Private The Book of Lost Tales

[Thurion Heavenshield]

Prologue: Thurion's Tale
Heavenheim, Midvinter​

Today marked a special occasion for none but Thurion on the planet Midvinter.

It did not mark some grand personal milestone of his, nor some public holiday. All it entailed was that he take a few hours for himself to spend away from the ever present duties of kingship, as well as those of being a Jedi, and sit down with an old friend. Someone he owed his very life to, and without whom he would not in earnest enjoy all these blessings he surrounded himself daily. Someone he'd payed a visit to each and every year to honour throughout his lifetime, and today was no different.

As he finished packing the wicker basket with all the essentials for his short trip, including some homebaked goods to sustain him, he turned to his wife and queen who awaited him with his fur cloak at the ready. She was the only one who would notice the hint of sorrow behind his blue eyes, even as he approached her with a loving smile. Wrapping him inside the warm fur so that he may brave the raging snowstorm which just so happened to coincide with this particular occasion, she held his hands in hers and the two lovers shared a moment, staring into each other's eyes.

She knew how much this meant to him.

The distance between them closed as each leaned in for a kiss followed by an embrace. Before he turned to head outside, she told him she loved him.

"More with each passing day," he fondly replied, taking her by the hand to kiss the ring upon her finger. "Be back before sundown."

Howling winds swept through cobbled streets as he trod through fresh snow banks yet to be cleared by shovel and able hands, passing only a handful likewise brave souls on his path. Few would recognise their king in his current state, all bundled up and sprinkled with white as he was. Still, no storm could ever stop him from seeing his oldest friend.

While wandering towards his destination, clutching his basket of goods to his chest, he could not help but wonder at the current state of his loved ones; his children and grandchildren with whom he'd been so utterly blessed, as well as those unrelated by blood but who still holds a special place in his heart.

Surely, today was just like any other day for them?

 

[Nina Heavenshield]

Chapter I: Nina's Tale
College of Enlightenment, Midvinter
​

The smell of candle wax was getting to her. A good sign that she ought to take a break, stretch her legs for a bit.

Leaving the ink to dry upon the pages of the open, unfinished tome, the High Loremaster charged with chronicling the many histories of Midvinter pushed back her chair, causing quite the ruckus as its legs screeched against the hard floor, and stood up to the sound of bones popping, arms reaching toward the ceiling as the chorus of pops culminated in a full-body stretch.

"This cannot be healthy for someone my age," she mused aloud to herself. "Never turn your hobby into a chore, note to self."

Her head tilted from side to side, revitalising her stiff neck. She was too busy then to notice the skittering of tiny feet running across her desk, preferring to leave her chambers to get herself a fresh cup of green tea; a recipe she was first introduced to by her dearest friend Arnor, using herbs greatly cherished by his kind.

It wasn't until she returned to her desk with her tea that she noticed the small ink-prints running across the half-finished pages. Perplexed, she leaned in closer. They were in the size and shape of tiny feet, likely a four-legged creature to boot. Curiosity turned to mild frustration as she came to the conclusion;

"Mice," she hissed, grimacing at the realisation.

The College had had trouble with mice before after several discoveries were made of nibbled-on parchment and stolen pieces of food from the kitchens. Virtually the entire staff were forced to divert their attention to the catching of these small rodents, else risk losing their entire collection of written history to teeth and claws.

It seemed they'd missed one.

The first thing she did was rush to close the door to her chamber shut, ruling out the most likely escape route. Granted, it didn't prevent the existence of one or even several holes through which it could escape. Returning to her desk, she followed the trail of tiny footprints to a pile of scrolls. As soon as she lifted the top one, a yelp escaped her as the sudden appearance of the rodent startled her. As she yanked her hand back, she quickly picked up the heavy tome and slammed it down on the pile of scrolls, sending quill and inkwell flying.

Gingerly she then lifted the book back up, trying to peek underneath it whether there lay a crushed mouse or not. As soon as the book was fully removed off the desk, only then did the small mouse appear once more, gunning towards the edge of the table. Nina attempted another book slam, but it was too late. The cunning rodent ran down the length of the leg of the desk until it found solid footing below, but Nina was in hot pursuit.

