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Healing Touch, Broken Mind

Aran Finn

Redeemed
Writer
@[member="Anwen Talith"]​
Corellia | Coronet City | 453 Sal-Solo Ave. Bomb Site
It was chaos. The entire bottom floor of the 453 building was strewn with ash, rubble and fire. Men and women of countless species cried out in countless tongues, crying out for the same things. Crying out in pain, for their families, for the Force ... for their Gods. The bearded man, dressed as a Speaker of the Rim planets in all black, watched with a troubled expression. The wounded were crying out in vain. No one could save them now except for men and women like them, and that was no place that one could safely store their hope. For men and women did as men and women did, and some men and women did things like this.

"Preacher!" A voice called his name, but the bearded man didn't turn. He just watched. Broken. They said that each moment in time stood by itself, and only our perceptions linked each moment together. They said that the universe was only the creation of our own collective subconscious, but who would create a universe like this? Men and women, the bearded man supposed. Men and women. The source of all the joy in the universe, and all of its ills. Men and women lived, and they died, and the universe stayed the same. Because men and women sustained it, obliterated it, built it up again, all the while creating more and more men and women to maintain the illusion of their creation.

"Speaker!" The bearded man felt a firm hand rest on his shoulder, and so he turned. His eyes met those of another man; a shorter, clean-shaven man with wide, scared eyes. The bearded man's, in return, were troubled in an understated way. They gave the appearance of calm where there was none, and assurance when there was little. And yet he did not speak, because he could not find the words. "Speaker, these people could use the voice of God."

The bearded man sighed and looked again at the bombing site, where the countless wounded lay and emergency services busied about in their orange jump suits. What would the voice of God do for these people? Nothing, except make their passing easier. Because they were stupid, unfortunately stupid, and they had not seen what the bearded man had seen. But for them, he give them what they needed. He had nothing else to do except watch. So he nodded, placed his hand on the shoulder of the other man, and smiled sadly.

"So they do, my son." Moving past the man, he made his way through the crowd of people and towards the site. "So they do..."
 

Anara Valnor

The Crimson Siren
Writer
She had been immersed in a recently purchased book when the flow of the Force was suddenly disturbed. In response to the disturbance her aura pulsed, rippling in answer and she found herself unable to focus upon anything except the urgent call of the Force. As though in a trance she left her apartment, pavement flying beneath her feet as the Force pulled her along. In a matter of minutes she stood breathless before a site of devastation. The building was in ruins and damaged had been suffered by several of those nearby, but the destruction of the building wasn't the true horror of the situation. Blood of various colors painted the rubble and pavement in a sick form of abstract art, the injured, maimed, or dead only adding to the grotesque nature of the picture Anwen stood before.

She was stunned and felt like a child in the wake of the destruction at her feet, but the Force compelled her to move into the rubble. It whispered to her, guided her steps, until it dawned on her that she could help. Determination shone in her bright sapphire orbs and her aura stilled, flowing outward from her in soft waves of calming energy. She could never hope to reign in her aura, but at least it acted in accordance with her. Moving about the rubble she came upon an injured man who had yet to be found by the rescue services swarming the area. For one reason or another she had been able to slip through the lines of law enforcement locking the area down. Kneeling by the man she gingerly inspected his wounds, a small hand falling upon his tattered arm as her eyes slid closed. As of yet she was not proficient at healing, but she could perhaps help enough to save the man's arm and ease some of his pain.

@[member="Aran Finn"]
 

Aran Finn

Redeemed
Writer
It seemed that a preacher could go where another man could not. That suited the bearded man fine, and he slipped through the line of CorSec boys and emergency services without too much trouble. The busy noise that accompanied the relief operation did not reach his ears, nor did the raw emotion of the moment. The man merely existed in this moment in time, amongst the rubble and the dust and the mess and the smoke and the fire. This kind of situation was no longer alien to him, not after all of his experiences. Yet it still affected him, deeply, as he saw the destruction of order by agents of chaos. This was the kind of thing he had to stop. He needed to encourage; enforce the needs of the many over the few, of righteousness over wrong, of the idea of sentience as a collective rather than as many individuals. Otherwise, things like this would keep happening.

He felt himself drawn through the Force to where a red-headed girl was kneeling over a wounded man, her hand resting on his tattered arm. And he could feel her presence in the Force ... strong, yet so raw and undefined. So pure ... such purity was rare, even in Jedi. Her aura conflicted at such a juxtaposition with the bearded man's own. For the aura of Alen Na'Varro, for that was who he really was, was such a mess of broken emotions and madness that it could be felt in uneven, powerful waves of energy. So the man knelt at the girl's side, on the other side of the wounded man, and placed a hand on his brow. Without looking at the Healer, for that was what he had decided to label the girl as for now, he began speaking the words as if by rote. He did not believe them, not anymore, but they had a power that rested solely within the collective sentient subconscious. It wasn't the words, it was the belief. And only one person really needed to believe in them for them to work.

"As he looked upon Aberzenziah and saved him, and as he watched Jareth and pulled him from the fire, God looks upon you. His will, through the Force, drew us to you, and through his will you shall be saved." The man only shivered all the more, but the "preacher" thought he saw him nod. Strange, it was, how much good words could do.

