Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Phantoms of the Past

MIDDLE OF NOWHERE
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE

Middle of nowhere.

Sure is.

The wooden church, if you could call it a church rather than an oversized shack, overlooked the village peacefully. You'd barely see the village from the tall golden threads of grass thickly surrounding the place of worship and healing or whatever else they called their oversized shack. Time stood still here. Days and nights rolled in an endless cycle of lethargy, peace and quiet. Ignorant of the troubles of the galaxy but well acquainted to the troubles of life.

Rohak hadn't bothered learning the village's name, if it even had one. He'd not even bothered to learn the name of the missionaries. The same missionaries that had saved him after the red coronation on Manda'yaim. So why had he sought them out?

Shepherd.

He appeared more often than usual recently, his intrusions always at the worst time. Preaching and preaching about peace and love for the other.

That, and the anniversary of his brother's death. The memory still in his mind like yesterday and every time it resurfaced in his thoughts the scar on his cheek burned. His hand came to touch it before the other swung the bottle of alcohol up in his mouth. The bittersweet taste lit his senses briefly and warmed his thirsty throat. The dar'manda leaned back on the wooden wall of the church besides the door and beneath the very welcomed shadow. Rohak had stood there for the last few hours refusing to enter. What was the point, anyway? He had not shown a glimpse of gratitude to the missionaries when they had saved them, on the contrary. He'd always laughed off religious cults.

So why?

[member="Irella Toldreyn"]
 
47bbb282f1.gif
The Middle Of Nowhere, No Really, Nowhere, Undetermined Time
Virtuous | Interacting with [member="Rohak Vizsla"] ~ Paradise ~ "When she was just a girl she expected the world."
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Leaving the Smuggler's Moon was rare, but Irella took any opportunity to escape the dreary landscape. Especially after her last scuffle, her last brush with oblivion. To even conjure those memories sent shivers down her spine and nearly had tears prick at her eyes, so perhaps escaping the setting it had occurred in was a good idea for now.

What planet was she even on? It didn't matter. You always saw these types on Shaddaa, looking for the rare kindhearted soul to do some charity work in exchange for getting it in good with a deity. Irella wasn't so interested in pleasing some god as she was in selfishly furthering her control over her latent Healing, no matter how many times the cultists slithered over to try and persuade the supposedly-airheaded young mystic to join their ranks. She denied every time with a polite smile and a veiled threat.

This particularly local had managed to tear his hands whilst building. Bloody scrapes ran down his hands, cuts the near-Human's touch felt featherlight against even as the man cringed, "You won't lose your hands," She said in her dry, well-worn accent, lilted to indicate an air of sophistication that clashed with the old wooden building, "It just may sting for a moment."

Another miracle to perform, right?

Her palms covered the man's right hand, focusing the Force like she had before she could even conceive abstract notions. This form of healing came so naturally, so painfully easy to her, like breathing. Before the Praxeum she had done this on the street to make a few credits. After the Praxeum, she still did that. Life's cyclical, apparently.

A sense of something outside of the building momentarily broke Irella's concentration as she turned her head as if she could look beyond the walls of the church, even as the healing progressed. Someone was out there, refusing to enter. How odd.
 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJt7gNi3Nr4
What's a mob to a king?
What's a king to a god?
What's a god to a non-believer?
Who don't believe in anything?​
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE


Muffled sounds came from within the church, a feminine tone softly speaking to someone. Rohak would've ignored it were he not sure the missionaries were all out. Someone stayed behind, big deal. The pirate swung another bittersweet sip from the cracked bottle in his hand when his eyes caught movement through the melancholic waves of the grass. He lowered the bottle from his mouth, squinted and tried to discern the figure coming towards the church. Even in the shadow, the searing sun made him frown. Had he been with his armor and helmet none of this would've been an issue.

The mysterious figure approached rapidly and the Mandalorian discerned gradually the staggering with haste youth. What caught him by surprise was what the youth carried - a slightly younger boy. The pirate remained leaning on the church's wall merely observing but his focus on the youth narrowed his facial features like a hawk. The more pieces he put to this puzzle of a situation, the more he felt something old crawl up from within him.

