Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Black Heart

OOC: Invite Only

Upon arriving in Fringe territory, Ryan found the Sekairo transport sitting in a spaceport, mysteriously unguarded as the High Councillors had suggested it would be. It was ease itself to commandeer the vessel and in moments he was exiting atmosphere and heading back toward Republic space.

Originally he'd gathered a large team and planned on a succinct strike, but the revelation of Darth Odium as Ket Vistas caused his trust in members of the Order to wither away even further. Three Jedi, including himself, would be coming along. Hopefully. [member="Talon Vosra"], [member="Michael Sardun"], and [member="Zaren Bouqi"].

He set the shuttle down on Tython and and sent a short transmission to each of them. They would either come with him or not. At this point, he would go by himself if he had to. The One Sith had kept those padawans imprisoned for far too long.

They'd head straight away to [member="Ember Rekali"], who he also sent a short transmission to. Hopefully the taciturn Mando would have more information for them.
 

Zion Krayt

Guest
Z
The Headmaster of Tython was always prepared. When he got forewarning. Of course in this situation he hadn't gotten any warning of [member="Ryan Korr"]'s message until he had actually turned on his comlink. Nowadays instead of training his Padawans and actually doing his rounds through Republic space, he stayed on Tython. He was it's Headmaster now after the death of Darron Wraith.

Although it wasn't just because of that.

After he had found out what Graxin Rade had done upon Ossus he couldn't trust anyone, akin to how the Jedi Council only had trustworthy members on it. Zaren of course believed himself worthy enough to be on the Council. But, alas it was not so.

He would continue to do his duty.

When a technician had gone to his room to tell him of Ryan Korr''s message, he dismissed him with a bow and a few words and was garbing himself in his armour. The mission had finally come and now they were in the on way to save the Padawans who were captured at the Republic's counter-attack at Empress Teta.

Walking out of the temple, he saw the Sekairo shuttle a short ways a way and continued towards it.
 

Ashin Varanin

Professional Enabler
[member="Ryan Korr"]

Korr-

Don't bother coming to meet me. Something's come up. I'll leave a package for you in orbit of Borleias, with notes on how to use it. Whatever you do, don't talk to Talon Vosra. Route your reports through Grayson, Draclau, Merrill or maybe Alince. Pretty sure Vosra's trustworthy, but the Dark Lord's right hand witch sees what he sees.


He had dipped into his old Dathomiri shaman training to build tracking talismans for the blood samples the Council had sent, including the targets of Korr's quest. Between securing Kira Liadain and his daughter Aaralyn, he hadn't gotten around to the rest. The method of their use was intuitive, their presence not especially dark -- unlike the method of their creation. The talismans would lead the Jedi directly to their goals.
 

Talon Vosra

Guest
T
[member="Ryan Korr"] [member="Zaren Bouqi"] [member="Ember Rekali"]

"Knight Korr,

Forgive me, for your own sakes I am unsure of your activities and have removed myself to my former home on Rhen Var. There is an old friend here you knows a great deal about fighting the Dark Lord. The Mark Isolda gave ne on Coruscant may link me to her and as such the best place for me is as far from my friends as possible. I failed to help and I am sorry.

Remember always that everything has a price, but not everything is worth the cost.

Your Friend,
Talon Vosra
Rhen Var Temple Ruins"
 
Ryan nodded toward [member="Zaren Bouqi"] as his friend climbed aboard the stealth transport. "We-" he began, when he was abruptly cut off by his datapad pinging twice. Korr scanned over the contents, brow furrowing farther with every line.

"Well, at least there's some good news," he muttered darkly. Ryan glanced at Zaren. "Ember can help us, but not in person. And... Vosra's been compromised. He says he isn't coming."

The young Jedi Knight sent two transmissions.

"Ember, I just got a message from Talon himself confirming your fear. If you ever have need of a Jedi, let me know. You have my gratitude and my trust."

Or he would if his word on the package proved true.

"Master Vosra,

The failure is no fault of your own, though it pains me to hear. I hope you and your friend might find a cure to the dark mark. We will continue on without you, but I will hold your words close to my heart."

Yours,
Ryan Korr."

Talon called himself Ryan's friend. The red-head sighed deeply. Being his friend was a dangerous occupation that tended to end in death or the Dark Side. Or both.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Bishop. Unless [member="Michael Sardun"] shows. Force knows we need him, but it still won't be enough..."

A thought struck Ryan. A memory of a friend and mentor who he had once trusted. He began typing on the datapad again.

"On Tython. I need your help, [member="Marcello Matteo"]."

[member="Talon Vosra"], [member="Ember Rekali"]
 

Zion Krayt

Guest
Z
The newly made Jedi Master frowned in response. His helmet concealed his face, the words of Ryan Korr surprised him.

It was only the both of them, with the chances of [member="Michael Sardun"]? How were three Jedi meant to save several Jedi from the One Sith? Assuming the Padawans were held on Coruscant it would be almost impossible for them to actually save them. Maybe for the first time in his life he realized that this was an actual mission he could die on.

