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Welcome
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Nathaniel Reed's
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:: An ongoing episodic story of fan-fic set after Episode VI Return of the Jedi, and inspired by George Lucas' historical draft concepts ::
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| February 2025 |
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Introducing the Fhor-Ashla ; and Dark Side exercises on the Dark Planet
28th February 2025 |
As I slowly write my virtual edition for Episode XI, several ideas that I have held over the last few years are coalescing. One is the nature of the Whills, and exploring what George Lucas may have meant by his apparent 'throw-away tag-line' that suggested there was a higher sentient being that was watching and recording the heroic events of the Galaxy unfold.
Another idea is to re-define what, in essence, is "the Force", exploring what Lucas intended with this cosmic energy, and recognising - as other official LFL projects have already done - how other in-world cultures may have identified and utilised this paranormal phenomenon. It's not invalid to suggest that the very same 'Force' is called upon but identified by another name ; in my VE Episode X the untrained Force-sensitive pirates labelled their magical power, 'The Buzz'. It also leaads one to speculate how those early studies may have taken place, and which aspect of the power was more dominant. Lucas gave us some hints in both canonical dialogue - Yoda : "quicker, easier, is the Dark Side" - as well as currently discarded concepts from the early drafts - the Bogan and the Ashla, and Jedi-Bendu (warriors) - which have been rewarded with passing references in later official projects.
I have always acknowledged and appreciated the 'natural' evolution of words and names and phrases. In the virtual edition Episode VIII we introduced a world known as Kettlebrae that had been ravaged by a Force War centuries before, at a time when it was known as Kett-Brae. SImilarly, I have been struck by Lucas' original terms of 'Bogan' and 'Ashla', the former being the dark side of the Force, and the latter associated with the light side of the Force. We have utilised 'Bogan' as the ancient Sith gargoyle-like soldiers, that were resurrected by Darth Monstross in events recorded by the VE Episode XIII and VE Episode IX. But I was keen to find a way to honour the nomenclature and more smoothly transition from 'Ashla' to 'Force', implying that there had been a connection all along.... so I am introducing the Fhor-Ashla, that would become known by the Jedi and the Sith as 'The Force' (Fhor-Ash), and studied by the 'Ashla', led by the single mentor 'Bendu', of whom the 'Siddai' would practice it, with the darker, more selfish and rewarding, aspects of the cosmic energy being quicker and easier to initially manipulate ; the Siddai were to argue over the moral application of the (Fhor-)Ash, to the extent that their order would split, creating the 'Sidd' or 'Sith' and the 'Ddai' or 'Jedi'. The latter would go on to exercise a more disciplined, selfless and compassionate and judicious, approach to their studies and the application of the 'Force'.
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| As I did with the progression of the Virtual Edition Episode X, I will post below sections of the prose for Episode XI as I draft it.... The erstwhile surviving members of the Troig pirate gang undertake mental and physical exercises set before them by the Dark Master on the Dark Planet... |
The dark jungle loomed oppressively over Chekkel who was sat, eyes closed and cross-legged, upon a flat mossy boulder. The fecund earthy richness of the soil and the flora around him was underscored by the more unnerving stench of fetid mortality.
Vainly attempting to climb the rock were hundreds of tiny insects, their scythe-like pincers snapping in frantic expectation. They had scented the human and his flesh and they were hungry.
But their mass drew a halo line all around a midpoint of the boulder for they could climb no higher. They clambered over each other with agitated frustration, but would roll back as if there was an invisible waxy shield surmounting the boulder.
Chekkel, for his part, was acutely aware of the biting insects. He had no reason to disbelieve they would shred him to pieces if they reached him. Kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest. The one and only true tenet of the world we live in.
Fear flicked at the edge of his focus. He recognised it and embraced it, channelling the energy generated by his terror of the insatiable mites, as well as the somewhat ironic realisation that he couldn’t allow his fate to end this way.
He could slay them with a flare of lightning from his fingertip if he so wished. But the Master had forbade him to take the offensive. So he held them at bay with a mental shield conjured in the Fhor-Ash, the cosmic energy that the Jedi and the Sith knew as The Force.
