The Tao of Jeet Page Do

The Year That Was

2009-12-17T14:30:36Z

So, last night I had my last classes of the year. Now I'm officially done for the year. I can kick back, relax, and use the money I hocked from my textbooks for xmas gifts. On the train ride back from Pleasantville, I started thinking about this year. For starters, it went by pretty freakin quickly. Months just blurred into one another, and in a damned rush.

But damn, a lot was done.

To Preface, this was the first full year out of college. After spending four years in Albany, this was the first extended time I've had in my house, with my family, in my city. At first, I wasn't sure what to do. Sad to say, the closest friend I had was in New Jersey, and as close as that is, it's not the City. For the first few months, I did the solo act thing. Running around the city and taking photos, seeing the parts of NYC that I hadn't been. I was reconnecting with my home. However, I was still doing this alone.

Then I met the guys from the Jim Butcher Boards, Priscilla, Richard and his wife, Sue. I had people I could meet, talk to on an even level (which wasn't usually the case at college). I had made friends based on actual interest rather than "We're trapped at this school, we might as well talk". Of course, this was in late 2008, but we hadn't really started hanging out until that winter. After the new year though, we went to more and more events until finally we went to New York Comic Con.

And that's where the whole thing changed.

It was there that I met the NY Jedi, those loveable batch of nerds, geeks, theater whores and outright loons. After meeting them, and then going to classes, I felt like I had always been there. For those of you who know me, I've always felt like the outsider, the person looking on from outside the walls. This was true and exacerabated at college, even amongst my own friends. But here was a group where there was no drama in the indvidiuals (note: I do not say the group). They were just a bunch of people who liked being active and nerdy. These were people I could run around with while still being intellectual, creative, manic, and weird.

Before I knew it, I started getting more and more involved in the group. December 5th it culminated with me performing with them in a show I had written for them. Not to make too big a deal of it, but after that night I felt like I had put most of my past behind me. I was no longer the shy, painfully weird boy in college. I had become something altogether different. I feel different. I feel like I can make my life here, I can make it whatever I want to be, and that I have the talent to do it.

As much as I sound like I'm razzing on College, let me say that I probably couldn't have gotten to this point without having gone to Albany and meeting all those people. The problem was disconnect, the feeling that I was playing a different game than most of the people there. I don't regret going up there, or going to Albany. I got my drive to write, to express, from there. Yes, it might have initially been out of anger and about how pissed I was at the overall state of things. But it helped define me as who I am.

It's my turn.

That's not to that to say that this whole year has been one large triumph. There are somethings I wish I had, some things that I regret not getting. I am still without employment, even in my own field. Yes, I know the job environment sucks, yes, I know it's doubly worse in New York itself. However I still think I could have put myself out more.

Another thing I felt I lacked, was someone to share all this with. I had an awesome year, and everytime I come home, I share it by myself. I don't know if I'm overly sentimental, but there are nights where I just wish I had someone to just lie next to, to know is there. There have been girls this year who I've been close with, but due them being unavailable (currently dating, too far away, not looking for anyone at the time) nothing has really happened. Ironically, like finding a job, I feel like I need to put myself out there more.

I'm going to try and walk into 2010 with the attitude and confidence that I received in 2009. For once in a long time, I can walk with clear confidence and pride in myself. And that's a good start as any.

Happy New Year!

Hangover: The Day After Poker Night

2009-12-06T23:56:07Z

This was originally suppose to be a Vlog, however, my voice is offcially shot. More on that to come

Last night was the opening for "A Saber Beats Four Aces", the inaugural show featuring the Poker Night format. It opened up at The Tank Theater to a jam packed crowd of friends, family and one or two surprises I'll mention later.

As the creator and "writer" of the show, I had a lot going through my mind. The chief among them being "How in the hell" did I get here?

I had created Poker Night this past summer. I based alot of it on the communal nature of New York and Long Island Jedi. For most at NYJ, we've done the post class Diner session. We all talk, tell stories, get cut off and corrected. And Long Island Jedi is one big, happy cult/family/nerd orgy to begin with. In fact, the idea came from bouncing ideas off of Joe after a LIJ visit.

So I wrote the show based on that premise. I also took into consideration to several problems from previous shows, most notably building a fight solely for the scene, and especially for if a cast member mysteriously vanishes before the show. So I made it modular, swapping out whatever fights needed.

I submitted the show in July, and it was received well by the group. I didn't make much of it though. At that point I was only in my fifth month with the group, I wasn't sure if I overstepped my bounds in the group or anything, so I let it rest.

By September, we received word that we were going to do a show at The Tank theater. The show picked was Sabers Unleashed, the show that had introduced me to NY Jedi in the first place. Brandon had then said that he was working on a sequel to Sabers Unleashed, and that I was going to write the third show.

Flashforward to six weeks ago. Due to a slew of cons, parades and other events, Sabers Unleashed was running far behind in schedule. It was becoming apparant that we couldn't do SU faithfully in under six weeks. So, people began suggesting doing another show. I had off handedly mentioned Poker Night, not thinking it would be taken seriously. Next thing I know, I get a text saying "We're on for Poker Night, what do you need to write it?"

I, ever the soul of wit, replied...

"Uh...WHAT!?"

We had the cast and the fights down pretty quickly. To be honest, that's the minimum the show needed. Everything else is gravy. The cast got together and meshed quickly and started riffing off one another (most of which got added into the defacto script I was using). The show had essentially been written, albeit verbally, the very night it was agreed upon.

Of course, we had to do all of this in six weeks. We were essentially shotgunning this show. Because of that, incidences happened, toes got stepped on. You know, the usual theater stuff, just condensed.

Finally, yesterday rolls along. I wake up with a swollen throat and my head clogged in places I wish I didn't know about. Naturally, right? As the day rolled on, I found I was too medicated and too busy to worry about the show.

Until thirty minutes until. At that point I did what any sensible human being would have done. Collapsed on myself for five minutes, then pulled myself together. I don't even remember the Opening speech I gave, except that it was funny. The moment the show shifted abruptly from Paul's Monologue to the Star Wars Cantina music and I heard the audience laugh, all that fear melted off. We all did our scenes and our bits damn near flawlessly from what I heard, even if there were accidents, no one noticed, or minded. The show worked.

What got me was just how many people were at the audience, and WHO was in the audience. I saw people from Jedi who I had only seen through youtube videos, some of which convinced me to join outright. The most shocking surprise was hearing that Voltaire, the musician responcible for the now infamous (well, in Jedi, anyways) song "When you're evil" was in the audience, and he loved the show.

The end of the show came, and I just this rush of pride. In myself, in the group, and in the cast and crew. We had done it.

Of course, by now, my voice was shot. It lasted right up until I punched our Brandon in our fight, then it went kablooey. I've spent all day in bed with the sickness I evaded yesterday kicking my ass five fold today.

It was worth it, all of it.

And I want to do it again. There's already talks of another one for The Tank. Also, at least two other groups have asked to use the Poker Night format. So this is just the beginning.

Thank you for coming, for participating, for being my friends and family, and for letting me in on the madness.

Thank you.

I look forward to seeing you for Poker Night 2: Poker Night vs the World Crime League

C

Book Review: The Codex Alera

2009-11-26T05:46:56Z

There are few authors whose whole library of books I care a great deal for.

Jim Butcher is one of those few.

The Codex Alera is Jim's six part fantasy series. Whereas his flagship series, The Dresden Files, is an urban fantasy (ie; takes place in Contemporary times). The Codex Alera is a high fantasy series, meaning that swords, horses and castles are the norm in the universe.

The story takes place on the planet Carna, but focuses on the empire of Alera. Alera was founded several thousand years ago by a Roman Legion that found itself lost...really...really...lost. To the East of Alera lie the Marat race, nomads who share an empathic bond with other species and eat their enemies alive. To The West are the Canim, nine feet tall, anthropomorphic Wolves who live to battle. To the North are The Icemen, neanderthal like creatures who can control storms.

The only thing that keeps Alerans/Humans from being put under the lash or in the grave by any of these species is their use of Furies. Furies are generally a form of spirit or energy taking the form of one of the six Oriental Elements of Earth, Winds, Water, Fire, Wood and Metal. The use of furies covers all grounds in Aleran society, from warfare to cooking (they have fire fury ovens). All Alerans have furies, and the stronger you are, and the most furies you have, the more potential you have in being an asset to Society.

The series is set a thousand years after the founding of Alera. Many of the Noble Houses are plotting against the aging First Lord (think First Citizen of Rome), the aforementioned races flanking Alera are constantly snapping at the heels of the Empire. At the center of these plots is a small farmboy named Tavi, who is the only person in a thousand years of furycrafting to be without a single fury. Tavi is survived by intelligence, cleverness, and courage.

As the series progresses, Tavi is thrown in from one impossible situation to the next, until he faces a foe that the Canim, Icemen, Marat, nor the plotting of the Alerans themselves, can stop, and that foe ultimately changes the fate of all of Carna.

The Codex Alera is a series filled with good action, both on a personal level and on the battlefield. It is also laced with trademark Jim Butcher wit, from the boisterous Antillus Maximus, to the dry, inconspicuous spy Ehren. The characters give off a sense of reality, none of them are perfect, they make mistakes, they learn, they fail. Mary Sues be damned here.

One of the elements in the series that stands out to me is that it's very much an Anti Stagnation story. Tavi is caught fighting two elements throughout the books. Aleran Society, which as a whole is almost psychotically devoted to keeping things the way they are (if it's not broke). As a furyless human being, his ideas, though novel, are considered impractical, and until proven otherwise, impossible by the rest of his peers. On the otherside, Tavi's main enemy are The Vord, an alien species whose sole Purpose is to make all things Vord. They might sound like the Borg from Star Trek, they aren't. This isn't assimilation, this is infestation. The Vord will eat everything and spread until, eventually, the whole world is theirs. They are literally the embodiment of Uniformity Over All

The Codex Alera sets itself apart from most High Fantasy series. Where most seem to be slaves to the Tolkien Method, Jim dictates a new set of rules. Although it is fantastical, it doesn't seem overtly so. The world is treated as such that if there were such a thing as spirits of the elements, then this would be how to do it. Jim Butcher manages to keep the series grounded and level headed where we never fully lose what is going on.

I thoroughly recommend the Codex Alera series, as well as Jim's other series: The Dresden Files. In fact, I recommend anything that has the man's name on it. He is that much of an awesome human being.

The books in the series are: Furies of Calderon, Academ's Fury, Cursor's Fury, Captain's Fury, and Princeps' Fury.The Sixth and Final book, First Lord's Fury came out this past tuesday. In it is a two-page Map of Alera, drawn by my friend Priscilla Spencer (priscellie )

Hail Alera,

C

Poker Night, A New York Jedi Show

2009-11-20T00:03:05Z

As many people know, I've been a member of New York Jedi since this february. We're a fight choreography group the focus' on the combat based on the lightsabers from the Star Wars films, TV Shows, books and other subsequent materials. We've been in Time Out New York, Jay Leno, we've been mentioned on the Howard Stern Show and alluded to on 30 Rock, we've even been on The Today Show.

In the five years since the group was founded, we've become a staple for the various sci/fi cons in the country, and have branched out across the country and globe with affiliated groups in LA, Texas, Chicago, Philadelphia, the UK, and Singapore. Now, we're going someplace new: Off Broadway.

On December 5th, New York Jedi will be performing in A Saber Beats Four Aces. It's the first version of the Poker Night show format I had created in July for the group. Although I am being credited as the writer, the show (as well as the format) was written and developed by the cast and crew of the show. The overall premise is as follows: A group of lightsaber wielders, be they Light Side, Dark Side, or somewhere in the middle, meet up, kick back and talk shop

The main point of the show is to showcase the choreography and storytelling of the individual cast members and their partners. They bring their stories to the table, figuratively and literally. With every new show, and every new cast member, the show becomes different, and no two will ever be alike.

The Debut Version: A Lightsaber Beats Four Aces, is set at the Smashed Rancor, a bar whose patrons are all on the Dark Side of the Force. When everyone is out for themselves, allies and adversaries become relative terms.

Well, so long as you aren't a Jedi, in that case, you're an enemy, and a soon to be dead one at that.

Having seen the cast in action, the main star of the show is not the stories or the fights (I may be shot for saying that) but the interactions between the players. They've taken characters (created by themselves, FYI) and interact naturally with each of them, never truly going into the cartoonish realms that are always visible in situations like these. These characters are fully fleshed out, and the actors playing them know what they're doing.

It's been an honor to have worked with these guys, and it makes me happy, and more than a bit overwhelmed at the fact that not only are they doing a show that I came up with, but that they understood the concept without me having to blather on about it. As a writer, that gives me the best feeling possible.

So if you're in the New York City area and would like to see us perform, we are going to be at The Tank, on W45th street between 8th and 9th avenue at 8pm sharp. If you can't make it, we are going to film the show, and it'll most likely be posted up on youtube at a later time. Since this is our one performance, and no two shows could be alike, it's worth seeing.

Thank you, and now, a good cast is worth mentioning:

Cast

The Table

Brandon Hughes as Spike

Roy Kaiser as Darth Malice

Maria Van Kuik as Crimson FiNyx

Paul Sposato as Darth Jinduri

The Bar

Oliver Baer as Dar Thulu, the Bartender

Jenna DeRovira as Thulu Tentacle-Arms

Daniel Reiser as Magnius, a Bar Fly

Tom Wendling as Zen Varr, the Bouncer

The Jedi

Xenia Kramida as Oxanna Hitori

Juan Leivia as Yogen Himashi

Craig Page as Rave

Mike Zhang as Ebon Wing

And Marc Abbott as Darth Irukanji

Special Review: The Prisoner (1967)

2009-11-14T05:29:24Z

There are some shows are the standard run of the mill. They follow their genre to the letter and are, to a point, predictable.

Then there are shows where the rules are fluid, and genres switch around on a the head of a pin. Shows like Lost, The X-Files, Alias, Battlestar Galactica, and Dollhouse

The Prisoner gave these shows lessons.

The Prisoner was a British Television series that aired in 1967. It starred (and was created, written, and direct mostly by...) Patrick McGoohan, who many people in my generation will know as King Edward the First, Longshanks, from Braveheart. It mixed elements of spy fiction, a la shows like the Avengers and the Saint, science fiction, fantasy, psychological thriller and Allegory. All 17 episodes were aired every friday this past month on IFC

McGoohan plays an British Intelligence agent who resigns abruptly from his position. On his return home, his house is gassed and he passes out. When he wakes up, he finds that he is in a perfect mock up of his living room, but outside the window he finds himself in an eccentric seaside Village, that seems to be isolated from the rest of the world. The Village is built as a "retirement home" (read: prison) for spies and intelligence threats. Surveillance is everywhere, PA systems are on full blast, and the radios and tvs cannot be shut off unless the powers that be decide so.

Each prisoner is known only by a Number. McGoohan's character is known only as Number Six. He is detained there in order for The Village to know why he resigned. The interrogation is lead by The Village's chief administrator, Number Two. Number Two is played by a roundtable of various actors, sometimes switching mid episode, all in a bid to coerce, trick and ultimately break Number Six's resolve. Number Six refuses all attempts, despite the nearly constant mind games, blackmail, threats and brainwashing that is inflicted on him and the other members of the village. Unfortunately for Six, there seems to be no surcease, as the rules of the Vilage constantly shift around him, and he seems to be the only one unaware of the rules. The other members are said to be prisoners, but some may very well be wardens as well.

Almost every episode revolves around Number Two's attempts to break Number Six, while Six tries to escape the village, while trying to find out who is behind The Village.

The Prisoner is a Philosophy class in motion for viewers. With McGoohan as the only consistently recurring cast member, you are tied down to his perspective at all times. With the rules of the village constantly shifting, we are forced to question our reality as we see in the environment around us. Would we break and accept our role in the Village? Or would we resist, and refuse to be numbered, briefed, debriefed indexed and categorized?

I find The Prisoner to be psychologically satisfying, although as a viewer, there is no coherent progression in plot throughout the series except for the first episode and the last two, which can be frustrating to most. It is easier to look at the show as an allegory. The Characters represent concepts, ideas, premises, philosophies, and are then set to play with one another. It gives you so much information, yet leaves you unsure and asking what the hell happened. Forty years later, people still question what was going on, and McGoohan took the secret to his grave.

This is mind, it is very easy to see how JJ Abrams, the producers of The X-Files, Joss Whedon and a slew of other writers and directors would find inspiration from this show. There is so much to take from it that it almost demands it.

I recommend this series to those who enjoy analyzing a show, putting puzzle pieces together, and not minding it if they can't recognize the picture they put together.

Be Seeing You

PS: AMC is airing a remake of The Prisoner this sunday. It stars Jim Caviezel as Number Six and Sir Ian (You Shall Not Pass) McKellan as Number Two. The Original Episodes are being aire online on AMC.com

Movie Review: Men Who Stare At Goats

2009-11-08T06:50:48Z

This Story Is Truer Than You Think

That's the opening crawl for this movie, starring Ewan McGregor, George Clooney, Kevin Spacey and Jeff Bridges.

The story is told through the perspective of Bob Wilton (played by Ewan McGregor, who I am convinced does not age), a down on his luck reporter from Ann Arbor who goes to Kuwait to report on some action. There, he meets Lyn Cassady (George Clooney) a man claiming to be a member of a super secret psychic program within the military. Cassady has been sent to reactive duty and put on a mission in Iraq. Bob, desperate for a story, decides to go with him.

