The Rise of Darth Vious

[tanzanlinnear]

The following takes place during the execution of Order 66 and directly after...
The caves of Androzani were a cold, dank place. Leading his detatchment of clone troops, Jedi Master Tanzan Linnear raised the hood of his cloak to keep away the slowly dripping water. It was cold in the caves, the air damp and moist, it chilled against the skin, and Tanzan would only be glad to be out of them, once more in the warmth of the sun. Behind him, he heard the rhythmic marching of the troops echoing from the cave walls. A noise drifted forwards to his ears, the cracking audio of a holo communique.
"Execute Order Sixty Six," commanded a rasping voice. Was that Palpatine?
"Yes, my Lord," came the soulless reply of the clone commander, but with it, Tanzan also sensed a ripple of motion amongst the troops. Turning, he saw the troops raising their rifles, and knowing instinctively that he was their target, his hand went to the hilt of his lightsaber. In less than the time than it took for the troops to fully aim, Tanzan's saber was ignited, it's blade casting a lambent green glow over the cave walls. There was no question in Tanzan's mind about whether he could block so many blaster bolts, he had survived the Battle of Geonosis, and there had been more opponents then. Do, or do not, there is no try, Master Yoda had told him as a youngling.
The troops opened fire, and instantly, even while he deflected every shot that came near him, Tanzan knew something was wrong. The air had changed, there was some kind of disturbance in the Force, but he could not identify it. The blaster fire continued, the clones switched their weapons to full auto, and the rate of fire increased. Tanzan sank into a meditative trance, letting the Force guide his movements, his saber becoming an emerald blur. Then, he heard it. A rushing roar. Opening his eyes, Tanzan saw a cloud of flame engulfing the troops, and move towards him. The blaster fire had ignited sub-terranean gasses. The blaster fire had stopped, the clones were all dead, and Tanzan knew that he was about to join them. Lowering his lightsaber, he extinguished the blade. Closing his eyes, he sank deeper into his meditations as he had been taught, he felt as if he was sinking into the floor of the cave as his consciousness expanded outwards, untill he was aware of nothing but light.
Out of the light, a shadow appeared, growing and solidifying until it had taken the form of a man, tall, broad shouldered, and with long black hair. Tanzan immediately recognized his former Jedi Master, Senpa D'avda, who had died nearly a decade ago.
"Master D'avda, what is this place?" he asked.
"Surely you should know that, Tanzan," replied the Jedi Master. "Remember what Yoda first taught you about ignoring your senses, they can fool you."
Tanzan frowned, concentrating further, and the image of Senpa faded, although the feeling of his presence, the unique ripples he created in the Force, remained. "Master, have I died?"
"That depends on your point of view, my young apprentice. How many times did I have to tell you about rejoicing for those who transform into the Force rather than mourning them? You have indeed learned well from what Yoda and I taught you, you have become a great Jedi in your own right, your connection with the Force is strong, and I see that your skills with a lightsaber have improved since we parted."
"Qui-Gon Jinn was good enough to introduce me to his former Master," Tanzan replied. "He expanded my range of saber techniques before leaving the Order."
"Indeed, Dooku was once a great Jedi Master before he succumbed to the Dark Side of the Force,"echoed Senpa's voice. "Despite all he became, you were indeed fortunate to be one of his pupils, I could not have instructed you or completed your training any better myself."
Before he could reply, Tanzan became aware of a change about him. The milky luminscence in which he floated was becoming darker. Far off, on an unseen horizon, blackness was beginning to form. Sharp, jagged fragments of night began to form, swirling faster and faster until they began to touch, forming a dark horizon around Tanzan. I must not fear,Tanzan told himself. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. The ancient litany against fear was like a soothing balm, and Tanzan called out.
"Master, what is happening?"
There was no answer, only more and more fragments of darkness. Joining and connecting to the dark horizon, obscurring ever more of the peacefull light. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
"Master! Answer me!" Tanzan shouted with an air of authority he had never before used in conversation with Senpa.
"Let the Darkness come," Senpa answered eventually. "Do not turn away from it and it will not harm you."
Tanzan could not turn, even if he wanted to. He existed only as a point of light in light that had seemed without end, but now more and more, the darkness was encircling him, the darkness shielding him completely from the light.
Silence.
Then, a tiny pinprick of light, like a star against the night, a beacon, and Tanzan moved towards it.

