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cinlat · 24 days

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Blood in the Breeze: Ch 19 (End Times: Pt 2)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: Shit hit the fan. Now for the cleanup.

Chapter Word Count: 3,257 Chapter Rating: T Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen Alliance Base Landing Platform 0500 Hours

Jorgan's lungs burned in a desperate plea for air. Grey crowded the edge of his vision, and only the drumming of his pulse kept rhythm with the speed of his feet. Don't trip, he repeated like a mantra, occasionally sprinkling in silent prayers of, Be alive, damn you.

From the moment Fynta had hit the ground, Jorgan had started running. He focused on his breath, on the uneven ground beneath him to keep from snagging his boots on the ripped soil. There was no room for the debilitating fear in his heart, only the constant, agonizingly slow movement forward. He wouldn't think of the raw power that erupted from Vaylin in her final moments, or the fact that his wife, a human with no previous Force ability, had stood before the mad child's psychic storm. He couldn't dwell on the knowledge that it hadn't been his wife, and for a fleeting moment, Jorgan had considered pulling the trigger.

The clank of boots on metal jarred Jorgan's senses. He stumbled, caught himself with one hand on the decking, then continued running. By the time Jorgan reached Fynta, she was kneeling with Kaeto's head in her lap.

Others milled about, starting the tedious process of clearing the debris and tending to wounded. They gave Fynta a wide berth, casting awed glances that turned to fervent whispers as they passed. It wasn't until Jorgan drew closer that he realized why.

It felt like hitting a wall. His frantic pace came to a sudden halt, forcing Jorgan to acknowledge the pain in his joints and burning in his chest. He pushed forward, only to be repelled. Ripping his helmet off, Jorgan opened his mouth to shout when a hand rested on his arm. "Wait."

Jedi Master Notiac Carlo stood at Jorgan's side. Her head tilted as if listening to something. Jorgan pulled free and started forward again. Felix appeared on his other side, gripping Jorgan's shoulder. "Trust the process, brother. This is above our paygrade."

"That's my wife," Jorgan snarled, but he didn't shake Felix away. The man had traveled with the fabled Barsen'thor. He knew things Jorgan couldn't imagine. It didn't make standing down easier.

"She is stabilizing," Notiac whispered, one hand swirling through the air as if playing with smoke.

From the opposite end, Arcann moved closer. Jorgan's senses came alive, every hair on his body rising in warning of a long time enemy. Felix's fingers tightened on Jorgan's shoulder. "Just a little longer."

Jorgan bared his teeth at the young emperor, tracking his movement across the landing platform, through the barrier that kept him locked out. The man stepped with caution, waving his mother back when she moved to join them. Jorgan couldn't hear what was said, but he saw Fynta's shoulder's tense when Arcann squatted by her side. Their lips moved, then Arcann lifted Kaeto from Fynta's embrace and walked back towards his mother. At Senya's command, two Sith moved in to collect Kozen's body, presumably to perform last rights elsewhere.

"She is ready," Notiac whispered.

Felix released Jorgan, and he took a step forward. Though the invisible wall had faded, a sense of rage buffeted Jorgan's mind. A peak at the temper he'd known lived inside Fynta all along. Now, it was being nurtured by the most powerful bastard in the galaxy.

Finding his steps unhindered, Jorgan closed the distance at a run. He slowed the last few feet, instinct warning him not to touch her yet. "Fynta." She gave no response, only stared at her hands where they rested on her thighs. Jorgan knelt beside his wife, resting one hand on the back of her neck. "I'm here."

"You never left." Fynta's tone rang empty, and when she looked up, Jorgan saw the same bone deep weariness in her eyes that he'd seen all those years looking back at him in the mirror. "I heard you, but I couldn't—"

"It's okay." Slowly, Jorgan eased Fynta closer until his arms encircled her and his chin rested on the top of her head. "It's over."

Fynta winced and pressed the heel of one hand to her right eye. "Damn shabuir won't shut up."

"What is he saying?" Lana appeared from thin air, as was her way. Theron and Zolah weren't far behind. Together, they encircled Fynta so that she was cut off from prying eyes.

