Rylander Baine

[Rylander Baine]

<img src="http://img288.echo.cx/img288/240/baineprof6um.jpg" align="left"> Name: Baine, Rylander
Species: Human
Homeworld: Imperial Centre
Last known fixed address: Jedi Praxeum, Yavin 4
Age: 37
Height: 1.80m
Weight: 70 kg
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Grey
Known Aliases:
TK 763, Raidon Bannick (his name in the secret battle language of the Imperial Guard), Tee Kay

Special training:
Baine is a former Imperial Scout Trooper and Storm Commando sergeant, as well as an ex-Captain of the Imperial Royal Guard. This inherently includes extensive small arms, demolitions, stealth and sabotage training, as well as substantial combat and survival skills. He possesses reasonable marksmanship, but hates the use of blasters, and will avoid them wherever possible. He is devoted to the Echani martial arts, and has achieved a significant level of mastery in the bare hand, double bladed staff, Force Pike and twin short sword techniques as taught on Yinchorr. He has some rudimentary piloting skills, but no real affinity for it, and may also be classed as an experienced speeder- and swoop-bike mechanic. Additionally, he’s undergone four years of Jedi training at the Praxeum under Master Skywalker, but has not attained the level of Knight.

Force abilities:
He is capable of only the most basic physical force powers: a slight force push or pull (not quite sufficiently strong enough to push someone off their feet), and a force jump of a few metres. He has no aptitude whatsoever for mind tricks, nor any other psychic force ability.

Weapons: Twin lightsabers, golden bladed.
Medical:
Baine’s entire torso as well as his arms are covered with livid scars from deep cuts – many of them looking like twisted runes or symbols. His right eye has been replaced by a low grade cybernetic prosthetic, while a scar in the shape of an inverted Y runs across his face. Having lost his left leg, a prosthetic one has been grafted on below the knee.

Family:
Father: Gannick Baine (deceased)
Mother: Ilaria Baine (deceased)
Brother: Lanor Baine (deceased)

HISTORY:

”If once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny, consume you it will…”
- Jedi Master Yoda, 3 ABY

Part I – The Early years

Rylander Baine was born on Coruscant as the Clone Wars were drawing to a close. Gannick Baine raised his two sons - Rylander and his elder brother Lanor – alone, his wife Ilaria having died shortly after giving birth to Rylander. Gannick was a hard, quiet man who eked out a meagre living for the small family by working as a speeder mechanic. Although he loved both his sons and provided for them as best he could, Gannick had never been particularly capable of displaying any type of affection or emotion – a trait which had intensified following Ilaria’s death.

Rylander never knew much about his parents, as his father – a man of few words on the very best of days – refused to speak of the past. Of his mother, Rylander knew nothing except her name. Even his elder brother was strangely unwilling to speak of her, and with time, Rylander stopped asking. Even though he never could recall where he had first learned it, he had a vague idea that his father had once been a soldier of the Old Republic, and that he had fought in something called the Clone Wars – where he had lost the better part of both legs and an arm, which had subsequently been replaced by rudimentary cybernetic prosthetics. It was no use pestering Gannick with questions about such things though, as that was the only certain way of eroding his typically near-infinite patience to incur his anger.

Throughout his childhood, Rylander had always had the impression that Lanor was his father’s favourite. It wasn’t that Gannick ever treated his younger son unfairly, just that he seemed to adopt an easier, more relaxed tone with Lanor, who had always been a bit of a rogue with a quick wit and an infectious laugh - routinely shrugging off his responsibilities to go carousing. In contrast, Rylander had grown up as a rather serious and hard working, but reasonably unimaginative child. It seemed to Rylander that his father was never quite certain how to behave towards him, and consequently tended towards a gruff, instructional manner.

With his formative years largely spent in his father’s workshop – first observing from a safe position which Gannick had meticulously cordoned off, and then assisting – Rylander learnt much of his father’s trade as well as his rigid sense of duty.

As the seedy area they lived in was rather dangerous – little better than a slum in many respects – Gannick also taught his sons how to handle a blaster from an early age, though he never allowed either of them to touch one without his very strict supervision.

Nearly every morning, Gannick would practise the forms of the Jakelian knife-dance, though his prosthetic limbs meant that his movements were neither as fluent nor as fast as they had once been. Lanor took little interest in it, but some of Rylander’s earliest memories were of watching his father performing the intriguing techniques. When he was 10, Gannick finally consented to teach him, and for the next few years, Rylander would look forward to those early morning sessions with his father more than anything else. It was the only time that his father truly seemed at ease with him, and his sincere effort coupled with a certain degree of natural talent meant that he progressed well.

Meanwhile, the young Rylander and Lanor received a standard Imperial education in state-funded Coruscanti schools. The two brothers were never particularly close though, with Lanor being Rylander’s senior by nearly seven years.

Although Rylander had never known his home planet as anything other than Imperial Centre, and had from a very early age instinctively copied his father’s strict work ethics in everything he did - especially in his education – the freer spirited Lanor chafed at the authoritarian lifestyle that his father and young brother seemed to embrace. At the age of 17, he finally ran away from home, signing on as a crewman on a large Corellian freighter. Although Gannick would never admit it, this hurt him quite deeply. Over the course of the next few years, Rylander would only see his brother once or twice a year for a few days at most, when his ship was docked on Imperial Centre.

During Lanor’s brief visits, he would routinely regale his younger brother with exciting tales of far away planets and bold adventures in space. Yet although Rylander was enthralled by many of the stories his big brother told, he was occasionally – especially as he grew older - a bit disturbed to notice some of the almost treasonous ideas that Lanor professed at times. The relationship between Lanor and Gannick had become very strained however, with vehement arguments on topics unfamiliar to Rylander (his father inevitably sent him away on some pressing errand whenever an argument was expected) becoming the norm during Lanor’s visits.

Part II – Discovery

By the time Rylander had turned 17, he’d become more or less a model Coruscanti Imperial citizen, albeit a lower class one. Although he wasn’t exceptionally clever, his unrelenting dedication in his academic work had impressed his teachers, one of which – knowing Rylander’s circumstances at home - had offered to sponsor his admission to the Academy in a year’s time. Having never had any real ambitions other than to take up his father’s trade, he found himself simultaneously shocked and delighted by this new prospect. Going to study at the Academy was something he had never even considered as a remote possibility. With a sincere thank-you to the teacher in question, Rylander rushed home; eager to share the news with his father. It was a day that would change his life forever.

But not in the way that he expected.

************************************************
He arrived home to find that his father was off on a job – Gannick having left a message saying that he might be a week or two. This was not uncommon, since work was scarce and had to be taken where it could be found. Rylander was, however, quite pleased to find Lanor home on one of his intermittent visits – his ship having docked the previous evening. Approaching the entrance to the small domicile at the back of Gannick’s workshop, Rylander heard voices from inside – among them Lanor’s.

“-on’t worry, you’ll be safe here,” Lanor was saying in a reassuring tone. Rylander paused at the door. He’d come in through the workshop out of habit, but now hesitated for a moment, wondering who Lanor had brought with him. It was unusual for him to bring home any of his spacer friends. A muffled query came from inside. “No, no, he’ll be gone at least for another ten days – Jerak arranged for him to do that repair job on his T-1, remember?” Lanor again.

Rylander smiled to himself; pleased at the thought that his brother was – most likely in secret – sending some work their father’s way, despite their differences. It was also exactly like Lanor to take an advantage of their father’s absence to bring his friends there.

There was a faint, nagging sensation at the back of his mind, though. A feeling that something was not quite right.

Rylander shrugged it off, keying in the door’s access code, and proudly thinking about how he’d break his news about the Academy to his brother. Yet as the door slid open with a soft hiss - Rylander stepping through it - his smile faded as the three occupants of the room spun to face him, surprise evident in their expressions. One of them, a brawny middle aged bearded man wearing a faded jumpsuit, had dropped into a slight crouch, his right hand on a blaster holstered on his belt.

Confused, Rylander froze in position, watching as his brother’s expression changed from a worried, shocked look to one of guilty relief. “Woah…woah… easy there Captain. It’s just my little brother Ry. Hey, you. Since when did you start sneaking up on people, eh?” Lanor said lightly, coming closer and raising his hand in greeting, yet his tone was slightly strained – the joviality behind his words insincere.

Rylander still hadn’t moved. His eyes flashed between his brother and the other two. The ‘Captain’ had straightened up, but he was clearly still on edge – his hand still resting near his blaster, his eyes narrowed and locked on Rylander. Something about the face seemed to click in Rylander’s mind. Something he had seen somewhere…

The other figure moved, drawing Rylander’s attention. It was a girl. Dressed in a jumpsuit similar to the man’s, but unarmed, the dark haired slip of a girl seemed to be quite young – 13 at most. Her gaze was no less intense or hostile than that of the man though.

By now Lanor had reached Rylander, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s good to see you too, Ry,” he said with a hint of friendly sarcasm. “Come on, say something. You’re freaking out the guests, you know.” A trace of uncertainty in his voice, carefully veiled. Lanor had even picked up a Corellion accent. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? The other two exchanged glances.

Something was very wrong here.

His mind feverishly trying to sort out what exactly was happening, Rylander’s thoughts flashed to the small desk his father used to handle the workshop’s accounts and other admin. Gannick kept a small holdout blaster fastened beneath it. It was only two or three paces away. “I… we weren’t expecting you back for the next three months,” Rylander finally managed, his voice hoarse. He tried a grin, forcing his posture to relax. “What, homesick, were you?” Lanor didn’t seem to notice his remaining suspicion.

He lightly punched Rylander’s shoulder. “You know they still have the best Corellian ale at the Three Stars – even the corellians come here.” Lanor winked, seeming to loosen up. “Speaking of which, let me introduce you to Captain Triggerhappy over there-“ the bearded man scowled, “-or as we like to call him, Smiley.” The girl gave an amused smile - the Captain’s scowl deepening as he noticed it.

Underneath his calm exterior, Rylander was flapping, his heart pounding, his mind in overdrive as he tried to recall where he’d seen that face before. Had he had the beard? He tried to look relaxed as he walked over to the desk, sitting down on top of it with his back half turned to the two strangers. “I could have picked you up from the Space port, you know,” he said, keeping his tone light.

