Dark Desire

[TheLastLine]

Alexander Von Mannerheim had found his target. On the edge of civilisation he had found the man of great power that he had sought for weeks. The old man wore long Jedi Robes and bore a gaunt expression and a beard that’s colour had been slowly drained from it, yet Alexander was no fool.

Lecchamemnon was a Sephi, a middle aged Sephi. Yet his appearance did him many favours, for the Galaxy was filled by fools. Alexander had used secret caches of information that remained from the days of the rightful Emperor to find him and find out more about him.

There was a rating system from 0 to 10 that was used to establish the strength of opponents who found themselves marked for death. The highest that Alexander had managed to kill was an 8 out of 10, a battle which almost cost him his life, a battle that still sent shudders down the back of his spine when he remembered the fierce attacks of the Jedi. Jedi, Alexander almost laughed at the thought, once his bitter enemies and now he sought an ex-Jedi for help, how ironic.

He knew how to fight Jedi, he had fought Jedi, he had killed Jedi, but even he knew that within the blink of an eye he could be utterly be destroyed by this being, it was something that a few months ago he would of never considered, but in the depths of rage and anger he found himself backed into a proverbial corner that he could see no more reasonable alternative, he would have his revenge, or he would die.

Long ago he was taught how to hide his thoughts from force users, how to protect his mind and even how to hide himself in the force to a varying degree, but he knew that in this situation he had been found. He knew, that he knew that he had been followed, but why was he not dead, did he know? No he couldn’t know, there is no chance.

The Paranoia betrayed his fear, Alexander thought he didn’t know fear, but it was the first time in a long time he had took an un-calculated risk, but before he could back out he stood up from his cover in the forest and approached the huge cave where he had taken refuge, as he entered the cave he was surprised to see that it was illuminated by a green light, a light that came from the reflection of gems on the wall.

Walking into the cave he found his destiny.

 

[Denzein]

Lecchamemnon had never been keen on being followed by force users. Annoyingly for him it happened alarmingly regularly, people just weren't able to give him some peace when he wanted it. They stalked him wherever he went, no matter how far he ran to escape the comings and goings of this pitiful universe it was ultimately impossible to outrun one's own destiny.

There came a time when one had to stop. There came a time when one had to face one's demons. It was not now.

However, the whelp that had picked up the courage to track him down to his cavernous sanctuary here in the Outer Rim was not Lecchamemnon's demon. He was infinitely less, and would be taught his error in stalking a "helpless" old man. The man was employing masking techniques, but they were to no avail in the face of Lecchamemnon's consummate abilities. He could sense that his stalker had just entered his cave.. Good. The tracker would have to come in deeper if he wanted to meet his target face to face, the Jedi Master was hardly about to wait by the entrance.

If one followed the entrance cave to its conclusion, they would come across the point at which it opens out into a vast glittering cavern. The emeralds on the walls glinted in the sunlight that was provided by a natural sinkhole in the roof of the cave far above, and at the centre of the space there was an icy clear lake. There was no way to tell its depth from above the surface; the rocks beneath could have been a metre away or one hundred. The surface of the pool was utterly still, completely unbroken by any ripples, and in the middle of the lake there was a small island that jutted from the waters. It was comprised of the same rock the walls of the cave were made from, and looked as if at one point it had been the part of the roof that had collapsed to form the natural skylight. Precious gems sparkled off its surface, just like everything else.

The place was completely devoid of all life. When the man entered, he would notice that Lecchamemnon's presence would become clouded and masked by a supremely powerful cloak. The Jedi was letting his tracker know that his attentions had not gone unnoticed. He wanted to gauge the man's reaction, and so was actually clinging to the wall above the opening through which the tracker would walk to enter the main cavern. He was cloaking himself both through the force and physically, so it was unlikely the man would spot him just by turning around and happening to glance at the wall above him.

As ever, Lecchamemnon begun by observing. This was often all the trial some people had, when it came to answering for their crimes against him.

