Dark business

Ganumedis felt as if he ran into a wall – if that wall would be moving at high speed towards him and, worse, would be invisible. As he struggled to get some air into his lungs and get up from the stain-ridden pavement, a figure emerged from the shadows and loomed over him.

A shock went through him, followed by a desperate fear, as Ganumedis recognized the man.

Count Dooku.

“So that’s what the infamous Ganumedis Moonshade looks like when he’s slammed to the floor by the Force,” Dooku spoke, his dark timbre filling the narrow, deserted street. “Do you realize who you’ve just killed?”

Ganumedis had trouble formulating his reply. “What – I never – killed?!”

“I know you’re supposed to pretend you have no idea what I’m talking about, that you don’t know anyone had been killed, and that you’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Dooku said impatiently, “but really. Did you think you could deceive me?”

Managing to stand up, ready to make a run for it if an opportunity presented itself, Ganumedis slowly recovered his wits. “Certainly I did not wish to deceive the esteemed lord Dooku. I had no idea my target would be of any importance to such a great man as yourself.”

“She was not,” Dooku said offhandedly, “but our scheduled meeting was supposed to get me close to that annoying Skywalker kid.”

“I humbly apologize, my lord,” Ganumedis said with a bow. He hated the next part. “If there is some way I can recompensate you for this...”

Dooku frowned and narrowed his eyes. “What do you suggest?”

“Well... A man of my profession may be able to attend to certain matters that the leader of the Seperatists is too busy to deal with. Cleaning up the trash, so to speak.” He looked up expectantly. Ganumedis had tried to avoid getting caught up with politics, but this might just work out better than he had expected. Perhaps he could become the Dark Lord’s personal assassin.

Count Dooku paused for a moment, and said, “I accept your offer. This is what I want you to do...”

***

Killing Jedi is not hard, Ganumedis thought while searching for his target. It’s just a matter of disrupting their tranquility by randomly killing their companions. And of course, staying very, very far away from their cursed lightsabers.

Using the enhanced telescopic sight on his sniper rifle, the assassin quickly found his target. General Skywalker and his Togruta apprentice appeared to be discussing their assault strategies with the commanders of their clone troops.

Ganumedis was impressed by the qualities of his newly acquired rifle. Count Dooku must have realized his skills and had gladly donated the sophisticated weapon to the assassin, after an easy job to assess his abilities and trustworthiness. It was the weapon Ganumedis Moonshade had been working for these last years – and now it was his as a gift.

No more struggling for credits, he thought joyfully. This job is so much better than being a hitman for lowly thugs. This will be the day that my career finally takes off. I just might become more infamous than creepy Aurra Sing.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, thought Ganumedis. First I have to complete my current assignment. To kill Commander Skywalker – the Hero With No Fear.

Remembering his own advice, he pointed the crosshair of his sniper telescope at the clone commander that stood next to Skywalker and Tano. Like some of the other troopers, the commander had his helm under his arm and appeared to be joking with the two Jedi.

The crosshair closed over the forehead of the clone soldier. Ganumedis’ finger trembled only slightly as he held it against the trigger.

In his head, he replayed his plan; first the clone, then the apprentice, and when the emotions explode within him, the assassin would kill Skywalker.

Steadying his breathing and his trembling finger, Ganumedis relaxed and enjoyed the quiet moments before the slaughter.

Now, he thought.

A boot kicked Ganumedis’ face hard before he could pull the trigger. The assassin fell sidewards, reeling with the impact, and the telescope buried itself in his eye. Pain shot through him and he screamed.

“That was not necessary, soldier,” a stern male voice said with a hint of amusement. Opening his eyes – one of them seeing only flashes of white – Ganumedis instantly recognized the man as General Kenobi. He was surrounded by a squad of clone troopers, weapons pointed at the terrified would-be killer.

“Sorry, General,” said the clone soldier next to the overwhelmed Ganumedis. “I figured that blasting the cursed bastard through the head would have been worse.”

“True,” replied the famous Jedi.

“I’m so glad you’ve stopped me,” Ganumedis lied, trembling. “Count Dooku forced me to try and kill General Skywalker. I swear I tried to resist, but what can a man of my limited skills do when confronted by a Jedi? Particularly when he threatened to kill my family...” He didn’t know if it would work, but he was willing to go far to save his own skin.