He never thought of things like that, and now that it was quite possible he felt that he was... Scared. But this was a mission that had to be completed. He was a Jedi Master because he was capable, not because he was useless. Fists clenching tightly, he soon said, "if the Jedi are on Coruscant we will need an army to break them out if they are actually hidden."

[member="Ryan Korr"]
 
Corellia

"I already told you. I don't know for sure. Things are changing... You heard of the peace offer, didn't you?"

Marcello's facial features were hardened into line of exhaustion brought about by the endless efforts to actually establish any amount of foot-hold amongst his opponents without actually requiring him to walk amongst them. If there was anything he'd learned recently, it was that he didn't particularly agree with the methods and actions of either Republic or Sith. A part of him wanted nothing more than to simply return to the Jedi, to fight the good fight and attempt to lead by example.

However, that was pretty much a fool's errand in this day and age. Further more...all he wanted was to be effective, to get the job done. This, of course, made his present 'position' within the Republic ideal. He was officialy a non-official member of the government. Marcello didn't really report to anyone. He did this because he chose to be held accountable by the people of the galaxy - not any number of sycophants that met in a dark chamber and thought themselves capable of determining the fate of any amount of the galaxy. That was precisely what the Sith were attempting to do.

Glacier-blue eyes focused intently on the human sitting across from him. "I'm sorry. You must have mistaken me for someone that gives even one iota about the political maneuverings of the Republic or the Sith." Deceptive statement...he did care insofar as how it effected the people. "I just need the information."

"And you must have mistaken me for someone that can just be manipulated into divulging secrets. I have a business to run, and I'm paid much better by others than by you."

"So you're unhappy with the allowance that I give you?"

"Allowance? You don't give me any allowance, fool."

Dressed in typical spacer casual, Marcello looked anything like the Jedi Master he'd once been...and every bit like the Rogue he currently was. "Yes. Allowance. As in allowing you to live, to continue your pathetic existence of crime and extortion." Leaning forward slightly, Marcello's voice took on a slightly more menacing tone. "Tell me, how long do you think you can continue to be a cancer on society before it catches up to you?"

The large-bellied criminal laughed heartily. "Please. I own the muscle in this area of Coronet. I've done some checking into you. Disgraced former officer of the Naboo RSF. Spent some time just being a hermit, drifting from place to place."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was why Marcello never accepted any form of title or position within the Jedi Order. Hard to be a ghost when you were damn near a public figure to many. There was purpose behind him never dressing and hardly ever acting like the rest of them. It was not now...nor would it ever be his role to lead from the front, inspiring the masses. That's part of the reason he was...removed from service with the RSF. "Your sources, quite frankly, blow. There is much you do not need to know. You are, however, right about one thing. You own a good portion of the muscle and local law enforcement in this area."

Sighing slightly, Marcello leaned back in his chair and looked down at his lap. Eventually, his eyes slowly tracked back up to the man's face. "That's why I arranged a little vacation for you. You remember your former business partner...don't you?"

As if on cue, a large trandoshan entered the room and snarled at the male.

"You had his daughter killed, didn't you? Yeah..." Coming to his feet, Marcello flashed the human male a roguish grin. "I'm sure you two have a lot to chat about. You take care of yourself - and enjoy that vacation." Turning, Marcello didn't even bother regarding the trandoshan. Dealing with thugs and criminals was part of his lot in life now...they, quite simply, got things done better than any government entity. Attempting to weed all of them out of his existence...not really his problem. Not now anyways...so long as they didn't cross him.

Marcello had managed to make it halfway to his speeder when his datapad began to beep softly. Retrieving the device, he quickly scanned the message before stopping cold in his tracks. [member="Ryan Korr"] was requesting his...assistance? On Tython, nonetheless. The vagueness of the message really only meant that something...serious must have been afoot. He knew his former apprentice and good friend too well to think he'd reach out to Marcello for anything else. He'd been putting off the inevitable conversation for...long enough he supposed.

The reply was simple.

It will take me a day to reach Tython - unless there is somewhere else we should meet.
Of course Marcello would help the young man. Ryan was one of two people that could always count on Marcello to be there when needed. Though he doubted [member="Kiskla Grayson"] would ever actually admit to needing help. He couldn't say he was much different. In a matter of seconds, he was inside his speeder and headed for the spaceport where his vessel was temporarily stored.
 
Coruscant
The 1313
coruscant_zps272d9c60.jpg


The more we get together, together, together

The more we get together, the happier we’ll be

Where your friends are my friends and my friends are your friends

The music was grating, to say the least, all simple melodies and unremarkable child choruses; but despite the mild irritation it offered, the joy it brought the toddler in the back seat was far more palatable than the screeching that would replace its absence. And so it was that young father Jemas came to tolerate the noise as the lesser of two evils.