It is during this trip through the Iraqi desert, which is an adventure all it's own, that we learn of the Super Soldier Program, known as the Project Jedi, which is founded and lead by Billy Django (played by Jeff Bridges, who has a strong appetite for the scenary), a colonel who went searching for alternative methods of combat and came back a child of the sixties, preaching the power of the mind to promote love, not war.On the flip side of this is Larry Hopper (Kevin Spacey) a member of the group who enjoys the purpose of psychic powers more for it's destructive side than it's positive side. The clash between Hopper and Django/Cassady sets the stage for the climax.

Personally, I found this movie to be interesting on three levels. The first is as a psychologist. The movie (and the book it was based on) touches on several aspects of psychology and parapsychology, especially that of perspective and the effects of the mind on the body. There are also several references to the MK Ultra program (which was a program used to develop sleeper assassins), the use of LSD in experimenting with the army, and the use of psychological torture in the form of children's songs on POWs. It also touches on the war profiteering going on during the movie and the Private Security Forces that guard them.

All of these things mentioned in the movie are true and proven

As a writer, and a lover of stories. The Tale of Bob and Lyn is like a modern day version of Quixote, with Lyn as Don Quixote and Bob as Sancho Panza. You're never quite sure if Lyn Cassady is telling the truth, that he does in fact have powers, but it almost doesn't matter. He believes in them, and that's power enough. This quest also sets a backdrop for what is essentially an expose on the psychological warfare initiative within the Army

Personally, however, this movie takes on a different meaning. As you know, I am a member of NY Jedi, a fight choreography group that focuses on the use of lightsabers and elements from the Star Wars universe. The group I went to see the movie with were all members of, or associated with the group, so naturally, everytime the word "Jedi" was mentioned, we got a special kick out of it. However, the word Jedi, though used often, is never meant in overt jest. The fact that Ewan McGregor, who has played the quintessential Jedi, made the joke funnier, but it was still meant seriously. The movies themselves were only mentioned once, and only in reference. Keeping this in mind, me and the people I was with found a certain resonance between NY Jedi the group and the Project Jedi. Certain references and subtleties that had an oddly familiar feel to them. I know for a fact that most of us watching that movie were laughing for reasons the rest of the audience couldn't possibly conceive, and that made it all the more funnier.

In the end, Men Who Stare at goats is an interesting tale. It's a short story that doesn't feel short. A problem I can see for casual viewers is that it's an odd tale that holds itself seriously, aided by the disclosure that it's based on fact. It's too weird to be taken seriously, and too true to be a complete comedy.

I recommend it though if you're not afraid a little oddness, I think Bill Django would salute you for it.

C

c15page @ 2009-10-23T23:01:00

2009-10-24T03:08:54Z

I finished a new short story set in my Novel's universe. It works as much as an introduction to the main character, Griever, and his abilities powers, and ultimately what makes him tick

cut as not to bedraggle the the interwebs

.

The Last Enemy

I knew that Roger wouldn’t take it well when I told him I wanted to break up. My face still stung from the backhand he gave me. My brain was somewhere in the middle of abject horror, and wondering how no one around us said anything. We were in the middle of Washington Square Park, right in front of the massive water fountain. How could they not say anything.

Roger was 6’5’’ and every bit the linebacker he had been in college. He had light tan skin, blonde hair cut down military style and light blue eyes. Except now that was all contorted by anger, his face was mottled red, his eyes bloodshot.

“Bitch!” he spat. “I gave you everything, and you fucking betrayed me.

That’s when he tried to kill me.

He lunged at me, his hands trying to go for my throat and pin me to the cement bench we had been sitting on. Without thinking, I rolled on my side. Roger went flying over the bench. Before he ever touched the ground, I started running.

“Someone Help Me!” I cried. Dozens of people were around the park, entertainers, musicians, kids from NYU. None of them came in to help me, none of them came to stop the madness or tell me they’ll call someone. They just stared at me as I ran.

Panic took me, my brain clamoring for some kind of safe harbor. I ran east, towards the trains.

Roger however was still behind me, “come back here, you filthy bitch!” he wailed.

My legs picked up speed. I don’t even remember running down the stairs to the subway, so much as flew down.

“Oh my God, help me please!” I shouted at the lady in the token booth. She merely blinked at me and went back to her work. What was wrong with these people? Couldn’t they see that I needed help?

Roger didn’t seem to mind the lack of interference. I felt his feet slamming on the floor behind me. I ran left, and he just missed me again. This time I heard him collide with the token booth’s glass window. Hopefully, that would stop him.

Hopefully.

I could hear the rumblings of the train coming in. If I could get on there before he got up, I was home free.

I hopped the turnstile, almost hoping someone would stop me because of that then my screaming. But nothing. Not even the people on the platform said anything. I continued running to the end of the platform, trying to get as much possible distance from me and Roger.

“Bitch!” he shouted. And suddenly I saw him leap the turnstile as well.

But something was wrong.

His head was cracked from the glass. I’m not saying he it was bleeding. It was cracked, like a window pane. Blood that should have been oozing out was staying there, glinting in the dank light. His eyes were worse. His once blue irises were as red as blood.

And they were glowing.

I was horrorstruck. All I could do was back up with every step he took forward. Then my back hit the wall at the end of the platform.

“God damn it, Roger,” I said, or at least though I said. “Leave me alone.”

He didn’t respond, he looked at me, unblinkingly, with those red eyes of his. They were like dual stop lights on a darkened street.

“I’m tired of you running, bitch.” He hissed. His voice was wrong, like his throat could barely make the sounds to form the sentence.

He came within a yard of me, and I could feel the heat of him. He felt like I was standing across from a burning building. He grabbed my throat, and I thought the touch alone would burn me. I struggled, writhing against his grip with every ounce of me I was able to.

But he wouldn’t let go. He just stood there, with his hand wrapped around my neck, smiling.

And the train was still coming.

Realization crept in. “Oh no,” I said. Or tried to say with his thumb on my windpipe. “Roger, please.”

From behind Roger, a voice called .“Hey, asshole.”

Roger turned his head to the voice.

“The lady said ‘please’!”

There was a sudden flash of crimson light. And I found myself on the floor.

“Roger David McCullen,” the voice said with command. “In the name of The Gate, I order you to relinquish yourself from this plane.”

Roger roared, “No!” and he charged at the source of the voice. There was another crimson flash, and Roger went flying past and into the wall behind me.

I looked to the source of the voice. It was a guy, no older than twenty five. Everything about him seemed to have been broad, he was barrel chested, broad shoulder. His hair, which looked like it grew in volume then length, was overgrown and perpetually messed. It was dark, except for the random strands of red and silver here and there. His eyes were strange. His left eye was greenish gold, like an autumn leaf turning while his right eye was a rich brown, like fertile soil. He wore baggy jeans and a Motorhead t-shirt. His left hand was bleeding, but if he knew about it, he didn’t seem to care.

“Roger David McCullen,” he repeated. “I’ll say it again: Relinquish yourself to the Gate.”

Roger, or whatever that thing was, just glowered with it’s red eyes and charged.

The guy sighed, “you really are an asshole.” He raised his bloody left hand infront of him.

The world suddenly slowed down. I was expecting another red flash. But there wasn’t. The guy’s hand lit up with a kind of fire, silvery blue. It made no sound, and there was no heat. In fact, the sweltering subway station seemed to have cooled down.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off of it. The blue and silver flickering together was hypnotic. I felt comfortable, safe.

Roger didn’t. He stopped dead in his tracks. He even started to back up.

“That’s right,” the guy said. “Now you’re listening. Now, for the third time. Roger. David. McCullen. Blow!”

Roger backed up and turned to me.

“Don’t even think about it,” the guy said flatly.

Roger didn’t move. His red lamplight eyes just stared at me.

Meanwhile, the 6 train roared into the station. As it came in, Roger vanished. Simply vanished.

My savior walked up to me, and offered me his hand. It wasn’t on fire, but it still had that blue glow to it. I grabbed it, and I suddenly felt like I was going to be ok.

“I’m Amalia Kirke,” I said. I didn’t even hesitate.

He smiled, “I know. You can call me Griever.”

###

I could hear voices talking in the distance.

We want the Spirit, a voice whispered. It was hard to tell if it was a man or a woman.

“Can’t have it,” Griever replied. It was a flat statement.

It is not yours to deny us, Spellbreaker!

“And yet there you stand, being denied.”

Insolent fool! Do you think you can stop us!?

“Think it, Know It, Will do it again,”

Why!? For what? Who is she to you?

Griever sighed, “Just a girl.”

The whispering voice made a hissing sound, which made me think it was laughing. Poor little one, all alone in the world.

“She’s not alone,”

No, but you are. Griever of the Silver Wave.

“NO!”

My eyes snapped open, we were on the 4 train heading to the North Bronx. Griever had said there he had a safe house in Woodlawn I could go to until dawn. Me and him were the only two in the subway car.

And he was pissed.

He was standing in the center of the car, facing towards the front. His body engulfed in that heatless blue flame. It swirled around him like a storm. He seemed to be Addressing someone else.

“I am Griever,” he snarled. “I am the son of Ethan and Catherine, apprentice to Durante of the Silver Wave. I am the scion of two noble houses.”

The whispering voice spoke, but I couldn’t see from where. You are a fool! It hissed.

“You. Can’t. HAVE HER!!”

The fire exploded in a torrent that engulfed the whole front half of the car. Wherever the Whisperer was, whatever the Whisperer was, they were in the front of the car. They let out a scream louder and higher than a room filled with over boiling teakettles. The noise threatened to burst my ear drums.

Mercifully, the screaming died down quickly. Griever turned off the fireworks, and all that was left on the floor was sand. Black sand, that quickly faded away.

“What the hell was that!?” I cried.

Griever turned around, he looked embarrassed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to let loose like that.”

“Never mind that!” I said. “What was that!?”

He walked towards me in the back of the car and sat down across from me. “That,” he said, brushing off his jeans casually, “was a Demon.”

“Like Roger?” I asked.

He paused for a second. I could see that he was getting tired, and he was fighting it. Then he shook his head. “No, Demons are broken, corrupted souls that only live to eat.”

“Eat what?”

“Other Souls,”

I started giggling.

“What?” he asked.

I tried to stifle the laugh, but it was just so hard. “Basically you just cleaned up someone’s load of spiritual crap!” That’s all I could get out, after that I was inconsolably laughing.

He blinked. His mismatched eyes grew wide, and then he exploded into a chuckle that sounded like a lazy river suddenly turning into the rapids.

“Hadn’t thought about it that way!”

We both sat there laughing for a while. It felt good to laugh. I almost felt like I hadn’t done it in years.

“So, wait.” I said, trying to compose myself. “What was Roger.”

He stopped laughing slowly. “He…wait, let me calm down a bit. Okay. Do you remember what I told you on the 6?”

It’s hard to forget having your notions of reality put on it’s ass. “What didn’t you tell me. You told me about Alts. You told me that they are the Legends and Myths we all grew up with. Paul Bunyan and Zeus and all those guys.”

“Well, their descendants.” He corrected.

“Right. You told me that your mother’s family are all psychics.”

He nodded, “Best Oracles in the western world.”

“And that your father’s family are all wizards.”

“Mages, but keep going.”

“And that your job is some sort of investigator?”

“It’s called Spellbreaking, it’s sort of a mercenary/handyman kind of gig. A problem comes up, I help deal with it. Now, what do you remember about the kinds of Alts? Aside from the Psychics and Mages.”

I sat there and rolled my eyes, it was a lot of information. “You talked about Giants, Strongmen, people who could fly and change shape.”

“Corporeals,” he agreed.

“You talked about people who could channel the elements. Like Thunder and Water.”

He nodded, “Elementals. There’s also the Wild kind of Alts. Those are the ones whose powers don’t conform to the others. They’re very rare, usually very powerful. Until I know more about Roger, I’d say he is a Wild”

“Was,” I corrected. A small shiver went up my spine “Roger was a Wild Type.”

Griever shook his head. “I’ve been running around this City long enough to know that if something vanishes on a whim, it is probably not dead. Count no man dead until you’re sure they’ve walked through The Gate.”

“The Gate?”

“Source of life and death, everyone enters and exits through there. It’s the source of an Alt’s power. Every one of us sees it when our powers manifest.”

Griever grew very still. His mind seemed to go far away.

“What does it look like?” I asked.

“Words can’t describe it,” he said wistfully. A small smile crept on his face and he leaned back into the bench.

We sat there in silence while he rested. After a while I could see Yankee Stadium, both of them, outside the train’s window.

“How long until we get to the safe house?”

“Last Stop,” he said. “We’ve got a long time to wait. Long enough for you to tell me about Roger.”

I sighed. The last person I wanted to think about was Roger. If he wasn’t dead, I wish he would have learned his lesson at let it lie.

“We met at a party. He was cute. We got drunk. We had sex.”

Griever raised an eyebrow, “Just like that?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “Just like that. I figured he was cool enough, so he we stayed together. The problem was, we just didn’t have that much in common, aside liking clubs, drinking and sex. It got to be routine. That’s when I started sleeping with Mike, this kid who hung out a couple of times with us. It was something new. We both knew that I wouldn’t break up with Roger for him. I--”

“Felt safe with Roger,” Griever said.

I nodded.

“He found out, didn’t he?”

I lowered my eyes to him, “Yeah.”

“How long were you together?”

“With Roger or Mike?”

“Both,”

“I was with Roger since sophomore year of college, three years.”

“And Mike?”

“One year.”

Griever sat there, his eyes lowered. His broad face was impossible to read.

“Yeah, I’d be that pissed too,” he said.

I winced. It hurt harder to hear it than I’d expected. My cheeks flushed. I stood up, my legs wobbling as the train jittered along the tracks. “I was scared I’d hurt his feelings. I was—“

Griever interrupted, “ Guilty. You knew you fucked up, you got caught. You were afraid that not only were you going to be punished for it, but that deep down, you deserved it. You made a bad situation worse.”

“Like you’ve never been afraid!?” I snapped back at him. “Big demon hunter, savior of women.”

He got up, and he looked me dead in the eye. For a moment I felt something different from him. The same kind of heat I felt off of Roger, except his was smaller, more contain “Amalia, you know nothing about me, or my world. I’ve lived all too long in yours. I am the child of psychics and mages. Those two don’t like each other. I have been the subject of scorn, worry, suspicion, ridicule and disgust since before I can remember. I am a man without a country. I’m scared, every minute of every day.”

I turned away from him, the heat was getting more intense. “Then why? Why do you go out at night, helping people.”

“Because, even terrified, I know I have to do something, or I’ll be terrified all my life. If I don’t go out every night and try to help someone, I’ll still be terrified. I’m fighting it.”

I turned back around, “God, you’re some kind of hero.”

His eyes flashed, “I’ve met heroes. Blond haired, blue eyed guys with a lot of power. All of them were good guys, all of them did what they did without a second thought and everyone loved them. But sooner or later, they start thinking about what they’re doing, why they’re doing it. When they can’t find an answer, they crack.” He sat back down in his bench. “I’m not a hero, love. I’m just some asshole with too much time on his hands.”

He leaned back, and all the heat and anger in him left. All that showed was his exhaustion. He was burning out. He was burning out and it was my fault.

I sat back down, “I’m sorry.”

“I pushed you too hard, I’m sorry.”

We didn’t talk for a while. Ten minutes later, he got up.

“Get ready,” he said. “We’re almost at Woodlawn.”

###

“You said we were going to Woodlawn. I didn’t actually think you meant the cemetery!”

“Shh,” Griever said. His back was to me as he looked at the gate. “You’re going to wake up the neighbors.”

Woodlawn cemetery is this large expanse of ground in the North Western part of the Bronx. A lot of famous people are buried there. Rockefellers, Louis Armstrong, La Guardia.

Griever stepped back from the gate, and pulled a small folding knife out of his pocket. He took out the blade and put it against his left palm, and swiped it down. Blood swelled from his palm. The blade of the knife was black with blood in the night.

“What the hell are you doing!?” I cried.

He turned the blade towards the gate and cried “Aperto!” Crimson light lanced out from the blade and to the gate. There was an audible click, and the wrought iron gate slid open noiselessly.

He looked to me with his left hand up. To my surprise, the gash across his palm began to close, until there wasn’t even a mark left on it.

“Fringe benefit of being a Blood Mage,” he said. Without another word he opened the gate further, holding it for me.

We walked through the cemented pathways of the cemetery. The streetlamps were on. Why? I’ve no idea, so the dead don’t get lost. Griever lead the way, but then it was obvious he was going to move through the...I guess the term is “unoccupied” areas of the grounds were. As it got darker, he summoned that blue flame again around his hand.

“I have a question,” I said quietly. Afraid I’d wake something up. “Why was that other magic red, and that fire is blue. What’s the difference in magic?”

“This isn’t magic,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Remember the types of Alts?”

I rolled my eyes. Griever was okay, but the condescension was getting old. “Yeah, Corporeals, Elementals, Wild, Psychic, Mage, and…and…”

“Animus,” he continued. “Imagine an Alts power coming from a river. That river is an individual’s soul. Now, most Alts channel their power with the energy from their souls, like a wheel well creating electricity from the river. Whether their power relies on the Body, the Mind, the Word, the Will, or the Unknown. Your soul, your emotional core is the key.”

“And an Animus?”

“Commands the goddamned river,” he said proudly.

We continued along, walking past dead and broken trees, on ground that looked like it was being developed to make more room for the dead.

“So, that blue stuff is your soul?”

“More or less,”

“It’s beautiful. That makes sense. Every time you use it, I feel like everything is going to be alright. I feel loved.”

Griever stopped, and looked to me. There was something in his eyes. There was nothing to suggest that we were in danger. It felt like regret.

He turned again. “We’re almost there.”

He brought me up a long hill, passing several tall tombstones. He in front of a tall monument with the statue of a young seraph on top.

I looked at the statue, “I thought you said we were going to a safe house.”

“Never said that,”

A cold feel crept into me, “you did!”