Lanor shrugged. “A friend gave us a lift,” he replied somewhat evasively. “Anyway, we’re here now. Oh! And that’s Shirae, also known as the human navcom,” he motioned towards the girl, who rolled her eyes at him.

Rylander nodded to them in greeting. Good. They seemed to be relaxing.
The face… the face…

The Holonet!

His blood ran cold as he finally realised where he had seen the man before, his heart skipping a beat as the full implications of this – of what his brother must have gotten involved in - hit him. The ‘Captain’ was a rebel. A wanted terrorist.

By now, Rylander was leaning forward casually, with his elbows resting on his knees, his body obscuring his hands from the rebel’s view. His right hand was within reach of the blaster, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Look, Lanor, we’re not here for a meet and greet. You know our …business is urgent.” The rebel said, crossing his arms and coming forward a few steps. As Lanor raised his hands in a placating gesture, about to reply, Rylander moved. His hand shot down to the blaster with a speed born of panicked determination. Gripping it awkwardly, he managed to wrench it free from its concealed holster, jumping down from the table into an unsteady crouch with the weapon levelled at the rebel.

Silence filled the room, punctuated by Rylander’s laboured breathing. His hands shook as he adjusted his grip on the blaster, blood rushing in his ears.

The expressions of shocked bewilderment on Lanor and Shirae’s faces were sharply contrasted against Rylander’s wildly resolute look and the rebel’s cold glare. The man had barely managed to unfold his arms, and his right hand was now poised just a few handwidths away from his blaster.

“Don’t move,” Rylander said through gritted teeth. “None of you!” he added fiercely as a wide-eyed Lanor made as if to move towards him.

“Ry?! What the hell are you doing?! Have you gone crazy?! Put that thing down!” Lanor ordered him with a mixture of anger and anxiety, though he held his position. Rylander didn’t take his eyes off the rebel for a second – he sensed that if he did, he was as good as dead. The man was like a coiled spring, just waiting for him to make that one fatal mistake. Never before in his life had he felt so scared and yet so exhilarated at the same time.

“Easy kid, listen to your brother,” the rebel said with a deceptively cool tone. “Think about what you’re doing. You don’t really want to shoot anyone, do you?”

“You! You shut up, you… you rebel bastard!” Rylander shouted in response, frantically trying to think of what to do next. Somehow, he needed to get the authorities, but if he took his attention off the rebel for a second…

“Lanor…” he started, desperately hoping that his brother would take his side, that he wasn’t really one of them, that they’d just used him, yet knowing in his heart of hearts that it was futile. “… You don’t…can’t know who this is. I don’t know what lies they’ve told you, but he’s a wanted terrorist! I’ve seen the Holonet flashes! Murdering people! Trying to sabotage the Empire!”

Rylander couldn’t stop himself from risking a glance at Lanor. Then wished that he hadn’t. His brother’s expression said it all. He was one of them. His brother was a rebel. A terrorist. A traitor. “No,” he breathed, the barrel of the blaster pistol dropping slightly.

“Look, Ry, it’s not what you think – not what they’ve told you,” Lanor pleaded. “It’s all lies, the Rebelli-“ Out of the corner of his eye, Rylander noticed movement. His heart skipped a beat as he suddenly recalled the armed rebel. Oh frak! I’m dead, I’m dead!

His finger convulsed on the trigger. A green bolt shot from his blaster, flying wildly in the direction of the motion he had seen. With his conscious thoughts lagging a second behind his actions, Rylander realised that it had been the girl who’d moved, his panicked shot having just missed her left shoulder. There was a hiss of indrawn breath, followed by a growl from the bearded man. The next thing Rylander knew, he found himself diving towards the ground with a series of crimson blaster bolts tracking his motion. He desperately clutched his own trigger without any thoughts of aiming – just praying that the shots coming at him would stop.

When, after what seemed like minutes of freefall, his left shoulder finally crashed into the ground, he squeezed his eyes shut. He heard something which sounded like a grunt of pain, followed by an anguished exclamation in a distinctly female voice. Opening his eyes as he scrambled to his feet, he just managed to catch a glimpse of the rebel captain staggering backwards with a hand clutched to his side, before a dark mass barrelled into him from his right – throwing Rylander off his feet again, and falling on top of him as he hit the ground once more.

Stars exploded before his eyes as his head bounced off the duracrete floor. His mind was a chaotic swirl of emotions – all rational thought had fled. The dark mass was on top of him, pinning him to the ground, crushing his chest. Panic flared anew as he struggled to breathe. Something was tugging at the blaster in his hand. He resisted, struggling to get out from under the weight.

Don’t want to die don’t want to die don’t want to die…

With a focused shove, he managed to shift the mass slightly, but simultaneously the blaster which he still had clutched in his hand fired. At the edges of the flickering stars, Rylander saw a green flash. The mass tumbled off him. Air rushed back into his lungs.

Gasping and coughing, Rylander scrambled backwards on his hands and feet. His head pounded. As his eyes regained focus - revealing the scene before him – a terrible numbness descended upon him. All the raging emotions – panic, fear, anger, exhilaration – had suddenly evaporated, leaving merely a gaping emptiness.

Lanor was quite obviously dead. Killed by his own brother’s hand.

I killed him

In a dazed calm, Rylander looked down at his right hand, seeing the small holdout blaster still loosely clutched in it. His gaze shifted to the rebel girl, who was kneeling by the fallen captain’s side – all but oblivious to Rylander. The man was alive, but his breath came in shallow rasps. She was softly speaking to him, her face streaked with tears. Rylander couldn’t make out the words, but the pleading intensity behind them was clear.

Rebels.

They had turned his brother. They had made him kill Lanor. Liars. Traitors to the Empire. Murderers.

His grip on the blaster tightened, his knuckles turning white. The girl, Shirae, slowly looked up at him, hatred burning in her eyes. The rebel’s dropped blaster lay between them, not far from Lanor’s corpse.

“Don’t.” Rylander warned softly, raising his weapon.

* * *

Sitting on a stiff-backed chair behind a large desk, the Officer glanced up from the datapad, meeting Rylander’s eyes. “Enlisting in the Imperial Army is not a decision to be made lightly, young Baine. You are certain you do not wish to discuss it with your father first? I understand that he will be informed of the …ordeal, as soon as preliminary interrogation of the prisoners has been completed. Doubtless, he will be eager to speak with you.”

“No sir,” came a swift reply. The thought of facing his father… of seeing the look in his eyes after what he’d done. No. He wasn’t strong enough for that. Not yet. Maybe never.

The officer sighed. “As you wish. Certainly your actions here will be looked upon extremely favourably by the review board, and it seems that your academic performance is also quite commendable. Carida will be most pleased to receive such a promising officer candidate.” He frowned, seeing the sudden uncertainty in Rylander’s expression. “You wish to reconsider?”

“Yes, I mean… no…sir. What I mean is…that…” Rylander took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and gathering his confidence. He’d thought this over carefully, ever since it had happened. This was what he wanted. What he needed. How it had to be.

“Sir, I’d like to join the infantry, sir. As a trooper.”

*****************************

Unable to face his father after he had killed his own brother – his father’s favourite, despite the arguments, in Rylander’s mind – he enlisted in the Imperial Army. All thoughts of the Academy had gone – it just didn’t seem right anymore. Before Gannick had even returned, or had been given the horrible news of what had transpired, Rylander was shipped out to an applicant processing facility located off-planet. It would be over six years before he sat foot on Imperial Centre once more. He would never see his father alive again.

Part III – Steel

From the processing facility, Rylander was soon sent on to a Storm trooper basic training centre, where he excelled in all aspects of his training – pouring his heart and soul into any challenge which was placed before him. In surrendering his individuality and becoming a part of something he saw as so much greater than himself, Rylander – or rather, TK 763 – found a measure of respite from his memories. Aiding in the fight against the Rebellion provided him with a sense of purpose.

Coruscanti Storm troopers were rare though – most citizens of the Capital who served in the Imperial military were officers or naval crewmen. TK 763’s crisp Coruscanti accent – carefully cultivated during his many years in Imperial state schools - was a rarity among the ranks.

After completing his basic training, TK 763 was posted to the illustrious Imperial 501st Legion, where – owing to his exceptional performance during his first combat missions against rebel forces, as well as his remarkable reflexes – he was soon selected for specialist Scout Trooper training. Promoted to Corporal, he served on the frontlines of the Galactic Civil War for two years, with his unit forming a key part of the Imperial force which drove the Rebels from Yavin 4 after the destruction of the 1st Death Star.

<img src="http://img284.echo.cx/img284/5466/stormcommando3kc.jpg" align="right"> About a month after the battle at Yavin, TK 763’s shining service record drew the attention of a certain Imperial Army officer – a Corellian by the name of Crix Madine. Madine had been placed in command of a revolutionary new corps of elite troopers who would be trained in guerrilla warfare techniques – the black armoured Storm Commandos. They would be expected to eradicate Rebel elements, while operating without Imperial support for extended periods of time, in territories where the influence of the Empire was little to nonexistent, or could not be openly displayed. As a combat-tested Scout Trooper, TK 763 was a perfect candidate.

The training was long, arduous and at times potentially fatal, but TK 763 persevered with the same stoic determination which had seen him through his life thus far. Impressed by his unrelenting devotion to duty, as well as his considerable abilities, Madine placed the young corporal in command of a 10 man Storm Commando squad. Within his unit, he underwent specialised training in stealth, sabotage and demolitions – the mechanical and electrical knowledge he’d gained in his father’s workshop so many years before, now standing him in good stead.

Life in the Storm Commandos was at once harsher, yet also less rigidly ordered. Although the training and combat missions were far more intense, with much stricter expectations placed on field performance at all times, life in the barracks was less formal. His fellow soldiers were less faceless than had been the case when he’d been an ordinary trooper. For the first time since he’d left Coruscant, he was addressed by his surname, rather than his serial number.

From childhood, Baine had never been capable of making friends – mostly being too intense and serious for the other kids, and spending nearly all of his free time in his father’s workshop. As a trooper, his Coruscanti origins and superior performance had always set him apart from his fellow troopers. It was as a Commando that he made the first real friendships he had ever had – forged through shared hardships experienced in battle, as well as the gruelling training they had all undergone.

