Private Salvation in Dreams

[Darth Avida]

​

She inhaled deeply, the dusty air trying in vain to suffocate her through her nose. The planet of Mandalore wasn't one she'd ventured to in any of the years throughout her storied past, they were a people she was vaguely familiar with through the periphery and there were those among them she knew and had dealings with, but despite the similarities between the ancient society she'd sprung from and these armor-obsessed people a chance to visit the planet had never presented itself to her. There was a shallow grave here, where she was standing, that belonged to the man she'd followed from the battlefield hundreds upon thousands of light years away, and it'd been the only chance she'd needed to take in order to bring her here. She'd heard something about her late daughter having ventured either to here or a planet of the Mandalorians but Braith had long been dead by the time her, now deceased, daughter, Vesta, would have given her a reason to visit.

The planet wasn't of interest to her a week ago, however, and it was hardly holding her attention now - her eyes, violet and almost luminescent in the moonlight, were only staring down at its surface because there was a corpse of a man that she was prepared to rip from the afterlife and pulling him from his resting place while still buried a meter or two beneath her feet seemed excessively cruel. "Couldn't have made this easy for me?" Braith complained to no one in particular, given that the woman who'd buried him, Darth Virelia , was certainly not within earshot - or even planet-side, as far as she knew - and Brent Warnel was as dead as .. well, he was a corpse. Evading the locals, specifically on the planet, was quite an easy task - gaining entry to the planet, especially through the space which surrounded it, was an entirely different matter when her mode of transportation was a public one. She'd held her breath for a moment or two after speaking to take her options in excavating the cadaver into question and then weighing them against each other in her head, and by the time she let out a heavy sigh and resumed a more normal pace in breathing it seemed she'd came to a conclusion.

Two pale hands reached out in a gesture that seemed to suggest that she was preparing to spread apart the air in front of her. The result of her then pulling either hand apart from the other, however, was for the ground to give way and buckle under unseen pressure. Controlling the elements directly, rather than the environment that shaped them, was slightly less complicated and half as taxing on her patience but did the job twice as well as something as mundane as telekinesis - just imagine pulling the ground apart with a pull from each hand! She blinked away the momentary intrusive thought, an imagined scenario of someone else attempting the task with quite a bit more effort just to make use of telekinetic force, and looked down at his pale, unseeing, body.

"Warnel." She'd spoken his surname as a matter-of-fact, as though she was addressing a living person, but the simple act of saying his name was important to what she'd planned to do next. She didn't know what the afterlife must look like for him, or if he even had the opportunity to enjoy one - she'd simply ceased existing when she'd died, erased in the process of giving the child she'd created through the force life, and had only found herself walking amongst the rest of the living because that same daughter reconstructed her from her husband's memories and echoes in the force that flowed through her daughter's veins - but she knew that, wherever he was, whether he was in the strictest sense of the word or not, heard her voice. Dreams had always been the place she'd held greatest power over, at least until she'd died, and while that was a connection totally lost to her the method of drawing from them and pulling others into them was not quite so removed from her chosen method for resurrection. His body, however, would need to be in a better state if he'd survive being alive again, and her skill in alchemy would be much more valuable than any other skill she'd practiced over the years.

It started with where the Sith had cleaved into him, both his body and Braith herself were fortunate enough that much of what made up organic matter was found in the environment they lived in - the soil, for example, had much of what she used as building blocks for recreating the bits of him that had actually been left behind where he'd died. Stitching him together was considerably less complicated, her own body naturally did this and other species had similar functions so it was a matter of replicating her own biological functions manually through the force, but it was still grueling work and required a level of anatomical knowledge that she'd only gained when she'd decided to work on creating children with her, biologically incompatible, husband. She had nearly a quarter of a day, that is hours without sunlight, to do this out in the open.

So of course she built a large tent that'd keep out sunlight first, made of fabric she'd created for her own clothing that she knew would keep her safe from harmful rays.

