The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Jan 8, 2017 15:04:27 GMT -8
The Zabrak had reset himself, his jade eyes landing on his fallen apprentice as her short crimson blade cut into one of the garden's burnt trees. He let his own blade fall to the side at an angle and he gathered the Force about himself; Na'an's continued survival was a testament, either to her ability to survive or some deeply-buried unwillingness on his part to complete the mission. Neither would do. Whatever her next play was, the shepherd would be ready. He had to be. As proud as he was of his former pupil, she now stood in the way of the very balance she swore to seek out.
Slowly, with carefully placed steps, the shepherd advanced towards Na'an as the Force continued to swell about his body. It felt less like the extension of her body knew with each passing second and each silent footstep. Rather, the Force was beginning to feel like a tamed beast, pacing behind its master with a dire hunger, ready to pounce upon the woman with a mere snap of the shepherd's fingers.
Don't I? he said, his words echoing in Na'an's skull, I'm not the one who brought an uncontrolled wretch into the Felucian Enclave. I'm not the one that fell for a darkness-worshipping warlock. I'm not the one that professed to love her friends, only to abandon them and cast them deeper into darkness, Na'an. For all your talk of what it means to be a Jedi, for all you and Calmcacil accuse me of, you've done far more to further the dark side's cause than I've ever done.
But fear not, the shepherd continued, once you've learned your final lesson, I'll see to correcting your oversights. Kent. Shan. Bastiel. Where to begin...
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Post by Vidalu Na'an on Jan 14, 2017 19:14:40 GMT -8
Na'an had backed against the tree as the Force seemed to recede from her fingertips with every pulse, her heart seeming to hammer at her ribs with increasing urgency. Her teacher, already larger than she by at least half a foot, seemed to loom over her with each word, the power of his anger throbbing around him like an open wound. She tried to block out his voice, his words, but they were inside her, grabbing at the bones of her skull with every accusation.
He understood her so well. He knew how to drag out the worst of her life and throw it in her face, how to expose every part of her soul she had grown to hate. Her weakness of will, her lack of ambition, her submission to her own feelings, her willingness to let evil slide because it would mean accountability...Hell, it could be that the fact that she refused to kill Aherk was just the worst of her faults again, playing at righteousness to mask her own selfishness. Maybe Rutil was right, and her survival was only making the galaxy darker, despite her best effort. Maybe the universe would be better off if Vidalu Na'an died tonight.
Then Rutil Iorek mentioned Adelle. At her name, Na'an reacted without thinking.
"Don't you dare make this about anyone else!"
Her saber came up, and she stutter-stepped again into a Makashi maneuver, one hand bracing the loose tree at her back. "You're fighting me--" she blurted, and she leveled the shoto at him, thrusting at his heart...
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Post by The Shepherd on Jan 17, 2017 11:02:38 GMT -8
As the scarlet shoto lanced towards his heart, the shepherd's own royal blue weapon caught the woman's blade with his own. An angled thrust of his own forced both lightsabers into the tree that Na'an held. Sparks flew as the blades connected with the burnt trunk, and the tree itself almost began to burn anew as the weapons slowly drove towards the tree's core. The Jedi's weapon continued to push the red blade inward, until it was almost invisible in the cinders of the once-great tree. The shepherd wanted to use it as a teaching moment; no matter what, the light would always bury the darkness in the ashes of what its followers created.
But the shepherd was done trying to teach her.
Reaching out with his mind, the Zabrak suddenly pushed downward on his lightsaber's hilt, forcing the locked blades to descend violently through the burnt bark. The Force wrapped around the tree's branches and trunk like a vengeful serpent, its vile hiss given voice by the searing of the tree itself. And with a flash of thought, the shepherd pulled the ashen tree down, aiming to bury his former student under it.
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Post by Vidalu Na'an on Jan 28, 2017 10:27:05 GMT -8
It happened so fast. One second, Na'an was lunging at Rutil with her shoto, and the next both blades were burning through the tree behind her, their humming blades overhead like a guillotine. The tree was old and dry, nearly dead from neglect, and Rutil had not made a clean cut through the trunk as she had. Fire was already starting to spread from the place the sabers had lodged themselves.
In a moment of terror she felt what her teacher would do just before he did it. The Force flexed around him, strong, stronger than she could have prepared for without drastic measures, and her brace against the trunk broke as the tree started to topple forward. He was aiming to crush her, bury her with the weight and the fire, and if that did not kill her the sabers slicing through the trunk certainly would.