"HELP!" The hurried boy's voice rang like an alarm. "MY BROTHER - HE'S DYING." The intense wave of panic from the boy washed over Rohak like a wave. The completion of the puzzle tightened his guts and dried his mouth. Against his nature, the unnamed feeling crawling from within forced him to move. Rohak darted, freed his hands from the bottle and snatched the younger brother from the older boy. The feeling drove him once more, not unlike a thrall to it the dar'manda rushed into the same church he stood away from entering as if it was plagued.

A hard kick threw open the old wooden doors screeching and the hinges ringing.

It's a good deed, Rohak.

Shepherd's voice came in his mind softly but also mangled his reality.

"Priests!" The pirate's voice boomed ahead.

They'd know the situation was dire. Hopefully, there was still someone inside and the feminine voice from earlier was not only inside his mind.



[member="Irella Toldreyn"]
 
The Middle Of Nowhere, No Really, Nowhere, Undetermined Time
Virtuous | Interacting with [member="Rohak Vizsla"] ~ Paradise ~ "But it flew away from her reach."
——————————————————————

Certain sounds felt different. Rain was melancholic, blaster fire maddening. The cries of those in search of help?

The feeling of wet duracrete in her stomach wouldn't go away no matter how much she tried to push it off -- Dropping the farmer's hands, which were healed near-cleanly, the furthest-yet-closest thing to a 'priest' rushed to the door when it flew open, "What's wrong?" A simple, two-word question, muted eyes watching this guarded soul and his new wounded charge with the critical gaze of someone experienced in healing. With a dry mouth, the rogue Jedi brushed her hands off on her thighs, already seeing the issue; the youngster's abdomen was a mess of blood and near-guts, an uncomfortable sight for anyone but especially on the young boy. Gaze going for the once-drunkard's face, she waved him over to a pew, which could serve as a temporary spot of healing, "Hurry, he won't have long."

That was true enough. He was liable to bleed out very, very soon. Without hesitation Irella began to probe the injuries, fingers easily coated in red due to the effort, "Please put pressure here." She asked plainly, gesturing to a part of the leaking wound -- Expecting him to be there helping, of course. She needed a moment to prepare before undergoing a healing this intense.
 
A farmer, judging by his looks, and a woman received them. Rohak realized he'd not seen one among the priests before but the critical situation shoved away the question in his mind. He heeded her call silently as he laid the boy with care on the pew. Deep red painted the lower part of his linen shirt.

"Please, please, save him, please." The older brother's plea came through gasps for air and legs crumbling down on their knees. Tears flooded his eyes.

The dar'manda applied his hand on the blood pouring wound with no hesitation, no second thoughts. Blood was something far from foreign to the Mandalorian. Rohak's grimace lifted from the wound to face the woman.

"Fethin' hurry." Intense coldness rolled down his throat. Where were the karkin' priests when you needed them? The gushing blood consumed the young boy. Time was running short. "Farmer, stop looking around like a di'kut[/] and come over to help." The order sprang the exhausted farmer in a hurry to heed it.

The storm in his eyes turned back to the woman.

How much time did she need to prepare?

[member="Irella Toldreyn"]
 
The Middle Of Nowhere, No Really, Nowhere, Undetermined Time
Virtuous | Interacting with [member="Rohak Vizsla"] ~ Paradise ~ "So she ran away in her sleep."
——————————————————————

The priests couldn't have done a thing; Irella could. Silently thankful that it had been her to answer their plea, her hands deep now in the mess as her arms trembled from the pressure. The Force often wasn't temperamental, but it roiled like a snake, thrown off by her own lack of concentration due to this stranger and his tone of ice. It prompted a vexing feeling in her mind, one that even let her gloss over the fact this would-be saviour/stranger knew what sounded like Mando'a, a language she could recognize all too well.

Tissue and muscle knit back together wherever the healer's fingers travelled, the regenerative powers of the Force more than enough to save this soul. Sure, it looked miraculous in nature, but in a way, it was almost science. Bacta paled in comparison to this talent, sharp inhales and exhales clearly indicating how stopping something of this magnitude was stressing the woman's body and mind. Still, she pushed on, the regeneration continuing until not even a scar would remain on the boy's body.