 

[TheLastLine]

The caves twisted and turned abhorrently, frequently and at awkward angles making a quick navigation impossible. Alexander had calmed his nerves for he knew that the dice had been rolled and now that he needed his training, his wits and his full concentration to overcome what would doubtlessly follow.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins, for he knew full well that Lecchamemnon could feel his presence and was watching, waiting. Was it possible that the hunter had become the hunted ?

Yes, he had become the hunted for the power which radiated off of the man vanished in an instant, such a dissipation of energy shocked his sensitive mind and for a moment he stopped walking and took up a defensive stance, but nothing happened, merely silence except for the echo of the odd drop of water falling from the ceiling.

His confusion was short lived for he knew that he would not flee because of him, he had no doubt of that. He would be watched and his intentions dwelled upon.

A few more minutes passed before he entered the room in which the power dissipated. Alexander walked to the edge of the lake, squatting down he cooped some of the icy cold water in his hands and rubbed alittle into his face refreshing him.

Standing once more he gazed upon the crystals, and the beautiful island in the center, even he admired it’s beauty for a few moments before looking around for the Jedi.

He thought that it was ultimately fruitless, the Jedi had hidden himself, but he knew somehow, that he was there, somewhere in this huge cavern.

Using his training he looked for places in where he derived that the Jedi would hide. Firstly he looked to the crystal in the lake, he could be there, perched on the rim, staring into his soul as he looked hopelessly, he could be in the lake, using his powers to breathe… Or he could be stood at the exit, forbidding the trespasser any hope of leaving alive, so many possibilities.

He had donned a simple Echani light armor, and a long vibroblade protruded past his shoulders and rested near his neck. He withdrew the blade slowly, the noise of the metal scraping the scabbard echoed through the dead cave and then he spoke, turning around constantly, keeping vigil over the surroundings.

“Hear me Jedi. I am Alexander von Mannerheim, I am the chosen of Emperor, the Emperor of old. I have killed thousands of people, Jedi, Sith, Mandalorians, Twileks and countless others, I have proven my worth time and time again without failure, but now I seek your help, Lecchamemnon. “ He paused before saying his name, he didn’t want to say it, it sounded menacing, ancient and powerful, fitting. He didn’t like dealing with someone this powerful, but he knew he had too to achieve his revenge.

“I know all about you, I know what you have done, what you haven’t done and I know that in a moment you could crush me like the pest you believe me to be. I think that you believe that I should die for my crimes, and I probably should. But I think that I can help your cause.

I care not for the Jedi but I want revenge on the Sith, I want to slay the Lords, they came for me and I escaped, even someone as mighty as me has no chance at slaying those who destroyed my master, teach me the techniques I need to kill the Sith who stand in my way, who stand in your way aswell.”

 

[Denzein]

Only a fool trusts the opening remarks.

The man claimed himself to be an enemy of the Sith, he claimed to have once been chosen of the legitimate Emperor and he claimed he needed Lecchamemnon's training to aid him in his quest. So far as the hooded Jedi knew, every one of those statements could be a lie. This man was as likely a Sith assassin as he was an Imperial Knight (as that was what he'd implied he was), Lecchamemnon was not about to take any chances.

He held the cards here. If the man was telling the truth, he'd given up the advantage of having one's motives unknown... And if he was lying he'd handed the initiative to the Jedi by walking into his snare. As it was, it didn't look good for Alexander.

However... He did not deserve death, not just yet. All he'd done was pester a Jedi, and claim to have murdered hundreds of that same Jedi's kin - to many others that would have been taken as an insult, a slight worthy of duelling over. To Lecchamemnon it sounded like an empty boast, the declaration of a man hesitantly portraying himself in a powerful light when faced with someone they do not truly understand.

It was a reasonable response - not many men knew quite what to make of Lecchamemnon.

A telepathic voice rolled through the room, both insubstantial and bold simultaneously. It was the voice of a man who brooked no nonsense, and who was not disturbed lightly. It held the weight of ages long passed in its reverberations, and echoed throughout the cavern in such a way that made the thought's origin untraceable. It was a beautiful display of telepathy having been truly mastered, the art at its absolute best.

The voice sounded nothing like Lecchamemnon, of course, but how was Alexander to know that?

"I see no proof of your claims, Imperial, only that you have tracked me here for reasons unknown. Defend yourself."

