dark lord

Another pause, and the head bowed again. "Yes." Whole histories of eloquence in one syllable. The galaxy moved slightly over their heads. Far off, the warbling roar of a krayt dragon boomed and sucked against the rocks. "How he must have hated me," said Qui-Gon at last. An overwhelmingly personal reaction, Luke thought, surprised and somewhat reassured. Just like me. No matter how hard I try, I can't help thinking of my friends first. "Why should Obi-Wan hate you?" he asked, though it fitted everything well. "Because I was the one who found Ani. I forced Obi-Wan to take him on." A wry look, and a recovery. "They told me the boy was dangerous. Obi-Wan, Yoda, all of them, and still I blackmailed my Padawan into training him." Jolt to the stomach, like the first glimpse of the Death Star. Your fault! It was your fault! And you have the gall to be angry with Ben for lying? "Blackmail?" Luke asked. Could a Jedi exist with that level of hypocrisy? Yet the near-transparent eyes were full of self denigrating humour. "You could call it that. It was my dying request." Luke was overwhelmed by a memory of the swamps of Dagobah. Closeness and swelter, Yoda's ears drooping as he told the ancient Master that he must go to Han and Leia, even if the galaxy was lost as a result. I made the same decision. I favoured individuals over the whole.... I don't have the right to condemn him. Yoda had given him the impression that he was inadequate because he could not forgo the personal. Yet here was a tale of Old Republic Jedi making requests and decisions which changed history, and doing it out of ...love? "No wonder he felt personally betrayed when you were wrong." Luke had to pace, had to move. Oh gods, the anguish Ben must have gone through! And all alone! Luke opened the door, shivered as the night scent curled in. The familiar view looked sinister in starlight; the cliffs twisting, like men in nightmares struggling with the sheets. Mottled silver shapes fled from his gaze, running toward the canyon where the X-wing rested. He turned automatically, ran back inside for the macro-binoculars, and passed through what felt like a wash of faint sunshine. Somehow - though it should not have been possible - the hologram had come to stand by the door. It was now looking down at its body - through which Luke had walked - with an expression of pleasure and amusement. "I felt that!" "What?!" Luke was beginning to find it both awe inspiring and slightly spooky, the way this personality was overstepping its bounds. You're a hologram. Behave like one! "I felt the electrical impulses of your nerves." If he felt them, it was safe to assume he could learn to manipulate them. In the right body he could live again. Like Callista, Luke thought. But I wouldn't wish her despair on anyone. He shook his head and went out to scan the canyons. No danger; only a flock of wild eopies displaced by the dragon and now finding their way home. "What makes you think I was wrong?" the hologram asked. It had come outside and stood glimmering in the darkness. The night wind, which splashed Luke's smarting face with driven sand, did not billow its cloak, and the long hair lay still on its shoulders, straight as a fall of water. He plunged back into the house - unwilling to shiver in front of the older man. The physical comfort of warmth and humidity soothed him into calm, just as he caught the flash of fury that hardened every line of Jinn's hewed-stone face. "A tool? Is that what they taught you?" He had reached out as if to seize Luke by the shoulder, to spin him around, and was now glowering at his useless limbs in disappointment. For the first time, Luke wondered what it was like for him; waking out of his death, to find himself imprisoned, encoded. Unable to touch either the Force or the physical world. Oh gods...! Maybe Ben had never accessed the hologram to spare him that. To let him go, cleanly. Maybe it wasn't hate after all. "They taught me that if I mastered myself I could use the Force for good." "But not that the Force would use you." "No." What a strange and creepy idea. An image recurred to him; an old and dear memory. Training on the deck of the Millennium Falcon, with Han and Ben watching. 'You mean it controls my actions?' he had asked, with that same distaste. 'Partially, but it also obeys your commands.' Ben had said, smiling. Then Ben and Yoda had taught him all about the second and nothing about the first. Even in memory he hadn't noticed. "That must be why they were destroyed." Qui-Gon sighed, his mouth compressed with sadness. "Because they had learned to prefer their will to the will of the Force." An unthinkable thing to say. You're mad! Luke struggled silently with the horror of the idea. You're just making excuses for your failure, because you can't bear to look it in the face! The accusation would have sounded so much more plausible if he hadn't actually met the man. "Are you telling me the Force *wanted* thirty five years of terror for the whole galaxy?" "No. But I'm telling you it might have been better than the alternative. Imagine - ten thousand Jedi, each one doing the will of the Council. And the Council growing closer and closer to an increasingly corrupt Senate. How long before the Order became the greatest instrument of oppression in history? A far worse threat than the Sith. I watched it beginning to happen, Luke." The image put a hand on his shoulder, and he felt the faint touch of warmth. "But now that threat has been wiped out, and you can begin anew." Luke had what he wanted: a past. And it was telling him to leave it alone and go forward. It made a bleak kind of sense. But I still don't know what to do. "Will you guide me?" "Me?" A small snort of laughter. "My efforts as a teacher seem to have had limited success. But I can show you how to hear the Force." "How do I know the Force's will is better than mine?" Luke felt that he judged now between this man and his two beloved teachers. It felt vaguely disloyal to ask the question at all. "Didn't you ever wonder why we were called a religion? Why we trained in a Temple, not an Academy? It's because the Jedi way is a way of faith. We have faith that the Force knows best." Luke glanced at the chrono, though he could feel the pressure of sunlight at the edge of the world. The night was almost over and he was deeply tired. Qui-Gon rose and walked into the com unit, into the tangle of crystals and fibres which beamed data from one side of the galaxy to the other. His face went blank, but joyous, the way Yoda had looked when he lifted Luke's ship from the clinging mud and weed of the lake. Luke imagined the invisible, faster than light, track of information across space: the web of thought connecting every inhabited planet. Was that all available to this being of energy? How daunting it must be, to be faced with all those choices, all those possibilities of terrible error. "Qui-Gon. What happens if I switch you off?" What should have been a threat was received almost as an endearment - with a grin. "Try." He sent the command on a pulse of Force. "End record." But the image didn't even flicker. Qui-Gon gave him a look of smug challenge that made him want to laugh out loud. "You let the jinn out of the lamp, Luke. He's not going back in." "Hutt's spit!" I quite like him! Luke thought, oddly relieved. "Did they really allow you?" ...to make such bad jokes? To be who you are? This strange and defiant personality didn't fit at all into what he'd imagined an Old Republic Jedi to be. "Allowed, but strongly discouraged," it said, happily. Having invaded the electronics of the house, Qui-Gon now made the door open and went outside to watch the suns rise. There were no clouds, only a shimmer like grey satin across the whole sky, paling through infinite degrees into blue flame. Then a slice of ferocious light across the horizon; the swirl of scent and sand; colour like poured gold; and heat, sterilising and cleaning the new day. Luke joined the ghost-frail smudge of a figure, companionably. "And after you've shown me how to hear the will of the Force, what are you going to do then?" "So many possibilities." Qui-Gon canted his head to smile down on him, "No rules, and a myriad of new ways to serve. It'll be quite an adventure." The man was dead. And old enough to be his grandfather. And eager for the future. It wasn't the lesson I hoped for, Luke thought, shading his eyes as the second sun seared fusion-bright into the dawn, But I suppose it will do. As the hutt fell asleep the princess charazad sighed. she had survived another day. But what about tomorrow. hey if i get some replys i might continue the antolgy , serise of storys invoveing your favorite charcitors from the starwars galexy post coments of charictors you'd like to see storys about be much abliged

