Many nights have gone by sleeplessly in order to bring this manuscript back into the light. The walls of my chamber have been blackened by soot from the lamp, and the workbench is stained by ink from when my hand, trembling with fatigue, would sometimes knock aside the ink jar. Yea, friends, I have labored long, but it has been worth it. I have restored the millennia-old journal of Cail Ardrol, scholar of the Dark Ways, which shall bring new hope, and a will to continue struggling in the face of adversity, to my brethren in these troubled times of the New Republic.

In the name of Darkness,

Voranyen d’Tana
 
 

Prologue-

The first entry in Ardrol’s journal is after his capture. He seldom mentions his background, but it is easy to trace him to the Char’kan Dissension, an isolated group of mixed Krath and Sith which survived the Sith War. The Char’kan Dissension was destroyed approximately three centuries after Exar Kun’s fall when an Old Republic task force made a surprise raid. This was the raid in which Jedi captured Ardrol.

-VdT

7.13.34-

We are taken. Tern and six other fought to the last. I and a handful of apprentices- I know not how many- were overtaken while fleeing and overwhelmed. How long ago this was I cannot recall… drugged with both fatigue and the penetrating minds of my captors, I have lost all track of time. Days, perhaps. Maybe only hours, minutes. This is the first moment my mind has been unclouded. The apprentices have been taken away… I am alone, perhaps forever. Forever is a long time. The walls of my cell allow no light to enter; only the harsh glare of hall lights breaks the darkness on those rare occasions when the door is opened. Ah, how pitiful I am, stripped of my power. My only hope is that those Jedi who stole the Force from me can restore it- why else would they keep me? The Jedi choose not to answer my question. I am certain I will die in this cell, screaming, but I will never give up and turn against the masters who took me in.

9.22.34-

They have begun working upon me, trying to wear me down. Holos of starving children; I smiled. War atrocities; I studied intently, distantly. When they asked why afterward, I replied that I was trying to remember how some of the mutilations were done. They went away for days, leaving me alone in my cell. I don’t care. I’m used to the silence. After even a day in prison you can enjoy your own company. I only wish they’d stop bringing food. Then I could starve, and not be able to do anything about it.

10.09.34-

Trial tomorrow. It was a surprise. I thought I was simply to be left here to rot. I asked the charges- "War Crimes." Mm-hmm. What shall they say in court? "This man killed someone while trying to defend himself"? I wasn’t even aware we were at war, anyway. I asked to represent myself, and the warden-Jedi merely shrugged, as he always does, like it didn’t matter. And it doesn’t. I know my fate, but if I choose to lessen my punishment by repentance, I simply will lessen myself. Someday I shall be a free man, and regain my power… This belief is all that keeps me going at times. I eagerly await my sentence.

10.16.34-

I am in a new place, on a new world. My sentence, in the words of the judge, is to "exist with your crimes about your neck, until you choose to erase them." Flowery words that seem to thrive among the Jedi. This sentence seems to entail living here, on the world of Ferria. The planet is beautiful. Alpine mountains rise into a pinkish sky, towering over the emerald plains and forests that cover the planet. A river lazily cuts through the cluster of houses in which we live- myself, others like me, and our keepers. I think the idea is that the surroundings will teach me humility, and show me to see beauty in all things. Something like that, anyway. I saw the humility and beauty part on a paper in the old warden’s office, along with a little sidenote saying how superb these qualities would be in a "potential convert." The new warden is kind to me, his warm nature the opposite of my previous overseer. I have my own room, though sparsely furnished. There are no fences or guards, and I’m permitted to walk wherever I choose. I’ve even been given my lightsaber back, though I shall have to train with it again without the Force as my ally. This is not the test I expected the Jedi to give me.

10.21.34-

A group of primitives came today, children who appear to be human or very close. Apparently they were invited by the warden. The group of dirty, fur-clad boys and girls held no particular appeal to me- nor any of my fellows, it seemed. An amazing thing, also, occurred. The ball the children were playing with rose into the air, floating even higher as the children began bawling for it. Everyone was astonished. We had been led to believe that each of us had been blocked from the Force, but apparently it is not so. No one has yet admitted it, though the warden has frantically been trying to find whoever did it. I claimed responsibility when he spoke to me, but he simply shrugged and replied, "If you say so." I myself am baffled, wondering who among the prisoners could have regained his powers. Not even Qel-Droma himself could do that.