[tanzanlinnear]

They had found him near the mouth of the caves, his clothes charred beyond use, his flesh like over-cooked meat, leathery and dry. He had been different to the others though. The copies had been mockeries of life, but he had been different, they could feel the connection in him. The connections to Akshara, the way of light, and Kshira, Akshara's dark counterpart.
They had brought him back to the villiage, a dead-weight for three days on the shoulders of the braves who carried him, and placed him in the tambaran, the spirit house. They had stripped him of his devestated garments and placed upon him an egwugwu mask to channel the spirit. Then they had begun their chanting. There was at the heart of all things, their teachings taught them, kokoro, a membrane of energy. Rythmic chants could be beaten against the membrane, creating reverberations in Akshara, the way of light. These reverberations caused an altered state in an adept, a state where thought could become physical deed.
They surrounded the stranger chanting, deep in Akshara. They could sense in the stranger a stillness. Like motes of dust caught in the light and frozen in place. They continued their chanting, concentrating on their surroundings, the dust in the air and it's motion. Time had no meaning, there was only the stillness within, and the motion without. They sensed it was not enough, and as one, they began a new chant, a different and darker chant, over and over pummelling the membrane kokoro, building on the energy that had already been present, the reverberations creating ever more energy. They sensed the dust in the air, as well as the connection in the stranger, and gradually, that too began to quicken, to stir like the onset of a tornado, untill suddenly, the stranger drew a deep, gasping breath, and the chanting ceased.

He opened his eyes. There was nothing to be seen, but this was not like the darkness before, this was simply an absence of light. Reaching out with his senses, he could feel the outlines of a building, longer than it was wide, with a high arching roof. Carved icons adorned the walls, and roof. He could feel the others with him, but gradually, one by one, they left in silence, leaving him alone. His mouth was dry, sitting up, he licked his lips, found their texture different, coarser. Gradually, his eyes became accustomed to the dark, and holding out his hands, he saw how the flesh had melted and dried, warped from it's original texture. Something seemed to be obscuring the edges of his peripheral vision, and reaching up, he felt a perfectly smooth mask covering his face. Removing it, he looked down at himself. The flesh of his hands and arms seemed the worst affected by the burns, from the elbows back, the scarring was less, and beneath the rippled layers of skin, he could still make out the tattoos across his upper arms, shoulders and chest. He reached up with trembling fingers, and touched his face. The cheekbones felt the same, as did the straight nose. The jaw seemed different. The structure remained unchanged, but the texture was smooth, all traces of beard gone. Reaching back, he felt his ears, then smooth scalp. He realized what had happened, that his hair had burned away, the hair that had turned heads of younger female padawans, had earned him compliments from the female Masters, was gone. Only time would tell if it would return. He looked down at the mask in his lap, his fingers moving over the sleek form. He could make out that it was not all one color, that some parts where white, that some parts were black, neither side the same as the other.
The door opened, and a tall humanoid approached, carrying something in it's arms. It stopped a few paces before where he still sat, and bowed silently.
"Where am I?" he asked, once more licking his dried lips.
"You are in the village," replied the humanoid. His voice was deep, accented, yet he spoke standard almost perfectly. Carefully, he placed the package he was carrying in front of the stranger. "These are to replace your old garments, we have studied them as closely as possible."
With a nod, the stranger took the pile, and shook out each garment in turn. The native was true to his word, he found himself looking at almost perfect recreations of his Jedi garb, although even in the dim light, he could see that the clothes were black. Nodding again, he dressed swiftly, then sat back in front of the native. "Have I been here long?"
"Two passings of the moon,"replied the native. "It took that long to restore the dance in you."
"The dance?"
"The dance of the dust, that which gives us our connection to Akshara."
Concentrating, the stranger was able to probe the mind of the native, identifying the images that he spoke of: The atomic motion of cells and midichlorians, the source of a Jedi's connection to the Force.
"How were you able to bring me back to life?" He asked, his hands still idly tracing the form of the mask.
"Akshara grants us many powers," replied the native. "But that was not enough. Kshira, the dark counterpart, was needed for it's differing powers. That was able to restore the dance."
The stranger's mind was reeling. He had heard whispers that the Dark Side was a source of great power, that it could be used to perform various feats the Jedi considered unnatural. Had these well-meaning natives used the Dark Side of the Force to manipulate the midichlorians in his cells into restoring his life?
The native nodded.
"You are as open to our thoughts, as we are to you," he said quietly.
Reaching up, the stranger's fingers brushed once more over his face and scalp.
"I shouldn't look this way," he said, mentally projecting an image of his appearance into the mind of the native. "Can anything further be done?"
"That is not something we have influence over," the native admitted sadly. "The dark counterpart is a source of great power, you are wise to have respect for it, but even some things are beyond it's power to grant." In his mind, he saw the creature before him whole, and while he looked strange, he knew that that was how he was supposed to look, not like the scarred humuncuolous that now sat before him. He looked sideways, and the stranger followed his gaze."We have given you a new face though," he said, and held out a black hooded cowl,"You may keep it if you wish."
Bowing deeply, the stranger slipped the cowl over his head, then pulled the mask into place over his face, felt the cool stone pressing against his forehead and cheeks, gradually warming from the heat of his face. Standing, he pulled the hood up, and let it drape into place.
The native stood as well, gesturing to the doorway of the tambaran.
"Come, your time here has passed, and you need not remain," He said, taking the stranger's arm and leading him into the first rays of morning. "I am G'Shan, High Priest of this village, what is your name?"
"Ta-" The stranger paused, then tilted his head at an angle as if listening to something only he could hear. Then he turned to face G'Shan, and his grey eyes seemed to glow beneath the egwugwu mask. "I am Darth Vious, I was once a Jedi Knight, but now, to honor that which granted me my life, I am a dark lord of the Sith."