But minuscule though they were, their single-minded relentlessness, their insatiable hunger for his warm flesh, meant that Chekkel was tiring under the mental fatigue.
Learn from thisss, my friend.
The Dark Master’s voice slid into Chek’s mind.
What does such a singular focus from one so small teach you ?
“If the resolve is strong enough, if you are hungry enough, then you will persist until you win,” mumbled Chek, his eyes still closed.
Persist and you will be rewarded with what you seek. Do not waver from your resolution. Do not tire. Do not be weak. Do not relent and suffer the humiliation of the consequences.
Elsewhere in the jungle, the plop and gurgle of mud pools belied the true nature of this terrain. Only the hot steam being released as the bubbles popped revealed the intense heat below the surface. Small charred and stained dark brown rocks jutted out above the mud, and it was upon one of these that Jenna balanced precariously by one foot.
The Fhor-Ash tingled at her senses, and, bending her knee, she leapt high into the air just as an explosive bubble of mud and gas exploded to the right of the narrow rock.
As she landed, she called on the invisible energy around her to aid her spring once more and she somersaulted over a second eruption, and landed on another outcrop.
Several bubbles were forming around this rock, and just before they grew in intensity, she leapt again, pirouetting in mid air, twisting her body, and forcing it, unnaturally, to shift further to the left, and land on a new rock.
The jungle trees around the mud pool stirred and serpentine tendrils that hovered in mid air tingled in hungry anticipation of her next acrobatic feat that might bring her within striking range.
Jenna had been training here for nearly an hour, and her face glistened with the sweat of the exercise compounded by the uncomfortable heat of the environment. As if it had all been pre-arranged by the Dark Master, every time she had felt that she had been gaining control over the situation and conquering it, a new challenge would appear.
Jenna held her arms out wide, wobbling a little, but maintaining her balance.
With little warning, three large bubbles exploded to the surface all around her. As if on a hydraulic pump, she launched into the air, arcing to the right, and aiming for an isolated rock. But several sentient liana tendrils flicked out towards her, purple toxin pads spaced regularly along the green length. Jenna intuited their attack and twisted her body once more, relying on the Ash to propel her. But the Fhor-Ash serves everything and everyone and everyone and everything serves it. One green and purple tendril glanced across her left arm.
She cried out in stinging pain.
In mid-air she tumbled.
Fear grasped her in its clammy hand.
She sensed a rocky outcrop nearby and reached for it with her toes as she fell.
Jenna made contact, and pushed herself forward, willing the Ash to support her, swinging her arms out wide to recreate a sense of balance.
But she either pushed too hard or the guile of the Cosmic Energy had decided not to reward her today. She toppled forward and fell face forwards towards the mud below her.
She cried out in fear and frustration and, above all, fear. She thrust her hands forward and called for a buffer of air to separate her from the boiling liquid. She abruptly hovered above the plopping mud, the tips of her dangling hair sizzling as they touched the hot surface. Sweat formed upon sweat, and ran to the end of her nose.
Feel the creative potency of raw fear !
The voice boomed around her mind, yet it remained a sibilant whisper.
Let it sssurge through you, let it ssserve you now exactly as you want it to.
You are a moment from death, you will cease to be, all that you have fought for will be lost, and you know it.
The treeesss hunger for you. The mud will boil you. What will you do ?
Jenna growled in frustrated anger.
She flexed her back, drawing her hands and feet in, then she pushed downward with all her might.
She shot upwards, not caring for the poisonous lianas that spat out at her, even when they slapped her arms and legs painfully.
She landed in a crumpled heap amongst the branches of a blue-green tree several metres away from the edge of the mud pool and away from the ravenous toxin trees.
Corky’s squat frame, dark skin, and jet black hair was covered in mud. As was the bear-like tigris creature that towered over him on its two stubby legs. Its alternating brown and green camouflage stripes were now an indistinct hue of dark brown.