To Alexander, it would appear as if one of the emeralds on the wall had simply ignited of its own accord. Brilliant green light speared from Lecchamemnon's blade as it lit, and a heartbeat later he was airborne - executing a flawless aerial backflip as his cloak rippled from his shoulders before falling from him, flowing to the ground like smoke.

Alexander was standing at the edge of the lake when Lecchamemnon leapt, so he had calculated his move land him six feet from his opponent. He'd land on his feet and roll to absorb the impact shock, before throwing a force push at his opponent of moderate force - he did not expect Alexander to be blown away, but wanted him on the back foot without the time to counter-attack. Following this, he'd bring his blade down in a diagonal slash from right to left. The lightsaber was in his right hand, with his left (strangely) up as a guard. Strange force energy began to flow around the left arm, empowering it somehow... Were Alexander curious about it, he'd just have to wait to find out what it was doing.

The first test began.

 

[TheLastLine]

Alexander always tried to be one step ahead by never underestimating the opponent, no matter how weak or strong they seemed, it was a courtesy the old Jedi would probably not return. Perhaps he would have a chance to surprise the old man and temporarily gain the initiative, for he had fought Jedi before, he knew what to do.

When the voice rolled through the cave smoothly, evenly, not betraying the old mans location the Emperors finest knew that battle was upon him before it was stated and he entered his battle state. The battle state was a mental and physical state which he had been taught specifically to fight force users, and the years of brutal constant training made its use natural.

Alexander’s sentient thoughts evaporated in an instant, a mental shield consisting of random words, phrases and pictures roared through his mind giving his actions amnesty from being read simply by skimming his mind. He had trained for a moment like this, it was him versus one of the greatest masters to ever live, it was a battle even he realized he could not realistically win, but he had one or two tricks up his sleeve that even the great Lecchamemnon would not expect.

His battle state fell into a highly secretive mix between Echani fighting styles and the Imperial guards own form of martial arts, the Militis Armo. This specific brand of fighting was designed to fight Jedi of extraordinary power and consisted of unorthodox, brazen attacks that look foolhardy to the untrained eye, but could buy time.

The downside is that Alexander had no allies to rush to his aid, he had only his initiative, and the hope he could somehow win. The stance used illusions of weakness to fool the enemy. As the Jedi’s blades illuminated the room in a dazzling green that temporarily blinded him, he made his sudden move.

As Lecchamemnon touched the floor the Imperial jumped forwards, screaming in rage, he expected the force push, luckily he was clipped by the edge of its effect and rolled 360 degrees in the air before bringing his blade to meet the Jedi’s. He countered the blade with a single hand on his own hilt, a bold move since he had no idea of the man’s strength.

The crackling of the blade made Alexanders heart beat quicker than ever and as he slowly pushed the man’s blade back into the air he revealed his opening hand by pulling out his dagger in with his free left hand and he went to thrust into the man’s pelvis hoping to cut the Internal iliac artery, a move that most forget about a move that almost certainly ends in death.

But Alexanders froze in a moment for as he thrust at his enemy, he caught the gaze of the old man, and spotted the mystical light that emanated from his hands, time seemed to freeze, had Alexander preformed the coup de grace on Lecchamemnon ? For a split second his heart leapt with joy, but from the look on his opponents face, he knew his opening gambit had failed.

 

[Denzein]

The Imperial rose to the challenge, and pulled no punches. He had no reason to; he had been given no assurances that he was not about to die... That spoke of determination at least. One virtue had been unearthed in this potential assassin, but could his true intent be discerned before the man literally fell apart under the Jedi master's scrutiny?

That remained to be seen.

The Imperial span through the air, screaming like a man possessed. He deflected Lecchamemnon's blow and stabbed at his pelvis witha previously concealed dagger, but the Jedi's gaze betrayed no surprise, or uncertainty. His eyes were cold, and fixed on Alexander - they expressed nothing, boring into the Imperial with unblinking tenacity. He'd been ready for such a gambit from the moment he'd jumped; it'd take much more than an optimistic surprise attack to breach his defence.