"He'll live." Irella muttered, withdrawing shaky, bloody hands. With no incision left to feed the flow, the remaining red trickled to the ground of the church in splatters, rolling off the healed skin.
 
The farmer looked unfazed by her use of...the Force, unlike the pirate whose eyes widened just briefly with a startle before composing himself. He held tight the boy as she worked her magic. Force. Or whatever it is called. A power that threw the Mandalorians into numerous wars both foreign and civil much recently. Some conflicts he participated in, some he did not want to remember.

Kashyyyk.

The same reason he had foolishly come here to seek...what? Solace? Solitude? Pay his respects? Rohak wasn't so sure himself. He just wished the memory of his brother torn to pieces by a flak gun mid space would disappear forever but it always came back and with it other painful memories. Misery loves company, they say.

She pulled herself away from the boy shaking. The mess was gone, a live saved. Tears of disbelief choked the older brother who grasped tightly his younger brothers arm sobbing gratitude at the healer. The dar'manda retracted himself from the young boy while the farmer took off not intrigued a bit by the whole scene.

Well done, Rohak.

"Shut it." The Mandalorian snapped to no one but the voice in his head. He glanced at the healer to see if she'd noticed before he was about to stride back and leave the church.

Talk to the healer, Rohak. Shepherd's voice rang gently through his mind freezing him. Rohak turned back to the healer frowning at her silently, his introverted nature never much helped him in these cases.

"Here." The word came out like a threat as he handed her a cloth of linen sitting idly nearby to clean her hands. "What are you doing here, jetii?" Mandalorians didn't really discern much between Force users. To Rohak they were all the same.

[member="Irella Toldreyn"]
 
The Middle Of Nowhere, No Really, Nowhere, Undetermined Time
Virtuous | Interacting with [member="Rohak Vizsla"] ~ Paradise ~ "And dreamed of para-para-paradise."
——————————————————————

There'd been a thousand scenes like it before; delirious relief that felt like nails on slate, the way desperate family members and friends had their grief turn to winded relief in seconds. The church was silent again as the brothers shuffled off, a relatively serene expression placidly across her face before it was broken by harsh speak and offered fabric. She'd nearly forgotten that this Mando was here, or at least, someone she suspected of being one-- Jetii was a word she'd heard all too many times from a certain Alor --but dripping fingers took the linen anyway, wiping away the mess from her digits, "Helping," There'd been no sense in trying to reinforce the fact that she had left a semblance of an Order long ago, and just let them call her whatever they wanted to, "You didn't come here to do that, though."

A blunt observation, but people like that could often see right through even the most troubled and opaque of personalities. He'd been the one she'd sensed lurking outside the thin walls, and yet he'd rushed to aid an innocent. A short exhale and she dropped the bloody rag atop the small pool, letting it soak red to help and try to start cleaning up, speaking idly all the while in a tone that seemed to suggest how drained that particular recovery had left her, "Well-- We're both here now, Mandalorian, not much else to be done about it."
 
Attitude. Spine.

Rohak saw the strong concrete beneath her soft features and his senses slightly flared. Especially when he realized she'd matched the language he'd used. The pirate doubted she knew what the words meant but her witty conclusion to his background she might've in some way interacted with Mandalorians. In War? In Peace?

"Rohak. The other's a label I have not be called a long time ago." Rohal elaborated reluctantly and his eyes shuffled from top to bottom the mysterious healer. His hand reached for a pocket on his hips. A match and a rolled cigarette met in an embrace of fire before the smoke carried itself across the church. "Where have the priests gone? " A distrustful look scanned the healer head to toe.


[member="Irella Toldreyn"]
 
The Middle Of Nowhere, No Really, Nowhere, Undetermined Time
Virtuous | Interacting with [member="Rohak Vizsla"] ~ Paradise ~ "When she was just a girl she expected the world."
——————————————————————

"Irella."

