Coruscant's Most Fearsome Fighting Team

This thread happens nearly 3,700 years Before Endor, around the time of the Star Wars: The Old Republic game. It is a closed thread - I just didn't want it getting jumbled up with "current" and "Clone Wars" threads, hence the somewhat random choice tag. :)


On the day that the Sith and the Jedi met on Alderaan to discuss peace, Coruscant burned.

The Great Galactic War had raged for twenty-eight years, and with every day the Sith gained ground: hope of victory for the Galactic Republic seemed to move further and further away. To the surprise of many, at the peak of their campaign the Sith Empire offered peace. It soon turned out to be a ruse: having distracted the Republic by extending a hand of friendship, the Sith then proceeded to stab them in the back.

Sith Warriors assaulted the Jedi Temple, while battleships bombarded Coruscant from the skies. Their armies besieged and occupied the heart of the Galactic Republic, forcing her government to surrender to every demand the Sith made. Satisfied that they had wrung everything out of the Republic they could, the Sith withdrew, leaving behind them a planet in ruins.

The public blamed the Jedi, of course. The panicked minds of the common folk of Coruscant struggled to concieve the differences between Jedi and Sith; their hatred for the armies that had ravaged their homes extended to any soul with the Force in his heart, and a lightsaber in his hand. The Senate bowed to public pressure, refusing to aid the Jedi in their own efforts to rebuild. Betrayed by the Republic, the Jedi retreated deeper into the galactic core, cloistering themselves on the ancient Jedi homeworld of Tython.

At least, most of them did.

A handful of Jedi defied the will of the Order. They believed that the protection of the Galactic Republic and it's people was far more important than self preservation: even if the public and Republic refused to accept that aid, it was their duty as guardians to defend the weak and protect the innocent. Some of them roamed the galaxy, aiding those in need wherever they found them.

Others meanwhile remained on Coruscant, protecting her citizens from the remnants of occupation that the Sith had left behind...

Cor Leonis landed gracefully, one knee and one hand to the ground, fingers of the other falling in reflex to one of the lightsabers hanging from his belt, ready to strike if necessary. He lingered for a moment, frozen in place like a statue as he allowed the Force that had flowed through him and granted his agile leap to subside. His eyes snapped up, peering through the dimly lit sublevels of Coruscant's Undercity, searching for his illusive prey.

Through the haze that rose from a ruptured steam vent, and floated listlessly across the underworld streets, Leonis saw a flutter of robes, and a flash of green that told him his quarry was not far ahead. Summoning the Force he leapt again, soaring in mighty bounds from platform to platform with scant regard for bridges and crosswalks. Telekinetic thrusts pushed off posts and pillars, correcting his course mid-flight. Like a hungry beast devouring a kill, he ate up the distance between them; one final leap sent him tackling headlong into the Nautolan, their combined momentum sending them both crashing towards the ground.

Leonis let the fall carry him into a roll, tumbling off his quarry and over his shoulder into a low crouch. A faint growl escaped him. "Damn it, Rafai," he muttered. "We're meant to be working as a team."

Judo Rafai picked himself up off the slimy pavement, rubbing his temple where Leonis had barreled into him. Dude had a frellin' head made of duracrete. The Nautolan flipped his sensory tentacles back out of his eyes, snapping some dirty water (frack he hoped it was water) into the human's face.

"We are working as a team," he grunted. "You blunder through the streets and draw 'em out of cover. And then I swoop down and save your sorry ass. Frackin' foolproof, Leonis."

The knot of frustration that had been tangling his insides ever since he'd first met and been forced to work with Rafai grew a little tighter. The squid-faced son of a Bith wasn't a true Jedi, and it pained Leonis to have to treat him as such. Rafai was a Sith, or at least had been trained as such: he'd learned to use his abilities in a devil-may-care manner, fuelled by anger and impulse. Master Shard thought he'd turned away from the dark side; thought they could rehabilitate him, show him the light, and help him grow, heal, and perhaps one day become a true Jedi.

