Tag:
Vytal Noctura
|
Shamira Karuto
|
Oleander Webb
Word Count: 3,726
The air of Vandor's mountain ranges was cool and quiet as it floated through Frosthall, chilled by the cold climate and the evening breeze. The castle was naturally cold, although it did not bother its inhabitants -- those born on Vandor became quickly acclimated to the perpetual winter that the planet was under. The case was even more so with those of House Layne that had been blessed with the skill to manipulate the Force. They were able to modulate their own body's temperature and the temperature of the environment around them, although personally, Beric welcomed the cold. It helped him think more clearly, it sharpened and focused his mind. There was no better stone on which to hone himself than the cold of Vandor.
The hours of the evening had drawn nigh, and it found Beric lying in rest in his bed in the modest quarters of the Lord of Frosthall. They were by nearly every standard more extravagant than the standard Vandorian bed chamber, but far less ornate and fancy as those of the rich and powerful who lived offworld. Its stones were cracked with age and showed visible signs of weathering, a testament to the history of Frosthall and its long-lasting legacy that it had brought and left to Vandor. He was now the latest of Laynes to serve as its ruler, and there was no doubt that he would not be the last.
His body ached from weeks of hard physical training with his apprentice, Millu Lee. They had begun to make inroads together on Millu's progress with harnessing the powers of the Force and she had begun to use more than just the senses that her physical body had prescribed her. The work was slow, but it was slowly beginning to bear its fruits. But that did not mean it didn't take a toll on Beric physically, not to mention his various duties as now an Obsidian Lord, protector of not only Frosthall and Vandor but the watchful eye over the entire Mara Sector. It was a responsibility that Beric had willingly accepted, and he'd willingly accepted the physical punishment that came with it as well. But that did not mean he had to enjoy it.
In place of his usual armor and lordly raiment, he wore a simple cloth tunic and trousers, lying peacefully in his bed as his eyes stared up at the stone ceiling above. His mind was relaxed, and at peace. A state of contentment that he strove to achieve every night before drifting off into a usually dreamless slumber.
But suddenly, he felt a rush as the Force began to surge around him. And his mind was transported off to a different place, a moment of his past.
[] - F E R I A E _ J U N C T I O N - []
The Past
His senses were suddenly assaulted by the dense smells of a backwater market world. He recognized the place -- the
Feriae Junction, and his mind slowly remembered why he had come here. The world itself had been foreign to him; in fact, before his mission he had never heard of the world, met a being from the Junction, and he'd been reasonably certain that no ships traveling from the trading world had ever stopped over at Vandor. Beric opened with his eyes, and he could see himself wading through the crowd, the chills of the market were kept out by a massive fur cloak draped over his shoulders. Beric -- the
other Beric -- still walked with a slight limp, the aftereffect of an injury he had incurred from Ottabesk, an injury that the present Beric had since completely recovered from.
Suddenly Beric remembered why he had been here -- it had been the force that had called him to this musty trade word, not a premonition but a true
vision. Through the ethereal, he'd seen the sights that his eyes saw now, manifested to him as clearly as if they were in the physical realm. But more importantly than sight or sound were the emotions he'd felt; anxiety, anger, pain. The force had called out as if it were a cry for help, and it had been taught in House Layne that no matter the person, it was the duty of the Lord of Frosthall to help those who were in need. And so Beric was here now, in the market, searching for the reason the force had brought him here to this backwater trade world. It wasn't long before he found it.
Or he thought he had.
Beric watched as the other Beric walked up to the two other members of the Knights of Obsidian.
"Noctura. Lechner," he heard himself say.
"It is. . . intriguing, that the Force would draw us three to this place, so far from Confederacy territory," he said, giving a respectful inclination of his head to the then-Knight and the Nightmother. Turning to the young lad they faced, Beric watched as the other's ice-blue eyes peered intently into his youthful face. The young man was shorter, shorter by several inches compared to Beric, but the lad's dark brown eyes shown with intelligence and calculation. What was more important was the emotion that Beric had felt radiating from the young man; mainly anger, but Beric had been able to sense something underlying that --
fear. The other Beric offered a gloved hand to the boy, he introduced himself.
"I am Beric Layne, Lord of Frosthall, Protector of Vandor, and Knight Obsidian. These are my fellow Knights -- Vytal Noctura and Gerwald Lechner. And what do they call you?"
The young man's response was lost in the din of the market, and as Beric watched, a flash of movement away from the impromptu gathering of Knights Obsidian. He turned his head to see a now-familiar face:
Millu. His brow narrowed in confusion.
