I was just observing the timing and extrapolating the programming of the simple little droid, where it would target when I made certain movements. Then I used those movements to induce it into targeting somewhere I knew to defend. It was more like a logic puzzle than The Force."

Arwain placed a hand on his shoulder and brought him to a stop, in front of the motel, then turned the Padawan to face her. "Nerim, I see a blockage in your mind. You're seeing the Force as something mystical, while you are the type to eschew mysticism. I don't want you to ignore the spiritual realm, but I'm telling you right now, it's okay to see the Force as a type of logic, a way of understanding the world's crude matter. There are many ways to view the Force, and each is a pathway to different abilities and energies. The Force is in all things, not just the meditation chambers and ancient texts. It thrums through these streets just like it does through the pathways in the Room Of A Thousand Fountains. And besides, the Force has never told you it won't be used as a means of interacting with the mundane world, has it? All of us start with unconscious usage to enhance our mundane abilities, rather than skipping straight to the fantastical and telekinetic."

He thought for a moment, and looked to the wet ground as it reflected the neon lights ever-present in the mid city. Were his teachers wrong all this time? Was he wrong? Everything he knew, he had to relearn and internalize anew. "When will it say no, then?"

Arwain gave him a knowing grin, and placed her fingertips to the keypad. Without the combination or key, she set the mechanical lock spinning and clicking as if an invisible lockpick was placed within, and the discolored screen flashed several warnings, followed by an OS crash. The door beside her opened. "The Force never says 'no', son. Sometimes it comes back with a 'try again', and every now and then it's only 'yes from a certain point of view', but the answer is always yes."

------

Spoiler: A/N

Yes, the quasi-title drop is in the 5th chapter, AND?

 

[Retalom]

Roll credit~

 

[Mightymutt]

Sneaky title drop... sorta.

I like it

 

[deadal]

Yes, the quasi-title drop is in the 5th chapter, AND?

Click to shrink...

Don't know.... maybe "bring some more!" ?

 

[Xodarap]

Did Nerim just use Psychometry?

 

[ChickenZero]

His Jedi master did tell the truth.... from a certain point of view.

Badum tish!!!!

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 6: Bigger Fish​

The open door lead to a dingy hallway, with two open doorways, a closed closet, and a closed door. It was all one room, perhaps more like a small apartment than an average hotel room. A small droid at around knee height waddled on its four legs out of one doorway and into the wall across from it. When it made contact, a tacky replica of a Onderonean mimefish fell from its display and clattered to the ground. The circular frame on the fish's back caused it to rotate faster and faster on its rim like a coin, dipping up and down while making a steady patterned noise before speeding up and then coming to a halt.

"Sorry!" The droid said, in a message obviously pre-recorded, "This unit does not have the ability to memorize new information, for absolute privacy! It cannot communicate or even recognize language!"

It slowly readjusted itself, showing one eye to have gone dark with some sort of malfunction. It grabbed the fish and then extended its legs to put it back on the display.

"So much for the element of surprise," Arwain muttered as she carefully walked in, hand on her saber.

So silent were the following movements, that Arwain herself did not hear them over the bustle of the street and the clanking of the droid.

Nerim felt a strong bicep wrap around the left side of his face, shortly proceeded by a sharp forearm locking his neck in place and cutting the air from his throat. In the same swift motion, his attacker's right arm made to snake over his shoulder with a blaster pistol in hand, pointing directly at Arwain's back.

On reflex, the only thing Nerim could think to do was draw his training lightsaber and heave it over his head, smacking the emitter into the glass visor of his assailant with his finger on the activation button. There they froze, in a triple standoff that only two were aware of.

Arwain scanned down the hallway. "I'll take the right, you take the left. I sense no hostility, her mind is occupied...and hazy. She may be inebriated."

The Padawan tried to telepathically broadcast his gripping fear, but his Master remained unaware as she moved inwards, the door automatically closing behind her.

Struggling to breathe in the tight but not-quite choking grip, he tried to crane his neck up to see his assailant. "Let go of me," he weakly demanded.

"I've got nothin' to fear," came the response, a scratchy voice from a woman who had inhaled too much smoke and soot in her life. "I'm Mandalorian. Lightsabers don't work on our armor."