All of that to say this was one of the most difficult and tedious tasks she'd ever taken, one she'd decided on entirely on a whim, second only to the literal creation of the fetus that she grew in a tube that eventually became her only surviving daughter; even Vesta, whom she always referred to in conversation as her daughter, didn't actually share any genetic material with either her or her husband. And who was this man she'd taken upon herself to literally stitch back together and resurrect from the dead? Was he family, or perhaps a friend or someone else with at least some degree of meaningful attachment to her? No, Brent Warnel was a Mandalorian that'd died trying to fight two masters of the force, one Sith and one witch, and never stood a chance. This was a matter of respect, perhaps some pity, and genuine curiosity. Was she skilled enough to attempt this, and successfully at that, for the first time? His rather unmarred flesh, aside from whatever scars and the like he'd had before she met him, seemed to suggest the reconstruction aspect was a resounding yes. As the violet smoke filled the tent, however, part of her wondered whether the next step - infinitely more difficult - was something she could accomplish.

"Brent Warnel. Kelhav."

His name, spoken both ways as he'd said to her during their introduction, was key to guide him here - the rest, finding his way back through her voice, was up to him. Braith would act as the intermediary, a bridge of sorts, between the world she was standing in - the living - and the dead, and Brent could either cross back from where he was presently or refuse. Even with everything she knew and the decades of experience she had with other esoteric knowledge, Braith had no idea whether he'd be willing to return or not - and forcing him would be quite a bit more of a challenge than that.

 

[Brent Warnel]

Warnel...

The grave split open beneath unseen hands. The soil parted like a wound as Darth Avida bent the elements to her will, violet smoke curling through the confines of the tent she had erected against the sun. Her voice carried steady, ancient weight, shaping syllables that would bridge worlds.

"Brent Warnel. Kelhav."

The name was a tether.

In the silence beyond death, Brent floated in a space without time, without the ache of war or the burden of memory. For the first time since his earliest years, he felt stillness. He knew nothing of where he was, no great hall of warriors, no eternity of torment. Only peace. The kind a soldier never knows while breathing.

But then a voice came. His name. A whisper at first, distant, but growing sharper.

Brent's consciousness stirred. Something called to him, for him, a voice beckoned him back, back to where he had once been. At the edge of nothingness, something inside him resisted. He was reluctant. What was the worth in returning to scars, to endless war? Here, there was no struggle, no failure, no grief. He clung to it, this alien quiet, even as the syllables pulled at him again.

Brent Warnel. Kelhav.

A bird, some flittering beacon of the Manda, broke into his mind. The orange and gold colors of it flashed unbidden in his mind. It looked at him with all-knowing eyes as it spoke, "Kelhav." It stood above a corpse that was wearing rugged and worn armor in the colors of Clan Warnel. His ancestor's body, his ancestor's armor. Dxun. A vision of the time he spent with Carduul Akahl , who had guided him to a space amongst the forest moon that changed his life. It was a vision of peace, but the conscious part of Brent's mind knew it was the Manda calling to him.

And then came another vision, sudden, burning, undeniable. A lightsaber flared to life in the void: a blood-red blade, its hilt crowned with a single amethyst stone, glimmered like captured lightning. He remembered the screams that escaped the mouths of those the blade had touched, the screams of not just his family, but friends. With it came the storm of his Mandalorian spirit, rage, and honor colliding. He felt the Manda itself, calling across the gulf of death, not with words, but with an iron pull: unfinished business.

The silence broke.

A sharp gasp tore from his chest as his body convulsed, lungs heaving in a desperate fight for breath. The grave-born air filled him in ragged gulps, the rhythm of the living forced violently back into him. His chest rose and fell, muscles shuddering as alchemy stitched soul to sinew, spirit to flesh.

His eyes snapped open, his hands leaped to his chest, feeling where his body had been torn apart by Darth Virelia 's claws. But now, his skin was whole, his body one. His hands found no terrifying wounds as his heart beat strong and steady.

Brent's eyes searched the smoke, seeing the hazy glint of the sun pressed against a canopy. A canopy that he immediately recognized as a rudimentary tent, something someone had erected to cover his grave. That's when his senses, honed by years of war, and slowly returning, alerted him that he was not alone.