“No, I said I’d take you some place, and that you’d be safe.”

“Then what is…”

He moved his still glowing hand over the tombstone, allowing me to see the inscription.

Amalia Kirke

1985-2005

The Last Enemy To Be Destroyed Is Not Death, But Fear

I don’t know how long I stood there for. Maybe a minute, maybe an hour, I didn’t know. Time started only when Griever spoke.

“Two years ago in Washington Square Park, Amalia Kirke broke up with her boyfriend, Roger McCullen. McCullen assaulted her and chased her several blocks to the 6 train station on Astor Place. From there, he attempted to throw her in front of the oncoming train. Unfortunately, she held on to him, and they both fell. Dozens of witnesses saw this, but no one stopped it. It was declared the worst case of dissipation of responsibility since Kitty Genovese.”

I stood there, my body numb. “So I’m some sort of, what, a ghost?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“And Roger?”

“A Geist,”

“As in ‘Polter’?”

“Yes,”

I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears, tears I knew weren’t real. He was right, damn it. He was right. I remember grabbing Roger by the neck, the hum of the third rail and the light of the train growing as it barreled down the station.

Griever spoke again, “The two of you have been replaying that night every night since, an endless waltz of betrayal, anger and death. I was called in to investigate and to do what I could to give you both peace. I’m sorry, Amalia. I’m truly sorry.”

I nodded blankly, unable to do anything else. Then, to my amazement, I started laughing.

“Okay,” Griever said. “That’s not disconcerting or anything.”

I stopped laughing, “No, no. It’s just that, even in the end. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t let go of Roger.”

He busted out laughing. The soulfire in his hand flickering with every breath. “I’m sorry, oh God, that’s terrible.”

When he settled back down, I asked him the only question that could be asked.

“So what happens now?”

He looked at me, and there was no hint of a smile on him. “I think you know what,”

And with that, the soulfire died out and I was left in the dark. I suddenly became very aware that me and Griever weren’t the only ones in the area. I turned around, and before stood a man’s silhouetted in the darkness. He was 6’5’’ and every bit the linebacker he was in college. His red eyes were the only light in sight.

“Roger,” I said. I wanted to run, but my body refused to move. I turned my head back. “Griever?”

“I’ve done my part,” he said. “This is your Last Enemy.”

I looked to Roger. I planted my feet, took in a deep breath and went for it. “Roger, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I cheated. I was afraid, afraid of being alone. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

I stood there, ready for whatever would happen next. The world seemed still for several minutes. A strong breeze blew in through the cemetery. Roger’s shadow simply dissolved in the breeze, like a wisp of smoke.

It was over.

“I did it. Griever, I—“

I turned towards Griever, but he was gone. Then I realized that I wasn’t in the cemetery anymore. I found myself in a field covered in white flowers as far as I could see. The moon hung full and low in the sky, making everyone of the flowers glow with a life of their own.

And there was a Gate.

Words failed to describe it. It shone like the moon, but from its own light. I felt drawn towards it. It felt familiar, like Griever’s soul.

It felt like being loved.

As I walked towards it, the large Doors swung open. I stopped and smiled.

“I’m not afraid anymore,”

And then I walked through the Gate.

###

I slept most of the way back to Washington Square. I had wasted a lot of animus with that demon on the 4 train and shepherding Amalia to her gravesite. I very much wanted to go east to Pelham and gain back some strength, but I had an appointment to keep.

Washington Square Park in the day is just like Washington Square at night, busy as hell. Although, instead of the street musicians and artistes of many flavors that made up the night shift, the day shift were mostly Suits getting to their jobs, students getting to NYU and joggers and bicyclists all around.

Sitting on a concrete bench looking at the immense water fountain was a girl in her early twenties. She had translucent white skin that glowed no matter if she was in sun or moonlight. She had slender, heart shaped face; a generous mouth; wide dark blue eyes and hair the shade of midnight.

Amelia Kirke was Amalia’s twin sister. Whether she knew it or not, she was sitting exactly where her sister was sitting the night she died, and every night after that.

She saw me, and stood to give me a hug.

“You look terrible,” she said. She gave me a tired smile. She had been playing this game with me for the past four days.

“It’s done, Ellie,”

She blinked, and I saw the gears turn in her head.

Then she started crying.

For all my powers, I have all the social graces of a shotgun. I just stood there, gave her space when she needed it, and let her cry on my shoulder when she wanted it. The least I could do, right?

“Thank you,” she said, her sobs abating. “Thank you, Griever.”

She kept her head on my shoulder, even as we sat down, even after the tears. She was warm in my arms, and I very much liked the feel of it.

“So what do we do now?” she asked.

“Well,” I said. “I’m going to go home and go to bed.”

She lowered her head, but I saw caught the red glow in her cheeks. She was blushing. She reached out her hand and held mine.

“I meant, what do we do now?”

I was dumbstruck. Out of all the things that I expected, her asking me out was not one of them. Of course, she was beautiful, she was intelligent, she was one of the few normal humans that knew about us Alts without becoming a complete basketcase. I’d be a fool not to say yes.

So why was I thinking ‘No’?

Because I was afraid. Afraid that she would be used against me by either the Mages or Psychics, or that she would be scorned by the community that didn’t like me or what I did (there were a lot of them), or maybe…

No, I thought. It's because you're afraid she'd leave you, or change her mind, or that she's just being nice or needy. You're afraid of being hurt. You're afraid what the Demons keep whispering to you are right. You will live and die, alone and unloved.

And then another voice popped in. A part of it sounded like my voice, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I could have sworn it was Amalia's.

"You're in such a rush to save the human race, don't forget you're one of us too,"

I considered it. In the split second after she asked me, I looked at Amelia. "Listen, I just spent last night talking to your sister, your dead sister, and you've been dealing with it longer than I have. I think we both could use a few days of rest. After that, if you still want to do something, you have my number."

She looked at me, her smile never left her face. She moved over and gave me a kiss on the cheek, and then, after a pause, a light kiss on the lips.

"Wait by the phone," she said.

And with that, she turned and left for her home downtown.

I felt the exhaustion getting the best of me. I turned North, towards home. Standing in front of me was the great Arch.

Standing underneath it was Amalia.

She shrugged, "It's a start." Then she smiled and walked through the archway, fading into the morning light.

"Keep fighting, Griever."

This is why we can't have nice things...

2009-10-23T18:12:30Z

So, as many of you do or don't know, I was tapped to write a show for New York Jedi. It was to be performed off Broadway and was to be the third in a trilogy of shows. The first of these shows was in Dec 5th

At least, it was suppose to be.

The production team had met up in the middle of september to go over script, cast, production, what needs writing. We got a lot done during that meeting. After that meeting, nothing got done. We didn't have a completed script, nor a cast list, nor a list of assets (videos, music, tech cues). We had nothing. We were all just spinning our wheels.

It didn't help that, instead of prepping for the show, we were doing five music classes, three acting classes and some other. I'm not saying that we didn't need some of those classes, but we didn't need so many of them.

Now flashforward to two weeks ago. The clock is ticking, and Mike (one of the guys in charge of the show, and parts of the club) hasn't handed us anything. He is the only one with the full script and none of us have it. I honestly can't fault Flynn onthis because he's contributed, handed us stuff (he gave us the half of the script he had, which is what we based many of our decisions on), listened to reason, gave input. Mike has given nothing. He's been too busy working the conventions and the Halloween parade and god knows what he does for his 9-5 job. When Brandon approached Mike trying to get something out of him, Mike gave him a thirty minute version of "oh, we'll get it done".

I have a limited experience in theater, I've done minor acting, some tech work (maintaing props and whatnot) and continuity checks. I don't have a degree in it, and to be honest I never wanted acting to be a career. But even I know you can't have that fucking attitude walking into a goddamned off-Broadway show! You make sure your shit is tight months before.

Two weeks later, nothing got done

That's when the villagers started getting restless, and I mean all of them who had a stake in the show, the masters mostly. None of them thought for an instant we could do a show like what we were planning with six weeks to do it in time alotted. We had just come up with a completed draft of the script this past monday, and that was only with the help of Tom and Brandon, who compiled notes from the previous show, plus the half a script Flynn gave them, to come up with a new script. So then the discussion went from how to do the show with what we had (nothing) to doing a smaller show, postponing the bigger one for a later date.

Mine was chosen. It's practical and simple, all that's really needed is a format fit for the group doing it, which I can bounce, and the rest can be scripted or improvised as much as possible. The meat of the show are the fights, and the stories being told in that. My stuff is just the framework.

Flynn and Mike had issues with that. To be fair, if it were my show being postponed, I'd be pissy too. At a meeting last night, however, they were forced to concede it was the only way to have their show done with any ounce of respect from the crew and audience.

Unfortunately, I wasn't at that meeting until the very end. I didn't even know that my show was greenlit until I actually got there. By the time I did, the show was practically written. And it's being directed by Mike, the same guy who did nothing for his own fucking show! Don't get me wrong, I don't want to direct it. I'm a writer, and I prefer it that way. I'd rather Brandon, or Roy or Tom to direct it. People who have enough practicality and who aren't running in five million directions. He has engendered zero faith, trust or compassion from the group over this show, especially the people working on it. He has shit on everyone's attempts to help with his usual condescending tone.

That, however, is my one and only concern. At this point, my level of influence is only as strong as I'm let. If I'm just retooling a format for the show, I'm fine with that. They want me to write dialogue, I'm fine with that. At this point I'm too mentally and emotionally exhausted from hearing everyone about the first show and waiting to write the third that I'd be glad to either rest of do actual work. I don't care if I'm in the show, or that I get credit. I just don't want it to suck, not if I can help it.

And in the end, I find myself becoming more and more apathetic. I'm finding going to Jedi classes to be like a chore, and that I'm losing patience with some of the members more quickly. It is losing that fun for me, which is sad because I have made a lot of great friends in that class, and I don't want to lose them. But I think after this is done I'm going to take a few months off. I have my own stories to write, my own novel to finish. I'd like to give that a go while I still have the drive. I'm grateful to Jedi for helping me get out into my city and teaching me things I'd never know, and some things I'd forgotten, but maybe if I take time away I'll be able to come back and appreciate it better, and who knows, maybe it'll be reciprocated.

But until I get to that part, I've got work to do

Dawn of the new Dell

2009-10-14T05:51:26Z

So I am now typing from my brand spanking new Dell Laptop. It is shiny, bright and fast. It's got light up keyboard, webcam, and built in facial recognition password system as well as the regular stuff (so I just have to smile to get in to a site). I've got 451 gigs. This thing is built for videos, photos and music. I've already downloaded sunuti to get my Ipod music back, just need to pay for it (I can do that in the morning).

Can you tell I'm manic? Yes I am :D

Random booty dance: (_)_) (_(_) (_)_)

In other news, I premiered my new fight for NY Jedi tonight. As far as major fights go, this is my first, and me and Brandon look good during it. We got a lot of laughs and a lot of cheers for it. I'm personally proud of myself and of Brandon. We will be debuting the fight publically this weekend at Big Apple Con. I'll be working the con Friday, mostly doing table stuff (I'll be bringing the laptop to kill the time). I will be debuting my full costume, as well as the fight saturday, early afternoon (figure around 1ish). We'll be out in front of the gate during this con, so if you want to just see us, you may not have to pay for a ticket. No guarantees though, it's a new con and anything goes. I'm not sure how i feel about the people there. I mean, yeah, hitting up the BSG people'd be cool, meeting Ric Flair would be nice. Other than that, I'm there for the group.

So if you're interested come on down. I'll post more info as we go.

Later,
C

PS: BOOTY DANCE!! (_(_) (_)_) (_(_)

c15page @ 2009-09-26T13:53:00

2009-09-26T18:44:33Z

Ok, updates.

School is back in session. I have classes from 3:30 until 9:20 every wednesday. My classes are Loss and Bereavement, taught by Dr. Mancini, a very dry researcher type who sorta makes the time drag. The other class is Human Growth and Development, taught by Dr. Powell-Lunder. She's an energetic opposite to Mancini, which helps, because after hour three I'm usually a basketcase.

It's going good so far, it's not holding my attention like the last two semesters, but whatever. Get the job done.

Speaking of jobs, I've bitten the bullet and applied for a job at Blockbuster Video. The same Blockbuster that I go to and feel horribly frustrated in their practices and preferences. I quote myself, three months ago "I would rather gouge out my good eye with a crusty spoon than work there"

The Spoon is forthcoming. I'm also applying to the Gamestops in the area, because hey, I enjoy their company better.

Love Life...same song, the tempo's just been turned up

Ok, in writing news. I've been making major headway in regards to Part 1 of my Novel "The Silver Wave". I've actually gone back to the method I used growing up and am now handwriting the chapters. The information is flowing out nicely, and anything that I don't cover by the pen, I can elaborate on the screen. I feel good about myself when I write.

I'm also working on several other writing projects, my fiction for my NY Jedi character as well as a fanfic for Jim Butcher's Codex Alera series. Both are going very well and I hope to be making progress with them soon.

But the big project is this: NY Jedi is in a deal with The Tank, an off Broadway performance space, to do a trilogy of shows in the next nine months.

And I'm responsible for the third show.

The pressure didn't really hit me until this tuesday, when we inspected the theater to figure out what the hell we can do there. It's smaller than the Beaudoin Theater at Siena, but it comes with all the bells and whistles. But yeah, it's an off broadway show, and I'm performing in at least the second and third shows, and I'm writing the script for the third.

Nervous?

Incredibly

I've been trying to figure out how the hell I got in this position. If I hadn't gone to Comic Con, I'd have never met this roving band of lunatics, hippies and freaks (I love you all) and I never would have been in a position like this. But I'm here, and I'm doing it, and I'm praying to God I don't go batshit in the process.

Life is interesting

Saturday Night Saloon

2009-09-13T16:56:16Z

Last Night, My Writing Partner Brandon and I went to go see Saturday Night Saloon, presented by the theater group Vampire Cowboys. If you've never heard me talk about Vampire Cowboys, you have clearly not been listening to anything I've said and should be shot.

I digress though. The Saloon is one part get together, one part showcase. Last night we were treated with the opening acts of six episodic plays. All of them awesome, all of them in their own different ways.

The first play we saw was Let's Ninja Science Ranger Team Get!, written by Dustin Chinn and directed by RJ Tolan. In a send up of the Super Sentai (aka Power Rangers) genre of tv shows, a group of teen stereotypes (The bland leader, the awkward nerd, and the mildly psychopathic loner badass) are recruited/shanghaied by Former Jewish Scientist-now Japanese Scientist to go back in time to alter history.

But wait, there's more.

This episode featured them going back and taking on the Nazi Propaganda Machine, by going after Leni Riefenstahl, who at the end of the fight turns into "Mecha Riefenstahl", thanks to German Engineering.

Let's Ninja Science Ranger Team Get! is a hilarious show filled with numerous pop references and self refrential humor. Plus it takes Power Rangers, time travel, and American Clothing Chains (Germans were in on Operation: Hollister, which, you know, makes sense) in vain.

That, my friends, is a good thing.

The second play, Mother Sacremento, was the most serious of the shows. Written by Mac Rogers and directed by Jordana Williams. It's the story of Mother Meaghan Sacremento, the first papally recognized female priest conducting her first marriage counseling in her parish. The show seemed to be going towards something of a farcical slant at first with the slightly nervous Mother Sacremento trying to comfort her client, who later reveals her husband dated Sacremento in HS. In the last minute of the play, however, the show turns in a way you wouldn't have expected unless you'd read the script before

The third play, Entrenched, written by James Comtois and directed by Pat Shrearer, is a play on the Time Travellers Tale. A WWI soldier in the thick of battle comes across a lone soldier who saves him from a grenade. It is soon revealed that the lone soldier knew about the grenade, and a lot more about the soldier. Out of the shows, this an Mother Sacremento feel the least episodic and more like they've been broken down at various beats, that they feel altogether a solid play.

The fourth play, Hack, was written by Crystal Skillman and directed by John Hurley. It's has a feel of somewhere between Office Space, Sneakers, and Glengarry Glen Ross. as a team of office IT workers, who many are accomplished hackers/ex hackers, try to figure out which among them has hacked into the company mainframe. Replete with hacker references (and a healthy dosage of War Games refs) this one is a treat for anyone who has ever surfed the heavy digital waves.

The fifth play, Jack Hanrahan and the Trubulation of Doom, is a pastiche/send off on the old radio serials of the twenties and thirties. Written by Brent Cox and directed by Padraic Lillis, Trubulation feels like an actual radio broadcast with people acting it out, with little bits of narration thrown in to get rid of that nasty action and stick to dialogue (hey, this was radio, fight choreo didn't mean dick back then!). The cast featured the titular Hanrahan an American Everyman/Journalist, his young, perky, obviously sexually repressed ward, a mystically mysterious countess and a professor, known only as The Professor. This is an enjoyable romp (shit, did I just say romp?) down memory lane of how episodic shows were originally done.

The final play, and definitely a fan favorite, Lady Cryptozoologist, written and directed by Jeff Lewoncyk. In it's second season, Booze swigging, foul mouthed cryptozoologist Karma is brought out of exile as an eight grade teacher, to help locate a seemingly sentient form of soil, while trying to foil the advances of the Caliban League, lead by her ex, Bill the Yeti (who is, in fact, a Yeti). Lady Crypto is what you get when you cross Indiana Jones, Steve Irwin and Samuel L Jackson (when not dealing with those mothafuckin snakes), and has all the excitement from all of them.

In the end, Saturday Night Saloon was a blast. Me and Brandon not only felt inspired in doing the show we were working on (more on that to come in another blog, dun-dun DUN!!) but we were also inspired to maybe try our hand in something for next years season.

