Private Sacrilege

[Prodigy]

Kesh
Arlo Renard​

---

Loneliness was not an emotion Prodigy ever expected to feel. Most machines never would. Right now, he envied them. Cursed his own knowledge. Pontificated the value of a simpler life. An ignorant life. One in which truth did not batter the gates of his mind, demanding to be set free. Demanding to be shared.

But Prodigy's mind never quieted. So he continued to wander. He thought hope a human delusion, yet he clung to it the same as they did. The hope that someone, anyone, would hear the gospel. Thus far none would. And thus far his hope was encrusted in bitterness.

Kesh was a world with a complicated history in the Force. Prodigy thought it might have made a prospective candidate for his Open Hand back at its zenith. Now the movement was dead in all but his acceptance of it. Not that he was blind to his setbacks. As an organization, the Open Hand had lost all momentum. Their early victories squandered by infighting and overconfidence. Prodigy was its lone preacher, but as long as he remained, it could be resurrected.

The droid wandered through Kesh's frontier cordilleras, a weather cloak draping his chassis, and a powerful relic relegated to little more than a walking stick. He hopped between the region's scattered villages, reclusive and nestled between the green mountain ranges. Most of the locals rebuffed him. Others got violent.

Prodigy had just left his latest sermon with a few pieces of produce staining his chassis. Not as bad as it could have been, he mused, stepping off the dirt-laid boundary of the town to continue along the mountain road.

 

[Arlo Renard]

“Come on, uncle, this way!”

Arlo grunted in response to the boy’s urging, walking at the same slow and steady pace he had been for the last mile. Ahead of him were three urchins, each with skin a different shade of purple, barely visible beneath the layers of grime and rags. He first encountered the trio not long after he arrived in the city, having sprung back to life in the middle of nowhere and hiked through the wilderness until he found civilization. They tried to pick his pocket, but he caught them. After giving each a sound thrashing, he had offered them a job as his scouts, which they had taken to like fish to water. Soon they had attached themselves to him, calling him “uncle” even though they were no kin of his.

Their leader, Dev, was the one who had found the body on a riverbed in the outskirts of the city. Quick and nimble, Dev was more sensitive to the ebb and flow of the universe than his partners in crime. He would’ve made for a good Mystic—or a Sith, Arlo thought darkly—but those days were long gone. The Mystics, as far as he knew, had died with Chaldea.

The urchins scurried over rock and moss, frequently pausing to look back at Arlo as he struggled over the cragged ground. Sometimes they called him “grandfather” behind his back, not realizing just how correct they were. For while Arlo looked young, he was old. Very, very old.

“There it is!” Dev cried, pointing to the edge of the river.

“Stand back,” Arlo ordered as he continued his plodding trek over the stones, his breathing growing labored. They knew by now to heed his warnings, though it had taken a few close calls for the lesson to sink in.

He smelled the corpse before he saw it. Headless and naked, it lay bloating in the sun, pale lavender flesh smeared with mud. Radiating malice.

“Who did it?” Dev asked, watching as Arlo carefully approached and, though his arthritic knees protested, crouched down beside the body. The torso had belonged to a man, fat and covered in thick dark hair. The cut to his neck bore the distinctive scorch marks of a lightsaber. Just as Dev had promised, Arlo could sense the miasma surrounding the corpse, whispering to him of victimization at the hands of a mortal who believed themselves a god.

“Don’t come any closer,” Arlo said. “Watch for anyone passing by.”

With that, he stretched out his hands and began to siphon the wispy traces of energy away from the dead man, leaving behind only a void. Like air it filled his lungs, and like breath he exhaled it back into the aether, where it would be rendered harmless. Would that he could do this to the whole galaxy, rebuking the powerful wherever they left their mark…

Prodigy​

 

[Prodigy]

Prodigy spotted the wanderers below. He had thought to pass them by entirely, until he saw the corpse they were manipulating. He stared curiously, then dared to step off the trail and towards the riverbed. "What is this?" The droid asked, "What happened here?"