Violet smoke coiled around him as his gaze locked onto the other individual in the tent, Braith. His rebirth was etched in every heavy breath, every harsh intake of air that scraped his throat raw as he stared at her. The witch's eyes reflected in his own; her presence was the only constant now.

Brent did not speak. Not yet. He only stared, waiting, chest rising and falling in the quiet aftermath of his return. His fury simmered beneath the surface, but his focus was fixed solely on her, on why she had dragged him back from peace into war once more. Would she speak? Did she bring him back just to kill him for herself, feeling as if she had missed out while on Brosi? What was her goal? He believed he would find out soon enough.

 

[Darth Avida]

​

There were several things she'd expected from Brent Warnel , not least of which was confusion, but she'd anticipated anger, too. Whether any of those emotions were sourced from a disorientation of suddenly being where he hadn't been before, and alive at that, or from some sense of vengeance for his untimely demise, or even discontent from being brought back from a place where he was at rest, Braith didn't know but she had a feeling she'd find out soon - the suspense that'd been building had been shattered when he suddenly gasped for air. She paused, waiting for him to grasp the situation was in as he reached for wounds that were no longer there, and then decided to clear the air.

"You can relax, despite whatever thoughts you might have in your head about people like me this was quite a bit of effort on my part." She waited a moment, then rolled her eyes. "It'd defeat the purpose of me spending several days bringing you back to life if I were just going to kill you, wouldn't it? You've got another lease on life, you could at least look a bit less apprehensive about it." Braith said, crossing her arms under her chest. There'd never been a part of her that understood the kind of suspicion people had when they were in the shoes the Mandalorian had found himself in now - granted she was always a bit different than much of the galactic populace as well. She supposed he might've been upset that she'd taken whatever sort of honor he might've felt in death away from him, he was a member of a warrior culture, but he had the same distrusting look in his eyes that anyone she'd seen brought back from the dead had.

Well, she hadn't shared the same look but then she was less brought back and more recreated, but that felt more like semantics than anything.

"Our fight wasn't fair -- and I don't want another one, before you start getting any ideas." She said, unfolding her right arm from her left as the left fell to her side and her right hand waved through the air as if she was batting away the thoughts she presumed he might've had as dismissively as her tone was. "I'm certainly no angel, but it doesn't sit right that someone should rely on you being overwhelmed in order to assassinate you, especially after I made it clear I was going to treat you the way I treated someone of my stature." She explained, though as she brought the conversation around to herself, fingers pointing to herself at the base of tip of her sternum, she realized that, with how short she was, she probably made the wrong choice of words there.

She shook off the thought with a nod of her head.

"Poor choice of words, maybe, but I'm sure you've got the picture."

 

[Brent Warnel]

"You can relax, despite whatever thoughts you might have in your head about people like me this was quite a bit of effort on my part." She waited a moment, then rolled her eyes. "It'd defeat the purpose of me spending several days bringing you back to life if I were just going to kill you, wouldn't it? You've got another lease on life, you could at least look a bit less apprehensive about it."

Brent didn't realize it at first, but he was strung tight, and once Braith uttered her sentence, he let his body relax. He was almost ashamed at himself. A great warrior, scared. But, he had just been dead. Hell, he was still covered in dirt in his own grave, of course he was wound tight.

"Maybe," he replied, "But who knows with force users. Maybe you'd like to strain yourself raw to see the surprise on my face again when you killed me a second time." Brent extended his arm and rotated it, feeling its stiffness, "You dark siders are funny like that."

"Our fight wasn't fair -- and I don't want another one, before you start getting any ideas. I'm certainly no angel, but it doesn't sit right that someone should rely on you being overwhelmed in order to assassinate you, especially after I made it clear I was going to treat you the way I treated someone of my stature." She explained

"Poor choice of words, maybe, but I'm sure you've got the picture."

Brent actually chuckled as she continued to speak, listening intently to her words regardless of his initial outburst of mirth.

"Aye," he muttered, a little more mutely than his laugh would have led her to believe he would be, "But it was a fight I chose, regardless of its fairness." Brent mulled over her last sentence before replying, "For what it's worth...I...respect the honor in that statement."