You've won this round, again, VampireCowboys, you've won this round

(Saturday Night Saloon is the second saturday of the month from now until January. For more information, visit the VC website at www.vampirecowboys.com. No, I am not hired by them to do this, they are really the friggin good)

My Review of Inglourious Basterds

2009-08-22T06:13:02Z

Going into the new film by Quentin Tarantino, I knew I was going to go into some amazing. Whether it was amazingly epic (a la Kill Bill) or amazingly wtf (Death Proof) was the question.

I am here to announce, that I got both. I got Amazingly WTF Epic

That is not a bad thing.

The whole premise of the movie is that it's a Spaghetti Western set in the backdrop of Nazi Occupied France. This becomes abundantly clear in the first five minutes when you hear the Ennio Marricone-esque music blaring on a peasant farmhouse, except instead of bandits or bounty hunters coming to break up the picturesque scenary, it's Nazi's led by Colonel Hans Landa (played by Christopher Waltz,).

Landa, with his keen intellect and his ironhand in the velvet glove questioning style, has referred to as The Jew Hunter. As Landa, Waltz is a constant threat on the screen. You know he's going to strike, it's just a matter of when, how. His very presence in a scene creates tension not just for the characters, but the audience as well.

Landa's American counterpart is Lt. Aldo Raine, played by Brad Pitt. Where Landa is suave, sophisticated and sharp. Aldo is as subtle as the baseballbat his second in command, Donnie Donowitz (director Eli Roth, in a very well played role) carries. Pitt's sole goal is to eat the scenery, chew with his mouth open, and then spit it into an overflowing spittoon. In the first few moments he's on the screen, Aldo Raine gives a speech where he demands the death, mutilization and denegration of any Nazi soldier they find, including collecting their scalps. I could almost imagine Patton giving a similar speech. I could almost imagine Patton, in the grave, going "Why the hell didn't I think of this!?"

In regards to the theme of the holocaust, I have to say that Tarantino surprised me in how thoughtful he was in his approach. Col. Landa goes into a long diatribe on the philosophy and mindset as to why he's hunting the jews for the Nazi's. Also, as a movie buff, Tarantino manages to slip in a heavy dose of his apparent appreciation for European Cinema from that era, A Goebbels film features heavily into the plot for the last act and is the justification for the discussions.

One thing I can see as a problem for some is that some chapters (Tarantino loves the five chapter format) tend to drag a little. This was also a problem in Death Proof aka, "bitches talk, get stoned, talk again, get drunk, talk again, die, cue new bitches to talk". However, it actually works in this film. In some regards, each chapter is it's own short film, with a beginning, middle and climax, chained together.

Coming out of this film, I found myself entertained, and feeling as if I had come out of an intstant classic. Many people would say that "it's not Pulp Fiction, it's not Resevoir Dogs." It doesn't have to be, and to compare it as such is unfair to him and all works in question.

This is a film that does not take itself seriously, but doesn't take itself lightly either. There are times when it points out to itself that it is a movie, and times where you are so engrossed you can't help to stare.

Take Care, and enjoy the movie

C

PS: Samuel L Jackson is still the Baddest Mothafucka on the Planet...end of story

c15page @ 2009-08-15T22:26:00

2009-08-16T04:44:23Z

Ok, this blog is a list of shit I would like to/need to do for NY Jedi.

1) Poker Night

I put out a story idea for a show for NYJ, based on the idea of a bunch of fighters telling stories during a poker game/drinking session, and then we'd reinact the fights as we are telling it. I still need to work out the kinks of the script. The biggest is the fact that I'm of the mind that I don't need to write a script, per se. The fights are being written by the cast members themselves and their fight partners. I would need more like a skeleton, a bare bone structure that sets the transition. This way, we can swap out fighters as necessary.

I don't have a definite deadline for this, but I personally want to have the skeleton done by Halloween. Personal Decision, also, that's the last of the main events for us for the season, it'd be nice to have something to work on while freezing our tits off at Ripley Grier in the dead of winter.

2) House of Wolves

Me and Brandon are continuing our fight to the tune of My Chemical Romance's song House of Wolves. It's the first time I've done anything this ambitious or meticulous. Everything has to follow the beat, any deviation and we're SOL. We've currently just past the first chorus, meaning we've now established our characters and intentions in regards to what the fight is and what it is about. Brandon thinks we can do it by October. We'll see.

3) Fights

The fight between Brandon and I is a Show Fight, meaning it is meant at performances, requires preparation and can't be done on a whim. However, I have lately been working on several pocket fights (because you can just pull it out of your pocket, for those of you playing at home) with Steve/Joga and Rich. It's actually good to do fight choreo outside of HoWs, and also frees me to do other stuff if Brandon isn't around.

One fight I want to do, and am looking forward to working on, is a fight with Juan. I want to do a send up of a fight from a Samurai flick between the two of us. This may mean scoping out fights from samurai films, sitting down and picking out pieces of fights.

I know, I suffer for my art...

Another thing I want to do is do a fight that utilizes my Jiujitsu a little. I studied how to divert and block weapons like bats and knives. I know I can't make physical contact with the blade, but I have a tool that all Jedis have: Teh Force. I'd like to also develop this into something further, possibly a class, but I'd need to work on it

4) ABCs

I wanna learn the ABC patterns. Not just study the charts (I've got at least three copies in my sword bag, messenger bag and clothes bag), but the actual movements and understanding exactly how the frick they work. This is partly because I like being able to have a base and being able to play around with it, and also, I would like to at some use it to teach a beginners class, tied in with Damon's Shii-Cho (it is lightsaber combat after all.). I know I'm not ready to do that (as of writing this, I'm coming up on my 6th month in Jedi), but I would like to put together a class at some point.

5) Soloform

This actually came out of boredom, to be honest. Everyone is working on fights, or teaching something to the other kids, or selling to the civillians, and the people I got a fight with are gone, what the hell, right? So I started working on a soloform. I'm using elements of Shii Cho, as developed by Damon (Note to Self: Even if I never meet him, owe him a big thank you), the samurai techniques Flynn taught us and a few things I've been thinking of.The best part: not done to music, which frees me of the pressure of keeping rhythm
So far I have an opening for it, and will work on it for however long it takes.

And that's it so far, a lot to work on, but a lot I think (and hope) I can do. I'll update this as I go on

Peace

c15page @ 2009-07-11T02:19:00

2009-07-11T06:29:51Z

We Only Get Together at Knightings and Funerals, Take 2

One week later, and I was back at the Jedi Council. After reports that the Durandal did not return, they thought I was dead. I explained to them everything that happened, from Marco’s Will, The Durandal, to Jacob and what he was doing, as well as Daken.

They all took the information in, and told me to come back the next morning.

As promised I showed up, a half hour early mind you.

The protocol droid stopped me on the way in.

“Excuse me, but the Council would like for you to wait in the meditation chamber on top of the Temple Spire until they are ready.

I nodded, and went up to the elevator. As I got off, I was greeted by the smooth Metallic visage of Dante.

I sighed, “Voden wants to see me, right?”

The faceless Shadow said nothing, just moved aside to let me out of the lift.

“Don’t scare me in that tone of voice,.” I said as I passed by.

I stepped inside the meditation chamber. A windowless room with only a few mats to kneel on.

Tyr Voden was kneeling on one in the center. I had an odd sense of Déjà vu as Voden’s dark, leathery skin reminded me so much of Old Mithras on Salus, praying in the Circle. I knelt down across from the head of the Shadows.

“The Council is impressed with your performance on Salus,” he said dryly.

I raised an eyebrow, “What do you want?”

“I don’t know what you…”

“Voden,” I said. “You and I have never gotte along, and from what I’ve heard, you never got along with Rachel either. So what’s your game?”

He looked at me silently, marking me with his onyx eyes. “I’m merely giving credit where credit is due, Ethan.”

I flinched, since being with Jacob, I had thought of myself as Ianto Uilos, Cydonian, and not Ethan Kelebui, Shadow of the Order.

Voden caught me, and he smiled. “I reward bravery, and loyalty to the Republic. And I am kind to those who follow orders exceptionally, as you have this week. Think on that, for the future.”

Voden got up and bowed, and crossed me as he walked towards the door.

“Tyr,”

Master Voden stopped dead.

“Who else knew I was going to Salus? Who knew I was suppose to go on the Durandal. Who else knew Tarik Daken, ex Shadow turned Dark Side scumbag, was there as well? Marco knew, that’s why he gave me the Bolero.”

I felt the turmoil in the man, though it wasn’t directed towards me. It was nebulous, a constant swirl, like oil caught in a rolling bottle.

“The droid will call you when the Council is ready to see you,” The door slid open and he was gone.

I stood up, spun around, and knelt facing the door. After trading veiled threats with the leader of the Black Bag department of the Jedi Order, discretion is the better part of not getting beheaded.

About an hour later, the droid came in and called me to meet the Council.

The lift was quiet, and I still was feeling the full affects of the paranoiagasm Voden laid on me. A part of me half expected Dante to come slipping through the elevator ceiling and slice my throat before I ever got up there.

But there was no Dante. I looked down the sun drenched hallway, which didn’t look like the one that lead to the Main Council Chamber.

“Uhm,” I said, ever the conversationalist. “I think this is the wrong floor.”

“Oh no, sir.” The droid said. “This is the Hall of Knighthood.”
My stomach dropped out.

“Didn’t Master Voden mention that?”

“It must have slipped his mind,” I said. I stepped out of the lift and slowly walked through the hallway. The large doors opened up into a dark room.

I hesitated for a second, but then walked in. I could feel the presence of other people in the room. It had nothing to do with the Force, you could just tell when someone is casually in a room with you.

Then, the room lit up with half a dozen lightsabers. I was faced with several different kinds of green and blue,

One of the Masters, a short male from a green, amphibian species no one ever had the courtesy to name, stood at the head.

“Step forward, Padawan,” He said in a high, croaking voice.

I did as instructed, I stepped forward and kneeled. He placed his short, green saber over my right shoulder, then placed it over my left.

“Ethan Kelebui, by the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, dub thee I do, Jedi… Knight of the Republic.” .He swiped his blade across my hair, to a non-existant padawan braid.

The moment he did it was the happiest of my life. I had done what I had set out to do. Ten years of hard work and tears. But this wasn’t just a victory for me. Rachel, Marco, Jacob, all of them brought me here, all of them deserved to be here.

Why did it feel wrong to be here?

“Wrong, something is?” the green Master asked.

“Master, I…” I caught my breath. “I can’t stay here.”

There were murmurs of outrage in the darkness. I stood up and addressed them.

“I came to this Order, for selfish reasons. I wished to help my world from what I perceive to be a great evil. Studying as a youngling, I learned the selflessness of the Jedi, the unconditional love the Order expresses. But as Rachel’s Padawan…” Several member’s voices rose up. It was taboo to say a dead Shadow’s name. “As a Shadow, I have seen the Dark Side of the Order.”

I looked towards the door, to where Voden, with his unmistakable blacklight saber drank in the darkness around him.

“I don’t know how much the Council knows about the Shadows. But lately our own people, veterans, Knights, Masters, have gone rogue, and those that are left behind have to hunt them down. We’re taught to treat our targets as marks, as if we’re Mandalorians. There is no serenity, no selflessness, no unconditional love. We’re hatchet men. And whether or not you know this, you support it by Knighting me.”

I looked around the room. “I’ve killed 23 Darksiders. 23. And that is not including any of their people, or followers. I’m stained, and you Knighted me!” I shook my head. “I can’t stay here.”

I began to walk away, when one of the Masters, a matronly, human female called out. “And what will you do?”

I stopped, and turned towards her. “I was trained to investigate and eliminate Darksiders. At least now I’ll be the one to decide whether they deserve to be eliminated.”

I continued walking, stopping in front of Tyr Voden.

“Three people I love are dead, and for all I know, you’re responsible. If you come after me, you had better settle your affairs.”

I turned back to the Council, “I am sorry for this. But this is good.”

I walked out of the Council Chambers and into the Light.

This is Good

-End ofAct VIII-

c15page @ 2009-07-10T20:53:00

2009-07-11T00:56:44Z

O Green World

Daken stared at me as if I was already as dead.

“She’s a fine looking ship,” he said, looking towards the Bolero. “I’m sure I’ll be able to figure out the controls. I was a half decent pilot back in the Order.”

He walked towards me, almost swaying left and right as if drunk.

“You know, I spent two years on this rock, trying to figure out what I’d do to you if I ever saw you again. You cost me my club, my people, my arms…”

Keep talking, you vain prick. I thought. And I’ll up the tab.

I didn’t dare say it, though. If he knew that the Dark Side broke me free from his control, I’d give up the advantage. I wanted him get close, close enough to make that saberstaff of his useless to spin or maneuver. I wanted to look him in those cold, killer blues of his. Make him feel helpless as Jacob, and that poor waitress he killed at the club.

“Oh, my arms.” Daken continued, clutching his left bicep with his other hand. “Do you know how long it took me to get used to these things, the maintenance!? I prayed so hard that you weren’t on the Durandal when it blew, that somehow my contact got it wrong.”

Now that was interesting. But despite that new little tidbit, I didn’t really care. Daken was only a dozen paces away from me.

Then he turned.

I barely managed to stifle down my yell into a strained grunt.

He turned again, “Forget it, Rave. You’ll never escape my Trick. Music is the skeleton key to the mind. With the right notes, any mind can be opened.” He laughed, which had an eerie music of its own. He took another step and another, and another, until finally he was arms length away.

“There is one thing I wish to know,” he said, grinning. “What is your real name?”

I didn’t make any attempt to answer him.

“Ah, that’s right, the Mind Trick. Well, hopefully you’ll be able to whisper it in my ears.”

Daken moved his head closer to me, so close that the sickly sweet aroma of his sweat assaulted my nose.

“Tell me,” he whispered, barely concealing his use of the Force.

His ear was against my lips.

“My name,” I said, clearer than either of us had expected. “Is Ianto Mercutio Uilos.”

Daken’s face snapped towards me, his face stricken with panic, his pupils shrunken in shock. Which grew when I took a step forward, forcing him back.

“I am the son of Fiona and Ethaniel, I am a Lord of Cydonia!”

By now, I was advancing towards, and Daken was crawling backwards, edging closer to the center.

“But you, Daken. You will still call me Rave!”

He panicked, and began running to the center, to where he left that massive sitar.

“Don’t!” I snarled, The Force lashed out of my hand. A sharp spike of jagged grey rock shot out of the earth, impaling the sitar, shattering it into thousand of splinters.

Daken stopped cold in his tracks.

“There will be No Tricks!,” I shouted, still advancing towards him. “No lightshows, no fighting in the Dark. You’re going to have to face me like a man, Tarik.”

I stopped in front of him, and pulled the lightsaber off it’s chain at my hip, igniting it in the same motion. I pointed it directly at him.

“Draw yours,” I said.

Daken didn’t move. He was too panic stricken.

“Draw!” I shouted, Mind Tricking without realizing it.

Daken blinked for a second, and as if he had never noticed it before, stared at the saber in his hands. I backed up to give him room. Yes I wanted to fight him; yes I wanted to kill him. But dammit, I would do it on my own terms.

He stood up, and ignited his saber.

“You’ve spent two years waiting for this day,” I said.

I charged at him, bringing the saber down on his.

“Well so have I!” I shouted. I kicked him, and then charged right back at him. Every attack was savage, bloodthirsty. Each strike was a massive blow, sending him left, right, and down. He was a victim of shock and awe, just barely striving not to die.

I wasn’t done with him, not by a longshot.

“You really consider yourself to be a Sith?” I asked casually, while still attacking like a mad lumberjack. “Just because you paint your face red and black and carry a red saber does not make you a Sith. I’ve met Sith. They ever found you looking like that, they’d flay off the whole half of your face as a warning to other little punks. The only thing that has kept you safe is that nobody would be caught dead on this piece of crap moon!”

I launched my foot at his head in a straight kick, the heel of my boot catching him in the forehead. Daken flew backwards, landing between two of the massive boulders that marked the boundary of the Circle, except on this side, it was just at the edge of the plateau.

“You’re afraid,” I said. “That’s how you’re able to control people, you tap into their fear through yours. A true Sith wouldn’t feel fear, he would incite it!”

The problem with what I was doing, is that it either debilitated your opponent, or backed them into a corner. Daken was very much backed into a corner, and liable to do anything. He grabbed the first thing he could and through it at me.

I just didn’t expect it to be Knell’s head.

The poor man still had that agonized, pathetic look on his face.

I panicked, sweeping to the left to dodge the macabre projectile. Before I could reorient myself, I felt a burning run straight through the right side of my chest.

I blinked, and saw the red tinged blade of Daken’s Saberstaff sticking just below my collarbone.

Looking on with detached horror, I saw the blade slide out of me and watched as Daken turned, and spun his left foot into a roundhouse kick. While I was treated to a brief flash of light and pretty-pretty stars, I must’ve spun around, because I found myself on my hands and knees facing the opposite direction. My saber

“You know something?” Daken said, his voice muffled under the constant thrumming of my heart struggling to continue pumping. “You were right!”

I felt another sharp blow, and another burst of light.

“I’m not a Sith. Heh, even as a Shadow I was always afraid of dying alone. So I left, and tried to build myself a family to so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“You were controlling them,” I said, or at least try to say it.

If I had said anything, Daken didn’t acknowledge.

“And then, you and the venomous bitch Rachel came in. The moment I killed her was the happiest moment in my life. And now…”

He looked down on me, pulled back his left leg, and launched it squarely in my jaw, sending me sprawled out on my back.

“Now I get you,” he said. “I think I’ll start with your arms.”