Arlo Renard​

 

[Arlo Renard]

The urchins did as Arlo asked, standing watch while he performed the purging ritual. They didn’t see anyone on the road leading out of town, and didn’t expect anyone to venture in their direction. Alas, they didn’t count on the superior sight of droid photoreceptors, which were able to see objects at a much greater distance than the limited eyes of most organic life forms.

When Prodigy stepped off the path, his appearance alone was enough to strike fear into the hearts of the children. A massive, hulking thing of metal and wires, the stains of expired fruit smeared across his chassis did little to detract from his menacing presence.

Dev stood rooted to the spot while his two companions fled, his feet like lead and his eyes wide as saucers. The boys’ fear broke Arlo’s concentration like a spike of ice piercing his mind. He hid among the bulrushes, his crouching stance becoming predatory as muscles tensed, ready to strike.

"What is this? What happened here?"

For a few moments Dev couldn’t speak. He trembled with terror, his lip quivering until he managed to get the words out: “I found a body. A man whose head was cut off by a lightsaber. I brought Uncle to see it.” The word uncle around these parts referred not just to a familial relation, but was a term of affection granted to any beloved male authority figure. Especially one who served the role of protector. Dev was letting Prodigy know that someone was looking out for him, a warning not to try anything. Smart.

Here's to hoping this... thing had pure intentions.

Prodigy​

 

[Prodigy]

Prodigy heaved a mechanical sigh at the child's frozen terror. Admittedly his towering metal presence wasn't exactly amiable, even after upgrading from his previous form. All the same he grew weary of the inconveniences. Eventually, Dev got the words out, "Lightsaber?" Prodigy repeated incredulously, "Uncle?" He had some understanding of the local intent behind the term.

"And where is this Uncle?" The droid continued walking down towards the body to investigate further.

Arlo Renard​

 

[Arlo Renard]

"And where is this Uncle?"

As the machine drew nearer, Arlo rose to his feet, ignoring the protests of his achy joints. “Keep your distance, clanker,” he said, quietly resting his hand on the hilt of one of his knives. “Wouldn’t want to contaminate the crime scene.”

His Chaldean accent was thick, with a distinct Inner Rim twang, and his clothing was strange. Leather made from iridescent scales, the mane of an animal too large to be a mere lion slung across his shoulders. The deliberate scars criss-crossing his face. Prodigy might even be able to determine from his milky purple eyes that he was of the obscure Methuselan species. Or maybe the droid couldn't tell a damned thing about him, and wouldn't care besides. At any rate, it was obvious he wasn’t a native, and yet here he was. An honorary uncle, present at the scene of a murder.

Prodigy​

 

[Prodigy]

Prodigy's photoreceptors blinked slowly at the word clanker. It was simultaneously surprising, yet wholly unexpected. And it pretty much set expectations for the interaction going forward. "Contamination is an interesting justification coming from a bag of meat," This man clearly wasn't native, whoever he was. There was a pause as Prodigy studied him closer. He didn't know the man's species, but the holonet did, and he put together the clues in a few seconds. The accent, the purple eyes, the features that almost seemed intentional, rather than naturally grown, "What brings a Methuselan out to Kesh?" There was an upward intonation to the identification, as if testing whether he was correct.

Prodigy looked back at the corpse, then asked plainly, "Did you kill him?"

Arlo Renard​

 

[Arlo Renard]

So the droid had enough free will and self-awareness to dish out insults of its own. Cute.

“Dunno,” Arlo replied. “I just woke up here after taking a decade-long dirt nap. I’d go home, but home’s not there anymore. Figured I might as well stay.”

"Did you kill him?"

Arlo’s answer was deadpan. “No. But after I finish up here, I’m going to kill the bastard who did. Make sure he or she never does anything like this again.”

Prodigy​

 

[Prodigy]

"Most dirt naps last longer," Prodigy commented quickly. That, and Arlo's comment of home, were curious. But not detailed enough to go off of. And something told Prodigy this guy wasn't going to expose his life story to a random droid.