As the dagger stabbed in, Lecchamemnon simply slapped it aside with his guarding left hand. He was aiming for the flat of the blade, but even if he missed it was extremely unlikely the dagger would actually break his skin. This might appear strange, but the peculiar energy was still sheathing that entire arm. In addition, the slap would be much more powerful than the gesture might have suggested - perhaps enough to tear the secondary weapon from Alexander's grasp, and certainly bone-jarring. Simultaneously he'd bring his saber up in a vicious swing aimed to sever Alexander's sword arm just down from the shoulder joint. Were this successful he'd aim a kick at the Imperial's chest, likely sending the incapacitated man sprawling.

He took a step forward while attacking, trying to force his opponent backwards for whatever reason. Like it or not, Alexander was outclassed here. His Echani clothing had given the former Loremaster a clue as to how his opponent might fight, and his claims of being a former Emperor's champion were being reinforced by the fact that his fighting style had the same theoretical basis to it as the Militis Armo, though it did have that exotic Echani twist... A difference that was most refreshing. Lecchamemnon's constant studies back in his council days had led to him being well versed in many things; not just Jedi secrets. He recognised this man's fighting style's roots, and they fitted his story.

Either this was a very deep cover, or Alexander was telling the truth. Interesting.

 

[TheLastLine]

Militis Armo is a beautiful thing. It uses influences from all cultures, all warriors to bring a style which would bring about definite victory. But it was not a single style, it was a dogma dictated by environment, number of hostiles and the situation. Therefore it was hard to identify anyone who knew the intricacies of the tactics because of the alternative outcomes, against a normal sentient or a normal Jedi, Sith, it was not a problem, but against the master, it was fools play, but Alexander didn’t realize that yet.

Alexander did look where his blade moved, but he felt its futility a moment before victory. Before Lecchamemnon could touch him he knew that this attack would fail, he felt it, but his reflexes were not fast enough to withdraw his secondary arm before his hand was slapped away. Slapped. That is not the correct term to use the momentous force which made the dagger lunge out of Alexanders hand, his hand withered under the force, it compressed but it was not broken, it became numb.

This was the least of his worries for he saw the saber coming to severe his arm, quickly he moved his forearm backwards to meet the blade just above his deltoid, it was so close that his own blade was mere millimetres from piercing his own armour.

He could not jump backwards because of the vicinity of the blade, so with great speed he slid backwards in something that resembled a moon walk. As he gained some distance he started to think, and then decided that he needed to go into the second phase of Militis Armo, a stage where strikes came from intuition, raw feelings in the form of rough guidelines.

It was a skill taught to few, by few. Many of the Imperial Guard could not master it for they did not have an affinity to the force, and those who could seem like masters of the blade. To the untrained eye, they were the masters, but to one trained in the force it was merely a relatively complex routine empowered by raw force energy.

Alexanders mind blanked, moving forward his arms moved themselves it seemed, for the first strike he aimed for the head, and then his imitative took over and he unleashed a flurry of attacks against Lecchamenon, his injured hand used to grip the hilt of his sword for extra effect.

With every swing he lost confidence, for when he thought he had him, thought he had out maneovoured him, he was sorely mistaken and came closer and closer to death with every failure. Each counter strike made Alexander harness more and more latent force energy until the battle became a blur of blades, and he saw the opportunity !

The opening he needed had revealed itself, their two blades clashed at the tips, there was a 50 degree angle between their blades when he suddenly flipped his grip, and tried to turn the blade 180 degrees at an angle, trying to severe Lecchamenons wrist while still protecting himself from his blade. With a smile on his face he thought he would win again, it was not long before his hopes were dashed again….

 

[Denzein]

The duel was blisteringly fast, but as hard as the Imperial found it the man was yet to really tax the Jedi Master opposing him. The faster the blades clashed the more in his element Lecchamemnon became, his frightening skills slowly unshackling themselves as his opponent drew on more and more energy. The former Grandmaster was limiting himself, though it was unlikely Alexander would realise - he was far too interested in keeping himself alive.