"He wants me to go to Zakuul." Fynta hissed and squeezed her eyes shut. "To take the throne."

Jorgan's snort ruffled Fynta's bangs, but it was Zolah who spoke. "Take her home." The spy's gaze never wavered from Fynta's face. Though her tone was cool, Jorgan heard sympathy behind it. "People think she's invincible at the moment. Let's use that as long as we can."

"While harsh," Theron interjected, "She's right. Fynta needs to walk away before she falls apart. The Alliance needs this win."

Jorgan wanted to snap at everyone to move back, to leave his wife alone, but Fynta beat him to it. "Help me up," she whispered into Jorgan's chestplate. "I can't feel my left leg."

Looping an arm beneath her, Jorgan leveraged Fynta to her feet. The first couple of steps were wobbly, and her prosthetic gave out numerous times. "Something fried the circuitry," she concluded as they entered the main hangar.

A slow clap began at the back of the room, rolling closer as Jorgan and Fynta hobbled through the building. Someone let out a shrill whistle, which ignited a volley of cheers. Verin and Torian stood at the entrance to the base, soot smeared and proud smiles tinged with sadness as they watched their sister move through the crowd. Noara had one arm wrapped around the clan leader, and it looked like she might be holding him up as much as Jorgan was Fynta.

Cormac's tear streaked face came into view next, with Tayl balanced on his shoulders. Jorgan looked instinctively for Shillet, but she found him first. The girl slammed into them, her spindly arms wrapping around the necks of both Fynta and Jorgan. "You survived," she whispered, then stepped back and wiped her eyes.

Fynta chuckled and aimed a weak punch at the young nautolan's arm. "Never a doubt."

Concern crossed Shillet's face, but Jorgan shook his head when she looked at him. Plastering on a watery smile, Shillet slipped under Fynta's other arm. "You look like you could use a shower."

"And a long ass nap," Fynta added. She stumbled as they turned the corner, leaving the crowd behind with members of the War Council acting as shields.

"I'm about to do something you're going to hate," Jorgan warned as the echoes of cheers grew more distant.

Fynta glared up at him. "Don't you fucking dare. I can walk."

Jorgan stepped in front of Fynta and scooped her into his arms. It had been years since he'd lifted her like that, and that time hadn't been kind to either of them. Jorgan's back cramped and his knees grumbled, but he ignored them. "Shillet, get the door."

"I'll get even," Fynta complained, but she held still.

By the time Jorgan made it to their apartment with his burden, he was dizzy from the strain. Gone were the days of the young Cathar who could deadlift his wife. He was old and beaten down. So was Fynta.

Shillet palmed open the door, and Jorgan all but dropped Fynta onto the sofa. There was no way in hell he'd make it up the stairs. "Shillet, grab a water, will you?"

While the girl moved to comply, Jorgan bent to remove Fynta's armor. Shillet offered the water to Fynta, then wrung her hands. "I want to help with the clean up."

"No." Jorgan didn't look up from the fastenings of Fynta's boots. He didn't have to sense the agitation from his daughter. Glancing back, he pinned Shillet with the same glare that had failed every other time before. "There are dead bodies, roaming Knights, and rogue Skytroopers. It's too dangerous."

"I won't leave the base." Shillet looked to Fynta for help, then squared her shoulders and mirrored Jorgan's glare. "I can help."

The growl building in the back of Jorgan's throat faltered at Fynta's touch. He looked from his daughter to his wife, both so alike despite having spent a lifetime apart. Fynta offered a weak smile. "Cormac will keep her safe. He and Verin are making the verd'ika clear rubble as penance for sneaking off."

"Fine." Jorgan ground the word out. Shillet's lips split into a sharp toothed grin. As she turned to run back to her friends, Jorgan snagged her skinny wrist and tugged her into a hug that was too tight given the armor he wore. Shillet didn't complain. "You don't leave Cormac's side, got it?"

"Got it." Shillet kissed Jorgan's cheek, gave a thumbs up to Fynta, and started away again. Jorgan ruffled her head tresses as she went, watching until his daughter vanished through the door.