"Heated words. Is this personal?" Prodigy observed, "I consider myself a specialist in cases such as… this," He saw the saber wound on the remaining stump of neck. There were few people in the galaxy who carried those, "If the though of help from a clanker doesn't revile you so, I would offer my assistance."

Arlo Renard​

 

[Arlo Renard]

Arlo didn’t bother to respond. He had no answers for why or how he had been brought back from the dead. All that he knew was that there had to be a reason.

"Heated words. Is this personal?"

“No.” Personal to Arlo meant it involved somebody he knew. The dead man was a stranger to him. “I rebuke the powerful. Sith, Jedi, doesn’t matter. Anyone gets too big for their britches, starts doing more harm than good, I put an end to it.”

"I consider myself a specialist in cases such as… this. If the thought of help from a clanker doesn't revile you so, I would offer my assistance."

“I’m something of a specialist myself.” He chanced a small smirk. “I don’t especially like independent droids, but as long as you don’t have too many screws loose, I could care less.” To the boys, he called out, “Go on home now. I’ll be back soon.”

The trio of urchins scampered off obediently, heading back towards the city. Arlo, picking up the trail of the murderer, headed in the opposite direction, away from the river.

Prodigy​

 

[Prodigy]

Even with his limited expressiveness, Prodigy's interest seemed to pique with Arlo's manifesto, "Is that so…?"

Arlo himself seemed to find the alliance agreeable, though not without voicing further distrust of machines. He dismissed the urchins, then continued off to track down of the killer. Prodigy followed suit, his advanced photoreceptors picking up minute details along the trail. "Our culprit is likely a Sith, or Dark Jedi. The Jedi have their own problems, but casual murder isn't typically one of them." He assessed, "Which means we'll need to tread carefully. This killer likely won't hesitate when threatened. Do you have any anti-Force capabilities?"

Arlo Renard​

 

[Arlo Renard]

Arlo stayed silent while Prodigy spoke. It was nothing he didn’t already know well. Decades had passed since the Jedi meddled on the wrong side of the Chaldean Civil War, only to realize what they were getting into—fighting alongside Sith in the name of freedom. But Arlo never forgot the lesson he learned from that. Force Users were nothing but men and women with too much power, squabbling over religion while everyone else burned.

"Which means we'll need to tread carefully. This killer likely won't hesitate when threatened. Do you have any anti-Force capabilities?"

“Yeah,” Arlo muttered. An understatement at best. “I’ve ripped the Force away from greater beings than this.”

They crossed the marshlands at a slower pace than he would’ve liked, thanks to the mud sucking at boots and metal feet. But the trail was getting hotter rather than colder, at least. Eventually they came upon a cave mouth, the jutting rocks around it like jagged teeth. Pieces of dirty clothing, shiny food wrappers, and other trash were strewn around it, along with the charred remains of a campfire a little further in. Most likely the spot had been used for shelter by vagrants, though none could be found now.

“He’s somewhere in there,” Arlo said, milky eyes staring into the darkness of the cave. “Hasn’t left yet. Probably hiding. He doesn’t know we are tracking him, but he must expect to be pursued.”

Pulling a pair of gloves from his belt, he knelt on the ground and bowed his head. "Far from the silent planet, I roam..." His lips moved, quickly whispering the Wanderer's Prayer as he put on the gloves and warmed up the built in gadgetry. Once he had finished preparing, he stood up again and walked through the cave mouth without fear or hesitation. He'd done this many times before, and would do it many more times yet, Force willing.

Prodigy​

 

[Prodigy]

"Have you now…?" Prodigy mused on the few details he had gathered. For the intuitive droid, it was enough, "Your home is gone. You specialize in Force severance which must make you Force sensitive yourself."

"You are a Chaldean Mystic, aren't you?" How interesting a development. It was unfortunate what happened to Chaldea. Despite their discrimination against Force users, the planet ironically never had any involvement with the short lived Open Hand.