Na'an ducked to the side, tried to roll out of the way, but the tree was too large to escape entirely. While the trunk missed her by inches, she was suddenly engulfed in a cloud of branches and leaves as they crashed to the earth. Na'an tried to push her way through, to get some distance between her and her teacher that she felt was just out of sight, already closing in. The fire was, however, faster then either of them, and was already doing its work. If she pushed a limb to the side, it only revealed a net that was already starting to kindle into a blaze; if she ducked to catch her breath she only rose to more smoking leaves; If she took the easy path out she would only be launching herself right into Rutil's grip. Her only way was to get her saber back and cut her way out in the opposite direction. She reached for the saber, tracing the black scar it had left through the trunk and peering through the Force to find the handle. It was so close--she could see Rutil's blue blade even through the fire--she could almost reach it--
Above her, through providence or design, a substantial limb was already burning merrily. The flames had eaten through it quickly, racing from the trunk down its length and setting even the few green leaves it struggled to support ablaze. As Na'an reached out for her saber below, the branch cracked--broke--came swinging down, stopping only when it met flesh--
For a moment all Na'an could smell was smoke--the acrid scent of burning hair--the sickly sweetness of cooking meat--she thrashed wildly, no longer caring about the direction or whether the wail she was hearing was her own--
and then she was loose, rolling away through the grass and swatting at the side of her head in an attempt to untangle herself from the branch that had struck her. She managed to Push it away, but the agony, the stink didn't subside, and the flesh under her hand was raw and sticky feeling. Her ear felt--oh, gods, was that her ear? it felt like it had melted. What had happened to her?
"Ba--" the word caught like bile in her throat, and she coughed violently, trying to force herself to breathe well enough to speak.
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Feb 3, 2017 10:41:37 GMT -8
The flames were ripped apart by unseen hands as the shepherd stepped through them, the blue blade of his lightsaber casting only the faintest of lights on his otherwise ominous silhouette. With each slow step forward, the Zabrak left a small cloud of ash in his wake. A flick of his lightsaber cut down the only limb that dared stand in his way, sending the burning branch skittering across the courtyard.
The Force sang. As the fallen pupil edged away from him, the Zabrak Jedi Master could hear the Force's melody sing in his ears, calling for its magnificent will to be done. It sang with each drop of the traitor's blood that fell to the ground. It sang with each labored breath the dark side's acolyte forced into her body to take. Of course, the Force had been singing ever since the shepherd had crossed blades with the wretch trying to escape him yet again, but now its song had reached a fever-pitched crescendo; the bridge before the final chorus. Its melody was the sweetest that the shepherd had ever heard, and he wondered to himself how he might convince the Force to sing even a moment longer.
With a thought, the shepherd tore another patch of flame from his path, and only ashen branches stood before him and his wayward apprentice. The voices of the Force harmonized once more as the Zabrak traced the tip of his lightsaber across the courtyard's stone floor.
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Post by Vidalu Na'an on Feb 7, 2017 19:50:04 GMT -8
Na'an had pulled herself to her hands and knees, and was crawling shakily away from the path when Rutil ripped his way through the flaming tree. She'd managed to get half to her feet to speed her way, only to trip, stagger, land halfway against a soft fungal growth. Beyond she could see the wall of the courtyard, a door leading back into the Temple, a few scrubby bushes, a stand of soft fungi that would never support her weight. Behind her, she could feel Rutil looming, framed once again in red light, his face darkly expressionless. Where was her saber? Her good ear was ringing with a strange, discordant tone; her skull still throbbed from the burns that had ruined her other ear. The smell of smoke and burnt meat still clung to the air around her, and Na'an knew with a clarity that highlighted all her former confusion that she wouldn't be able to leave his shadow like this. She'd hesitated. Indeed, she'd never stopped hesitating. She'd been unsure of this fight from the very beginning, because she never wanted to hurt Rutil Iorek. And Rutil had known exactly how to use that to bring her to her knees. She'd been a fool to let Leigh leave her behind.
But no. She hadn't been so foolish, not really. She'd said it back in the corridors--Adelle was the priority. Adelle, and Leigh, and oddly enough Aherk, now. If Na'an died in this garden, there would be few if any left who would mourn her, but Adelle had people to go back to. Leigh had her workshop on Dantooine, and her sister on Felucia, and a mind the galaxy couldn't afford to lose. And Aherk...well, one never knew with Aherk, did they. She'd sent Leigh away to protect them.
