Private Hushed Casket...

[Hont Atellies]

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"To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering"​

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Location: Unknown...
Time: Unknown...
Date: Unknown...

A faint whisper is what awoke Hont from his slumber. A small piercing white light was central to his vision, as the rest of the room was cascading in darkness. Through his armor he could feel the surface he lay on, not the dust of Cassel Point. His thoughts rushed to the Bainful, its grand exit from the galactic stage and all who where there, but if he was here? Cassel Point had fallen. What of the NIO? What of the Sith? What of that Ellie Mors or Darth Al? Or Vel? Whatever she was called. It was almost like he was remembering the horrid womans spitting image... He had almost been certain it was her doing that had cause the dramatic end to the conflict at Cassel Point, Hont could only hope that Agrippa had survived, or any of his men, what of his sister? Or his cousin Alaria Telwith and her fate? The last was not a question he expected to be answered so quickly.

How do so many thoughts even run through such a mans head? At least he knew that shield generator must of worked, even if it only ended up protecting Hont, to deny the Sith the ability to kill him thanks to his engineering skills pleased his somewhat, but it would not lead to the definite answer that his internal clockwork desperately needed at the time. The words 'No matter.' rung through his head like a desirable thought, but he wouldn't allow himself to be sidetracked anymore. These last 5 seconds had felt like minutes of uninterrupted solitude, with Hont being able to contemplate all that may come through his head in his usual logical manner, usual only without the incompetent Sith chastising him at every corner. There had been so many lies, that they cared, respected or even known the names of the countless who died before them, but they had willingly believed those lies, both themselves and the soldiers that served under them. Being a soldier for truth? Hont knew that was the biggest lie of them all, something he so desperately wanted to clutch onto but wouldn't allow himself to fall under.

To what extent what he probe himself? To know of the now when he can't even see with his own two eyes? Or was it that very blindness that gave him sight into the greater machinations of life? No, he was a soldier. After all, what use was the pen when met with turbolaser? Cassel Point should of allowed the NIO the opportunity to hit the Sith harder, and with the loss of the Baneful, surely the would still be marching in parade formation today? Would they shoot him on sight because of his armor? Would he be hailed as the hero of Cassel Point? To the furthest reaches of the Outer Rim on which the universe's inhabitants used his name, he would not know in what fasion.

The faint whisper was becoming closer to something of a recognizable voice, but Hont was still far too immersed in his head for such trivial matters. His brothers and sisters, each face flashing before his eyes, everyone who died or was now missing from his eyes since Cassel Point. 'The Tragedy of Cassel Point' would be an apt way of remembering it, better than whatever people would call it now. He thought about how his efforts would of kept the NIO alive, and that they were the reason he was still partially flesh and bone, underneath all of that armor he wore. Hont raised his head to have a better look, however blurry, at his armor, which seemed perfectly intact. As he was about to lower his head again, a hand held his helmet up and turned him toward itself.

Hont could finally here that damned whisper, the voice however was strangely familiar.​

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[Alaria Telwith]

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"Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil."​

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Cryogenic sequence complete...
Subject is currently partially aware of surroundings...
Proceed with care...

Hont needed her help. Did she have his permission to revive him into a new age, a new life? No. A no was never going to stop her from helping Hont, even if it was his own. Cassel Point's shield being able to take so much damage was a miracle, but the fact she had managed to retrieve Hont? Inconceivable. Did she have the moral empathy to want to save a poor soldier on the cusp of death? No. But to save a cousin who she found out saved her skin on multiple occasions? Maybe. For a trouble maker who stuck a finger to all the preachy Sith? Convinced.

Conclusions were easier to make than seeing Hont come back from the icy grip of near death. It was... almost emotional to see him reawaken, a lost soul from a generation past finding his footing in a new and dangerous world, all he had believed in or known completely shattered and destroyed by fate, no quarter given to Hont's own biases. She pitied the great man, to be destined to knowing a past that shouldn't be carried, a lived experience sentenced to death at the hands of the Baneless. He was supposed to die, supposed to carry his memories and questions to his grave, she gave him his now third chance at life.