After nearly two years of exemplary Commando service, Madine promoted Corporal Baine once more. Sent off to Carida for additional NCO training, Baine had – at age 22 – become the youngest Sergeant in Imperial military history.

The instruction he received at Carida was mostly academic in nature, with the Storm Commando – the only one on Carida, at that time - being left to his own devices for maintaining his physical conditioning. For the most part, he was avoided by both officers and regular troopers alike. Even with his classes and his own training, Baine was left with an unusually large amount (for him, at least) of free time. It was during this period that he happened to meet a young Naval Intelligence officer – a female lieutenant named Cassana Ren. She too was a native of Imperial Centre, and although her family – who he learnt had been killed in a Rebel raid - had been better off than Baine’s, they’d still been far poorer than most. Her background and gender had made her progress as a cadet difficult, yet her hard work and undeniable brilliance had eventually seen her assigned to the rather coveted post she now occupied on Carida as an intelligence analyst.

The two became quite close, and eventually embarked on a brief but passionate affair, which was perforce ended when Baine finally had to return to his unit. It was a particularly difficult parting for the young Sergeant, who had fallen head over heels in love, yet his duty to the Empire inevitably came first. He tried to force himself to leave what had happened on Carida, on Carida, but thoughts of Cassana were never far from his mind.

Part IV – Twilight

About 6 months after his return from Carida, Baine’s life once again took an unexpected turn. According to Imperial Intelligence sources, a high ranking Rebel leader was in hiding on Dxun – a moon orbiting the planet Onderon – with a very small rebel force. An overt strike was undesirable, due to the amount of resources which would be required to prevent the Rebels from escaping into hyperspace as soon as they became aware of the Imperials. As the Imperial fleet was currently occupied with the search for the Rebels’ newest hidden base, Intelligence had recommended that a small Storm Commando squad be covertly inserted onto the moon to capture the Rebel leader.

Sgt. Baine led 15 Commandos into the forests of Dxun. However, en route to their objective, the Imperials were ambushed by an overwhelming rebel force. A massacre ensued. More than two thirds of his team were killed before Baine and the survivors were able to fight their way out and attempt a tactical withdrawal. Yet when they reached their exfiltration point, they found the pilots and rear guard they’d left behind them dead. The Rebels had captured the small, disguised transport they had intended to use for their escape.

With 3 of the 5 remaining commandos severely wounded, Baine had no choice but to set up a defensive position for a last stand. Leaving the wounded behind wasn’t an option. Neither was surrender. In any case, even Baine himself – who was in better health than the others - was in pretty bad shape. He’d discarded his helmet – the visor had cracked when hit by a piece of shrapnel; saving his life, but still leaving him with a concussion and a gash across his forehead – and he’d also sustained blaster wounds to his left arm and right leg while numerous other shots had glanced off his armour. The Imperials barely managed to hold the rebels at bay for another hour, while two more commandos died of their injuries.

Finally completely exhausted, and with their ammunition depleted, the last three survivors’ position was overrun. As they were taken back to the rebels’ base, Baine realised that they had been betrayed. They had made no mistakes during their infiltration. The Rebels couldn’t possibly have known they were coming. Shouldn’t have known they were coming. And even if the Rebels had spotted them, the ambush had been far too well prepared – it suggested very careful planning. Besides – the Rebel leader they’d been sent to find was nowhere in sight. It had been a trap from the beginning.

The three Storm Commandos were separated and when Baine’s turn to be questioned came, he experienced the second great shock of his life.

***********************************

The blind folded Storm Commando limped on behind the rebel. A second piece of scum behind him prodded him with a blaster rifle every few steps. The durasteel cuffs dug into his wrists just below his black-armoured forearms, while the sensation in his left arm had some time ago gone from a painful throbbing to a disturbing numbness. An intense pain lanced through his right leg every time he put weight on it, and his head was throbbing. Earlier, the rebels had tried sending a medic into his small holding cell, but as soon as the man had removed the restraints, Baine had attacked him – earning himself what he suspected was a cracked cheek bone, where one of the guards who’d come running had struck him with his rifle butt. It was fortunate that he had still been wearing most of his armour – otherwise he’d have gained a few cracked ribs as well.

He wasn’t sure where they were taking him, but he assumed it would be some sort of interrogation chamber, possibly a firing squad. Either way, he found it difficult to care.

All dead.

Marrick, Hanes, Ghun, old Trak, Karn… the list went on. Nearly his entire team. Men with whom he’d gone through commando training, and countless missions. Friends. Only Kayrs and Jale were left, and Jale had been pretty far gone by the time they were captured.

They’d all known the risks – dying in service to the Empire was something they’d come to expect, even admire, but to lose an entire squad at once…and like this… Never before had the rebels struck such a blow against the relatively newly formed Storm Commandos.

Against him. It was his failure. His responsibility.

Baine was brought out of his morbid reverie as the rebels halted him. He could hear one of them operating a door control keypad, before the telltale swoosh sounded, and he was shoved forward again. He was so very tired. The door was closed behind him, and he was led to a chair, where additional restraints were used to fix him to it.

“Take it off,” he heard a disconcertingly familiar voice command the rebels. As the blind fold was removed, it took Baine’s mind a few moments to come to grips with what he was seeing. It was the last thing he could possibly have imagined. The rebels seemed to have made their base in some sort of ancient stone structure – strange glyphs adorned the walls, yet that wasn’t what was occupying Baine’s attention.

Before him, dressed in Rebel combat gear, stood Cassana. His mind reeling, he blinked dumbly, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fuzziness from it, but it wasn’t the effects of the concussion. This was quite real.

“You two can go, I’ll take care of this,” she told the two guards who’d brought Baine in, her tone matter-of-fact. They were behind him, so he couldn’t see them, but he could sense some hesitation. When the one replied, there was a degree of uncertainty in his voice, as if he was worried about contradicting a superior.

“Lieutenant Renner… he’s a vicious, sneaky bastard. Broke Kraken’s nose when he tried to help him. Maybe we should…”

“Oh, I think I can handle him. Go,” she repeated her order, her tone still light, but firm - brooking no argument. Baine heard them leave, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off Cassana since he’d seen her. A possible explanation had started to form in his mind, and with it: hope. A very tiny amount of hope that he might still be able to get Kayrs and Jale out of this alive. As soon as he was certain that the rebels were gone, and that there was no-one else in the small room, he grasped at what he thought was the truth.

“Cass, thank the Emperor!” He whispered fervently. “How did you get here? I thought you were just in Analysis? Never mind, no time for that now. Look, I have to get my men out of here. I need your help; I know it could compromise whatever operation you’ve got going here, but Jale won’t last much longer. Remember Jale? I told you about him. Frak it Cass, they knew we were coming! My whole squad!” he realised he was babbling now. He never babbled. He wasn’t sure if it was due to his concussion, the injection the rebel medic had given him earlier, or his joy at seeing Cassana again. He’d missed her more than he realised. Finally forcing himself to be quiet, he watched her reaction with stunned disbelief. “Cass, it isn’t funny, they’re all dead.” He was starting to slightly slur his words now. Damnit! It was that bloody injection!

She laughed anyway, slowly pacing around him. “Oh but it is, Ry, it is. You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment. I couldn’t believe it when you showed up on Carida. At first, I was concerned, but then I realised I could turn it to my advantage. Fulfil some oaths I made a long time ago.” Shaking her head, she looked at him quizzically, but there was no warmth in her expression. “And you still don’t get it, do you?” She leaned closer to him, so that her face was only a few centimetres from his. He could feel her breath on his face, yet the triumphant glare in her eyes chilled him to the bone. “I’m not an Imp officer masquerading as a rebel. I work for the Alliance. I’ve always worked for the Alliance.” She allowed a few seconds for the statement to sink in, then added, “Where do you think that Intelligence about General Kieran’s presence on this planet came from? How do you think we knew exactly when and where you would show up? I must admit; even my slicing skills were hard-pressed to get you assigned to this mission. But: here you are.” She sighed, straightening up again and almost speaking to herself. “General Rieekan won’t be very happy with me for destroying my cover on Carida, but I had to be here in person. Anyway, he owes me one.”

Baine felt as if he’d just been shot in the chest by an AT-AT. He shook his head weakly, unwilling to accept what she was saying. “I…I… don’t understand…” he mumbled, his mouth dry. She shrugged.

“That’s not all of it.” She looked at him closely, as if critically analysing his expression – filing it away for future reference. “No, you never did notice. I was worried you might on Carida, but you didn’t.” She sneered at him then – an expression which seemed so foreign on her familiar countenance, that for a moment he didn’t recognise her as the Cass he knew at all. “I suppose some Rebel girl’s face isn’t worth remembering, is it? Not even one whose father you killed. Just another piece of scum.” Turning her back to him, disgust was evident in her tone. “My name’s not Cassana Ren. It’s Shirae Renner.” After a pause, she turned round again, her eyes now cold - studying him as the realisation slowly dawned, as the memories resurfaced and all the small fragments of information clicked into place. The hair was different, and she’d been much younger then, but yes… it was her. The eyes, the hatred. How had he missed it?
Simple answer: he’d been a love struck fool.
“Yes. Now you understand.”

“But …I didn’t kill him,” Baine protested softly. I killed my brother, damn you! “I only wounde-“ He never even saw the punch coming – one moment he was talking, and the next his vision erupted in a blinding white flash, with the already fractured bone in his left cheek caused a nauseating grating sensation as it shifted under the impact. He slumped against his restraints. It took a few seconds before the pain had subsided sufficiently for him to realise what was going on around him again.

“You bastard.” She trembled from suppressed rage, her upper lip curled as she spat the words at him. “What did you think would happen to us after you set the Imps on us? Sure, you didn’t kill him right away. He survived that shot just long enough so he could die at the hands of Imperial torturers. You killed him, and don’t you dare deny it.”

Finally, the anger appeared to flow out of her. Her eyes lost focus as she seemed to gaze at something very far away. “I wasn’t as strong as he was. I told them everything I knew. Eventually.” She looked him in the eyes, cold hatred once again burning in hers. “Two years I spent in the Spice Mines of Kessel. I was… lucky. My mother and sisters didn’t even survive the first four months.” {{old friends of her father’s finally found and rescued her – used her slicing skills to destroy her records, made new id for herself, joined academy, infiltrated imp navy, served as rebel spy}}

Baine, a battle hardened Imperial soldier - was unable to hold her stare. Guilt tugged at the edge of his consciousness. Looking down, he mumbled, “He was a wanted Rebel. It was my duty to turn him in.”