The two figures faced each other on either side of an open clearing within the dense jungle. The perpetual half-light meant that the trees and the lianas were a hazy backdrop, though Corky was aware of pairs of red eyes glinting at them from within the undergrowth.
The vista skewed and he regarded the scene from a child’s eyes. His eyes. Was this all a dream ? The monster was a familiar from his early nightmares on the temperate plains of his homeworld, Rittri-Four. But the scrabbling fighting just now had certainly been real !
The creature roared at Corky, lurched forward on to its two front paws with a splattering thud, and leapt at the human.
Corky, already panting from the continuation of their violent encounter, rolled forward on to his knees, just as the animal’s paws reached out for him. The Troig pirate turned on to his back and splayed his fingers upward.
Brilliant white shards of short lightning stabbed upward, raking the underbelly of the animal. Blood appeared where the spectral swords had met the skin, but the creature, almost as if it had been expecting some sort of sly attack, kicked downward with its hind legs, smashing into Corky’s face and chest.
It bounded off the human, leapt to one side, and turned around, ready to press the attack or to face the foe.
Bruised and bloody amidst the mud, Corky rolled on to his shoulder and landed back on to his feet.
The booming whisper sneered : What will you do, Cooorky ?
He threw out his right hand and a webbed net of lightning flashed across the space towards the bear.
It half-jumped and snatched the net between its jaws, crunching down on the white light, snapping it to pieces. The bear munched at some of the sparkling shards as they fell, raised its head, and roared at Corky. The shards, now star-like trinkets, were sprayed out back towards Corky, who raised both hands and generated a white dome around him ; the stars were absorbed back into the shield which then faded away.
What is this dark magick ? he mused. No creature he knew of could interact and return such lightning !
As the brightness faded from his eyes, and the dazzling glare dissipated, Corky saw the bear shrug and shake its body, and the creature collapsed into a thick-set serpent, standing proud upon its coils. It opened its fanged mouth wide, and a burst of orange flame flared, dragon-like, from within.
The fire would have splayed over him had he not rolled to one side at the last minute.
Now the giant serpent dropped to the ground and its coils sprang the body forward towards the human. It sashayed its spine as it slid across the mud and leaves, mouth wide, fangs arcing forward, ready to deliver a killing bite.
Once more Corky’s brain resorted to a fear-fuelled memory : a young teenager, long grasses, a Rittri serpent slithering towards him.
The voice half-chuckled fatalistically, certain of the outcome : Ssso, Corky, what will you do now ?
The ice-like fear that sliced through his spine and into his bowels drove him to stand and flick his right hand downward. A half metre long blade of white light slid from his palm. The terror clarified his resolve, it focused all attention on one thing and one thing only.
The serpent darted forward, its mouth agape.
Corky stepped to one side, and, with a nonchalant almost sardonic air, swung his right arm in a wide loop and brought the blade down upon the neck of the jabbing snake.
But the serpent now had two heads, and the frozen lightning bolt passed impotently between the necks.
In the blink of an eye, the creature had twisted and was tightly coiling itself around Corky’s body.
He gasped in shock and fear and pain.
What now, Cooorky ?
His left hand was still free. The Rittri mangus was known for its fearless defence against serpents, and its anti-toxin blood conversions.
Corky grasped the right-hand head with his hand. He closed his eyes, and projected an image of a snarling biting mangus into the serpent’s brain.
The creature shuddered in ancestral recognition, and its coils fell limp, slipping down off his legs and torso.
Corky shrugged the thick serpent off him, and flung the heads away.
Go ! he commanded mentally.
And the serpent slithered away into the darkness of the trees surrounding him.
As an Umbaran, Adelly’s blue-skinned species was renowned for intrinsic mind control, even without the need for mental exercises fuelled by the Force. She had been one of the few Troig pirates to have escaped the destruction of their base on Gensys-Sucal, lending her formidable powers in concert with the other five crew to their leader, Chekkel, when he navigated their exit. It had not gone unnoticed by her that it was she who had primarily helped to keep the others mentally focused as they gave their energies in surviving that maelstrom.