Having dropped the heavy tome, she now came after it with one of the scrolls and tried her damndest to hit it, but every time she tried the mouse would simply and abruptly alter its course, skillfully dodging her every attempt. It wasn't until the moment of truth - when the mouse bolted for its escape route via a tiny crack in the wall - that Nina had had enough of this chase.

She dropped whatever was in her hands and reached out towards the rodent, summoning the Force to will the creature static amidst its stride. With laboured breath Nina adjusted her robes and fixed her hair, observing the mess she'd made while rather foolishly attempting to catch the small intruder.

Still in stasis, the mouse had no choice but accept his fate when the massive creature came for him, not realising that it was in fact he who was moving towards her. Levitating through the air, Nina summoned the rodent into the palm of her hand where it was rendered helpless. Not wishing it to get away again, she cupped her other hand over it.

"Oh, but look at the mess you've made," she sighed in defeat, looking about her room. Chairs had been knocked over and strewn across the floor where books and parchment both finished and unfinished, and even a lit candle had fallen to the floor and was dangerously close to lighting a bunch of pages on fire.

She then felt a stirring within her cupped palms, tickling her skin and forcing a soft giggle from her. Slowly she lifted the upper hand, and a tiny head peeked through directly at her, its ever smaller nose twitching fervently with each rapid breath it took. When Nina tilted her head to the side, the mouse followed suit by tilting its own.

Nina smiled.

"What am I going to do with you, hmm?"

She couldn't dispose of it, not now. Instead she turned to where she'd brewed her tea and reached for a white cracker.

"You hungry by any chance?"

Finding that the mouse appeared more than content remaining in her palm once it got a snack, Nina picked up one of the knocked-over chairs and sat down by her desk, placing the mouse and his treat before her, watching him eat.

"I guess you are kind of cute," she admitted while running a finger along its back, petting it.

"Tell you what," she leaned in close to whisper. "If you promise not to eat any more of my books, then I promise to take care of you. Can't be easy for a small guy like you out there in the cold."

The mouse finished its snack and stood up on his hind legs, looking up at his new friend.

"What shall I call you... Bubbles. Bubbles, the proud house mouse of House Heavenshield!" She giggled at the silliness of it all, and as she leaned forward to fold her arms upon her desk, the newly christened Bubbles came up and touched the very tip of her nose with his.

Some company certainly wouldn't hurt during her long hours spent writing down knowledge and history.

 

[Thirdas Heavenshield]

Chapter II: Thirdas' Tale
City of Anvil, Sev Tok
​

Ranger Command had been on high alert ever since the loss at Sarka. Concord has declared a general state of emergency, effectively mustering and deploying all available military personnel to the frontline to shore up the last line of defense against the Bryn'adûl war machine. Only a token force of patrolling ships scattered across the secure sectors remain to keep order. Every Ranger regiment is summoned to systems such as Togoria, Nar Shaddaa, Nimban...

"...And I get stuck on this miserable hunk of rock."

What's worse, Thirdas was put in command of the overall defense of the city as he happened to be the senior officer on the scene. Other than himself and his Storm Crows, the Rangers and SDF personnel deployed to Sev Tok were all pretty green due to top brass not expecting any serious attack in this sector. Most were fresh from boot camp, having embarked on their first operation ever. While Rangers are always good fighters, these young privates and corporals simply did not possess the experience and veterancy one would wish for.

And none of them had ever faced the Bryn'adûl before.

Even when adding the local militia guard into the mix, they were simply too few to secure and hold the entirety of the city in the unlikely case of an attack. The City of Anvil was the one true stronghold on Sev Tok, situated in a canyon and built into the mountainside. It was massive, reminding Thirdas of old Tháinbroek back home before it was turned to ruins in the battle that had claimed his arm and leg. Anvil also possessed a mighty outer wall capable of withstanding tremendous abuse. Where the city lacked however, was in manpower and armaments. It was clear the inhabitants of this world were not used to galactic warfare and the devastation it brought, as pretty much all their weaponry consisted of basic, cheap blasters and only a handful turrets and AA-guns.