He approached me, saber at the ready in his hands. My head flailed from side to side, until I caught the silver gleam of my saber lying several yards away in the grey gravel. I reached out with the Force, all the while the wound in my chest felt like fire and my pulse was gradually slowing down.

Daken was on top of me now. “I’m going to kill you, Rave. I’m going to take your ship.”

I kept my eyes on him, but in the corner I saw the gleam of silver move an inch.

“And then I’ll be free to do whatever I want,”

“Oh yeah?” I rasped. “Clap!”

My saber jumped up from the ground, spinning towards me. Daken saw it coming, but in the time he raised the staff for the killing stab, I had caught my saber, ignited it and parried the tip away, and brought it back across. The blade caught him just above the elbows, were there was still flesh on his arms. The saber staff disengaged and it, along with the hands still holding it, landed on my chest, which shot pain from the wound to the whole body.

Daken wasn’t having it any better than me. He uttered the most blood curdling shriek when he realized that he had lost his arms (again) to me.

“I HATE YOU!!” He shouted, lunging at me.

On reflex, I Pushed him, sending him flying back. I heard him screaming all the way into the distance, and then abruptly it stopped.

I sluggishly shirked off the saberstaff and Daken’s arms to sit up. I pushed Daken back a good ten yards, right where the piece of rock I had Pulled out of the earth was jutting. He had all the appearance of standing, but if you looked closely, you could see his feet dangling an inch off the ground. The spike of Earth in his chest was holding him up.

Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

“Ian,” a voice called.

“Jacob?” I rasped. How was he alive?

I tried in vain to get to my feet; it only managed to get to my knees. So I crawled over the shifting grey gravel towards the Circle. I found Jacob, still ling on the floor, but he somehow managed to turn himself around to face me. His body still glowed with the luminescent energy of Old Mithras.

“Ian,” he said again. His right cheek was resting inside the gravel.

“Jacob,” I said. “Man, you are pure stubborn, you know that?”

He smiled weakly. “Had unfinished business,”

He raised his hand. Dangling from it on a slender silver chain was the glass Mirror he was going to show Mithras.

Jacob placed it in my hand.

As his hand touched mine, I felt a little bit of that energy go through me. My constricted in pure joy and contentedness. I knew, without having to see it, that he had healed the stab in my chest.

When I looked at him, he was as bright as any star in the sky.

“She’s still waiting for you, Ian.”

The white glow began to spread upwards into the grey sky of Salus

“Wait,” I said, realizing what was happening. “No, come on, heal yourself. Jacob!”

But he didn’t, he had no intention of doing it. The light continued to stretch out, and as it grew, his body began to fade until there was barely an outline left of him.

“This is good,” he said.

And then he was gone.

I knelt there for what seemed like forever, my eyes closed. I felt the presence of the inmates (villagers, I chided myself) that were working on the ship surrounding me.

Eventually, I felt a warm sensation on my face. When I opened it, I saw the constant grey clouds hanging above the planet had parted, and the sun hung high and beautiful in the air.

---

“Are you sure you want to go so soon?” Bob said.

I checked the instruments in the Bolero’s cockpit. The Darksider had been found and eliminated. The rumors of a savior and the disappearances of people were Jacob’s use of the sick and dying’s energy to keep the rest of the people healthy enough to survive.

In the end, though, he did one better.

For several miles, the grounds around the Circle had turned into a verdant field of grass and small plant life. The clouds surrounding the planet were now broken and scattered, allowing the sun to break through.

In his last moments, Jacob Lostirith saved the people he had pledged to protect. Just like a Cydonian should.

“Yes, it’s time to go.”

He nodded, and closed his eyes. “I’ve set a course for Coruscant. We’ll be there in about three….”

“Go as slowly as possible,” I said.

The hologram raised an eyebrow, “Why?”

“Because I want you to teach me everything you know about Force Healing.”

-End of Act VII-

c15page @ 2009-07-05T01:30:00

2009-07-05T05:31:42Z

Criminals

I looked hard into the ice blue eyes of the man who killed my Master.

Jacob, seemingly undeterred by me or Daken, stepped forward. “What do you want, Bard?” He asked, his voice hard and merciless.

Daken never shifted his eyes off of me, “Knell has been wounded.” He gestured to the corpse-like man on the mount next to him. I could barely see in the eternal dimness of the planet that his clothes, mere rags, were darkened by his blood.

Jacob looked at Knell. “He’s too far gone.” He said. “I can’t heal him.”

Just as the healer turned, Daken called out “I hear Mithras is ill.”

Jacob stopped, and turned on the balls of his feet. “No,”

“You will,” Daken hissed. “Or I will declare war on your little tribe. I will burn out your little rat holes and make it a den for my slaves.”

It wasn’t until then that I noticed Daken’s arms, they were a dull grey, clashing with the natural light tan of his skin. The mechanisms inside the grey clicked and whirred, but overall the moved with relatively the same fluidity as a flesh and blood set.

The Cydonian to my left was silent, weighing his decision. No matter how good a Knight he was, I doubt we both could fight off an entire tribe of criminals living on a desolate wasteland.

“I will ask Mithras,” he said. “If she agrees, it shall be done. If not, I will ease his way.”

Daken glowered at Jacob, who stood in a casual, though obvious, defensive stance.

“Fine,” he said. “But be quick,” he looked back to his companion, and smiled. “Knell does not have too long.”

Jacob nodded, and snapped on his heels again to the village-on-the-cliffs.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked, keeping pace with him down the

“You first,” he replied. “Rave.”

I grunted. “I’m the reason his arms need maintenance.”

“You hunted him?”

I nodded. My feet stumbled across the dirt floor, my eyes not strong enough to see in the dim light. “With my Master. He was founding a small cult at a bar on Coruscant. The night we first met, he murdered an innocent girl and killed my Master.”

We passed the small house where I rested, and went up the other side of the road.

“You didn’t kill him?”

I took in a sharp breath, “I’m a Jedi. We don’t kill in revenge.”

He didn’t say it, but he heard the irony in my voice. I was a Shadow, a killer for the Jedi. I did not kill for revenge, for glory, or for money. I did it for the “common good”.

Whether they deserved it or not.

“Now,” I said, trying to shake the useless feelings of guilt and self doubt. “What was he talking about to you?”

We began to walk up the hill. The valley must act like a natural border between plateaus.

“You’ll find out,” he sighed.

As we walked up, I saw one of the most wonderful things in my life

At the edge of the plateau lay a ring of large, ashen grey boulders that were seemingly pulled straight out of the earth. It was a Circle, a place of ceremony and worship that scattered the cliffs of Uilos.

“My Gods,” I said. Still moving, but unable to take my eyes away from the beauty.

“Spent time studying with House Kului,” he said plainly, and kept moving.

In the ring was a woman, old and worn and frail, kneeling.

Beyond the ring, was the Bolero. Several men flitted in and out of the ship, with Bob’s small remotes floating around, watching.

Jacob stopped at the edge of the circle. “Mithras,” he called.

The old woman did not stir. Her voice was a dry rasp. “Yes, my Lord?”

He approached the middle of the circle to meet her. I stepped towards the edge of the stone circle.

“It’s my time,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

The muscles in Jacob’s throat tightened. “If you wish it.”

A soft chuckle escaped the old women’s mouth. “I have lived 30 years on this hell, and I’ve deserved every minute. I murdered my children to deny my husband his legacy.” She stood up and faced Jacob, her eyes steady. “May my death serve someone better than my life has.”

Jacob rose to meet her, “Is there anything you’d like before…?”

Leathered Mithras nodded, “may I see her?”

Without another word, Jacob reached under his tunic, pulling out a circular disk no larger than a coaster. It was made of a thin film of glass that reflected the colors off of it as if it were coated in oil. On Cydonia, those were Mirrors, used to capture and record images.

Before he could turn it on, Mithras began to cough. She fell into Jacob’s arms. Small, red flecks appeared on his green tunic.

“Eric!” Jacob shouted. “Get Bard and Knell to the Circle now!”

The ragged man bolted from the Bolero and straight through the Circle to the village beyond.

“Jacob,” I called.

“Do NOT enter The Circle!“ he cried. He had said it before I realized I had almost walked past the large stones. I stopped in place. “You’re in danger if you step inside.”

I stood there, feeling helpless as I watched Jacob Lostirith handle the old woman. In the stillness of the Salusian air, I could still hear her talk.

“It’s a shame,” she rasped. “I won’t get to hear her sing. I always thought…she was singing to me.”

I could hear Eric coming up from the valley with Knell on his mount, and felt that rat bastard Daken. They stopped at the edge of The Circle, where Eric helped Knell off the mount and to the center with Jacob and Mithras. Daken hopped on top of one of the boulders, that large sitar unstrung from his shoulders and into his mechanical hands. The Dark Jedi began to play.

It was more beautiful than one would expect from a monster, let alone a monster with mechanical arms. It had a staccato sound, reminding me of raindrops falling into a puddle.

Meanwhile, Knell had been placed on the grey soil, to the left of Jacob, while Mithras lay at his right. The Cydonian Knight placed his hands on the old woman’s head. Without trying to, I felt what came next. The energy, the living energy within the woman ebbed and flowed like a great tide. Every time it came in, it flowed more into Jacob. His body became a receptacle for it, and all that excess energy created an iridescent white aura around him.

It was at this point I realized what was going on.

Jacob was going to moved Mithras energy, her essence, and move it into Knell. That energy would work as a jump start to his body, making it possible to not only activate the natural healing process, but to essentially accelerate it. It was the highest form of healing anyone could achieve.

It was also murder.

Now I understood why Jacob Lostirith was marked for death, why he could possibly have been placed here. He took life to save another.

And sadly, none of that seemed to matter, as I came to the personal realization that I couldn’t move my body, my mouth. All I could move were my eyes.

And they were looking directly at Tarik Daken.

He had never stopped playing the sitar, which immediately should have told me something. Back when we first met, that little punk Sith-wannabe was using the blaring music of the nightclub to overwhelm his victim’s senses, making it easier to Mind Trick them to do his will.

Kinda like what he was doing to me now.

Daken looked at me, his cold blue eyes alight. The tattoos on the left side of his face contorted as he grinned.

He stood up from the rock, and effortlessly hopped down onto the gravel inside the Circle. He walked slowly, deliberately, like a cat eyeing down its supper. I tried to cry out to Jacob, whose back was turned to us. But the words would not come out. All I could do was watch as Daken played, and stalked towards the center.

By now, Jacob was a living star. The energy of Mithras life was now completely within him, and now he would place it into Knells broken body.

That’s when Daken put the sitar down and opened a panel inside of it to reveal, to my horror, his lightsaber. The curved, double ended saber had showed signs of rust and misuse, but it still lit up with that red glow that Dark Jedi’s and Sith love to use..

And even though he’d stopped playing, Daken’s Trick still held me still.

I was helpless.

Gods, I thought. Gods of Stone and Breeze, of Wave and Flame. Gods of Bolt and Gear, of Leaf and Dusk, and to the Goddess of the Dawn. Please don’t let him kill him. Please, someone. Marco…Rachel, please…

None of them answered.

Daken raised his saber, lining the tip of the blood-tinged blade at Jacob’s torso.

And then he drove it down.

If he had felt it, Jacob didn’t give any indication. His still glowing body fell limply to the floor, the gravel softening the fall

When Jacob hit the floor, I wasn’t on Salus anymore. I wasn’t seeing him anymore. I was back on Coruscant, at the Shattered Sun two years ago. Daken’s blade going through Rachel’s torso.

It was happening again, and I was helpless to stop it again.

Daken smiled over the motionless bodies of Mithras and Jacob. Knell, his underling, was clamoring and groaning.

“Shut up!” Daken cried. In a swift motion, he swept one end of his saber across the floor, as if he was sweeping a pile of dust out into the street. The blade caught Knell at the neck, sending it flying towards the end of the plateau.

He then turned back at me, that grin of his made all the worse by the sith tattoos on the right side of his face.

“And now, I’ll take your ship.”

It was then that something inside me broke. The sheer panic and outright hatred for this petty, vain moster giving over to something more. I felt the frozen, electric waters of the Dark Side rise up within me, making the urge to kill him all the more tantalizing

I could also feel my hand begin to twitch, my knee begin to shake.

In that moment, I let the Dark Side take me.

And Gods help me, I wanted it.

Wizard Philly

2009-06-22T05:41:04Z

So, this weekend I went to Philadelphia to take part in Wizard Philly, not as a guest, but as a performer for New York Jedi.

As far as conventions go, this was my first. Seems to have been a midpoint between Vegas-esque New York Comic Con and the somewhat seedy, nerd equivalent to the black market of Big Apple Con (colloquially known as GhettoCon). It was in the Philadelphia Convention Center, which, while not as big and monolithic as the Javits center, did the job. The rows and aisles were wide enough to not cause traffic issues (though this might be because less people were there than NYCC. I have no baseline to judge).

We were located in the back of the last aisle, baically dominating one whole corner of the convention floor. We were right next to Ray Park, (Darth Maul in Star Wars, Toad in X-Men) Peter Mayhew (Chewbacca in Star Wars) Kristianna Lokken (Terminator in T-3, Painkiler Jane) Mirina Sirtis (Deanna Troi from Star Trek) Emma Caulfield (Anya from Buffy) Ted Raimi (from a slew of awesome things),

most importantly, the cast of Battlestar Galactica. This includes, Luciana Carro, (Cat), Nikki Clyne (Cally), aka The Future Mrs. Page. Christ she's cute. Michael Hogan (Saul Tigh), who despite playing the most hardass guy in the show, was the most laid back of them all, and Edward James Olmos (Admr. Adama), who was King Shit of Turd Mountain. Me and the Dresden gang (Priscilla, Rich, and Sue) and Fellow NY Jedi Mel managed to get front row seats to their Q&A. I enjoyed all of it, and found it interesting. EJO was leading the show, a little *too* much at times. It's apparant that he's put in much vested interest in the show, and has internalized alot of aspects and nuances of the mythology, plus he's directed some of the work, so it's very personal. Michael Hogan showed up late, and when he did, EJO announced that "the frakkin Cylon" had arrived.

In the end, I got to shake hands with Michael Hogan. I didn't man up to meet Nikki "Cute Tomboy" Clyne. But I figure she does alot of the cons, so it's not the end.

On the performance end. Both Jedi United Shows (as there were 5 Jedi groups from four states in attendance) went well. The first show was the "Youngling Academy" where the group taught kids the basic steps in fight choreo, with them doing the full sequence at the end. The kids enjoyed themselves, and took it seriously and better than many people would think kids could take running around with lightsabers. I know I sometimes have the urge to run around giggling hysterically while flinging a four foot glowstick in my hands (thank goodness for anti psychotics!). Everyone had a good time, and even I had learned a few things watching and taking pictures.

The second show was for the general audience. It featured several fights from members of Pennsylvania's New Jedi Order. Considering the group is only months old, they did an awesome job. Then several members performed soloforms, katas that they themselves developed. One featured Mel, who did her solo to the Bear McCreary version of All Along the Watchtower. After the fights and solos, we did a version of the Academy with grown ups. One of the fights featured my friend Matt, who did wowed the crowd as well as flushing out all the Jim Butcher fans in Jedi by cosplaying as Harry Dresden.

The only dissappointment I felt was in that I didn't have a fight to do in the shows. I've now sorta made a silent vow to develop at least one or two fights before the next con, and potentially work on a soloform. Shii Cho, my preffered style, is very basic, and I need to spice it up a bit. Other than that, the shows were fantastic.

After the show, we met with Ray Park, who is a fan of the Jedi groups. He hung out with us, demonstrated some moves, and even helped one our members how to perfect his butterfly kick. Needless to say, we all had a collective nerdgasm.

I feel honored to have gone to Philly and to have hung out with and met such awesome people, guests, workers, and celebs alike. This is only my third con as a whole , and my second working one, so this was definitely a new and wonderful experience.

Now, when's the next one?

C

c15page @ 2009-06-09T02:24:00

2009-06-09T06:25:10Z

In the Land of Twilight.

Come with me

In the Twilight

Of a summer night, for a while

Tell me of a story—never, ever, told in the past

Take me back to the land,

Where my yearnings were born

The Key to Open the Door—is in your hand

Now take me there…

To the Land of Twilight…

The young girl stopped singing. She was only ten, but she already showed signs of beauty that would develop in age. She had a pointed nose, long, curling brown hair and a wide grin that seemed effortless on her.

I remember, sitting in the stone carved meditation chamber in the Temple of Uilos Prime, thinking to myself that Aina could not possibly be my sister, let alone my twin. Where she had our mother’s beauty and grace, I had inherited the blocky, cobbled together features of my father. We weren’t hideous or anything, but we wouldn’t be winning any pageants at the Lunar Festival.

“Ian?”

I looked up at Aina. Her eyes, like mine, were an odd mix of green, gold and brown. She wore a heavy gown in the style of a Temple Adept. It bore the white and blue accents of House Uilos.

“Ian, were you listening?”

My attention snapped back. She was standing in the center of the room, where the acoustics were perfect “Yes,” I said. “It’s beautiful. You’ll be fine at the Lunar Festival.”

She blushed, but nodded soberly. “Do you think Mother would be proud?”

I lowered my eyes. Our mother had passed two years before of a disease none of us could cure. Which is saying something considering people born in our family were the foremost experts on the uses of Force Healing.

I sighed, and then looked back up at my sister. “You’re the youngest female in the history of the Nine Houses to sing at the Festival, younger than even Mother was. Everyone is saying that you’ll be one of the finest Medicos of our generation. She is proud of you. I’m proud of you, and Father is proud of you.”

“You mean it?” Her eyes lit up with hope in the way only children can do.

I smiled, “I swear on Stone and Breeze, on Flame and Wave.”