Fynta groaned as she pushed herself further into a sitting position. "You did a good job."

"It was a team effort." Jorgan thought back to the Havoc Squad he'd lost at the Spire. Of the gentle way each and every one of them imprinted a part of themselves on the girl. Shaking the old memories away, Jorgan faced his wife. "Come on, let's get you out of this armor."

Odessen Alliance Command Personal Quarters

Fynta's skin tingled like tiny flames dancing under the surface. Ever since Vaylin's death, Valkorion had jumped in and out of view, pausing time only to hurl Fynta back into the stream of movement. Her stomach heaved and it felt like her bones itched. Helping Shillet escape Jorgan's overprotectiveness had been as much for her as it had been for the girl. As Zolah pointed out, Fynta had just done the impossible, she couldn't break with witnesses. Not even family.

Jorgan pulled Fynta's boot off, then switched to examine her prosthetic leg. It sparked when he shifted the foot, sending a jolt through both of them. Cursing, the Cathar snatched his hand back. "We need to have that looked at sooner than later."

"If we leave it alone, it can wait until later," Fynta replied with a poor attempt at levity. Jorgan didn't laugh.

"Some new dings in the armor." Jorgan was avoiding the main problem. The ticking bomb in Fynta's head. "Maybe—"

"You didn't take the shot." Fynta knew he had it. She remembered the pain in his voice, begging her forgiveness. Fynta had been too far gone in Valkorion's power to respond, but she'd known he was there. I forgive you, she'd tried to say. Being removed from the instance, Fynta realized Aric's voice was the only thing that had kept her grounded in reality while lightning raged around her.

Jorgan's hands slipped on the buckle of Fynta's leg plate, then he resumed unfastening it with more concentration that was required. "Couldn't." It was all he had to say. Fynta never expected Aric to put a bolt through her, but she didn't know how to convey that in words. She was so damn tired, so damn electrified.

Hooking a finger under Aric's chin, Fynta bent down to meet his lips to hers. He went rigid at first, then cupped her face to add a gentle sweep of his tongue. With their foreheads pressed together, Fynta felt some of the tension in her body ease. Jorgan closed his eyes. "I thought—"

"Me too." Fynta had been ready to die. She'd always known it was a likelihood of facing Vaylin. And when Kaeto and Kozen's bodies had been dumped before her, nothing else mattered apart from ripping the little bitch to pieces. And then, she'd lived.

Aric pressed another chaste kiss to Fynta's lips, then went back to removing her armor. While he was bent forward, she slipped her fingers into the catches on his chest and back plates, letting them fall away. They continued undressing one another in silence, until only the clingy under armour remained. Jorgan settled on the sofa behind Fynta and pulled her against him.

"We should bathe," Fynta suggested even while the warmth from his body soothed her aching muscles.

"In a minute." Aric's arms tightened. Fynta didn't struggle. She had a feeling there would be time for that later.

Odessen War Room 13:00 Hours

Theron's back slammed into the wall. He put one hand on the fist gripping the front of his shirt while holding the other palm out to show submission. "Okay—okay. Look, before you hit me, hear me out."

"Make this good, Shan." Fynta stood behind her husband, the one currently pinning Theron to the cool and impassable stone. The flatness with which she addressed him was almost as unsettling as the sharp teeth inches from his face.

Theron had known Jorgan for a long time. He'd been on the receiving end of one of the Cather's punches before. That was nothing compared to the feral rage emanating from him now. After all these years, Theron finally saw what had first attracted Fynta to the grumpy bastard. She'd always had a taste for danger.

Theron avoided looking into the unnaturally bright eyes in front of him and craned his neck to see Fynta. Her arms were folded, mouth set in an unfamiliar frown. He'd known her longer, hell, he was half the reason she was here. Not just out of carbonite, but captured in the first place. If Theron hadn't put Fynta's name up for Garza's special assignment more than a decade ago, well, she'd probably be dead. She'd been on a self destructive path, and the snarling Cathar had saved her. But, it had all come at a steep cost.