She knelt to his side in that dark room, Hont's motionless suit of rugged armor being raised from the cryochamber below. She whispered one crucial word.

"Awaken"

Hont's vitals lighted up on the panel strapped to her arm, he was surely breathing, taking in his first moments, remembering the forbidden knowledge that Death's bounty was set to claim, his thoughts and brain processes skyrocketed, attempting to make sense of the chaos which would he would feel only seconds of distance from. She understood that it was not beneficial to interrupt the patient too much during this part of the re-awakening process, the side effects could be severe if he was to be overwhelmed too early.

She felt no sense of good or righteousness from this action, it was a very rare case of her sticking to her duty and doing something for the familial love of her cousin, something she knew Hont would do in her place. It had however, also given her ample opportunity to study the cryogenic process, so that she may one day be able to safely apply the practice to herself without the risk of any danger, something which luckily went as smoothly as possible for Hont, hopefully it could remain that way.

She leaned in closely again.

"Awaken"

More activity, again. It wouldn't take long for Hont to move, or so she reasoned with herself. She had spent the years between waiting for this recovery by studying the many mysteries of the force and making sure to keep fit. It wasn't hard to do so, just tedious. Hont began to move his head, it seemed like to look at himself only if quickly, as he was ready to move his head down again. She gave her hand to Hont's helmet and turned his face towards her. It was now time for him to fully come to his senses, there was no turning back.

"Awaken"​

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[Hont Atellies]

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"To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering"​

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"Awaken"
A faint whisper had turned into a repeated command. He faced what he could only describe as a sight of relief. Alaria was almost a blessing, if she could even be compared to a word so holy. So much was missing, unknown that even the semblance of similarity was a joyous occasion for Hont. It seemed, as if only for a second in his entirely life, peace had finally established its rule in the foxholes and trenches of his mind, but only for a short second. Immediately his mind jumped out in cautionary concern, trying to resurface all the same questions he thought of only moments earlier.

It took only a few moments before he came to the conclusion that he knew he would face, that whatever wars he fought, lives he had saved or damned, whatever actions he took, they were forgotten. He was supposed to be dead, in defiance however, she had brought him back, a dark revenant of ages past. Whether it be 10 years or 10,000, he would not adjust to the current state of things. His life, for all intents and purposes, was to be determined again.

The past however, would not let its grip go so easily from his mind. Thoughts of Agrippa especially, Hont wanted to know his final fate, where he now resides, or even if he could speak to the face of the man that helped save his men from the tragedy. Thoughts of the bastard woman who had bared down the ships weight on him, on which he now smirked and thought proudly of himself. If that was all the Sith had to offer, it would be an easy conflict.

As quickly as he went off track, he focused again on Alaria in front of him. To be skeptical of her motives would be quite the understatement, Alaria never does anything for the sake of anyone else, only herself. The one person who would outmatch her in a pure contest of closing down emotional shop would be his sister. The piercing green eyes that Alaria drew upon his armor always reminded Hont of that of a predators gleaming at its prey, although he was fairly certain if he was getting eaten she would of already done so by now.

The blackness of the room started to give way to numerous control panels and gadgets, which all seemed to function in unison, the spectacle of lights was only short of that of the bright starts of space and it amused Hont for however short of a time. He knew he would have to figure out why he was here and what this new life entails for him, so he readied his first word to his cousin in front of him.

"Why?"​

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[Alaria Telwith]

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"Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil."​

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Why was it that these were the first words Hont decided to vomit out? No matter, she had done her duty and saved him from eternal damnation. Hont would have to live whether he liked it or not. Alaria however seemed perplexed as she took a second look at his brain scans... His mind was clear, for the first time in what must of been his entire life, Hont could think without being impeded. The poor man had lost everything, the peace of his mind seemed like the consolatory gift of whatever God watches over him, and just maybe, that God might be her one day.

