Loves it when a plan comes together.
At birth, something was unnatural about Jerrec Marcolo. At first, it was because he didn’t cry. Then his mother would slip into a coma, leaving the father with mixed feelings; his new born son brought him joy, but his wife’s ailment brought him grief. A month went by. The mother was still unresponsive, and as a result, looked gaunt and pale. Nurses did not bother as much to care for her because they were convinced she was going to die. The newborn Jerrec, as if connected to his mother, soon mimicked the illness, and it was believed to have been contracted from the mother. He fell into a coma. The father, beset by grief, took a bottle of Tarisian Ale, a blaster and his only son to the mother’s bedside. If machines had not indicated otherwise, he’d assume she was already dead. He locked the door and only a few moments later would the alarm be raised. It wailed , indicating the new born patient, Jerrec, was off life support. When nurses discovered an empty bed, they immediately suspected kidnapping. Checking the holovids, they were horrified to see the father with the baby, bottle and blaster in the mother’s room.The father barricaded the door, and not long after, there came bashing and pleas for reason by nurses, doctor’s and friends. The series of events that transpired next all happened so fast, it could’ve been said they happened at the same time.
A bright, blue lightsaber blade cut through the door and the heap of tables and chairs used to block the door. Jerrec’s mother shot up, screaming, and blood erupted from her mouth and onto infant Jerrec’s face. The baby awoke from it’s coma, covered in its mother’s blood. She died, the father turned the blaster on himself, but didn’t fire. Holding out, a tear rolled down his face as he negotiated the terms of his surrender.
The next hour was perplexing; despite the mother sitting up and creaming horribly, she had the monitors registered no signs of consciousness. The baby made a full recovery and the father was committed. The Jedi who intervened sensed the force in Jerrec and took him to the academy on Dantooine.
17 years later, Jerrec had a way with words and was training to be a Jedi consular, but with little success. For while he had a way with words, he was by no means a master. In fact, at one point he was assigned to negotiate a contract between two farmers. Pleasantries were exchanged, and the deal was near a close. He was becoming the pride of the order. Until, for reasons Jerrec did not understand, both parties were offended. To make matters worse, both farmers whipped out their blasters, and fired simultaneously. A headshot from both sides, with Jerrec in the middle, ensured that he was coated with blood. He wasn’t sure where from exactly, but he heard a very mocking laugh in the distance. Jerrec took a deep sigh, and said “there is no emotion”….
Jerrec always had inner conflict; who were his parents? Where was he from? What was his purpose? His curiosity guided him to an old Keldor on the skirts of a field one day.
“Sorry, that wasn’t funny” said the old Keldor
“What wasn’t?” Jerrec replied inquisitively.
“Last week I saw how much of a terrible job you did as a diplomat. Reminded me of an old friend I had who joined up with another order like yourself. End of the day, he gave a mercenary every penny in his pocket, telling him to leave his orders behind.”
Jerrec was furious.
“You were the one who laughed?! That was an awful experience! The folk around here call me the Collateral Keldor!”
The old Keldor began to laugh so hard his was wheezing, and told Jerrec to calm his thrusters.
“The difference between you and my old friend, is that my friend died when diplomacy failed. He was negotiating an estate, slightly…well…profoundly drunk. Things went so sour for him that his compatriots abandoned him and he was drawn and quartered. The way I see it, you’re at least one level above completely incompetent.”
“I HAVE A MORTALITY RATE TO MY CONVERSATIONS WITH PEOPLE!” Jerrec screamed, nearly breaking the vocabulator on his mask.
“Come with me to a cave out to the East, I’ll show you something about mortality”. Coughed the old Keldor.
“It was a ritual” he said, “One I learned long ago, and it saved you as it did me. The Force is truly wondrous in the teachings of the Sith”.
Jerrec was taken aback. His father had been a quiet farmer that practiced Sith Sorcery. He was centuries old, he confessed.
“You mother was the last of many and she knew. I lived on, absorbing the life force of my previous families. This isn’t even my original body; I switch time to time to throw off any scent the Jedi may have picked up. As you can imagine, the isolation I enjoyed as a farmer helped.”
Jerrec ignited his lightsaber as the last word dripped from his father’s mouth, but his father interrupted…
“Stay your hand, Son, I didn’t come for you. While there’s tremendous power in my sorcery, and I COULD claim you, I’m simply too tired. I have seen nearly six hundred years, Jerrec. I have the vitality but not the will to go on. But I’m a coward. Kill me, I beg you. In my abode to the west, under the floor, you’ll find my datacron. It contains all I have learned. Kill me.”
Jerrec suddenly felt the dark side come off in palpable waves from his father, and a vision (perhaps a memory) came to him of his mother, of the blood and the coma. 17 years of repressed anger, hatred, confusion that were suppressed by a hollow code consumed him, He was surprised by the words that left his own mouth:
“No. Teach me.”
“Kill me…please…” the old Keldor whimpered.
Knowing his father was sith and what he had done to his mother, Jerrec gave into hate and plunged his lightsaber into his father’s chest. A deathly croak of laughter emitted from the father, though his lips were sealed. It was as if now the laughter were everywhere as it increased:
“It never ceases to amuse me how GULLIBLE mortals are. You will be the next in a long tradition of rituals.”
Jerrec felt the crushing presence of the dark side smothering him. He knew what was happening: his father was trying to posses him. Then without warning,
Hot fucking coffee spilled over Drew’s notes that he spent hours writing on a plane and he cut it short
“No one will suspect the return of Darth Revenant….I will infiltrate your Order and have my revenge.” the croak echoed.
“They’ll immediately sense you! Your plan is fickle at best” Jerrec screamed,
“Be that as it may, at least I’ll have a new vessel. I’ll have plenty of time to think of something.”
“You will not have me! Even now I can feel your essence fading without a willing host”
Darth Revenant knew it to be true, Jerrec knew it to be true and The Force acted in a way neither predicted. But suddenly, Jerrec somehow knew what had to be done.
Jerrec held his will until the spirit nearly faded, and the croak became a shrill scream of despair. And at the last moment, Jerrec said
“I give you entry during your weakest state so that I may have a will of my own. And in return for your parasitic presence, I demand you teach me the ways of immortality”
There was a burst of purple and red energy, and then darkness.
A quiet voice seethed into Jerrec’s mind:
“Deal. Now go to my hut and retrieve the datacron. We can get a slicer later; it requires my handprint. Maim my body to look like your own and swap lightsabers. Then make for Korriban.”
Jerrec smiled under his mask. That burst…the sith lord’s presence…it corrupted him entirely but he didn’t care. If anything he was grateful. He was reborn from the cold womb of the Dark Side, and he intended to use it to his full potential. It would start be sating a blood lust and thirst for Sith lore.
He whispered back