[tanzanlinnear]

G'Shan took Vious to where he had been found. The ground at the entrance to the cave was scorched, littered with the bodies of clone troopers, their insides pulped from the shockwave of the explosion against their battle armor. Vious felt nothing for them. They had betrayed, and tried to kill him. He recalled the communique he had over heard "Execute Order Sixty Six" The rasping voice that had sounded so much like that of Palpatine.
"You are right to feel anger," G'Shan said. "These copies know nothing of honor or loyalty. They are copies of life, and know nothing of Akshara."
"Or Kshira," Vious replied. "The Dark Side of the Force is something beyond their comprehension." He could feel the power boiling up in him as if from the ground below, and all the more elemental for it. He recalled the words of his former Jedi Master, "Let the Darkness come," Senpa answered eventually. "Do not turn away from it and it will not harm you." A glint near his feet caught Vious' eye, and he knelt down. Half covered by long grass, was his lightsaber, the sunlight reflecting off the curve in it's hilt as he picked it up. Even without activating it, Vious could sense that something was wrong, some crucial miss-allignment of the primary crystal. He knew better than to try and ignite the beam, and without tools, there was nothing he could do at present. Standing, he clipped the saber to his belt and turned to G'Shan.
"I have to leave now and return to my people. Thankyou for all you have done to restore my life."
G'Shan nodded once, bowed deeply, and turned to begin the long hike back to the village.
Vious turned, and headed to the higher ground above the entry to the caves. There he found his Eta-2 Actis-Class Interceptor, untouched from when he had left it. Sensing his approach, the astromech droid, R2-B4 rotated it's head towards him, and chirped happily.
"Yes, it's me, Artoo," Vious said. He could not actually understand the whistles and chirps that the astromech made, but was somehow always able to guess at the intention behind them. Opening the c0ckpit, Vious opened a small toolkit, and took out a Gallifreyan sonic-screwdriver. Adjusting the settings, he quickly set about dismantling his lightsaber, carefully laying each part on the wing of his interceptor. Once he opened the primary crystal chamber, he saw the problem. The crystal was not merely miss-alligned, it has fractured, most likely due to the heat or shock wave from the explosion. Vious was considering the fractured chrystal, when R2 whistled inquisitively.
"I don't think I can fix it, Artoo," Vious replied, almost absently, recalling everything he had learned from Senpa about saber construction. Nothing seemed to help, until he recalled a discussion he had once had with Dooku. The sight of his former fencing instructor in the Geonosian arena had been a terrible blow, as Vious had always found his teachings usefull. He had already known that Sith Lords used artificial crystals in their sabers, but Dooku had made comment on Master Windu's new saber... It's amethyst blade... A normal adegan crystal that had been alchemically treated to create an amethyst blade. Hope began to rise in Vious, maybe there was still something that could be done. "We've got a lot of work to do, Artoo," he said, making his way towards the engine assembly of the interceptor.
For hours, Vious slaved over the engines of the interceptor to convert one of the reactors into a fusion kiln. He had had to take hull plating from the wings in order to create plates to properly channel and focus the pressures, but as the sun began to set, Vious sat back from his work.
"It's done, Artoo,"he said. "Have you finished with the crystal?"
With a sound that could only be an affirmative, the astromech opened one of the access ports on it's upper dome, and produced a vial of crushed powder, which had once been the crystal in Vious' lightsaber. Placing the vial in the impromptu kiln, Vious closed the port, and moved away from the interceptor. "Fire up the engines, Artoo," he said. "Only time will tell now."
At once, the powerfull engines roared into life, but no exhaust plasma was released. Instead, it was channeled into the fusion kiln, where it would affect the crystal fragments and restructure them. Knowing he had a long wait ahead of him, Vious lowered himself to the floor, closed his eyes, and deepening his breathing, sank into a meditative trance.

When he emerged from his meditations the following morning, Vious turned to R2.
"You can kill the engines, Artoo," he said. "Let's see what we've got."
As the roar of the engines died, the door of the fusion kiln swung open. Inside, Vious saw a flawless crystal. The intense pressures from the drive plasma had forced the crystaline structures to solidify, and the focussing plates had done their job of making sure that the pressures were properly distributed. Taking hold of the crystal with a gloved hand, Vious moved to where the other parts of the lightsaber were still layed out on the wing of the interceptor. It was the work of but a few moments to re-assemble the saber, and after a few final adjustments with the sonic-screwdriver, the lightsaber was complete. This time, Vious felt no hesitation as he thumbed the activator. Immediately, the blade ignited, and bathed the side of the interceptor in a blood-red light. A questioning whistle from R2 caught Vious' attention.
"What now?" he paused, extinguishing his lightsaber and clipping it to his belt. "Now we return to Coruscant and get some answers."