"E--" she coughed one more time, finally expelling something thick and black with inhaled smoke. If she couldn't get herself going, couldn't stop Rutil Iork here and now, she'd be responsible. Once and for all, she'd be guilty of something actually meriting death--Adelle's death, and Leigh's, and Aherk's, and whoever else her former teacher murdered once he cut himself loose from this planet. He'd call it justice as he loomed over them too, raising the blade for a killing blow they, at least, did not deserve.
She couldn't let this Zabrak have his justice.
There was only one way to keep him from having it.
She turned to face Rutil, still backing around the growth towards the courtyard. If she couldn't find her weapon, couldn't keep her head clear from his dominance, she'd have to sidestep it entirely. "E...Execute Babylon pr--protocol."
The beep was immediate, the tinny little voice jarringly calm in her head. Babylon protocol executed. Specify duration.
"Fuck duration, just leave it on."
There was a pause. Warning, the little voice said, prolonged hormone elevation may lead to permanent neural damage. It is recommended that a duration of no more than--
"I said leave it on!"
Another pause. For a second Na'an was grateful; Leigh hadn't programmed the damned thing to be argumentative. ...Duration override activated. Activating adrenal stimulation in 3...
Na'an kept moving, even as the countdown started. She needed as much distance as she could get from her teacher before the program went off, and she could already feel he was only steps behind her. She swallowed a yelp as her foot barked against a root, and she found herself once again on her knees.
2...
Rutil had recovered his lightsaber, and was scoring a path through the stones like a boy trailing a stick. The sound of it was loud in her remaining ear, a bright sizzling sound like fireworks on steel. Through the riot of light and shadow on his face, she thought she could see him smiling. He was toying with her, as surely as any full Sith would, which for once was fine. All she needed as a few seconds.
1.
The final wait was agonizing--an eternity of waiting. When the spasm struck, nearly throwing her facefirst into the earth, Na'an welcomed it with something like relief.
In the space between moments, it had finally happened. And the burns did not hurt anymore.
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Feb 9, 2017 13:56:27 GMT -8
The chorus of the Force reached a fever pitch as Na'an hobbled away, washing over the shepherd like a mighty waterfall. The old Zabrak could feel its energy pour out of his old student's failing body, its raw essence easing the aches and soreness of combat as it flowed into him. It cooled his skin, soothing it from the flames he'd walked through. It filled his lungs, replacing the arid, scorched air that surrounded him. It raced through his veins in place of his own blood. In this moment, the Force and the shepherd were truly one, unified in a way few others had ever known, its purpose personified in its most ardent servant.
And in the space of a heartbeat, it was gone.
The magnificent, heavenly voices were silenced, replaced by the hum of his lightsaber and the crackling of melting stone. The waterfall evaporated, leaving only the hot, humid air to touch his leathery skin. The gentle, nourishing flow was also gone, leaving in its place a pounding pulse and a rapidly-setting exhaustion as the Zabrak felt blood in his body once more. Something had gone wrong. The Force had not abandoned the shepherd, he knew that much. He could still hear it calling out to him. He still felt its power at his fingertips. But the holy union that had been reached had been disrupted. Across the courtyard, the shepherd saw Na'an stumble to a standing position, turning to face her coming demise. But there was no trembling. No shakiness. No fear. In her continuing defiance, the Force was out of balance. In order for their union to be whole once more, Na'an's blasphemy had to be ended. Finally. Violently.
With a growl, the shepherd picked up his lightsaber and raced towards Na'an, his sulfuric yellow eyes burning with hatred for her.
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Post by Vidalu Na'an on Feb 16, 2017 20:16:15 GMT -8
Na'an had lost all sense of time. The second it took for her to stand felt like minutes--hours--to move through them was to cut through the air with a fluidity rarely present in waking life. Rutil seemed to rush at her in slow motion, the gleam of his eyes now more yellow than even firelight could excuse; the flames behind him moved like strange ghosts. She could feel their heat and his anger, radiating so similarly; she could feel the trees and the fungi, reacting with primitive revulsion; she could feel the pulse of all the life around her as strongly as the pulsing as her own blood.
Deep inside her brain, Babylon had torn down the barriers between her and the Force that was always there, always waiting, right at her fingertips--if only for a time.
Nothing could touch her now.
She moved minimally, not dodging his strike so much as sidestepping it to let to blade pass. It was easier to remember his tells like this, to read them in his body--how his weight shifted for a forward blow, how his foot would pivot before his lightsaber followed its path, how his shoulders tilted to prepare for a thrust. At another time, she might have found herself giggling at the change, at how effortless it was to use memories she could have sworn she'd forgotten, how simple it seemed to dance circles around Rutil Iorek himself, how good it made every cell in her flesh feel...