He even found himself singing along periodically, an autopilot daze while his speeder coasted up to the traffic light, the glow transitioning from yellow to red. Jemas watched idly as a few pedestrians passed before of his viewport

“The more we get together, the happier we’ll be”

Jemas looked out his left window just in time to see a Trandoshan smash through it with the butt of a blaster pistol. Shocked, Jemas grabbed at the assailant’s arm, trying to prevent him from unlocking the doors while slamming his foot on the gas. He stopped, however, to avoid running over those using the crosswalk. They turned, curious as to the commotion, but said nothing upon receiving their answer, continuing on with their personal business. Jemas’ sliding door rolled open and a rodian and a human climbed in to take a seat on both sides of the carseat. The toddler started to cry as the human pressed a vibroblade to his throat, shouting to Jemas to, “Let him the kark in. And turn that crap off.”

“Okay, okay -- ,” Jemas complied, killing the soundsystem and putting his hands in the air. The trandoshan pistol-whipped him, ripped open the door, and shoved Jemas over into the passenger seat, his gun still trained on the unfortunate father. “Take whatever you want…I won’t tell anybody, just take whatever you want.”

The toddler screamed.

The trandoshan said something, and the other two laughed. The light turned green, and off they went, only to stop a few feet down the road to place the wailing toddler on the curb. Then, just like that, the group disappeared into the 1313 to have their fun with their new human and his accompanying vehicle.

The speeder would be recovered within a week, wrecked into a lightpole, and then deliberately set ablaze.

Jemas, however, would remain missing until one fateful afternoon when the superintendent to an otherwise un-noteworthy housing project finally went to investigate why the water he and his patrons had been drinking had been coming out black.

Just one more Man in the Refrigerator in testament to this city’s sinking depravity.

And of the toddler? Well, what usually happens to the people who slip through the cracks of this city?

Benedict peered at the sobbing, carseat-bound toddler and lit up a cigarette. There was a set of decals in the speeder’s back window; stick figures of a family.
A mommy, a daddy, a baby boy…

…and his big sister.

Avalore was in town. Not his sister, but the other one. And Coruscant, she was teasing him with the information.

Benedict realized the crying had winded down, and he glanced to check on the kid. The kid sniffled sorrowfully and looked back, the acceptance in his eyes that his tears would flood this sector before they did a damn bit of good.

There are times when I can’t look Coruscant in the face anymore.

The Trenchcoat Man nodded and lifted the boy up by his carseat handle and stepped out into the traffic without looking both ways. There was the honking and slamming of brakes, but, despite a few near-misses, miraculously no contact made, and he disappeared into an alleyway on the other side of the street.

I remember when we first met: Me, brains pickled in hormones and bloody psilocybin. She, irresistible and all tarted up in lights and promise, listening to the best music I’d ever heard in me life. She got me into a lot trouble, but it was always worth it, yeah? We had fun togevver. Even reckoned I loved her, I did. And Coruscant, she loved me back. She loved all of us.

That was before her heart went dark, a few bad lovers spoiling the batch. She’s different now. She uses people….’till there ain’t nothin’ left.

Waterproof canvas draped over the concrete corridor, offering the illusion of a ceiling to protect against the occasional sewage leaks that would rain down from the uppercity above, and presenting the whole bit with all the charm of a child’s playhouse covered in human excrement. The homeless denizens crowded along the edges of these newly made halls as if it were some cracked-out flophouse, sleeping away the day and their varying psychoses, and occasionally getting up to collect the “rain water” into tins that they would boil into something faintly drinkable.

Yeah, I see the orphanages, the social welfare offices, clogging up the streetsides so business can’t. Who’d want to buy anyfing these people made anyway? It’s a jobs-program economy running on back-patting and “It’s not your fault, luv”’s, everyone eager to help one anovver between the hours of 10 and 4, but never a minute after because there’s bugger-all for overtime and “Bollocks, they just keep coming, don’tchaknow”.

The toddler was oddly quiet amidst all the coughing and snoring and swearing and tears, and made not a peep as Benedict passed through to tuck into an alleyway that almost definitely wasn’t there before, fingers tracing upon walls with “Eat the Rich” spraypainted in Glow-in-the-Dark Red.

Kark it all. Maybe we’re all just born rotten. Maybe there’s a finite amount of happiness in the universe and there’s no bloody saving anyfing without somefing else getting proper karked right over.

The Silver Heart orphanage struggled to keep its lights on, but with generous donations from the likes of Hion the Herglic and philanthropists the galaxy-over, it somehow managed despite the 1313’s effort to drown the humble establishment in a sea of unwanted progeny. The facility acted almost as more of a homeless shelter, or a hostel, providing temporary lodging from street rats who would quickly find the poor place unable to provide, and would return to the School of Hard Knocks. The proprietor was gracious, though clearly exhausted – the middle-aged woman prodding her eyeball with her finger to stay awake during what appeared to be an all-night shift. Optimism shined beneath her ice like the corpse of a figure skater, assuring the Guttermage that the citizens upstairs actually wanted babies.

Or maybe I’m just old, like – and she hasn’t changed at all.