And besides, the Republic would at least keep him alive. He wasn’t so sure about Dooku.

“What family?” another voice came from the other side. “You mean the poor parents you killed barehandedly?” Ganumedis was surprised to see General Skywalker himself walk into the circle of soldiers. How could he have gotten here this quickly?

A coldness filled his heart. Dooku set me up, he realized. But why –

All other thoughts left him, for the explosives hidden in the advanced sniper rifle that Dooku had given him, detonated at that instant. Ganumedis Moonshade, the assassin with more skill in reputation than in actual killing, was disintegrated on the spot.

Some distance away, Asajj Ventress grimaced. She let the remote control fall to the floor. It was hard to see through the smoke, but it appeared the explosion had killed only the annoying killer and one or two clones. Skywalker and Kenobi appeared unharmed.

Next time, she promised.

With a sigh, the bald Dark Jedi fired up the engines of her starfighter and flew away.

More awesome Star Wars stuff

Ultimate Sith

Funny stuff

Passion of the Sith

Peace.

I hate the word. Obviously, peace is regarded by its advocates as the ultimate goal, the pinnacle of being.

Peace is a lie.

Sure, a place can be peaceful, and a person at peace. But that is merely a fragment of reality; a camera that focuses on one particular thing -- a subjective truth at best. The eye of a storm is peaceful, yet it cannot be denied that the world around it is not.

This is especially true for people. While individuals may be at peace, the people as a whole are generally not. This is not a bad thing -- restless people try to improve their position, which is of benefit to the whole civilisation, the entire culture. This energy, this restlessness, is often described as 'passion'.

There is only passion.

Naturally, there is not just passion -- most individuals find a balance between peace and passion -- but in a people, passion is most prominent, most important, to that people. Only through passion can we evolve.

Passion is therefore the key to impoving ourselves and our surroundings.

Through passion, I gain strength.

Strength -- not merely muscles -- is what allows civilisations to thrive in hostile climates, amongst competing peoples, from corruption from within.

Walls and soldiers are merely figureheads of a culture's strength. Its true core lies in its people, holding fast to a belief that they can and will endure, no matter the odds.

And against all odds, people often do endure. And grow. And become more respected or feared, and powerful.

Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.

The more powerful a civilisation becomes, the more adept at improving its situation it will become. And this increases its power over potential rivals.

A powerful enough people can conquer the world -- though keeping it is more difficult by far. But more importantly, power is a self-supporting system.

The powerful always seek more power. By definition, this increased power will come from others. They obviously do not want to hand over their might, but attempts at regaining it will be futile if there is a great enough difference in power and ability.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

When one is more powerful than anything or anyone else, one is free to do whatever they want. Nobody can stop them.

The chains of the past, the shackles of that struggle for life, fall away.

And yet... they have no Force.

The Force shall free me.

What does that mean?

I believe, that it means that the Sith Code is true even without the Force. It is true for both individuals and peoples. Whether they act forcefully or gently, their entire existance could not exist without that struggle, that power, that passion that fills their being.

We are all Sith.

Lovely

Just being around her is intoxicating.

Love - the single most important reason for agony, deception and general suffering. Like a drug, it brings a piece of comfort yet keeps one craving ever more. A beautiful agony.

It is for love that a good guy like Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side.

The Jedi knew the dangers of love, and hence they forbade attachments that could lead to it. Their reasoning was flawed, however, because from detachment comes a cold loneliness inside that, when an opportunity arises, clings to anyone who would give a Jedi a measure of attention. In effect, detachment leads to a greater chance of attachment.

And when someone as pretty and angelic as Padme shows up, it's hard to ignore the feelings that inevitably arise - particularly in a teenage boy.

Suppressing feelings will lead to an increase in such feelings. Detachment is therefore a near-impossible feat and cannot be expected of any person. That, more than any philosophical or practical thing, is what caused the Jedi Order to implode.

Ironically, love is what destroyed the Jedi, and what gave rise to the Sith - although in the end, love took back its rightful place on the side of the Skywalker family.

Seduction

The droid stood between her and the door, unmoved by her request. It was not letting her in.

"Please step aside, so I can enter."