For a moment Luke knew a sense of rightness like the suns rising. How he had wanted this - the knowledge that had been cut down so cruelly under Vader's blade, leaving Luke's new Jedi orphaned from their past. But the contradiction nagged at him, until he had to say it. "Obi-Wan told me that Yoda was his teacher. He never mentioned you." The face lifted and narrowed, and the eye-colour seemed to modulate subtly. An effect of the hologram, or an accurate representation of how this man really looked when he was hurt? "Yoda taught him, as he taught all the initiates. But I was his Master." How strange. As if to distract itself, the image was now reaching out, passing its insubstantial hands through the walls. It rested one in the boiling kettle, frowning slightly. The sight made Luke feel odd, in a way he had never imagined the absence of pain could. It caught him looking and turned with a small, wintery smile. "If I clasp my hands I feel...the memory of touch. But this...I don't feel anything at all." "You're a hologram." And you've obviously never been accessed before, Luke thought, with a prickle of something dark. Not a warning; a kind of delicacy that didn't seem appropriate in dealing with a machine. Ben's teacher. And Ben buried it. He never spoke to it once. "I know. I'm trying to find out what that means." "You're recorded information. You're supposed to answer my questions." But still Luke wondered, thinking of his student Nichos. Slowly dying of an incurable disease, Nichos had been gradually moved into a wholly mechanical body. The result had not known itself whether it was a duplicate or the original, human or droid, alive or dead. How much information did it take to replicate the spirit? "I would be a very inaccurate copy if I only did what I was supposed to do." Humour? It was nice to know that even in the legendary past a Jedi Master was allowed a small joke at his own expense. Luke got up and turned the lights down to half power. Full strength made the image too ghostlike for comfort. This was not going as smoothly as he had hoped. He had been sure he held the past firmly in his gloved palm, to be used as he pleased. He had not expected it to come with its own agenda. But this is how it is. Focus on what is, not on your wishes. He moved to get the kettle. "Do you mind? It's a bit weird." The large hand withdrew, tucked itself inside a long sleeve. "You know who I was. Who are you?" It was taking the initiative now. He should feel.... He didn't know what to feel, only curious. "Jedi Master," Can I call myself that? Who's going to stop me? "Luke Skywalker." Now he found himself on the receiving end of some careful scrutiny, and the flash of a smile like that of a different man - roguish, undignified. "Skywalker? Any relation of Anakin?" Luke's prosthetic hand tightened, folding the metal of the handle into finger-shaped curves. To hear his father's name spoken with such carefree fondness! Ice and darkness chilled the edges of his vision. He saw again the black figure, the rasp of mechanical breath, the sword like sharpened rage. He heard Leia trying not to sob. 'He tortured me! And you tell me he was my father!' The ravaged, ruined face that turned to him for redemption when it felt the grip of death. "I'm his son." The hologram could not possibly have sensed that rush of evil and bereavement, but perhaps it read Luke's face, because its smile faltered and the shadowed eyes narrowed. "Tell me." Luke poured the tea and settled onto the bench. Honey and truguu thorn filled the room with tart sweetness. It's supposed to be answering me, he thought, without ire. I suppose it can't, until it's established the context of my questions. Was that all the apparent curiosity was? A drive for coherence, which would make its answers more apt? Could it be nothing more than part of the programming? Well, perhaps putting the past into some kind of story would be good. Seeing what it looked like when told to someone utterly uninvolved might help him clarify it himself. He began to tell the image about growing up under the Imperial threat. About the holocausts and disappearances, the engineered plagues, and the terror which, even on Tatooine, stalked every word and thought. He reached the firefight in the bright sky, from which the droids had fallen like comets; portents of destiny. A pause, and he glanced at the rough face - it showed regret, sympathy, but none of the indignation for which he had hoped. *Doesn't this make you angry?* And he couldn't decide if what he saw was the perfection of Jedi discipline, or simply a result of it not being quite human. In the break the hologram knelt; a fluid, practised movement so simple and so appropriate that for a moment Luke didn't register what had happened. Wait! It shouldn't be able to do that. Luke's glare caught the flicker of satisfaction that just lifted one corner of its mouth. "How did you...?" "I modulated the input going through the projector." "Yes, but how?" It thought a while, then shrugged. "The control codes of this thing are patterns of energy, and so am I. It...felt possible." Someone had placed into the holocron a program that replicated the wisdom and personality of a Jedi of old. A mind trained to master both itself and its environment. Was it so surprising that it was now exceeding its parameters? Luke rubbed his gloved hand, feeling the metallic bones, the fine articulation of wires under synth-skin. He thought of Vader...Anakin... 'More machine than man'. But man enough to repent. Man enough to destroy the Emperor, in order to save his son. "You're not giving me your full attention are you?" Luke asked, caustically, trying not to be unnerved. "Are you giving me yours?" And of course, he wasn't. Some part of him was on alert, listening to the rumours of movement outside the door, monitoring the heat signature of the generator and the reassuring thrum of the coms terminal. Another part was appreciating the tea - green acidic flavour, the fact that it had gone slightly cold. It's testing its surroundings subconsciously? Can a hologram have a subconscious? Luke took up the tale again, "Well, this is where it really starts..." He told it about Princess Leia's message; seeking out Ben here in the hermitage in which he had spent the greater part of his lonely life; the deaths of Vader and Yoda and Palpatine. When he had finished, it was late. He could sense the great blaze of the Galactic Core rising in the barren sky outside; could picture it slicking all the dunes to the colour of snow. Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn had bent his insubstantial head, and was studying the empty hands that rested powerless in his lap. He was silent for a long time. Luke went to reheat the tea. It was oversteeped and bitter, like his memories. What would be the man's response to a story like that? Did it touch him at all? He was unprepared for the look of desolation that was raised to meet his gaze. "Obi-Wan encouraged you to kill your own father, out of revenge?" What a bizarre thing to focus on! Anger rushed to fill the space left by incredulity. It wasn't this man's place to criticize Ben! "I didn't know he was my father." "Exactly. He deceived you and used you, Luke, and he encouraged you to act through motives of hatred. Oh Force! Did I teach him so little?" It bent its head again and pushed both hands into its hair, as though curling up over physical pain. "How many apprentices must I lose before I learn?" Disbelief and sympathy drove Luke to his knees in front of the kneeling man. He wanted to shake him, but knew that his hands would pass straight through the air. "If it wasn't for Ben the Empire would never have fallen. The galaxy would still be in slavery. What he did, he did to save us all. You should be proud." The image straightened, its expression full of sorrow. "I don't mourn what he did, only how." One of the long hands fell, and the fingers of the other rested gently on the bend of his broken nose, as if to ease a phantom ache. "And Anakin, how did he fall?" Whether it was grief, or only the electronic mimicry of grief, Luke didn't like seeing it in his guest. "I don't know. Ben - Obi-Wan - wouldn't speak of it. It must have been too painful."

