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Coming By It Honestly

Some other bits and pieces from Lathril’s adventures in SWTOR. Kira is based on an NPC of the same name from the Jedi Knight class story. The way Lathril meets her, and her personality, is a little different from how it is in the game.
Author’s Note

“That is reckless,” Lathril said sternly. He said it quietly, for the Imperials were patrolling just outside the blast door. The two Jedi were crouched in a Balmora bunker, their breathing loud in their ears, the green of the indicator lights above the door bathing their faces in a pallid hue. Still, he could make out Kira’s scowl.

“It’s not a sound idea, Padawan,” he continued. “The Jedi Code teaches us to –”

“Hang the Jedi Code!” Kira hissed. “If we did this your way, we won’t make it to the engine room in time. Isn’t it important the SIS get that tech ASAP?”

The pair glared at each other.

“As I am the higher rank, I’m making the decision,” said Lathril finally.

Kira scoffed. “Oh, rank…”

“Your own Master gave me leadership. Do you not trust her judgement?”

Kira backed down. “Fine. We’ll do this your way: the slow, coward’s way.”

“At least a coward can become brave another day,” Lathril returned. “A reckless hero is simply dead.”

“My Master said you were in charge, not that you could give me lectures. So where to now, O Knight?”

“…this way, as I said.” Continue reading “Coming By It Honestly”

Pages: 12

A Jedi’s Failing

This was difficult to edit into an entertaining short, as some of the important context is missing. Lathril is a Jedi Knight character who follows that class’s story arc before coming to the Eternal Alliance, and Darth Merce is, well, a Darth, and son of Kyolath. This might’ve been a poor choice of posting order, but I had this polished up while Lathril and Darth Merce’s earlier adventures are still in exposition form only.

Also of note: though in the (ultra) fan fiction version, Keelath is from Azeroth (World of Warcraft), I decided not to take so many liberties with other settings and used Talmenor instead here. His past life remains basically the same.
Author’s Note

Lathril kept his hands folded in his sleeves and his head bowed as the lift brought them away from the Enclave. When the lift docked and the door slid open, Kyolath didn’t immediately exit. He stood staring silently out across the Odessen compound.

Lathril felt he had better say something. “I’m… sorry for the disruption, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Kyolath glared at him, or so Lathril guessed; it was impossible to tell behind that Mandalorian helm. “You knew there would be Sith here and that you would be expected to work with them. Why did you come if you only intended to start fights?”

“With all due respect, sir, he started the fight with me–”

“And you had to answer in kind, like a child?”

The remark left Lathril speechless, and Kyolath stormed from the lift, or so it seemed to Lathril with his heavy, clomping boots. The Commander was hard to read, always steeped in a calm that felt unnatural… almost droid-like. Yet Lathril knew the old bounty hunter was capable of great violence, so he tread carefully, quietly following after Kyolath.

“True strength is knowing your limits,” growled Kyolath. “Knowing your limits is knowing your weaknesses, with true humility. I don’t expect Darth Merce to have learned this lesson yet, but you are a Jedi. It is practically part of your code. What is your excuse?”

Lathril blinked hard. He wanted to protest, argue that Darth Merce was the one who had overstepped, but he also thought Kyolath was right.

No, felt he was right, through the pit in his stomach: the burning ember of shame Merce had reawakened there.

Pages: 1234

Tale Out of Time

As you can maybe tell by the characters, this story grew out of a Star Wars: the Old Republic fan fiction. In the game, I light-heartedly play a (much) older version of Keelath, where his undeath has caused him to outlive everyone else, and Azeroth (or Talmenor) has entered the Space Age. (Not shown in this story is how he managed to get a kid; as I said, it’s a light-hearted adaption because Keelath just works so well as a Mandalorian!)
I like this story enough I will probably turn it into a Talmenor tale at some point, but I’m a bit torn on whether to leave it as science fiction (so a future Talmenor) or to try and adjust it to be fantasy again. The Sith Empire translates well to the Krygon Empire, and most forms of technology can be retooled to be advanced magic or Little Folk inventions, but the “flavor” of the thing doesn’t always carry over.
So, for now, for those of you who have found this backwater of the site, enjoy this take on the Outlander, Mako, and Akaavi. Continue reading “Tale Out of Time”

Pages: 12

Fallen Sun

“No!” said Croatius, snarling. So close, so close… “It’s I who am sorry for the rest of you! We saw through that pretty outer layer of life, through the gaudy makeup on your faces and down into your dead, burnt-out eyes. The world is only a machine, Evelos; our sympathies only the hallucinations of mortal minds that cannot comprehend it. Yes, I am weak and foolish; you are right. A bit of flesh clothed around what was once perfect, but at least I see the corruption…!”

Whenever I get around to turning these characters’ stories into a book, I might break these two scenes apart. For now, the first scene ties off the fraught relationship alluded to in “Son of Silvermoon” and “Crestfallen”, while the second helps explain why Croatius made the choice he did, abandoning his lover and son to the Illidari.
It’s a good feeling when I finally come to understand a difficult villain’s true motivations. It’s always those damn idealists, man: when they fall, they fall the hardest.
Author’s Note

“Come to kill me, Evelos?”

A shadow detached itself from the wall, slowly, like water sliding down an oil-treated window. It paused up front of Croatius, reforming itself into an elf, but unlike most elves, its eyes didn’t glow in the dim light. He was like one of the Wretched instead – or like one possessed by the Shadow – dark holes where the eyes should have been.