Millu had been on the Feriae Junction? And more importantly, why? Had the Force not called him to the Junction for Elliot, but for the girl would soon become his apprentice?
But before his mind had the chance to think about this revelation, his vision changed once more, fast-forwarding several months into the future.
[] - V A N D O R - []
The Past
A snowstorm roared past Beric's ears as his vision settled into that of Vandor, but not of Frosthall. He was on a snowy mountainside, and he could barely see his surroundings. The mountain covered in an almost full blizzard, snow and ice pounding away at the rock with a ferocity that would be unknown to any outsider. Conditions like these were the most dangerous for offworlders who found themselves trapped in the sudden onset of a Vandorian storm, unprepared for the cold or for the danger that it incurred.
And the black smoke pouring out from a crashed ship on the mountainside confirmed that.
Peering closer through the poor visibility conditions, he was able to make out the basic hull frame, shape, and coloring of the downed ship -- and realized with a start that it was the one that his apprentice had flown. The one that she had crashed when she'd first inadvertently traveled to Vandor and met Beric.
And sure enough, when he turned, he saw none other than himself. The Beric Layne from his past waded through the snowdrift, knee-deep, using the force to melt the snow in front of him in order to clear a path shallow enough for him to traverse without sinking below. As the Lord of Frosthall and protector of Frosthall and by extent Vandorl, it had fallen onto Beric to ensure that newcomers did not find themselves sudden victims to Vandor's climate; Fort Ypso's spaceport, unfortunately, did not have the long-range tech necessary to guide in ships that had descended down Vandor's gravity well away from the port, and every so often an unlucky freighter would find themselves confused by the quickly-changing conditions of the planet, and be forced to make an unplanned landing.
With Beric's knowledge in the force, his ability to augment weather, and increase his physical stamina, strength, and speed, it had fallen onto him to rescue those who'd crashed into the mountain lands around Frosthall. It had not been one of his duties that most people imagined when picturing a Lord of nobility, but it was a gratifying task and Beric had regarded it as one of his most important. And so when the distress signal had come in, Beric had set out immediately alone and unassisted to go and try to rescue whoever had been in the downed ship.
He watched as Beric stowed away the almost-ancient tracking beacon that he'd use to navigate, one that had been in the Layne family for centuries. Hundreds of years of upgrades, maintenance, and modifications to the device had made it one of a kind, even though it was not much better than a piece of junk. But things that
weren't pieces of junk cost credits, and so like much of everything else on Vandor, the Laynes had consigned to making do with what they had. The other Beric stopped several paces away from the ship, and Beric could hear him call to it over the storm.
"Welcome, traveler," he shouted over the high-pitched wind of the storm as it shrieked through the mountain passes,
"although I'm afraid that you haven't been given the warm welcome that you would expect," he apologized almost before continuing to move closer to the ship.
Beric watched as Millu rose cautiously, surprised by the other Beric's sudden appearance in the snow. From his point of view, he could sense the mixture of desperate hope and deep-rooted suspicion that tangled through Millu's mind at the sudden appearance of Beric, but he couldn't exactly blame her either.
"Thanks for the welcome," Millu finally responded, yelling too over the noise of the storm.
"And just, can I ask. . . who are you, and where the hell did you come from?" She placed her hands on her hips, a mark of defiance and a strong will.
"Also, I didn't expect any welcome since I didn't land here on purpose."
Beric watched as he -- or rather, him from the past -- stopped to reassess the situation, wanting to soothe the confrontational tone that Millu had begun with. But at least he'd gotten close enough that he didn't have to shout over the blizzard, which had begun to dial down.
"My apologies," the other Beric in a soothing voice, his tone much more soft and warm.
"I am Beric Layne, Lord of Frosthall and Vandor," the other Beric introduced himself.
"And I'm sorry about your ship -- flying through Vandor for the first time can be an exceptionally challenging experience, even for the best pilots," the other Berid offered, giving empathy to Millu's situation.
The other Beric looked past Millu, ascertaining the state of the ship that she'd crashed. Even in this vision, if this really was just a vision, Beric could sense the smell of ozone, and the other Beric visibly recognized that the smoke pouring from the engine compartment was enough of a telltale sign to tell the Lord of Frosthall that the girl's ship would not be in flying condition for a while.
"I can get a salvage team out to fly this over to the repair yard, but firsts we need to get you back to Frosthall. Are you hurt, or can you walk?" the other Beric offered as he turned back to the girl beside him. "And pardon me, but I seem to not have gotten your name."
