Bimmisaari's Open Terrain

"Oh goddamn."

That wasn't supposed to happen. Well, the whole launchy bit, sure. But how the hell did she get back into the freaking speeder? The Shard reached out with his mind, gave her Force presence a bit of a poke. And it poked back. Hard. This chick had some serious power. Maybe that's how she was still alive, because there was clearly nothing resembling a survival instinct poking around in that skull.

Still, the pressure was released, eruption averted.

Or not.

"No. We are not there yet. Would you like to be?"

Twitch.

Twitch.

"I see it."

Eralam jammed the accelerator to the floor and bailed out of the soon-to-be-stricken speeder. So what if he wouldn't get his deposit back? Totally worth it.

The Force seemed to ripple around the Shard has he tried to suppress his annoyance.

"Damn, you surv-I mean, oh, good. You're alright."

For those gifted with Force sensitivity, it probably looked a bit like a skyscraper trying to do a three point turn in a busy intersection. As this is not an action that skyscrapers are prone to doing on a regular basis, and certainly not one that the intersection is prepared to cope with, one can imagine the difficulty that Eralam was having.

Mustn't kill her.
Mustn't kill her.
Mustn't kill her.
Mustn't kill her.

Maybe a little?

NO.

Mustn't kill her.
Mustn't kill her.
Mustn't kill her.

Finally, he came to grips with the fact that taking this little human and spreading her thinly across the surface of the nearest moon, much like butter on toast, would not accomplish anything productive.

"The town's not far from here, just a few hundred meters."

She was right, of course. A normal human wouldn't have survived being flung from the speeder. Hell, a normal human wouldn't have survived that crash. There was definitely something odd about this one.

Young human female sent with a valuable cargo but no weapons. Eralam was beginning to think that whoever chartered her to carry that load knew exactly what she was being set up for, even if she didn't. Those gems were valuable, and rare enough that the load she was hauling could have significantly influenced the market price if it was "lost." Tip off the pirates, take out a massive insurance policy on the load, and profit.

That she survived at all was a bloody miracle. That she survived and wasn't sold into slavery even moreso. There were dark and mysterious forces at work here, and try as he might, Eralam just couldn't bring himself to give a rat's ass. Still, he wasn't about to leave the girl on a strange planet without at least trying to increase her chances of survival. As someone pointed out a long time ago, the old Iron Knight had a chivalrous streak a mile wide underneath the sarcasm and math.

"You know, your long term chances of survival would increase exponentially if you learned how to shut your mouth and shoot a blaster."

Eralam noticed her curiosity about the lack of people, because he can read.

"Wouldn't worry too much about that. Narrative causality is at work. People will show up when the story demands they do."

So she couldn't use a blaster, because her writer was a moron. That could prove difficult.

"Um, how about an airsoft blaster? Looks like the real thing, but shoots these little plastic pellets that sting like a bitch but don't actually cause any harm?"

Come Alone. Tell no one. That was the message that brought me here. Beneath the message, though, clear despite the incredible agony that Veran must have been subjected to in order to enable her to send the message across such a vast distance, was her warning not to come. A warning that I could only ignore. To leave my former Padawan to her fate was not an option; something her tormentor undoubtedly knew. The trap was crude, yet almost elegant in its simplicity, and one cruelly designed to all but ensure that no matter the outcome none - not the bait, not the intended victim, not even she who laid the trap itself - could escape unscathed. I survived the trap, but not with paying a price so weighty it feels as though I am being slowly crushed beneath it. Veran is dead, the Darksider that set and baited the trap is dead along with all her minions, but, having shattered all I was, achieved her victory nonetheless.

In the days after the confrontation I had thought I would be able to recover some semblance of stability; have not other Jedi fallen only to rise again? Could I not purge myself of Bogan's influence, reforge my connection with Ashla and return stronger for having endured such a challenge? And yet, as day after day passed and I still felt the burning cold taint of Bogan curled and waiting deep within and communion with Ashla proved impossible given the tumultuous thoughts and emotions freed in the wake of my fall, preventing me from achieving the internal stillness required to connect with Her no matter how hard I try to clear my mind. I try to tell myself that the anger I feel towards myself for giving in to my grief and rage will fade, just as I tell myself that my training tells me I should not mourn Veran, that the same training will enable me to free myself from the undercurrent of despair that losing my connection with Ashla created before it pulls me under past the point of no return, but the words ring hollow while the grief and rage remain, gaining weight and strength that pull me ever deeper down.

Not for the first time I consider that I do not necessarily need to try and endure this alone, that I might be able to, if not regain my feet, at least be afforded the chance to do so with the aid of others; pride or shame or some combination of the two preventing me from reaching out to those I know without doubt would extend a hand to help pull me up. I brought this upon myself, and therefore I alone must face the consequences, whatever those might prove to be.

I am seated on a rock near the stream outside of the small abode I have made for myself in the forest, attempting with little success to meditate when I notice that the animal life in the forest has begun to move from the southern reaches of the forest to the northern, as though fleeing from something. It is the birds I notice first, sailing overhead in the night sky arranged in flocks large, small and all sizes in between, and then I hear more than see the rustlings and scampering of small groups of rodent-like creatures moving through the underbrush and leaves, their passage followed by yet other creatures great and small - all moving away from the south.