Should the man show himself to actually have the talent necessary to best Lecchamemnon, he was ready to unleash himself fully in an instant. While this was intended to be a test, he was ever ready for the possibility that this man was an assassin hunting for a weakness. Certainly so far neither of them had given any quarter (or so it would seem on Lecchamemnon's part), he had yet to discover a reason to trust this knight.

At the end of the day, he imagined the only true way to fully discern his intent here would be to incapacitate him and force the information from his damaged mind. Lecchamemnon was, perhaps, the galaxy's finest when it came to data extraction... It'd take a mind of equal calibre to resist him indefinitely

Yes... That seemed the only way. A pity: Still, Lecchamemnon was yet to find anyone he could trust.

Their blades locked, and Alexander went for the 180 degree wrist-sever. It was, unfortunately, textbook to attempt such a thing in that scenario. As the Imperial spun his blade for the Jedi's wrist Lecchamemnon withdrew like smoke. As his opponent's attack swung through the air where his wrist had been the Master swung for Alexander's head with his force-empowered left fist in a fully weighted punch, augmented further by the force speed both of them were exhibiting. The force energy within his fist was potentially enough to snap a man's neck, but Lecchamemnon doubted the blow would be fatal given that he'd had to evade moments before and the attack therefore didn't have his full force behind it. Despite this, if it connected he fully expected the hit to end their fight with the Imperial thrown through the air like a ragdoll. He hoped it wouldn't kill the Imperial, he wanted to find out why Alexander was really here...

..And if he was truly sincere, he'd need a living student.

As ever he had one limb on offence, the other defending. His blade was held in a one handed soresu grip as he punched, ready to defend against anything Alexander might have left with which to counter.

 

[TheLastLine]

Although Lecchamemnon put up a defensive stance expecting some token of resistance, he had perhaps not understood the force with which he struck Alexander. The last thing that Alexander saw was the evasion by the lightning quick Jedi, his mind jolted but he could not react fast enough and before he knew it he was knocked unconscious, his body flying through the air effortlessly.

Alexander landed about twenty feet away, on the edge of the lake, centimetres from falling into its depths and drowning, lucky. Was it luck though? For as the master read his mind he saw many “lucky” incidents through his life.

When completely knocked unconscious Alexanders mind held no safeguards, for they had been caved in as his body tried to recover from the trauma. Even in such a weakened state his mind showed vividly the moment where he found out the Emperor had died, the emotional upheaval and the focused rage against this Sith Lord who he had yet to identify, the one who had killed his master.

From this memory were flickers of the months of being hunted, the images of Imperial Assassins chasing him from pole to pole relentlessly, all failing and the finally the sweet moment where he snapped the necks of the last attackers and fled to Worlport.

Using data caches he located Lecchamemnon from his safe house but his home town was a complicated place for there his talents were first unearthed. More vivid memories show the young child selling drugs, making money and the vivid image he became leader of his gang.

The constant changes and growth of power, and then the moment he is forced into the Imperial Military, a role which gave him purpose, and as he struggled, strained and fought constantly to be the best, he became the best and an indomitable will was forged.

The Empire gave him security and something to fight for, something greater than him. It is obvious he had been brainwashed for his later memories start to be of constant preparation, self-improvement to serve the state and fanaticism.

He never had many friends; he was too focused on his goals and at a young age was picked to join the Imperial Guard. The Imperial Guard saw his force potential and saw the fanaticism, images show him learning the Militis Ordo and the raw power that he could unleash that would overpower most without effort.

The next few years just are of images of the Emperor speaking and him in the background, constantly working, improving, ever loyal, ever prepared.

Suddenly there is a gap, there is a gap where he wakes up on a world far away from the Emperors palace several months later, he doesn’t know how he got there, but that is where the hunt began.

Although Lecchamemnon could skim and read him like a book in this state, every time he focused upon the Sith Alexanders mind focuses on the image, the image of finding out his beloved state had failed, the anger, the rage. This feeling was so strong that Lecchamemnon could feel Alexanders body twitch and struggle on the floor as the images became stronger and stronger. What was clear is that Alexander wanted to kill, he had killed Sith, Jedi, Mandalorians, Imperials, but those images would have been missed by someone not so talented, for he doesn’t place them in high importance, not compared to the image of burning red lightsabers, that burnt like the fire in his heart for revenge, he would have retribution.