But Master Shard wasn't the one forced to constantly chase after the hot-head, trying at the nigh impossible task of convincing him of the truth behind the united we stand philosophy. Worse than the anger - worse even than the dark side, as far as the overly code-loyal and to-the-letter Padawan was concerned - was the reckless, selfish lust for power and supremacy that the Sith instilled in their warriors. Jedi apprentices were nurtured and nourished; Sith apprentices were taught to kill, or be killed.

You believe we can redeem him, Master, Leonis thought, mind dwelling on words that he would never permit himself to say aloud. I think you were perhaps mistaken.

His arms folded across his chest, a calming breath drawn into his lungs to wash serenity over him, and quell the brushfires of frustration sparking within. He stared the Nautolan down with worn and thinning patience, his voice taking on a condescendingly neutral tone. "Your plan is flawed," he stated, simply. "Furthermore, you fail to divine the purpose of the test."

"Oh, like you know what the purpose is?"

Rafai glowered back at the Jedi Padawan, wanting nothing more than to erase that judgmental sneer off his face. The Nautolan poked a webbed finger hard into Leonis's chest.

"Maybe the point is to learn how to act without overthinking things. Which you do all the time!"

Leonis let out a heartfelt sigh, but refused to indulge Rafai in his eager desire for confrontation. "The purpose of the test is to demonstrate the importance of cooperation, and to illustrate how the skills of others can be used to compliment your own."

His posture didn't shift, but something in his manner did; his words began to tread the tightrope border between teacher and preacher. His eyes narrowed with scrutiny, searching the Nautolan's expression for some indication that his words were synching in. "I have been a student of Master Shard for far longer than you, Rafai; as have the others. We have already learned this lesson; already succeeded in this test. But until you learn that you cannot hope win every battle alone by sheer brute force, you will always be destined to lose."

He hesitated for the briefest of moments. "Case in point: those shoto of yours will be of little use against the two combat droids that have moved into position behind you."

Leonis surged into action like a blur, dropping low to deliver a sweeping kick, cutting Rafai's legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the pavement once again. He allowed the momentum to continue his spin, completing a full circle as he returned to his feet, a pair of lightsabers drawn from his belt with a flourish as he did so. Azure blades surged into existance; his arms were almost invisible as they flew through instinctive movements, trails of blue left through the air as he battered aside the hail of weapons fire that the combat droids unleashed.

"Go," he called over his shoulder, his words clipped; almost orders. "I will cover you."

"Hey!"

Not ten minutes into the mission, and he'd been knocked to the ground twice by his "teammate." Rafai was getting sick of this.

The Nautolan kicked off his back and landed nimbly on his feet just a few paces behind Leonis as the human screened the incoming blaster fire with his sabers. Rafai drew his own weapons - shoto shortsabers fitted with curved prongs of phrik alloy at the nose of the hilts for balance and defense. Only he wasn't interested in using them defensively.

Without so much as a by-your-leave, he ignited the short, blood-red blades and hurled both shoto, one on either side of Leonis's head. They spun past the windmilling blue sabers and buried themselves in the throats of the two combat droids, sending them crumpling into sparking heaps.

Rafai strolled past Leonis and called his shortsabers back into his hands with the Force. "Lesson one: what's dead can't kill you. Now, can we get back to the mission, O Enlightened One?"

Frustration coiled into a knot in Leonis' chest, and were it not for the lightsabers still gripped in his hands, they would have balled into fists. Now was hardly the time to lecture the Sith on his attitude problems and impulse control issues, particularly given that -

His lightsaber flashed through the air, snatching and deflecting another flurry of blaster bolts from their collision course with Rafai's skull. He interposed himself protectively between the shooter and his Nautolan charge, fighting a scowl from his face. "Lesson two," he muttered, not entirely able to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "Sith combat droids rarely operate in groups as small as two."

His arms swung the 'sabers through a lightning-fast arc, blaster bolts flying off in all directions. "You take the one to the right; I have the two on the left," he instructed and, to avoid giving the Sith the opportunity to disobey, he sprung into action, lightsabers whirling around him as he charged through the hail of blaster fire. He didn't aim for one droid or the other, instead aiming for an imaginary spot between them; as the angle of fire widened, he found himself running almost on instinct, deflecting blaster bolts from either side. Just as a glimmer of doubt began to spark in his mind that perhaps he wouldn't be able to keep this up he leapt, the Force sending him soaring into an ellegant backflip high in the air; their processors too slow to cope with Jedi reflexes, the combat droids continued their furious onslaught, and rained blaster fire upon each other.

