Jason Hunter

Guardian Warden Jason Hunter is a long-standing member of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood. He has served the majority of his career in House Tarentum, but has recently made the transition to the light side of the Force, and now counts himself among the Jedi of House Odan Urr.

Jason hails from the Core world of Corellia, which he left when he was in his mid-teens. He joined the Imperial Remnant not too long after, and was shortly found to have an affinity for the Force. He took to his training in the Brotherhood with the same fervor that he did when being taught how to pilot a TIE Defender, and rapidly ascended the ranks in both groups, gaining power and prestige on either side.

Nothing will halt this determined individual once his mind is set on a goal. Read on for a full, detailed recounting of the history of Jason Hunter...

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Jason Hunter
Biographical Information
Homeworld:	Corellia
Date of Birth:	13 BBY
Date of Death:	Still Kickin'
Physical Description
Species:	Human
Gender:	Male
Height:	1.89 Meters
Weight:	113 Kilograms
Hair:	Black Naturally, Dyed Krath Purple
Eyes:	Blue
Cybernetics:	Right Arm, Just Above the Elbow
Personal Information
Allies:	Odan Urr
Lightsaber Color(s):	Single, Blue Blade
Chronology & Political Information
Position:	None
Affiliation:	House Odan Urr
Known apprentices:	Saronyx
Dossier:	974
[ Source ]

Youth, The Teen Years, and Life on Corellia

Corellia, Jason's Homeworld

Jason Hunter was born to loving parents in the suburbs of Coronet, the capital city of Corellia. Everything was in place for him to live a carefree life. All he would have to do was grow up, go through school, marry a girl he loved, have his own kids, and die of old age. The kind of life that any parent desired for their child.

That was not to be his life.

Jason's mother died birthing him. He was never told exactly what had happened, but she just never stopped bleeding. The loss devastated his father. In the days following, he had turned to alcohol to numb the pain. Never quite enough to become truly belligerent, but enough to be inattentive to a newborn.

After being home with his drunken father for a few weeks, Jason had a horrendous diaper rash, was under nourished and screaming all the time. A few concerned neighbors came by the house to see what was wrong, and upon seeing the condition of not just the house but the haggard shape that Jason's father was in, they felt it best that the state be involved. So, like meddling but well-meaning neighbors are want to do, they called Child Protective Services. CorSec and CPS came down in a hurry and whisked the infant away into foster care that same day. Jason's father got to spend a few weeks in jail, only because he had gotten lucky enough to be brought before a sympathetic judge.

As for Jason, he was put into foster care and eventually, due to the number of cases that were handled by that particular office and that it took his father a handful of years to get his act together, Jason was effectively lost in the many cracks of the system.

The family that he was placed into was nice enough. The husband and wife were the loving couple, but were always working to support the three children of their own and the modest home they lived in. They were the typical middle class working family, who only wanted another child after the mother medically lost her ability to reproduce, and Jason was that opportunity.

They took him in openly, and loved him as their own immediately. However, the entire family wasn't thrilled about the new arrival.

A Young Jason Hunter

The youngest of them was a daughter of five years, then a son of eight and another son on the verge of the teen years at twelve. The two sons were instantly jealous of the new arrival, and whenever their parents weren't around, made it their life's goal to make the infant suffer in some small way. Whether it was leaving him sit in a soiled diaper, or taking his bottle and teasing him with it...cruel things cruel kids do. The young girl was the only nice one out of the whole trio: she was instantly enamored with Jason once he was brought into the home. She even got a crash course in childcare, as she took pity on him when her older brother was left to babysit and he wouldn't take care of him.

This kind of treatment went on unnoticed for a couple of years, as the siblings had a, "you tell mom and I'll kill you" agreement, until Jason started getting of the age that he was a little more independent. Then he was just a bigger target. That was when his toys, few though they were, started turning up broken and the boys claimed that Jason had done it out of a fit of rage. And there was the getting shoved around, random "dead legs" or "dead arms," stolen food, pulled hair, bruises and scrapes and all the fun things that came with being bullied.

All this cruel treatment from his "brothers" led Jason to being a quiet, reclusive little boy. Once he started into school, he didn't form any friendships. All the other kids there either ignored him or teased him for being weird because he was so quiet.

At the age of six, he was already contemplating murder. The rage that would serve him well as a Dark Jedi was being nurtured in that environment. Bottled-up, but nurtured. Every day that he woke, he found a new reason to hate his foster family, or his school mates.

By the time he was in the second grade, his eldest brother was looking at graduating from high school. So that reduced the count of abusers by one, as he was more concerned with senior parties and girls, or getting drunk and stupid. But, with age, brought a new vocabulary, and the oldest son was always ready to test out new words and teenage phrases on the youth. They stung, as they were meant to. But Jason just took all those hurtful things and tucked them away in a place he had made in his heart. A place he had made for all the things that everyone said and did to him that made him angry and sad and feel insignificant.

That pocket of rage and hatred turned his heart hard and cold. To the point that when, on the night his oldest brother died, he smiled the biggest smile of his life.

It was on the night of Jason's eldest brother's graduation ceremony. The entire family was gathered and joyous. The newly minted graduate was being showered with gifts and well wishes for the future. He was even to be accepted into a college elsewhere in the Empire.