Her expression stayed passive, her attire plain and unbecoming of a Jedi of some kind, a grimace twisted across fine features as he mentioned those irritating priests, "They went to visit a neighbouring hamlet," Reaching for another rag she dug some coagulated blood from under her nails as her voice remained a little cool, a little haughty, "To try and recruit some of the locals. Preach, perhaps, bring some comfort. I'm not a member of their faith so they insisted I remain." Not as if she'd argue.

"Suits me just fine as a healer, to keep vigil while they're gone." Part of her knew what this Rohak meant, about not being something anymore. The Praxeum felt like a dream, a different life, and it was for that reason she sniffed slightly before piping up, "If it matters, I have not been a true Jedi for some time." It probably didn't matter, it was probably obvious. Squinting in the bleak lighting of the church Irella finally got a good look at him, "You're not gonna slice my throat, are you?"
 
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE,
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE


Seek salvation, Rohak.

Shepherd's voice breezed through his mind. What did he mean?

The pirate listened to the Jetii curiously and with each word she spoke his features eased. Where once was a wicked grimace remained only a fraction of it replaced by a face burdened by phantoms and pain. He usually hid them well and it is why he opted wearing his helmet nearly all the time but the alcohol and the near dying kid loosened him up. Rohak did not realize it then but Irella might've seen more of the scattered pieces of life on his face than anyone else before. Was she the reason? Shepherd? Both? He couldn't tell but neither did he think about it. Those questions would come to dwell in his mind later down the road.

"You're not gonna slice my throat, are you?"

A very brief smirk pulled his lips. "You don't have a secret stash of valuables here, right?" Rhetoric.

He glutted the tobacco's toxicity before offering it to her. "I don't care if you're a Jedi or not." The statement came out with a cloud of smoke rising up. He pulled the sheath carrying a vibrodagger from the back of his waist and tossed it on a wooden chair as a sign of trust. Rohak made little sense today and he'd probably regret it later but the alcohol, the memories and maybe even the Jedi shook him within. He raised his hand at her offering her a cigarette. "Looks like you need a drink."

"Got some secret priest stash of booze around here?"

Today would be a day he would like to forget.

[member="Irella Toldreyn"]
 
The Middle Of Nowhere, No Really, Nowhere, Undetermined Time
Virtuous | Interacting with [member="Rohak Vizsla"] ~ Paradise ~ "But it flew away from her reach."
——————————————————————

Looks like you need a drink.

And yet it seemed to her that he was the one in need of liquid courage. The echoes of broken history were always sombre to witness, but there was something about the stranger's tones that continued to spawn a general wariness in the healer. Not that she wouldn't have been guarded around such a stranger, especially one who seemed to at least coming from Mandalorian roots, but it was something in the way his voice ran through her mind. Sounds had always been important to Irella, and never so important as now.

Still, no stranger to a vice or three, she took the offered smoke. She'd been avid about them in her youth but had tapered off after the Praxeum, and now she was right back where she'd started. Again, cyclical. It was only after puffing on it for a second that Irella deigned to answer his questions, rhetorical or no, "The priests don't seem fond of worldly possessions," In between stained fingers, she offered the smoke back, "So I don't think they have much treasure or drink on hand. Some of the townsfolk brought a few bottles as thanks, though." Her shoulder drooped towards a small pile in the corner of the church, various boxes and folded bolts of cloth and, yes, cloudy bottles of what appeared to be alcohol. They didn't seem touched recently, judging by a thin film of dust over the entire ensemble, "Insisted on paying for the healing services with goods."

Something awful happened to this man, a part of Irella noted dimly, not wishing to breach into his mind with the Force even if she was skilled in that particular talent (Certainly not). It was his right to privacy. Adding another cloth to the pile of bloody rags starting to soak up the mess, an exhale led into a final statement, "I don't see why we, as the faithless, could not enjoy the things that our more religious friends refuse to." It was the Jedi's way of declaring open season on the liquor.
 
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE,
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE


"See? We're much more alike than you would think, jetii." Rohak smirked taking a bottle for himself. With a pop the cork flew off the bottle's neck and the Mandalorian raised it for a cheer before he satisfied the drought in his mouth with the intoxicating liquid. Its taste sourish and beckoning of spice. He'd had none on him now and neither would've he asked the healer for it for his sudden, atypical interest in her pressed the matter of spice away. Usually known as an introvert, the taste of alcohol often unlocked the more intimate side of his - the pirate's side. The pirate often came as aloof, gravely silent and extremely serious until he sought the self-destructive nature of vices. That is when the natural visibly dominant presence came both verbally and in his body language. Desire, ambition and unscrupulousness evident in his posture.