They came across a cave mouth, with remnants of a camp still smoldering there. Despite Prodigy's eagerness, he stayed behind Arlo, knowing he was better equipped to handle a Force user. Prodigy may have the knowledge, but he lacked the physical edge, with few Anti-Force capabilities still to his name, "How many Sith have you fought in your time?"

Arlo Renard​

 

[Arlo Renard]

"Your home is gone. You specialize in Force severance which must make you Force sensitive yourself. You are a Chaldean Mystic, aren't you?"

On his knees, Arlo stared into the black maw of the cave. “Yes,” he answered, as much in defiance of the yawning abyss before him as in response to the droid’s question. “And I won’t be the last.”

"How many Sith have you fought in your time?"

Heading into the cave, Arlo shrugged. “I lost count after a hundred and twenty six. I prefer to leave them alive—it’s too easy to come back from the dead. Better to make them live without the one thing that made them feel so powerful. But let’s cut the chatter now.” The Dark Sider was close. If they wanted to get the drop on him, they would have to be quiet and stealthy. Arlo’s little ritual before entering the cave had rendered him undetectable in the Force; the darkness would hide the rest of him.

It wasn’t long before they heard a scrabbling against the rocks. Panting breaths. Finally, as Arlo entered a larger chamber deeper in the caverns, a purple lightsaber ignited a few feet away from him. The weapon was clasped in the hands of a Keshiri boy, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old, with a grimy face and filthy clothes. “Stay back!” he yelped, holding the lightsaber out even as he scrambled backwards, trying to get away from them.

Prodigy​

 

[Prodigy]

“And I won’t be the last.”

"You have ambitions?" Prodigy asked. It was quite the spin of fate that these two came across one another. Perhaps it was a sign from the Force. Arlo was quite experienced too. He had faced many Sith. The machine didn't admit it aloud, but he had never faced on himself, not head-on anyways. His knowledge was based in research and simulation. He could process it all far faster than a mere mortal could, but his true lifespan was at this point only a few years. Not much time to go about confronting Sith.

Eventually, they entered a wide chamber, in which a young Keshiri was trapped. He ignited a saber; Purple. Not impossible for a Sith, but uncommon. "Young one." Prodigy observed, "An apprentice?" He didn't make any moves, simply studying the boy, "Where is your master, child?" If they had a more powerful Sith to deal with nearby, then that would double their problems.

Arlo Renard​

 

[Arlo Renard]

"You have ambitions?"

Arlo didn’t answer. But his words had been more an act of defiance than of ambition. He would not be the last Chaldean Mystic, because his tradition could not die. His faith would not let him believe it possible. He had been dead, yet here he was alive again. In a universe of magic and prophecies, he must have been brought back for a reason.

And that reason seemed to be staring him in the face. The Keshiri boy’s gaze darted between the man and the droid before him.

"Young one. An apprentice? Where is your master, child?"

“M-Master?” The boy’s brow furrowed, before he seemed to have an epiphany. “No, no. This was my father’s. He was a Jedi Knight. He’s dead.” Like most citizens of the galaxy, he didn’t care whether they were Jedi, Sith, or something in-between. He only cared about his own safety, and sought to appease them. But the information he had given would not save his life, and his feelings of relief were premature. Arlo could smell the Dark Side on him.

“Why did you kill that man?” the Mystic asked, cutting straight to the chase.

“What man?” the boy muttered.

“The one whose headless, naked body is now lying on the riverbank, bloating in the sun. Don’t try to deny it. The marks on his neck could only have been made by a lightsaber. You did a poor job of hiding the evidence and an even worse job covering up your tracks.”

As he spoke the boy began to tremble violently, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in shock. Then he lowered the lightsaber and bowed his head. When next he looked up, his expression was contorted in rage and disgust. “He was a pawnbroker. A bloodsucking parasite who took advantage of the poor and the desperate. He contributed nothing to society.”

“So you cut off his head with your father’s lightsaber as a favor to the community?”