One of the droids crumpled, exploding into a shower of charred and burning debris. The other survived, though battle scarred, and hefted it's blaster towards the sky; just in time to watch Leonis land, slice his lightsabers in powerful, lateral sweeps, and slice the droid and its rifle into three.

With a solid kick planted against the chest plate of his sundered opponent to send it clattering across the duracrete floor, he deactivated his blades, and offered himself a quick nod of satisfaction. "Now we can get back to the mission," he muttered to himself, turning his eyes behind him to seek out Rafai.

"Ahhh, I'm tired of tin-men!"

Rafai closed the distance with the battle droid rapidly, swatting aside a pair of blasts with one red shoto (see, I can do it, too, smartass). The droid was already backpedaling, but before it could escape, the Nautolan lowered a meaty shoulder into its chestplate.

A wave in the Force blasted the droid through a railing and out into the empty air hundreds of feet above the grinding machine works of Coruscant, and the droid's limbs flailed in mid-air, but it didn't fall. Rafai dropped one of his shoto and jerked his free hand back, and as if attached by an elastic cord the droid rocketed back toward the Nautolan to be impaled on his remaining blade. The skewered and smoking droid carcass tumbled past Rafai and skidded over the grating toward Leonis.

Rafai turned his viscous red eyes toward the human padawan. "By the way, thanks for blowing my cover. This way, sparky."

He stepped off the edge of the platform where the droid had crashed through the railing and dropped several levels down.

A Jedi shall not know anger, the insistant words of Master Shard echoed in his mind. It took an intense degree of concentration and focus to battle down those frustrations, and trap them once again in the prison within him where he kept such emotions carefully out of reach.

"You're welcome," he muttered as an off-hand commentary. Idly, Leonis wondered if this pairing - not to mention Rafai's continued presence - was some sort of test bestowed upon him by his mentor: a way to test his resolve, his control, and his adherance to the teachings and philosophies that had been imparted. His shoulders slumped with resignation; he forced that, and the other negatives that remained with him to escape as a controlled, sighing breath, eyes closed as he restored his inner peace.

His attention returned to his surroundings, posture once again restoring to the warrior's poise with which he usually carried himself. A moment passed and then, without a hint of hesitation be broke into a run, and hurled himself off the platform in pursuit of the Nautolan once again.

Elsewhere...

Behind the polished gemstones embedded in the fabric that enshrouded his face, Master Shard's glowing eyes dimmed as he focussed on the progress of his two brightest and most troubled students: their progress through the gauntlet of the Coruscant undercity was almost complete. He could sense them entering the maze of catacombs that kept their secret home from being discovered: an unfortunate precaution, but a necessary one, given the public's attitude towards the Jedi. They blamed their sworn guardians for the wrath that the Sith had inflicted upon him and, having meditated extensively on the subject, Master Shard could certainly sympathise with their perspective.

Despite the public distrust and distain towards the Jedi however - not to mention the instructions from the Order to withdraw back to Tython - Master Shard had found himself compelled to stay. Public opinion was an aspect of politics, and had no affect on need. The people of Coruscant needed the Jedi to protect them: from the Sith, from themselves, and from whatever else lurked in these dark depths. The public might resent their presence; they might resist their aid; but as long as he drew breath, Master Shard and his students would continue to keep the people of Coruscant safe. Council orders be damned.

Moving slowly on stiff bones, the agéd Jedi clambered to his feet, using the force to summon the staff that aided his movements to his hand. He had been told by his students many times that the damp and fetted air in this place would do no good for his health, but Shard remained, for the conditions were good for his mind. The Jawa had evolved on Tatooine: a dry, moistureless place, where every drop of water was precious. That belief was ingrained into his very genes: he was evolved to thrive in that environment, which these damp sewers were the exact opposite of.

