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# _RVTKme_wrAuEraGThe Dauntless Avenger : The Death of Vorne
By: Jedi Master Caius Vorne
(Posthumously recorded in the Jedi Archives)
Chapter 1: The Burden of Time
The Clone Wars had ravaged the galaxy, but time had ravaged Jedi Master Caius Vorne more. His silver hair hung thin, his joints creaked from decades of battles stretching back to the High Republic’s twilight, and his breaths came heavy, as if each carried the weight of his failures. After fulfilling a fallen clone’s dying wish—to uphold the Republic’s fading light—Vorne turned to a mission that strained his aging body: finding his lost Padawan, Norb Glorkk. The Gungan, whose soul hummed with the living Force, had been betrayed by the Jedi Council, surrendered to the Pykes as a political offering. For months, Vorne trudged through the Outer Rim’s shadows, his steps faltering on worlds like Nar Shaddaa and Tatooine, chasing rumors of a Gungan who spoke to beasts. On Kijimi, a frozen haven for criminals, the Force stirred—a faint pulse of Norb’s presence.
Vorne’s meditations were plagued by old wounds, his gnarled hands trembling as he saw visions of a boarded-up cell. Guilt gnawed at him—for abandoning Norb to follow Master Windu to Geonosis at the start of the Clone Wars, for failing to shield him from the Council’s pragmatism. At Anaxes Base, where Norb had once found fleeting kinship, Vorne faced The troopers he had fought beside, their polished armor mocking his stooped frame. “Norb Glorkk was one of us,” Vorne said, his voice rough with age. “The Order cast him aside, but I will not. Will you aid an old man’s last hope?” Rex, touched by memories of Norb’s quiet compassion, nodded. “For Norb,” he said. The troopers, some who’d once mocked the Gungan but grew to admire his heart, agreed. In a stolen LAAT, they launched for Kijimi’s Pyke stronghold, Vorne’s frail body braced by a will that refused to break.
Chapter 2: The Toll of Battle
Kijimi’s icy winds bit at Vorne’s bones, each gust a reminder of his frailty. The Pyke stronghold rose from a frozen cliff, its durasteel walls glinting with menace. Vorne led the charge, his green lightsaber flickering in the blizzard, but his movements were sluggish, his arms straining with each swing. His knees buckled under the effort of deflecting blaster bolts, and he leaned heavily on the Force to steady himself as the clones’ precise shots covered his faltering steps. A trooper gripped his arm once, steadying him without a word, their loyalty a quiet rebuke to his waning strength. They fought across the snowy surface, the cold seeping into Vorne’s old injuries, slowing him further.
Inside the stronghold, the battle grew fiercer. A Pyke enforcer lunged, and Vorne’s slow reflexes betrayed him—his lightsaber slipped from arthritic fingers, skidding toward the clones. He grappled the Pyke, his muscles burning, his breath ragged, subduing the foe through sheer determination as the blast door slammed shut, cutting him off from the squad. “Find Norb!” he gasped through the comms, his voice fraying. Alone, he shuffled through the corridors, guided by the Force to a boarded-up cell—the one from his visions, where Norb’s essence lingered like a fading star.While Vorne continued down his path, Commander Rex led the troopers down their own, Commander Rex managed to find a Console containing flight logs of a transport leaving, After checking the Camera’s the clones realize they put Norb on that Transport. Vorne tore the boards off the cell as he entered. Then, a voice crackled over the stronghold’s loudspeakers, cold and mocking. “Jedi Master Vorne,” it said, “I am Johnerthaningtonisonius, High Priestess of Oba Diah. Your weary steps have led you to our trap.”
Chapter 3: The Last Light of Caius Vorne
The High Priestess’s words struck like a blade through Vorne’s weary heart. “Your Padawan uncovered our secret when he freed those frogs,” he taunted. “The power to destroy fleets without firing a single shot, a power we cannot allow to spread. You, old man, brought every loose end to us—your clones, your hope, your fading life. Now we can displace our foolish leader and take our rightful place in the Galaxy.” Vorne tore open the cell, his arms trembling, expecting Norb’s gentle gaze. Instead, a nuclear warhead pulsed with a sickly green glow, its timer ticking down. The Force screamed of betrayal—not just Norb’s, but Vorne’s own. The Pykes had used Norb as bait, exploiting Vorne’s stubborn love to lure him and the clones to their doom. His frail body, too slow to escape, had sealed their fate.
Grief overwhelmed him. He had failed Norb again, and now the clones—brothers who’d fought for an old man’s dream—faced death. With a trembling hand, Vorne activated his comms. “My friends,” he whispered, his voice faint but resolute, “it’s no bluff. I’ve found a nuclear device. Evacuate now. I can neutralize its radiation, but you must find Norb. May the Force be with—” His words faltered as he placed his gnarled hands on the warhead. Drawing on ancient Jedi lore, he pulled the radiation into his aging body, each pulse searing his brittle bones. Visions of Norb flooded his mind—tending Naboo’s flora, sharing stories with clones, his trust broken by the Order. Vorne’s legs gave out, his strength fading, but he held fast until the radiation was gone. As the timer hit zero, he collapsed, his body spent. The stronghold erupted in fire and ice, but the clones, heeding his plea, had reached the LAAT and escaped.
On the Venator, silence gripped the hangar. Rex held a datachip with the flight codes and location of where they were taking the padawan. “He knew his body was failing,” a trooper said, voice thick. “But he believed in Norb.” Rex tightened his fist. “We’ll find him,” he vowed, honoring an old Jedi’s dying wish. In the shadows, Johnerthaningtonisonius watched, her plans frayed but unbroken. Norb Glorkk, the Gungan whose compassion defied a galaxy at war, remained a spark that could ignite or doom them all.