Beyond them, somewhere in the Temple itself, a boom shook the air and the earth, rattled the courtyard stones. Na'an felt it on her skin, half-turning towards the sound as she dodged a coming strike to see a plume of smoke rise from where the Archives would have been. From inside the building, the lives of strangers were being blown out like candles--some with the explosion, but more and more on their own.
"Your flock is dying, Rutil Iorek," she said sadly. "You shouldn't have called me here."
Her arms felt miles long at her sides, huge, as if she could reach out and pluck one of the moon's sister satellites out of the sky. But that was ridiculous; she knew, if dimly, that there were still limits to what she could do like this. Instead, Na'an simply twitched her hand as she dodged again, already feeling the grip of her buried shoto in ghostly non-fingers, and Pulled.
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Feb 23, 2017 14:26:47 GMT -8
The voices of many in his flock sang out as they joined in the Force. Some had joined the chorus immediately and forcefully, their commitment to the shepherd's cause sealed. Others were not as devoted, their ethereal voices whispering in the background as their mortal forms clung to life. But their desperation and their realization of what was to come gave their shepherd a different kind of strength; the same kind of strength that slaying Sith on Kashyyyk had given him, and the same kind of determination he'd felt when he cast the Sith and their ilk into the fires of the forest world. Soon enough, those that clung to life would realize their error and relinquish it, going on to serve the shepherd from beyond and aid him in his holy war.
The Force stopped its singing to screech out a warning as Na'an's lightsaber flew towards her hand. With a growl that seemed to come from hell itself, the Zabrak warrior leaped upward and swung his blue blade down. The blade that would reach her hand would mean nothing if said hand had no head to guide it.
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Post by Vidalu Na'an on Mar 6, 2017 17:53:21 GMT -8
Na'an flowed effortlessly away from where the saber dropped, rolling into the earth behind Rutil without releasing her grip on her shoto. She could feel the deaths of those inside the Temple as well, as sharply as if each one were a needle slipping between layers of skin. Their cries of anger and agony and confusion, all saying different things but sounding so alike despite the words, all leading farther and farther out. A mass of individuals, all with names and stories and homes they would never return to--gone. Like before.
And like before, they weren't just dying incidentally, a side effect of the explosion--they were being eradicated, and in huge numbers. It couldn't have been Leigh doing it, or Adelle--there were too many dying, too quickly and too far apart. Something had gone terribly wrong inside the Temple, and her friends were caught inside it just as surely as Rutil's followers. If anyone was going to survive and escape this ruin, this fight had to end.
Rutil had just landed in front of her, and still had yet to adjust for the fact that she was now behind him. From her crouched position, Na'an yanked her arm in and across her body, Pulling and manipulating the weapon easily. The shoto finally shook loose of where it had been buried and rocketed towards them, spinning wildly to smack into her hand. She flicked the activation stud, and the scarlet blade seemed to roar as it sprung to life across her body. The Force coiled in her leg muscles, hot and wild and familiar...
Na'an released the power and sprang, aiming squarely for Rutil's back. Kill him, cripple him, merely make him stop; there would be time to think about that later.
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Post by The Shepherd on Mar 14, 2017 13:33:44 GMT -8
In the back of his ravaged mind, the shepherd could hear another beast utter a territorial growl as it approached. Curling around Na'an almost defensively, the Force held her body, strengthening and soothing it as the monster prepared to strike its prey's exposed back. It had sped her up. It had sharpened her senses. A whip-like tentacle snaked out and ripped her weapon from the burning heap that had buried it, racing past the Zabrak's eyes almost too fast for even him to see. At last, at her end, the girl was reaching her potential. At last, the Force was with her.
But that did not mean it was not still with its true champion.
As Na'an sprang, the yellow-eyed Zabrak rocketed upward, curling into a backflip several meters above his wayward apprentice. His burning eyes locked onto his apprentice as he began his descent, ready to call the Force to his aid once more.
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Post by Vidalu Na'an on Apr 17, 2017 15:50:44 GMT -8
Na'an stopped, skidding several inches and pivoting as Rutil arced over her head. Both of her eyes--one a pinpoint of light, the other a grey as sharp as silver--met his as he came down, and there was no thought in them. Only feeling. Only the now, as it stretched out into space and time. She could see what he was planning: He'd use his superior weight and the Force to bear downwards until she or her shoto broke. He'd grasp for power, reaching into the dark place that had set his Jedi heart to burning, and use it to contend directly against Babylon.