Good for him.

The biggest gift, the one that made him the happiest of all, was a speeder. It wasn't anything really new or really "cool," but it was a considerable improvement over the twenty-year old beater he drove in school. And that was what sent Jason over the edge. Seeing him so happy.

It wasn't that he was receiving presents and attention. He never cared about that. It was how completely pleased with himself he was. The Hutt slime didn't appreciate anything that was being given to him. He even treated the girlfriend that was hanging off his arm like a piece of trash. Even at seven years old, that angered Jason. He knew that a lesson needed to be taught to his "brother."

For the past year, he had been noticing a strange stirring within himself. Nothing to make anyone else aware of. Not that he told people much anyways. But he was starting to get an extrasensory perception of people and things around him, and could tell when things were going to happen before they did. It wasn't always there, but it was special when it was. Nurturing his little powers were becoming his only solace from his everyday life. Once he even convinced a neighbors cat to walk into the path of an oncoming speeder just by thinking it. He hadn't tried doing it again, since the cat's death caused quite the commotion in the little neighborhood.

But now, he decided, was the time to do something proactive with his little abilities.

Jason watched with his foster parents as his foster brother climbed into his new speeder with his girlfriend. Everyone was gathered at a local restaurant. It wasn't very popular, but they all seemed to enjoy the place. As everyone said their farewells, Jason noticed a large repulsor truck coming down the road. As the tormentor brother pulled out of the parking lot, Jason planted a thought in the truck driver's mind to become tired and veer into the smaller vehicle.

The accident killed both occupants. The girlfriend was collateral damage. The truck driver was fined and placed in prison for a few years. More collateral damage.

Jason got what he wanted from the deal.

Once his foster parents saw the large smile and joyful look on his face, they put him back into the state foster system the next day. They cited the trauma of losing their oldest son as their reasoning, but Jason knew the truth: they saw the look on his face, and they knew that he had done it. They didn't know how, or maybe they did...either way, it had frightened them, and they wanted him out of their house.

It made no difference to him. The group homes treated him the same as that "loving" family, only there were more of them. And it was a different school he was going to, so that was a change in scenery, too. It was about five years of that, before his father found him.

Teen Years

Reunion

Jason was almost a teenager when a case worker informed him that his father was looking for him. At first, he didn't care, wanting nothing to do with the man who would leave him in the care of the foster system. Then, curiosity prevailed, and a desire to be out of the system. He told the worker to arrange a meeting, and nothing further. He needed to figure out what his father wanted.

Within the week, he was seated across from his father in the lunch room of the group home. The older man had brought some trinket that he thought Jason might like, but he only gave it a glance and set it aside. His father told him that he wanted to bring him home, take him away from the foster homes that he had known his entire life. Provide him with stability and security. Family and happiness.

It all sounded good on the surface, but it rang hollow on the inside to the young Jason Hunter. None of those things he had known, so he didn't know what to expect from them. And, frankly, they frightened them. The only reason he agreed to live with the man was be freed of the state system, which had stifled him his whole short existence. Maybe getting out into the "real world" would be better.

The process to reclaim Jason took time. His father had to prove he had a stable and safe home, a good well-paying job and that he wasn't drinking anymore. Pretty much, be done with all the things that put Jason into foster care in the first place. He even had to submit to a psychological evaluation. The government turned his life upside-down and inside-out. But, that was their lawfully given right were children where involved.

After a month or so, Jason was finally in his new and presumably permanent home. It was comfortable enough, but the awkwardness of living with his father wasn't. His old foster family had never really spoke of how they came to be in possession of him, and he had never really asked. When he went back into the system, they seemed to make it their business to make sure he knew what had happened. Then each kid made it their business to rub it in.

As if they didn't have some story of messed up parents that led them to be there, too. Jason just ended up rubbing their faces in the pavement, and that just resulted in making him even more of an outsider. All the same to him.

His father had sold the house he had owned when Jason had been born years prior. The memories held there had been too much for him to handle at the time. Now the two of them lived in a modest home closer to the city and closer to his job at a warehouse. Jason was due to start middle school soon, so the two of them took the remainder of what was the summer break to spend some father-son time together.

At first, it was very awkward as they both got used to each other and their tendencies. Jason remained quiet as usual, with his father trying to break him out of his shell by taking him camping and on day-long speeder trips to other towns and cities. Things that families did in the weekends, at least in the holos. Nothing that Jason had experienced in his life.

School Days

Starting middle school was not much of a change of pace for Jason. New school, new people, new schedule. At least most of the people didn't know him, so the teasing and harassment was kept to a minimum.

It didn't take him long to fall into the wrong group of kids, however. He naturally attracted the hoodlums and scofflaws of the school. In short order, his already poor grades faded into near non existence. Skipping class became second nature in a few short weeks, and by the middle part of the year he was on the principal's truancy watch list. His father tried as best he could to keep him in line, but Jason was quickly becoming uncontrollable. The rebellious teenager was rearing its' head with ferocity as he would take off in the middle of the night to hang with his little gang and cause random acts of minor property damage. They wouldn't do anything major, nothing that would rank high on CorSec's list; just tagging buildings with spray paint, knocking mirrors off parked speeders. Things that made them feel better about themselves.