"Negative. All access to this room is forbidden at this point. Please wait for guards to detain you."

Derra cursed silently. To get this far, only to be stopped by a stupid droid. Surely there must be a way to persuade it?

“Look, I really…”

“Repeat: Please wait for guards to detain you,” the droid interrupted her. “If you resist detention, you will be painfully and bloodily executed.”

Stunned into silence, Derra looked at the seemingly simple droid with horrid fascination. What kind of droid was this? It looked like a protocol droid, but its battered plating and rusty patches suggested experiences beyond the shelter of the Senate building. She did not recognize the production series, nor did she ever hear a droid speak in such remarkable expressions.

Destroy it, came a voice in her head. Any moment, Derra expected to see the red robes of the Senate Guard coming for her. This piece of soon-to-be scrap metal stood in her way. She ignited her yellow lightsaber.

“Repeat: If you resist detention, you will be executed.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. Try me,” Derra said casually while taking a swing at the droid.

To her amazement, the droid easily stepped away from the blade and produced two firearms from apparently nowhere.

“Perceived hostility. Painful and bloody execution is imminent,” its lifeless voice said, and rapidly loosened several shot. Derra could hardly reflect them in the narrow hallway and she tumbled backwards. Getting back on her feet, she used the Force to sense her opponents moves rather than her eyes. It moved closer, weapons ready.

Now that the initial shock had passed, Derra could focus on avoiding getting shot and attempting to hit her metal foe. Speed is something Derra excelled at, being nicknamed Blur more than once, and soon one of the droid’s arms was on the floor, along with its head.

However, a droid is different from an organic opponent, and this one simply kept on fighting and taunting without a head. It unnerved her.

“Perceived criminal action: Damaging a government-owned droid. Penalty: Compensation through loss of offender’s comparable parts. Please wait while your left arm and your head are removed, then wait for guards to detain--”

The droid’s voice stopped abruptly as Derra’s lightsaber damaged its voice modulator and continued to increase the number of parts the droid consisted of. At last, nothing moved except for a tiny piston, causing an unrecognizable piece of machinery the size of her fist to erratically move towards her. She crushed it with her foot.

You have done well, the familiar voice said. Enter, and meet your destiny…

*****

Derra had first heard the voice when she was but a young apprentice, unable to sleep in her quarters within the Jedi Temple.

Earlier that day she had gotten into a mild argument with one of the teachers over the need for lightsaber training. If the Jedi advocated peace, why should they skill themselves with instruments of war? Thinking it over in bed and being stressed about being unable to incorporate both views into a logical whole, a voice in her head said, it’s good to be critical.

At first she thought someone had snuck into her room and whispered in her ear, but after a quick inspection assured her there was nobody there, she figured it must have been her imagination and tried to fall asleep.

Doubt is essential for gaining knowledge, the voice came again, this time clearly.

“Who’s there?”, Derra exclaimed, getting scared. She looked around the otherwise empty room.

No answer came then, and none ever did.

*****

Get down, the voice warned Derra, and she quickly obliged, hiding behind a large statue. Several imposing figures, dressed in white durasteel armor, moved by her without notice. At second glance, she recognized them as clonetroopers. What were they doing at the Temple?

Mere moments later, the clonetroopers started firing at everyone in sight; Jedi Masters and Padawans alike. In their midst, a fury of lightsaber moves and dark side energy, a dark hooded figure came down on the overwhelmed Jedi.

Derra’s heart appeared to stop beating. Anakin Skywalker?

Anger rushed up in her, and she got ready to ignite her blade and place it somewhere in his arrogant face, when the voice stopped her. Don’t, it simply said. Another destiny awaits you.

The mysterious voice, which had guided Derra through many situations and seemed to possess knowledge of things even beyond the Jedi Master’s, started guiding her out of the Temple and into Coruscant’s busy streets.

Looking back after a careful and long journey, she saw the Temple for the last time. Clouds of smoke rose from several places, and explosions were heard even at this distance. Derra softly swore that she would avenge the destruction.

Yes, you will avenge. But not yet. I have a quest for you.

“No fraggin’way,” Derra replied. “I’m not going on a pitiful quest when my world is burning.”