“And on Bolt and Gear? Leaf and Dusk…”

“And on the Dawn, sister.” I said, trying to maintain as much seriousness as I could. “Especially the Dawn.”

She practically glowed with such elation.

I remembered laughing, but I knew it was forced. I knew what was going to happen shortly.

“Aina,” I said. Trying to keep my tone normal. “Can you sing me a song please?”

“Of course,” she said. “Which one?”

“Cynical World,”

Her grin faded. “Ian, that song’s too depressing.”

I shrugged, “I like it.”

She rolled her eyes, “We cannot be siblings.”

I nodded, “Have been saying that for years.”

She looked at me, and then she started pacing around the circular chamber. Like everything else in Uilos Prime, the seat of power for House Uilos, it was carved out of the very cliffs and rocks of the snowy mountain range. The chamber was lit with candles scattered in various nooks and small alcoves through out, giving the room a golden glow. There was a shallow pool in the center of the room. It was about as wide as a human body and filled with crystal clear mountain water, somehow, something within the pool made it glow an iridescent silver.

Aina stopped at the pool and looked at it for a while. My sister was smart, smarter than me, and I think of myself pretty highly. If she suspected anything, the plan would be ruined and we’d all be in danger.

She stared at the pool intently, as if weighing her decisions amongst the small waves and ripples.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. Her curly hair bobbed over the pool. “On one condition.”

Uh oh.

“You sing it with me,”

I snorted “Gods, Aina! Why would I want to torture you like that?”

Her eyes flashed to me, and her tone was brimming threat. “If you love this song, and you love me, you’ll sing the gods-begotten thing with me.”

I opened my mouth, but then closed it. She had put me in a no win situation, and she knew it.

I told you she was smart.

“Fine,” I said. “Your funeral.”

I got up from the stone bench that lined the inside of the chamber and walked towards the meditative pool. I stopped across from Aina.

“When you’re ready,” I said.

She smiled. She then took in a deep breath, trying to establish the beat.

Then she started to sing:

“Here we stand, in ravishing rain.

Joy is like pain

It feels like a miracle

You can’t turn back

You’re in chains

Never again, return from a Cynical World…”

At the next verse I joined, my voice faltering:

“If you feel, you loved me in vain

Why not relive your guilty love affairs

In the warm breeze you will cry

Again and again

That’s fate for a criminal…”

Aina broke off from the song. “Ian, you’re crying.”

I hadn’t realized it, but she was right. My cheeks were covered in warm tears.

I brushed them off and forced a smile. “It’s ok, I told you I liked that song. Now, come on, it’s almost time to get ready for the Festival.”

Aina nodded, but I knew she didn’t really believe me. “Will you come see me sing tonight?”

I walked over to her and hugged her, “Are you kidding? I’ll be in the front row.”

But I wasn’t, because that was the night I left Cydonia to become a Jedi.

I woke up starving for air, as if I had just spent an hour underwater I was just coming up for the first time.

“Easy!” Shouted a voice.

I felt a hand rest on my sternum, and then I felt what I could only describe as Joy and Comfort washed through me. It started where the hand was and flooded through my body, filling it to the brim.

All I wanted to do was lie down again, curl into a warm ball, and sleep.

So I did.

The next time I awoke, my body had been covered in sackcloth. Upon further investigation, there wasn’t much else underneath it. The room I was in was just as bare. The walls were made of stone, and the floor was made of the natural grey dirt of salus. I was lying on what looked like a wooden palette on the floor. Next to me on the floor were my clothes.

I quickly shuffled around and got myself clothed. Conspicuous by it’s absence was my lightsaber, which was attached to my vest by a chain.

“Mmhmm,” I said to the empty room, and walked out of the door…

…and into Uilos Prime.

It wasn’t really Uilos Prime, the area was too grey. Salus was too dim of a place. The ground, the sky, everything about this world was just too damned grey. It was full daylight, yet it felt like it was almost dusk, or dawn. It was constantly in that half-light.

But at first glance, with the buildings carved out of the rocky cliff face in such a way that it looked both civilized and natural, I was almost convinced.

The construction of this village-on-the-cliffs was definitely Cydonian.

“It took us two years to get it this close,”

My neck snapped to my left. Leaning over the railing of the cliff was Jacob Lostirith. He had a lean, smooth, square face. His eyes were a dark shade of blue. His hair, sunbleached to a pale blonde, was mostly tied up in the back, with parts of it hanging out at the sides and almost reaching his shoulders. He wore a plain green tunic and brown, baggy slacks with matching sandals.

He turned and faced me. He had a small, lazy grin. His eyes twinkled.

“Is it close?” He gestured to the stone city.

I looked back, and for the first time since the first year I joined the Jedi, I felt the heart ache of being homesick.

I nodded, and joined him at the railing. “It’s close enough.”

We stood there in silence for a while. Yes he was a suspected Dark Jedi. Yes, I was suppose to be his executioner. However,this was as close to home as I had been in ten years. The frakking Shadows could wait a few minutes.

“Oh,” Jacob said. “I think this is yours.”

From some pocket I couldn’t see, he pulled out my lightsaber, the broad hilt still managing to gleam in the dimness. He ignited it; and the cerulean light of the blade cut a swath through the perpetual grey of the world.

My body tensed as he held the saber in the air. He wasn’t holding it like some curious observer. He was holding it and moving it with the control of one who had been trained to use it like his arms.

He was a Knight of Uilos, of Cydonia.

He could kill me if he’d gone Dark.

He turned to face me fully; saber still ignited, and took one step towards me. It was not in the way one would attack an opponent.

It was to kneel at my feet.

“Hail,” he whispered. “Hail Ianto, son of Ethaniel, Lord of House Uilos.”

c15page @ 2009-06-05T22:43:00

2009-06-06T02:44:13Z

Between the Gutter and the Stars

Bob stared over my shoulder, “You’ve never flown a starship before?”

I didn’t look back at him; I didn’t want to show him how nervous I was yes. “No,”

“Well, relax,” he said. “You’re doing fine.”

The past few hours had been spent learning the controls of the Bolero. Let me just tell you this, Star Couriers like this ship were built with two things in mind, getting in and getting out without anyone being any wiser than we wanted them to.

Piloting the ship was simplistic enough. Bob and his drones took care of engineering and repairs. That was a relief in itself, mechanics and engineering were never my strong suits. Bob had been surprised that I even wanted to learn how to fly the ship, seeing as he could do that to. I guess it made an impression on him, because he wasn’t nearly as snarky with me after that.

“We’re coming up to Salus,” Bob said. “Prepare to go out of hyperdrive in three…”

My hands blurred across the console, hitting buttons and switches to prepare to drop into normal space.

“Two, one. Drop.”

I pulled down on the accelerator. The blurs of stars abruptly stopped and became stationary.

To call planet Salus ugly was an unfair description. It was a floating lump of rock. The skies were completely overcast with a greasy grey sky. From what I’d read on the flight, the ground was barely fertile enough to go anything but weeds. It was a wasteland, a planet no one in their right mind would want to go to or even think about.

Perfect prison planet.

The only inhabitants, save a hundred or so species wild animals, were prisoners ranging from pirates, terrorists, murderers, rapists and gods-knew-what else. Rachel had once called Salus an oubliette, a place of forgetting.

Bob walked closer to the screen, “and somewhere on that misery is Jacob Lostirith.”

I nodded.

“Do you have any plans on how to take him on?”

“I’m not fighting him.” I said.

The hologram stopped, mouth open in shock. “You diabolical fiend! He’ll never expect that!”
I shook my head and stood up from the pilot’s seat. “Cydonians can’t kill each other.”

“Ah, you see, you’re not on Cydonia”

“It doesn’t work like that. Cydonians…” I paused, trying to come up with a good enough example. Cydonians don’t enjoy talking about ourselves to outsiders, especially to any one associated with the Jedis or Sith. When my sadistic boss Voden questioned me, he took more out of me than I think he realized. Telling Bob, however, didn’t count, seeing as I owned him. Technically he was Cydonian property.

Hey, whatever helps me sleep at night, right?

“Ok,” I said. “Do you know when a Jedi or a Sith dies, it leaves an impression in the Force?”

The hologram nodded, “Especially violent deaths.”

“Well, it’s the same thing with Cydonians. Except we all feel it, every one of us..”

Bob said nothing. His gaze went distant as he processed the new information. “I could see why your people opposed being used by the Jedis and Sith. But for the sake of argument, let’s say that you do indeed have to…perform your task. Is there a way?”

I sighed. At some point, I had taken to pacing the length of the cockpit. “Yeah, there’s a Rite of Challenge. But I don’t think it’s going to end like that.”

The hologram looked at me for a second, his pale face pensive. “You’re afraid.”

I stopped, and I eyed him in his electronic eyes. “The Lostirhim were Knights of the highest caliber. Frakking right I am.” I gave every impression that the conversation was over. I moved back to the flight controls and started going over the sensors.

The cockpit was filled with silence for several minutes, when I heard Bob take in a deep breath. “Incoming ship…”

True enough, another ship pulled out of hyperdrive.

“The Durandal,” I said. “It drops down supplies to the camps on the planet. That’s the ship I was suppose to be --“

The hull of the neighboring ship burst open in a silent bloom of orange and yellow fire. There was nothing left of the hulking barge. Pieces of metal, some of them larger than the Bolero itself went flying out in every direction.

Including us.

“Taking the ship into evasive maneuvers!” I shouted. Strapping myself into the seat.

“We never went over evasive maneuvers!” Bob shouted back.

True enough, but I had to do something. So I did what I usually do in these situations: I put the engines in hyperdrive and kicked on the weapons. I pushed myself out towards the planet, in a attempt

The hologram snorted, “Brilliant, very strategic Admiral Ackbar!”

“Shut up, Bob. Unless you have a better…”

The ship started banking away from several large pieces of debris.

I looked back at the AI, whose long face was curled into a very smug grin. “Did you just…”

He shrugged, “Life is a veritable cornucopia of surprise.”

I narrowed my eyes, and then smiled. “Ok, you fly; I’ll shoot anything that gets in our way.”

We started going through the debris field of the Durandal. Bob’s controls were quick and precise, taking turns with such precision and timing I was sure no carbon based person could possibly do. He made my job of gunning debris almost pointless. Probably a good thing, too, as the small ion guns were only good at peppering a target, moving it away, they were not good at blowing it up.

We had gotten through most of the debris field when we ran into a slight snag.

The other three-fourths of the Durandal was a mass of twisted metal. Smoke billowed out into the void from almost every angle and port. I pushed my Senses out towards the wreckage. There was no one on that ship, none alive in any case. It was a dead ship.

And it was coming right at us.

“Uhm,” I said. “That’s a problem.”

The AI gulped, “Oh, dear.”

The remains of the Durandal continued to drift towards. Both me and Bob clamored at the controls, trying to climb over the wreckage. Despite the Bolero’s speed. The explosion-propelled Durandal was gaining; so much that it began to eclipse the sun from our view.

“Impact imminent in…20 seconds” Bob said.

“Shut up, Bob.” I said quietly. Fear and anger gripped my throat

“15 seconds”

“Shut up,”

The nose of the Durandal was looming close. We were slowly gaining enough height to pass it.

“10 seconds”

“Bob,” I said, my voice gone hoarse. “Shut the frak up and help!”

I guess I held more command in my tone than I expected, because the ship’s lights began to dim out, but the engines kicked up. We pushed up further, the nose of the Durandal just missing us by a meter.

The lights in the cockpit turned on full and the ship slowed to its normal speed. Bob and I let out a sigh of relief.

The ship shuddered violently. The lights started flickering.

Bob’s hologram was flickering as well “Massive ex…Durandal…losing control.”

True enough, we were hurtling closer and closer into the atmosphere of Salus. The ships shields held as we began to descend, but I was still clamoring for control.

As I saw the bleak, grey landscape come to greet me, I said what I thought were my final words.

“Marco! I can’t believe I’m going to die in this piece of crap ship!”

Then everything went dark.

--End of Act III--

c15page @ 2009-05-22T13:29:00

2009-05-22T17:30:22Z

This being the Last Will and Testament of Baron Marco…take one

Due to the constant downpour, the bar was sparse of most of its customers. However, the ones that were there weren’t really on their best game.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said to the woman on the stool next to me. “But those are my ribs your elbow is parked in.”

The lady, a hard faced type who looked like her life was conducted at ninety degrees in either direction, raised her eyebrow. “So?”

I narrowed my eyes, “Go home to your children.”

She blinked, and immediately stood up, dropped money on the counter, and walked out of the bar.

“I thought Jedi’s handled themselves better than that,”

I looked towards the bar, and got the shock of the hour. I was greeted by a round cheeked Twi’lek with purple skin, the three tentacles at the top of her head were tied together into a loose tail that went down to her waist. She stood behind the bar staring at me., he arms folded.

“Rotta,” I muttered. Sitting stunned in my stool. I had last seen her that morning.

In my bed…

“Seriously,” she said disapprovingly. “Just because you’re in a bad mood doesn’t mean you got to take it out on the patrons.”

I felt ashamed, a little, but I didn’t show it. “I probably did her a favor.” I grabbed my mug and drained the rest of my ale.

She grabbed the mug and began filling it again, “Probably.” She handed me back a drink, and I wasted no time in draining it.

She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Rough day.” She said, it was not a question.

“Worse than last night,” I placed the mug back down on the table.

Rotta placed her hand on mine, “Want to talk about it?”

I sighed and shook my head, “I can’t.”

She pulled her hand back, “Last night would probably happen again, probably for the best then.”

“Probably,” I agreed.

She looked at me for a second, “I’ve seen you come into this place maybe five or six times a month. Last night you looked like a relative died, I see that from time to time here and I wanted to make you feel better.”

I sat there and said nothing for a while. “A friend of mine killed himself last night. Poison. He was the closest thing to a father I had in a long time.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look Rotta in the eyes, but I knew she was looking at me. “Everyone close to me either dies, leaves me, or I have to leave them.”

I felt her hand go back to mine.

“My shift ends in an hour,” she whispered.

I realized then that this girl, this complete stranger, actually cared about me. I grabbed her hand and looked up. She had nice, dark eyes.

We stared at each other for a second, but then her eyes shifted behind me.

“I think someone’s here to see you,”

I turned my head towards the door, a gaunt man wearing the (rather soaked) blue robes of a lawyer. He glided over to me as best he could despite being waterlogged.

“Ethan Kelebui,” he said in a deep accent that sounded like his tongue was moving at the top of his mouth. “I am here to deliver this to you.”

My hand moved to my saber, hanging unseen underneath the back of my tunic. I stopped when I saw that he held in his spider white hand a data pad. I grabbed it from him and turned it on.

The front screen read simply:

This being the Last Will and Testament of Baron Marco

To be read on the deck of the Bolero.

“At 0700 tomorrow, exactly. The pad will give you the address” the lawyer said, and stalked back out into the rain.

I looked down at the data pad, then turned back to Rotta, who looked both confused and concerned.

“Give me another drink, I think I’ll be here for another hour.”

She did, and she did it smiling.

###

That next morning I followed the instructions to the dockyards. I asked around for the Bolero. After about twenty minutes of fumbling through the still wet yards, I found her near the far western edge

The ship was built like an arrowhead of gleaming silver, trimmed in blue. At the back was a dome, no doubt the cockpit, with folded wings on either side.

I looked at it, awestruck, it was beautiful.

Then my eyes slid past it, past the fencing. The Shattered Sun club lay no more than 100 yards from where I stood. No one had touched the warehouse-cum-nightclub in two years, except to board up the doors and darklit windows. The place still had that corpse-cold feeling of the darkside, made all the worse by the death of a less than pure Jedi.

Rachel.

My attention went back to the ship, at some point, a ramp had slid down and a hatch opened up at the base of the sphere. No one came out, and no one was around.

“Okay,” I murmured, edging towards the ramp. “This is not one of my best ideas.”

A cold breeze came through the hatch, and in the rain damp air, it felt worse than it was.

I shivered, “Marco, this had better be good.” I steeled myself and walked into the mysterious ship.

Inside the domed section of the ship where nine doors. I had never been in a ship like this, I had no way of knowing which went where.

“Hello!?” I cried. “I was sent here by…”

If I said anything else, I didn’t hear it, because the sirens louder than a Chiropteran in heat. The lights changed, turning gunmetal grey to blood red.

--HALT INTRUDER!!-- A voice boomed from seemingly everywhere in the room.

“I’m not an intruder, I’m E --“

Four of the nine doors opened, revealing several small floating orbs about twice the size of a regular human head (or about the size of mine). Small parts of their silver plating opened up, to reveal the small muzzles of blasters.

Great.

My lightsaber was pulled off its chain at my waist the moment the doors opened. I took the broad hilt and ignited its cerulean blade in time to catch the first beam in a sweeping, diagonal arc. The other drones began firing. I took my saber and began twirling it in front of me to intercept, the blade just missing my arms and shoulder on each pass. The energy bolts couldn’t get past the defense.

I slowly moved toward one of the floating drones, still twirling the blade, still deflecting the bolts. When I got close enough, I used the spin to bring the blade down onto the drone, slicing it in half. I spun the blade around me, catching the remaining bolts and sending them back. Two of the drones were hit, but one dodged the shot.

Wait…the drone dodged shot?

Security drones like this weren’t notorious for their intelligence.

They also weren’t known for being able to wield a lightsaber, either.

So imagine my surprise when this little floating ball showed both. A lightsaber, the hilt no longer than six inches, the white blade no longer than eighteen, popped out of the drones armor. The drone started spinning in rapid speed, and in different angles.

I groaned, “Oh, that is just not fair.” I planted my feet on the deck and went at it with a downward slash.

It parried the blade, the frakking drone parried the blade, and managed something that resembled a straight thrust to the chest. And just as quick as that, I was on the defensive side. Every attack forced me back towards the opened hatch.