Tentatively meeting her eyes again, he said in a small voice, “But Cass, on Carida…we…I thought…”

She gave a derisive snort.

“Oh please. Don’t flatter yourself. That was nothing. You’d be surprised what a lone teenage girl has to learn to do to survive in the Mines.” The cold calm was back, yet now he realised it was tinged with madness. Very faint, very well hidden, but it was there.

Baine stared at the floor for a long time. “So,” he finally said hoarsely, his voice devoid of emotion, “what happens now?” A quick glance at his erstwhile lover revealed such a coldly calculating look on her face, that he averted his eyes.

“You weren’t supposed to survive the ambush,” she mused. “I didn’t expect you to be taken alive.” She stretched, then walked away from him, languidly seating herself on top of a supply crate a few paces away. “This was intended as a morale boosting operation, you see. Prove the feared Shadow Troopers die just as easily as any other imps. At least, that’s how I sold it to the General. But now… I suppose they’ll want to question you properly, perhaps even try to ransom you for some of ours.”

“You’ll get nothing from us, and you’ll get nothing for us,” Baine replied harshly. By now, he could feel his own anger starting to stir. Had he been in a more rational state of mind, he would almost have been frightened by the intensity with which his rage was building. Almost as if something else was coaxing it, feeding it. The drug induced haze had gone.

Betrayed again.

The memories he’d had of his time on Carida - of Cass – had been the most precious he’d ever had. Cherished gems in a grey life of service, duty and bloody conflicts.

All tainted now. All lies.

Shirae shrugged, sliding a blaster pistol out of a holster on her hip. “Well it’s a moot point now, since you’re about to attempt an escape.” She checked the power level on the cartridge. “It’s a pity really. They warned me you were dangerous, but I just wouldn’t listen. Quite impressive how you managed to get out of those restraints while I had my back turned.” Shaking her head in mock regret, she stood up. Baine could faintly hear some sort of commotion going on outside the room, but Shirae seemed to be too focused on the final exaction of her revenge to pay any attention to it. “Ah well. At least there will be one of you left alive.” She seemed to consider something for a moment, then, with a cruel smile, added, “Too bad about the short one, I never did get to hear one of those jokes you said he told so well.”

So, Jale was dead then.

It was the final straw.

Somewhere deep inside Baine, a floodgate opened. Something was streaming into him, latching onto his anger.

Power. He could feel it around him, within him - surging throughout everything. On the periphery of his senses, he could very nearly detect …something. Another consciousness, almost. Laughter. Kill it urged. The power was building inside him. A faint red mist descended over his vision.

Abruptly, Shirae looked to the door, annoyance written on her face. The sound of the keypad being operated from the other side was clearly audible. She quickly held the blaster behind her back as she turned to the opening door. “I said I could han-“

“Impstar, Lieutenant,” the rebel soldier interrupted her, out of breath. “We just picked it up. Seems like they could be headed right for us. Craley says they’ll be close enough to land shuttles within 30 minutes if they hold their present course.”

Shirae swore under her breath. “That’s… not possible.” Frowning, she glanced at Baine. “This wasn’t-“ She stopped in mid-sentence, taking an involuntary step backwards as she saw him. Even the guard stared, his eyes wide.

The Storm Commando’s battered, swollen and bloodied face was twisted in an expression of purest hatred; veins on his forehead and neck throbbed. He sat absolutely motionless, yet the restraints which bound him to the chair rattled insistently. The guard jumped as the door slid shut behind him. Shirae gasped as her blaster, yanked from her grip, shot through mid air to Baine’s hand. The guard reached for the carbine slung over his shoulder, but before he could get a shot off, he and Shirae were violently hurled off their feet by an invisible wave radiating outwards from Baine. Both rebels were knocked unconscious by the impact.

Baine freed himself from his durasteel cuffs using the blaster pistol. His wrists burnt where the heated metal of the cuffs encircled them, but he ignored the pain. Rising from the chair, his mind still befuddled by the haze of hatred and anger, he took great satisfaction in shooting the rebel guard in the head three times. Turning to Shirae, he levelled the blaster, his jaw clenched.

His arm started trembling, so he gripped the weapon in both hands to steady it. It would be so easy. Just a soft squeeze of the trigger.

Yes! Liar! Traitor! Kill!

But unbidden images of Carida flashed through his mind; stolen moments, soft laughter, joy, contentment...

… the tear stained face of a girl, kneeling by her wounded father’s side…

…a haunted expression, “…told them everything. Eventually.”

…a man in a uniform, a shiny black droid with pincers and syringes hovering beside him. Cold. Dark. Fear. Pain.

…Kessel. The Mines….

No. All wrong. Not me. Not mine! Hers.

Baine staggered back a step, shaking his head. The haze was gone – only a nauseating dizziness remained. His anger remained, but he slowly lowered the blaster. “Damn you,” he whispered, knowing that he ought to kill her. There was every reason to do so. And yet… he couldn’t.

Weak. Weakling!

He left her there, the ranting of the phantom voice in his mind becoming fainter with every step. It was stupid, leaving an enemy at his back; it made no sense. Yet still, he left her there. What he had just done, had just experienced, was… disturbing. But there was no time to dwell on it now. There was still Kayrs. There was still his duty.

Moving through the stone corridors of the base with as much stealth as his wounds would allow, Baine found the place in chaos. It seemed as if an alarm had already been sounded, but it had nothing to do with his escape. A Star Destroyer! He smiled grimly as he recalled what he’d heard the guard tell Cass…or Shirae, rather – quickly suppressing the sense of loss and betrayal which assaulted him at the thought of her. The ship wasn’t here for them, of course. It was probably nothing more than pure coincidence, but if he could get a signal out to it…

Making his way through the base, he allowed himself to be guided by his intuition. It had often served him well in the past. Just not when dealing with people. He avoided rebels where he could, and killed them where he couldn’t.

The ancient stone corridors were littered with bits of rebel equipment scattered about in seemingly random piles, much to the Imperial soldier’s disgust. Lines of communication didn’t seem to be functioning either, since he never once encountered any rebels who seemed to be on the lookout for him. They were so preoccupied with the threat from space, that they were blind to the danger within. Baine intended to ensure that they did not live to regret their mistake. He had never hated the rebels, not before, anyway; they had simply been a cancer which needed to be removed. Yet now, with each passing step he felt the hatred building. Not only was there Cass’s treachery, but the scars he’d thought had formed over the memories of his brother had been opened anew. He thought he could faintly hear the voice from earlier, quietly laughing, but dismissed it as his imagination.

The rebels would pay. He’d make sure of it. Every last one.

* * *

Baine stood to attention as best he could on the deck of the Dominator’s shuttle bay, with four regular Storm Troopers flanking him, and its Captain and a junior officer before him. Kayrs had been rushed to the infirmary, but it sounded as if he would make it. Baine himself had not yet received medical attention, apart from a small bacta pack during the shuttle trip from the surface, and despite his resolve not to, he was swaying from side to side slightly – his vision somewhat blurred. The adrenaline, and whatever else it was that had energised him down on that moon seemed to have run their respective courses now – he rather suspected that he was on the verge of collapse. The Captain was an old officer, and he was clearly unimpressed with the battered pair of Storm Commandos he’d brought aboard. Baine suspected that he was deliberately keeping him here, and standing to attention as punishment for some perceived offence.

“This vessel is on a critically important mission, sergeant. Lord Vader himself assigned this task to me. I do not appreciate being diverted from that end to save two pitiful Troopers who managed to get in over their heads. This ship is not some…some transport freighter that you can hail at your behest!” The Captain was getting livid now. “I told them from the start that all this talk of Commandos was rubbish. Pure rubbish. Rebel nonsense. That Madine boy is a fool. Why should we play their game, hmm? All it accomplishes is giving regular troopers like you ridiculous ideas about rising above their station. We can crush the scum without having to lower ourselves to their level. Two Storm troopers hailing a Star Destroyer? Preposterous! And when we arrive, what do we find? A smoking hole in the ground. Tell me Sergeant: If you’d already dealt with the rebels, why did you waste this vessel’s time? Just so you could get a free ride back to barracks?” The officer finally stopped talking, apparently expecting an answer. It took Baine a moment to realise that this question wasn’t rhetorical like most of the others which had been posed. It required just about all of his remaining strength simply to stay on his feet. His answer was strained, his voice soft and unsteady.

“Sir, I … miscalculated the effect my sabotage would have… on their generator. I anticipated that it would only result in… a minor distraction, but it was an old model, badly maintained, and it seems that their ammunition stores… were located quite close to it. Our mission… had been to capture rebels for intelligence gathering purposes. I’d hoped that… this ship could succeed in that goal, since my team’s numbers had been….” He found he couldn’t finish the sentence. All dead. My fault. My stupidity. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “The destruction of the base was… unfortunate.” The main reason he’d wanted immediate extraction was of course because Kayrs and he would never have made it to a space port in their condition, but he doubted that that was even remotely what the Captain wanted to hear.

The Captain snorted disdainfully. “Let me tell you, Sergeant; if it was not for that security clearance of yours – one which, incidentally, I do not believe you should be entitled to – I would have you thrown in the brig and see you prosecuted for this ridiculous waste of my time. But as it is, it would seem that I have no choice in this matter. You and your subordinate will disembark from this vessel at the first station we encounter, is that understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Now get out of my sight.” The Captain turned to leave, but there was something Baine desperately needed to know.

“Sir?”

The Officer halted, half turning his head, but still keeping most of his back to Baine. “What?” Annoyance in his voice.

“Permission… to ask a question, sir?”

The officer sighed in exasperation, yet replied, ”Very well.”

“Did… where there any… survivors, sir? Rebels. From the blast?” Baine found himself holding his breath as he waited for the answer. Despite his exhaustion, he had to know. He wasn’t sure what he hoped the answer would be.

“It was the one thing you seem to have accomplished correctly,” was the cold, brisk reply. “There were no survivors.”

