Based rather Loosely on The Old Republic, the Xanze Lagacy includes my original characters from the game, namely:

Nexare Xanze, a Sorcerer

Dri'iaxl, a Marauder

Arrol Durrant, a Scoundrel

Caesie Teran, a Sage

Jade Alyss, an Assassin

With their allies, they chase a datachip, one with all of the information on secret hyperspace routes used by Smugglers and Pirates. With this chip, the balance of power would shift to the owner's side, and a team of Republic allies and a second team of Sith allies both are pursuing it. As several events tear both groups apart, and send the datachip even further underground, Sith Lords pull on the puppet's strings, and Jedi Masters slip through the darkness to clip their strings. No Idea how long it will be, but I am hoping to have at least 60, preferably more, chapters. Not every story has a happy ending...

Part 1: Beginnings

1 - Ending and Beginning

The fiery sun of Korriban beat down relentlessly into the Valley of the Dark Lords, where a small group of slaves were hacking away at the wall, in order to form a new tomb.

At the front of the group was a young man, tall, bronzed, with longish blond hair, and a scar acoss his right eye.

Dri'iaxl Xanze, a slave of the Sith, grunted as he swung the pick into the unyeilding rock.

A had happened nearly every previous time, only a small gouge was left, sending sparks and rock slivers flying.

He leaned ack, wiping his sweat covered forehead with a dusty, grimy sleeve, unaware, or maybe just uncaring, of the brown streak it left behind.

Korriban offered little comfort for those outside during the day, and the overseers were no better, sometimes even worse.

"Back to work, slave. Go on, the tomb won't make itself!"

Take Sikel, for example. No life, no power, a comlete coward, but he got to boss around slaves that couldn't fight back, so he was fine.

Dri'iaxl glanced up at him angrily through the dirty blond hair in his face, but hefted the pick anyways.

"Why don't you try it, you nerf herder," he muttered, swinging again.

A third and forth blow followed, but Dri'iaxl was nearly unaware of it.

He was focused solely on the thought of Overseer Sikel suffering, and as such paid little attention to the ineffective blows.

He swung again, and a sharp pain lanced through his side.

He turned angrily, ready to lay into the careless idjit who'd hit him.

Sikel stood there with the whip, snarling, "Put your back into it!"

Dri'iaxl lookied up angrily, his fist clenching by his side. "What? You gonna hit me again?"

A second later, he regretted the words, as Sikel lashed out even more powerfully than before.

Dri'iaxl's hand shot up, the whip wrapping itself around his arm.

He smiled grimly, and yanked Sikel forwards, he fist crashing into the bully's nose.

Blood spurted, and Sikel fell back a few steps in shock.

Dri'iaxl looked into his eyes, and could almost hear him thinking.

This... this SLAVE dares the stand against me?!

He then switched the whip around, smacking the hilt into his palm as he lunged, instinct warning him that Sikel's right hand would go for a blaster.

The overseer's hand dropped into his pocket, then he cried out as the whip coiled itself around his wrist and yanked.

He hand cught in the pocket around the blaster, he was yanked off balance, causing him to fall prone.

Dri'iaxl knelt, wrenching Sikel's hand out of his pocket, and drawing the pistol himself.

Sikel was struggling underneath him, but Dri'iaxl didn't hesitate, placing the blaster to his tormentor's temple, and firing.

The overseer's body twitched, then went still, dead instantly.

The other slaves let out a ragged cheer, raising their picks defiantly.

"Come on! Caskill's group is just around the corner!" An old man led the charge, falling a second later as Dri'iaxl lashed out, knocking his feet out from under him.

"Back to work!" The newly liberated slaves looked up in shock, then Dri'iaxl struck again, driving them back to the wall.

"Work!" The slaves scurried back, picking up their picks and other tools they'd abandoned seconds before, going at the rock with less than half of their former energy.

Looking down at Sikel's body, He realized that his rule would be short if he didn't remove evidence of his crime.

Ignoring the looks from his former brethren, Dri'iaxl stripped down, pulling on the nice armor of the Imperial soldier.

He straightened the heavy vest, and shook out the pant legs, wincing at the tightness.

Sikel had had little to no muscle, and Dri'iaxl's broader shoulders, and more muscled body were more than the clothes could comfortably fit.

Moving uncomfortably, Dri'iaxl hauled the dead man, now clad in his own far too big clothes, off the the side.

Not even sparing a second glance, Dri'iaxl moved back, forcing himself to not tremble or pause.

The fact that he'd just killed a man was starting to come the him, and he was filled with both fear that he'd be caught, and horror at what he'd done.

"Overseer?"

A massive fat Sith was approaching, and Dri'iaxl knelt reverently, doing his best to keep his terror at bay.

"My Lord?"

"Soren. Why did we hear a blaster shot? I assume that the slaves aren't that rambunctious?"

"My Lord, one of the slaves attacked..."

"That's not the overseer! He's an imposter! he killed the real one! He's just a-"

Dri'iaxl's whip caught the old man in the throat, cutting him off with a pained gurgle.

"Slave, is this true?" Soren asked, looking at Dri'iaxl.

"Yes, My Lord." Dri'iaxl bowed his head, straightening to look the man in the eye.

Raising an eyebrow, the Sith peered down at Dri'iaxl.

Dri quivered under the intensity, but something in him warned him that looking away, under any circumstances, would be instantly fatal.

"I see... Come with me."

The Sith spun, his bulk causing his cape to flick across Dri'axl's nose.

Dri'iaxl straightened, and brushed some of the dust off of his borrowed clothes before rushing to catch up.

"My Lord, what... What will be done with me?"

Soren smiled grimly, his face still looking rather cheerful and jovial, as he had since they'd met.