Every so often they would get into a fist fight with another rival "gang," if you could call a group of young teens such a thing. Some of them would occasionally end up needing medical care, but it they'd show up to school the next day with a black eye or a missing tooth.

Now a Teen, With Blood on His Hands

However, Jason never felt satisfied with the vandalism. What got him going was knocking an adversary to the ground, and feeling their blood on his hands. There was many a night that he would come home in the early morning to find his father still awake and waiting on him. The verbal sparing matches got Jason's blood pressure up, but not in the same way that a physical altercation did. The fights always started the same: what are you doing out so late, I was worried about you, where were you, were you drinking, doing drugs, I thought you were dead...then he would see the blood and the satisfied look on Jason's face. Then the tone would change. No more parental anger. Just concern for his son's mental state.

He tried to get Jason counseling, but the boy wouldn't say anything. He had learned enough in the group home to think his way around the counselor's questions and direct them another way. It was a handy skill he had picked up.

And so things went. His father slowly decided that maybe the best way to help Jason, was to not help him. Let him find his own way. Provide him a little bit of a moral compass at home, but don't try to throttle him in any one direction. He was proving too strong-willed for such treatment. Once he loosened the leash, their relationship improved some. Jason was even beginning to develop some form of begrudging respect for the man who ground out an existence as a working stiff and want-to-be family man.

At least this one was trying.

Things continued that way for a couple more years. The house had settled into a routine, and neither male gave the other much guff unless it was needed. Jason had collected himself a gathering of confidants, a collective of riffraff. None that he could truly call friends, but something close to it. Between that and the evening-out of things at home, he was beginning to calm down and not be so wild. See the worth in things. His rage was abating, but always there. He wouldn't fly off the handle at little things as readily nor get into the meaningless, petty brawls that marked his early teenage years. As he grew closer to being a legal adult, he was finally starting to grow up and take responsibility for himself and see the error of his past actions.

Everything was falling into place, until one fateful night. The night that his father, the last remaining member of his known family, was taken from him.

A New Low

It started as every other evening did. Jason was home from school, and his father was heading out the door for work. He was the foreman at the warehouse now, and it was time for inventory. He was working the late shift that night to make sure everything was done, and done right before all the big-wigs came in the next morning. Jason was sitting in front of the holoprojector, watching some trashy holodrama about the Jedi-propaganda mostly, put out by the Empire-and not really paying any attention.

By the time the drama had ended, Jason was asleep in the chair, an almost empty bottle of Corellian ale in his hand and teetering dangerously on the verge of dispensing the remainder of its' contents on the floor. Something roused him from his slumber as the channel suddenly switched to a news feed of a downtown warehouse, a corner at the far end from the camera engulfed in flames.

Jason had to rub sleep from his eyes before he realized that it was the same building in which his father was employed. Sitting up straight and feeling a strange sense of concern that he hadn't experienced before, he was riveted to the projection as new video came in of stormtroopers firing their blasters at what appeared to be fleeing Rebels, who piled into a waiting speeder and made a daring if not predictable get-away. The text at the bottom of the screen was saying things like, "Shootout at Local Warehouse," and "Multiple Dead in Cowardly Rebel Attack."

Two things happened at once.

First, Jason inexplicably knew that his father was dead. He couldn't explain how he knew that, but he did. It was like the knowledge came to him on the wind and imbedded itself unshakably in the deepest recesses of his brain. Second, a wave of anger a despair washed out him the likes of which he had never known before. Anger at the Rebels who had ripped the only person who had shown an inkling of actually caring about him from his life, an act that he vowed he would make them pay for. And despair at the loss of his father. Despair so deep that no tears came forth. Just a quiet, anguished moan from an open mouth as what he would later learn was the Force slammed home the knowing his father's demise.

Jason fell to his knees and elbows, riding that wave of emotion that he never felt before. It went on until he was curled up into the fetal position, passed out on the floor. The next day, he awoke in a funk and didn't eat or leave the house. He remained that way for a week or so, just staying in the house and sulking. Every few days, one of the neighbors would stop by to check on him, but he just sent them away to be left alone.

It took him that long to come to terms with what had happened and what he had to do. He packed up what he needed into a duffel, and left his father's house for what he thought would be the last time.

He made his way towards Coronet's spaceport. There he planned to hop aboard an outbound ship of any sort, heading any direction, and start a new life elsewhere in the galaxy. Corellia held little for him any longer, not that it had in the first place.

At the port, he found a transport ship heading for the Outer Rim. He located the ship's captain, and convinced him to take him on as a new deck hand. A few hours later, the ship was lifting off the surface of the planet and heading into the void of space for parts unknown to Jason, and a new life.

Life Abroad, and The Empire

Jason spent the first months of his time on that freighter as little more than a peon. The crew saw him as just another drifter that their captain took pity on, and they always gave him the dirtiest jobs they could. He was tasks with cleaning bilges, heads, service passages, spills in the mess hall, personal items that got trashed after a hard night's partying. They were a hard lot, or so they thought. Jason knew that there were few aboard that, in a physical altercation, could stand against him but he never tested that. He didn't want to get dumped on some backwater world that he hadn't heard of before, and have to find passage to the next planet and risk getting stuck wherever they decided to dump him.

