post tenebris lux
Music
Idle snowfall had grown to be a harsh storm. The wind no longer whistled its song but roared, the gentle fall of snow hailing downwards without mercy. Hood pulled tightly around his face, the boy trudged through it all, mind singularly focused on reaching the plume of smoke. He shook beneath the thick winter clothing. He’d spent hours within the snow. His temperature was beginning to drop dangerously low. Breaths came to him shallow and with great effort. Exhaustion whispered unconsciousness’ soothing lies throughout his body and any pain had long subsided in lieu of the numbing cold.
When weather’s frozen onslaught ceased abruptly it wasn’t until several moments later that it settled into the boy’s mind. He found himself in an artificial cave, brass metal lined the familiar sight. Warmth slowly crept its way up his limbs as large doors slid back into place behind him. The hall appeared vast compared to the sight the blizzard beyond the walls had afforded, though its true dimensions were humble. It was a reception area, little more than a foyer. There was a foreign sense of unease pushing at the edge of his mind, dark whispers attempting to break his resolve, but he ignored them. He didn’t break his progress forwards, what he sought lay just beyond the portal opposite his path of entry.
The hall past the foyer was even greater. A large forum, it had once been a place where more than a hundred souls could gather comfortably during times of festivity. Now it lay empty. The only sound that echoed was the quiet footsteps of metal feet, usually masked by music and chatter. The boy collapsed to his knees, the journey finally taking its toll. From beyond a ramp closer to the centre of the hall shuffled a silver figure, a familiar service droid, hands clasping the brown robes of a limp sentient being kept in tow. It dropped the body unceremoniously when its visual sensors registered the presence of another.
The droid approached, its metallic vocal cords voicing some medical concern as it came near the boy, though the words never truly entered into his mind. Realization of a deed far greater began to dawn on him as pain finally settled into his being. He wept as the droid lifted him as gently as its artificial limbs allowed, its directive reassigning priority from keeping its territory uncontaminated to rendering medical aid to a being in need. The health of the living far outweighed the importance of removing the recently deceased in a public place.
The whoosh of a door followed by several electronic beeps signalled to Bernard that the BD unit had fulfilled its purpose. Unfamiliar with the binary language of droids, he assumed the Unit was just happy to have rendered Imperial defences useless so quickly. He patted the unit on the head absentmindedly as his eyes wandered to where Ryv was holding several Sith troopers at bay. Red bolts either flew past harmlessly or collided with the kiffar’s plasma blade. Were it not for the deep focus he felt he might have let regret about not training with the other padawan more enter his mind. He was well aware of Ryv’s shortcomings in combat scenarios, something that gave him a brief moment of pause as he stood on the verge of Lanik’s cell.
For a moment he thought about calling out to the other Padawan, that he should be the one to prepare their target for rescue. Bernard was far more familiar with the defence against multiple blaster wielding opponents, specialising in the fifth form of lightsabre combat, and the kiffar had only made his entrance to the Order recently by comparison. He didn’t wield the blade with the same amount of fluidity or efficiency as Bernard would have liked to see.
Yet, despite the perceived importance of his concerns, he swept aside those thoughts. He could feel Ryv’s focus within the Force. He had learned to trust his fellow Jedi, to allow himself to rely on others. One Jedi could not win the war, but many working in tandem could. It still felt wrong, to relinquish control of his own fate into the hands of others, but he’d grown to trust again. Encounters on Peace, with other padawans such as Aaran, Auteme, and Loske had taught him the value of kinship and the importance of trusting your team. He was no longer alone in this fight, he was one of many and he had friends who trusted him. He was determined to reciprocate that gesture of good faith.
“Don’t let the red bolts bite.” It was perhaps the first joke he’d uttered in over one and a half decades. Humour helped compartmentalize stress, he’d read.
Stepping past the doorway into Lanik’s cell, Bernard was greeted by an unsettling sight. A torture table, strapped to it a man whose body had deteriorated greatly, torture induced scars visible plainly. White hair so similar to his own was strewn over the man’s face, where the subtle movement of lips was the only indicator of life, save for the faint rise and fall of his chest. Something seemed familiar about the man, but Bernard couldn’t quite place it. As though the tortured figure was family of someone he’d met before, related to an acquaintance and thus similar in appearance.