His saber was a superior weapon compared to hers--in a prolonged lock, the shoto would fail first. But Rutil Iorek still thought that he was stronger in the Force...and he still thought that he'd seen every trick she knew.
Her saber arm rose to block the coming blow, but with her free hand she could feel that strange, near-infinite arm of the Force scraping and scratching against the earth, feeling every inch of sky. She flexed it and thrust upwards, sending it to meet Rutil, and found herself absurdly wondering what it would feel like to hold his body in her hand.
Or to Throw it.
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Post by The Shepherd on Apr 28, 2017 8:26:14 GMT -8
His feet should have felt the hard impact of the stone floor. His yellowed eyes should have had a clean line of sight on Na'an's back, and his blue lightsaber should have found a direct path across the heretic's spine. But the Force - which until now had heeded his beck and call like a trained animal - betrayed him. Just as the shepherd should have landed, the ethereal beast bucked against its master and threw him to the side, launching the Zabrak across the courtyard. His feet felt only air. His eyes saw only the massive red gas giant that the Praxeum orbited.
Using what little momentum his landing had left him, the shepherd rolled sideways and pushed himself into a crouch, catching his breath. Once more, the old master's hateful eyes locked onto his prodigal apprentice, the Force's voice growing into another crescendo as he thought of all the small, agonizing cuts he would make to her body before mercifully joining Na'an's voice to the chorus. With a snarl, the shepherd clenched both of his fists. But as his right hand tightened, he heard the voices crash to a halt and the focus he'd so furiously built up zero in on a very different, very dangerous train of thought.
The shepherd should not have been taken off guard. The shepherd should not have underestimated Na'an, either. But those were problems that a warrior of his caliber could work around. What could not be tolerated, however, was the fact that his hands were empty.
An uncharacteristic flash of panic - however quickly it was suppressed - crashed into the Zabrak Jedi like a wave as he spotted the marred durasteel hilt of his weapon out of the corner of his eye.
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Post by Vidalu Na'an on May 24, 2017 18:12:23 GMT -8
Na'an saw it too--a flash of silver to her right, nestled in a stand of brightly-colored fungus. Rutil's lightsaber must have been flung loose when she had hurled him as far as she had. It had landed between the two of them; if they both ran for it, she'd reach it first, or else reach her teacher before he could attack. He wouldn't be able to put up a counter in time. The panic lancing out of him through the Force told her as much. Rutil Iorek was no longer in control of this fight, and he would not have control of it again.
She sucked in a breath, the air as thick as syrup in her throat, and the sensation caught her momentarily by surprise. How long had it been since she had activated Babylon? How long? In this state it was sometimes hard to tell--each second seemed to extend outwards for years. It wasn't painful, either; merely strange, like something that should be painful felt only through a shroud. But if breathing felt like this already...then she couldn't stay like this for much longer.
This fight had to end.
Na'an inhaled a little deeper, ignoring the discomfort, and rocketed for Rutil's saber, her shoto already alight. She would destroy it--or him--in a single swipe.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 28, 2017 12:34:06 GMT -8
The Force sang to the shepherd of his wayward student's intent. He felt his lightsaber - so long by his side that it may as well have truly been a part of him - cry out as the misguided child sought to destroy it. He felt the grim determination of his former apprentice, readying herself to destroy a symbol of peace and justice with more fervent dedication than he'd ever seen from her. The shepherd had tolerated her several insults, albeit barely. But this would not be allowed to stand. This would never be allowed to stand.
With a primal howl, the shepherd called upon the Force. The energy field that permeated the Praxeum found itself crashing down on Na'an's throat like a tidal wave. There would be no more demonstrations. No more entreaties or appeals to reason. No more threats.
Vidalu Na'an had earned the quick, violent death she had been asking for since she landed.
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Post by Vidalu Na'an on Jun 21, 2017 18:00:50 GMT -8
Na'an's body, once propelled by the unnatural power holding her in its grip, jolted to a stop only feet from her teacher's saber. She rattled in place briefly, as if hitting low wall that wasn't there, then twisted wildly as she realized where Rutil had actually clamped down.
She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe, dear gods she couldn't breathe, this wasn't just the effects of Babylon anymore she couldn't breathe. Her body had been lifted by the throat, toes just barely scraping the earth, an invisible hand closing around her windpipe in a way that was strangely, terribly familiar... She could feel pressure building like heat, like a fire behind her eyes, her implant spinning crazily in an attempt to identify the threat, dilating fully to catch the light....