 

[Denzein]

It was ended as quickly as it had begun. Defeated, Alexander crumpled to the rock after his flight and lay still. It would probably have been luckier to land in the water, as Lecchamemnon would have pulled him out before drowning. As it was landing hard on the crystal-studded rocks posed a significant risk of breaking limbs with an awkward landing: Something the Imperial had no control over in his unconscious state.

Sheathing his saber and kneeling beside the fallen warrior Lecchamemnon placed a hand on the man's brow. Closing his eyes, it was a simple task to find the information he sought while Alexander was unconscious and therefore completely unable to render any defence. After many scenes had flashed across his eyelids, he withdrew: Alexander was not a liar or an assassin, as far as the former Grandmaster could tell. He had been telling the truth, or at least he believed himself to be. That was as good as the master could hope for, for now.

Sitting next to the crumpled form of his opponent cross legged, he meditated for a moment, forcing back the boiling power of his darker self that always came closer to the surface during combat. He calmed himself, re-layering his mental defences and becoming one with the light once more. Once he was ready, he focussed on the Imperial's injured form and began to heal him through the force. Lecchamemnon's skills were adept, but far from the level of mastery his more offensive powers had achieved. Any broken bones would still need setting and healing manually, but he could deal with the almost inevitable concussion, and bring the man around sooner than he'd ordinarily wake.

Sitting, healing and meditating in his cave that was a tranquil retreat from the galaxy once more, he waited for Alexander to come round. When he did, he'd receive no apology, that was not Lecchamemnon's way. Instead, he'd be granted the opportunity to obtain that which he sought. He would be trained, and if he was up to the standard Lecchamemnon expected of every recruit he'd ever taken (which was far fewer than any other Jedi of his rank), Alexander would one day be granted his wish of retribution.

The first steps were taken. They were small, but they were vital.

 

[TheLastLine]

Pain is weakness leaving the body. That was a motto he knew too well from his career, pain was something that could be ignored, for ultimately if one listened to pain as it struck they would hesitate, their mind momentarily stuck in limbo, and in this moment death could become inevitable.

But this pain was different, it was a rare pain, it was a good pain and the relief it brought as his mental wounds were stitched together made him awaken gently from his unconscious state. His forehead gently wept onto the stone floor, it was cut from the impact, as he rolled onto his front his forehead was gashed.

His right shoulder was in agony from the landing; all his body-weight and the momentum must of irritated the muscle for every movement made him shudder, but he ignored it as he laid there, pretending to be dead, feeling the aches as they came.

His breathing became slow and steady as his mind contemplated the situation, he had survived and he should be happy, any further resistance at that time would have been pointless for even he was humbled by the experience and as he slowly struggled to his feet he expected judgement.

But he did not rise, he crossed his legs, straightened his back and looked at Lecchamenon without expression for he did not want to betray his hope, confusion and fear. But with every passing moment he felt like his mind had been touched, his mental barriers shot up again instantly no matter how fragile or inconsequential their existences was in the presence of the master, but it mattered not.

He kept focusing on that anger, the rage inside of him, he wanted to see the Sith destroyed, he knew he reeked of pain and anger it was visible through body language never mind the force, he needed to learn, he would do anything to be powerful, not for himself, but for his revenge, let the Sith be struck by the sword they helped sharpen with their carelessness.

Looking at Lecchamenon, he waited instruction; for he knew that for this moment he had attained the masters interest, and every second counted.

 

[Denzein]

Lecchamemnon actually had to suppress a smile when he felt the man's mental barriers return. He wondered if Alexander thought they actually served a purpose, given his situation... Probably not - it was likely just posturing. The Imperial rose to a sitting position, obviously in pain but biting it back. He was tough but inexperienced, at least he'd come to Lecchamemnon for the right reasons.