i know your asking y your last story sucked y write another but i did its parody antholgy of the arabian nights enjoy As the princess stood there in the mighty jabba's clutchs her mind raced on how to prolong her now dwindling life span , but how , how could she keep him interested ? sex ? no out of the question can hutt's evan have sex ? their had to be somthing but what.suddenly it came to her a story . that would do nicely . So she started her tale of survival. "jinn in a bottle" Sand had drifted through the seals, sifting like salt over the rough floor. Smiling faintly, Luke rose, stretched from toes to fingertips, and reached for the brush. Carefully, starting with the very furthest corner of the small house, Luke got down on his knees and brushed the small piles of tawny powder towards the door. He wondered what his students would say if they saw it. Was it undignified? Beneath him? Surely the great Jedi Master should not be shovelling sand with his hands like the meanest slave on Tatooine? But it was good - good honest work. The pressure on knees and back, the scrape and sssh of tiny grains across the packed floor were a reaffirmation of the immediacy of life. Call it a meditation, he thought, not entirely ironically. The door hissed open and he swept the sand across the threshold with a satisfied flourish. Night air ruffled his hair, metallic with dryness and cold as the far off stars. He stood, traced the stone lintel with his one remaining hand and breathed in, oddly sad. How many years, he wondered, had Ben stood here, watching the small tracks in the dust, looking out at the hostile galaxy overhead, shielding Luke's life as if it were a single votive candle against the darkness? "Oh, Ben, why did you leave?" He wasn't sure if he spoke to the man or the ghost - both were equally gone from him now. "I don't know how to do this..." In his head, Ben had carried the knowledge of 25 millennia of Jedi tradition. Tested answers to the questions that racked Luke's academy now. Answers Luke's students might have to waste lifetimes rediscovering. "I know you had to make me a warrior first. But afterwards, when I really needed you, why did you leave?" It was bone-chillingly cold, and the light of the open door would attract Sandpeople. He turned away from the sharpness and went back inside. After several retreats here Ben's presence had begun to fade from the house, to be replaced by Luke's own. That scuff on the table was from his lightsabre. The blackened mark over the cooker was where 3PO had shorted out, trying to communicate with the air conditioner. That hollow beneath the pallet... That hollow... There was something in it. All senses hyper-alert, he reached out to the Force. Had someone been here, during the day? No. I would have smelled it! The little wink of opal in the darkness under his bed. What was it? An Imperial bomb? A bug? The spike of betrayal was keen. Had this final sacred sanctuary too been breached and violated? It was not...fair? He caught himself and laughed. Then, kneeling, he formed the thought of himself simply reaching into the hole and closing his gloved fingers around the shimmering thing. He expected either the red anxiety of danger, or neutrality, reassurance. Not the wave of sheer joy that came. A present! A gift! Something of Ben's, long hidden, long forgotten. He pulled it out eagerly and was irritated at his mechanical hand, because it didn't tremble. The object lay against the black leather like a huge unfacetted gem, nacreous and mysterious in the house's prosaic light. "Aah...Force!" Ben! Why didn't you tell me you had a holocron! Ben had buried it. Entombed it in the ground, like his past. The thought clutched at Luke's throat, like a cry of pain heard across years of silence. He took the miracle into the kitchen and set tea to brewing; afraid now, that it might be empty or broken. Fear is the mind killer. But it was good not to be entirely serene. Putting the cube down on the table he brushed it with his bare fingers, focused and said, "Show me the final record." He had been half hoping, half expecting that it would be Ben himself, but it was not. The image was life-sized, coloured like life, but translucent and edged in light like a Force-ghost. A big human, tall, wearing a robe like Ben's, over loose, sand-coloured tunics and loose brown trousers. The robe fell in classical lines from the folded arms, bringing to mind images of ancient mystics, holy men and warriors. Even the clothes have lessons to teach me, Luke thought ruefully, as he glanced at his own military black. This man was dressed like Ben, but Luke looked like an Imperial moff. Like Vader.... He would have to think about that. Why had he instinctively clothed himself like a soldier, as though his proper place was at the head of an army? The image lifted its chin, shifted its illusory weight comfortably and watched him, waiting. Presumably, Luke thought, it could not initiate a conversation - it was, after all, only a recording. Still the small movement surprised him, like a sign of life on a barren moon. With the clothes, the resemblance to Ben ended. Like Yoda, the old man had carried, with his age, a sense of faint fragility that Luke had learned to associate with - how had his mentor put it - "A more civilised age." But there was none of that here; only a treelike solidity, a relaxed awareness and calm, smooth power that could only be described as 'Forceful'. The eyes that watched Luke's face were tranquil as the dawn sky, seemingly content to wait indefinitely for Luke to speak. It was a strange face on which to find serenity. A face which nature had made harsh - all sharp planes and bones, with a grizzled beard and the broken nose of a fist fighter. It seemed a fitting contradiction that all this hardness should be topped with a fall of long hair the colour of silvered oak. The steady regard was beginning to unnerve Luke. It was too much like meeting a person. He felt that further silence would be rude. "Who are you?" "I was Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn." Perhaps he had imagined the stress on the word 'was', since it was now speaking as formally as a hologram should. "Padawan to Yoda, Master of Perpetuity Oser, Xanatos of Telos, and Obi-Wan Kenobi." Obi-Wan. The name sounded so natural coming from the tall man, reminding Luke sharply that he had never learned to even think of Ben by his true name. This was Ben's teacher? The image was looking at its sleeves; studying the slight flicker there with what seemed like mild curiosity.

i know this is way off topic but sep. thats the coolest icon ive ever seen

could every one go read my story in the games and story section i didnt get many replies and i realy need then for it to be accepted into the fanfic gallery at this starwars site much abliged