The arrival of the Silver Jedi changed all that, as modern guns and emplacements were quickly constructed upon the walls and round towers surrounding he city. His Storm Crows, being the most experienced fighters of the bunch, took turns instructing the locals on how best to take on the Bryn and their beasts of war while Thirdas himself led operations over by the town center.

"Corporal, take your men and establish a foothold up by the uppermost level, by the shield generator. If that tower falls, it's open season on all of us. Get it done. Sergeant, instruct the locals to stock the mines with food and water. At first sign of trouble, every civilian is to seek shelter in the mountain and prepare for offworld evacuation. I don't want to lose a single innocent soul to those crab bastards. Get to it."

The men saluted their commanding officer, prompting one in return.

"Busy day, huh," his second-in-command sidled up to him, rifle hanging from his shoulder as he splashed some water from his canteen on his face. "Yup, I'd say busier than most."

Brom was a Zabrak with vast experience as a career soldier nearing the end of his high-productive years in the service, and had been an invaluable brother-in-arms to the young lieutenant ever since the Storm Crows came to be. "Not exactly what we signed up for, is it?"

Brom took a swig of water before passing it to Thirdas. "Nah, you're doing fine, sir. Leadership's in your blood, the kind they can't teach at some academy. All these young men, these kids... They're all counting on you. Losing some, it'll hurt, but it'll hurt way more knowing there was more you could do for them. Don't let them down, but most of all don't let yourself down. That's a pit most don't ever climb out of, mate."

Ever the voice of reason. Always heed the advice of your elders in a profession where men die young.

"Commander Heavenshield," came the inevitable interruption in the form of his comms officer. "Sir, we've indentified a series of strange signals. They don't register as SJC, or any known vessels for that matter."

One look between Thirdas and Brom was all they needed. "It's time."

Thirdas rushed to the comms center where he was greeted with the holographic image of said strange signals. He recognised them from the many debriefings in the wake of battles such as Yurb and Sarka, where records of such signals had been discovered prior to each attack. Taking a deep breath, he calmly instructed the comms officer to open all available frequencies.

"This is Lieutenant Thirdas Heavenshield of the Antarian Rangers, requesting reinforcements to the Sev Tok system. We have confirmed reports of Bryn activity in the area -- I repeat, the Bryn'adûl are on their way. I say again, this is a distress call to any Jedi or Concord forces in the vicinity -- we are under attack."

The call had been made, set to repeat indefinitely. There was a moment of deafening silence as fear began to build in the inexperienced youths. Thirdas looked them in the eye, determined as he reached for his rifle.

"Gentlemen, prepare for battle!"

(To be concluded in the Invasion of Sev Tok...)

Zemira | Tathra Khaeus ​

 

[Bors Greythorne]

Chapter III: Bors & Thyri's Tale
Norvegr-fen, Midvinter​

It was already nighttime up north, many thousands of miles from the capital of Heavenheim. It was past dinnertime for the Heavenshield household, a time most cherished by the young Thyri Heavenshield as this was when he got to sit down by the fireplace with Uncle Bors. Where the boy lacked in eloquence of speech due to a crippling stutter, he had excelled in the reading of books even at a young age.

Whereas Bors, likely the oldest living Valkyri of his day, never did learn how to read in the common tongue. He was part of the old breed, never having bothered to fully adopt this new language first introduced by offworld traders only a century earlier. Thyri didn't have many friends owed to his shyness brought on by his stammer, but Bors had always shown patience with the young lordling. The old boar had taken an increased interest in schooling the boy in the arts of war; how to defend oneself with sword, shield, and spear.

In return, Thyri would sit down with his elder each evening and read to him stories of the greater galaxy not found on Midvinter. He would also make Bors attempt a few sentences of his own, much to Grey-Boar's frustration.

"...b-b-but the y-young Je... Je... Je-di s-s-s-stood and f-faced the evil Emp... Emp...eror, and declared: 'I am a J-Jedi, l-like m-m-my father b-before me'."

The old man was completely entranced, used to the many little interruptions in the lad's storytelling.

"This 'Luke Starkiller', he has the spirit of a warrior in him. Such courage! Surely his soul would have reached the Allfather's Hall were he born on Midvinter."