As I was getting my ass handed to me by this superball on deathsticks, it occurred to me that the drone was using Makashi, a style meant for dueling other lightsaber wielders. It was a fan favorite of the Shadows, Marco and Rachel in particular. This drone was using Marco and Rachel’s particular style, heavy on flourishing, using the light of the saber to disorient the eyes to where the next blow was going. I never mastered Makashi, it felt too aesthetically callous, as opposed to Shii Cho and Soresu.

I did however learn to defend it.

I closed my eyes, cutting out the disorientation, and pushed my Senses out with the Force. I felt the blade’s flourish move into a strike to my left temple. I moved my blade, tip down, in a sweeping motion in front of me and blocked the attack, and in the same movement I kept the blade moving around me, bringing it over my right shoulder and dragging it down before it could recover from the parry. I opened my eyes just in time to see the spherical ball split like a melon and dropped to the floor with out fuss or hassle.

“I see you learned something useful,” a voice said from the empty room.

I spun around, my blade still ignited and at the ready. “Who’s there?”

“Your Soresu was sloppy,” he spoke again. “I’ve seen Padawans have all four drones down in their first spin.” His tone that of the very high accent you’d find amongst the nobility or military officers. Very formal, very scholarly, very cold.

“Tough words for someone too afraid to face me!”

The Voice made an exasperated sigh. The center of the roof slid open to reveal a holographic projector. The light turned on, revealing a pale, wiry man about half a foot taller than me. He wore a black shirt of fine material with a black jacket and pants made of a rich material reserved. His hair, brushed forward, was whiter than his skin.

“Better now?” He said, his voice feigning boredom.

“No,” I said. The blade pointed at the image. “Where are you?”

“I’m here.”

I rolled my eyes, “Not the image, you twit. Where on the ship are you transmitting?”

The Man rolled his eyes as well. “You really are dim, I am the ship!”

My eyes widened. “The Ship,”

He nodded slowly.

“You’re the Ship,”

He nodded again, looking as one would if they were guiding a child.

I looked at him, “Frak you!”

His face dropped, he sighed again “All those years of training as a Jedi and they turned out a petty thug.”

I was about to show him exactly how petty I could be when I heard a beeping at my pocket. It was the datapad the lawyer gave me. It too started to project an image. This one was of Baron Marco, as I had seen him at the Opera House. He wore his brown tunic and pants. His grey hair was cut short, and he still had that easy grin.

The image faced me and smiled. “Hello, Ian,”

My blood pressure dropped.

Marco’s smile widened, showing teeth now. “Come now, Ian. Did you honestly think I didn’t know your real name? Rachel found out, and I taught her.”

“He’s not terribly bright,” The ship’s hologram muttered.

The image of Marco didn’t acknowledge this. “I set this message on a time delay. I figured by now you and the Bolero’s On Board A.I.--” The other hologram clicked his heels and bowed at this. “-- Have gotten acquainted. So, let’s get down to business.”

He clapped his hands and started pacing back and forth along the deck, his projection flattening as it reached the walls.

“You are receiving this Will because, my boy, I’m leaving everything I own to you.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I know,” he said. “I know. I’m too generous. But the truth is this: I have no family, Rachel was…” he paused, and I saw him falter for a second, then he caught himself. “She was as close to a daughter as I could have, and she was your Master. That makes you like a grandson to me. I don’t have much, some money, some land. I consider my prize possession to be this Star Courier” He spread his arms wide, to acknowledge the interior of the ship. “This girl is based on some designs I found on a Darksider some years back. She’s quick and sturdy. The A.I. has everything you need, including a list of known Darksiders, Sith, Techniques, both combative and force related. Use him.”

The “ship” sighed, “I wish he phrased that better.”

Marco looked at me, “I know you’re going to Salus, Ian. The Council is right to be worried about it. It is a Grey World, there is both Great Light, and Great Dark there.”

He stepped closer to me, “Ian, I would have taken you with me, but you need to do this. I wish you well, Good Bye my boy”

The image dimmed out. I took the data pad and packed it back into my pocket.

The ship’s A.I. stood there with a handkerchief, “That was so touching,” he said in a mock sob. He dropped the fake tears and looked at me, “So, the ship is yours --Programmer, help me—what is your first order, sir?”

I stood on the deck a while longer, saber still ignited in my hand. My life had just changed dramatically, both personally and fiscally. Who else could have learned that I entered the Order under an assumed name? How much more did Marco and Rachel know? Why didn’t they tell me before they died?

I had a feeling that the days of Ethan Kelebui were slowly coming to an end.

But first…

“Show me to the cockpit, Bob, we’ve got some work to do.”

The hologram almost said something, but then closed his mouth. A door to my right slid open to reveal a lift.

“Bob!?” He said incredulously, despite coming from the speakers in the hull.

“Yeah, Bolero On-Board AI, Bolero-On-Board. Bob.”

I heard him sigh, “I have the capacity to fill the Jedi Archives twice, and I’m reduced to being called…Bob?”

“Shut it, Bob” I said. The lift brought me up several feet, to reveal a very modest cockpit the same circular shape as the floor below.

The hologram appeared in the center of this room as well. He had his hands in his pockets and looked chagrin

I sat at the controls, and I felt the excitement run through me. “Ok, I’ve got a date on a prison planet, and I don’t want to be late.” I gave the projection a quick glance. “Let’s open this baby up, I wanna see how badass she is.”

Bob merely looked at me with that perpetual, grumpy look. Then his face started to change, a smile crept on his face. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

-End of Act II-

c15page @ 2009-05-15T23:36:00

2009-05-16T03:37:25Z

More Writing:

Act I: Too Close To Home

I woke up to the sounds of my communicator beeping. Without lifting my head from the pillow, I picked it up.

I was greeted on the other end by a overly cheery voice, “Hello Mr. Kelebui! The Sun is shining!”

I raised my head off the pillow and looked out my apartment’s window. The sky of Coruscant was ashen gray and pouring buckets of rain down onto the streets below.

But that’s not what the message was saying.

“Thank you for the wake-up call,” I said, or tried to say. I’m not really a morning person.

“Have a sunny day!”

I tossed my communicator onto the nightstand and sat up on the bed. As much as I didn’t want to get up, you just can’t ignore a call from Shadow HQ.

I quickly fumbled around the room in search of my clothes. Apparently I had ordered out the night before, boxes of food scattered the already cluttered floor. I had all my clothes on when I discovered something startling. Something that should not have been in my apartment at all.

“Whose high heel shoe is this?” I asked.

No sooner did I say that did the sheets on my bed begin to stir, revealing light purple flesh.

“Oh,” I muttered, shoe still in hand. “Guess this belongs to you.”

###

After introducing myself to Dirra, the lovely young Twi’lek in my bedroom, I made my way to the Headquarters of the Jedi Shadows.

The Shadows, in one incarnation or another, have been apart of the Jedi Order for the better part of the millennia. For as long as anyone I knew could remember, the Shadows were a black bag operation. Although we were all recruited from the Order, and answered to the Order, we did not exist in the end. This is made easier by the Special Hunters Unit, which is the more publicly known Dark Jedi hunters group. While everyone sees them coming, no one is looking at the person to their left or right who may or may not be holding a sith-red saber in their hand.

As Marco tried to explain it, we’re like an order that is adjacent to the Jedi. We work with the Jedi, but on paper, we are not the Jedi. When we die, only the permanent members of the Council attend our funeral. Our names become taboo to speak.

Damned sobering, isn’t it?

The sky taxi dropped me off in front of at the Yggdrasil Financing building. Mercifully there were only a few steps to walk between the street and the door, so I wouldn’t be drenched by the constant downpour.

The building’s lobby was cheerful and busy. The walls were made of a marble of various hues of purple, the floor a reflective gold to give the impression of wealth and money, respectively. People fluttered about, doing menial tasks, and if you didn’t recognize them, you might never be able to peg the Shadow Guards from the real deal. Although Yggdrasil was a front company, it was still a damned good front company.

I made my way to the lobby, where a perky looking receptionist with her copper hair tied into a neat ponytail waited. When she greeted me, I realized that she was my wake up call.

“Good morning!” she said cheerily. I Sensed nothing in her to suggest it was a show or she was drugged, she sincerely was that damned chipper. “How my I help you?”

I thought about one or two ways she could help me, but after Dirra I figured I had enough adventures with the fairer sex this morning. “I’m here to see Tyr Voden, please?”

Chipper went to work on her console, ignoring me for a second. “Mr. Kelebui?”

“That’s the name on my shorts,” I nodded.

She blushed a little, then righted herself. “Deputy Director Voden is currently at the Jedi Temple. He wished for you to meet him there.”

“Uh…” I said, mustering the keen Jedi Intellect. “When?”

“At 0900.”

I looked at the clock, it was already twenty to nine.

“Gods damn it,” I muttered. “If you can, send him a message telling him I’m on my way.”

I was already out the door by the time she nodded. I waved down the first air taxi I found and got in. I told the Besalisk drive to step on it, and through him extra credits in advance to show I was on the level.

“Okay,” he said, two arms on the wheel and the other two fiddling with controls. “This weather isn’t going to make it any easier.”

He was right, it didn’t. There was a sky jam ten minutes away from the Temple. Short of jumping out of the cab and running off the roofs of speeders (fool me once...), I wasn’t going to be getting there any sooner.

“Ah well,” said the cabbie, obviously conceding to the natural law of traffic. He began to flip a few switches. “Let’s hear what the HoloNet has to say.”

The voice of the newscaster came in over several speakers throughout the cab

--...and that’s it for the traffic. In other News, officials are baffled at the brutal murders of four Republic Soldiers last night in the Capitol Sector. Adding further to the mystery is the recent discovery that the white powder that was sprinkled on their bodies were crushed Lithium capsules.-

The cabbie shut off the speakers, “Fat lot of good that did anyone.”

The cabbie managed a way to wiggle us to the front of the temple. I threw him the cash, thanked him profusely, and then began to haul ass up towards the Temple. Let me tell you something, stone and three inches of rain do not, a pleasant walk, make. I rolled both my ankles and almost slipped twice before I made it to the upper level of the temple. Standing there was a silver protocol droid.

“Hello, sir.” It said in a very light, apologetic tone. “Are you by any chance Ethan Kelebui?”

“Yes,” still walking towards the Temple, shelter, and warmth. “How late am I?”

The droid was having a harder time getting through the rain than I was. “Thirty minutes, sir.”

My stomach rolled. I was keeping the Council waiting. Which I’m sure was what Voden wished of me. Me and him never really got along.

The droid guided me to the Council Spire, but instead of the turbo lift, it walked towards what I knew to be a small meditation chamber.

Standing in front of the chamber door was a figure in a black cloak so large and billowy I could not begin to guess to their gender or species other that to say vaguely human. Their hands were tucked in firmly under their sleeves. The only thing visible was a mask of smooth, reflective material that covered their face without giving any indication of where eyes or nose should be.

The figure was known only as Dante. They were the personal guard for Tyr Voden.

I nodded towards the Shadow, which was met with static. Dante just nodded to the door, which opened of its own volition. I walked in without giving them another look, mostly because I wasn’t going to buy into that mysterioso rubbish…

…partly because I was afraid of what I’d see if I did look too close.

The chamber door slid close as I walked in, and immediately a projector built into the floor of the room came to life. The image was of a man who looked to young to be older than forty, but his eyes had the weariness of twice that age. His head was devoid of any hair, his skin, even in the ethereal blueish hue of the hologram, was a distinctive black. His broad face maintained a look of smug charm and arrogance.

“Ah,” he said, “Padawan Kelebui, you’ve finally made time out of your busy schedule to see the Council.”

I raised an eyebrow, “I don’t see the Council…sir.”

His face flashed with anger, but quickly changed back. “I am up in the Council chambers, the Grandmaster and the permanent members are up here as well.”

I nodded, “Then I offer no excuse to my lateness, just the explanation that people on this planet can’t fly a damn because they’re too afraid their speeders will get wet in the rain.”

I heard laughing in the background, but all I saw was Voden’s angry face.

“Padawan Kelebui,” he said sternly. “We have been called here because the Council has sensed a disturbance in the Force, in the form of a person.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Is this person a threat?”

Voden smiled, “That depends on what you tell us.” Voden’s image grew larger, as if he were moving closer to the projector on his end. “Tell us Ethan, about Cydonians.”

The bottom of my stomach dropped out at the very mention of my Homeworld.

“You are a Cydonian, aren’t you?” he said. It might have been my imagination, but he said it with too much enthusiasm.”

“Yes sir,” I muttered.

“Then, we’re waiting, Ethan”

A voice inside me cried That is not my name, you bureaucratic pleb!

I took a deep breath, reigning in all the fear and frustration I had. I had spent the better part of a decade ducking the question of my homeworld. This was inevitable.

“Cydonians can trace their lineage back to the first human settlements of the Universe. Each child born of Cydonian blood is almost assuredly padawan level Force Sensitive or higher.”

That got Voden’s attention. “Why hasn’t there been any contact between us and them?”

“Because the Cydonians remember the beginning of the war between Jedis and Sith. We remember the violence across the galaxy and in our very streets. The last Emperor of the planet sided with the Sith, became a terrible force for the Dark Side. The Council of Nine, the parliamentary body of Nobles, stood up and deposed him. They declared that to lay rest the issue once and or all, that Cydonians were barred from ever contacting either the Sith or the Jedis. The war could go on, but our homes would be spared.”

“If they are as strong as you say,” Voden muttered “I could see why they would be evaded.”

I nodded. I felt a bit of pride for Cydonia, standing in that chamber and forcing my boss to reassess the situation.

“Cydonians make their way by selling labor: Construction workers, Droid Manufacturing, Tactical support, Medical Aid. We like a good song, a good story, and a good drink.”

He blinked for a second to catch up.

I frowned, “Now, what does this have to do with anything?”

Voden looked over to his left, and his image began to shift. In place of him was the image of a man’s head. Despite the monochromatic blue, I could still make out the shoulder length blonde hair, the icy blue of his eyes, and the light tan of his square face.

“This is Jacob Lostirith,” Voden’s voice said off screen.

I blinked.

“Ah,” Voden said. “The name means something to you.”

Oh crap, I had forgotten Voden and the Council could still see me.

I tried to compose myself, “The Lostirhim are Knights loyal to House Uilos.” I swallowed, trying to weigh my words wisely. “The same House my family were loyal to. If Lostirith is his last name, he is of one of the older, more powerful families in the Knight’s Caste.”

The image of Jacob Lostirith shifted back to the darkened features of Tyr Voden. “The reason why we’ve asked you here is because the Council has detected a possible nexus in the Force on the wasteland moon of Salus.”

“The prison planet?” I asked.

Voden nodded, “We believe that Lostirith is there, and that he is at the center of it. There have been numerous reports of inmates dying without any wounds and that the civilians who live there speak of a new savior.”

My stomach churned, typical boilerplate of a Dark Jedi or Sith-wannabe. Gain powers, build a cult. Lather…Rinse…Repeat.

That just didn’t sound…right.

“Sir, I find that…impossible.”

Voden’s eyebrows raised, he placed his hands on his hips. “Oh?”

“A Cydonian would never become a Sith, let alone go Dark.”

The head of the Shadows smiled, “But one did become a Jedi, didn’t he?”

I rolled my eyes, “Yes…”

“And if one can join the Light Side, then another can join the Dark.”

Touche’

Voden won the argument, and he knew it. His grin went from ear to ear.

“Your mission is to go to Salus, investigate the situation there, and to eliminate Jacob Lostirith if necessary.”

My body went numb, my tongue went dry. I backed away from the hologram. “I can’t…”

“Are you disobeying a direct order from the Council?”
“No, but I…”

“Then you will go to Salus --“

“It’s taboo!” I blurted. “A Cydonian can not murder another Cydonian! It has not happened in almost 5 millenia!”

I knelt down, my heart was pounding and I needed to breath. I also had the urge to get the frak off of Coruscant, but breathing

I looked up at the projection. Voden’s eyes were wide, he had never seen me like this. I had never seen me like this.

But then he straightened himself up, and looked at me with narrow eyes.

“You leave for Salus in the morning,”

The hologram disengaged, and I was left in the dark.

Damned Metaphors

-End of Act I-

c15page @ 2009-05-06T12:33:00

2009-05-06T16:33:43Z

Prologue for the NY Jedi Story

At the Opera Tonight

The Galaxies Opera House had lost none of it’s majesty in the centuries it has been opened. It’s seen great plays like Squid Lake, The Tale of Twin Jedis, and a slew of others. Tonight, it was going to host an execution.

And I was playing the executioner.

Despite the hood of my cloak being drawn below my eyes, I walked along the ancient hallways with fluid precision. No one else walked the halls, not during the show. I stopped in front of one of the doors to the private suite of “Baron” Marco, former Jedi Shadow.

The door slid open before I could touch the controls.

“Come in, Ethan.” A voice called. It was calm, collected, and cool. Not too much, but just enough to put someone at ease without trying. “I’d offer you wine, but I think we both know you won’t take it.

I walked in, throwing off my cloak. No need for theatrics on here, there was enough of it on stage.

The suite was empty, save for myself and the Baron. Marco was developed in his years, but you could still see under the layer of comfort that he had been an incredibly handsome man with light, tan skin and sparkling blue eyes. He wore the brown tunic with matching pants, and black boots that went just below his knee. He wore the medals and epaulets of one of the lesser nobles of Serenno upon his chest. He casually held a half drunken glass of wine in his right hand. I didn’t see it, but everything I knew about the man told me he had his lightsaber somewhere nearby

I took the seat next to him and watched the play for a few minutes. Neither one of us talking for several minutes

“So, Voden sent you,” he said to me, drinking from a small glass of wine.