The boy was crying in earnest now, great sobs ripping from his throat. Unthinking, Qui-Gon gathered him up in his arms, holding him tightly, wishing desperately that there was something he could do to change what had happened, to take away the boy's pain. "I'm sorry." Kenobi's voice was muffled. "I'm so sorry. I never meant..." He choked, the words catching in his throat. "It's all right. It's all right. You...you couldn't help what happened. It was Shevann's fault, not yours." "No..." "Yes. You are not to blame..." "I pulled the trigger. I watched him fall. Who else is there?" Kenobi pulled abruptly out of Qui-Gon's arms and took a deep, shaky breath, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, visibly trying to regain control of himself. Realization hit Qui-Gon. "That's why you're helping me escape," he said. "You're trying to make up for what happened four years ago..." It wasn't a question. For a moment he thought the boy would deny it. Kenobi's shoulders stiffened and his jaw clenched, then he sagged as another spasm shot through him. "Yes," he said simply. A strained silence fell. Then Qui-Gon pulled himself together. "Listen to me," he said intensely. "It was not your fault. Nobody will blame you for what happened. Come back with me to Coruscant. The healers will help you and you can start over. Begin again." Kenobi shook his head, looking away. "It's too late." There was nothing but pained acceptance in his voice now. Qui-Gon opened his mouth to continue, to convince the boy somehow, but Kenobi forestalled him. "We're here," he said, pointing to the rocky island looming up before them, a shadow against the darker sea. The sound of the hull scraping on rocks beneath them punctuated his words. It was Qui-Gon who waded into the cold sea to pull the boat onto the shore, and Qui-Gon who helped the boy onto the island, despite his own injuries. Kenobi could barely stand now, leaning heavily on the Jedi's shoulder, his slight frame shivering incessantly. In the slowly gathering light his skin was waxen and spasms racked his body. Qui-Gon sent another questing probe toward the boy and flinched inwardly. He was in so much pain. Too much. The effects of the withdrawal were proceeding too quickly. He didn't have much time. The Jedi tried to share some of his own strength with the boy, using the Force to shore up Kenobi's waning energies, but it was swallowed up by the pain and darkness inside him, vanishing instantly. Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, then quickened his pace, struggling to bear the boy's weight. He found the ship hidden nearby behind a large outcropping of rocks. It was a small Acarian fighter, old but in good shape. The spray from the sea had left it damp and glistening in the pre-dawn light, but it looked spaceworthy. The boy had obviously put a lot of effort into it. How long had it taken, Qui-Gon wondered? Working in secret, restoring the old fighter... And why? If he could never leave this place because of the hold the raiders had over him, why had Kenobi done so much, risked so much, to build an escape he could never use? What had prompted him to do this? "Hope," Kenobi whispered, answering Qui-Gon's unvoiced questions. "Hope that I could leave this place someday. Escape...Be free." He was seized by a paroxysm of coughing then he sagged in the Jedi's arms. Qui-Gon instantly lowered him to the rocks, sinking breathlessly down beside him. "Listen to me," Qui-Gon said, injecting a note of forcefulness into his voice. If the boy wouldn't listen to requests, maybe he would heed a command. "You are going to escape. You're coming with me to Coruscant." Kenobi coughed again, struggling for air. "Sorry," he whispered quietly. "Can't..." His breathing was becoming shallow, his pulse thready. Qui-Gon fought down the wave of panic that engulfed him. The boy couldn't die, not now that Qui-Gon had found him again. He wouldn't let him... Kenobi was reaching inside a pocket, pulling something out with unsteady hands. Shock went through Qui-Gon. It was his lightsabre, the weapon the raiders had taken from him when he had been captured. He had thought it lost... "Here," the boy whispered weakly. "You'll need it. Meant to give it back before. But...wanted to pretend...just for a little while. Remember what it was like..." A tear was threading its way down Qui-Gon's cheek, unnoticed by the Jedi. "Why?" he asked hoarsely again. "How long has it been since you had the drug? You knew you wouldn't survive bringing me here... Why did you do it, Obi-Wan?" The blue eyes were closing, slowly, reluctantly, as if fighting to hold onto the last of the light, growing brighter on the horizon. "Better...to die free... Like a Jedi..." More tears were falling from Qui-Gon's eyes, mingling with the seaspray. One fell on the Obi-Wan's face and with the last of his strength the boy reached up to touch the Jedi's cheek. "Don't...s'better this way..." Anguish tightened around Qui-Gon's heart like a vice. "I'm sorry, Padawan," he said, choking. "Please forgive me." "Yes, Master." His words were barely audible. Then Obi-Wan smiled faintly, took one last shuddering breath, and went limp in the Jedi's arms. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, gathering the boy up tightly...and let the tears fall. The sun rays spread slowly across the horizon, turning the dark sea a lighter shade blue, shot through with silver and gold. On the rocky shore, Qui-Gon touched the torch to the wooden boat that had brought them to this island, staring unblinkingly at the pale form in the centre...watching as the flames began to lick at the body. One final push, and the boat was moving back onto the sea, the waves taking it and bearing it slowly westward. The fire rose higher as the craft moved away until nothing could be seen of it except the blaze. It became another beacon of light on the water, rivalling the rising dawn sun. The tears were gone now, although the pain remained. As did the memories. The Jedi lifted his head, his hair streaming backward in the wind from the east. He paused for a moment, staring at the burning boat as it disappeared into the distance... and then with one smooth movement he activated his lightsabre and raised it, a final salute to the Apprentice he had never known. "I will remember you, Obi-Wan. Always." And then he turned and walked back along the shore alone as the sun rose in a blaze of light. :mrt: :devil: :D how'd you like it? was the ending good? should i write more storys on similar lines ? what do u think i know the ending was mushy

Nevertheless, Kenobi kept his hand on the tiller, steering the boat toward the distant island that was now visible through the darkness. Qui-Gon reached out further with his mind. There was...an imbalance in the boy. Something serious. This was no mere case of seasickness. Something was very wrong. Frowning he climbed to his feet and ducked under the sail, gritting his teeth against the agony in his leg. It had stiffened up during the night, and the pain from the twin blaster wounds throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Still, the pain paled beyond what the Jedi could sense coming from Kenobi. Moving carefully he crossed the boat and sat down gingerly next to the boy, stretching his injured leg across the nearby seat. Hesitantly Qui-Gon rested one hand on the boy's shoulder. Kenobi jumped at the touch. Qui-Gon could feel his mental shields trying to come up, and sensed his failure. Now that he was in physical contact, the sense of "wrongness" about him was much stronger. Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. He was no healer, but...carefully he reached out with his mind... ...And pulled back, stunned, turning startled eyes to the boy. Kenobi was staring back at him, his face etched with pain and his eyes burning. "Now you know how the raiders control me. Why I do what they want. Why I could never escape..." "You're addicted..." Kenobi stared unblinkingly at the dark waves around them. Finally, after an eternity, he spoke. "It's called Erebus. It's a narcotic. And yes...I'm addicted." His voice was strangled, as if it was costing him his very soul to say the words. Qui-Gon moved as if to touch him again, but Kenobi flinched away, closing his eyes. "If I do what they say, when they say it, they give me the drug. If I don't..." His voice trailed off. Somehow it was almost a relief. At least this was something he could deal with, could try to put right... The healers on Coruscant would find a cure, he would help the boy... He said as much, out loud. Kenobi shook his head, chasing away the pleasant illusion. "No." He gasped a bit, obviously trying to find some way to deal with the pain. "You don't understand. You don't know what I've done..." The anguish in his voice was almost palpable. Qui-Gon touched him again. This time the boy didn't pull away. "It doesn't matter. You had no choice..." "It does matter! I killed Vayrann..." Qui-Gon stilled, shock rippling through him. "What...?" There were tears in Kenobi's eyes now, glinting like shards of ice in the moonlight. "I killed Jedi Vayrann. He...the pirates...I..." He shook his head, unable to go on. But Qui-Gon could see the memories, flashing through Kenobi's mind. The boy's mental shields had collapsed completely and waves of pain and guilt were streaming from him. And memories. Torture, drugs, a fog of pain and confusion. Anger, hatred, fear...the Dark side closing in around him. And then an escape, one way out of the darkness. A raider, standing in the way -- one of the people who had hurt him, who had killed the passengers and crew of the freighter -- and the boy had lashed out with the weapon he had suddenly found in his hand... ...and Vayrann was dead. Mistaken identity. An error, caused by the drugs and the pain...but it had destroyed Kenobi's soul -- and given Shevann the key to controlling him, to using his powers. No longer caring if he lived or died, with one foot already on the path to the dark side, Kenobi had taken the path of least resistance, had stopped fighting the raiders... believing there was nothing left to fight for. Nothing left to save.