"And," he said, standing up and dusting off the dirt that clung to him, "Stature doesn't mean much. Look at me," he held his arms out wide, showing off his larger than average frame, "I'm of large stature. Yet, as of about two minutes ago, I was laying dead right there," he finished the sentence by pointing to his disturbed grave.

What a weird thought. His disturbed grave. He was dead, but now, oxygen invaded his lungs. Life coursed through him again. But not just life, clarity. Something had happened to him once his life fled him; he felt...whole.

Or, Brent glanced sharply at Braith as he thought his next thought. Had she healed him? Not just body, but mind? Had she even meant to, or was it a byproduct of bringing him back? Brent sat down across from Braith, eyeing her warily as he did.

"So what now?" Brent asked, "Am I one of your minions? If you call, do I have to answer? Do I...." his voice trailed off as he thought about what he really wanted to ask. He was biding time, not wanting to ask the real question, the question that burned in him like it would anyone who was just brought back from death. Why did she bring him back?

"Why?" Brent asked simply, staring at Braith and waiting for her response.

Darth Avida

 

[Darth Avida]

​

She smiled.

There was always a catch, wasn't there? "I get it, 'what does this woman want from me in return?', and you probably think I'm going to.." Her voice trailed off along with the sense of amusement that laced her tone, trying to think of a more elegant way to phrase the term she had in mind. She shrugged. "Make you my thrall? I suppose? It sounds so crude when I say it out loud but.. well, no." Braith continued with something of an uninterested look in her eyes that was rather blatant in the expression seated on her face. She gestured to the hole in the ground, which Brent Warnel had just pointed out himself, as if to suggest it was reason enough for her. "Could you have done that?" She asked, rhetorically.

"Or maybe taken the dirt from under your feet and turned it into a sword of some kind - maybe made silk that could turn back blaster bolts?"

She let the question hang in the air, both of them knowing the answer to that. "Not that you should feel ashamed, just to be clear -- most people, even Sith, aren't capable of accomplishing that either. Alchemy and much less your.. little journey to-and-from what would've been your final resting place." She said several moments later. "I've made myself into something of a housewife, a mother even, so the only thing I could possibly need help with is any of that. I don't think I need to explain to you why I wouldn't need protection, either, so I'm sure you understand I'm not looking for any from you."

Braith made a face, something between impatience and irritation.

"And I already told you why. It wasn't fair." She said, reiterating what she was frankly quite sure she'd already said. "Maybe you don't have the freedom to make things right when you see what you don't agree with happen, but I don't just decide to leave things be if I have the ability to do something about things. I've also been in the exact same situation where I was tricked into leaving myself open for someone else, and while I certainly didn't die for it the incident left me stranded in stasis for thousands of years. Not the same thing, I know, but I do what I want, when I want." Braith explained, or rather ranted. "The only thing I want from you is to remember this favor if, for some reason, you run in with my daughter - looks a bit like me, just a tad bit more like her father in my eyes - and give her as much of a second chance in the off-chance you find yourself in the same shoes I'm in now."

She must've thought that didn't quite sound right because she waved her hand in the air again as if she was trying to reel that thought back in.

"I mean just don't let her die if you have the chance to let her live. Adding you back into the trillions of other people out there means there's one more chance she has to run in with someone who might not let my last living child die, as opposed to take you out of it and making sure there's one less person who might give her a second chance if she needs it." That was sound enough reasoning in her head, though of course it wasn't necessarily why she'd brought him back from the dead so much as it was a request she'd thought up after-the-fact. "Really I just do things on a whim, really, but with your insistence on making me think of a why, that should be good enough, hm?"

 

[Brent Warnel]

Brent listened to her as she spoke. It wasn't a quick conversation; she said quite a bit, and he was attentive the entire time. But still, for her to bring him back just because, or even for the reason that their fight was not fair, was anathema to him. He did not fight fairly, which increased his chances of winning. He had taken that fight, knowing deep down that he most likely wouldn't be able to defeat two powerful force users. His mistake cost him his life, but Braith was giving him a second chance for his wrongdoings here.

