The Quality of Mercy

[Zak Dymo]

Spoiler: Boo's Theme

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eU0aaq5pjnQ​

V O S S
The Silver Temple

Built into the side of a mountain -- a lush pinnacle of verdant life, deeming with jungle canopies and the sounds of fauna moving through the forests surrounding this ancient temple of some lost civilization -- the Silver Temple was as much a pagan symbol as it was a home for the Order of Jedi Knight that had settled here. The Valley of Voss-Ka.

It, ironically perhaps, made the residence of the Silver Jedi uniquely fitting to host an adherent of the Primeval religion.

Certainly, [member="Maya Whitelight"]'s beautifully designed hanging gardens supplied a much needed respite for the soul, be that the weary spirit of Jedi or Primeval alike. He made use of it as one of his religion would a delos or kirk. The names that the Primeval had for their houses of worship.

One thing unique to the Primeval religion was that it offered no enclosed house of worship. Even the great delos on Bastion had an open roof, so that believers could look up to the stars. For that was where their adoration was located. Not this world. Not this crude matter. But the light of the stars and, more importantly, the one who had created that light.

"Hail Nogras, full of light."

He prayed now to the Starmaker. The second creation of the primordial deity whom the Primeval called Sargon. "Blessed are you among Creation and blessed is the light of your stars."

One of the first things that the Antarian Rangers had seen to, after the Pantoran's acceptance by [member="Thurion Heavenshield"], was that the boy received a medical exam. He was a Coruscant citizen by birth, which made him a Sith by some definitions. And he was a citizen of Bastion by choice, or had been, which did make him Primeval. The enemy of the Silver Jedi. Knowing how the Sith and the Primeval treated their people, it was safe to assume that the youngling hadn't been well cared for.

In that, the medical scans likely showed nothing that the Silver Sages couldn't already assume.

Scars. The tell-tale signs of strikes from Force Lightning. Repeated strikes from Force Lightning. Not always apparent on the skin, but marbling the tissues beneath. Bones, healed but showing signs of having been broken or shattered in a way only Force Crush could produce. The soft tissue of his neck still showed signs of deep bruises. Indentations, like fingerprints, of Force Choke.

"Holy Starmaker, light the way for we who dwell in darkness..."

The boy was barely twelve years old, and someone had tortured him within an inch of his life. And not just once.

What did that kind of childhood do to a person? What kind of mortal wounds were dealt to the soul, unseen and unnoticed by any scan a droid could produce. The answer likely lay in the Solari crystal that the boy wore around his neck. Or, rather, the slight burns on the skin beneath where the crystal lay against his chest. Painful reminders of those moments in which his emotions slipped.

Emotions were powerful things to those able to touch the Force, which could channel or provide outlet for those dark impulses. Dangerous, destructive outlets. The Dark Side of the Force.

"...now and at the hour of our death."

He'd been kneeling prostrate as he worshiped quietly. His voice a mere whisper as his hands plied carefully the chain of prayer beads. He sat up now as the prayer was concluded, shifting so that his feet were cross-legged.

The Jedi wanted him to see a healer. As he was in their care, or at their mercy, the young Pantoran had not thought to refuse the gesture. He'd merely asked to meet in the open garden rather than the enclosed medical wing of the temple.

[member="Teynara Jeralyr"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

[member="Boo Chiyo"]

Burns. Contusions. Abrasions. Minor calcification of the tissues from exposure to high-energy electricity. The list was shocking, something you might have expected to see from the victim of some tragic industrial accident, or perhaps the survivor of a vicious battle. Such a person would require a lot of work, physically and psychologically. That much was obvious from the outset: nobody could hold up against that sort of trauma and walk out the other side feeling fine. Most scars are hidden underneath the skin, in a way that only a few can truly see, and fewer still know how to deal with.

That it had all happened to a child...well, were not the nature of the injuries known, it would still have been an atrocity. Since they were...it was hard to fathom, in truth. Teynara didn't want to know who or what was responsible for that - though, frankly, it wouldn't take a genius to guess at the source.

We have that much in common, then, she thought in a reflective tone. Even now, she struggled to deal with her own injuries, though hers at least had been obtained in common combat, or some weak simalacrum of it, given that she hadn't even drawn her lightsaber before the blade had sliced through the skin of her back, deep into the muscles, severing tissues and nerves in violent joining. I suppose we all carry our pains with us in some fashion, the blonde woman mused. None should carry it as young as this lad does, however.

He would, perhaps, require some gentle handling.

The Jedi wasn't entirely certain why this one had been put her way - there were far more able-bodied Healers who might be able to match a young boy's energy levels, and might better serve as proof that an effective recovery was possible. And what can I represent? The fact that some pains stay with us for longer than we'd like? That's a lesson he's likely learned already, if his medical file is to be believed. Perhaps it would simply be something the both of them would have to learn, in due course.

Her hoverchair floated gently across the warm stones that served as foundation for the huge sunken gardens within the Academy, a gentle hum issuing forth from the metallic frame of the chair, blue light shining softly from the repulsorlifts built into it, pushing her steadily along without the same rhythm that her tread might have allowed for. She'd had the cover placed on it this time, so that her legs were completely covered - if only because the Healer hated people staring at her legs strapped into this infernal contraption. The boy is wounded enough without having to dwell on the pains of others. The more she could do to keep that thinking to a minimum, the better for them both.