And thus, he just kept his head down and did as he was told. After time, they came to trust him and even like him. As always there was the one or two aboard that never came around and seemed hell bent on giving him the hardest time they could. He would simply ignore them to the best of him ability, satisfied in the knowledge that he was somehow better than they were. Why not? If they had to pick on him, they must be deficient in something.

After nearly a year of hauling shipments of various goods around the Empire, with the occasional "friendly" search by a contingent of Imperial stormtroopers at the odd spaceport, that Jason decided it was time he move on. After seeing Star Destroyers and TIE Fighters at their ports, and the efficiency with which they had been searched, he knew that he needed to join the Empire. That was how he was to get back at the Rebellion for taking his father from him.

It wasn't long after he came to that decision that word of the destruction of the second Death Star at Endor reached them via the HoloNet. The captain kept it constantly running in the background on the bridge to keep himself appraised of what was happening in the galaxy around them. Once Jason heard the news, he knew the Empire would soon be thrown into disarray as the Emperor was aboard the Death Star, and he couldn't see it holding together without its' head. If he was to get back at the Rebels, he was going to have to do it soon.

He spent another few months with that ship. He convinced the captain to let him go out to the cantinas when they would get to port. He was of age in many of the Outer Rim worlds, but he wasn't going out to drink. He was seeking information from the locals and the Imperials that were still either garrisoned there or just passing through.

Jason followed those cantina rumors and stories. He was told of a secret arm of the Imperial military that existed out in what was known as the Aurora System as the Emperor's Hammer Strike Fleet. Given what was occurring in the rest of the Empire—how anyone who had even half a claim to some kind of power was clamoring to solidify whatever they thought they might have—Grand Admiral Ronin was looking for recruits to add to his ranks to solidify his power base. However, he wasn't trying to take Coruscant or strike directly at the Rebellion, or New Republic as they were calling themselves by then. He seemed content to sit back in his little corner of the galaxy, controlling his small Empire and hitting back at the Rebels whenever they ventured too close.

Jason could deal with that. At least for the time being. The lack of aggressively striking against the Rebellion may rankle with him, but he could always seek out another group later on.

So he cashed out his small savings he had raked up while shipping around with that crew, and bought himself a discount Z-95 Headhunter. The junk dealer on Tatooine that he bought it from told him it had a story behind it, involving the previous owner losing various bits of important anatomy over a gambling debt with a local Hutt. He had come by owning it simply by chance, so he had no problem with letting the aging fighter go at nearly cost, which hadn't been much to begin with.

The young Corellian didn't even take the time to say any farewells to the people he had crewed with aboard the freighter. He simply grabbed the same duffel bag he had come aboard with, packed his scant belongings, and departed. He only had enough credits to buy the Headhunter and fuel it, so he hoped that it would take him to where he needed to go. Any further, and he would have to find some odd-job on some other even more back-water world to pay for more fuel.

After stowing his bag in the cramped belly storage space, he climbed into the cockpit and made ready to find the Imperial Remnant.

The Emperor's Hammer

Jason flew that Headhunter through the void of outer space for a handful of days before he found the Empire. He was almost out of fuel, and on the verge of starvation and dehydration. He couldn't really tell where he was, just that at one moment he was staring at the oddly hypnotic vortex of hyperspace, and the next he was being

shaken out of his reverie and staring down the full length of an Imperial Interdictor Cruiser. Apparently, he had stumbled on the border of Ronin's territory, and a picket patrol had pulled him from hyperspace using the Interdictor's gravity well generators.

Almost immediately, he was hailed by the large ship's commander. Jason quickly, yet groggily, replied, saying that he was seeking enlistment in the Empire. The commander's response took a moment, but he was directed to land in the large belly bay in the center of the ship. The general design of the Interdictor was based off that of the Imperial Star Destroyer, so he had no problem finding the belly docking bay. After all, he had seen them a handful of times from his time spent aboard the freighter.

Once aboard, he was directed to a slip near the middle of the spacious bay where a contingent of stormtroopers where awaiting him. He set the ship down on the glimmering black deck and shut it down. Once he popped the canopy, he was ordered to raise his hands and slowly descend. He, of course, obeyed, not wanting the multitude of blaster rifles pointed in his direction any cause to be loosed upon him.

The moment that Jason's feet hit the deck, a pair of troopers came forward to restrain him and lead him away from the Headhunter. At that moment, a man in an officer's uniform came forward to inquire as to why he had tried to violate the Emperor's Hammer border. Jason gave the man the same reason he had given the ship's commander: he was looking to enlist. The officer mulled this over for a few moments, looking between Jason and the Headhunter. He finally said that, if he was capable of piloting an antiquated ship through the wilds of space to find them, and at a relatively young age, they might have a use for him. He then instructed the troopers to take him to a holding room while they searched the ship, then they would see to his future and whether or not the Empire would play a positive roll in it or not.