But then why is it everyfing just seems so nasty now?

But Benedict saw her. Saw all of them. The little ones in the corner, with the glassy-eyed stares and the herpes around the fringes of their mouths, who shied away violently from the big Bothan teenager who looked way too happy to be alive. The old woman caught Benedict’s gaze and sighed, defeated. No one person could adopt them all.

Maybe it’s me that dunnit. Maybe I just can’t stomach all this poodooe anymore.

“How do you save anybody?,” I ask her, “What good is any of this?”

And she just shakes her head, broken as anyone else.

Benedict and the kid departed Silver Heart, passing invisibly through the crowd beneath a similarly invisible holonews broadcast, running with 24-hour war coverage from its central perch in the city square.

"Tonight on the Galactic News Network: your very pregnant bartender is smoking and you’ve yet to say a karking thing," the Guttermage scoffed to the toddler.

A block or three down the way, he had descended into now defunct public transit tunnels, the main station now occupied by a commune of young gutterspunx, of which Benedict was easily the oldest guy there. It was a crowd that once worshipped him, the man viewed as the last bastion of a dying movement; the youth’s connection to a profound truth, a glimpse at a better world. But in the end, the leadership they craved never came. Now all he was was a trenchcoat and a liar. Now all they did was survive. Benedict walked by a young woman with a pink asymmetrical haircut, sitting in the half-lotus on a blanket, organizing jars of mashed fruit. He dropped off carseat kid in front of her.

She reckons this is the way the world is now. I’m having a harder time denying it.

“What? No. We can’t take another one! We barely have enough to go around as is!” She complained at him, but her grievance was really with God.

“Well, hell, Gaz, I reckon he’ll just have to bloody die, then,” Benedict spat, hopping off the platform into the tracks.


Coruscant used to be so lovely.

Gaz resigned with a sigh. They would succeed themselves to death.

And I used to be so young.

The transit tunnel remained dark, the traditional green wall sconces that fed into the ethereal “Subway” absent as Coruscant appeared to bar him access to his dominion. Benedict muttered incoherently, grinding his most recent cigarette against the wall.

“Aw, you’re not talking to me, petal? Even hiding me graffiti -- You used to get so antsy when I marked you as mine…,” Benedict chided, removing a brown paper bag from his coat pocket and uncrumbling it into something more recognizable. In his other hand, he produced a can of Ancient Sith Evil Black spraypaint.

“This new bloke must’ve got you wrapped around his little finger…Nevermind, luv,” he rambled on, shaking the can. “My fingers can always do it better.”

Benedict proceeded to spray the paint into the paper bag, then quickly placed his mouth over the opening, huffing the fumes. Ancient Sith Evil Black stained his mouth, and as he attempted to wipe it away, he merely transformed it into a black handprint over his lips and cheek. His eyes went bloodshot, his lids twitched, and, spasming like an epileptic, he dropped to his knees, growling an incantation.

“Speak to me, O Coruscant. From the maggots of Empire that gestate in your womb, to the tears I drink from your shower drains – I consume your flesh, your blood. Let your putrescent impurity join my gross matter…”

He fell short of inspiration and improvised with song lyrics.

“Chew your meat for you. Pass it back and forth in a passionate kiss. Sloppy lips to lips, I’m your vitamins…”

The green sconces went alight, the vacant halls illuminated to reveal the primal urban graffiti. He could feel it from down here, he could see the whole thing. Every city street like capillaries, glowing with the blood of speeder lights and neon – every pedestrian step, a heartbeat…

“Just show me where it hurts, petal.”

…and a swelling around the unfortunate [member="Avalore Eden"] who just didn’t belong.
 
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,


A somber tune sung by a voice dry and low, Avalore lay on the bench within her cell, uttering into hands folded and curled before her face. A song taught to her long ago by her mother was now one of the few things left to offer comfort in this dark place. She'd been there, how long? The Healer couldn't say. There was no window to let in the sun, nor clock on the wall to tell her time of day. Weeks, it felt, but the sorrow of being left behind made it seem ever longer.

How the tides had turned from that day of excitement where she joined the Jedi Order. What an adventure it will be! she'd thought to herself then. Avalore had since seen and done things, and gone to far away places she never would have imagined before. But never would she have dreamed it would have all ended here. Alone in the cold, dank dungeons of the Imperial Palace on Coruscant. Surrounded by Sith, by cruel faces and cold, uncaring hearts. The chill in the air had never been due to the climate.

Avalore huddled within her Healer robes, the very same ones she'd been captured in.

Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.


Roads go ever ever on
Under cloud and under star,
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
..

Thick tears gushed from eyes shut tight and Avalore grimaced in despair. Home...so far away. How long until she saw it again?

Eyes that fire and sword have seen
And horror in the halls of stone...


Ever?
Look at last on meadows green
And trees and hills they long have known.


[member="Trenchcoat Man"]
 
Coruscant
Purgatory

It were as if his brain were humming; a low vibration buzzing through his skull. Each step, stiff and jarring, like scissors stabbing at the dirtied ground. These city-planets, they made him so high --- every block like a synapse, staccato bursts of information threatening him with seizure.