"I know what you're thinking," Theron began. Fynta lifted a brow, and Jorgan's grip tightened. Theron blew out a breath. "It's risky, I know. But Oggurrobb has ironed out the kinks that Garza couldn't."

"Well, if Oggurrobb says it's safe—" Fynta pinched the bridge of her nose, then waved one hand. "Let's hear what he has to say, Aric."

Jorgan gave a final shove that made Theron's sternum creak before stepping back. "You heard the woman. Make this good, Shan."

There had never been a kinship between Theron and Jorgan. They'd tolerated each other's presence because the mission required it. It might have something to do with Theron accusing Jorgan of fucking his commanding officer for the wild ride that she was. It had been a poor attempt and building trust in a shared misadventure. He hadn't known at the time they were married.

"If you're done threatening my spy," Zolah drawled. The holo in the center of the table came to life with a schematic that made Theron's pulse quicken. It wouldn't look like much to the average pair of eyes, but Theron thought it was pure beauty. A small device, no bigger than the palm of his hand, capable of harnessing the most deadly power in all the universe.

"Darth Kozen," there was a barely perceptible pause in Zolah's explanation. Theron doubted anyone other than him caught it. "Studied the prison that Major Jorgan brought with him from Nathema. He was convinced that the answers to containing Valkorion rested with the soul inside."

Jorgan folded his arms, scowl increasing, but Fynta looked intrigued. She'd been furious to learn that her husband had stolen the artifact until he'd explained the ingenious idea behind it. Unfortunately, being trapped for nearly a milenia hadn't softened Valkorion's sire's heart. He wanted to bargain, but Kozen and Lana had other plans. Then, they'd lost the Sith Lord, and with him, a large part of their advantage. That is where Theron came in.

"I know things didn't go well when Garza tried this." Theron ignored Jorgan's growl, but the betrayal was still there in Fynta's eyes. She still hadn't forgiven him for his part in the Eclipse Squad incident on Rishi. Theron supposed that was fair. "But, they didn't have Oggurrobb or access to Zakuulan tech."

Fynta held up one hand, and Theron paused. His pulse skittered while he waited for her to shut him down. To his surprise, she only tapped the side of her head. "Should I be hearing this?"

"No," Quinn stated plainly. He'd been against inviting Fynta to this meeting in the first place, but Theron refused to move forward without her permission. He was done keeping secrets from the people who mattered to him.

Steering the conversation away from the details, Theron switched off the holo. "You have to consent to the next part."

Fynta's single brow lifted, and Zolah picked up the line of conversation. "You're aware of the Castellan restraints that were imposed on me?" Now, their commander's eyes widened. Zolah nodded. "Something along those lines."

Huffing out a nervous laugh, Fynta braced both hands against the conference table behind her. "Well, I guess that explains why Vector isn't here."

Vector had been against the plan from the beginning. His trauma from breaking Zolah free went so deep that the man couldn't see the practical value anymore. This could work. "Do you get it now?"

"Enough." Fynta shared a look with her husband, and Theron watched an entire conversation happen in a matter of seconds. Her browns lifted, and Jorgan's mouth thinned into a narrow line. When he sighed, Theron knew the answer had been decided. Fynta nodded to the room and pushed away from the table. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Without a backward glance, Fynta left the room. Theron saw fear in the stiffness of her spine, the lift of her chin. The more composed Fynta appeared, the more out of sorts she was on the inside. Judging by Jorgan's glare, he knew it too.

When the door shut, the Cathar resumed his menacing scowl. "Fill me in, and Shan—make it good."

#swtor #blood in the breeze #meet me on that battlefield #fynta wolfe #aric jorgan #notiac carlo #barsen'thor #felix iresso #theron shan #lana beniko #zolah holran #cipher nice #malavai quinn #senya tirall #arcann #the aftermath of the battle #stratgies for going forward #still slogging towards that end #only two chapters left

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consularmain · 1 year

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consular be upon ye

#swtor #jedi consular #barsen'thor #star wars #the old republic #oc: simone #my art

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fwtcanimelover · 1 year

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Another random SWTOR story idea:

What if in your character's tome for the coffin section they aren't actually dead, they're actually in carbonite and are either discovered during the clone wars era or empire era. Like just imagine if clone wars characters or rebel characters or imperial characters were to stumble upon an ancient tomb, they go inside it and accidentally thaw out your character's carbonite, reviving them.

