"I LOVE YOU" "Slave" "Sith" "Murderer"
"Jedi?" "Friend"
"Liar"
"Brother" "Please""I'm so sorry."
Graxin was not insane, nor did he see visions. The memories were just that, memories. They just happened to surface when he was in his deepest of concentrations. As of late; that was usually when he was practicing his talents with the force. He had no teacher, nor would he search for one. He survived with little to no help as Krag's son so far, he could conquer this as well.
It wasn't just a way of passing the time either, though it did help to fill the silence now that he and Corvetta Salvo had parted ways, something compelled him to tame the force for himself. Perhaps it was a base need to be on par with his Jedi targets, or perhaps he wanted better to defend himself. Perhaps he wanted to end his father and take the mantle. Truly, the young man did not know.
He sat cross legged on top of a large rock with a flat surface. The calming swish of the slow moving river at his right helped to calm his mind. Something in the distance howled, and a soft sigh escaped him. With an annoyed groan, Graxin opened his amber eyes and reached up to comb at his messy hair. He had gone a bit shaggy lately; it helped him fit in better in Republic space.
He had used the force many times before: the battle with the Jedi on the Wookie homeworld, the glassing of Telos, and many other situations beforehand. It even seemed that Krag encouraged such behavior. Graxin assumed it was the Dark Lord's desire to see him struggle. He seemed to have a love for that. Perhaps he just wanted his son to become more dangerous. It didn't matter much. Graxin shook his head and wiped his forehead clean with the sleeve of his jacket. Naboo was cold this time of year, and ideal for one seeking isolation. Graxin cherished the short, sweet little moments of freedom. He wasn't permitted it often. His routine consisted of exercises, drilling, reports, and most of the time being assigned deadly objectives. He was expected to die, yet, by some stroke of luck, he had always survived.
The infiltrator stared out at the misty forest in a bout of deep thought. The books--yes, real paper books-- that he had read often spoke of a motivation to call on the force. He had always used it successfully in combat, but when the fighting died down, the force went with it. Jedi supposedly used their faith and their serenity, while Sith channeled their passions. Gray Jedi called upon both, and others drew upon it for a multitude of reasons. Graxin surmised he rested in the latter category right now. While becoming a Sith did have it's benefits, his goal, and truly thee only reason he continued to live could possibly be tainted by such.
"C'mon Grax. Give it another go. Laenia and Deraken aren't getting any younger." He mumbled to himself and dusted off his leather bound hands. His boots squelched against the damp grass, and his expression contorted in something akin to concentration. He took in a deep breath. Serenity, serenity. The infiltrator stomped one foot forward, thrust out his hands, and suddenly, the rock was no longer there. It was sailing out into the forestry; disturbing the native wildlife as it flew by.
Graxin blinked, and stared down at his hands. He felt whole, fulfilled, accomplished. That must have been the force, for sure. It seemed Graxen's motivation for everything he did applied to the force as well. His younger sister and older brother were taken captive by the Graug when he was still a child. They were his leash, for if he disobeyed, or made the wrong move, their execution awaited.
The calm and serenity within him evaporated at the thought. Red hot anger, hatred, and resentment for his father bubbled up in his chest. He wasn't under cover here, and there was no one watching. He turned sharp on his heel, and ran his fist straight into one of the nearest trees. The ancient wood splintered and the tree wilted. It seemed that kinetic energy was useful for more than just throwing boulders--a lot more useful.
Graxin slumped down and fell back into the muddy grass. "That's tiring." He breathed. He gently rose to his feet, and winced at the thin dribble of blood seeping out from cracks in his glove. He must have hurt something in his little power test. With a sigh, he began to move back toward the shuttle that he had hidden in the underbrush. He made a mental note never to return to this spot, that would leave a trail, and focused his mind on a nearby pile of pebbles. With a bit of coaxing, the pebbles rose up to his height; levitating and rolling in circle as they whirled around him.
Telekinesis. After months of research and training, he had done it. All on his own to boot. Yes, he would hone his skills, and then, when he had served Krag well enough, the Sith Lord would release his siblings. Or...perhaps...he could overthrow his father all on his own.
No, those are treasonous thoughts. Do your time, serve, and everything will be alright.
He let the pebbles drop down to the muddy earth. The force was cooperating right now, at the very least. Finding an appropriate teacher couldn't hurt....though, anyone other than Krag seemed out of the question. Darth Vulcanus was simply a master warrior, and his teacher in everything else. Graxin hated him, yet, had an almost loving affection for the creature. Krag had raised him, fed him, and clothed him after all. Sure, it was a rough and brutal childhood, but he had never starved, not had his wounds ever been left to fester. Like it or not, Krag was the reason he was still alive, and that was why he could not rise up against his father.
It was loyalty.
He made his way back toward his shuttle, and shifted the massive leaf fronds away from its entrance with telekinesis. It required minimal effort, and the mundane task was good for focusing. He strode onto the shuttle, and breathed in the metallic scent. It was about as close to home as he was ever going to get.
The galaxy was against the young man, but he was finding the smallest ways to thrive. Things were looking up.