Hardly your world anymore. Besides, there is not much to return to, and your potential needs room to grow if you want to face the renegade and be victorious.

Through many days and many nights, the voice guided her. At times chastising weaknesses and at other times complimenting her ingenuity, it seemed to train her for an unknown future. When asking about it, Derra received no answer.

It never seemed to give answers.

In the end, after what seemed several months or years, the voice guided her here, to the Senate Building, and the chamber guarded by the droid with the oddly explicit language, now in pieces in front of the private quarters of the self-appointed Emperor.

*****

The chamber was dark. Infrequently, a speeder illuminated the room as its lights passed the large window on the busy Coruscant night.

Derra had never been here, but she somehow recognized it. The strange statues and plaques that decorated the place seemed familiar, and made her feel both comforted and deeply disturbed.

She turned her attention to the statue right in front of her, in the center of the oval room. It represented some sort of hooded humanoid creature, an unfamiliar expression on its face. Around its chiseled shoulders hung a black robe, soft yet sturdy to her touch. At its feet lay a durasteel helmet and armor, similar to the red Senate Guard’s attire, but black as night.

“Try them on,” the voice said, and Derra realized that this time, it was spoken out loud. She turned around and gazed upon an imposing figure, seated on one of the large and comfortable chairs. His face was sickly white and deformed; his body and black robe blending with the darkness.

The dark side emanated from him for a moment, and she recoiled in horror. In an instant, though, the feeling disappeared and she could not detect even the smallest bit of the Force around him.

“In order to extract your revenge on the renegade Jedi murderer, you must be strong,” the Emperor said, never averting his eyes from hers. “Strong, and silent. This murderer is but one of many who will try to destroy you. To destroy us. Skywalker, and his mentor Kenobi, have escaped our grasp for now, but they will return. You must be ready,” he repeated.

Silently, he gestured at the armor at her feet. She donned it.

The armor was not uncomfortable, and unobtrusive to her movements while the robe hid her movements. The dark color meant that she could pass nearly undetected in shadowy places, while the red visor enhanced her vision.

She looked like a Red Guard, if not for the black color.

“I offer you a chance,” the Emperor said close to her ear. Derra startled; she had not noticed him getting up.

“A chance to move undetected in the Imperial ranks, to seek out those hidden in the shadows with murderous intents. To smoke out the betraying rebels. To extract our revenge.”

He smiled, and offered her a seemingly simple black cane. As she took it, she noticed the switch and turned it on. A brilliant red flash appeared at the top of the cane.

A lightsaber staff.

“I offer you a chance to be my secret weapon. My only hope against attempts on my life, like they have taken the lives of the Jedi in the Temple.”

Derra looked into his yellowish eyes, seeing her reflection in them. An imposing dark figure she was. She felt important; something she had never felt before.

He whispered, “Derra, be my Shadow Guard.”

She accepted with a smile.

Light in the darkness

Brog switched off his lightsaber, and mercyful darkness surrounded him. How did it come to this, he wondered?

The blackness could not stop the images from forming in his mind; the bright lights of lightsabers dancing, illuminating this very hall in which he now stood in gloomy greens and blues and reds, until one after the other, the lights were extinguised as its wielders fell -- until the only light that shone was Brog's scarlet blade.

They had been his former classmates and teachers; Jedi he had known from early childhood. He had never truly hated them, and their demise pained him greatly. This was not what he had wanted.

Brog, like many before him, had become sceptical of the Jedi ways. The dark seemed to offer him the chances for personal growth and fulfillment he had longed for. A Sith had introduced him to many a secret of the Force, and Brog had revelled in it.

Of course, with the Sith teachings came the endless torment of body and mind; a way to hone him into perceived perfection. Sith do not fear pain; they use it. Rather than being a slave to the will of microscopic lifeforms, the Sith use the Force as a tool to shape themselves to full potential.

Although the confrontation with his former masters and fellow padawans was inevitable, Brog had not expected it. Or perhaps he had tried to ignore it, stubbornly hoping it would never come if he did not think about it.

He still had much to learn.

Switching it on again, Brog inspected his lightsaber. The slim black handle was without a scratch; the blade a pure red line in the otherwise colorless chamber. His imagination drew patches of flesh and gore on the blade, and he felt his stomach turn. Suddenly trembling, he looked away from the saber, at the bodies on the floor. Lifeless. Charred. Betrayed. Murdered.