10.26.34-

A Jedi Master came today, to reinforce the barrier between the prisoners and the Force. He failed. His excuse was that "the Force has cleaned its hands of these." My guess is that he would’ve had to destroy the original barrier before he could replace it, and he was afraid to do it. It’s the only explanation, though, that I can think of. We prisoners winked and grinned at each other as the Master departed on his shuttle. We’ve won a victory.

10.28.34-

A Pyrrhic victory is what we won the other day. A second shuttle arrived today, carrying a score of Jedi Knights. Our compound still looks like a resort, but one look at the faces, the postures, the eyes of the Knights can tell me that it is now as much a prison as the place where I was first held. What little freedom we once had is gone now. I don’t understand these Jedi; why do they worry over us, Force-blind as we are? Even if one person has regained his second-sight, as my mother sometimes called the Force, the rest of us are still useless.

10.36.34-

It happened again. The primitive children (they come every few days, and I ignore them) dropped some plaything into the slow river. Two boys went to retrieve it, and they were soon chasing it into the center of the river. As I watched from beneath a tree, a torrent of water appeared from around the bend, filling the channel to the brim. The children were swept away, their screams only heard by the prisoners. One jumped in after the boys, and soon all three were swept south around another bend in the river. Ah, how noble of the poor girl. Her crimes have been erased from her neck. Ha. The warden came running, followed by half a dozen Knights. The other children had summoned him, but the river soon subsided. The warden looked around, worry in his eyes. He looked at me, silently accusing, and I simply raised my eyebrow. The bodies of the children were found a mile downstream. Their bodies had been broken and cut by innumerable rocks. The prisoner, a woman- girl, really- named Ilira, was not found. The river has claimed her, I am sure. She never struck me as the type to help out others, especially when it involved risking herself. Apparently this little camp of ours works on some after all. Our hidden Dark Jedi is becoming more powerful- even before my capture it would have drained me to move so much water.

01.05.35-

The children haven’t come back. I’m not surprised, but I am disappointed. I wanted to taunt them, hurt them. I’m being watched much more suspiciously now. I hadn’t thought that the warden took me seriously when I jokingly took responsibility for the incident with the ball, but apparently he remembers the statement. Since the flood, I’ve been summoned to his quarters, and we talk. Mostly small talk, but occasionally something serious. He once asked me why I clung to my old ways, when I had nothing left of them. I simply smiled and said, "Nothing is something." It was an evasive statement, and he understood that. Nothing is something, perhaps, but honor certainly is something, and that is why I have not repented of the Dark. I still refuse to betray those who first trained me- no matter how great the reward.

01.32.35-

I haven’t written in a long time. Nothing notable has happened since the flood. I’ve continued training with my lightsaber, though only against another prisoner. At least I know the feel of the weapon without the Force. Today, though, I was summoned to the warden’s. He presented me with a package. In it was a letter, and several autopsy pictures. Pictures of my family. The letter was merely a consolation, with the circumstances of death. They had died during a bombing in "the war." I didn’t know what they meant by "the war." It means nothing to me. We get so little news here, but I don’t really mind. I stopped caring about anything outside my life a long time ago. Oh, their deaths hurt, but I buried my emotions, as I’d learned to do a long time ago. Pain is weakness. To show pain over their deaths in front of an enemy is not a wise thing to do. I shrugged, handed the warden the items in the package, and walked out. I’ve been walking around all night, trying to remember my family. It’s been so long since I last saw them on our little world of Durkar. Two sisters, mother, and a Jedi father crippled in a long-forgotten battle. Ah, well. I accepted the fact that they were dead, but I knew that the Jedi had tried to use the deaths to crack me, to break my will down. I fear that perhaps, soon, they will succeed. I’ll be leaving sooner.