If he thought he was in for the standard method of training, however, the poor boy was sadly mistaken. Lecchamemnon no longer had the luxury of time enough to train students in the traditional Jedi way, instead he was developing a newer, faster and possibly more efficient method of preparing pupils for the war against the Sith. It took a fraction of the time and allowed the Master to keep overseeing his many pawns without having to lose contact with his people training new recruits. By coming here and trying so hard to learn from Lecchamemnon, Alexander had unwittingly just become another guinea pig.

"You wish to learn, you say. What, exactly, do you want to know? My tuition is not free... What have you to offer me?"

 

[TheLastLine]

If Alexander were to be a puppet, a willing puppet he would be, for he had failed his duty to protect his liege and now he would do anything to avenge him in his naïve and slim hopes of reviving the Imperial state as it once was.

Alexander understood the hopelessness of the situation, but if one simply accepted the hopelessness of reality then the Galaxy would be a poorer place. As he looked at Lecchamemnon he gently exhaled, thinking upon his words before speaking.

“I am willing to give all that I have, all that I know to you aslong as I can kill the Sith who destroyed the Empire and killed the Emperor” he spoke slowly to keep his voice steady, for now he knew progress was being made, and another step on the path to his retribution had been taken and that was almost overwhelming.
He didn’t know what Lecchamemnon had in store, and apart of him didn’t want to know, he just hoped it would be quick, for he was impatient, he knew that his enemies grew in strength and that it was a long road to topple them, but now at least now steps could be taken.

In the darkness of the cavern, in the middle of nowhere Alexander swore himself to Lecchamemnon in return for the power to destroy the Sith.

 

[Denzein]

"So be it, I will train you and grant you your opportunity for revenge. We share a goal in the destruction of the Sith. We shall begin your training now, if you are able - what do you know of Psychometry?"

Lecchamemnon's voice was calm, he was pleased with how this had turned out. He'd honestly expected an attempt on his life, he'd not been approached for training for a long time now - it took him back to a simpler period, in his mind. He remembered his days with the Jedi, and the slightest impression of a smile graced his features. He'd never truly been happy after he'd learned of the Sith and their evil, but at least back then he'd been more content with himself. Ignorance had been bliss... To know what one had done to oneself in the name of one's beliefs was sickening to him, especially considering the depths to which his actions had caused him to sink.

The smile faded, the moment passed. He was here now because of his previous contentedness. It had bred complacency within his soul, and that had ruined him. Never again would he make the mistake of denying what he was: A monster.

He saw in Alexander the potential for a young man to destroy himself treading the exact same path. It was Lecchamemnon's duty to warn him of the consequences, to show him the flipside of walking the road necessary to destroy the Sith... But it was not his duty to stop Alexander from making the same decision. He would inform his apprentice and give him the power to realise his dream, and then he would allow Alexander to make the choice. You can lead the Scythetail to the oasis, but you cannot make it drink.

 

[TheLastLine]

Psychometry was something that he had experienced before, something so vivid that his mind momentarily wondered to the scene wherein he touched the artifact; the pyramid like object and received a vision of death and destruction. It seemed so surreal he was sure it was a dream, a dream of the end times.

He knew he had scraped the surface of a war long ended in a world now forgotten but he will never forget the scars of pain and suffering which flooded his mind making him scared, the first time he had been scared in a very, very long time.

Looking at Lecchamemnon he was silent for a moment, he knew that he had saw the imprint in his mind, yet he felt the ‘gentleman’ within him force him to respond verbally.

“Yes,” he stated in a dry, emotionless voice. His mind lingered on the thought, it was not a nice realm, it was one that he had failed to understand and thus was resentful of it; yet his rage would never subside and he would do anything to understand, anything to be prepared, anything to eventually destroy the Sith. “I know this from an artifact found on a world far from Bastion, brought by the Imperial Knights to show that Sith knowledge was still easily available to those who sought hard enough. I was in the background, listening, and the good Emperor asked me to take the holocron back to the Knights once he had finished observing its detail,” stopping for a moment he frowned, considering what he was about to say. “I think the good Emperor could not see what I saw, maybe not even the ‘Knights’.”

“The Imperial Knights, hah!” He stated, spitting to the floor “How I despised their weakness and their self-belief that they are special, they are not special, they are all dead now, that proves their weakness. But I am going off topic, I know that I can see things, with some things but it is not something that I enjoy.”