"It's Luke Skyw-w-walker, not Starkiller," the boy giggled at the forgetfulness of the old boar. "H-he's the one who res-s-stored the Jedi Order after the Re... Rep... Repub-lic fell almost a thousand years ago. He's a... leg... leg..."

"A legend?"

Thyri nodded, grateful that he complete his sentence for him.

"It never occurred to me that all those stars littering the night sky would have legends of their own. Imagine; all those tales of valour lost to the ages. Such a shame. Our kind have always treasured our stories, passed them down from generation to generation since the dawn of time. It's through these stories that we gain the wisdom with which to create our own stories."

The lordling hung on to his every word, before pushing the datapad written in Basic across the floor over to Bors.

"You r-read the n-next line."

Bors' hands were clumsy when handling such puny gadgets of technology so foreign to his generation. He always seemed to press a button he didn't intend to, or accidentally swipe away the page entirely. Thyri insisted that he'd do well to learn how to use one, but Bors thought it rather pointless; he'd be long gone before such technology became readily available to his kind.

"Th... the. E-m-p-e-r-o-r... Emperor? The Emperor sn... snored -- sneered! The Emperor sneered! So... be... it. So be it. J... J-e-d-i. Jedi! 'The Emperor sneered: So be it, Jedi.'"

Another giggle from Thyri, clapping his hands. Bors chuckled in return, admiring the tale being revealed to him piecemeal.

"Oh-ho-ho, how delightfully evil! How does it end?"

Thyri took possession of the pad and proceeded to read to the old man all night until eventually his mother came to collect him for his bedtime. Bors however would stay up a bit longer, to fantasize about the grand tales of one Luke Skywalker and his Jedi Order.

 

[Kära Hearthfire]

Chapter IV: Kära & Thrand's Tale
Averlorn, Midvinter​

In the aftermath of what had become known as 'The Great War' to the people of Midvinter, as her husband's remains were lain to rest and her brother-in-law ascended the throne, the former Queen of Midvinter and matriarch of House Hearthfire did not stay in Heavenheim with Thurion and his family. She had fulfilled her duty to her husband's kinsmen, but they were not her people. While they would offer her every comfort and respect for the rest of her life, Kära could not find it in herself to become a liability to anyone. Someone to be coddled.

Instead, she returned with her son Thrand and his wife, the young Queen Ióunn Ar-Olwa of the Aelvar, to the woodland realm of Averlorn. Initially offered quarters in the palace where she could stay close to her son, Kära soon found herself wandering farther and farther from the more populated regions to places where there was naught but the chirping of birds and babbles of brooks to keep her company.

It was in one such place that she decided to make a home for herself. In spite of her son's protests, a small cabin appeared in a woodland glade at the foot of one of Averlorn's great trees and was, in accordance with Elven architecture, constructed so that its presence would not be interfering with the roots of the tree itself. A round, yellow door was its only adornment, standing out from the moss-green and wood exterior that masked its location.

In this place, Kära could finally find peace. There would be no-one seeking her out, no passers-by to stop and pay their respects. She'd become a recluse. A hermit. To some, she was certain, a witch in the woods. All these were monikers she'd heard before, and did not begrudge anyone for making such claims about her.

Kära would spend her days gardening. She'd go for long walks through the forest to find new flora to add to her collection; flowers, berries, mushrooms. She also became adept at herbalism, discovering hidden properties by mixing various plantlife into concoctions and potions.

It was not all sunshine and rainbows however.

The former Queen of Midvinter had grown cold and distant in her self-imposed exile. The death of her husband, with whom she'd long ago bonded in the Force, had severed that life-sustaining bond irreparably, leaving her emotionally drained and aloof. There were no outward displays of joy or sadness, unless forced merely to mimick social norms. Of which there were few out here in the woods.

The only one that could bring some semblance of emotion back to the aging woman, was her son Thrand.

"Mother, it's me," the Prince-Consort stepped inside when no-one had answered the door. Looking around the single-room cabin, there appeared to be nobody home. He found himself pouring over the vast collection of potions neatly displayed on her many shelves, each containing a different brew with its own colour. Thrand plucked one of the flasks from its shelf, removed the cork and sniffed its contents.