Down here, nothing hid from him. This was his Place of Power.

The trenchcoated man wandered the darkness of these old, abandoned tunnels, the green lights that came with his title and his kingdom marked the path…though he didn’t actually need them. He could see in the black. Even with his eyes scraped out, he could see in the black. Stepping up a small staircase along the right hand side, Benedict found himself before a doorway. He entered it.

A service elevator awaited him, rusted and dead. He threw back its gate and walked aboard, lighting up a new cigarette in the stale abyss. The cherry smoldered with his first inhale, breathing new life into the lift. It was illuminated, and slowly, without the prompting of buttons, it began to rise.

Ka-clicka klak, ka-clicka klak

They were buried; down here. It was a long climb to the top. Benedict shifted uncomfortably in the center of the elevator, his puffs a little more frequent than they needed to be. He was no stranger to what was about to happen.

Ka-clicka klak, ka-clicka klak

The air became heavier, and he knew they were there. All of them. He started to sweat.

Ka- clicka klak

Ka- clicka klak

He didn’t turn around, didn’t make a sound. He didn’t have to. He knew exactly who was in attendance. Janey Hexam. His parents. Mickie, Heroin, Pastor Ron. The Mulch Slave, and more. So many more. Everyone unfortunate enough to have ever known him, and had paid the awful price for doing so.

Everyone except for her.

Avalore. His twin sister.

The saint he allowed to be damned forever to save his wretched hide.

They stared at him in condemnation, burning holes into his back. Judgment. Wrath. Disappointment. Humiliation. Betrayal. And from Janey? Pity. His gaze stayed fixed upon the elevator floor. He would not look back. He didn’t dare.

Ka

Clicka

Klak

He knew what the ghosts wanted, their question hanging heavy on his shoulders.

Why?

Why had he used them so…used her …but valiantly rushed to the aid of an estranged cousin?

They were those closest to him -- What monstrous fate did he have prepared for that poor girl whose only crime was sharing such a rotten family tree?

Ka-clicka klak

Ka-clicka klak

Once so connected, so empowered – he now trembled, weak and alone. Nothing. He had nothing. Not even a name.

“It’s mad blood...but it’s the only fing I have anymore...,” he muttered weakly, perhaps only just now admitting it to himself for the first time. “...I 'ave to get her back.”

He choked up a bit, causing him to choke up a lot on his cigarette smoke. It always came so easy to feel sorry for himself.

Ka-clicka klak, ka-clicka klak

He coughed and hacked, making him easy prey to the sudden commotion caused by the elevator screeching to a stop. He dropped to his hands and knees, gasping to get his air back.

It was then that, to his horror, he realized he was at their mercy.

With a coward’s squeal, he threw his hands over his face in a last-ditch defense and looked back to see the restless dead as they no doubt descended hungrily upon him…

…only to find that they had completely vanished.

Mildly humbled, Benedict climbed back to his feet and dusted himself off. Taking a pensive puff, he assessed his new situation.

A wall.

There was a big wall.

Having been so long since the service elevator had serviced anything, the Upper Coruscant building that had once connected to Sector 1313 had long since undergone renovation. So now, instead of an opening…

…a wall.

“Well, then…,” he began, the sentence to be completed in actions. He produced a red marker from his trenchcoat pocket, approached the wall, and began to scrawl upon it.


[member="Avalore Eden"]
 
The Admiralty
Codex Judge
Brothers and sisters had been taken from us during Teta, some had went with the Sith willingly; seduced by the allure of the Darkside… and yet there were a few who had been abducted. Taken away by the Sith, to be tormented and twisted into a mockery of their own self. The war was going on and on with no end in sight, we were losing more people by the day, yet those who had been lost to us were never forgotten.

So it came to be that Korr sent him a message, asking for his assistance in this matter. The Jedi Knight didn’t particularly like him, but when matters such as these came into play… personal preferences became irrelevant, at least until those we cared about were safe again.

I entered the transporter myself, seeing that Korr and Bishop were both already present. Said transport seemed… familiar, strange and yet it was almost as if I had seen it somewhere. Part of me wanted to ask Korr where had gotten it, as it clearly wasn’t Republic, but a different part of me told me to let it rest.

‘My apologies for the late arrival, Bishop, Korr. Good to see both of you, wish it was under better circumstances.’

[member="Marcello Matteo"] [member="Zaren Bouqi"] [member="Ryan Korr"]
 
"We have no such army," tone even, Ryan gazed steadily at [member="Zaren Bouqi"], measuring his worth in honor. Could he really be trusted? Korr had no choice. He needed Bishop. "Even if we did, they'd be slaughtered. This is an infiltration, not an invasion."

Beep.

The datapad went off. He perused the message, then began typing a reply.

"Then meet me on Borleias. Ember Rekali-"

Ryan glanced up as a man entered the hold of the Sekairo. Grey eyes cast over features as placid as a lake, stirred only by light breezes of emotion. He nodded once.