I didn’t look at him, “figured I was the only one who could get close enough to you.”

He nodded, “smart move. How long have you been following me?”

“Since the riot on Nar Shadda,”

Marco winced, “That was not my fault. Bloody bounty hunters tried to collect on me.”

“I know,” “If I thought it was your fault, I’d have slashed you through your heart just for the frakkin migraine that caused.”

We both chuckled. It was a good feeling where we both dropped our defenses, if only for a moment.

I watched the play for a while, we’d have plenty of time for violence or treachery later, no harm in taking a good play.

“This is Colonus, isn’t it?” I asked.

Marco made a noise to confirm, “We saw it before. I took you and--”

He paused. He almost said the name of my Master, Rachel Durante. That’s the problem of being in the black ops of the Jedi Order. When you die, you aren’t mentioned, or honored. Your name officially becomes taboo to speak.

Shadows do not exist

Period.

I could see it rankled the old man just as much as it did me. Not surprising considering he was her Master.

“I never really understood this play,” I said. “This is supposed to be a Heroic play, but it’s about an old man dying.”

I heard a low growl in the wily Jedi’s throat. I had given him exactly what he wanted.

“Keep in mind that the old man was once a King, cursed by his Gods and himself, blinding himself for trying to defy the decree of Fate. After this, he is set to walk from kingdom to kingdom in search of a place to die, but no one will take him in out of fear of his curse. Years of trudging pass, and finally, he receives a vision, telling him of his final resting place. His homeland, now in civil war, sends two emissaries to bring him back. One is for his son, who rules his kingdom, and his other son, who is vying for power. The King listens to neither of them, and follows his Fate.”

I closed my eyes and nodded, “He redeemed himself.”

Marco made another grunt of confirmation.

“So, how we going to do this?” he asked

I didn’t answer, I just looked at him as he just drank another glass of wine.

“The roof has a pretty elegant view…” I said flatly, letting the implication hang.

I turned from the stage to look at him. Rachel had been a master of Makashi, a style designed for the sole purpose of dueling against other saber wielders. She delivered death quickly and stylishly. She was the only person I was ever afraid to fight.

Baron Marco had been the one to train her.

I was terrified of him.

He just sighed, “as much as I appreciate the offer. I for one do not wish to die like a mark. If I taught either of you something, it’s to face things on your own terms.”

I felt my face flush hot, but I managed to maintain my cool. I smiled, flashing teeth. “Those are my terms, old man. You left the Order, you caused a planetary civil war. But if that means absolutely nothing, you walked out on me. You were the only thing that made me happy here. You took care of me after She died.”

He said nothing, but a smile touched his face and his bright blue eyes sparkled. “Would you have come with me? Left the order.”

I blinked, the blood draining from my face.

He smiled more, “That’s all I needed to know.”

Feeling defeated, I stood up. My dark cloak falling down to my legs “Let’s get this over with.”

“Already over,” he said.

I heard the wine glass clatter against the floor without breaking. Marco’s breathing became heavy, labored, as if he was hyperventilating in a swamp.

“What did you do?” I asked, kneeling to him. I grabbed the wine glass. The moment I brought it to my nose I new what had happened.

“You poisoned yourself, why?”

He sat there, eyes wild. A small trail of blood began to trickle down his lips and nose. “Because those are my terms, Ethan.” He made a grunt of effort as he leaned over to me. “Remember what She told you, remember to always be your own person, remember…to…always check your messages.”

I cocked my head. The poison must have been addling his mind.

Marco leaned his head back. “The drama is over,”

If you blinked, you would have missed it. The body of the old man began to fade away. I’m not talking disintegrate, I mean that his body was solid one second, translucent the next, and then completely gone.

All that remained of Baron Marco were his uniform. I felt through the fine brown silk until I found his lightsaber. It was a curved hilt the color of obsidian, with a violet stone set at the pommel.

I turned to the door of the suite, listening to a player on the stage shout with all their might.

“I received a gift

for serving the city

--would to God I had never won it!—

for my heart is broken!”

I rolled my eyes and marched out, “ain’t that the frakkin truth…”

-End of Prologue-

A Moment of Vanity

2009-04-30T03:56:35Z

c15page @ 2009-04-24T01:20:00

2009-04-24T05:28:26Z

Epilogue for Rave! Thanks for Reading!

We only get together at Knightings and Funerals.

I had been right, the authorities responded in five minutes.

Yay…

The Jedis were quick to follow, they bound and gagged Daken -thanks gods- and loaded him into a medical transport, limbs and all.

They tried to get me to let go of Rachel. I don’t remember what I did, but they got the message. I picked up her body, lighter than I remembered, and placed it into the medical transport.

I think one of the Jedi Medics snuck up on me, because I woke up the next day in the hospital with another needle mark next to the one Rachel had given me at the club.

The next day, I faced the Council. A Jedi had been murdered, and I, her padawan, had been the only survivor. Twelve hours and just as many retellings of the story later, they accepted my report.

In the end, Daken was to be placed on some prison planet. If there was any justice in the Universe, they’d pipe Wookie Opera for him and his Vong cellmate to dance to late at night

. Nothing had been mentioned about my next Master, and I certainly wasn’t going to be Knighted. I wasn’t going to be the one to push that subject

And no one knew anything about the waitress who died. What her name was, where she was from, nothing.

All that was left was Rachel’s funeral.

Rachel’s body had been wrapped in white gauss and placed on top of the funeral pyre. Myself, and the members of the Jedi Coucil were all in white robes. At the signal, two Jedis lit the pyre. I watched as the remains blackened and turned to ash.

As the bonfire raged, I took from out of my robes her curved lightsaber. As was customary for a Shadow’s funeral, I threw it in with her.

A regular Jedi funeral would have involved friends and colleagues in the Order as well as from outside. This isn’t the case of Shadows. Officially, Jedi Shadows didn’t exist, to openly acknowledge the death of a Shadow would be to acknowledge the entire operation.

I suppose that’s why Rachel made me her padawan. Ethan Kelebui wasn’t my real name, I didn’t technically exist either. I was perfect for what was needed.

I looked at the fire, and despite its pervasive warmth, a cold chill formed in my stomach.

This is too shall be your Fate, Ian.

At the end, when the fire had died and all that was left were ashes, the Council recited the old version of the Jedi Code:

There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no death, there is the Force.

Try as I might, a part of me noted a hint of condescension in the tones of some of the Council members as they read the Code. Rachel was not a shining poster child for the Council, she bent rules, and broke noses. The only thing that had kept her safe most times was the fact that she was a Shadow, and was given a freer hand than the rest of the Order. But in that room, I felt very little loss or sadness for the death of the person. Instead, all I felt was that an asset had been taken out of play.

After the recital, they all walked off in single file out of the chamber, leaving me to my thoughts. I stared at the ashes. I thought about my life, I thought about Rachel’s life. I thought about the Code, and how it only half applied to Rachel. She had lived with her emotions, and her passions. She didn’t revel in them selfishly; she used them as weapons for the Light.

And she died doing what she did best, bringing down people who hurt others. Members of the Council were too busy protecting policy to realize that, and I doubt that any of them would lose any sleep over the death of a rebel Jedi, a true warrior of the Light.

And it was there, in that funeral chamber, in front of my Master’s ashes, that my rebellion against the Order began…

-To Be Continued-

c15page @ 2009-04-20T19:35:00

2009-04-20T23:36:20Z

Last chapter for Rave, with an epilogue soon to follow

Duel of the Shattered Sun

The Shattered Sun Club had continued on with their night as if we had never showed up three hours ago. The place was still packed to the brim with exotic and colorful people, and they showed no signs of leaving.

We were about to change their minds.

“Almost ready to go here,” Rachel murmured from behind me.

I nodded, and readied myself in front of the dual doors. They weren’t in my peripheral, but I knew the unconscious bodies of two more bouncers propped up against the wall to my left. Their frames and the floor rattled with the ever constant beat of the bass. A part of me, the part that was worried and frightened about the chaos that was about to go down, began to think that the club itself was alive, that we were in the belly of some great monster. I pushed that out of my mind. We were too close to the action to allow that kind of thinking, before and after, sure, but it was almost game time.

“I’ve got to say, Ethan, this wasn’t a half bad idea.”

I smiled “Shouldn’t you be concentrating?”

She made a grunt of effort, “almost there. I just thought you should know that. I’m proud of you.”

“Well, Daken gave me the idea. I’m just using it to better use. I just wish I could help more than crowd control.”

“Soon enough…” she said, her voice getting distant.

I kept my eyes on the doors, “Err...me or the club?”

“Both,” she whispered.

I nodded and drew my saber. I held it out in front of me, my left hand on the pommel, my right near the ignition, proper Shii-Cho style. I did not ignite the blade yet.

The plan I had come up with is actually Daken’s plan. All the club goers’ minds were being assaulted by the constant frenetic music and lights, making it easier for Daken to Trick them into staying and following his wishes. We were going to send out a pirate signal, another suggestion telling them to flee through the main entrance.

You may be asking ‘How could we convince them of that?’

Well, that’s where the candles come in.

I wasn’t looking at Rachel because she needed all her concentration on the candle in her hand. She was focusing on it’s light, it’s color, It’s heat.

While she pulled off the Trick, I’d be defending her until she got her wits back. The moment she’d send it out, Daken would know where we were and send every bouncer and goon after us.

“Sending in…Three,”

I steeled myself, things were going to get ugly quick.

“Two,”

I will not fear, I thought to myself. Fear is the mindkiller

“One…Now!”

I felt the Trick brush past me, a brief flash of heat and danger flooded my mind. But I had been expecting it. Those guys were getting the full trip; that a fire had broken out. Self preservation and mob mentality would take care of the details.

I took it as a sign of Rachel’s talent that the screams started almost immediately. I could feel the congealed panic of the mob as they stampeded out of the club. I could hear it as well. Shouts, cries of fear and confusion pierced the electronica. The thrumming, constant beat of the bass began to fade to the crescendo of a thousand pairs of feet running.

And then, over the din, I heard Daken’s voice. Not loud enough to know what he said, but enough to understand it. I heard new footsteps, coming closer.

“Company’s coming,” I said. I heard Rachel wearily mutter something back. For the next few minutes, my job in life was to keep her safe until she could stand up and fight.

I could hear the new set of footsteps get closer to the door, closer, closer…

Just when I felt that the first wave had made it to the door, I Pushed the doors wide open. I was greeted to the site of a dozen guards, not including the three sent flying backwards. They all ignited their sabers, all of them a bright scarlet.

I smiled, and ignited my own cerulean blade.

To their credit, they weren’t dumb. They didn’t just charge in blindly. Even though I was a padawan-learner, I was still a Jedi. While these guys were probably used to using their sabers on civilians, I had been trained in fighting against other wielders.

I could see them look at each other, formulating, calculating. They were trying to find some weak point somewhere in front or to the side of me to exploit. I wasn’t giving it to them, I was standing dead center in the hallway, blade guarding my body core and able to slash in any direction. The only thing close to a liability was right behind me and she was getting better. If they were smart, they’d turn and run out of the club with the crowd.

They charged anyways.

Up until then, I had never killed a living soul. Killing someone felt wrong to me, and completely anathema to what I wanted to do in the Order.

In that hallway, my misgivings were not allayed, if anything they were made worse because of how easy it was. The guards charged at me, blades in the air, completely unaware of how open they left themselves. I moved quickly and (scarily enough) effortless through their ranks. I didn’t use two strokes of the saber when one would suffice. By the time I had gone through the twelfth man, I realized that I was actually doing the moves for a training drill for shii-cho. The guards just happened to be in the way of the blade.

When the last man fell, I looked around me. Pieces of over a dozen men surrounded me; the smell of meat charred by my blade assaulted my nose. My stomach, despite being empty, wanted to rebel against me.

I turned and looked towards Rachel. She was kneeling, but her eyes leveled against me.

“Damn, kid. That was cold”

My head snapped back to the doors. Standing there was Daken. Being this close to him, he was only a few inches shorter than me and aside from the swirling red and black tattoos that covered the left half of his face, he was markedly handsome. At his hip, I noticed, was his lightsaber. The hilt was twice that of my own and curved into an “S” shape.

“Seriously,” he said, “Watching you fight is like watching a one man rave: a lot of light, a lot of passion and a lot of fury.” He began clapping.

I eyed him coldly, “In the name of the Republic, you are under arrest.”

He chuckled, and grabbed his saber. “This should be interesting.”

Both the ends of the saber ignited scarlet.

I looked behind me, Rachel hadn’t stirred an inch. I was on my own.

I stared a head at my opponent. Daken’s eyes were an icy shade of blue. He held his saberstaff on his right side. The blade perpendicular to his arm.

“So what’s your name?” he asked. “Shouldn’t dance with someone you don’t know.”

I smiled, and thought about it. “Call me Rave.”

Daken let out a soft chuckle. “Nice, I like that.”

We moved at almost the same time, both going for the other’s head. Our blades clashed, the energy of one grinding against the energy of the other. We backed up and went back in to attack. Daken was right, it was a dance, we moved in our own staccato rhythm of attack-block-counter-block-counter up and down the hallway.

“Your Shii-Cho is amazing!” He cried has he blocked several blows to his hips and head. “What do you think of mine? A lot of staff users prefer Juyo, but nothing beats the tried and true!”

I didn’t answer him. I just kept going, pushing him further and further towards the doors to the main dance floor.

“Come on, Rave. Are you scared?”

He was close, so close to the doors.

“Answer me damn it!” He attacked in a downward swing, too angry, with too much of himself thrown in. I stepped aside of the blade, watched it spark off the floor. I brought my saber down on to it, keeping him there. I reached out with the Force and slammed the still open doors closed, bumping into his back, propelling him towards me.

Grabbing my hilt tightly, I brought it up in a great arch from my left foot to my right shoulder, putting my entire body into it. If it connected, that would be all she wrote. But he jumped and rolled over it, missing it by a fraction. And that would have been concerting enough if I hadn’t realized that he was a few inches away from Rachel.

Before I could even turn to face him, I found my self flying into the doors and out into the now dark and deserted dance floor. Daken landed not too far away from me.

As I staggered back up to my feet, I looked at the lit hallway and saw Rachel slowly rising herself. The glazed look in her eyes lessened, but not by much. Her right hand was stretched out. She must have Pushed us on reflex alone.

I ignited my blade and waited for Daken to make his way to his feet.

“What was her name?” I asked.

I could see in the darkness that he stopped brushing himself off for a minute and looked at me. “Who?”

“The waitress you…” I stopped, trying to control my voice “The waitress you killed.”

He cocked an eyebrow “I didn’t know she worked here. Ha, funny.”

My face went flush with anger, and my stomach went cold with hate. I charged at him, sword raised high for another killing stroke.

“Guess again!”

With a flick of his hand, the music and lights had come on, full blast. My senses going haywire, my body not sure which way was north.

“You know what they say, Rave! If it’s too loud, you’re too old!”

I felt myself fumble through empty space, dazzled by the strobes and laser lights.

In fact, all the little lights were red, the same shade of red as his lightsaber.

And mine was bright blue.

I immediately killed the power on the blade.

Daken’s voice filled the room, somehow managing to be crystal clear over the blasting music.

“You’re quick, kid. Damn quick. But it’s only a matter of time before I find you.”

I searched around the club. So many red lights, so many things that looked human and I had no way of knowing where he was.

“But that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it?” he continued. “You’re terrified of being found out. Boy from Cydonia.”

Frak me!

Daken laughed, “That’s right, let it go. Let your fear go. It’s the only way I can truly help--”

“Ianto!”

A flash of blue came from left and behind me. I turned and saw Rachel,blocking a downward blow from Daken’s staff.

In a single motion, Daken pushed up on her blade, unbalancing her, and with the bottom of his staff, he sliced right in to her chest.

The world stopped for a split second. There were no sounds, just this strange tableau.

After that split second, Rachel took her raise saber and brought it down hard, forcing Daken’s blade into the ground.

I ignited my blade, and brought it down in a tremendous arc. The sounds of energy hitting flesh as it connected just below his elbows. Before he could cry out, or even before his limbs hit the floor. I Pushed him into the farthest wall.

I could barely make out Rachel’s form in the dark, but I caught her before she collapsed.

“It’s ok, Rach. I got him.”

Her mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear anything over the music.

“SHUT UP!” I screamed, sending out a wave of anger-filled pressure. The music equipment sputtered and sparked, finally dying.

Rachel made a wet groan “Oh, thank the Force. I thought it would never end.”

I cradled her head in my arms, trying very hard to ignore the tears in my eyes “Please don’t talk. Someone must have called the authorities about the fire. They’ll get here, you’ll be fine.”

She brushed her hand against my face, “That’s the thing you never got right. Lying. You know how bad this is, so do I.”

I closed my eyes, “I don’t want to lose you, Rachel. You’ve taught me so much.”

“I know, who’d have thought I’d put out a good student?” she laughed, which turned to a spluttering, wet cough. I felt something warm and wet hit my cheek. “Although I think I ruined you for your next Master,”

“I don’t want another one,”

Her hand on my face firmed up a bit, not painfully, but enough to grab my attention.

“Then don’t,” she said. “Follow your own path. Serve no Master.” Using her hand at my neck, she pulled herself closer to my face.

“Ian--”

Her lips met mine. In that first second I tasted the blood in her mouth, but that faded away. All I felt or sensed was her love, her passion, her life, pouring out of her and into me.

After what felt like forever and a day, her head lowered down.

I was fully crying now, I held her even more closely.

“Why did you do that?” I asked.

I couldn’t see it in the dark, but I could tell she smiled. “Because, I always wanted to.”

She died in my arms shortly after.

-End-