As Bernard crept closer the lingering pain still echoing in the chamber began to build; a familiar sense of loss, one that threatened to break the seal of memories long buried and forgotten. He didn’t know why he was being so cautious. By all means, the man was left to wallow in the pain of torture, the only indication of a guard remained a crumpled mess of salvage off in the corner of the room. That was the faint sense of resistance Bernard had felt earlier, then. The grip on his lightsabre tightened as he neared the edge of the torture table.
The sense of déjà vu only began to intensify. He furrowed his brows in concentration, mind racing as it sorted through an avalanche of different memories and impressions in an attempt to find something that matched this moment. He leaned over the man from the edge of the table, brushing away the hair which concealed his identity. Recognition struck him as soon as the saboteur’s face stared back at him. A surge of emotion followed. Long forgotten hatred reared its hollow fires as his gaze locked not with a tortured Jedi but an agent of the Dark. Doubts began to fill the Jedi’s mind as he peered at the motionless figure.
This mission, could it have been a setup? Could Ryv have been falsely led to think a Jedi he believed to know had been captured? That the man he had seen was a deceiver masking themselves as a fellow adherent of the Light? He was frozen as he stared at those closed eyes, concealing whatever intent they harboured behind the mask of the unconscious.
He took a step back, instinctively entering into a more battle-ready stance, lightsabre now raised level with his midsection off to his side. The off-white blade rose from inactivity, painting the room a muted shade of blue. Deep breaths came and went as the blade began to slowly grow closer to the saboteur still strapped to the table. Its path was sure, its grip, however, unsteady. It shook ever so slightly as it moved towards the harness clinging to clothes permeated with blood and sweat. The blade hungered for more than mere metal, its wickedness’ only seal the Jedi’s mantra.
Lanik Dawnstar
Ryv
Darth Voyance
Aaran Tafo
Idle snowfall had grown to be a harsh storm. The wind no longer whistled its song but roared, the gentle fall of snow hailing downwards without mercy. Hood pulled tightly around his face, the boy trudged through it all, mind singularly focused on reaching the plume of smoke. He shook beneath the thick winter clothing. He’d spent hours within the snow. His temperature was beginning to drop dangerously low. Breaths came to him shallow and with great effort. Exhaustion whispered unconsciousness’ soothing lies throughout his body and any pain had long subsided in lieu of the numbing cold.
When weather’s frozen onslaught ceased abruptly it wasn’t until several moments later that it settled into the boy’s mind. He found himself in an artificial cave, brass metal lined the familiar sight. Warmth slowly crept its way up his limbs as large doors slid back into place behind him. The hall appeared vast compared to the sight the blizzard beyond the walls had afforded, though its true dimensions were humble. It was a reception area, little more than a foyer. There was a foreign sense of unease pushing at the edge of his mind, dark whispers attempting to break his resolve, but he ignored them. He didn’t break his progress forwards, what he sought lay just beyond the portal opposite his path of entry.
The hall past the foyer was even greater. A large forum, it had once been a place where more than a hundred souls could gather comfortably during times of festivity. Now it lay empty. The only sound that echoed was the quiet footsteps of metal feet, usually masked by music and chatter. The boy collapsed to his knees, the journey finally taking its toll. From beyond a ramp closer to the centre of the hall shuffled a silver figure, a familiar service droid, hands clasping the brown robes of a limp sentient being kept in tow. It dropped the body unceremoniously when its visual sensors registered the presence of another.
The droid approached, its metallic vocal cords voicing some medical concern as it came near the boy, though the words never truly entered into his mind. Realization of a deed far greater began to dawn on him as pain finally settled into his being. He wept as the droid lifted him as gently as its artificial limbs allowed, its directive reassigning priority from keeping its territory uncontaminated to rendering medical aid to a being in need. The health of the living far outweighed the importance of removing the recently deceased in a public place.