01.33.35-

I left the compound late last night. I killed two guards, and made a revelation: just as I cannot touch the Force, the Force cannot touch me. The guards, unlike me, were only used to dueling with the help of the Force, but that was no help to them- the Force is just as blind to me as I am to it. Thrust, thrust, parry, swivel, thrust, kill. Easy enough. I stole a speeder bike, and sabotaged the rest. Even if the Jedi can learn where I went, they won’t be able to follow for quite some time. I’ve brought nothing with me except for my saber and a sheet of sensor-deflective cloth stolen from the repair bay… I was always the practical one. Now the Jedi Knights cannot track me through the Force or through the Republic’s simpler methods. I have not reached my destination yet, or even chosen it. I keep heading east, towards the Arioch Mountains. The plains are far behind me; a forest stretches for hundreds of miles. I have not felt this free in a long time. Is it not better to be a free refugee than to serve a Republic you don’t even believe in?

01.36.35-

The stolen speeder bike is finally out of power. I’ve been flying full speed on it since I left the compound; it’s a wonder that it lasted so long. As far as I can tell, I’m perhaps a thousand, five hundred kilometers from the compound, deep in the Arioch Mountains. I’ve folded the sensor-deflective cloth into a knapsack, to carry various odds and ends that the speeder bike had in storage: a vibro-axe, hold-out blaster, hydrospanner, and a week’s worth of food rations. Using my saber, I cut the bike into pieces and scattered them about the area, and then continued on my way. I’ll walk as long as I need to- I believe that when it is time to stop I will know.

02.12.35-

Yes, time to stop. Yesterday a band of natives blocked my path, threatening with their stone spears. I had no doubt that their spears would hurt, but it was hard to take them seriously. I drew my lightsaber, expecting a fight, but they began to tremble and chatter amongst themselves. After several minutes, they bowed as one and dropped their weapons. I heard the word "Briorei-Haasa" several times; it appears to be their name for me. I returned with them to their village, a collection of huts made of bone, stretched hide, and stone. I waited in one of these huts while they conferred with another group of natives, perhaps some sort of tribal council, and they returned with food and a long, bone knife. The food was welcome. The rations from the speeder bike ran out over a week ago, and I’ve had to scavenge for food since. Roots and berries from the forest aren’t filling, and all of the animals are too fast for me. I wasted half of my blaster’s power trying to shoot them, but I’ve never been a good marksman. The tribals were not making a gift of the knife, however. They began walking around with it, muttering, in what appeared to be a ritual. Finally, a warrior knelt before me, holding the knife in both hands. Moving like lightning, another grabbed me above the elbows and jerked my arms back. Times like those I wish I had the Force again. They didn’t kill me of course. Rather, they began to make small, precise incisions on my face and chest. One vertical cut between my eyebrows, two more starting beneath my eyes and ending somewhere below my lips, and a fourth running from the corner of my right eye and ending at my ear. Over my heart they carved in a symbol which looks something like this: Æ . They then withdrew, leaving me stunned and bleeding. Not angry, though. I can control my emotions, and was simply perplexed by the behavior of these people. None of the warriors or women I have seen carry markings like mine, though their scars all look alike. I slept the night in one of their huts, and was woken at the crack of dawn. A group of eight warriors led me along a path for several hours, until we finally reached a mountain (undistinguishable from the others.) The path led into a small cave mouth, which we entered one by one. The warriors seemed a bit reluctant, but entered eventually. The floor of the tunnel was well worn, and even. The warriors formed a square around me as the tunnel widened. Every ten meters or so, a native would stop, fumble with some sort of sparker, and light a torch set into the wall. After perhaps twenty torches, the tunnel curved around and opened into an enormous cavern. I was awestruck. The natives had obviously spent centuries chiseling stone to turn this underground hall into a work of art. Stalactites had been formed into even pillars, and rows upon rows of benches rose out of the stone. Crude statues, features illuminated by already-lit torches, cast forbidding shadows across the gallery. Most impressive of all was a massive face carved from the rock at the very end of the gallery, which loomed above all. This statue both attracted and unnerved me- this is what a god should look like. Staring, deep set eyes crowned by arching brows stood over a hawk nose and down-turned lips. His face bore the same markings as mine now did. A warrior nudged me, breaking my contemplation of the enormous visage. He pointed to the nearest wall, and gave me a little push. As I neared the wall, I saw faded colors stretching the length of the cavern. They were pictures. Scenes from history, or prophecy? The same warrior who had pointed me to the wall indicated a panel several paces to my left. It was the second to last picture in the line, and I recognized it immediately: a lightsaber gripped in a gauntleted hand. I looked at the native, and he stared back with dark eyes. "Briorei-Haasa," he whispered. Raising his arms to encompass the cavern, he said in a louder voice, "Briorei-Caitanya." This pronouncement echoed across the vast cavern as my escort turned and left the cavern. I did not try to follow- this was obviously meant to be my place. After they left, I turned back to the paintings on the wall. The very last drawing sent shivers down my spine: One figure upon a throne, one dead at its feet. Both with sabers. I wonder what is to come.