"I wouldn't try drinking that one," came a voice from the doorway he'd entered through. "Unless you want to lose the use of your limbs."

Thrand turned to find his mother standing in the opening, a walking staff in her hand and clad in a rather outlandish outfit seemingly fashioned from leaves and bark. "Mother," he was glad to see her and set the flask down on the nearby table rather than back on the shelf. He stepped over to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.

"It is good to see you. You seem to be doing well out here."

Kära said nothing as she entered her home, removing the woodland cloak and setting aside her staff before taking the opened flask from her table, plugging it back up, and neatly placing it back where it belonged.

"Mother?"

"Oh hello, son," she had to be reminded to actually greet him. She walked over to place her hand upon his cheek and offer a tender smile. "What brings you out here on such a fine day? You should be going for a ride with that lovely wife of yours instead of visiting a useless old woman."

"Aw, don't say such things about yourself. You're anything but, Mum," Thrand returned the smile and placed his own hand upon hers.

"But I am old," she corrected. "I may not look it but I can feel it in my bones. Each trip takes just a little bit longer to complete. But these eyes, and these ears," she then added, issuing a mock warning, "they are still sharp, my son."

"Of course," he chuckled, not daring to counter her claims.

"As for why I'm here and not out frolicking with my wife, well... she's at home resting," he explained as the two found a pair of chairs to sit down.

"Mother, Ióunn... she's pregnant. That's why I came. To see if you'd like to return to the palace with me, to see her."

Kära's eyes widened, but there was no sudden burst of joy coming from the woman. Instead she reached across to caress his hand, then got up to look out her window facing away from him.

"We are thinking of calling him Tirith if it's a boy. If it's a girl, then Aewen, after her mother."

Her shoulders slumped, and her entire torso began to visibly shake. She raised a hand to her face as she started to sob.

"Mummy," Thrand was quick to answer by way of touching her shoulder, prompting her to turn and fall into his embrace as she wept against his chest. "It's okay, Mum," he consoled her as best he could.

For Kära, the news allowed her to finally feel again. And with it, came past pains and sorrows flooding back to her.

"I miss him too. Every day."

 

[Arnor Oathkeeper]

Chapter V: Arnor's Tale
Beornstead, Midvinter​

Within Beorni culture, the morning sun was often times greeted by ancient rituals stretching back to the beginning of Midvinter as we know it. Back when there was no war or violence, no dangerous ambition within the hearts of Men. An age when there was naught but Mother Midvinter and her spirits given form in the shape of this icy world's wildlife. The gentle bear-folk had ever been pacifist in nature, for they had themselves risen from feral beasthood into the first civilisation ever to grace Midvinter. There was nobody to conquer, no enemy to defeat. They abided by the Will of the Spirits.

Then came the race of Men, the Valkyri. All his life Arnor had cursed their existence, stuck as he was on that tiny island along with every remaining Beorni, and had for generation upon generation. Mankind bore sole responsibility for their every misfortune, and deserved only the worst of fate thrown their way. And yet, within only a couple of decades, Man and Bear have since fought and died together. Shouldered each other in times of need. Cared for one another.

And it was a Valkyri King who, on the day of his coronation, pledged to return to them their homeland and mend a wound so profound it reached the deepest depths of any Beorni heart. That day, as the last stone was lain to complete Beornstead's construction, had been one of boundless joy and heartfelt gratitude reverberating a thousand generations past. He whom they call the 'Lion King' and his family would ever be in their prayers now and until the end of time.

It was such a prayer uttered in the ancient tongue which would shake the walls of a lesser structure, yet Beorni architecture held firm. Their throatsinging reached notes so deep they were impossible to fathom by most beings. Arnor, who earlier in life had held Mankind is such contempt, now found himself praying that they be basked in the blessings of the Spirits. A few individuals especially came to mind.

First was their late King, who had negotiated the Three Kindreds Alliance in the first place and granted their return to the mainland. Then there was their current King, who in the eyes of the Beorni was beyond reproach of any kind for his deeds; and lastly, there was Her. His friend.