“I see sir, thank you sir.” But the Captain was already on his way out. Baine felt sick to his stomach. Had it really been an accident? Was he sure he hadn’t meant to kill them all? His mind flashed back to that moment when he’d executed the rebel guard. He’d killed before. Many times – in the service of the Empire. But never in cold blood like that. In some ways he was glad they were all dead; he wanted to revel in the fact. Many ways. Yet he couldn’t shake the memory of a girl he’d once known on Carida. He knew a part of him had died on Dxun. Some of it with his men, some of it with his enemy; with her.

Cass… Shirae… whoever you were… I’m sorry…

“What was that, sir?” one of the Troopers asked – rather more reverence in his tone than had been in the officer’s, though Baine didn’t notice, nor would he have cared if he had.

“Nothing,” he croaked softly. “Nothing. Show me… to the infirmary, please.”

“Yes sir. This way.”

He managed about four unsteady paces before he collapsed.

**************************

Baine recovered, physically at least. He dismissed the strange events which had resulted in his escape as delusions, and tried to remove them from his thoughts. Little did he suspect that he had had his first taste of the Dark Side of the Force. A few weeks after the incident, he and some of his fellow Commandos – including Kayrs, who had made a full recovery - were summoned to Coruscant, where they were to be awarded the Imperial Medal of Valour. It was a bittersweet homecoming though, for - having about a week to spare before the ceremony - upon seeking out his father, he was told that Gannick Baine had died nearly a year ago – shot and killed while standing up to a swoop bike gang which had taken a hold on parts of the lower levels of the city – parts which the authorities couldn’t care less about. Needless to say, Baine did not take the news very well. A few days later, reports started trickling in of coal black ghosts who had mercilessly massacred the entire swoop bike gang, as well as anyone who had been associated with them.

On the day of the ceremony, Baine was amazed to learn that the Emperor himself would do the presentation. It was a huge honour, and one of the rarest in the Empire at that.

“I foresee a bright future for you, young Baine,” the hooded Emperor had softly intoned to the awestruck soldier. “You are correct to be angry at their betrayal, and you were right to kill them. The strength of your hatred does you credit. I shall be keeping an eye on you. Be sure that you do not disappoint me.”

And he did not. Baine threw himself into his duty with a renewed fervour – his hatred of the rebels was now apparent to all. Gone were any inhibitions and doubts he had harboured before. There was nothing he would not do in the service of the Empire. He did not flinch when ordered to release the Candorian plague on Dentaal – wiping out an entire population - nor when commanded to eliminate rebel sympathisers and their families on numerous other worlds. Even when his long time Commanding officer, Crix Madine – the man who, second only to the Emperor, he had respected above all others - defected to the Rebellion, his resolve remained firm. His hatred unabated. Everything he did, he did for the Empire. He lived only to serve.

Over the course of his career in the Imperial Army, he would in total sustain 13 serious blaster wounds, suffer 5 broken limbs, 7 vibroblade stab wounds, and also be declared a Hero of the Empire, before – less than a year prior to the siege of the secret Rebel base on Hoth – being ordered to report to the Imperial Guard training facility on Yinchorr. The Emperor had indeed kept an eye on him, and had decided that it was time for the next step in his development…

Part V – A crimson dawn

On the barren world of Yinchorr, Baine faced harrowing trials which made his Storm Commando days seem like a pleasant holiday. Master Ved Kennede honed the combat and survival skills of the Guard candidates through brutally effective training, which included regular duels in the Squall arena. They were taught the ancient martial arts of the Echani; not only did they learn the lethally efficient bare hand forms, but also to wield the double bladed staff, twin short swords and force pike with deadly skill. In the Echani arts, Baine found something he could not explain – something which made him feel… whole. It filled a void in him he hadn’t even been aware of before. The forms put him in mind of those mornings a lifetime ago, when he had trained with his father in the Jakelian knife-dance. There was peace and perfection in the arts, contained and expressed in a more pure form than he had ever experienced.

Although there were those who were better than him, none were more dedicated. Kayrs, the only member of Baine’s team apart from himself to survive the rebel ambush on Dxun, had also been selected for Guard training, and the two Commandos were paired as sparring partners. Kayrs was in all likelihood the closest thing to a true friend Baine had ever had, and over the course of the year long training program which would test them both to their very limits and beyond, they grew as close as brothers.

Eventually, after Master Kennede had finally decided that the surviving candidates were ready for the final trials, the Emperor himself journeyed to Yinchorr, accompanied by Lord Vader. Each pair of candidates was taken to the Squall arena individually, and when Baine and Kayrs’ turn came, they were each presented with a double bladed staff, and commanded by the Emperor to fight to the death for the honour of joining the Guard. Baine was shocked, yet obeyed the order instantly without question. Disobedience would have been unfathomable. All emotion was wiped from his thoughts as he flowed through the Echani techniques. The two partners were well matched in skill, and the duel raged on for some time before Baine’s superior stamina gave him the upper hand. Only when Kayrs lay at his feet, mortally wounded, did the calm dissolve, and the reality of what he’d done sink in. Yet still he did not falter, and at a further command from the Emperor, he finished off his best friend with a final blow- thus completing his induction into the Imperial Royal Guard.

<img src="http://img290.echo.cx/img290/8584/royalguard3zf.jpg" align="left"> As was the custom, he was given a name in the secret battle language of the Guard – one at once subtly similar and yet different to his old name; he was named Raidon Bannick. He was also taught some basic piloting skills in his capacity as a Guardsman, but never took much of a liking to it. At heart, he would always be an infantryman. Serving as one of the Emperor’s most trusted Guards, he warded off a number of attempts on Palpatine’s life, eventually culminating in his commission as a Captain of the Guard. Meanwhile, he spent nearly every free moment he had in pursuit of perfection of the Echani arts. He pushed himself harder than even Master Kennede had ever done, for despite his achievements, despite everything he had become, thoughts of Shirae still hounded him at times. Although he refused to admit it to himself: he missed her, despite the fact that it had all been a lie. He couldn’t bring himself to hate her. He tried. But he couldn’t. All he could find was guilt, yet that was unacceptable to a loyal Guardsman, so he viciously suppressed it. He could find a measure of peace only in his training and unquestioning service to the Emperor.

Although Baine was unaware of it, he was in fact quite sensitive to the force. Palpatine had become aware of him when – urged on and aided by the spirit of a long dead Sith Lord on Dxun – he had unwittingly unleashed the Dark Side of the Force against his rebel captors. The Emperor had looked into not only Baine’s service record and history, but also his mind. He was most pleased with what he found. Rylander Baine did not possess enough potential in the Force to ever become even a remote threat, but he did possess just enough force sensitivity to prove useful. His unswerving devotion and loyalty to the Empire would make things that much simpler. Palpatine realised that if properly shaped, Baine could become one of his most potent Hands. Yet this Hand had not been trained from childhood, and to satisfy himself of Baine’s suitability and loyalty, the Emperor decided to place before him a set of tests. Tests which would either prove Baine’s worth, or break him beyond repair, so that no one else would ever be able to use him as a tool against the Emperor.

By the year 4 ABY, a few months before the fateful battle which was to occur at Endor, Palpatine sent Baine on what was to be his final test. By that time, he had spent 8 years – a third of his life – as a soldier of the Empire. From ancient Sith holocrons, The Emperor had learnt of a planet far beyond Csilla, deep in the unknown regions, which housed the tomb of a Sith Lord who had died millennia ago. References to the planet and the tomb were vague and rare, but what most intrigued Palpatine, was the mention made by the holocrons of a Sith artefact which apparently held an immense amount of Dark Side power. Palpatine was not one to pass up any type of power, yet he could not leave the Empire for the long journey which would be required, since he had foreseen that the moment when he would once and for all crush the Rebellion was at hand. Thus, he sent 12 of his most loyal Guards – Baine included – on a quest to retrieve the artefact, or, barring that, at least locate the planet and scout out the tomb. Although Baine and some of the other Guardsmen were force sensitive, Palpatine was unconcerned, for he was certain that a substantial amount of skill and arcane knowledge of the Force would be required to unleash the power of the mysterious artefact.

So it was that the band of Royal Guardsmen set out on an extended hyperspace journey, utilising an experimental Lambda class shuttle which was specially modified to provide the required range. They travelled for a number of months before finally reaching the inconspicuous system which was their destination. They detected a single planet inhabited, oddly enough, by humans, but the cultures seemed to be of a pre-space faring nature, and they avoided them. Locating the planet they were after, as well as finding the position of the tomb on the surface, took a few more weeks. Little did they know that before they had even found their objective, the Emperor was already dead at the hands of Vader; the Empire crumbling.

A strong feeling of apprehension dominated the minds of the dozen Guardsmen as they finally made planet fall. The strength of the Dark Side was such, that even the most force-deaf and strong willed of the Guardsmen could sense that something was wrong with the world. Lesser men would have turned and fled back to the Core before even touching down on the surface, but they were Guardsmen; they could no more refuse to carry out the Emperor’s will than they could choose to stop breathing.

Unbeknownst to the Guardsmen, the late Palpatine had in fact completely misinterpreted the ancient holocrons. What lay waiting on the long forgotten planet was neither a typical Sith tomb, nor any artefact of power. It had in fact been intended as the eternal prison of a Sith lord so demented, that his own kind had banded together to execute him, and had sealed the remains of his spirit away on a barren world in a distant, uninhabited system. This particular Sith – his name purposefully wiped from both the Jedi history annals and the Sith records – had had no desire to dominate or rule, but merely to kill. Destruction, murder, pain and chaos were all he craved, and his power had been of such immensity that, had the Sith not set aside their internal squabbles to ally against him, he could have wiped out a substantial portion of the galaxy. He had been defeated once - his spirit severely weakened – yet he was not destroyed. Over the millennia he had laid dormant, slowly deteriorating further and further, fading away without a corporeal form to sustain him, just as his Ancient Sith jailors had intended. However, the moment the first force attuned Guardsman set foot on the surface of the planet, the ancient evil stirred in its slumber. When the entrance to the tomb was blown open with thermal detonators, it awoke with a start. And it was hungry.

The Ghost of the Sith Lord studied the Guardsmen for two days as they searched and charted the tomb and surrounding wasteland – looking for any sign of the artefact they’d been sent to recover. By sunset on the second day, it had concluded that of all the Guardsmen, the force flowed strongest in the one they called Raidon. That evening, Baine was possessed by the Spirit of the Dark Lord. He killed two of his fellow guardsmen with a double bladed staff, before fleeing deeper into the massive tomb, with the other Guardsmen in furious pursuit.