02.30.35-

I am a god. To the villagers, at least. They come at least once a week to my cave, where they begin chanting fervently. I usually stay in the shadows during these little sessions, but occasionally one of the "priests," or whatever their position is, will draw me out. Whenever they come I am also brought a good supply of food, but with their barbaric uncleanness it’s a wonder that I haven’t died of food poisoning yet. I’m gradually beginning to learn their language. I speak it poorly, but I can generally get my meaning across. I seldom use more than "food" and "water." However, I can somewhat understand their religion, by looking at their paintings and statues, and listening carefully to their chants. First came Briorei-Arioch (First Briorei), apparently a Sith Master, thousands of years ago. From the paintings I believe that he may have brought the entire world population of near-humans here, but that they have forgotten over time. Briorei-Arioch was most likely the one that had this cavern carved, and then the natives added after he passed on. I’m sure there are many more caverns like this across Ferria. During Briorei-Arioch’s reign, a "scourge/plague/destruction" came- "lightning/power struck/lanced down from heavens/sky/above" is the rough translation. Most likely it is one of the many purges of Dark Jedi in the Republic’s long history. The natives, who call themselves the Briorii, were cut off for millennia. Famine killed millions. "Curse/hatred of Briorei," probably means that the tremendous energies in the battle messed up the ecosystem. But Briorei had told the natives that "more" would come, so they waited patiently. Briorei-Derelas (Second Briorei) came next… just before I did. Derelas occupied the same space as I now do, and left several weeks before I did. The natives refer to Briorei-Derelas as "woman/warrior/darkness"- Ilira? She’s the only one I know for certain escaped the compound, and the strange Force-caused phenomena stopped with her "drowning." One thing is certain: she is a threat… the natives would notice if there was more than one Briorei. After all, the natives believe me to be Briorei-Haasa, Third Briorei, though I do not share the powers of the first two.

03.01.35-

I have pondered for several nights now whether or not I am a suitable heir to Briorei-Arioch, since I am Force-blind. A part of me has said ever since my capture that I am now beneath even those who aren’t Force-sensitive to begin with. That part has been silenced. I now know myself to be even higher than a Jedi Master: as the Jedi are to average people, I am to the Jedi. The Force cannot touch me, and I need not rely upon it as a crutch. Many are the Jedi whose bodies grew weak as their minds grew stronger… and when their minds cannot deal with me, and their bodies are too weak, who shall be the victor? I, Cail Adrol, Briorei-Haasa, will, and I have all the power I need. Ilira (I am certain that she is Briorei-Derelas) is returning. The Briorii whisper of it. We shall deal with her.

03.10.35-

Ilira has come and gone. The fool… she thought that she could defeat someone so far above her. She returned with a band of former prisoners this morning. She apparently killed most of the Jedi at the camp, and then freed them. How audacious. Not as daring as approaching me, however. She asked me to join her first, but I’m sure that reading the first few sentences of this entry one can tell that I declined. When I said no, she appeared to be concentrating, and then broke off. Obviously she was trying to kill me from a distance… she must been afraid of my saber’s bite. She was bitten of course, but it was a long fight. Ilira was quite skilled with her saber, but she didn’t have the practice I did. Her swings were too forceful, her parries too slow. I drove her back to the face of Briorei-Arioch, and then slew her. She has been fed to my native followers and former cellmates, who watched the battle from the mouth of the cavern, too fearful to enter. None have challenged me since.

I am Briorei-Haasa, and I hold dominion. The Jedi shall never tempt my soul.

Epilogue-

Ardrol eventually did discover how to regain the Force, but by that point he was too enveloped in his power- or lack of- to use it. He lived for perhaps forty years more, and managed to rule a good part of Ferria through his disciples- former prisoners also. Memory of Briorei-Haasa lives on in the Briorii, but this journal, found centuries ago and forgotten about, is the only proof of his existence.

-VdT