"Unfit for the Jedi, shunned from their circle." He leaned brashly forward, the statement out of nowhere. "Seeking redemption in the middle of nowhere. You're not fit for a Jedi, healer." Rohak boldly asserted.

"You can't help those who can't help themselves."

The last statement, he would later come to realize, indirectly referred to himself.

What did he seek from Irella? He did not know, or he could not explain. She possessed a presence which challenged him, somehow. Questions he would dwell on much later on.

[member="Irella Toldreyn"]
 
The Middle Of Nowhere, No Really, Nowhere, Undetermined Time
Not So Virtuous | Interacting with Rohak Vizsla
http://starwarsrp.net/user/19307-rohak-vizsla/ ~ Paradise ~ "And the bullets catch in her teeth."

——————————————————————

A twitch of emotion crossed Irella's face fast as he assumed her situation, a momentary scowl, but it passed soon enough. She had enough self-restraint, it seemed, to act for both of them, but she still muttered a rather heated, "I chose to leave, I wasn't shunned. I shunned them. They needed redemption." She hated it how it sounded like empty justifications to her own ears. As he drank and she elected to finish cleaning up the blood that was sure to stain. His sound rolled over her like waves in a raging sea, leading to a feeling of fresh tingles across her skin, the skittish nature his particular voice elicited from her leading to a bit more defensiveness from the rogue Jedi now.

"Some people just need to learn how to help themselves. If I teach that, then don't I succeed by extension?" She countered shrewdly, hazel eyes glancing upwards to him as she settled into a squat to add a diluting solution to the mess. She'd partake in the imbibing later, for certain, to fill her stomach with fire and dull senses.

Red washed away from the plain flooring easily with her sanitary ways, the motion bringing a little well-needed calm to her. If she just focused on the sound of this, for the time being, the sound of violence washed away, she could regain a level of balance needed to face Rohak on his level. Because she could. Could she?

Perhaps she needed that drink sooner than later. Standing as the bleach-like chemical worked its magic, the near-Human stalked over to the pile of rewards and chose something light for herself.
 
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, MIDDLE OF NOWHERE

Rohak took another gulp and took another step closer to the healer. In his mind an old quote rushed in. A quote belonging to either his father, brother or sister and the dar'manda voiced it aloud to the Jedi, or, well, ex-Jedi.

"By giving them something they have not earned, all you have helped them become is a target."

He took another step closer to her and raised his bottle urging her to drink.

"Think first for yourself." He said bluntly, eyes locked with hers before adding with ice rolling off his tongue. "You can't save the galaxy." Memories of his parents devoured by the space beast, his brother Shev obliterated to pieces from a cruiser's flak gun, his own 'demise' at the hands of Munin during the Red Coronation barged in his mind.

[member="Irella Toldreyn"]
 
The Middle Of Nowhere, No Really, Nowhere, Undetermined Time
Vice | Interacting with [member="Rohak Vizsla"] ~ Paradise ~ "Life goes on, it gets so heavy."
——————————————————————

Irella's scowl might have sent a Dark Lord to shame, but it was surely not to phase the dar'manda.

You can't save the galaxy.

"I can save one. That can be a start."

There was no beating that stubborn idealism. On a good day, when Irella felt like defending it, she could manage such morals. Clearly he couldn't. She'd learned to put herself first on Shaddaa, and that damage had taken some time to undo. Mandalorians, however, seemed intent on kicking her back down into the muck of selfishness. Ronan had done that job well enough in the Chasm.

Now Rohak was finishing the task with booze and words of a callous heart. With narrowed eyes she grabbed the bottle by the neck and drank like a true spitfire, a few gulps down, before sticking it back out to him crudely, "Save one single person, then they save someone in kind, and so on, and so on. Tell me; who have you saved?"
 

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