The whoosh of a door followed by several electronic beeps signalled to Bernard that the BD unit had fulfilled its purpose. Unfamiliar with the binary language of droids, he assumed the Unit was just happy to have rendered Imperial defences useless so quickly. He patted the unit on the head absentmindedly as his eyes wandered to where Ryv was holding several Sith troopers at bay. Red bolts either flew past harmlessly or collided with the kiffar’s plasma blade. Were it not for the deep focus he felt he might have let regret about not training with the other padawan more enter his mind. He was well aware of Ryv’s shortcomings in combat scenarios, something that gave him a brief moment of pause as he stood on the verge of Lanik’s cell.
For a moment he thought about calling out to the other Padawan, that he should be the one to prepare their target for rescue. Bernard was far more familiar with the defence against multiple blaster wielding opponents, specialising in the fifth form of lightsabre combat, and the kiffar had only made his entrance to the Order recently by comparison. He didn’t wield the blade with the same amount of fluidity or efficiency as Bernard would have liked to see.
Yet, despite the perceived importance of his concerns, he swept aside those thoughts. He could feel Ryv’s focus within the Force. He had learned to trust his fellow Jedi, to allow himself to rely on others. One Jedi could not win the war, but many working in tandem could. It still felt wrong, to relinquish control of his own fate into the hands of others, but he’d grown to trust again. Encounters on Peace, with other padawans such as Aaran, Auteme, and Loske had taught him the value of kinship and the importance of trusting your team. He was no longer alone in this fight, he was one of many and he had friends who trusted him. He was determined to reciprocate that gesture of good faith.
“Don’t let the red bolts bite.” It was perhaps the first joke he’d uttered in over one and a half decades. Humour helped compartmentalize stress, he’d read.
Stepping past the doorway into Lanik’s cell, Bernard was greeted by an unsettling sight. A torture table, strapped to it a man whose body had deteriorated greatly, torture induced scars visible plainly. White hair so similar to his own was strewn over the man’s face, where the subtle movement of lips was the only indicator of life, save for the faint rise and fall of his chest. Something seemed familiar about the man, but Bernard couldn’t quite place it. As though the tortured figure was family of someone he’d met before, related to an acquaintance and thus similar in appearance.
As Bernard crept closer the lingering pain still echoing in the chamber began to build; a familiar sense of loss, one that threatened to break the seal of memories long buried and forgotten. He didn’t know why he was being so cautious. By all means, the man was left to wallow in the pain of torture, the only indication of a guard remained a crumpled mess of salvage off in the corner of the room. That was the faint sense of resistance Bernard had felt earlier, then. The grip on his lightsabre tightened as he neared the edge of the torture table.
The sense of déjà vu only began to intensify. He furrowed his brows in concentration, mind racing as it sorted through an avalanche of different memories and impressions in an attempt to find something that matched this moment. He leaned over the man from the edge of the table, brushing away the hair which concealed his identity. Recognition struck him as soon as the saboteur’s face stared back at him. A surge of emotion followed. Long forgotten hatred reared its hollow fires as his gaze locked not with a tortured Jedi but an agent of the Dark. Doubts began to fill the Jedi’s mind as he peered at the motionless figure.
This mission, could it have been a setup? Could Ryv have been falsely led to think a Jedi he believed to know had been captured? That the man he had seen was a deceiver masking themselves as a fellow adherent of the Light? He was frozen as he stared at those closed eyes, concealing whatever intent they harboured behind the mask of the unconscious.
He took a step back, instinctively entering into a more battle-ready stance, lightsabre now raised level with his midsection off to his side. The off-white blade rose from inactivity, painting the room a muted shade of blue. Deep breaths came and went as the blade began to slowly grow closer to the saboteur still strapped to the table. Its path was sure, its grip, however, unsteady. It shook ever so slightly as it moved towards the harness clinging to clothes permeated with blood and sweat. The blade hungered for more than mere metal, its wickedness’ only seal the Jedi’s mantra.
Lanik Dawnstar
Ryv
Darth Voyance
Aaran Tafo
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