Oh, gods, she'd been here before, the light, so much fire and light...where was she? She couldn't breathe, dear gods, where was she, where was the enemy, where was the air, she couldn't breathe, where had the years gone? Had she dreamed it all, in a slowly dying mind being starved of air in the wilds of Tattooine? Who was killing her--the Zabrak, or the machine?
Did it matter? She was dying either way. Dying in fire and light.
Except...there was something beeping. Dying didn't beep.
Attention: due to detected oxygen shortage, Babylon protocols can no longer be sustained. Deactivating adrenal stimulation in 3...2...1...
No. No, she remembered this part. That voice. Her implant.
Leigh.
Leigh was waiting. She was protecting Adelle and...Aherk, and waiting. Leigh had asked her not to die.
It didn't matter who was killing her. She couldn't die here. Not when Leigh was waiting.
No no no no no no NO!
Na'an let her arms relax to her sides, and for only a moment she hung suspended by the power at her throat. She scrabbled for the last vestiges of power Babylon still gave, those massive arms of Force, forcing herself to believe that they really had existed, that they were more than just some dying wish for life. And there they were, sure as anything--huge and waiting, only just starting to dwindle now that the adrenaline was gone.
She didn't plan an attack; she just flailed outwards with those arms, letting her mind grab onto the first things she felt, then flung EVERYTHING at her attacker in one wild swing.
In her greying vision, she saw the world seemingly ripping itself apart in response.
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Post by The Shepherd on Jul 8, 2017 14:35:01 GMT -8
All went still. All went silent.
The roaring of the metaphysical tidal wave stopped in an instant as the shepherd's raw, furious psychic power was quelled. The imagined screams of his dying student fell as quiet as the grave she was destined for. The shepherd hesitated for a moment, lost in his confusion. What had happened? What had she done? Why did the chorus of the Force - singing so loudly and fiercely just an instant before - vanish into the ether, their last notes hanging on the breeze? And though the instant hung in the air for what felt like hours, the shepherd only grew to realize in that instant just how quiet and just how still the courtyard had suddenly become. He couldn't hear anything. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't smell anything. The Force itself seemed to have fled from this holy place, and all that existed in the agonizingly long moment was his former student, collapsed in a heap on the cold stone floor. Which itself should not have been at all possible; he still had her in his grip, his iron focus as unrelenting as it had ever been.
In the next instant, the world slowly started to come back into focus. His nose, previously unable to catch even the scent of his own sweat, grew attuned to the smell of burning clothes and burning flesh. His body, cut off from all physical sensation just a moment before, became aware of a growing, searing pain in his chest. His ears, deafened at first by the voices of the Force and their sudden silence thereafter, picked up the all-too familiar hum of a lightsaber. And his eyes, previously focused on Na'an, glanced downward, only to be greeted by a marred durasteel lightsaber and about ten centimeters of its brilliant blue blade.
The Zabrak gritted his teeth as he fought for breath, his yellowed eyes turning once more to face Na'an as a frustrated scream was muted into a grisly rattle. His right hand, still clutching at an invisible throat he could no longer touch and commanding a force that would no longer listen, grasped now for anything that would stop his backwards fall. The Jedi Master's eyes turned upward, toward the vine-covered walls of the courtyard, to the dark, star-lined abyss of space, coming finally to rest on the massive red gas giant that dominated the Praxeum sky.
Rutil Iorek fell still. Rutil Iorek fell silent.
One agonizingly long moment later, Rutil Iorek fell into eternity.
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Post by Vidalu Na'an on Jul 25, 2017 20:40:12 GMT -8
Na'an hit the stones hard, a lump of helpless flesh now only bound by the clothes it wore. She rolled, gagged, coughed shallowly against the loosening grip on her windpipe, sensible of only the slow trickle or air into her lungs, of oxygen into her blood. Dimly, she heard the muffled thump of more flesh against stone, but could not place it. All she could focus on was air--dear gods, air! Even without Rutil's power at her throat, It had been years since she'd pushed herself this far. How long had Babylon been on before the overdose this time? Ten minutes? More? She'd never been able to do more than eight and a half before her lungs would---
Na'an gagged again, furiously willing herself to breathe. It couldn't be that bad, could it? It was in her head, she knew; Leigh had explained it after the first time. Too much adrenaline did funny things to the brain. If she could only focus, calm down enough to get a proper breath...her head seemed to be splitting along the seam where her ear used to be. She reached up to feel along the side of her head, and her hand came away wet and sticky. It hurt, but the hurt was muffled, miles beneath everything else.