Again, Millu took a moment to respond. But it was much briefer than the last pause.
"Lord Beric..? Is it? Well, my name is Millu, and I'd be really grateful if you could get my ship repaired."
The vision flashed forward, and now Beric and Millu were in the dining hall of Frosthall, having completed the trek from the crash site to the castle.
Frosthall's dining hall was built to hold an extremely large capacity -- it had been boasted that all of Vandor could be comfortably fed and quartered in Frosthall. That claim was highly exaggerated, but that was not to say that the dining hall was small, either. Regardless of how true that statement was, though, Frosthall's dining hall was seldom ever filled to capacity. On this night, like so many others, it was in fact quite far from it. Guardsmen, off-duty servants, and others who lived in the castle sat together, totaling no more than sixty people. Most of the servants and guards lived and dined in their own homes outside of the castle in the village proper, those that had families, and those that didn't wine themselves away in the many taverns and breweries that lined Hjalford Road.
Those that were present, however, had clustered around the three trestles closest to the high table, where Beric and others of importance ate and rank. The chair to the left of Beric's sat empty, reserved customarily for guests of honor, and Beric now watched as the past version of himself indicated to Millu that she could take her seat there.
Once the other Beric had allowed her enough time for her to take her seat, he stood at the center of the high table and waited a moment for the dining hall to quiet down and for the assembled to give his attention.
"Good evening to you all," Beric began,
"and a thanks that we are blessed with food and warmth in this dead of winter." The gathered guards and servants raised their tankards in salute. They all knew Vandor was no easy world to survive on, and frozen corpses found on watches and in neglected rooms somberly reminded everyone of that, some time or another.
"As for other matters, I would like to introduce you to this young lady, Millu. Her ship crashed on the frozen outback, and she'll be staying for a short time to recuperate and get back on her feet. As long as she is in the castle, I ask that you treat her with the utmost respect," the other Beric said while gesturing towards the girl seated at his left.
"Hi," Millu said sheepishly in an almost whisper. A polite clapping came from the gathered men and women as followed his introduction of her. Like Beric, the people of Frosthall were not ones to turn away a guest in need, nor had Millu been the first to have unceremoniously crashed on Vandor's slopes and been offered temporary lodging at the castle.
"Now, carry on," Beric finished with a smile and a nonchalant, almost teasing wave of his hand to the modes crowd, who returned it with roars of good-natured approval going back to their contained revelry. Beric watched this all unfold from a corner in the Dining Hall. He was unseen by the rest of the hall, and he did not know whether because this was a glimpse of the past that the Force was showing him, or if he had actually been transported back to this moment in his life. But nevertheless, he observed himself and Millu as the meal course was laid out for them.
As the rest of the dining hall resumed their eating, Beric had sat down himself and began to serve himself portions of the dishes placed before him -- slices of nerf steaks served in grinjer bone broth, and as a dessert, a slice of Meiloorun tart, its flaky crust still hot from the kitchens. Vandorian cuisine was meat and fat-heavy in order to give its inhabitant's bodies enough energies to work and survive in the draining cold. Most notable that night was the departure from the usual Kod'yok meat, a staple of Vandor meals, but the cooks of Frosthall liked to indulge in offworld stocks whenever they could, enjoying that one luxury no matter how small it was.
While the lower trestles were filled with spirited conversation and laughter, the notably empty high table other than Beric and Millu ate in silence. Beric watched as his past self chewed his meal thoughtfully and slowly, displaying the years of manners that his mother had trained him with from an early age. Setting down his utensil, he watched as he turned towards Millu, who'd begun to eat as well.
"Would you mind if I ask you where you come from?" the other Beric inquired lightly, trying to stay in the fine line between interrogation and polite conversation. The other Beric cut up a piece of nerf steak as he did so, biting into it after he spoke.
"Well, I was born in Denon," Millu replied tepidly.
"But I have been traveling around for such a long time that I don't really think I can say I come from there. Now, when I crashed here, I was coming from Thaere Privo, going back to Nexus Ortai which is where I'm living for now."
The other Beric swallowed his bite as Millu finished her and went back to her food, and studied the girl, an idea forming in the back of his mind.
"Your ship can be repaired in a couple of days," Beric watched himself say,
". . . and you'll be able to get back to Nexus Ortai like you planned, albeit a little late. But. . ."
The Beric of the past paused, before continuing.
"You have a potential, a potential that I have rarely seen before. You have a connection to the Force, something that few can boast of. If you'd let me, I can train you to use and control that power. In the Confederacy, there is a group called the Knights Obsidian, filled with people like you -- and me -- that are able to use the force. You could join their ranks and learn the ways of the Force, realize your true potential."