Twin moons had risen quickly and were lighting their path when Qui-Gon and the boy eventually came to a halt. There had been no pursuit -- their escape must still be unnoticed, although how long their luck would hold remained to be seen. Qui-Gon stopped, drawing in a few quick breaths, then stared at the means of their escape, bemused. Whatever kind of a ship he had expected, it certainly wasn't this. It was a small sailing boat, built for crossing oceans, not the stars. He turned to Kenobi, frowning. As if reading his thoughts, Kenobi smiled mockingly. "Don't worry, Jedi," he said, reaching down to untie the rope that led to the boat's prow, "this isn't some intricate trap. This really is the way out." Qui-Gon took a few limping steps away from him and eased himself down to a nearby rock, clenching his teeth against the pain. "I need to leave the planet, not sail to the next island." Kenobi nodded. "Sure. But the way off the planet is on the next island." "I don't understand. Surely the raiders would keep their ships close at hand. I can't see them all sailing away across the ocean every time the authorities show up. In fact, I don't understand why they came here in the first place." "Because it's unlikely. And easy to defend. And yes, there's a whole fleet of starfighters on the other side of the island." "Then..." "But it's also rather well-guarded. Of course, if you'd rather try to take on 20 or 30 well-armed..." "All right." Qui-Gon interrupted. "I see your point. "Then where are we going?" The boy ignored him. Instead he beckoned Qui-Gon toward the now untethered boat. With a muffled groan, the Jedi clambered back to his feet and limped toward the vessel. "Get in," Kenobi said. Wordlessly, Qui-Gon did so, watching as the boy put his shoulder against the hull, pushing the craft deeper into the ocean. The boat rocked, moving as the waves took it, becoming a living thing with the sea. Qui-Gon braced his good leg against the side of the boat and reached a hand out for Kenobi, who had waded in waist-deep, while steadying and turning the boat. The boy hesitated, then slowly reached up and took the Jedi's hand. With a heave, Qui-Gon pulled him in. Kenobi instantly pulled his hand away, as if the touch had burned, then moved hastily toward the stern where he began unfurling the sail. For a long moment he was silent while he tied the ropes off then he spoke over his shoulder, answering Qui-Gon's question. "We're going to one of the other islands. There's a starship there. It will get you off the planet." Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes, his suspicions returning with a rush. "Then why isn't it guarded too?" Kenobi brushed his hair back absently as the boat surged forward, the sail snapping in the breeze. The shore began to recede, disappearing into the darkness faster than Qui-Gon would have expected in a boat this size. Kenobi steered through the night confidently, as if he had made this trip a thousand times. Perhaps he had. For a long moment the only sounds were those of the sea, the wind, and the boat, slicing through the waves. "The ship's not guarded," Kenobi said eventually, continuing the conversation as if it had never ceased, "because the raiders don't know that it works. They think it's just an old wreck that they abandoned." "And does it work?" Qui-Gon's voice was carefully neutral. "Yes. I fixed it. I always was good at mechanics." Was that a hint of pride in the Kenobi's voice? He turned to the older man, a faint smile on his face and for once, no hint of bitterness in his expression. For just an instant, Qui-Gon could see the other Obi-Wan Kenobi, overlaying this one -- the cheerful 13 year old boy, a hint of mischievousness about him, a little recklessness, but nevertheless a good heart... And a wave of pain, so strong that it eclipsed anything he had felt up to this point, surged over Qui-Gon. "I did this," the Jedi thought in anguish. "Because of me that boy is gone, as surely as if the pirates had killed him. I did this..." The pain tightened around his heart and his vision blurred. Something must have shown on his face, because Kenobi looked sharply at him. Then the familiar cynical mask was falling over him again. "Emotions, Jedi? I thought you didn't have to worry about those..." Qui-Gon sighed. "We have emotions. We feel...sorrow, regret..." Kenobi interrupted him, staring out to sea. "I feel hate. I hate Shevann." He did too. The Jedi could sense the waves of hatred rolling across the night air, emanating from the boy. Some were directed at Qui-Gon, some seemed to flow back across the sea toward the raider's fortress, but the rest... Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes, reaching out with the Force...the rest were directed inward. Self-loathing was so thick around the boy that it seemed almost as if the Jedi could reach out and touch it. "Well?" Kenobi was saying, "aren't you going to give me one of the standard Jedi lectures -- about hatred and fear, and how they lead to the Dark side?" "Why should I tell you something you already know?" Qui-Gon asked mildly, easing his mental touch away from the well of darkness swirling around the boy with an inward shiver. "And besides," he continued, "it's not Shevann you hate. It's yourself." Kenobi turned startled eyes on the Jedi. For a moment it looked as if he might argue, then his shoulders slumped and he looked down. "You're right," he said, his voice holding nothing but honesty and pain this time. "I do. I hate what I've become. But I hate Shevann and his pirates for doing this to me. And I hate the Jedi for allowing it to happen." "Do you hate me?" Qui-Gon found himself tensing unconsciously against the boy's answer. Kenobi glanced back up, meeting the older man's eyes. His hand on the tiller was shaking a little, Qui-Gon noticed absently. And his eyes -- it was difficult to see in the moonlight, but Kenobi's eyes -- they weren't icy anymore. A thousand emotions were swirling in those pale eyes, reflecting the starlight. But what those emotions were - Qui-Gon couldn't say. "I should hate you," Kenobi said quietly. "You were my last hope to become a Jedi and you turned me away. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have been on that freighter to Bandomeer. I've spent years telling myself it was your fault...but..." His voice trailed off. "But?" Qui-Gon prompted gently. Kenobi sighed and turned away, staring out into the darkness. "I don't know," he said, his voice anguished. "I just don't know anymore. I don't even know why I'm doing this..." He reached up with an unsteady hand to wipe away the sweat that had beaded his brow, despite the coldness of the night. "Are you all right?" A flicker of concern went through the Jedi. Kenobi shook his head, still looking out to sea. "No," he said. "I haven't been all right for four years." "You..." Kenobi made a sharp gesture. "Look, I don't want to talk about this anymore. Just...shut up. All right?" Qui-Gon hesitated, then leaned back. "All right," he said quietly. An uncomfortable silence fell between them as the small boat moved deeper into the night. "Please Remember Me" Something was wrong. The boy was ill. Qui-Gon stared across the length of the boat at him, reaching out with the Force to try to determine what was causing his illness. It had begun just over an hour ago. First tremors in Kenobi's hands, a faint tightness around his eyes...and now...now the boy was shivering uncontrollably, hunched around himself as if trying to drive the pain away by sheer force of will. It wasn't working.

