Chapter 1: The Wayward Jedi
Part 1
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Note from Author: Each character in here is indeed a KR member. Since some names aren't really names, I had to take the liberty of editing them to make them more alien/human/whatever. I may or may not get around to handing out the nicknames, but just in case you can't figure out who is who by what I describe (may be difficult in the beginning), I'll keep an updated list of characters and their corresponding members.
Antioch: trICky
Sinjin: Stealth
Sethura: RaVeN
Martin: Martin (Woo, didn't see that comin'!
)
Vandrasz: Nintendo
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“Would you mind slowing down for those of us who don’t have plates stuck to our face?” groaned Sinjin. Being one of the younger members of the conclave, he had a knack for complaining when it was least appropriate, but he was otherwise recognized as a talented saber wielder and foe in battle, as why he was assigned to the group. Sinjin’s frame was that of the typical Jedi. Not particularly muscular, but lean and athletic, honed by mental and physical battering.
Marching at the head of the single-file line of Jedi was Antioch. “You are a Knight, are you not? I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling a little sand storm.” Antioch’s appearance was most menacing. The expected attire of the conclave on Tatooine was to be of a faded, gold or brown robe, sheathing the body from the abusive sun and melding the figure with the sand. Antioch, on the other hand, chose to wear a black, somewhat inflated, shirt with a dark kilt of sorts to match. Under the shirt he lined himself with a linked-metal, similar to chain mail in looks, but much lighter and more flexible. His fists and chest were clad in a thick plate, almost giving him a final touch of medieval attire. Yet all this tends to be ignored when he is encountered face to face – in a manner of speaking. Antioch has the unfortunate burden of having an old Sith relic forcefully held to him; a mask to be precise. Pale white, with a dab of dismay, the plastic-looking face is the smoothing feature of his death-beckoning demeanor.
Behind Antioch, and a head of Sinjin, trudged Sethura. She was a twi’lek unlike most. Her skin was jet-black, and matched with her normal gold-leather armor; she had a regal, yet deadly presentation. However, the faded gold robe she now donned did little to express the details of her figure. “Don’t feel bad, Sinny, I’m sure he’s smirking under that mask of his.” She knew that Antioch was smiling to himself at the remark, but made no effort to further prod into his emotions. “Remind me again why we’re walking around the Jundland Wastes in the middle of a storm?”
“There are two mistakes in your question, my friend,” Antioch replied, neither breaking his stride nor looking back at his partner.
“What do you mean?” she further pried.
“We aren’t in Jundland anymore, and this isn’t a sand storm.”
“What’re you talking about?”
After a near hour of battling the winds which kicked up sand in a relentless effort to dismay the travelers, Antioch stopped their advancement. “Oh, great Gods of Tatooine, you have truly blessed me this day!” Sinjin proclaimed, throwing his arms up and collapsing to his knees in the soft cushion of sand below him. Paying no attention to the third party member, Antioch motioned for Sethura to come speak with him.
“What is it?” Sethura asked. She didn’t feel uncomfortable around Antioch, as most of the conclave did, yet she always keeps her guard up in the back of her mind. Though he has done nothing to prove that he is unworthy of her friendship, she has been told stories of his wavering loyalty to the Order – a wayward Jedi who wandered from planet to planet.
Antioch brushed his hands back, lowering a hood that shielded his thick mane of brown and blonde dreadlocks, turning his head upward into the harsh breeze that threatened to tear the skin off his scalp. “Do you not feel it? This is no ordinary wind.”
She was weary, at best, but decided to unveil herself as well and risk exposing herself to the sand-riddled air. To her surprise, the lashes did not follow; the strength of the wind was not nearly as strong as it appeared. Furthermore, it had a distinct taste; taste being used loosely. Once one has been exposed to force for so long, the energy given off by another force-user is almost palpable, and can easily be recognized, sometimes over great distances. “
What is it?”
Antioch took his time placing his hood back over his head, letting his thoughts gather as Sethura followed suit, before he near-whispered, “Martin and Vandrasz.”
***
“People are coming,”
“Indeed,”
“Shall we stop?”
“Do
you want to stop?”
***
“Pick it up, Sin, we’re moving again,” Antioch ordered, throwing his arm forward in a battle-charge fashion.
Sin stumble forward, somewhat over-dramatically to emphasize his dislike for the situation the group was in. “You know, if we come out to investigate every strange feeling we get, I’m not goin’ to survive much longer.”
“No worries, Sin. It’ll build up your leg muscles; make you more attractive for the ladies!” Sethura chimed in, her effervescent attitude peculiar to the environment.
“Yeah, climbing through sand dunes to beef up is exactly what I want to be doing on my time off,” Sin stated.
“Alright, the two of you, unless it’s on-topic, keep it down,”
“Hey, Chief Clown-Face, you said that we weren’t in Jundland anymore. We’ve been walking for a while, but I don’t think we’ve gone far enough to be out of its boundaries,” Sinjin inquired. While it was true that the crew had not walked a long enough distance to reach the end of the Wastes, not everything is what it seems to be.
“It’s below us, we’ve been walking in the air,” Sethura cut in, knowing that Antioch would give another one of his cryptic responses.
“Very good,” Antioch’s tone of voice was always somewhat gray; never showing much pitch, volume, or variation, it showed very little flavor. Yet, when he felt as though he were instructing someone, his attitude seemed to almost bubble-up, eager to compliment, reprimand, or other tasks involved in teaching.
Yer characters seem more or less spot on too 