“Ah, no,” said Croatius slowly. “My mistake. You are that other one, aren’t you?” Continue reading “Fallen Sun”

The Third War

“Dalah’surfal, we—we need to talk.”

Talthan didn’t look up, still going through his daily mail while he ate from the bowl of porridge she had fixed for him early that morning. He was relaxed, but she was not, her stomach flipping as if it had seen a lynx crouched in the brush. Mirium focused on a new stain on Talthan’s shirt, and tried to find the courage to go on.

“Yes, my dear?” Talthan asked lazily, when she hadn’t elaborated for several more minutes. That spurred her to continue where her whirling thoughts couldn’t.

“The Scourge,” she choked out. “The reports are coming in more frequently now. They could make it here in days—“ Continue reading “The Third War”

Crestfallen

Krest is named after and loosely based on Crestaen, an old roleplayer and PvPer in World of Warcraft. He was my guildmaster for a brief time while Evelos was a blood elf on Horde-side, sometime during the Burning Crusade expansion. His character taking Evelos fishing in the old Forsaken zones is one of my favorite memories, and this helped serve as inspiration for how Evelos behaves in this series.
Author’s Note

Drip.

It was a bead forming on the ceiling. It followed the ridge of stone until it reached the lowest point, then hung there for a moment, glittering.

Drip.

It swelled and rounded, colors swirling within it. He saw a face, then two faces as another bead formed just behind it, running along like it was trying to catch it.

Drip. Drip.

Being behind the other bead meant something. It summoned up feelings of confusion, darkness… an ambush. Continue reading “Crestfallen”

Pages: 12345

Just a Test Post

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The Whip’s Will (Fanfiction Version)

“…this life, witho-o-out you.”

Mirium drew the final note to a careful quaver, then bowed as the small tavern audience erupted into clapping. Face glowing, she stepped down from the Lion stage and sat down next to her children, Medi and Evelos.

“What did you think?” she whispered.

“It was beautiful,” said Evelos. “I think you’re getting your talent back.”

“Oh, you think you could do better?” Medi quipped, nudging Evelos in the ribs.

“Well, I do have a story I could tell,” said Evelos thoughtfully, as the crowd settled again, and Lana took to stage to call out for the next open stage participant. “It’s from when I was a child.”

“You were a child once??” Medi goggled.

“Erm, yes,” said Evelos. “It’s about when we first moved to Thalas’Talah, away from the Dawnmist manor.”

Medi leaned back. “Really? That sounds boooooor-ring!”

“I think you’ll find it’s not.”

Lana moved her pointer finger around in a circle over the audience, but the takers to come up on stage were few. Evelos then put up a hand.

“Forgive me if I don’t come up on stage, but I have a sleepy child on my lap,” he said, stroking the blonde hair of his little son, Alesric.

Lana waved him off. “It’s a casual night, anyway,” she said, sitting down on the stage’s edge to listen.

Evelos exchanged glances with Medi, who was goggling at him again. Then he swallowed hard, and the ren’dorei began.

Pages: 123

A Darkmoon Reading

The final piece to be cut out of “Brothers Apart”, this scene really deserved to be a stand-alone all along. Keelath was given a tarot card reading at the Darkmoon Faire during a Summer Festival roleplay event, which left him chewing on whether he needed to use a lighter touch in his relationship with Mirium. His worries didn’t come out of nowhere: at the time, Mirium was suffering from a mental intrusion by Talthan, via a mind control spell that caused her to see Keelath as an enemy. Since this is nowhere else referenced, this piece didn’t really belong in “Brothers Apart”. I think I originally put it there as it showed how Keelath and Tyrric’s brotherhood was on the mend.
Author’s Note

The cottage was dark when Keelath made it home from the Faire. Mirium was sleeping–of course she was sleeping. It was past moonset, and at this time of month, that happened only hours before dawn.

Keelath dismounted, letting the ghost of his bonesteed drift away, back to wherever such undead creatures lurked until they were called again. He let himself pause to listen to the nightly sounds: crickets, a muffled stamp from the stables, water trickling some distance away from the brook, the cloud of humming from the frogs living near a pond Tyrric had left behind when he had dredged the grounds of Dawnmist from the swamp that had given them its name. Joining those sounds now was a crackling buzz from the new wards Lithliana was helping to lay around the manor, since Haljek had gone. The buzz would fade once the wards were fully up, she had said, but that would take another few days.

He edged up on the cottage. Mirium couldn’t stand his presence at the moment, shrinking away anytime she caught sight of him. He knew it was Talthan’s doing, not a reflection of her honest thoughts about him, but it still hurt. One never appreciated what they had before it was taken away… Continue reading “A Darkmoon Reading”

Dear Estormo

Though this scene was briefly found in the “Brother Apart” series, due to the revelation Tyrric comes upon, it was originally written to be a stand-alone piece. After the Great Revision, it is back to being a stand-alone, though I might eventually rewrite pieces of it to slot into “Tyrric’s Madness” as part of the chronicle of Tyrric’s recovery from Void corruption.
Until then, this scene describes the aftermath of a roleplay session, in which Keelath was rude to Estormo while he was sulking at a tavern event.
Author’s Note Continue reading “Dear Estormo”