final chapter "When the Dark Night Seems Endless" The distant orange sun was setting as Qui-Gon and Kenobi left the raider's stronghold. The sun's rays set the mist rolling in from the sea on fire and lit the sky with strands of gold. Nearby, waves crashed against the rocks while seabirds screamed overhead. The air was cold and sharp, and filled with the smell of the sea. "So this is what freedom smells like," Qui-Gon thought vaguely. Actually, it was difficult to form any coherent thought patterns at all. The journey up from the bowels of the stronghold, keeping to the shadows and striving to be silent, had been difficult. Beyond difficult. Several times he had wondered if he would make it, despite Kenobi's help, but he had not given up. He could not. As a Jedi, he didn't know how to surrender. Nevertheless, without the boy he could not have completed the journey, no matter how much strength of will he had. The pain in his leg had worsened, if anything, and the effects of the raiders' torture had left him alarmingly weak. Still, now that he was outside -- Qui-Gon straightened a little, easing some of his weight from the boy's shoulders, and drew in a deep breath, savouring the cool air that was free of the stench of evil that had marked the raider's stronghold. The Living Force flowed around him like the seabreeze and he could sense a myriad of lifeforms nearby -- fish swimming through the darkness below, birds sailing on the wind up above, tiny lifeforms living in between the damp crevices of the slippery rocks... Power began to sing through him and he hastily reached out for it, welcoming it, making it his own. When it recognized and answered him, he diverted it to his injuries, or at least to those hurts where it could do the most good. The damage to his leg was simply too severe. It was beyond whatever self-healing skills he possessed. Nevertheless, it was with a clearer head and much more confidence that he stepped away from Kenobi's support, balancing on one leg against the wind sweeping in from the ocean. There was a muffled sound beside him. Qui-Gon turned his head. Kenobi was staring at him, an odd expression on his face. "I can sense what you're doing," he said bitterly. "But I can't do it. I don't know how." Qui-Gon met the accusing gaze unflinchingly. "You never learned. It's difficult. It's only taught to Padawans after they achieve a certain level of control." Kenobi blinked then turned back to the sea, laughing sharply, a quick burst of noise that did nothing to hide the pain underneath it. "I don't know why I expected sympathy from you," he said, almost to himself. "I should have known better." "Would sympathy change anything?" The laughter died away. "No. I suppose not." Kenobi hunched his shoulders against the wind then shot the man a quick glance. "Come on. The ship is this way." Without waiting for an answer, he reached out and took Qui-Gon's arm, helping him manoeuvre across the slippery rocks. Together they moved along the shore as the last rays of the sun dipped below the sea.