She sat cross-legged, and eyes closed, on a low tree trunk that hung across a sluggish brown river. Snapping fish, sensing her flesh above, darted back and forth manically. Lightning flashed across the perpetual twilight above her.
If it hadn’t have been for you, no one would have got out of Sssucal alive.
The intrusive thought was not new, but it jabbed at her ever more now.
You held their lives in your handsss. Even Chekkel’s.
Adelly spat back : We were only barely escaping with our lives ! I did what I needed to to help us all get out of there !
And has he thanked you ? In front of everyone ? Or even privately ?
Adelly’s eyes screwed up in frustration, conceding the injustice but holding fast to the loyalty : No... but he didn’t need to. He doesn’t need to. We’re in this together. That’s what he’s always said.
Together ? You think he’d do the same for you ? Now ?
Of course ! she retorted. I trust him... with my life !
You sssay you’d trust him... what about the others ? They’re all as selfish as each other, they’d stab you in the back if they had half the chance...
No, no, no, we’ve been through—
What about Jenna ? She’s been watching you carefully, hasn’t she ? She doesn’t trust you, she knows you’re more powerful than any of them. And she wantsss Chek for herself.... you’ve seen how she looksss at him....
She looks up to him – we all do – as our leader.
No, that’s not it. Open up your feelingsss, be honest with yourself, be true. Chek and you would make a formidable couple, no one would stand in your way.
Stop this ! demanded Adelly.
But the insidious voice persisted : Your mind powersss, his strength and skill. You know thisss already, don’t you. You could command the team, they would do your bidding. You can do thisss in the blink of an eye...
Yes.... yes, I could do that....
You could even take charge without him realising... you could even control him ! Thisss is what umbarans do, if only you relinquished your silly umbaran rules.
My heritage forbids me.
But what were they ssscared of ? The umbaransss could have ruled the galaxy, but they were weak and they couldn’t do it...
They chose not to ! To live alongside the rest of the galaxy and not be shunned, they accepted the limitations.
But not every umbaran did, did they ? You didn’t...
No. Agreed Adelly. I wanted more...
You saw your worth, it was right you wanted more. You can take it, and you should take it ! It’s all yoursss... and neither Chekkel nor his pathetic gang would be able to stop you....
In an open grove, the green-scaled Rodian, Ssirisko, was practice-duelling with his colleague, Red Vesta, a red-skinned four-armed Besalisk, short and stocky in stature. They were stepping forward and backward and sideways in duelling postures. Every now and again one would fling his hands outward and a bright flash of short lightning with stab out from his fingers or palm. Sometimes the flare would be a single half metre blade in length, sometimes it would reach across the span of the grove ; at other times the lightning would be a crackling frenetic spider-web, or a more contained ‘net’ of energy.
The heavy-set Besalisk would throw out his palms in defence, and create a brief dazzling shield of white light that would deflect the Rodian’s attack. Or he would match a flare of lightning with a conjured blade himself.
The flashes of light would momentarily brighten the clearing, a counterpoint to the atmospheric lightning flickering high in the sky above.
Now they circled each other. Glowing eyes monitored them from the jungle undergrowth on the side of the clearing, but neither were distracted by their surroundings, so focused were they in the Fhor-Ash.
Red stepped forward, twirled on his feet, and as he returned to face the Rodian, he flung out all four hands, the two lower hands sweeping left and right : a fan of lightning splayed out from these hands, whilst the upper hands presented repeating bolts of lightning balls.
The Rodian nimbly jumped, tucking his feet underneath him, and avoided the skirt of lightning. He generated a lance of lightning between his two hands akin to a fighting staff, and batted his opponent’s balls of energy away, which fizzled to sparks in mid air.
Ssirisko spun the staff of lightning over his head, and levelled it pointed at Red.
A long bolt of lightning, the length of the staff, shot forwards towards Red, and then Ssirisko used the staff as if it was a solid, pivoting it down into the soft mud, and using it to vault himself high into the air towards the Besalisk. As he landed he swung the flickering staff over his head, and down towards Red.