This was strenuous, bringing him back, he knew that. Braith said it took days, drained her of the force, and just... because she could do what she liked, which he respected. The more he thought about it, though, the more it resonated with him. He would do the same if he had the power she did, and their situations reversed. He listened as she spoke about her daughter, her family, and not needing protection, letting her finish before he finally replied.

"It wasn't fair, I know, but," Brent trailed off and sighed, "I really didn't expect that to be the guiding factor, ya know." He chuckled and continued, "At least, not from a dark sider." He held up his hands before she retorted, or lost her patience and killed him, permanently. "But I understand. It is good enough, I won't argue with it anymore," he let his hands fall before he continued.

"I will remember this favor. However," and this next point bit him deep, "I owe you a debt." Brent's hand raised again, trying to halt what might be forthcoming from her, because he could almost guarantee she didn't care about his honor. Owing something to a dark sider was not something he wanted, she couldn't even begin to understand that, but it was necessary, as much as he loathed it. "You brought me back to life, and somehow...cleared my mind. I feel different. You may not understand, but there is a clarity up here now," Brent tapped his head as he spoke. "Even more so than before. I will do as you ask if I ever encounter your daughter. But I owe you a life debt now, my honor demands it. You may choose to ignore it, but I cannot."

Brent looked around the tent at his grave and back to Braith, "I'm not sure what else can be said." Brent took a handful of dirt from the nearby grave, "What happens now, Darth Avida ?"

 

[Darth Avida]

​

She thought the question he asked was self-explanatory, but then that was probably because she already knew the answer she'd already had in mind before he'd asked. They'd already addressed the elephant in the room, and she wasn't above letting Brent Warnel feel as though he owed her - that'd suit her just fine, and she nodded her head in understanding. The only thing she didn't need, or want, was him to think he was at her beck and call, if it made him feel just a little bit better to think he owed her something in return then she'd let him live with that and eventually it'd either help her out or they'd both forget this conversation ever happened. Glancing around, thinking much the same as he did, she nearly shrugged.

"Now you get to do whatever it was you were doing before you died, continue living life as you had. Learn from what happened and use it to help you grow, or don't - it's all the same to me, really." She said. There had been a part of her that had considered leaving things at that but she didn't want him thinking that owing her whatever favor he thought he did meant he couldn't do whatever it was he wanted aside from what they'd agreed on. "I don't necessarily think that the Imperials you'd been on the side of earlier are exactly worth throwing your life away for again, but if that's something you are especially keen to do then don't stop on my account. Empires, Sith or otherwise, rise and fall as the tides do, I have never found myself too attached to any particular government and I've outlived every Sith empire from the previous century into this one." Braith explained.

"So I won't be too surprised, or too unhappy, that this one ends up toppled, either."

She looked out towards where the light of the planet's sun crept in, not too concerned for her own well-being given the simmersilk clothing she wore that was tailored specifically so she could adjust it to cover her up if she needed to be in sunlight, but perhaps with a sense of curiosity instead.

"I have a child that went missing shortly before those Imperials invaded so I do think I'll be quite preoccupied making sure she's alright, personally, so I don't think you need to keep yourself here for much longer if it's all the same to you."

 

[Brent Warnel]

Brent could only nod as she spoke her wisdom about the engagement on Brosi. "The Imperials were a means to an end," he responded, "I went there for knowledge on a single Sith. They were my key to the world. I didn't get what I was looking for, so my life returns to where it was, searching, but I owe them nothing Darth Avida "

Brent stretched his arms and stood up, moving around and collecting pieces of what belonged to him from around before kneeling back by the grave and digging through the dirt looking for something.

"I'll be more than happy if the Sith fail; they've done more damage to my people than any other," he stated non-confrontationally.

Brent stood up, wiping dirt away from a small holo-projector he now held in his hands. He pushed the button, and a recording started, a Sith warrior cutting down Mandalorians began to play with no audio. Brent quickly shut it off and pocketed the device.

"May you find her," Brent stated, sincerely.

He walked to the tent flap and opened it, looking back and stating, "Ret'urcye mhi" before walking out into the wilds of Mandalore.