"Master Sardun. We'll be lifting off shortly. We'll pick up one more, but we three are all from the Jedi that could be spared."

He said nothing of Talon Vosra's condition. Speculative gossip would only worsen the matter. The young Jedi Knight looked back down at his datapad and resumed typing his message to [member="Marcello Matteo"].

"left something for us in orbit. He said it would be of use."

With that done, the Jedi assumed his seat in the pilot's chair and began pre-flight checks. Five minutes later, they were in hyperspace.

[member="Michael Sardun"]
 
Marcello received the reply just as he was initiating his ascent to orbit. After giving R9 instructions on their new destination, he relinquished the controls to the astromech he'd come to trust with his life. While R9 handled getting them into orbit and making the necessary hyperspace calculations, Marcello composed a brief response to [member="Ryan Korr"].

Quick trip then. No more than twenty-four hours.
By the time the modified N-1T had reached orbit, the hyperspace route was ready for Marcello's review. He briefly checked R9's calculations, but it was more out of habit...mistakes in space were almost always lethal. Regardless of how much he trusted the droid, Marcello would always double-check if there was time. Satisfied things were all set, Marcello leaned back in his seat slightly as his eyes drifted to a picture on the right side of the console. A brief smile touched his lips as he spoke simple instructions to R9. "Punch it."
 
By the time Marcello arrived, Korr had already picked up the package containing the talismans from Ember. He and the other Jedi had put the Sekairo vessel down in a deserted section of the planet, with the cloak active. The Fringe wouldn't be pleased if he ran around advertising their premiere stealth vessel.

Leaving the other two inside the ship, Ryan stepped out onto the beach to await Marcello's arrival. He'd sent his former master the coordinates just after landing. The sand crunched beneath his boots and he cast his eyes from the jungle treeline to the shore where the waves crashed in ceaseless tides. He took a deep breath of the tropical air and exhaled slowly. Squinting up into the sky, he saw a flock of birds wheeling about. Was it strange to contemplate the utter unimportance of his life? He would likely die on this mission, unsuccessfully, dooming his friends to the same fate or worse. Yet, everywhere else life would go on. The tides would still beat upon the sand, the gulls would fly, and the sun follow its course in the heavens.

But I will be no more.

[member="Marcello Matteo"] [member="Michael Sardun"] [member="Zaren Bouqi"]
 
R9 had woken Marcello shortly prior to initiating arrival procedures in the system. After conducting a handful of pleasantries with local Port Authority, the Rogue spacer piloted his vessel through atmosphere on a calculated trajectory towards the coordinates he'd received from [member="Ryan Korr"]. In less than thirty minutes, the sleek black and blue N-1T Interceptor raced low across the upper canopy of a sprawling jungle. In the distance, Marcello's glacier-blue gaze could make out the shoreline - upon which he could sense several presences.

Cross-checking his navigation equipment once more, Marcello banked the interceptor slightly to the left to begin pushing his starfighter out away from the direct line of approach to said presences. The blonde Rogue did this because he was all too aware that the repulsorlift engines on his vessel were going to throw sand and water in all directions.

Approaching the beach at a rapid rate, Marcello reduced power to the sublight drive and deployed the airbrake to abruptly slow his interceptor. As the horizontal velocity tapered towards the point of stalling, Marcello compensated by adding thrust to the repulsorlift engines. Retracting the airbrake, he rotated the control column smoothly towards his body and idled the sublight drive. Manipulating the repulsorlift engines to maintain his altitude above the tree line, Marcello began lowering the nose as his horizonral velocity steadily approached zero.

By the time the interceptor had slipped out over the beach, it was a simple matter of reorienting the starfighter along the long axis of the beach, nestling it into the soft sand a few hundred meters from Ryan's position. Leaving the engines idling, Marcello opened the canopy and jumped down to the soft sand. The exhaust from the still running engines immediately caused his long hair to begin fluttering around his face as he grabbed his personal belongings from a compartment underneath the nose. Slinging the duffel over his shoulder, Marcello walked away from the vessel and approached Ryan's position.

Once he was clear of the interceptor, R9 piloted it back into the sky and retreated to a pre-determined location. The astromech would manage the vessel while Marcello was away. Specifically, Marcello would give the little droid a good standby location to wait for his instructions...once he'd decided on one.

Arriving in front of Ryan, Marcello's glacier-blue gaze eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and relief. Still, he wasn't really sure what to say to the man. "Congratulations on your advancement, Ryan. Well deserved."
 
There are two kinds of people who drink. People who wish to quench their refined tongues upon expensives bottles, single malt, five-hundred times distilled, and there were people who drank to get drunk.

Call it an exploration in pleasure, call it an exploration in vice, call it a great big bloody lie with a cherry on top because generally explorations in pleasure were for teenagers and shiny happy gluttonous people. Hal was neither of those things. Hal, Hal, Hip-Hip-Hurray Hal Terrano, galaxy's sad sack and figure of not-too-terrible misfortune, even death didn't want him.