i found it it amuseing

chapter 2 "When the Dawn Seemed Forever Lost" Darkness rose up before Qui-Gon - too powerful, too strong to stand against. The last of his mental shields crumbled and vanished... ...And then nothing. The darkness seemed to hesitate for a moment then it pulled back, coiling into the shadows, watchful and waiting. Shaken, the Jedi opened his eyes slowly...and met Kenobi's pale gaze. For a long moment the boy stared back at him, unblinking, then Kenobi was turning away, running an unsteady hand across his forehead. "It's no use," he said to Shevann, his voice shaking just a little. "He's too strong. "I can't get past his shields." Qui-Gon kept his face carefully expressionless, not allowing the surprise that was going through him to show. His shields were gone. Completely eradicated. The boy's power, combined with the drugs and the pain he was experiencing had left Qui-Gon completely vulnerable. All of his secrets had been there for the taking. So why had Kenobi pulled back? What had stopped him? He shot another quick glance at Kenobi before Shevann moved across his line of vision. Qui-Gon hastily averted his eyes and stared impassively at the raider. At least, he hoped it was impassively...it was hard to be stoic when one's leg felt like it was on fire. "You've disappointed me, Obi-Wan," Shevann said quietly, not looking away from Qui-Gon. Behind the raider, Kenobi stirred slightly but did not respond. Shevann sighed then continued. "Still, it doesn't really matter. It just means we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way. It will take longer. That's all." Then he smiled. It was a predator's smile. A tremor went through Qui-Gon. He could guess what the 'old-fashioned way' was. And he was suddenly convinced that Shevann's smiling was a bad thing. He was right. Pain. Too much pain for one man to bear. Too much to still remain sane. And yet he had no choice. There was nothing else he could do except bear it. And wait. And hope. Hoping was the most difficult. Despair licked at the edges of Qui-Gon's soul like black fire, and even the Jedi code he had been repeating to himself like a mantra ever since Shevann's men had started, did not help. Nothing helped. In the end though, they left him alone. Alone in the dark. Alone with the pain. Qui-Gon sagged in his bonds, striving to clear his mind, to centre himself, and focus on the Force. To not think. To not remember... Time passed. Or perhaps he had lapsed into unconsciousness. Whichever it was, Qui-Gon became aware of his surroundings again with a start. A light draught of air touched his skin and he licked dry lips. With a groan he straightened, easing some of the weight from his wrists and shoulders and clenching his teeth as the blood began to flow sluggishly through his arms again. The heavy door to the cell was swinging open. A brief, wild surge of fear shot through Qui-Gon, but he banished it instantly. Whatever was to come, he would face it - without fear, without hatred. He was a Jedi. They could kill him, but they couldn't change that. They could never change that. He was calm again by the time the door opened. Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped through then turned and quickly shut it behind him. He paused, studying the chained man before him, then he shook his head and frowned. "What is it with you Jedi, anyway?" he asked tersely. "They torture you and...and you don't seem to care. Anyone else would have given in hours ago. Why won't you just tell them what they want to know?" Something almost like anger flickered through his voice and his fists clenched. The Jedi blinked, wondering at the boy's emotional outburst. But his words were carefully composed when he replied even though his voice was weak. "You should know the answer to that, Obi-Wan. You spent 13 years training with us. Have you forgotten everything?" Kenobi took several quick steps across the cell, coming face to face with Qui-Gon, fury radiating from his body. "I've forgotten nothing," he said in a deadly whisper. "Not one single moment of the past 17 years. I remember it all." If Qui-Gon hadn't been chained to the wall he would have taken a step back. Nevertheless, he continued on, heedless of what might happen. After all, there was nothing worse any of them could do to him. He had already lived through the worst. "What do you remember?" he asked simply. The boy stared into the older man's eyes for a long moment, and Qui-Gon began to wonder if he would answer him. Finally, though, he replied. "No," Kenobi said harshly. "I'm not going to lay out my life story so you can find a way to use it against me. I'm not going to wade through 17 years of bad memories so you can get inside my mind." He paused then glanced away. "Believe me -- you don't want to get inside my mind." Qui-Gon spoke into the sudden silence. "Then why did you come? Did Shevann send you? Or have you decided against it?" There was nothing but tired curiosity in his voice. Kenobi frowned and looked back at him. "Decided against what?" "About telling Shevann what he wants to know. Why I'm here. What my plans are. You...could have told him at any time. We both know it. So why didn't you?" Kenobi turned disbelieving eyes on him. "Do you think I didn't tell Shevann what was in your mind, because I wanted to see you tortured first?" "Didn't you?" Something went through the boy's blue eyes. Was that pain? "No," he said in a strangled tone. "I didn't." Then he pulled a key from his pocket and stretched up, undoing the chains binding Qui-Gon's wrists. The Jedi would have sagged to the floor at his sudden release if the boy had not caught him. Quickly Kenobi put an arm around Qui-Gon's shoulders and helped him down to a sitting position, then drew away as quickly as he could...as if even that slight touch was distasteful. Not caring, Qui-Gon leaned his aching head back against the cool stones of the cell wall, closing his eyes against the agony his movements had caused. He drew several deep breaths, trying to draw on the Force to control the pain. Now that the bursts of electricity from the binders had ceased and the drugs had worn off slightly, he succeeded, at least in some small measure. But it would take time before he had full control again... Kenobi stirred and shook himself, as if sensing Qui-Gon's manipulation of the Force, then he reached out one foot and nudged the Jedi in the leg. "Get up," he said harshly. "I'm setting you free." Qui-Gon opened his eyes and looked up at the boy but made no effort to stand. "Why?" Kenobi hesitated. "I have my reasons." "Which are?" The boy's eyes narrowed. "Just that. My reasons." "How do I know this isn't a trap?" "You don't. Look, do you want to get out of here or not?" Qui-Gon sighed wearily. "Yes," he said simply. "But you're going to have to help me. I'm not up to any heroic escapes just now." Several emotions flickered over Kenobi's face. Impatience, frustration, fear. For a long moment he did not answer, glancing instead over his shoulder at the closed door behind him. Finally, annoyance written in every line of his body, he bent down and hauled the Jedi unceremoniously to his feet, draping one of Qui-Gon's arms across his shoulders. "All right," he said grimly. "I'll help you off this island. But that's the last help you'll ever get from me. The last help any Jedi gets. Is that clear?" Qui-Gon turned his head and met cold eyes. "Yes," he nodded. And then he was trying not to wince as Kenobi half-dragged him toward the door. As they crossed the cell floor, the Jedi wondered again if this was a trap, some new plan of Shevann's to make him talk... And then he gave up wondering. It didn't matter. Inside this cell lay only more pain and certain death. Outside...well, who knew what it held? And it was better to die trying to live, rather than chained to a wall waiting for death to come to him... Wasn't it? hope more peps will enjoy

i know this is way off subject but how do u become a mod and what exactly do u do

yeah we know that sep. but flash what your implying is wrong its more then wrong and i know what gundam sites your getting your info from and its just wrong,

hmmm i don oh i posted them lots of places in the past i might have posted them here b4