 

[Denzein]

Lecchamemnon nodded - at once an acknowledgement that he knew where to start and a warning not to babble incessantly... One of the worst things he'd experienced while one with the Order had been the constant burbling of the younglings, how they proclaimed to one day be destined to murder Emperors, or free worlds from the tyranny of the Sith; so few of them understood that it was their fate, more often than not, to die in the name of freedom.

But then, even the great Lecchamemnon had not considered the consequences of his actions, the price that was demanded of him for the strength that he earned. It had already been far too late by the time he'd realised what he'd done. Would Alexander be the same? Was he just another fresh young face to cut itself to ribbons in the name of the light? Had he properly considered the consequences of what he was doing here, of what he was starting? The grizzled master doubted it.

That was his mistake to deal with when the time came, though, it was no-one's place to alter Alexander's destiny. Lecchamemnon said nothing, and left the Force to its motives.

"Now is not the time for hate... That comes later. Quiet your mind and focus on mine, when I press my hand to your forehead we will meet in the mind-scape formed by our combined consciousness - do not worry, the full understanding of this process will come as you grow used it. In time you will be able to train others as I will teach you; purely through skilled application of the mind, and by forcing you to use what I'm gifting you to survive and progress. When we enter the Mind-scape, there is only one way out for the visitor, which is you. You must kill my projection, however you can."

He waited for Alexander to ready himself before continuing, laying his palm across the Imperial's forehead and forming the virtual plain across which they would fight. They would start in a featureless grey desert, in which there was only dust. This was not a lack of imagination on his part, instead starting his student off slowly. The Mind-scape was a bewildering, dangerous and frightening place if one did not know what to expect, keeping it bland at first was the safest approach.

"Cross into my mind, Alexander. Before we begin, a final word of warning: Nothing is as it seems during this experience, and the path to victory will hardly ever be clear. At first it will feel as though I have given you an impossible task, but persevere. Only through bloodshed and effort will you find the power you so crave."

Lecchamemnon's mind - the majority of it locked away behind vast mental blockades as always, opened itself to Alexander. Lecchamemnon's projected image stood in a featureless grey wasteland, awaiting the arrival of his student. So he could murder him.

 

[TheLastLine]

It is impossible to know the significance of a sacrifice until it is far too late. Alexander hoped that he would be alive to possibly regret this choice in the future - although apart of him feared he would not even make a difference in the grand scheme of things. Such pessimistic thought was counter-intuitive, it would not serve him, merely hinder him.

So he abandoned such thoughts as his mind calmed; the world around him faded into darkness. However the darkness was a momentary respite from a bright light, a searing light that paralyzed his mind. For what seemed like an eternity his brain throbbed in a confusing way that would become far too familiar – eventually to be so natural that he would not feel the transition.

The pain of the light manifested itself into an unstable sun whose volume and size fluctuated rapidly; it emitted a radiation that’s heat varied from excruciatingly hot to frighteningly cold. Alexander didn’t know it, but this was his own doing; for some reason his mind had conjured this massive object, perhaps to describe the pain of his mind melding to the great masters – however he was not to think about the peculiar sun, his mind was focused on the endless deserts which surrounded him.

A sense of hopelessness enveloped him as he found it hard to fathom the situation he was in and why he was in his old Emperors Royal Guard armour. The beetle red armour shone and his phrik alloyed master crafted ceremonial longsword begged to be unsheathed; in the past it brought comfort and security – but now as he traversed across the endless wastes it brought nothing but confusion and anger.

It took a while to realize where he was, he was not running to anywhere; he was in the mind of the Jedi, a precarious position to which he knew he was always at a disadvantage. Sitting down and crossing his legs he entered a deep thought, silencing his confusion before starting to think logically.

He knew to defeat Lecchamemnon he would have to master the ‘landscape’ but ultimately he knew to really be victorious he would have to break the boundaries of his mind and either lure him into his own, or find a way somehow to force him into submission – bold thoughts.

Very bold thoughts from the man now captive in the masters mind.

Standing up he unsheathes his sword, waiting for the battle to come.