Nerim felt sweat trailing down his back and grit his teeth. His lightsaber wouldn't work anyways; it was still on the training setting. Still, he had to think quickly. He tapped it on her visor. "It works on glass. That's why you froze."
"...Fine. I'm going to let go of you, and I want you to slowly walk forward."

"Drop your weapon first," he ordered. She complied and the blaster dropped quickly to the ground, letting him twist himself out of her grip and keep his deactivated lightsaber pointed towards her head.

Not more than a step or two out of her grasp, he realized she was keeping her fist trained on his center mass. Looking closer, he saw the port of what seemed to be a hose on the back of her hand. A flamethrower.

"Aw, damn," he dejectedly cursed. "I didn't think about that."

"Listen kid, I don't want to fry you, but I absolutely will," she warned. "Why are you tracking me?"

"'Frying' a Jedi is a pretty big offense," he desperately reminded her, "And not something you should do while inebriated."

"I'm not high," she grumbled, "I'm reciting the Litany of The Formless in my mind. It's been passed down for thousands of years and hundreds of wars, to keep you sniveling, pathetic Jedi out of Mandalorian heads."

"...I don't even know what a Mandalorian is," he confessed.

She was silent for a few seconds, unsure what to make of his statement. "You're a youngling."

"Am not!" He protested. "I've been a Padawan for...two weeks..."

"What's a kid like you doing, tracking me down?"

"You're bounty hunting without a license...I think," he grimaced. With the little bit of breathing time he accrued, he attempted to clear his mind and contact Arwain, unsure how to even go about such a thing.

"Ah," she seemed to relax ever so slightly, "Not exactly. I'm on the lookout for scum who have wronged our People. I'm sure you can understand, Jedi."

"Oh," he raised an eyebrow, "So you're not a bounty hunter, you're a vigilante. You know vigilantes are just bounty hunters that don't get paid, right?"

"As are you," she retorted, "You just have the Republic backing you."

He balked. "The...definition of 'vigilante' implies no legitimate backing."

"The Republic isn't legitimate," she snarled. "The Republic is just a business. It doesn't have a People, it doesn't have a Clan, it's—"

Jianno was cut off when, from above, Arwain silently dropped behind her. In graceful, almost dance-like moves, Arwain's left hand circled from below and hooked her fingers under Jianno's helmet, tearing it off while in her other she activated and raised a yellow lightsaber blade.

The Mandalorian whipped around, her flamethrower already spewing fire and globs of immolating fuel, and Arwain countered with a disarming strike. The Jedi's lightsaber blade left only a scorch mark on the gauntlet of her opponent, but the kinetic force was enough to knock her arm clean to the side, and allow Arwain to position the blade at Jianno's throat.

Nerim looked up. Directly above them, to the side of the door, was what could have been an air vent or a garbage chute. Arwain must have found the same passage that lead Jianno behind him.

"Nerim," Arwain began, "We have to have a talk about telepathy soon."

"Agreed," he heaved a sigh of relief, "I'm just glad I finally got through."

"Not what I meant," she replied, gesturing for Jianno to drop to her knees.

She did so, placing her hands on the back of her head. "Alright, you have me cornered. What do you want, scum? To take what little I have from me? To leave me naked and abandoned on some hellish Republic city world? It would not be the first time I've had to hunt and scavenge my way back to the stars, so I suggest you either try to kill me or—"

"Stop being so melodramatic," Arwain rolled her eyes, "I don't want to turn you in."

Instead of focused anger on Jianno's face, her expression began to change to wary confusion. She turned her head very slightly. "What does she mean, Padawan?"

"What do you mean, Master?" He echoed, just as lost.

"The records didn't show you were Mandalorian. You were hiding your armor, too." Arwain raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing that 'Jianno' is an assumed identity, perhaps of someone you took down?"

She received no response.

"So I'm guessing you're in hiding, and that what I sensed in your mind before was some sort of meditative trance to fool me. That worked the first time, but now that I've got you here and am aware of what you're doing, trust that I can determine when you're lying. Now, tell me what you're doing on this planet."