The evening had been spent with a cheap and cheerful bottle of Dodbri whisky. Taking great big forceful gulps of the amber fire as those enjoying their time around him spat in disgust at the Sith that winced at the taste a bargain peaty heat. It was a dive bar, and in dives the people could at least handle their barely legal alcoholic substances.

With his back hunched over he was left to his own depressing antics.

Well, until a misguided young thing saw his long face and went in for the approach, for the sale. Her hand had landed on his back, causing his body to stiffen. Perfume overwhelming, blood running hot. “Why so sad, hon?” she slurred, causing the fallen creature to turn and look upon her face. Don't call me hon. Prostitute. Boots up to here, skirt up to there, pupils shrunk and hopes gone.

The moment that Hal even considered the girl was the moment that he left, fully knocking over his stool on his way out.

His mind was ablaze with questions. How did she live with herself? Selling herself so freely, as if she weren't human but just another object between the next drink and the after cigarra. How could she do that to herself? What took the guilt away. Spice? He saw her eyes, it was spice. Where did she get it from? When does the guilt stop? If he went back would she tell him?

He didn't go back.

---

“What business do you have?” the guard inquired, cool grey eyes carefully studying the half-inebriated Sith Knight.

Hal stared back with his own slightly bloodshot stare. Had he been crying? Or was he just tired, maybe it was the drink, perhaps, sometimes you can see the drink in a man's eyes. The former stalwart Jedi wasn't falling over himself, blackout tequila slamma-jamma drunk but it was noticeable enough, especially if one had the good sense to breathe with their nose.

“Interrogation.”

That, in the deep dark world of Sith customs could have meant several things. Could have meant a civil sit down and a chat or it could have meant getting your jollies off beating some helpless prisoner half to death. Wasn't too unusual. Thankfully, a certain someone was exempt from such treatment. Guards were there for a reason, after all.

Footfalls echoed throughout the dungeons, passing each cell, ignoring the symphony of wailing, and sobbing. Was it callous to say that he didn't care about any of the others? Had he truly fallen so far? Hal stopped, wavering slightly in front of the cell he had come to grace with his so very chipper presence. Her cell.

The door slid open with a muted swish, and before he could even lay eyes upon the prisoner he spoke, voice peppered with an element of bitterness.

“Why are you still here?”

Hard to tell if the question was genuine.

[member="Avalore Eden"]
 
"The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began..."


Avalore's frail, quiet voice echoed meekly from her cell. She'd taken to speaking those words now that she knew her neighbors were finally asleep. The embittered and bracken sorts didn't care for her songs or her woe - they'd made it quite clear the first time and any given time after that when she might've broken her silence for a verse or a sob.

"Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow..." sniff, "...if I can."


Had she taken a wrong turn somewhere? Was she being punished for something she'd now since long forgotten? Had she slipped somewhere along the way and tumbled down a side path that had eluded her awareness until now? Was she supposed to have zigged instead of zagged? Was her shining moment of selfless sacrifice - the giving of her baby to Jorus Merrill - really just that glaring moment of selfishness she now paid for?

"Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way..."


Once upon a time there had been a choice to make.

You can be a mother and care for one being for the rest of your life,

or

you can be a Jedi and devote your life to the care of others.

You cannot be both. It wasn't a rule given to her by anyone else - it was simply a conclusion she'd come to on her own. In the end Avalore knew that in order to pay forward the time, blood, sweat, and tears sacrificed for her well-being by the Jedi, she had to do the same. It was a choice of selflessness, or so she thought. She'd given her child the opportunity to have a normal life with a real family, a whole family. A father, a mother, and even a big sister - something she couldn't have done on her own. In return she would devote herself to the welfare of others, and until this day that was what Avalore thought she had done.

"Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
.."
But now, apparently, with plenty of time to sit and digest the nutritional guilt of the Sith fed to her over the last month, she was having second thoughts. She was hypocrite and a fool that served no purpose, according to Darth Nexus. She had no family values and her actions beget the suffering of innocent peoples in the wars waged by her own ilk, according to Darth Banshee.

She'd been abandoned, or so Cal said.

"Roads go ever ever on
Under cloud and under star,
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
.."

Avalore wasn't so sure.

Footsteps sounded and the Jedi felt a sudden chill run the length of her spine. Beneath her she thought she felt the bench tremor - thought for a moment that the walls were echoing the sounds of gears far, far away. Strange.

The hum of the energy beams that closed in her cell doorway suddenly ceased and on her cold, hard, unforgiving metal slab of a bed Avalore Eden stirred her stiff, sore body.

"Why are you still here?" Hal Terrano's voice, but slightly deeper than usual, a little less crisp then how she recalled. Frowning, Avalore fell still, her back still facing the doorway as she lay on her side on the bench slab, and grimaced into the hem of her sleeves huddled against her face. She wanted desperately to turn and look at the man, just for that moment of familiarity, but the welling sensation of tears would certainly break loose.