Baine’s consciousness had been caught off guard, but as it started to realise what was happening, it also began to fight against the intruding presence. The Sith Ghost was still weak, and was hard pressed to retain control of the body it had stolen. Eventually, in a desperate attempt to prevent itself from being overwhelmed by the Guardsman’s spirit, it forced Baine to drive a vibroblade through his own left hand. The sudden surge of unexpected pain momentarily caused Baine to draw back, which was when the Sith Ghost rammed its way into control once more. For the moment, it had safely confined Baine’s awareness to the far reaches of his mind, allowing it full control of the body. The Sith Lord viciously delighted in slowly drawing out and killing all of Baine’s remaining comrades in melee combat. Those who were lucky died quick deaths, while those unfortunate enough to survive the Sith’s initial onslaught were slowly and meticulously tortured to death. The careful application of decades of study. Baine’s spirit recoiled in horror at what was happening, unable to regain control of his own body, while with each passing moment, the Sith Lord regained a small amount of its former strength and consolidated its hold.

By morning, the final inhuman shrieks of agony had been silenced. Only one red robed figure still moved amidst the carnage. Yet a night of slaughter did little to satisfy the millennia of hunger the Sith Lord had suffered. It needed more. And Baine’s memory provided it with the answer. The Shuttle took off, the Sith Lord having forced Baine to lay in a course for the only inhabited world in the system. As they drew closer to the planet, and the vile plans of the Dark spirit became more and more evident to Baine, he railed harder and harder against his captor, desperately trying to break through the hold it had established on him. But the Sith Lord was rapidly gaining strength, and Baine was swatted aside like a fly, malicious laughter enveloping the tiny pinprick his soul had become.

The human inhabitants of the other planets in the system were the distant descendants of unwitting colonists from the Old Republic, who had chosen to abandon the complexities of life in the Republic for a simpler existence. Upon landing, the settlers had destroyed their ships and much of the rest of their technology. Over the few thousand years their civilisation had existed there, it had risen and fallen a number of times, and they never again reached even a semblance of the level of technological advancement their forefathers had abandoned. In fact, they could be considered quite primitive – not even having rediscovered steam power yet.

The Sith/Baine descended upon the first village it encountered like a demon out of their most horrific tales. It butchered every single living creature in the village. Most of them very slowly, while it delighted in making Baine watch it all. Once it was done, the Sith Lord recalled a sensation it had nearly forgotten about. Hunger. Not of the spirit; but physical hunger. It realised that the body it had possessed – although it could in part be sustained through Dark Side energies – required sustenance. So it fed. On the remains of its prey.

It was more than Baine could bear. Again and again, he hurled his spirit against that of the Intruder. At first, the Sith took little notice, but eventually it became annoyed. Using a primitive steel knife from the village forge, it carved a number of ancient Sith runes deep into the flesh of its new body. The resulting pain was far more intense than that due to merely the cuts themselves, and it once again broke Baine’s strength. Satisfied that it had full control, the Sith/Baine finished its grisly meal, and then advanced on the next settlement…

For more than a year, the Dark Lord moved about the planet, feeding its lust for pain and death using Baine’s body – the host spirit kept in tortured subjugation. Baine fought back relentlessly, but ultimately it was futile. The more Baine fought, the more pain the Dark Ghost caused him to inflict on his own body, until at last it had reached such a level of mastery that it no longer needed to do anything physical to cause excruciating pain. By this time, Baine’s torso and arms were cris-crossed with scars and scabs, some clearly forming perverse patterns or symbols; some random – merely the result of victims who’d been more capable of fighting back than most. After Baine’s most vehement resistance on one occasion, the Sith Spirit had even caused him to cut out his own right eye. It had treaded a fine line – being careful never to deal so much damage as to make the body unusable. It could take another host, of course, but it liked Baine. It could use his intimate knowledge of combat, his memories, and his body’s painstakingly acquired strengths and reflexes – all augmented by the Dark Side, which was channelled through the relatively high Midichlorian concentrations in Baine’s blood.

<img src="http://img285.echo.cx/img285/535/sithbainefinal1tp.jpg" align="right"> It pushed Baine to the brink of insanity, and then beyond. His spirit was battered into a quivering wreck, yet still it fought back, resisting with every ounce of its waning strength. That he was even capable of retaining his own sense of identity at all, was a mark of his strength of will. The only thing he had to hold on to, was the thought of the Empire he served. He could not allow this thing to reach it.

Even this thought though, the Sith Lord sensed, and it amused him. When at last he had grown bored with the massacre of what he considered to be savages, he decided to turn his attention to Baine’s beloved Empire. Finally returning to the Shuttle – and Space - it left the scattered, fearful survivors to rebuild the ruins of their world once more. Yet forever after, in all the various cultures which were to develop on that planet, Death was said to be a one-eyed demon dressed in tattered red cloth and weather-beaten armour, who wielded a bloodied double bladed staff.

But in the Sith Lord’s gleeful delight in realising Baine’s worst fear, lay its downfall, for his ancient Sith captors had worked powerful Dark Side magic to ensure that his Spirit would never be able to leave the system they had imprisoned him in: As the shuttle made the jump to Hyperspace, the Sith’s consciousness was violently ripped out of Baine – as if a chain tying it to its tomb had suddenly snapped taut. The disembodied Spirit was fragmented and cast into Space, howling its fury to the stars.

Some might call it a miracle, some might call it the cruellest of curses, but whichever was the case, Baine somehow survived the separation. Barely.

The one ‘blessing’ he did receive though, was that the shock of the Sith Ghost’s extraction caused his mind to black out almost everything that had happened since he’d killed the last of his fellow Guardsmen on the Tomb World. Yet this alone was enough to saturate him with guilt and self-loathing. In a way, his mind almost reset itself though, and he regained his sanity for the most part. His blissful ignorance was not to last, however, for over the following years, disjointed memories of the days of his Possession would return at times, and he would never enjoy a peaceful night’s sleep for the remainder of his life. He would be forever haunted by the atrocities he had witnessed, and in part committed. The physical impact of the year he had spent in thrall to the Sith Lord would also leave a most distinct mark on him for the rest of his days. Not only were there the scars and the missing eye, but a large part of his Force Sensitivity had literally been burnt out of him as the Dark Spirit was torn out. Never again would his intuition or reflexes be as acute, nor could he ever achieve the proficiency in the force he might once have been capable of.

As he laid sprawled on the cold bare floor of the shuttle – the set of Hyperspace jumps which would eventually return him to Imperial Centre already programmed into the Navcom – the only thing keeping him going, the only thing which made him force himself to stagger to a bunk and activate a medical droid; to eat some of the meagre rations onboard, was his sense of duty. He would be executed for his failure and his betrayal when he reached the Capital, he was certain of that. Yet the need to fulfil his duty and retain some small degree of honour was accompanied by a wish to see his Home world just one more time.

Part VI – Homecomings

During the few intermittent sub-light legs of his journey as he started nearing the Core, he was on occasion attacked by pirates. With only himself and the Navcom to crew the ship, these encounters almost always ended badly for him, but each time, he eventually managed to escape into Hyperspace – though with the Ship a little closer to ultimate failure. Despite the ministrations of the medical droid, his health remained very poor, finally causing him to lapse into a coma 3 days before reaching Imperial Centre. By this time, he had been out of touch with the happenings in the galaxy – including the fall of the Empire and subsequent rise of the New Republic - for approximately two years.

The Navcom, set on Autopilot, guided the shuttle in on its final approach vector to the Imperial palace – or at least, what had once been the Imperial Palace. The New Republic security officer who was on duty when the Imperial priority clearance Omega 1-B security codes were automatically transmitted, was quite shocked and confused. Alerting his superiors, it was at first considered to blow the crippled Shuttle out of the Sky, but finally – having detected a life sign aboard - it was decided that it was not on some suicide mission, and it was allowed to land. When Republic forces boarded the Shuttle, they found a single comatose half-dead, half-starved Imperial Royal Guardsman wearing tattered robes and battered armour. He was taken to a medical facility, where he was placed in a full body bacta tank under extremely heavy guard – the entire incident immediately having been put under wraps. The Navcom was encrypted to such an extent that they were unable to discern where the Shuttle had come from, or what its mission had been. In fact, when Republic Slicers tried to break the codes, the shuttle self destructed – killing two technicians who’d been aboard, wounding four more, and destroying all data. All that now remained of the mysterious ill-fated mission, was the Guardsman, but the medical droids weren’t very optimistic about his chances of recovery, while the few Republic officials who were aware of him were quite disturbed by the outlandish nature of his scars.

Despite the odds, Baine pulled through once more – regaining consciousness about a week after his capture. He was confused when he did not see the Imperial Officers he had expected, nor even a member of the Guard. The infirmary looked markedly different to the many Imperial military facilities he had been in over the years. When at last a group of uniformed individuals came to question him, he couldn’t believe his eyes, nor his ears. They wore Rebel insignia, and claimed to be acting in the name of the ‘New Republic.’ Only then realising that the guardsman was unaware of the transition that had taken place, they told him everything: the Emperor’s death at Endor, the Fall of Coruscant, the New Republic.

Baine refused to believe it. It could not possibly be true. Everything he had ever lived for could not have fallen, could not have been brought down by the Rebel scum! Enraged by the audacity of their lies, he attacked the nearest rebel. In his weakened state however, his attack had little affect, other than to have them install restraints on his bed. For another two weeks, the Republic interrogators tried to get him to tell them where he had come from, what his mission had been. He told them nothing. He refused to believe what they were saying, desperately trying to convince himself that it was some sort of trick – yet knowing in his heart that it was not. The Empire had fallen. His master was dead. Without the Emperor, there could be no Empire. Would that he had died a warrior’s death in combat at his Emperor’s side, but no – he had been sent off to the furthest reaches of the galaxy with a trusted mission, which he had failed in, and had returned as this pathetic weakling. He longed for death, yet the tattered shreds of his honour forbade him to attempt the coward’s way out.