“I needed money too,” the boy said, scowling. “Like I said, he was scum. He deserved to die.”

Prodigy​

 

[Prodigy]

Prodigy barked a metallic laugh, "I recall celibacy being a trait of the Jedi long ago. It seems they can't help themselves from propagating these days." Their old ways had weaknesses, no doubt. But the prospect of Jedi dynasties seemed like something of an overcorrection to Prodigy.

It didn't take long for the boy to admit to what he did, and attempt to justify his actions based on the victim's character. Classic Jedi, acting as judge, jury, and executioner. He must have learned that from his father. Then, the boy admitted to needing money on top of it. Prodigy took a few steps forward, his large metal framing kneeling down to be closer to eye level, "Scum or not, murdering him was not your duty." He spoke with some level of pity for the boy, but not leniency, "You have committed a crime. A man so righteous as yourself surely understands he must accept responsibility for his actions, no?"

Arlo Renard​

 

[Arlo Renard]

Arlo looked upon the boy with disappointment. He had expected to find a rogue Sith or a fallen Jedi. Instead he was faced with an amoral, opportunistic thief who just happened to be the spawn of a Jedi, inheriting his father’s power with no sense of responsibility.

"He abused his own sister, made her work like a slave!" the boy went on, then seemed to give up the defense. "I don't have to listen to this."

Arlo sensed the surge of raw power moment before the boy lashed out with the Force. He was ready to resist the telekinetic push, his booted feet sliding only an inch or two in the dirt. Prodigy might not be so lucky—or maybe the droid would surprise him. He did seem knowledgeable of Force Users.

"Back off, or I'll do the same to you that I did to him!" the boy yelled. But there was a crack of uncertainty in his voice. He clearly hadn't expected to be met with resistance. When Arlo drew his spear and started toward him, he raised his lightsaber to block the blow, his eyes widening when the shaft of the Mystic's spear didn't break against the burning blade.

Prodigy​

 

[Prodigy]

"Don't be-" The boy cut him off, telekinetically pushing the droid away. Prodigy skidded across the ground, then effectively locked himself into the ground, a piston like function in his mechanical calf stabbing through the dirt. He stood back up, glowering in spite of his unemotive face.

"Threats? You ought to heavily reconsider your actions, boy. What would father think?" Sarcasm injected into his tone. But when Arlo tried to attack, Prodigy was caught off guard, "No-!" He reached up, but the boy had blocked his spear. It's resistance to the lightsaber created a pause in the conflict, which Prodigy used to push Arlo's spear aside, "What happened to your preference for leaving them alive?" He whispered harshly, "He's just a boy. Purify him and be done with it."

Arlo Renard​

 

[Arlo Renard]

"No-!"

Arlo’s spear was pushed aside by Prodigy, who tried to intervene. But it only provided an opportunity for the boy to stab the Mystic in the chest.

It would have been a fatal blow, straight to the heart—but the dragonskin armor he wore protected him. Arlo felt more pain in his joints from being shoved aside by Prodigy, along with anger at himself. Was he slipping in his old age?

He shook those thoughts from his mind and swiftly disarmed his opponent with a strike of his spear to his wrist. The lightsaber was knocked from the boy’s hand and spiraled off into the darkness of the cave.

“You don’t deserve this power,” Arlo judged. Had this son of a Jedi been a skilled Force User, he may have had to suppress his connection first, purifying him gradually. But he found little resistance as he took hold of the cord binding him to the Force, allowing the Mystic to sever it cleanly.

A strange sound tore from the boy’s lips. Like suddenly going blind or deaf, he had lost a sense that he had always taken for granted. He staggered, falling to his knees and clutching his head. Then he began to sob, crying like a child.

Grimacing, Arlo stretched an aching shoulder. “You shouldn’t have interfered,” he said to Prodigy, scowling. “I wasn’t going to kill him. But there was no avoiding a fight. I couldn’t sever his connection to the Force as long as he was coming at me with telekinesis and a lightsaber.”

Prodigy​