It could either be a crack/funny story, action story, sad story, etc. Personal favourite would be the funny shenanigans that happen. I can just imagine the characters going something on the lines like "crape the museum piece is alive".

Another fanfic idea that I know I'll never write or finish. But feel free to use it as a prompt if you ever run out of prompts.

#star wars #swtor #swtor au #jedi consular #jedi knight #trooper #smuggler #bounty hunter #sith inquisitor #sith warrior #imperial agent #star wars the clone wars #clone wars #star wars rebels #star wars original trilogy #prehaps I might do some fanart on this #barsen'thor

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plouing · 10 months

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Light side points this. Experience points that. I don’t care.

For force’s sake tell me how many points I have in the eyes of the Scorekeeper

#star wars #swtor #jedi consular #the old republic #barsen'thor

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lanabenikosdoormat · 1 year

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consular brainrot

#swtor #swtor art #barsen'thor #jedi consular #my art #her name is fallon navarro and she is the newest scrimblo

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krisslegacy · 11 hours

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not a lot, just forever

based on the song by adrianne lenker

characters - theron shan x q'rea kriss (original female barsen'thor)

summary - post kotet, post crisis on umbara. theron and q'rea have settled down on alderaan for a few months, but their holiday is pleasantly interrupted by good news. short little ficlets of my ocs fr

word count - 1,517

warnings - pregnancy, ptsd, this is pretty tame actually

A/N - no beta we die like men please check this out on ao3 also i haven't written in ages this is just a test

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55307971/chapters/140310274

_________________________________________________________

“Something wrong?”

Still in her evening clothes, Q’rea stood outside in the snow-packed ground, hands folded before her. Gazing out into the moonless night, she was searching for something she could not find.

“Hm?” Her husband came beside her, tucking a stray length of hair behind her ear. The air didn’t feel as cold when Theron was beside her. Everything always did.

“Should I be worried?” Theron said, the seriousness of his eyes scoured her body for invisible wounds. Neither of them were used to this peace, it seemed. Frankley, it unsettled Q’rea too. Never had there been a true moment of peace for her. Certainly never here on Alderaan. A tingle of sympathy swept up her spine.

“Just can’t sleep.” She replied. It wasn’t a lie- her dreamless nights had left her tossing and turning for weeks now, along with the burst of sickness she’d tried to hide. Whenever she’d struggled with sleep on Coruscant or Tython, the best thing for her to do was meditate on the thoughts that plagued her.

Tonight, there were many. Tonight, it was much different, too. But nobody needed to know that.

A long beat of silence stretched between the pair, one that turned much too awkward for a 32 year old Q’rea to bear. “What?”

When she turned her head, it was almost as if they were teenagers again. Theron was staring at her. She’d seen the look hundreds of times, in the most dire of times even. It used to fill her with joy, sadness, melancholy, nostalgia, pity, and joy again because they had always been together. Somehow, they’d always ended up back to this place. Yet now, it would last. It would last because now, he stared unapologetically.

There was no hunger in his gaze, nothing that suggested the near-primal desire they so often shared for one another. No, there was just… love.

Raw, unconditional love. It redded the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

She had to roll her eyes to get him to laugh.

“Seriously, do I have something on my face?” Q’rea giggled like the padawan she had once been so long ago.

“No,” Theron chuckled, then shrugged. “You just look… different. You’re glowing.”

“Glowing?”

“Yeah. Glowing.”

Glowing. Perhaps it was the Force, perhaps something else entirely. But she could not deny that it flattered her tremendously. She smiled and glanced down.