Somehow, that made it all the more disturbing.

Dri'iaxl had not doubt that this Sith would be equally happy murdering someone in cold blood and receiving a (harmless) surprise gift on his birthday.

Did Sith even...

"I depends. I have a few tests for you. Should you pass, you live. Fail, for any reason, and die, in the most excruciating way possible."

Dri'iaxl paled, resolving that he would not, could not, must not fail.

"T-thank you for this opportunity, My Lord."

Soren glanced down at him critically, then shrugged. "I stand to lose nothing from this. Why shouldn't I?"

Dri'iaxl nodded silently, and then was brought up short as the fat Sith stopped in front of him.

"Your first test." With these simple words, Soren grabbed him by the neck and shoved him in a room.

Dri'iaxl's eyes widened, staring at the three very hungry, very angry Tuk'ata.

The beasts roared, and he looked down at the whip in his hand.

Lunging forwards, he intercepted the lead beast, drawing the whi savagely across it's eyes.

The monster howled in pain, and the other two drew back a few steps.

Drawing the pistol, Dri'iaxl leaped on top of the blind one, and fired twice into the face of the one to his left.

The blind one began to thrash, and Dri'iaxl jumped off, fear and adrenaline appearing to slow down the events around him.

He twisted in the air, flicking the tightly woven whip right into the tender mouth of the blind tuk'ata.

The beast howled louder, and Dri'iaxl landed lightly less than a foot behind the other.

He fired a short volley into the base of the beast's neck, then raised the blaster to place a single hole between the remaining tuk'ata's ruined eyes.

He watched both beasts drop, and turned towards the door, anting slightly with the exertion.

Soren was framed in the doorway, and he clapped slowly, his cheerful smile even wider than usual.

"Well done, slave. You appear to have the traits I require."

Dri'iaxl looked up questioningly, and the Sith, seeming to sense his thoughts, said, "Force sensitivity, my boy. The call for Sith has gone out across the Empire."

Dri'iaxl stared at the massive man, almost uncomprehending.

"Thank you, my lord!"

Soren nodded shortly, then, gesturing back at the room, saying, "You should know, boy, that those Tukata were old. Ancient, injured by hundred of failures. You have been the first survivor. Name?"

Dri'iaxl looked up, then, adjusting to the sudden change in topic, said, "Dri'iaxl. Dri'iaxl Xa..."

"Unimportant. Remember this, Dri'iaxl. One day, I may call on you, and you must respond."

Dri'iaxl nodded in understanding.

Soren paused, looking straight at him.

"In three days, the trials will commence. Until then I will guide you. Train you. No one must know that you were once a slave. And if one word of my involvement reaches anybody..."

Dri'iaxl hadn't been around Sith long, but he was in no way stupid. The implied threat was enough.

He gave a quick bow, and said, "Of course, My Lord."

With a snap of Soren's fingers, Dri'iaxl noticed a couple Sith headed back to where he'd come from.

"The tattoos and dye should finish the job." Soren finished, running his hand critically through Dri'iaxl's uncombed blond hair.

"My Lord?"

"No slaves are accepted. Not even former ones, at the moment. You are from Alderaan, from House Thul. Varyx Thul."

Dri'iaxl nodded in understanding, asking, "The real boy?"

"Dead. He was a weak, pathetic fool. Anyone could have seen that, yet, somehow, Harkun didn't."

"Harkun, My Lord?"

Soren glanced down at the young man. "Inquisitive, aren't you? He was demoted. He's a nobody now, a Sith errand boy."

Dri'iaxl smirked slightly. "His loss."

Soren returned the smirk. "Indeed. Follow me. And remember, when in combat, Dri'iaxl, Emotion has no place. Calm, focused, ice cold. That is how you will win. Hate can be powerful, but it is rarely controlled, leaving your opponent open."

Three Days later...

Dri'iaxl stood in the center of the training arena. He held a practice saber, and looked around nervously. The entire room had been darkened, with the exception of the spot he was standing it.

Soren was waiting, just out of sight.

A sound to his left caused him to spin, and lash out wildly.

A sharp pain on his saber arm caused him to drop the blade, and he jumped back, recalling the blade to his other hand.

Calm. He told himself, and he reached out with the Force, finding Soren, and leaped forwards, using the Force to send him crashing down, knocking his mentor back a step.

He blocked Soren's counterstrike, and flipped back.

"You learn fast." Soren said, and it was more of a statement than praise. "However, many you are going up against have fought longer and against multiple opponents. Always watch, but Never copy. Take what they have, and improve. I have taught you enough. Go, it would not do for you to be late."

With a quick bow, Dri'iaxl said, "As you say, My Lord."

Contrary to his former smiling, friendly face and blond hair, his new appearance was a sharp contrast.

Dye had made his hair white, and with the crimson stitches tattooed across his lips, and swiped under his eyes, he had lost the friendliness.

His tan was hidden as well, and his pale blue eyes were even paler.

I've done well with him, Soren thought. There was little to tie this boy to the disobedient slave who disappeared.

He watched his newest lackey leave the room and smiled. Perfect.

Dri'iaxl walked into the room where the hopefuls were meeting.

He was still well muscled from the slave work, but even then, he didn't have the bulk of some of the others.

He, however, had been trained by a Lord, unlike them, and he had worked for many years, giving him the strength that came from mining dawn to dusk, every day.

He sneered at on of the hopefuls, and the small boy moved from where he was sitting, yielding the seat to the newcomer..

It was good to be feared, Dri'iaxl smiled slightly inside as he stretched out.

On the outside, he remained fairly emotionless, save for mild contempt for the weakness of the hopeful.