I don't want to cry anymore...

"Where else am I supposed to be, Hal?" a strained response. Avalore bit at her lip.

Don't cry, Avalore, don't you do it.

[member="Hal Terrano"]
 
“Tython.”

His response came sharp after she spoke, the planet's name being said with an unnecessary sharpness. His tired eyes looked at her, but in the same breathe they looked through her, no focus being held in his gaze whatsoever. Glazed with woe.

“Ossus.”

Hal took a step inside the cell, feet unsteady, his tone of voice turning a shade louder, angrier as he rattled off another name. Another place that Avalore should be rather than here.

“Naboo.”

He wasn't even naming planets in Republic territory anymore. Didn't have to be, just anywhere but here. Once more his voice took a turn for the louder, more bitter, exasperated.

“Thyferra!”

Another step into the cell as he now stood before her, he was shouting now. It wasn't meant to be directed at her, the rampant and usually repressed passion was meant to be directed at the why, why she was still here.

“Dantooine! Ithor! Taris! CORELLIA!

Suddenly he flailed, boot kicking out at the bench on which Avalore sat with a hard thud. That wasn't enough release. Like a petulant child the man whirled around fists battering upon the wall like some kind of enraged primates. “NOT HERE!” Smack. Smack. Smack. Wasn't enough. He'd been uncorked, what a fine vintage of emotion. He didn't stop until the blood from his knuckles was thrashed upon the wall, already swollen and growing blue amongst the smears of crimson.

The dishevelled Sith Knight lost his balance, falling against the wall without an inch of grace and ending up in a heap upon the floor. What's wrong with you, Terrano? This isn't your dungeon, this isn't your cell. Get a grip.

“...not...here...why are you...w-why...why...?”

Tears began to dribble down the disgraced man's cheeks, far from the comforting sight that Avalore needed.

[member="Avalore Eden"]
 
Grimace deepening at the words spilling from his mouth, Avalore bodily flinched with every rising syllable. Curling herself tighter at his apparent rising anger, she stifled a sob into her hands and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Heart aching in her throat, racing at speeds so fast it was painful, the Healer prepared for horror, she prepared for pain. All those rumors about the savagery of Sith couldn't be false if they were so wide-spread, right? Even if she'd yet to be harmed at all, the possibility was still there.

The nightmares still woke her at night.

Oh Avalore, it is your fault. You shouldn't have been on Teta. You shouldn't have given up that baby. You shouldn't have joined the Jedi. You've brought this on yourself, don't you see? Could have just taken your parents fortune and survived - it might not have lasted forever, but you might've been happier for it. Might not have been here.

Could have been in any of those places.

Corellia ... she took a deep, sobbing wheeze, you could have been home.

He kicked her bench, making her jerk, "I'm sorry!" those tears were filling the cusp of her nose quickly, rolling in fat droplets over the edge, soaking into the fabric of her Jedi robes, "I'm sorry."

She needed to see his face, so she sat up finally, movements stiff and painful, and looked after Hal as he beat the walls, wailing, before crumpling to the floor. Avalore didn't care that he was a Sith, her gut instinct despite her own emotional trauma was to go to the person she saw as a friend, so she did. Stumbling, the Healer moved to kneel at his front, brown eyes red as she wiped them on her sleeves. Avalore found his face and grimaced at what she saw.

"I don't know..." this was her answer. It was the only answer she had for anything that had happened to her in the last year, "because I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was helping," sniff, frown, "I'm not any good at being a Jedi, but you're right, I shouldn't be here."

Tentatively the Healer reached out to Hal, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I don't want to be here, Hal. Do you?"

[member="Hal Terrano"]
 
In his emotion-fuelled outraged he never hinted to the open-ended nature of why are still here. It could have meant so many things. It could have meant, why haven't they killed you yet? Could have meant, why did you get yourself into this? But it didn't. It didn't mean either of those things, but those caught in the grips of grief and guilt weren't exactly blessed with clarity.

When Hal Terrano said, why are you still here he meant only one thing:

Why haven't they saved you yet?

Her touch caused him to flinch slightly, since his time spent with Talith all women had that effect on him. From the prostitute in the bar to Avalore herself, even Darth Mierin. He was supposed to be a man, but when Nemene abandoned him he was left a boy, scared and inexperienced, with once heavily repressed feelings left up in the air to grow stagnant and cloud over his head. What was Hal Terrano going to do, talk about it?

No, he came out on the other side with new feelings to smother.

He tried to hide his face with the sleeves of his robe despite it being far too late to hide. Head in hands, eyes now hidden from hers. Don't look at me. Hal wanted to help her, tell her that she was a good Jedi, no a great Jedi, maybe even hold her, offer the woman the comfort that had been taken with her freedom.

But he was in no fit state of emotion to give that.

From underneath his covered face he shook his head in response to her question. No, he didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be a Sith, this life was consuming him.

“...they forgot...they forgot us...”

And there it was.

[member="Avalore Eden"]
 

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