It didn't matter. She'd deal with it later. For now, she had to breathe. How did it work again? Someone had told her, once. Leigh? Adelle? ...Master? That couldn't be right, could it? Master would never have known about Babylon...She decided that didn't matter now, either. What mattered was the process.
What was the process again...
....
Focus. Take a deep breath.
In.
Out.
Feel the lungs fill, slowly. Will them to accept it.
Accept what has happened to you. Accept that it will hurt. Hurt more than anything.
It hurts because you're alive.
And if you're alive, then you can breathe.
In.
And out again.
Feel the lungs again, deeper this time. Force your chest to expand.
Ignore the tightness in your throat.
Do not listen to your body screaming that it can't breathe.
Your body is nothing. It is just a tool.
If fights. It kills. It survives.
And if it wants to keep surviving, it obeys orders.
In.
Out, forcefully.
This isn't even the first time you've been hurt. And it likely won't be the last.
Or the worst.
No one will do this for you. You have to save yourself.
You chose this. So accept the consequences.
Accept them and breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
...
Na'an did not count the time until her body started to breathe without being told to do so--shallowly, and not without pain, but that was the least she could ask for at the moment. She sat up, her good eye half-closed against the migraine already well underway. In time, she stood, although her balance was...unsteady. The exertion of walking seemed to make her bones ache, so she did not go far. Only a few feet.
Her opponent--her teacher--her friend--Rutil was lying in a heap on the far end of the courtyard. His face, illuminated by the blue light of his saber, looked almost purple against the setting sun. He made no sound; indeed, there seemed to be no sound anywhere but the faint electrical hum of plasma. His eyes, tinted green by the same blue light, were already starting to glaze over in death. Standing over him, Na'an thought that this thing barely looked like the Rutil Iorek she knew, discolored and still as the stones beneath him. He looked like a stone, himself.
But he wasn't a stone. He wasn't even Rutil Iorek, anymore. What Rutil was, whatever he had been in the end, that was gone into that place that right now Na'an couldn't even feel. This was a corpse, lying in the garden. A nothing. A broken tool. A sack of empty flesh.
Na'an bent slowly over the body, an old woman's movement full of rust. The sound the saber made when she deactivated it was oddly wet, a thick sizzle like hot durasteel dipped in blood, and it left a hole that she could only briefly regard. The hilt was warm in her hand, her fingers fitting easily into the grooves left by decades of victories, and she slid it into her belt with only a little fumbling--an accomplishment, given her shaking hands. She then turned her back on the body and tottered away. In this condition, it would take her longer to get back to the Medical Center than it took to get here.
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Joshua
Member
Posts: 30
Affiliation: Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Joshua on Sept 16, 2017 10:39:34 GMT -8
The figure stood in the shadows under a large tree at the far end of the gardens, near where the back well fell into a forlorn jumble of charred stone, one of the many scars from what was coming to known as the Second Mandalorian War. It was something of a strange turn of events that the tree had survived when the wall that enclosed it had perished, the fact drawing a small sense of wry satisfaction in the immobile form. That life could somehow found away could not, however, break the dark mood that permeated the cloaked shape as piercing blue eyes surveyed the area ahead of him and the Praxeum beyond. Once a haven of peace and tranquility, The Gardens of Awakening Being were now like so many other places a casualty of a savage war, a statistic of a barbaric galaxy that valued not the light and purity that sought to keep the darkness at bay. The once pristine hedges and trees had been left to fend for themselves, what was not ravaged by the fighting now overgrown and uncouth.
The blue eyes rose from the green and brown gardens that were slowly being reclaimed by the jungle up to the slate grey walls of what used to be the Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV. Like the wall surrounding the garden below it the wall of the Praxeum building itself was also breached, a jagged wound of around five square meters gaping like the maw of some feral beast. Other parts of the building also sported carbon scoring from the final battle with many of the windows missing the transparisteel. Some small measure of reconstruction had been attempted but it was not merely the physical injuries that lay heavy on the figures heart. The place was... empty. The vibrant bustle that had once permeated this place no longer pulsed like the beat of a heart to signify home to the silent watcher. The Force no longer thundered with the myriad personalities of others that had called the place home, the friends and peers that had been as much a family as any he had known. Now the place seemed an empty shell of what it once was. A vacant cadaver. The corpse that remained once the soul had left its vessel. The wind sighed heavily through the limbs of the tree above him, adding an eerie background whine to the morbid thoughts. The eyelids dropped down over the sapphire gaze as the mind cast itself back to better times...