I stand, turning in the direction the animals have come from and see in the distance a gunship moving over the canopy of the forest, its lights sweeping below it as though seeking something. The craft is not one that Bimmisaari's defense forces utilize, its flight path not indicative of a simple CAP. I watch the gunship until it sets down, still a fair distance from my encampment though not, I judge from my own journeying through the forest, near any point of significance. It has been so long since I have felt or heard the hand or voice of Ashla, has been so long since I have wanted nothing more than to have some sense that She has not abandoned me or turned from me, that I do not recognize at first the nearly forgotten sense of being subtly prompted by Her voice or hand. It is almost certain that the gunship is no business of mine, and yet I gradually become aware of being called to investigate.

Reaching up and rubbing my eyes wearily, the surety that Ashla has not yet judged me free from the taint of the Darkside that I willing invited abandoning me suddenly as I think that I have only imagined the call, only allowed wanting to be mistaken for feeling. Tchun, my left lekku, twitches behind my back, curling its prehensile tip around the side of my hip, and I am in motion, ignoring both the earlier feeling and my doubt and telling myself I am investigating the gunship only out of curiosity.

I have given up my lightsabers, abandoned my duties, and yet I have continued to train in my solitude as always; routine the last surviving vestige of my old life, of what I was before my fall. I move swift, sure, and silent through the trees of the forest I have come to know in my exile as well as I once knew the halls of the academy that was once my home. I make no sounds to alert those ahead of my approach, and leave no signs of my passage that might be followed if, finding those that have come I decide it best to remain unseen.

The dark, forest green kimono I wear blends with the shadowy leaves of the tree I vault upwards into the branches of, hunkering down and peering through the branches towards the young humanoid woman seated on a log ahead of the tree. Her armor is of Mandalorian design, and I cannot help but wonder if the Mandalorians are still raging across the universe on their crusade against Force users. I have sought no news of the events transpiring in the universe since beginning my self-imposed exile, and have no way to know if Yavin was the last of the battles to be waged. It is unlikely, however, that I would be deemed a worthy target to hunt after so long, and even more unlikely that I could have been tracked here when even my friends and comrades knew nothing of my destination when I left the academy so suddenly and without making any aware of my leaving. No, the woman is not here for me. Her furious shout to the heavens makes it seem as though not even she knows what has brought her here.

I look over my shoulder, Tchun's prehensile tip uncurling and curling back around my side, feeling foolish for coming here, for intruding upon what can have nothing to do with me. My muscles tense as I prepare to spring silently from my perch to the branches of a nearby tree, and yet I do not leap. My muscles relax, my head turning back to the woman and I realize I am going to intrude despite my misgivings.

I move forward silently, out onto the branch, but not quite past the point where the shadows and leaves conceal me so that, should my hail be met with hostility I will be able to use them as cover easily enough; the woman will see only a humanoid shape hunkered on the branch of the tree. Calling out in a clear, calm voice that is somewhat hoarse from disuse, I say to the woman, "I cannot answer for the sky I fear, but I have found we often end up where we are meant be, one way or another.  Perhaps, then, together we might learn why your path has led you here, hmmm?"

I back into the shadows of the leaves when the woman raises her rifle and aims it towards my position, only some intangible sense that I am in no immediate danger keeping me from fleeing. When the woman speaks, justifying my vague intuition that she poses no immediate threat, I inch forward enough that the starlight will reveal the outlines of my face, lekku, and torso as I hunker down, lightly gripping the branch upon which I rest with my fingers and the toes of my bare feet steadying me, my muscles tensed to spring should the questions be meant to distract or lull and are merely prelude to attack rather than an honest attempt to reach an understanding of whether my offer was made in earnest.

The woman has asked several questions, answering one of them for herself, and so I answer the others, beginning with the most pressing first, "Whether I am friend or foe is for you to decide. Your actions making of me one, or the other, just as they will reveal to me enough of who you are to determine whether my offer to help was foolish or wise. I tilt my head to the side as I consider how to answer her question of who I am; while it is a simple enough question that could be answered just as simply, I find that I no longer know whether the simple answer is a true one, for I am no longer who I was. I have been out of the habit of conversing with others for so long that I find myself speaking my thoughts aloud before becoming aware that I have begun to answer the woman, telling her, I was given a name when I was born, surely, though I never knew that name or what those who named me so wished it to mean to me or them, and then I was given another name, and with it a purpose and identity that I took on and fulfilled for a long time. Now? That second name and destiny are lost to me, and so I am without a name for now. I laugh, the thoughts when spoken aloud seeming as strange to me as they must sound to the woman, though there is as much sadness in the laugh as mirth. Sienn, I tell the woman, choosing the Ryl word for maiden as it suits me as well as any other now that the name the Jedi gave to me when I was given to them is one I believe I am no longer worthy of, You may call me Sienn.  Now that I have answered your questions, I ask that you answer only one for me.   You speak of seeking what you have been sent to find, and I have offered to aid you in your search. So, my one question for you is this: shall we seek what you have been sent to find together?"