And so Jason was whisked away, down long twisting hallways that looked just like the last one, and on a turbolift ride that seemed to never end. Until he was unceremoniously dumped in a chair in a brightly lit room before another Imperial officer. This one, however, had much more chest salad than the last.

This man introduced himself as the commander of the ship. He expressed that he was impressed with how Jason had managed to pilot the Headhunter that far with no food or water, and with very little to go on by way of direction. Such determination, skill and apparent resourcefulness had a place in the Empire, he was told. It was then that a serving droid came into the room with a tray of food and a pitcher of water. They were set in front of Jason, and his body immediately screamed at him to begin consuming as fast as he could shovel it down his throat.

However, he knew better than to allow himself to show weakness before an Imperial. The man was well aware of his hunger; he could see the bemused smirk crossing his lips. A big part of Jason wanted to reach across the table and rip that grin off that officer's face. But, thinking wiser of the impulse, he simply leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. It wasn't until his stomach made a loud gurgling noise—apparently voicing its' desire to be filled—did the commander give Jason clearance to eat. And he did so, but nowhere as urgently as his body wanted him to.

The commander sat and watched for a few minutes before excusing himself, saying that he was going get the paperwork started for his enlistment. Even after the door had shut behind him, Jason didn't tear into the sustenance before him. He knew they had cameras trained on him, and that they would be watching him, gauging him and his character. He simply picked up the fork, eyed it for a moment then the plate of what seemed to be little more than military rations. Plunging the tips of the fork into a piece of re-hydrated mystery meat, he brought it up under his nose, sniffed it and, deducing it to be only offensive to his olfactory glands, chanced a taste.

The first taste of food in almost a standard week was sweeter than any he had ever experienced. Not counting for the fact that he wasn't sure what it was exactly, of course. By the time he had concluded chewing and had swallowed and wasn't dead or feeling any ill effects, he figured the food wasn't poisoned or otherwise tampered with and moderately safe to eat. Thus, he leaned forward again and began to eat in earnest, but again not as quickly as his body begged him to, always mindful of the watching eyes that his sixth sense told him was there.

Jason was finished with his meal for nearly half an hour before the commander returned. This time, he had a datapad in hand and another lower ranking officer came with him. The commander resumed his place across from him while the other man stood beside the table near the wall at ease. Jason was informed that the TIE Corps had shown interest in him, given his apparent knack for piloting. The younger officer was then introduced as a lieutenant, and as the man that would be taking Jason to be trained to pilot TIE Fighters. All he had to do was sign on the dotted line, which was on the datapad the commander set on the table before him.

Not that he had much option. He had stumbled upon them, and it wasn't like they were just going to let them walk back out. It was either join them, or most likely die. Or sit in their brig and rot. Besides, he still wanted to get back at the Rebels for what they did to his father. So it was a very easy decision for Jason Hunter to enlist in the Emperor's Hammer TIE Corps.

The TIE Corps

Upon completing his training, Jason was placed in the ranks of Sadhe Squadron in Wing V aboard the massive Sovereign-class Super Star Destroyer Sovereign. He was first placed in Flight I, piloting the Missile Boat crafted by Cygnus Spaceworks. After a handful of months, he requested a transfer into Flight II once a spot opened up, so that he could fly the formidable TIE Defender put out by Sienar Fleet Systems. He never cared for the Missile Boat and its' overwhelming amount of warheads. It was a lot of firepower to control, yes; but once it was gone, all he had to defend himself with was one puny laser cannon. He felt much better with four cannons, a reasonable amount of concussion missiles or proton torpedoes, a pair of ion cannons and a whole lot of speed and agility.

Jason stayed in Flight II for quite some time, gaining accolade after accolade. He steadily climbed the ranks within Sadhe until time came for him to lead the Flight. His Squadron commander, a man named Sickman, saw him fit enough to lead and gave him the opportunity to prove himself.

And prove himself he did. He lead Flight II for almost two years, and they were the most decorated Flight in the entire Squadron, perhaps the whole Wing.

It didn't take long after Sickman's promotion to Wing Commander for Jason to be named the new Sadhe Commander. He assumed the mantle easily, as he and "Sickie" were close friends and he had learned much from the old Commander on how to run the Squadron. The transition was an easy one for the Squadron, and business went on as usual.

A Darker Direction

Before his ascension to Squadron Commander, Jason was approached by a new kind of recruiter. He had heard of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood during his time in the TIE Corps; of those who were trained to use the Dark Side of the Force in service to Grand Admiral Ronin. There were even a few of their members serving as pilots in Wing V, and in Sadhe as well. They belonged to the Sith Order, trained to use the Force to augment their piloting skills.

Jason had never expected to get a visit from one of the Iron Throne's emissaries, however. The little voice that advised him was there occasionally, but he didn't think it had anything to do with the Force. Apparently, he was wrong. The foreboding, dark-clad man who came to visit him in his office informed him that his "voice" was an untrained Force intuition. All the little impressions about things throughout his life, the sixth sense, was the Force. Then when Jason told him the story of how his foster brother had died, of how he had planted the idea in the mind of that trucker to become drowsy, the Krath became even more intrigued. It became apparent that if Jason didn't join the Brotherhood and begin his training, it would be a sad waste of talent, and it was seemingly his "destiny."