Meanwhile, the Republic team had managed to identify the Guardsman by matching him against Imperial military records, which they had decoded and pieced together after liberating Coruscant. He was Captain Rylander Baine – one of the most decorated Imperial soldiers of the Galactic civil war. Even his Storm Commando records had been sliced into, revealing amongst other similar things, his role in the release of the Candorian Plague on Dentaal. It also noted his encounters with a certain individual, who currently occupied a rather senior position in Republic Intelligence. A certain Major Renner, who had not died on Dxun.

The Republic investigators hoped that bringing Major Renner in to take over the questioning would finally elicit some sort of response from the almost catatonic Guardsman, yet they were to be disappointed, for still he refused to divulge the information they sought. Baine was surprised by the surge of emotion he experienced when he saw Shirae again. Something eased in him, at the realisation that he hadn’t killed her. Although for a moment he was thrilled to see her again, it soon became apparent that her hatred of him had only grown over the years since he’d last seen her. He weathered her insults and questions stoically, but it didn’t exactly help to improve his mood. Shirae also never seemed to have realised exactly how he’d managed to escape on Dxun all those years ago, so they never suspected him of being force sensitive. She did however ensure that he was very well guarded and restrained, despite his obvious weakness.

After having held him for nearly three months without gaining any information whatsoever, a Republic military tribunal held a brief trial in which Baine was convicted of war crimes against the Species, and sentenced to life imprisonment – though it was strongly hinted to him that leniency might be considered if he were to cooperate with their enquiries. Baine said nothing. It was decided to transfer him to a regular holding facility, and he was soon transported off planet. Shirae was not done with him yet, though.

En route to his new prison, the Republic transport was intercepted by what appeared to be Imperial Remnant forces, who took Baine – though they seemed to use minimal force, and did not kill any of the Republic guards. In fact, it had all been staged by Shirae, with the help of a number of smuggler and pirate friends and relatives who were sympathetic to her vendetta. Baine was taken to Nar Shaddaa, where Shirae finally had the opportunity to satisfy her lust for revenge. Although the pain she inflicted on him could never be as great as what he had endured at the mercy of the Sith Spirit, it was still considerable. She mostly utilised drugs and stimulants in various combinations, rather than physical means. She wanted him alive and suffering for as long as possible.

Eventually, she realised that she could not continue the process indefinitely. Her duties called, and despite the need for revenge which had driven her all these years, she was committed to the Republic. In fact, apart from the exceptions she’d made due to her loathing for Baine, she generally strove to uphold the ideals of the Republic. Finally, she decided upon Baine’s fate. Having addicted him to a number of narcotics and stimulants during his capture, she finally left him for dead in the lowest level of the Smuggler’s Moon, being well aware of his desire for death. She realised that she no longer much cared what happened to him. Her revenge hadn’t brought her the fulfilment she’d been expecting, although she still despised him and everything he stood for.

Yet as always, Baine survived. Though he lived as little more than a wretched one-eyed animal, amongst the dregs of the dregs of Nar Shaddaa, he was still stronger and far fiercer than most. The next year went by in a haze, as he simply lived from one Spice fix to the next, doing whatever he had to, to get them. Reality blurred, and he was frequently haunted by visions of his Possession. With time, he found himself moving to higher and higher levels of the city, until at last, one day he spied a large freighter docked on a landing platform. Sneaking aboard with the intention of stealing enough to trade for more Spice, he was forced to hide as a crew member approached. The ship soon took off, though, with Baine still aboard. Only when they were well into their Hyperspace journey did they discover him. Some of the crew suggested flushing him out of an airlock, but the Captain was a man of unquestionable morality, who in a way, felt pity for the wretched, emaciated creature.

Under the supervision of the ship’s medical droid and the captain himself – who sort of adopted Baine as something of a pet project – he was confined to a reasonably spacious empty storage compartment while he underwent detox. As it turned out, this particular freighter traded with a system in the outer rim, and the journey there took quite some time. It wasn’t enough time for Baine to recover fully, but under the Captain’s care he made remarkable improvements – even starting to help with some of the Ship’s maintenance duties. Captain Trell frequently tried to engage Baine in conversation, but the unlikely passenger was reticent to participate. Even his true name, he kept to himself, simply calling himself Tee Kay, from his old Imperial serial number, TK 763.

When the freighter reached its destination at last, the Captain told Baine that he could either go back to Nar Shaddaa with them, or remain on the small planet – which was mainly made up of small farming communities. Baine thanked him profusely for everything he’d done for him, but elected to stay behind. Trell introduced Baine to an old acquaintance of his who ran a speeder repair shop in one of the towns – having pried the fact that Baine had a fair knowledge of such work from him during the trip. The man owed Trell, and gave Baine a job – though he kept him under very close supervision for the first few months – and allowed him to sleep on a cot in an alcove at the back of the repair shop.

In some ways, it was the best place Baine could possibly have gone to, to recover. Although it also brought back painful memories, and regrets about his father, it also allowed him to heal in an environment very similar to the one he’d grown up in. The Empire was gone. He had failed in his duties as a Guardsman. Although these things brought their own share of guilt, in a way he felt that perhaps his turn had finally come to live a more peaceful life. A life which was his own, with no duties to anyone else. With every passing day, he grew stronger, purging the Spice poisons from his body. He worked from very early in the mornings till late at night when everyone else had gone home to their families, and to an extent, he knew peace, even though the dreams remained.

Baine eventually made himself a pair of short swords, and resumed his Echani training. He was rusty, and his skills would never be as good as they once were; his body never as strong, but still he trained every morning, slowly regaining some of what he’d once been. He did not train to prepare himself for combat as was once the case, but simply for the purity and peace that came with the forms. For about two and a half years, the quiet off-worlder who called himself Tee Kay lived and worked in the Speeder workshop. It was not very difficult to guess that the scarred man had once been an Imperial soldier, owing to not only his Coruscanti accent, but also to the haunted look he could never quite hide, and his rapid reactions to sounds and any accidental touch. He avoided contact with other people which was not absolutely necessary. Having been a soldier with a war to fight for as long as he could remember, he had no knowledge of civilian life, and found the small interactions which others took for granted extremely difficult. Others were uncomfortable around him anyway, and gladly avoided him for the most part. The only person he ever said more than two words to, was Captain Trell, when he visited during his infrequent stops on the planet. Trell knew that ‘Tee Kay’ hid many things, but he never asked about them.

He heard very little news from the core, but he didn’t care. Or at least, he tried to convince himself that he didn’t. In truth, he was quite disheartened when news of Thrawn’s attempts to restore the Empire, as well as his subsequent failure, finally reached the backwater planet – the two bits of news arriving almost simultaneously.

However, Baine’s new life was not to last. One night, four local youths snuck into the Speeder shop, intending to ‘borrow’ a few swoop bikes for a joy ride. Baine was asleep in his small room, but woke instantly when he heard a noise from the workshop. Realising that there were intruders, he completely lost it. They were here for him, was all he could think. What he had suffered at the hands of the Sith Ghost and Shirae had left their respective marks. Hurt them before they can hurt you. Attacking the figures in the darkened workshop with his bare hands, he snapped one’s neck, crushed another’s windpipe, and broke a third one’s arm in two places before he realised that they were only kids. Letting the two who were still capable of it flee, he tried his best to help the boy with the crushed windpipe, but was unable to save him. The two who’d run away in a blind panic soon brought their parents and the town authorities armed with blaster carbines. Baine was arrested for murder.

The vast majority of the townspeople wanted to see him executed, and was it not for Captain Trell, who arrived shortly before the scheduled hanging, and broke him out of jail after hearing the details of what had happened, they would have. Trell himself was also quite disgusted by, and disappointed in Baine’s actions, and explained to him that he’d only freed him because the actions of the townspeople had been illegal. He dropped Baine off at the nearest star port a few systems away, and made it clear that he should never try to seek him out again. Baine was crushed. He realised that he could never fit in as a civilian. He had tried, but failed with terrible consequences. It was in that space port, as he tried to contemplate what he would do, that he first heard the news of the Emperor’s return. That immediately eliminated all other options. Hope sprung up again. Once more, the Empire called, and Rylander Baine could give only one answer.

Part VII: Return of the Guardsman

At once, he started his journey back to the Core, working on various freighters to pay for his passage. Yet once he finally reached the Core, he realised that the news he’d received had already been old. The Emperor had already been killed. Now, Baine truly was devastated. Anticipating that the surviving members of the Guard would gather on Yinchorr, he obtained an old, barely functional Z-95 Headhunter, and made his way there, feeling duty-bound to do so. He arrived rather late though, for the Traitor, Carnor Jax had already been to Yinchorr, and had massacred all the Guardsmen who’d been on the planet, save one – Kir Kanos. Yet Baine arrived well after these events had transpired – his ship malfunctioning as he entered the atmosphere. The Headhunter crash landed a few miles from the old training grounds of the Guard, severely injuring Baine. His left leg was completely crushed beneath the kneecap, and it trapped him in the cockpit of the downed snubfighter. He had seen the destroyed remains of the old barracks from the air before crashing though, and he could raise no-one on the comlink, causing him to realise that no-one was coming to help.

Steeling himself, he cut off the remains of his left leg using a plasma torch from the cockpit survival gear. He passed out when it was done – only regaining consciousness an hour or two later. He improvised a crutch from a loose piece of the wrecked ship, and started the long trek to the training grounds, near-delirious from the pain. The smell of death hung thick in the air. Baine was sickened when he neared the site of the Guards’ last stand. The rotting bodies of Storm Troopers and Guardsmen were everywhere. He had no idea what had happened… but it all seemed so pointless. Twice, he had been absent from the Emperor’s side when he had been killed. And now, all his brethren were dead, and that there too, he had not been present as he should have been. Why was he alive? Was this some curse? Was he not worthy of a warrior’s death? There was no longer a place for him in the galaxy.

He mourned his Emperor, he mourned for his fellow guardsmen, and he mourned for the nameless troopers who had died in the name of someone else’s ambitions. At last, as night fell, he dragged himself to the remains of the barracks and training facilities. Although much had been destroyed, he found some of the lower levels were still intact and accessible. Activating the emergency generators, he managed to find his way to the infirmary. Fortunately for Baine, a few medical droids had survived, and he set about reactivating one. He had the droid replace his lost leg with a prosthetic limb, and instructed it to implant a cybernetic eye in his empty right eye socket. The prosthetics were both reasonably old, and of Imperial military grade – meaning that they were hardly the best of quality, but they were robust. And he would need that, for he had decided what he was to do next.