How do you answer a man that knows nothing of the world he currently inhabits, or where he is, or the fact that his life's purpose, the conflict he bled and shed for, was no more? The galaxy still remains a cruel, lawless place. Every faction which attempts to assert any authority eventually withers and crumbles away, much like the frailty of the human body. Was a nation tied to those that served under it, or the ideas it stands for? The Republic and its successors always seemed to maintain its idea, no matter who may serve its banner and independent systems will always exist, as there is always more free people who will not yield to ideals. Maybe she was just overthinking the galactic stage, trying to understand the tragedy of mortality, it seemed apt that Hont, a mortal soldier destined to die, outlived the ideals he stood for.

Hopefully not.

She looked upon his armor, the structure of which is ancient by modern standards, but was constantly reinforced by Hont with new materials to keep its combat effectiveness. The armor, even for the amount of wear and tear it had been through, always shone, its bright red never fading, its black forever cast in darkness. But something was different, the logo of the old Sith Empire remained, but it was almost blood red, not matching the crimson it should be. Discoloration almost certainly, though it was definitely an apt reminder that Hont stood for a different empire, one that may one day be true and bright.

She turned away from Hont, looking upon some of her other tubes and experiments, people from over the years who had succumbed to her will and brought in as her experiments, her playthings in the dark side of the force. Barely kept alive in the condition they were in, confined to altered bacta tanks and given mixtures of chemicals and compounds. She walked over to a small bench, on it a glass of some fine wine or another she so happened to have stolen on her last voyage, and poured it into a small chalice, another victim of petty theft.

Throwing her hood back and letting her dark hair flow, she sat there, watching to see if Hont would get out or simply wait for an answer. It, unfortunately for her, was the latter. Raising her glass and reading herself to taste the spoils of her misadventures, she spoke softly to Hont.

"I deemed you worthy of a third chance at life, don't discard it."

"If you ever need me, I will be waiting here Hont. Your belongings are at the door, as well Sarah's old craft."

"Oh and... for my sake, don't nearly die again... It would just be a shame if I had to go rescue you again."​

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[Hont Atellies]

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"To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering"​

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As dismissive as his cousin was, it was no surprise to Hont, rather it came as a good sense of relief, that some things still remain unaffected by the flow of time. He never expected her to be his savior, but you get given a hand you you have to play with it sometimes. She of course, would find any excuse to play God in the lives of men, but that was just a way to make up for physical weakness. She also enjoyed it, a little sadistic that mind was, but nevertheless thanks were to be in order, if she allowed it in her very narrow and quick speech.

Looking over at her it was easy to guess as to why she was not going to respond to any further questions, wine and Alaria are a deadly combination, one that Hont did not need to be close to. Seeing beside her the tanks, filled with their respective living corpses, made him almost shudder. Hont wasn't a big fan of wine, no save that for his sister, but he did understand what their collective families so obsessed with the product. Father used to go drinking it everywhere in his fancy cups and the such, Mother as well. He was never really one to buck the family trend.

His first movements to an upright posture brought him as close to vomiting as a man could get, but no matter. He eventually got used to his legs again, moving as if the Baneful never brought its weight upon him. The sensation of living again brought a serial thought to him, but he quickly let it go, checking his armor for any signs of damage.

It seems Alaria was busy making sure he was in tip top shape. How nice.

He turned his night vision on inside of his modified helmet and quickly found the door that would lead him to a new galaxy. He grabbed his trusty belongings and weapons and took one final look at Alaria, giving him a long, devious smile. Hont knew however this meant no danger to him, only that Alaria was severely impaired by wine and was thinking of some very nasty things to try with the 'volunteers' she had occurred. The force was a great and terrible thing. He wished to asking about Sis, but he knew that Alaria was too far gone to give any helpful or insightful answer to him, not because she couldn't but rather because she couldn't care less.

Hont took a deep breath. The tragedy of Cassel Point flashed in his mind.

"To another day, Al..."

He opened to the brightness of light. He would carry his cross alone.

Justice shall be rendered on all.​

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