Theron encircled her from behind, his arms just below her breasts as he gently pulled her against his. The long-missed heat of his body seeped into her, rejuvenating her senses that were nearly numbed from the amount of time she’d been standing in the cold. Q’rea’s eyes fluttered shut as he pressed gentle kisses up her neck, his nose brushing against her ear.

“I’m just making sure you’re alright, you know. We’re over the secretive stuff now.” He murmured.

Yes, they were. And how much better that felt. “Well, I’m not lying. I couldn’t sleep. Cuddling like this though, that might help me now.”

They interlaced fingers, letting the whistling wind take over for their voices to drink in each others presences. In the Force, Theron was always the constant to her. Everywhere, she could sense him as if he were a part of herself. She supposed he was, in a way.

Especially now.

“Theron.”

“Yeah?”

“I think we should go back to Odessen soon.”

He sighed as if he expected her to speak about this topic eventually. “I forget how much you hate vacation.”

Q’rea turned her head to press a soft kiss against the stubble underneath his jaw. “I don’t dislike it. Think about how much time we get to spend alone.”

Theron hummed, a deep sound that seemed to scratch the back of his throat. It nearly sent Q’rea onto her knees, ready to please him in anyway he wanted. But not now.

“We wouldn’t go back for a month or two yet,” She exhaled, pushing the need down through her spine, “just in time to make preparations.”

“As much as I care for the well being of the Alliance, I do not approve of more senatorial dinners.” Theron said.

She snorted. “Never again.” No, that had been a disaster the first time. Now, Q’rea either traveled for her diplomatic duties or simply used a holocomm. “Not that.”

“Are you throwing me a birthday party?” She could feel his grin, even though she couldn’t see it.

“No. Not you, anyway.”

“Then who-”

Ever so gently, she braced her hands over his, sliding them over her navel and down to the lowest part of her stomach. Beneath all of it, warmth bloomed. The smallest parts of the Force stirred. And when the lurch of fear came, when her feet went numb, she closed her eyes and leaned against her husband.

Q’rea knew how loud silence could be. She’d learned it on Umbara. Yet this was a different silence- one that glimmered with shock and hope. It reminded her of the moments where she reunited with her sister, Naerys, and just stared. No words could’ve been formed then. They just drank in what was.

“You’re going to be a father, Theron Shan.”

She turned now to face him, cupping his jaw between both her hands. Theron’s hazel eyes- the most beautiful she’d ever seen- were seeing and unseeing. Distant and yet the closest they ever were. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted as her heart fluttered.

She stroked the cybernetic that rested around and under his eye, drawing only the slightest of shivers from her husband. Her thumb caught the single tear that hung loosely from his bottom lash.

She hadn’t seen him cry often.

His hands drifted back down to her womb, smoothing over the fabric that covered her skin. His fingertips grazed her like she was a sacred idol, something emitting a holy light, and suddenly, she wasn’t just Q’rea. She utmost was the center of his world once again, the only nebula that mattered to him. Theron’s chest swelled with a feeling so overwhelming that it transferred to his hands. They shook until she grasped them in her own.

Like a tide, a wash of cooling calm passed through him. It was Q’rea, he knew, using the slightest of Force abilities to bring him back to the surface of his emotions, helping him swim. He loved her a thousand times over in moments like that.

“How long?” Theron’s words were cracked. She needed to put them back together.

“Two months, I think.” Q’rea whispered back, stroking his thumb. “I would’ve told you sooner, I just didn’t-”

He kissed her knuckles, cutting her off swiftly. “Never apologize.” He was still quieter than she would’ve liked.

“I wasn’t absolutely certain. I didn’t want to be wrong.”

Around a year ago, Q’rea had stayed awake for hours thinking about the future that awaited her, what path she’d want to take. Theron would be a part of it until the end, she fully understood that- and wanted it. Yet the question had always begged to the place in her heart that belonged to the Jedi Order, to what she represented to them. Through the five years of carbonite imprisonment where she was assumed dead, she was still their Barsen’thor. Not for another millennia or two would pass before another was named.

Whenever she turned her head to look at Theron sleeping soundly beside her, the teachings that she’d lived by trickled into her mind. They posioned her happiness, this life she’d found.