It took him about a week to sufficiently recover from the operations, though it was far less rest than the droid recommended. Baine’s first order of business, was to find a suit of body armour and Guardsman’s robes, as well as two of the ancient cortosis weave short swords from the wrecked armoury. He then made his way down to the underground hangar where, amongst a multitude of wrecked ships, he found a TIE Phantom which was still reasonably in tact. The Imperial Royal Guards had been presented with a small number of the experimental craft, though they had rarely seen service. Based on Yinchorr, they were mostly saved for very special missions which demanded the stealth field generators. After spending a few days clearing the rubble blocking the hangar doors, and trying to repair as much of the damaged TIE fighter as possible, Baine was ready.

<img src="http://img278.echo.cx/img278/3125/tiephantom3ex.jpg" align="left"> He took off, circled the ruined barracks twice in a final farewell, then shot off into space. The ship’s shields and weapons systems were inoperative, but the hyperdrive, stealth field generator, and at least one sub-light Ion engine still functioned. It would be enough. As Baine made the jump to light speed, he thought about his destination; thought about the man he would meet there. The one responsible for the first murder of the Emperor; for the fall of the Empire. He hoped Skywalker would be a worthy opponent.

Activating the stealth field as soon as he exited hyperspace, he made his final approach to Yavin IV. He set the ship down close to the Massassi temple where he had been told this self-styled Jedi Master had set up his so-called Academy. Planting a timed thermal charge on the ship, the lone Guardsman started towards the temple. Halfway there, he found Skywalker waiting for him in the jungle. In the distance behind him, the charge detonated – destroying his ship. Whatever happened, he didn’t expect to leave the planet alive. He didn’t want to leave the planet alive. Baine had come seeking an honourable death in combat, though he would try his utmost to take Skywalker with him.

Luke could feel the taint of the Dark side emanating quite strongly from the approaching Guardsman, and at first assumed that he was a Dark Jedi. He tried to talk to Baine, tried to ask what he wanted, but Baine did not say a word – merely drawing his twin swords and adopting a fighting stance. That was answer enough. The duel commenced. It terms of pure swordsmanship, Baine was far superior, but he had no knowledge of the force, and only a fraction of Luke’s sensitivity to it. Where Luke fought with the superhuman powers granted to him by the Force, Baine fought with skill alone – and even that was hampered by his battered body. Any Dark Side power he might have had access to through his hatred and anger, was suppressed by the cold calm which invariably descended upon him when he practised the Echani arts. And although his ancient cortosis weave blades could block a lightsaber, they were far less deadly.

Inevitably, Baine was defeated; disarmed. On his knees, he awaited the final blow – seeing once again in his mind’s eye that day when he had killed his friend Kayrs in the Squall. No mercy, no regrets. At least not then. Finish it.

But the strike did not come, and Baine heard the hiss of Skywalker’s lightsaber retracting. He did not understand. Would death be denied to him once more? After a long pause, Skywalker did the last thing Baine could possibly have imagined: he offered to train him in the ways of the Force, he offered him the opportunity to do some good in the galaxy. Luke had looked into the Guardsman’s mind, and had found the pain and emptiness which resided there, along with the spark of good and the desperate need for a cause to serve. He felt his opponent’s desire to die, and he sensed that the Force was stronger in him than most. The Dark Side taint confused him, for Baine showed no Sith abilities, but Luke resolved to turn Baine from his path – to bring him to the Light Side.

Baine was stunned. He had expected Skywalker to be a vile, murdering bastard. A fraud even. Yet he had fought with honour, with strength. And now that Baine was at his mercy, he offered him life. More than life. Baine thought of the Empire, of the petty Warlords who now squabbled over its shreds, he thought of the slaughter on Yinchorr. The Empire he had served was truly dead – its remains having become little more than common criminals. A traitorous voice at the back of his mind questioned if it had ever really existed. The Rebels had become the Republic. Everything had been turned upside down. Where did his duty lie? He could make Skywalker kill him, he was sure of it, but was that too, not the Coward’s way? After a long time, he reached a decision.

Removing his helmet, he bowed his head before Skywalker. “My life is yours, Master.”

And thus, he pledged his life to the Jedi. Over the following four years, Baine would devote himself to the teachings of the Jedi. He swore that never again would he purposefully kill another sentient being. Yet although he trained harder than any other at the Praxeum, he was always lagged far behind even the greenest novice in his Force abilities. He did not mind. The philosophy of the Jedi was far more important to him than the power. He poured over the ancient teachings. When the time came to construct his saber, his made two weapons with shorter than average, golden blades. He merged his knowledge of Echani and the saber teachings of the Praxeum into a twin lightsaber style. It was the one aspect of his training that he excelled in. Only when he wielded his sabers could he achieve the calm and focus required to feel the living Force, and channel it. The other students were wary of him, though – perhaps due to the Dark side taint which lingered with him, but also because he was by far the oldest student present. Many questioned Master Skywalker’s decision to let him stay – though Luke had told no-one of Baine’s background. Only one other, apart from Luke, ever really spoke with him: a Twi’lek named Veran Jass.

Veran was far stronger in the Force than Baine, with his intuition and psychic abilities being exceptionally accute. His greatest weakness was his combat skills, and he offered to help Baine with the other aspects of his training, in exchange for help with his saber skills. At the urging of Master Skywalker, Baine agreed, and eventually found himself getting to like the vibrant alien. It was on odd friendship, for Baine had been brought up to regard non-humans as inferior life forms, yet he grew to respect Veran a great deal. The Twi’lek was also exceptionally sharp-tongued, and he was the first person in many years who had the ability to make Baine laugh at his barbed comments.

Although he had been convicted of war crimes by the Republic, Luke arranged a special amnesty for the former Imperial. Yet this was not to last. In time, Shirae came to learn of Baine’s presence at the Academy. She was furious. Not so much about the fact that he’d survived, but that Luke Skywalker would risk training him as a Jedi – one of those meant to protect the Republic. She considered it an outrage. Her superiors refused to listen to her warnings of the danger posed by the former Imperial, so she travelled to Yavin IV personally to speak with Luke. Upon arriving, she saw Baine, and felt her old hatred stirring again. She realised that she ought to have killed him when she had a chance. Avoiding him – save for a single glare – she went to seek out the Jedi Master.

Baine sensed that the peace he had come to know on Yavin was about to be shattered. Luke refused to send Baine to a Republic prison however, despite Shirae’s infuriated protestations. At last, she left, but not before denouncing Baine as the former Imperial he had been – telling any of the students who would listen about the atrocities he had been convicted of. Many of the students petitioned Luke to send Baine away, but he refused. Yet for one student, the news of what Baine had been was more personal. Veran’s family had died on Dentaal, victims of the Candorian plague. He felt betrayed by one he’d thought to be a friend.

In fact, this sense of betrayal, along with the resurfaced grief over the loss of his family was enough to drive the young Twi’lek to the Dark Side. The morning after he had learnt the horrible truth, Veran waylaid Baine deep in the jungle during his habitual morning run. Shamed, Baine admitted to what he’d done. In a rage, Veran attacked him with his lightsaber. Veran had learnt well, but he was still far weaker than Baine in combat. The former Imperial felt that in a way, Veran was right – he did deserve to die for what he’d done. Yet at the same time, he realised that if he allowed his former friend to kill him, he would be irrevocably placed on the path to the Dark Side. Baine disarmed Veran, and took him back to the Temple and Luke, but took no pleasure in his victory.

Although Luke tried to convince him otherwise, Baine was adamant that he could not remain at the Academy. For the sake of Veran, and all the other students, he had to leave. Realising that he would not be swayed, Luke bade him farewell, and with some sadness, warned him that his amnesty would be forfeit if he left. Baine accepted this, and boarded the first available transport.

Wanted for war crimes by the Republic, and labelled a Traitor to be killed on sight by the Imperial remnant, Baine made his way to the Outer rim, where for the past two years, he has drifted from system to system, doing odd jobs as a speeder mechanic here and there. There is a reasonable bounty on his head – placed there by a number of individuals and organisations, including Shirae renner. Yet even as a hunted man, he is devoted to the Jedi code, and is determined to keep his oath to never take the life of another sentient being again.

http://img265.echo.cx/img265/7806/bainewithlightsabers1kt.jpg
“For the things I have done, I can never earn redemption. Yet still I must try.”

[Corran Antilles]

Wow, now that's a long bio. And a good one so far. I like it.

Yeah, the part would fit in into the past, but it looks good in the bio too.

[Samantha Koortyn]

It looks great already to me. We'll wait until you are sure you're finished though. :]

[Rylander Baine]

You might have noticed that this is going disgustingly, ridiculously slowly. Sorry about that. Although I haven't posted any more updates, I have been working on it - I'm just not entirely certain that I'm happy with what I've written. (I've even been playing around with some avatars and sigs, lol.)

Anyways, I just wanted to mention that I do still really want to join, it might just take a while :p.

Of course, right now I'm also getting swamped with uni work like crazy, so I'm afraid I'm probably going to have to put the bio on hold for a month or two.

Sorries, will get it done as soon as possible.

[Samantha Koortyn]

No problem :]

[Han Antilles]

We all know that situation, so it is no problem. I am currently swamped with work as well.

[Rylander Baine]

Well, it's finally done. It might seem a bit rushed towards the end there, because quite frankly, I've been spending far too much time on it, and I really wanted to finish it. :p

Please tell me if there are any changes, corrections or clarifications you'd like me to make, and if (or when) I can start on the Into the Past posts. Pheew, this bio sort of run away with me a bit, lol. Probably because I drew up a timeline while planning it to ensure that the history fit the overall galaxy timeline, hence I ended up getting into quite a bit of detail. Oh well, anyway, hope it's acceptable. :)

[Corran Antilles]

Looks great to me.

[Samantha Koortyn]

I have no problems with it. It is one of the best bios I've ever read. :]

[Rylander Baine]

Thanks :D

[Han Antilles]

Fantastic. Welcome aboard and look forward to your stories.

[Samantha Koortyn]

And your 5 post requirement is waived, since you wrote a novel already. Happy posting. :]

[Rylander Baine]

Thanks again!

[Samantha Koortyn]

No problem :]