isnt any one gonna coment i realy need the coments

takes place in an alternate universe in a galexy far far away it will help if you've read the first two books of the Jedi Apprentice series, but it's not necessary. chapter 1 "When the Dark Wood Fell Before Me" The boy was familiar. About 17 or a little older perhaps. Long light brown hair, caught up in a pony tail. Not overly tall, not overly stocky... He was dressed in unrelieved black from head to toe - black boots, black trousers, black shirt. His eyes were blue-grey... ...and cold. Cold as the ice they resembled. Qui-Gon shivered. The feeling of familiarity persisted though. He knew this boy. If he could just focus, he would remember... Unfortunately, focusing was beyond difficult just now. He was in too much pain. He couldn't concentrate, could barely see. It was taking all his powers just to remain conscious. They had shot him not once, but twice, in the leg. The same leg. In almost the same spot. The twin blaster bolts had caused untold damage to nerves and muscles and were sending a tidal wave of agony rolling over him with every movement. The wound could be healed - probably - if he could reach those equipped to deal with such an injury. But he was a long way from Coruscant -- and a long way from safety. Nevertheless, he was a Jedi Master. Under normal circumstances he would have been able to focus the Force, to deal with the pain and find a way to escape...but the binders around his wrists that crackled and hummed and sent random bursts of electricity arcing through his body, combined with the drugs they had pumped into him...no, he couldn't reach the Force, couldn't move, could barely think. Somebody had obviously told these raiders how to capture and hold a Jedi, in frightening detail... -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He had been sent to the Acarian sector by the Jedi Council, to help track down and deal with space pirates - raiders that had spent years pillaging and plundering this part of space. Actually, he had volunteered. Qui-Gon hadn't admitted that he had been motivated in part by guilt, but the Council had known. And they had said nothing. There was nothing to say. Vayrann and the others were dead and it was his fault. Much as he would like to, he could not turn back time and change the past. Four years. Qui-Gon's pain-wracked mind wandered back, seeking an escape from the agonizing present. Four years ago. He had still been smarting from Xanatos' betrayal, even though more than enough time had passed for Qui-Gon to put that betrayal behind him. But he hadn't, hadn't even tried. He had allowed himself to dwell in the past and in the hurt. He had refused to take another Apprentice despite the best efforts of Yoda and the others. Four years. He had been ordered to Bandomeer. He had suspected a scheme on the part of the Council to push him into accepting that young boy...Kenobi...as his Apprentice. But he would not be pushed. He had found another, more urgent mission elsewhere and the Council had agreed to it, reluctantly. Qui-Gon never went to Bandomeer. Jedi Knight Vayrann had gone in his place. And died in his place. Raiders had attacked the transport ship, killing everyone on board. The passengers and crew, the boy, Vayrann... And it was Qui-Gon's fault. No-one blamed him, he knew. There was quite probably nothing he could have done; if he had been there he would have died too, or so the other Jedi had told him, over and over. No, nobody blamed Qui-Gon. Except himself. He had evaded his responsibilities. Had taken the easy path out of selfish motives. And he had to live with the consequences. Qui-Gon had never been able to ignore the feeling that he was meant to be on that ship, to die with the others if necessary, or to somehow save them. The Force had laid out a path for him and he had refused to walk down it... Qui-Gon shook his head slightly, wincing as the pain redoubled. Why was it all coming back to him so clearly now? Something inside him answered his own question - because these raiders who had captured him were the same ones who had destroyed the transport ship all those years ago. They had killed Vayrann, Kenobi...all of them. Obi-Wan Kenobi. A jolt ran through the Jedi. That was why his mind had been reliving the past. The boy in black standing before him was Obi-Wan Kenobi. But Kenobi was dead. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Qui-Gon remembered the boy. He had been almost thirteen. Young, eager to please, doing everything within his power to become a Jedi, to be chosen... There had been a training duel with another hopeful candidate. The boy was reckless, taking unnecessary risks, impatient -- yet somehow reminding Qui-Gon of himself. Kenobi had won the duel. Qui-Gon had been impressed though he had taken pains not to show it. But in the end, the boy had lost. Qui-Gon had not taken him as his Apprentice, had not gone to Bandomeer with him... Another memory. The flash of hurt in the boy's eyes. Loss. Unhappiness. Sorrow. A dream stolen away... -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- There was no sorrow in the boy's eyes now. There were no emotions at all. Only a cold, frightening blankness. Qui-Gon tried to focus on him, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulders -- caused by hour after hour with his arms stretched tight above his head, bound by chains and the binders. It didn't help. Nothing helped. But even the pain paled before the wordless accusation on the face before him. "Obi-Wan Kenobi." Qui-Gon had to swallow several times before his voice would work properly. The boy didn't blink, didn't look surprised. He merely nodded and said: "Qui-Gon Jinn." His voice was a mocking reflection of the Jedi's own. "You...remember me." "Yes." Nothing else. No accusation, no questions, just silence. And hostility, suddenly beating out from Kenobi's slight frame, like heat from a small sun. Qui-Gon shut his eyes for a moment, unable to face the boy. It didn't help. When he opened them again they were no longer alone. The leader of the raiders -- Danaire Shevann -- strode into the small cell, followed by several others that Qui-Gon recognized. They were the ones who had captured him when he had arrived on Acaria. The stunted man on the left had shot him...twice. Qui-Gon suppressed a small flicker of anger that flared up inside him. Beside him, Kenobi smiled slightly, mockingly. Shevann closed the distance to the two of them and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. Kenobi didn't quite shrug it aside, but his muscles tensed beneath the hand. A flicker of something went through his eyes, then they reverted once more to shards of ice -- blank, expressionless...and waiting. "Well?" Shevann asked, staring at the chained Jedi. Qui-Gon stared back. He had read reports of the man who commanded the raiders, but this was the first time he had seen him. Danaire Shevann was taller, more muscular, and much younger than Qui-Gon. He exuded power - the kind taken by force and forged by the pain of others. A faint scar silvered his cheek. It would have been easy enough to eradicate, Qui-Gon thought, but the raider obviously kept it for a reason...that told him something about the Raider. The Jedi frowned, struggling to maintain his concentration as another arc of electricity shot through him. "Well what?" Kenobi was saying. His voice was carefully emotionless, but Qui-Gon could detect a quiver of...something else...underneath it. Hatred? Fear? Impudence? He couldn't tell. Shevann's grip tightened on the boy's shoulder. It must have been painful, but Kenobi did not flinch. "Have you scanned his mind yet?" the Raider asked, his voice a growl. Kenobi turned away, using the motion to break Shevann's grip. "I haven't had a chance yet. I just got here." Insolence hovered on the edge of his voice. Shevann's eyes narrowed, but he let it go. "Well you're here now boy. So do it." Once again, a flash of some nameless emotion went through Kenobi. Qui-Gon frowned. Usually he was much better at reading people than this, but the boy seemed to be so tightly shielded, so controlled that nothing came through. After his initial hostility, no unconscious movements betrayed Kenobi's feelings, no stray thought leaked from his mind. It was if he wasn't really there. And yet Qui-Gon could sense myriad emotions seething, just beneath the surface. What would it take to set them free, he wondered? Then Kenobi turned his blank eyes on the Jedi...and Qui-Gon abruptly decided he didn't want to know. There was something...frightening...in those blue eyes. Qui-Gon took a deep breath. "There is no emotion, there is peace," he told himself firmly. "There is no fear..." But he couldn't quite dispel the tremor of disquiet that ran through him. "What happened to you, Obi-Wan?" he thought unhappily. What had the Raiders done to turn the eager thirteen-year-old into...this? He wasn't going to get an answer now, Qui-Gon realized. As he watched, Kenobi's eyes darkened slightly... ...and the power of the boy's mind surged up over his own, like a tidal wave - unstoppable, uncaring... Qui-Gon tensed, his mental shields going up automatically. They weren't going to be enough. The sheer power of this untrained boy's mind was overwhelming all of Qui-Gon's defences and his shields were crumbling, one by one. Sweat sprang out on the Jedi's forehead and his fists tightened, straining against the chains. Darkness seemed to rise up before him, waiting hungrily just outside his ever-thinning defences... ...and Qui-Gon's last barrier fell...

easy gundam riddles I once was a masked warrior I have had two identadies (Spelling) I am related to the true love of Heero I have an army in my grasps realy really really easy some more riddles I am quiter than some I can be dangerouse even to the ones who care my gundam has rock solid defense........... who am I... Some say I am mysteriouse Some say I act delirouse (spelling??) When you see me you are a goner I occasionally look a friend of Donar I had no name

i agree anime's a whole lot better undubbed but some times dubbed can be good cuz with some shows the subtitles go 2 fast

dosent sound to bad almost sounds sumtin like ms 008th team though

ok this might sound stupid or even racist but how come the charictors in most anime's arent dipited as asains about the only show were the charictors look asain is tenchi i mean salor moon even takes place in tokio and all the peps are all cacasion i don oh maybe its just me but if u know could u awnser

ahhhhh!!!! thiere is method to fox's madness beast wars and beast machines were besed off a little known comic book seise and the current transformers is based on another comic serise in which the future is altered by the beast wars . it actualy makes sence and would've been a lot better if they told us

yu gi oh's a pretty sweet show it reminds me of magic cards a lot ,an meda bots well its not to great i just dont like the plot 2 much like poke crap to me and hero if u realy liked transformers youd relize this new serize sucks a s s

my favs r probly vampire hunter d that was a kick a s s movie , evangellion and my fav manga is definitly guiver

dont mention it if i get more info ill make sure to post it

u gotta tell me what serise that pic is from its incredible