Being left with little choice, Jason took the leap and signed on. He left his XO in charge of Sadhe, and made the venture to the Shadow Academy to begin his indoctrination into the Dark Jedi Brotherhood the very next day.

Joining the Dark Brotherhood

Once he took that first step off the shuttle and onto the stone floor of the Shadow Academy, Jason Hunter knew that life within the halls of the Brotherhood would be a wholly different existence.

Gone was the recycled air of a Star Destroyer, the bulkheads and decks so clean they were almost antiseptic, the stringent adherence to military regulations. This was completely different. Here, if you failed...you could very well, flat out, die. Not just in an accident, no. Your instructor would whip out his lightsaber, and decapitate you for your idiocy.

Such a brutal, violent place.

And a smirk had crossed his lips at the possibilities for excelling.

He had hardly a moment to revel in the spectacle of the other initiates being rushed around by the trainers, before someone in a dark robe came up and smacked him in the back of the head. He snapped to attention by reflex, which he instantly regretted for the Dark Jedi took out his legs with a well-placed leg sweep and started shouting at him that he wasn't in the TIE Corps any more. Once he heard the snap-hiss of a lightsaber, Jason knew it was time to get up, and he did so quickly.

He was marched double-time to a chamber of lockers and refreshers, were he changed out of his EH uniform and into his simple Initiate robes. From there, he was lead to a room with the other recent arrivals, where they were given a welcoming presentation by the Headmaster and his Praetor. Afterwards, it was straight to training, which was filled with physical and mental tests.

A lot of it reminded Jason of the rigors of basic training in the Hammer, and he took to it fairly easily. Many of his compatriots struggled, and they paid the price with getting rode even harder. That wasn't to say that he didn't draw the eye of the trainers himself: he got his fair share of their attention.

It only took him a handful of weeks at the Shadow Academy to complete the first stages of his training in the Dark Side, and he could already notice his attunement to the Force growing stronger. Once he had proven himself to the powers that be, he was elevated to the Brotherhood's next highest rank, and placed in his first post...House Tridens of Clan Tarentum.

Being of the Tarenti

Jason was placed into House Tridens, for he joined the Order of the Sith due to his being a pilot. At the time, there was a dogmatic segregation between the Orders: the Sith flew, the Obelisk were the soldiers, and the Krath were the scholars. Given his close ties to the TIE Corps, it was an easy decision to join the Sith, as many of his friends and allies in Wing V were in that Order.

He slid into the life of a Tridens member fairly easily. It wasn't much of a transition, for the command structure of the House and Clan closely resembled what he was accustomed to on the Imperial side of things, and everyone was easy to get along with. There didn't seem to be the "get your ass in gear or you die," mentality for new recruits like in the Shadow Academy; Jason assumed that was just a boot camp motivational tool. If you didn't catch on, it just served to weed out the weak. Brutal, but it served a higher purpose.

Jason remained in Tridens for a couple of months, because used to his new home and gaining more skill in the Force before returning to his service aboard the Sovereign. In that time, his powers grew quickly and he jumped a couple of ranks. He made friends within the House, and even some in the neighboring Houses of Gladius and Cestus.

When it was finally time to return to Sadhe, he came back to his Squadron a stronger, more capable pilot with the power of the Force as his aide. Sadhe welcomed him back with open arms and kegs, and it was a joyous time for all. But, it wasn't long before the commander began to yearn for Tarentum.

Waning in the Empire

As the months went on, and Jason traveled between Sadhe and Tarentum, he found that he enjoyed his time with the Brotherhood more. Every time he went back to the Corps, he did so halfheartedly. He still lead his squadron the same, but his head just wasn't in the game as it was before.

And then a series of events came to pass that fully cemented his position within the Brotherhood.

Jason had attained the rank of Lieutenant Colonel by this time. His former mentor, now-General Sickman, was the current Wing Commander of Wing V. When the Commodore of the Sovereign's starfighter Wings moved on to command the ship and Sickman moved up to replace him, Jason thought he was a shoo-in to fill the spot. It only seemed fitting to him. The former Commodore had been the Wing Commander before and had been in Sadhe, then Sickman had been WC, then Jason had replaced Sickman as squadron commander. It seemed like a trend to him. But then Proton, the former Commodore, threw him a curve ball: he brought in an "outsider" to be the Wing Commander, and shot down Jason's dream to be the Wing Commander.

Jason went on a childish tirade for a week about how unfair it was, until he decided that he may as well leave. He put in a transfer, and departed for another part of the Fleet. He wound up as just another rank-and-file pilot on an Imperial-class Star Destroyer, and did the very minimum to simply keep his flight status.

During that time, he devoted his energies to the Brotherhood. He excelled there as he had in his early days in the TC. As his interest in flying waned, he transferred from the Sith to the Krath, and joined House Gladius. He was even Knighted, and granted the right to construct his first lightsaber.

Then, the Seven made an unexpected and unprecedented move, that would change the Brotherhood and Jason forever.