Instead of creating another shield, Red cast a short web of crackling lightning that wrapped itself around its counter-part, fusing the two energies together. Red tugged on his net, and Ssirisko was briefly pulled forwards. The Rodian released his hands from the staff, breaking the contact, and the lance fizzled away. He immediately generated two short blades of lightning from his green palms, and curled his long fingers about them. Ssirisko stepped forward slicing at Red with the half metre length blades.
Red hopped back, flicking the net lightning around and back up to protect against the swiping swords. At the same time, he brought his lower hands to bear and drew forth two similar blades for himself, directly towards the Rodian’s belly.
Ssirisko stopped short, the two new blades barely touching him, his own blades crossed and entangled by the lightning net. The glare from all the energy was blinding, and both combatants blinked furiously.
The Rodian laughed in his guttural barking way, and stepped back, allowing his blades to disappear.
Red grinned, and dropped his arms to the side, his energy weapons also disappearing.
“Us Besalisks are always gonna have the advantage, my friend !” announced Red.
Ssirisko tipped his head to one side in acknowledgement, and his long snout quivered as his mouth spoke in huttese.
“Yeah, you fought well too !” responded Red. “And I’d still have you at my back any day !”
The seventh erstwhile Troig pirate was a grey-skinned Duro named Terrys. He had a large bulbous head and similarly large red eyes, was bipedal with long hands and even longer fingers. He had been sent into another part of the jungle to a slightly higher elevation, where rocks protruded more from the soil and the roots of the trees and bushes wrapped themselves around the bare stones.
His task was to find food – fruit and nuts – from the plant-life that had been identified to them by the Dark Master as safe to eat ; hunting the indigenous creatures had been forbidden. Their usual diet was also supplemented by the occasional raids they undertook, with the one on Vytalli being the most recent. Yet, the Dark Master seemed to promote the concept of fasting and rationing, possibly to encourage them, in a mentally restricted state to attune more tightly to the Fhor-Ash, and, this they all felt was equally likely, to impose some small element of torturous chastisement.
Terrys had moved to a grove of fruit trees, previously recognised for their high nutrition value. He carried a deep sack slung across his back, into which he could place the myriad of food items. Already inside were fruit and berries and nuts.
Even in the twilight gloom, he carefully inspected each fruit before twisting it off its umbilical stalk, and gingerly placing it into the sack. They were yellow with dark green patches, and ovoid in shape.
No one would know, would they ? If you took a morssel or two now ? The whisper was reasonable. You’re sstill going to return to camp with a full ssack.
Terrys paused with a yellow fruit cradled in his long fingers. He took a guilty reflexive glance over his shoulder. Of course there was no one there.
They are all out doing their exercisesss, the insidious voice continued. In fact, one could ssay, you have the mosst important task... obtaining food to nourish them.
The voice persisted : They are relying on you. But you can control how much food to give them. And you can enssure you get the mosst.
The yellow fruit was at his lips before he knew it, and his sharp teeth had pierced the flesh. Succulent juice dribbled free and down his round chin.
Now you’ve bitten into it. You can’t leave it like that, you’ve got to finissshh it.
Terrys paused. He was aware that Chekkel had reminded them they were a team and they worked together for the greater good of the group. When they were free of the world and travelling in their ship, they would all comment on how draining, how insular, how almost divisive this world made them.... yet they also conceded how dependent they were to its energies that succoured them and strengthened them.
Eat.
And the voice of the Dark Master was so commanding.
Eat.
The Duro blinked his huge red eyes, and he realised he only had the woody core in his hand now. Without conscious effort he had consumed the fruit.
He reached out and took two more of the fruit, twisting them off their stalks and placing them in the sack.
He turned and stepped over to another tree that bore tight bunches of nuts. He pulled a cluster away, and did the same in quick succession with another six, placing them all quickly in the sack behind him. But the eighth bunch he took for himself, picking the nuts off their individual stalks and popping each one hastily into his mouth.
Good. Good. Eat more and you will become the ssstrongest.
Another bunch went into his mouth.
Ssso sstrong that you will be able to take Chekkel’s place as leader....
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| Nathaniel Reed, 28th February 2025 |
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