@[member="Anwen Talith"]
 

Anara Valnor

The Crimson Siren
Writer
With eyes closed Anwen was focusing upon the techniques she had learned from Feena, her mind fully immersed in the flow of the Force. A voice reached her ears and its soothing tone pulled her from the flow of the Force, sapphire eyes fluttering open. She looked up from the injured man and studied the other, their gazes meeting for only a moment. His voice was soothing, but his words meant nothing to her. Eyes of the purest blue looked down to the injured man and she saw that he looked more relaxed. Was it because of her actions or because of the man's words? Perhaps both, she couldn't be sure, but in truth it mattered little.

Satisfied that the injured man would keep his arm and that his pain had been diminished she stood, a small smile upon her lips. She met the other man's gaze once more, a preacher she assumed, and nodded in greeting. Looking away she spied a group of emergency personal heading their way.

@[member="Aran Finn"]
 

Aran Finn

Redeemed
Writer
The bearded man met the red-headed girl's smile with one of his own, well-meaning but entirely insincere. His lips curled upwards, almost mechanically, but the smile did not reach his eyes ... when was the last time he had really smiled? His life; all sacrifice for no happiness in return. Does that sound right to you? It did not, but Aran Finn knew that the idea of "fair" was just an illusion created by men as an excuse for pity. Alen Na'Varro knew that too, deep down in the psyche of the bearded man. There was no such thing as "fair", or "right", or "wrong", things were just so. The galaxy was a burden that was difficult to bear but nonetheless, it would always rest on his shoulders. People, sentients ... he felt so separated from their plight but in the end, he was just another one of them. These things he knew. These facts could not be separated from himself, from his mind, and he had to live with them always.

"Come." He said to the girl as the emergency services approached, and he rose and moved through the rubble and chaos towards another fallen citizen. This was a Qaleesh, pinned beneath a not inconsiderable pile of duracrete. Looking over at the girl again, the man sighed and began removing the rubble. This action too was mechanical and seemingly rehearsed, done without much feeling or enthusiasm. The galaxy wearied the bearded man so.

@[member="Anwen Talith"]
 

Anara Valnor

The Crimson Siren
Writer
Quick to follow the man, Anwen trotted behind him, only stopping to look behind them every so often. She felt as though they were sneaking about, but said nothing to the man and instead moved to help him free the pinned Qaleesh. Compared to the man and the rescue workers Anwen was tiny and it seemed as though she wasn't going to be of much help in moving the rubble. Licking her lips, she eyed the pile of duracrete, her hands tingling. Given the recent trauma suffered by the building and those that had been inside during the explosion she was hesitant to touch the debris; she was certain she would pick up something with her psychometry. That left her with only one option.

For a moment she watched the man, her eyes moving about the pile of duracrete as she immersed herself in the Force. Her aura swelled and her eyes seemed to brighten as she raised a single hand, all of her being focused upon gently lifting one piece of duracrete at a time. Anwen was self taught in much that she did and so she was ever cautious, as was evident in her slow progress. The man's efforts seemed to be working better than her own, but for every two pieces of rubble he moved, she moved only one. However, if her slow progress meant that she could avoid her mind being flooded with the memories of another then she was happy.

@[member="Aran Finn"]
 

Aran Finn

Redeemed
Writer
Sorry for the wait! I promise it's going to get better from now on!

@[member="Anwen Talith"]

The bearded man did not realise that his new red-headed companion had a past that affected her use of the Force, only that the raw potential was there. The potential of the Force was literally infinite, but the potential to use it varied. The red-headed girl had the talent, just not the know-how ... or at least, that was how it seemed. Kindness radiated from her aura, as well as a reserved sense of quiet strength. It permeated in the surrounding atmosphere like a sign sent from the bosom of the Force itself. Alen Na'Varro had always been adept at reading the emotions and intentions of others, even before he had learned of his Force sensitivity over eight hundred years past. If anything, the Force had only increased his ability to judge other denizens of the galaxy, and as a result find them worthy or wanting. The red-headed girl was worthy, he felt ... The older man sighed, paused from his work, and ceased masking his presence from the Force. She would feel his dark aura now, and the man hoped she would not recoil in fear. Fear was unbecoming of a lightsider, in the Dark Jedi's opinion.

He stretched out with the Force now, taking hold of three large pieces of rubble with the fingers of his unrelenting energy and hoisting them aloft without too much effort. The native of Ascension was no telekinetic master; physical facets and the lightsaber were more his area of expertise, but he had years of experience when it came to manipulating the Force around him. The three large pieces of rubble now moved, and he stacked them one on top of another next to where the red-headed girl worked. Alen smiled kindly, encouragingly, something he was not sure she would expect from a darksider. But the smile was genuine enough ... he had daughters, once upon a time. Hundreds of years ago. This girl was someone's daughter; that made her worth something at least.

"The trick.." He spoke slowly, calmly, almost ponderously, his deep accented voice given layers by the years of abuse it had taken. "Is to root yourself in the galaxy around you. You are not separate from the galaxy, you are part of its bosom. You are a collection of matter that is powered by the galaxy around you, and when your life is through you will return to its source, from which you never truly left. To know yourself, to truly understand exactly who you are in this galaxy, is to know the way."

He stretched out with the Force again, moving another piece of rubble from the Qaleesh.

"Start with meditation. Work through each part of your body, feel the sensations, understand how that part of your body is connected to the Force from which the universe derives all of its energy. Root yourself to the galaxy. Then move the rubble. That process will not take you to mastery instantaneously ... but it helps."

It was truly strange, the serendipitous nature of the Force. Force users were few and far between, yet they always seemed to run into each other.
 
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