The Split

When Grand Master Firefox and his six other compatriots delivered Grand Admiral Ronin their list of grievances, it was a shock to the entire Emperor's Hammer Strike Fleet. What was an even greater shock, was when the Admiral dismissed the grievances, and The Seven acted on their threat, and took the Brotherhood with them.

That's right, the Dark Jedi Brotherhood broke away from the Emperor's Hammer.

That left Jason Hunter, and many like him, to make a very hard decision. To go with the Brotherhood, to parts unknown and start anew. Or stay with the Hammer and everything that he knew and everything that he had worked so hard for already?

Either way he went, it was a hard choice. He had many friends on both sides. Not everyone in the Brotherhood supported the move by The Seven, but many did and were willing to flee. In the end, Jason made the choice to make the run with them. He packed as much as he could into a duffel, and made a superstitious getaway from his last Star Destroyer posting in a now-stolen TIE Advanced. They tried to shoot him down, but the Force aided him in his escape. He rendezvous with Tarentum, as other of Triden's forces that were still deployed in the Fleet were making their escape from the EH and to the Yridia System.

During the transition, there was subterfuge and betrayal on both sides. Jason didn't personally see any of it, but he heard of it and saw the reports. He was too involved in getting his belongings fully set up on the Sword's Sheath. He was going to have to get more acquainted with the asteroid base that Gladius called home, for that was his permanent home now.

Aftermath, Settling In, and History Repeats

After the Exodus, Jason fully settled in to a life completely devoted to the Dark Brotherhood. As always, it didn't take long for his powers to grow even stronger, and for the ranks to fly past. Seemingly in no time, he had reached the Equite rank of Krath Archpriest.

Also during this time, he came to become a member of the elite Krath Phyle known as the Mystics of the Black Arts. In their past, they were known for having to go to an asylum to seek "treatment" for a great many psychoses. As Jason learned of this place, he was certainly glad that this practice had passed out of favor before he came to number among their ranks.

Eventually, he came to head the Mystics as their Tetrarch, before moving on to be the Quaestor of House Gladius. It was like being in the TIE Corps again, moving up to positions of power. He was successful as Tetrarch and Quaestor, but only for so long.

It was nearly a year before he started to fall into a pattern of sloth and inattentiveness. It was akin to what had occurred in his later months in the TIE Corps. After trying to struggle through it for a couple months, and strife and unrest growing within the House over it, he decided it was time for him step down as Quaestor and allow someone with more dedication to the job to take over.

It was difficult to do, letting go of yet another command. Jason knew it was for the betterment of Gladius, however, and knowing that made the choice easier to bear.

And so, Jason returned to the general membership of House Gladius. But, that wasn't enough. He was getting restless, and felt the need to wander.

The Story Continues

Wanderlust

A period of time passed after Jason relinquished the reins of Gladius. During this, he had fallen prey to lethargy and his progress in the Force had stalled.

He felt it was time for a change of pace. Falling back on a past move, he transferred to another Clan, seeking rejuvenation among new faces. Clan Plagueis welcomed him with open arms, and he succeeded well enough for a time. It didn't take but a handful of months before the same malady of sloth that had affected him in Tarentum to overtake him while in Plagueis.

And so, he simply took an open-ended leave from the Dark Brotherhood, and departed into the galaxy proper.

Upon leaving Brotherhood space, Jason had no real agenda or destination. He simply felt that getting away from that which he felt had become stagnant would make things better. Bring his life back into focus somehow. Perhaps he would return to the Brotherhood, and maybe he would not. The only thing that was certain, was that he had the vast expanse of the galaxy before him, and no masters to dictate a life to him.

He wandered about the Outer and Mid Rim, doing odd jobs, similar to when he first left home. He even spent some time as a bouncer in a cantina on Tattooine, before he decided to move on Corellia.

Back on his homeworld, he visited the house that he shared with his father in the final few years of his teenage life. It had fallen into disrepair, for it had gone un-owned for a number of years. In fact, the whole neighborhood was in shambles, a mere shadow of its former self. The whole place was dank a dreary, with rusty speeders sitting on the street, awnings drooping, and paint fading and chipping. Windows were dark all down the way, shades pulled tight as he trod down the sidewalk.

Jason didn't spend much time in the ramshackle house. He had to barge his way in the back door, for everything was bolted shut. None of the neighbors seemed to even notice: it seemed to be a common noise around there these days. He looked around some, going through the basement and his father's drawers. Nothing drew his attention, other than a single datacard in a small locked box atop a high closet shelf. It simply took a quick swipe with the blade of his lightsaber to easily remove the lid of the box, and Jason had the card in his jacket pocket. He stowed his weapon, and made a hasty but unassuming exit: the snap-hiss of a lightsaber, he could easily assume, was something that wasn't heard 'round these parts. And he didn't want to get caught by CorSec with a lightsaber on his person after busting into a house.

He didn't know what the statute of limitations was on his juvenile record, if they could even bring that to bear.

So, he made for the spaceport once again, and boarded the small freighter that he had bought. Within minutes, he was airborne and leaving Corellia once more.

The Threat of the Force-Devoid Aliens

During the latter months of his self-imposed exile, the extra-galactic Aliens made their presence known throughout the galaxy. Fortunately, Jason was on the other side of the galaxy from where the main fighting was occurring, so all he witnessed was the waves of refugees and the horrific stories that they told.