<<He sat not far from where he currently stood, the Jedi Master pacing in front of him, greatcoat billowing out behind as he moved. There was a heavy feel to the air, the climate of Yavin IV about the surrender itself to the rainy season that would see sweeping thunderstorms saturate the area. The figure sat on the floor in front of a marble bench couldn't have been more than fifteen years, and unruly mop of light brown hair framing a smooth face with wide blue eyes peering up at the man pacing in front of them. A crack of thunder detonated over head but neither figure looked up, so intent both were on the lesson being taught, so full vested in the stirrings of the Force, that such mundane matters as weather no longer drew their attention. The feeling of trust and harmony, of peace and serenity, was undeniable as the memory opened up somewhat, showing similar scenes of learning and meditation. Younglings gathered near the fountain, sitting cross-legged as a robed Ithorian Jedi took them through some simple techniques. A huge Shi'ido Jedi joked with a short white-haired Jedi, his raucous laughter booming across the garden yet somehow not disturbing the tranquility.Many others sat or walked around, lost in study or meditation, the air fairly crackling with the power of the Lightside of the Force.>>
The golden times had not lasted. The horned demon of war had descended upon the idyllic haven like a dark shadow of cloud steadily advancing across the landscape, obscuring the warm rays of order and justice. Down came the relentless Beskar hammer of the Mandalorian war machine to smash against bastion of Jedi learning, laying siege to the jungle moon. For nearly two-hundred days had the Jedi defended their home against the invaders while the rest of the galaxy looked the other way, the senate of the Republic mired in the procedural red tape that tangled around ever aspect of that ineffectual bureaucracy. For nearly two hundred days had the brave men and women of the Yavin Jedi and the Peacekeeping Taskforce had bled and died on the blasters and swords of Ashrah and his Mandalorian fanatics. As the figure looked with eyes and mind at the place they had worked so hard to defend he couldn't help but wonder if it was in vain. The Jedi of Yavin were gone. The men and women that had called the place home were gone. Yes the Mandalorian had been stopped but at what price? He had heard it said that there were no winners in war, just varying degrees of loser. Never before had it been truer...
Finally the figure moved, a sigh causing the shoulders to rise and fall slightly as the eyes opened to once again reveal the steady blue gaze. Arms came up to pull the black cloak tighter around the frame beneath, as if a chill had suddenly came upon him. The hood concealed the features as the cloaked form stepped forward, out of the shadows and into the fading daylight. The huge orb of Yavin would soon be breaching the horizon and already the fierce red glow could be seen bleeding into the bruised sky. As he made his way towards the Praxeum his foot banged against the discarded helm of a Mandalorian soldier, the dull coloured accessory bouncing and bounding to come to a rest against the stone of the fountain. The figured stopped over it, his shadow casting a dark smudge across the grey metal.
"Nuhoy jahaala, ner vod. Gar nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la."
It wasn't strange for him to offer such words to the previous owner of the helm, an owner that was likely his enemy in life.
Hell, it wasn't certain that the being was dead. Perhaps the helmet had been lost yet the wearer survived. It didn't matter. Tens of thousands had died here on Yavin alone and the words were offered in blessing to them all. The Force didn't care if you wore a beskad or a lightsaber, she welcomed all her children home.
Resuming the walk, the figure headed up the steps and through the open doors into the Praxeum.
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Zed Bakiska
Member
By the three Kennedys
Posts: 287
Affiliation: Jensaarai
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Zed Bakiska on Aug 26, 2018 14:51:33 GMT -8
Landing the Jensaarai shuttle outside the of the temple proper the ship landed under the giant Wroshyr tree from Kashyyyk. Although once it was well kept nature had taken over much of the outside of the temple. The streams and ponds had turned into a marsh area with weeds growing out of it. Small trees had taken route in walking paths, twisted and stunted due to the radiation present. Not far from where they landed a large charred area nearly 20 feet in diameter if one was to pick through the ground they would find bone shards and remnants of the funeral pyre. Someone had come here after the battle and attempted to clean the temple slightly.
Remember guys we need to wear the radiation suits. We wont feel the effects right away but best be safer than sorry.
Handing one to Edward himself he nodded at the man. Of all the newest Jensaarai he had proven himself the most adept thus far. Already he had completed his personal armour, and was well on his way to becoming a Taralsaarai one of the defenders of truth.
Donning his own suit he pressed the button to open the ramp once all the others had placed their suits on.
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