She wasn’t meant for this life, this domesticity. But it was what she needed, and she'd never considered what she needed. She’d spent so long caring for others that when she’d glance in the mirror, she didn’t know who she was.

Whenever she looked at Theron, however, she saw the possibility of peace.

Q’rea’s eyes stung with the surge of happiness that passed through her. The urge to tackle Theron into the snow and roll around while laughing from newfound joy was immense. She couldn’t resist the smile that tugged on her lips.

He slid his palms to her face, resting his forehead to her own. Under Q’rea’s fingertips, his pulse hammered wildly. “You’re…incredible.”

A tear ran down into the crevice of her facial scar before he swept it away.

“This is just as much your fault as it is mine.” She grinned.

Though he cracked a quick smile, he attempted to ignore her suggestive comment. “You’ve done so much for this galaxy. For me. You gave a…what, third chance when I didn’t deserve it?”

“Theron-”

“Everything you do, you’re perfect. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” his throat bobbed, “you’re my wife….the mother of our child.”

She couldn’t wait any longer. Clasping his shirt, she pulled his mouth to hers. Theron was gentle and ready for her, offering his whole soul to her, sweeping his tongue across the roof of her mouth as his hands kneaded her waist.

“Can we continue this inside now?” Q’rea murmured again his warm lips.

She felt Theron’s smile. “Thought you’d never ask.”

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars the old republic #knights of the old republic #theron shan #theron shan fanfiction #barsen'thor #jedi consular #q'rea and theron #angst #bittersweet lowkey #fan fiction #writing

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swtorpadawan · 1 year

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WHAT exactly is Zenith doing for Senator Alauni???

Okay, this is... this is something, right?

Like, Alauni definitely strikes me as the type who would go “Hmm. I now have access to a highly-skilled guerilla fighter / terrorist. Maybe he can take care of that annoying little ‘problem’ I have on Saleucami.... with an unfortunate explosion.”

She’s a ruthless and conniving politician, looking for ever opportunity for personal advantage. Even Janarus seems put off by her, and he’s seen worse.

Or maybe she’s taken a shine to Zenith, and “personal favor” refers to .... ahem, private time. (Hey, Zenith is a popular ship!)

Regardless, Zenith certainly doesn’t seem eager to talk about it!

#swtorpadawan talks #swtor talks #zenith #alauni #senator alauni #ambassador alauni #jedi consular #barsen'thor #oc: ulannium kaarz #balmorra

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anchanted-one · 1 year

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Legend of Lightning Chapter 88. Secret Missions to Balmorran Arms

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/119034781

Sobrik

Vajra boarded his shuttle to find unexpected occupants. “Zahra? Padawan Zahra Reis?”

The Vila Padawan squeaked and jumped when she heard her name. “Master Vajra!?!”

“It’s okay,” Vajra smiled. “Don’t forget, I’m just a year older than you are.” He was not used to being the elder anymore, making all his dealings with Master Devel’s Padawan rather novel.

“I… of course. Forgive me!”

“Are you headed to Sundari too?”

She nodded. “I—Master Devel has taksed—I mean tasked—me with freeing President Galthe. He’s being held at the Balmorran Arms Factory. Zitin and Jerebey Squads have been assigned to aid me.” Some of the soldiers saluted casually, though the others were occupied in their weapons checks. “You—you’re going in alone? Not that that’s a problem!” she added hastily. “I’ve seen you fight! You could take on the whole Imperial occupation yourself, if you wanted to!”

“Yeah, no joke!” one of the captains said. He was a Nautolan with light purple skin and a cybernetic eye. “Why haven’t you won the war for us already?”

“I can’t take prisoners when I’m advancing myself, and I can’t take that kind of death toll.”