Jianno didn't respond immediately, but grit her teeth and picked up the conversation. "Hunting. The years have not been kind to my People or my Clan, and several of those connected to the Hutts have...taken advantage of our position. On distant worlds outside of Republic space, I have family that live in something akin to debt slavery. I can't take on those entire planets myself, but I have warned them that I will take out their assets on other worlds until my People are released. And so I am."

Nerim moved forward, his expression a mixture of awe and sadness. "A...one-woman blockade."

As he moved around, he got a good look at her face for the first time. She had short black hair, a strip of her bangs shorter than the rest due to a scar on her forehead, and there were faint scars from burns across her left lower jaw, where flames might curl underneath her helmet. "It is what it is."

Arwain deactivated her lightsaber, though kept the hilt up at a ready position. "Believe me, I do not like the Hutts either. However, you still assaulted my student."

"And tried to kill you," Jianno added. "At least let my list of 'crimes' be complete."

"Not making this better for yourself," Arwain sighed.

"I have nothing to gain from kowtowing to the Jedi. What else would you have me do?"

Arwain carefully took a knee to be at level with Jianno, while Nerim kept his lightsaber at the ready. She looked into the Mandalorian's eyes. "I want you to get a license and come bounty-hunting with us."

Jianno's expression became strained, too offended by the proposition to even be confused by it. "Join you in a hunt? Why would I do that?"

"Because, I could hand you in to the Republic. I already specialize in Outer Rim operations, and spend much of my time stamping out Hutt influence. If you served with us, on our missions, you'd spend a fair amount of time doing what you want: Hunting the Hutts' revenue sources. If you went to jail, you'd spend no time doing that."

Nerim began noticing a pattern in his Master's negotiation techniques, and swallowed some apprehension. He really quite hoped she would stop doing that, at least to him.

Jianno scoffed, almost smiling. "Dirty. But you make the mistake of thinking I'll be spending my years in jail."

"Oh, you may have broken out of a few sheriff's offices in the Mid Rim in your time, yes," Arwain looked up to the blinking neon lights on the metal sky. "But not a high security Coruscanti prison. Especially not after being on watch as a potential Jedi-killer. And trust me," she waved her hand suspiciously, "You would be found guilty."

The Mandalorian looked up at her captor with scorn, spitting on the duracrete ground. "Your reliance on manipulating the Republic and 'Force' is pathetic. Why would you want me around, anyways? I thought Jedi didn't like anyone who didn't walk lock-step with them on every mental roundabout."

Arwain put a finger to her chin, thinking for a moment. "An enemy turned ally is more valuable than ten confirmed kills, and five are the reasons why."

It was almost imperceptible, but Nerim noticed the smallest sharp intake of breath through Jianno's nose. "...Mandalore The Ultimate's The Art Of The Horde. I didn't know Jedi knew how to read Mando'a."

"The smart ones can," Arwain smirked. "Your People have served a powerful rival to us, after all. It's valuable to learn from those who can defeat you."

Jianno frowned. "I regret to inform you that imitation is not considered a sincere form of flattery among my People. Our language was not meant to be spoken by outsiders."

"And I regret to inform you that it was not meant to be spoken by slaves or prisoners, either, so I'd say we're on an even playing field right now" Arwain replied in an even tone, her stare steely and cold. "Still, 'there can be no shame in an honorable defeat, nor arrogance in inflicting one, only mutual respect.' So why not join us for a while, no hard feelings?"

Jianno glared back at her for a few long seconds, leaving Nerim to nervously fidget and glance to the growing crowd of people gawking at the scene. Finally, Jianno spoke. "Fine. But if you touch my armor, or try to use me to fight other Mandos, I'll kill you without hesitation."

"You may try." Arwain gave her a big, friendly smile. "But it won't come to that. I don't think your armor would fit me, anyways. Maybe my Padawan could grow into it?"

Nerim frowned.

 

[deadal]

"If Once You Start Down The Troll Path, Forever Will It Dominate Your Destiny."
Such a terrible master, I'm a fan! Is she trying to develop UST between the padawan and the mandalorian? She have the potential for a fun character, with her posturing and drama persona but backed with skill and competency.

 

[Stivanderen]

Im really loving this

 

[Black Fyre]

So this guy is sneaky and doesn't have much knowledge of Star Wars despite being SI?