"The choice is yours to make. I will respect whatever decision you choose."
Beric didn't get a chance to hear what Millu's answer was, although he'd already known what it had been. His vision collapsed in and around him once more.
[] - U N K N O W N - []
The Present
Beric picked himself up. He was standing on some sort of blackened rock, an unknown anomaly. This was no place from his past. The sudden sound of gravel underfoot pricked your ear from behind. The crunching -- it sounded like footsteps -- grew louder. More insistent. He turned to face the noise, his hand instinctively reaching for his lightsaber, before realizing it was not there. He tried to reach out with the Force, but his senses were dulled, as if there was no living thing, or anything at all, for him to sense.
But before he could contemplate how this strange anomalous state of being a sudden a great upheaval bearing down upon you. A formless blight bearing down on him, tentacles flailing, countless malformed bodies mashed together with open maws and lifeless, dead eyes. It was hungry. Defenseless, Beric turned and ran. But in this strange world, he did not even move even though his legs churned and his heart rate soared. He turned to see what would seem to be his final moments at the hand of this
thing when a blinding white light flashed through his vision.
And then. . .
He was floating.
Beric did not know where he was. This too wasn't any place that had been pulled out of his past. He was surrounded by a void filled with stars, and in it, he floated. He recognized no constellations, and in the back of his mind realized he couldn't truly be in space. If he were -- what, with his cloth tunic and trousers, bare-feet -- he would have already been dead. Was this a continuation of the vision? Or something more?
"We have been watching you."
The sudden voice was genderless, and Beric could not even discern if it was one voice or many. It spoke with the unity and clarity of one but also as if it were a chorus -- something transcendent beyond Beric's comprehension. Still floating, his gaze lost amid the stars, Beric did not speak. But finally, something compelled him to respond, and so he did.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"We are."
An answer that didn't answer anything. Beric's brow furrowed in concentration and frustration. He was not keen on being stuck in this void forever, an unknown entity or location that either his mind or his entire being had been sequestered away too.
"Where am I?" he asked, trying again and hoping that the answer wouldn't be as ambiguous. Luckily for him, it wasn't.
"You are in a world between worlds. There are many names for it, but the one you would most recognize is a realm of the Nether."
The Nether. Beric had heard of it. A realm of the dead that transcended the physical plane. There was even rumored to be a gateway to the Nether on his homeworld, hidden under Frosthall or in some other location of Vandor. But to him, they were no more than that: rumors.
"Why am I here?" he asked again.
"We have been watching you," the bodiless voice said again.
"We are pleased with your path. There are those who are trapped. You must endeavor to free them."
Words and commands that Beric did not know or understand. But where he had been floating, he now stood on a liquid surface, the stars now a canopy of light above him. In the distance, he could make out a massive, monolithic tower standing in the middle of this glass ocean. You will find them there.
"Rescue them," the voice indicated towards the Tower,
"and we will reveal ourselves," the voice finished, and Beric could feel its presence depart -- although not completely. Resigned that he'd have to do whatever this was, he set across the water, his bare feet remaining dry as he walked slowly on its surface.
He had no idea what was happening, where he was, or why he was here. But if going into that tower meant finding answers, then that was the only path forward that he could take.
Kyyrk
,
Kurenai Yumi
, Rayne Centaris,
Asaraa Vaashe
, Taramaz Arcturus,
Rylan Kordel
,
Gerwald Lechner
, Áine,
Lunara Azure
,
Lucianus Adair
,
Hisashi
,
Ashelia Solidor
,
Beric Layne
,
Shalita Verd
,
Vanir Eris
,
Zlova Rue
,
L
Luca
Ionești,
Nine Lives
,
Zoe Rosella
, Darth Ivum,
Aries Creed
,
Asher Mossa
,
Eli-Mae Forrest
,
Veronika Fleischer
, Kalanda Tishire,
Vyse de Valorous
,
Aadya Volke
, Isalor Grathan,
Millu Lee
, Danielle Mueller,
Teyla Sal-Soren
, Arro Peradun, Eline Djo, Shiraine Bennet,
Redd
,
Taiia Locke
,
Julra Repraj
,
Laneya Wexler
, @Leru Dara,
Ticca
,
Krystal
,
Fury of Aerðs
, Dispara,
Xevnlie BrightScorch
,
Alluria Ivalice
,
Sabine Delacroix
,
Telula Vale