#star wars #swtor #the old republic #star wars the old republic #tor #star wars fanfiction #swtor fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #jedi #jedi knight #hero of tython #satele shan #doc #kira #kira carsen #jedi consular #Barsen'thor #balmorra

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jb-nonsense · 1 year

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#SWTOR #Star Wars: The Old Republic #SWTOR OC #Zabrak #SWTOR Jedi Consular #Barsen'thor #Character: Praz Toth #media: screencaps #Fandom: SWTOR

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lordeasriel · 1 year

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Day 2: One Fine Day - real, dream sequence, hallucination, whatever… the character(s) get a perfect moment

The Barsen'thor / Star Wars: The Old Republic

As the Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order, Kaesa was the apex of what a Jedi should be or at least, she tried to live up to that.

Taking a deep breath and watching as Master Satele kneeled beside her at the garden on Tython, she pondered for a moment. Sunlight bathed the whole world in a golden mist, saturated trees spread on the planet’s amenable climate. They were on the outskirts of the temple, Kaesa’s favorite place to hide away when responsibilities overwhelmed her, not that she had been overwhelmed in a while.

The war had ended a long time ago, the Empire defeated heroically by the Jedi. It was a period of thriving for the Republic. There was no reason to be overwhelmed; she was a warrior no longer. A peacekeeper, as all Jedi should have been. As they had been made to be.

Satele took a deep breath and in complete sync, they let the air out. No words were needed here. The wind blew nearby, shaking the leaves in all of the trees.

The Force was everywhere. The Barsen’thor knew that better than anyone, a powerful presence that she could wield like no other person could.

There was a void within her that even her deepest attempts at mediation didn’t fill. No, she thought. I am whole, at peace.

If only repeating that made it true, his voice echoed in her head.

“Is there anything you require of me, Master?” She offered, so altruistically, so devoid of any feeling that wasn’t duty. Even in peace, the Jedi needed her. You are needed everywhere, all the time. They will always need you. She shook that familiar voice away.

“The Jedi way is to serve, Barsen’thor. Your assistance is always welcome.” Satele noticed her deep sigh and hummed quietly. “What troubles you?”

She couldn’t tell.

She should have been content, seeing the Order thrive, watching the Jedi fulfill the promise of a dream. Having returned to the Order, she had felt happy, at first. There were days of long meditation, of meals with friends. She had spent days studying in the archives, drowning in knowledge as she sought to understand the Force even further.

Then unhappiness crept in, seeping through the cracks of her own doubts. Every memory she had owned was so distant, so faded, at times she couldn’t even name any of the faces she longed for.

Happiness is the byproduct of lies. A concept made by fools to have a quest to pursue in vain.

“I don’t know, Master Satele. I feel…” There were no words to complete that sentence. She lacked the sentiment and therefore couldn’t express it in any other way.

Incomplete. The voice whispered.

Yes. She felt as if something was missing, even in this garden, even in this dream, she felt empty of something.

“There are moments when I miss the war.” She whispered because that alone sounded like betrayal of everything she was and everything she believed in. No Jedi would ever say that. No Jedi should ever long for war.

“There is no war, Barsen’thor. Not anymore.”

The war rages on while you die, forgotten. She breathed in, unsteady, looking around perhaps for the first time. The world was beautiful, saturated, alive; the Force flowed around her in total harmony, devoid of its dark urges and complexities. Balance, at last.

Balance only comes in equal parts. That part was true, even if the Jedi would have said otherwise. Balance was the struggle between light and dark and the shadows in-between.

“I am not a warrior. I am a Jedi, a peacekeeper.”

You were, he said, in her head.

“Yes, you are.” Master Satele said.

Closed eyes, her mind wandered and found so little to cling onto. The names had been long gone and the faces of her friends and allies slowly vanished. That feeling when Ziost was obliterated by the man in her head, all gone. Who was she now? Who was she supposed to be? She had no idea and that feeling washed over her, leaving only dread in its wake.

“Is something wrong, Barsen’thor?”

“Nothing wrong, master.” There it was again, that title. It had unnerved since it had been bestowed upon her and she couldn’t escape its shadow. It had tainted her into becoming only Barsen’thor, nothing more. The Jedi have taken so much from you, he said, his voice like poison in her head. “There is nothing wrong here.”

#swtor #barsen'thor #swtor fanfiction #my writing #there it is #writing prompt

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