He had every inclination of staying out of the conflict until the aliens came knocking on whatever door he happened to have, but the Force had other plans. One evening, as he was meditating, he was graced with a vision of the Brotherhood's destruction at the hands of the Aliens. It roused him from his meditation, and left him sitting on the deck of his ship covered in a fine sheet of cold sweat. It only took him a moment to make the decision to lay in the course for Antei, and lend a hand in any manner possible.

He arrived just as the gathered fleets of the Brotherhood were preparing to disembark, after completing a group naval exercise. Jason was allowed entrance into the controlled space only by permission of Consul Sith Bloodfyre, whom he had become close working colleagues and even friends with during his years in Tarentum. He was directed to land upon one of the Clan's capital ships, for Sith had guaranteed the Dark Council to keep an eye on the sudden interloper.

Shortly after he touched down on the deck, an Alien flotilla emerged from hyperspace and immediately began to attack the Brotherhood's ships. It didn't take long for the ship Jason aboard to be boarded, and he engaged in one-on-one combat with an Alien warrior.

The Alien who took Jason's Arm

It was a long fight, both warriors seemingly matched step-for-step. All it took for Jason to almost lose the battle, was make a small mistake and allow his lighsaber to sail slightly too wide. The Alien took full advantage of that, and used his amphistaff to remove the Corellian's right arm from above his elbow. The ensuing rage—the audacity of that warrior, thinking he could just mutilate him like that and sneer in glee with those tattered lips!--gave Jason the strength to pick up his weapon in his remaining hand and swiftly cleave the warrior's head from his shoulders, driving straight through the blocking amphistaff and all.

Jason most likely would have bled out and died, if not for his training in the Force and the quick response time of Tarentum's military personnel. He was able to use the Force to stem the flow of blood, pinching arteries closed, before medics arrived to temporarily patch his stump and whisk him away to a bacta tank. He had tried to tell them to just "sew him up," so he could keep fighting, but Sith appeared suddenly and talked him out of doing something foolhardy.

In the end, he spent a couple hours floating in the tank. His arm was unable to be reattached, for the amphistaff had possessed some kind of toxin that left the flesh infected and necrotic. The on-board surgeon had to quickly remove the flesh of his roughly-cleaved stump to prevent the infection from spreading to the rest of his body, then placed him in bacta therapy to kill anything that may have spread.

Tarentum was able to flee the conflict, but not without paying a price. They lost a few capital ships, but many starfighters and countless warriors. Much of the Brotherhood's other fleets hadn't fared so well, but all of the Clans had managed to escape the massacre above Antei.

Upon returning to the Yridia System, Jason decided to take a different course for the war against the extra-galactic Aliens. While the Clan was licking its' wounds and rebuilding, he would head back into the galaxy and do what he could to help the populace. His decision was met with anger from many of his Clanmates, who believed that he needed to stay and help with the reconstruction efforts. True, he felt that he was needed in Tarentum. However, he believed that he was needed far more in the galaxy at large.

So, he packed his bags again, boarded his ship again, and made for the Outer Rim. One of the other things that he did before leaving, was make a visit to one of the Clan's doctors and get outfitted with a prosthetic. He had the man leave it without the synthskin, for he wanted the Aliens to see that he had a false, mechanical arm: he knew it would drive them into one of their religious rages, and it would most likely play into his favor as it blinded them.

Returning Home, Once Again

During the war against the Force-devoid invaders, Jason ferried troops, refugees and supplies across the Outer and Mid Rim. He witnessed the atrocities that the extragalactic invaders were truly capable of, and also the levels of depravity and desperation that the inhabitants of the galaxy were willing to stoop to in order to drive them out. He had many close calls in the months he joined the war effort away from the Brotherhood, all of which he survived purely due to his attunement with the Force. He wasn't able to say the same for the mundane soldiers and civilians that he attempted to convey to safety that got caught in the line of fire; such were the unfortunate casualties of war.

Once the ceasefire went out across the galaxy, and the fighting had stopped, Jason knew it was time to return to Tarentum. He also knew that his Clan could very well not be there, decimated by the very foes that he had left them to fight on the larger stage. Or would they even welcome him back, given how he had left this time?

There was only one way to find out.

Mighty Clan, Now a House Again

Had Jason really been gone so long? Upon returning to Yridian space and being hailed, the first thing that he noticed was that he was addressed by House Tarentum, not Clan. He didn't ask the traffic controller about the title change, deciding that the question was better suited for Bloodfyre.

Past Positions Held (DB and EH)

• Flight Leader, Sadhe Squadron Flight II
• Commander, Sadhe Squadron
• Tetrarch, Mystics of the Black Arts Phyle
• Quaestor, House Gladius
• Aedile, House Tarentum

Trivia

• The character of Jason Hunter has been in use for many years, even before his creator found and joined the Emperor's Hammer. His original incarnation was in the form of a San Joaquin Kit Fox, created for the fandom surrounding the popularity of StarFox 64.
• Jason Hunter's personality mirrors that of his creator in many ways, though he is much more confident than his creator is. Also, he is a few inches taller and in much better physical shape.