What a fool he was. As if the dark side was nothing more than a change of heart, with no influence on the rest of life. Instead of perfecting him, it had make him arrogant and weak; only a master of evil. The dark side had changed him into something he despised more than anything -- an empty shell; a Sith's puppet.

He realized he was standing at a crossroad: to take the easy route, or to take the right route. The choice was clear to him now.

With fresh determination, Brog left the room, blade ready, to confront his master.

Do YOU have what it takes to turn to the Dark Side?

Are you tired of letting those Jedi boss you around? Are you sick of powerhungry politicians and meddling rebels?

You should join the Dark Side; it's fun!

Get your Force potential tested today, at one of the many Sith lairs in a wretched hive of scum and villainy near you. And perhaps you'll be cutting down your foes with your very own scarlet lightsaber by tomorrow!

And there's more. Join today, and you'll get a box of cookies at no extra charge!

Join the Dark Side. It's a way of life - and a way of electrocuting your opponents with your bare hands.

Power of you

Last night, I watched a movie called Ghost Dog.

In this decade-old film, a lone hitman tries to keep to the way of the old Japanese samurai. Great film, no great acting, amazing atmosphere.

In this movie, like so many others, an individual goes against the mainstream in both philosophy and action. In real life, however, most of us merely follow the crowd.

It is a funny thing; we all want to be part of something, yet we all want to be unique and different. We are part of the group, and yet not part of the group. A constant struggle of identity.

To completely and utterly break free of the crowd is hard and rare. Most often, people choose to belong to another, often obscure group. Common examples are the goth subculture, various religious groups, and, in a way, artists. To really break free and become your own group of one, is something not often seen.

And yet, it is so much easier than it appears. Just stop trying to be someone other that who you are.

All of us are unique. All of us are alike. It is that blend of characteristics that make us who we are. So just stop trying to be someone you're not, and be yourself.

Then you'll be unique. And yes, part of a group. A group of individuals.

Fear not the darkness

'Maybe there is a beast....maybe it's only us.'
~ William Golding: Lord of the flies

Both for our early ancestors and for modern man, night is a scary time of day. The inevitable darkness hides everything that is not illuminated by the light of a campfire or a lamp post; scary monsters can lurk nearby, just out of sight.

Mankind's active imagination turns innocent noises into threatening foes. It is wise to suspect the worst, so every bird in the undergrowth can be a pack of wolfs in waiting; every backstreet mouse can be a serial killer looking for a victim.

While this simple principle can be effective and even life-saving, it is inherently flawed. The real world holds far less dangers than the mind perceives. Likewise, what is optically revealed by the light is not always so innocent and true to its appearance as one might hope.

People who fear the darkness, fear their own imagination more than anything.

It has been said that most of the human brain is not used. While this statement is controversial, it does imply that mankind may not be living up to its potential, which sounds like a fair assumption. Are you living up to all your potential, in every way? Not likely -- but I mean that without offense. Growing in one direction means simply not growing (much) in another direction.

Much untapped potential still exists, and why would anyone want to waste such precious possibilities? Would you not rather be the person you can be, rather than the empty shadow of that complete self?

Do not be scared of the darkness within you. Explore the deep depths of your own mind, uncover the secrets that are hidden still, and expose the harmless spectres of your own fear. Understand yourself -- improve yourself.

Stop fighting your inner demons; accept them. They're merely another part of you.

Only thus can you face the challenges life throws your way. The mere sight of your confidence will change the mind of many who seek to oppose you.

Imagine, if you will, the imposing figure of Darth Maul. More than his mastery with both the Force and the blade, the complete control over himself and the selfconfidence are what make this Dark Lord so terrifying.

Fear not the darkness within you; embrace it.

Royo

Yup, Luis Royo. That's some amazing art he makes.

Dark Lord of the Drapes

What he was really thinking

Hunt them down

I have no idea what this means, but it looks weird and amazing.

Like toy soldiers...

Or: how to dispose of your enemies with creativity.

You don't know the power...

Unleashed

(Click Standard to view in this screen)

Day after christmas

Pimp my Sith