Even while deep in prayer, communing with the Sprits, in his large furry hands he would gently caress an old crinkled piece of paper. A child's crayon drawing, depicting a small white-haired girl clutching the hand of a vastly bigger white-furred bear-man. She was older now, matured into a confident and wise woman. And yet, whenever he would hold her in his arms, all he found was that tiny girl who showed him the first kindness by a human being. Who'd melted his icy and vengeful heart and, through their many travels together, introduced him to the many sides of Mankind, good and bad.

The throatsinging ended and he glanced down at the drawing sitting in the palms of his hands.

"Nee-na," he spoke her name, letting his thumb caress the depicted girl's face. A deeply reserved soul, even he felt the sting of tears in his animalistic eyes, before then getting off the floor and walk over to the balcony of his first-ever home that wasn't made out of canvas and a few sticks, and gazed down at the streets of Beornstead to see the new generation of little cubs running and playing alongside a few Valkyri and even Aelvar children. Free of that deep-sated hatred and vengefulness that had coloured his own upbringing.

He knew then, that his work was complete. He'd kept his oath to restore his people. He was no longer the Oathsworn.

From now on, he would go by the name of Oathkeeper.

A sip of traditionally-made Beorni tea to finish off the morning ritual.

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

Epilogue: Asha's Tale
Heavenheim Outskirts, Midvinter​

Hours had passed, and the going was slow. Heavenheim was now naught but a faint blur of light behind him, obscured by the heavy snowfall in the region. Ahead seemed little else but a blanket of white as he wandered untrod paths towards his destination, known only to the High King himself. He scaled the familiar hillside, boots sunk deep in the snow until he reached the top. There, at the summit, did he find a lonely tree, its bows long and its roots deep. Once positioned before its might, Thurion approached and knelt down to reveal the plaque he'd carved into the base of the tree consisting of a name and accompanying titles:

Knight of the Republic. Wise Mentor. Beloved Mother. And above these, the name: Asha Seren

Removing his glove, his naked fingers lingered for a while upon the letters that spelled her name, before reaching into the basket he'd brought along for the journey. The first item he pulled out was a small wooden figurine, no taller than the width of his palm. It was old now, fashioned long ago in his teenage years, yet preserved to the very best of his abilities. Back when he could still remember her face in as vivid detail as his own.

The High King brought the figurine to his lips, then placed it atop the plaque before producing a second item from the basket. A wax candle, freshly made and unused. He placed it beneath the plaque upon one of the roots, but with all this wind and snowfall there was little point in lighting it. Hence he closed his eyes and whispered an intelligible phrase in the ancient tongue, and from then on no flake of snow would impede him and no gust of wind would find its way to where he knelt. An invisible force-field to redirect the offending elements elsewhere, and within which there was naught but stillness.

With steel in one hand, and flint in the other, Thurion lit the lone candle to produce its solitary flame, doing little to ward off the encroaching darkness as the sun had already begun to set behind the thick layers of clouds. But sometimes, all you needed was one tiny spark. One ray of hope to hold onto.

Asha Seren had been his, a lifetime ago.

One last item was placed at the foot of the tree in the form of a bouquet of flowers, each lovingly plucked from his wife's garden.

"Happy Birthday, Mother," he spoke directly to the figurine whose likeness was that of the woman who'd raised him, their time together cut tragically short. She'd been his saviour, his rock to stand on, a soothing voice to send the demons away at night. She'd been his teacher, his protector, his legal guardian. She'd been his only friend, his only family. Without Asha Seren, there would be no Thurion Heavenshield, and his life would not be blessed with children and grandchildren of his own. He would not have become the man he is today, and countless lives over the course of decades would not have been saved.

"I've done the best I could with what you taught me, lived my life to the best of my ability. I just... I just wish you could've been there. Attended the wedding. Held your first grandchild. Grown old. And... I wish I could have saved you too..."

If any bystander or passer-by were to be present, they would find not a proud king, or a Jedi Master, or even a man. They would find a child, a young boy, who misses his mother dearly. They would hear mournful singing, a song from his childhood sung in Epicant, eventually broken down and overtaken by quiet sobbing.