Coruscant was the antithesis of everything that the Jawa had been born to know: and by virtue of that, every step; every breath; every moment was a reminder of to be vigilant, and prepared. For him, the undercity performed the same role as the rough, uncomfortable fabrics of Jedi robes: it scratched, it irritated, and it reminded him never to grow too comfortable, and too complacent.

As he thought, and walked, he passed into the catacombs themselves: a dark network of dank tunnels, interconnected by design, by damage, and by the tunnels that granite slugs and other pervasive creatures wove through these levels. He didn't need his Force enhanced senses to detect the approach of his students anymore: he could hear the racing footfalls of Judo as he raced to finish the task as swiftly as possible.

Shard sighed, and shrank back into the shadows; to most eyes he became invisible in the dimness, but to his Jawa eyes - evolved to see in the blackness of a desert night - he could percieve the tunnel as bright as day.

He waited, concealed, until the last possible motion, and then emerged, his walking staff swung hard towards his student's legs.

"Augh!"

The Nautolan jumped, but too late, and the staff hooked his right foot and sent him toppling tentacles over heels. He managed to throw out his hands and salvage the fall into an athletic roll, and then he landed, spider-like, in a low crouch with his shoto in hands.

"Who's there? Leonis, if that's you, I swear I'm gonna--"

Two orange eyes emerged from the darkness at what would have been waist level, had Judo been standing. The Nautolan straightened up and stowed his weapons hastily. "Master Shard!"

Shard stepped calmly forward, the hooded rim of his cloak tilting ever so slightly as his head pitched up to regard the features of the comparatively towering Nautolan. The fact that Rafai now stood lower in the curve of the tunnel made that slightly easier, but not by much.

Regardless, the diminutive Jawa did not seem remotely peturbed; calmly, he planted the base of his staff against the ground. "You are swift to react," he commended, his voice far slower and words more carefully chosen than the fast-pace chittering of his native tongue. "But you are also swift to anger, and to achieve your goals. Your pace makes you careless, and robs you of awareness."

He paused, allowing his words to permiate into the mind of his student before he continued. "Do not confuse fast actions with haste, Rafai. Be swift, but be mindful of that which surrounds you."

It was a lesson Master Shard had patiently taught him more times than Rafai could remember. Swift action fueled by passion was the mark of a Sith - what he used to consider his greatest strength. Trying to unlearn that was like learning to walk on his hands.

"Yes, Master Shard," he said, bowing his head, though it was just as much to hide the spark of irritation in his eyes as it was to pay respect to his master. He had been on the right trail, up until Leonis blindsided him. And he wondered why Rafai didn't like partnering with him!

Of course, Shard had probably sensed that spike of anger in him just then. Well, frack. Not much he could do about it now.

"With respect, master," he said, "Leonis was slowing me down. I thought I had ground to make up. But I'm the only one here, so..."

He looked around and flashed a pearl-white grin. "I guess that means I won?"

There was a spark of disappointment in Shard's heart as once again the hotheaded Nautolan failed to divine the purpose of the exercise. His eagerness to succeed was commendable, and it drove him to excel; but his desire for victory was selfish, and self-centred. He craved success for success' own sake. Master Shard had hoped by now that he would have come to accept the notion that a Jedi craved success only for others; that any victories they won would only bring benefit to those they sought to protect and serve, and would provide them with only the satisfaction that they had saved lives, and served a just cause.

Doing the right thing is it's own reward, Rafai, Shard's mind whispered, echoing the lesson he strove to teach the former Sith; thus far to no success. He kept the thought to himself however: if a lesson in morals would not resonate with the Padawan, then perhaps a lesson in humility will.

"You have not," he stated, his tone providing an absolute denial of Rafai's assumed success. "You began this exercise as a team, and yet you finished alone. Regardless of what excuses you have, and regardless of whom you see fit to blame, you have failed to achieve one of the key objectives, and thus have failed the test entirely."

His voice fell silent and he turned away, eyes orientating back down the tunnel that led towards the Jedi's lair. "And besides, Mikeei' and Donatra completed the test - successfully - more than seven minutes ago."

He could feel the tension and frustration rising in the Padawan, but refused to allow it the opportunity to cultivate. "I have no further lessons for you today, Rafai. You may return home."