She found him much the way she'd expected: waiting patiently within the gardens, where he'd asked the Healers to meet him. But did I expect to find him prostrate? A short shake of her head was her sole means of indicating a negative there - it was an unusual enough posture to find from anyone here. Even the ritualistic Voss were little inclined to place themselves in such a position - one of meditation, perhaps, or prayer. A curious sight, in one so young. It spoke to considerable devotion, or distress. After all, in good times, why does one need to seek comfort from a higher power? It was another question that would need answering.

"Good morning," she said, her soft voice projecting her words in a lilting, musical tone. "You've chosen a lovely spot for your meditations," the young woman remarked, her hoverchair slowly floating closer to where the boy was kneeling. "The gardens are relaxing in a way that so few places can be, all without effort. I hope you're finding them as restful as I do," she concluded, a soft smile curving her lips.

 

[Zak Dymo]

At the sound of her voice, the young Pantoran wrapped the chain of prayer beads around his left wrist.

The silver, gemstone, and bone rosary was nestled there, alongside a cloth bracelet embroidered with Aurebesh spelling out four letters: WWJD. Securing the Primeval reverie chain, the boy moved to greet the disembodied voice addressing his backside. That being, the youth rolled forward, propping himself up in a handstand, so that he was inverted upside down.

In place of the humanoid legs he'd expected to find, the boy was instead invited to glimpse the underside of some kind of metallic sled. The faint glow of repulsors caused a sort of shimmer between the ground and the contraption.

Swinging his body to one side, the youth balanced himself on one hand for a moment. Like a counter-weight, the boy threw his legs from the one side to the other, using the momentum to help flip himself back upright with the practiced ease of a gymnast or acrobat. On his feet now, the violet-haired tween was presented with a tawny haired human in some kind of seated conveyance. It was a strange sight. Stranger device, really. Something he might have seen in a holovid, but had never met someone who used one.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. The Hutts of the Hutt Cartel used repulsor conveyances all the time. But those were Hutts. It was odd to find one as muscular or independent as he'd witnessed [member="Sempra the Hutt"] be.

Almost immediately, the blue-skinned youth dropped his eyes so that he was looking a spot on the ground in front of the hoverchair. It was perhaps unclear whether the gesture which followed was a nod in agreement or else a bow in deference toward her. In either case, the boy said nothing, merely took a half-step back as he turned so that he could see the garden from the same angle she did.

And then he said down, beside where her chair hovered. Hugging his knees against his chest, the amber eyed youth seemed content to look out on the garden without objection to her company, but without much to be said.

"It... reminds me of the temple on Bastion," he offered quietly, in so few words and neutral a tone as to leave unclear whether that was a good thing or a bad memory.

Perhaps a bit of both.

[member="Teynara Jeralyr"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

[member="Boo Chiyo"]

The initial acrobatic display took her by surprise, particularly given the boy's medical record, none of which had suggested such nimble or practiced grace, but clearly there was plenty here that suggested depth she had yet to truly observe for herself. Goes to show that you should never trust the paperwork, she thought wryly. He came to a stop and dropped down to sit beside her hoverchair, offering silence bereft of greeting. Another point of interest.

It was rare to meet a quiet child. She'd seen plenty who were shy, reticent beyond what might be expected. Children were supposed to be sociable - it was their primary mechanism of learning and mental development, and also a means of self-expression. Some were less inclined to share their thoughts and feelings, or were keenly aware of being embarrassed, but it was very rare to meet one clearly in control of themselves. You'd think him firmly in control, if you couldn't look past what you see. Jedi weren't limited in such a fashion, though, and what she could sense was telling her a great deal.

That he'd been through a lot was clearly evident both in his expression and in the silence between what few words he had offered. He doesn't have the eyes of a child, though he is one, she reflected, noting their strange colouration, far different to anything a Human might possess. There was a hardness to them, the same sort of direct focus that she had observed in those who had come out the other side of considerable trauma, in pain as a result, but also stronger for it. But that's what the Sith tells us, isn't it?, she asked herself silently. They believe that pain is the only way for a being to grow beyond their limitations. She wondered what sort of lesson had been intended for her by the one that had left her paralysed and stuck in the chair she was now strapped into.

There was more to it, though: a rigid emotional control that spoke of necessity rather than choice. What you reveal to people in a moment of emotional weakness is a weapon they can use against you. The Jedi understood that just as much as the Sith. Where one sought to turn it into a weapon that would render it useless to others, the Jedi felt that understanding of your own feelings made them inert in that respect. Manipulation of feelings stems from lacking awareness as to the origins and whimsical nature of an emotion. The boy was clearly keeping his wrapped up: perhaps fearing the consequences if he didn't. Or perhaps he just doesn't want to show everyone what he really looks like behind the mask.

"I've never been to Bastion," the young woman said softly, choosing to take the boy's tack of avoiding the Bantha in the room. Sometimes it's best to take the scenic route. "Too far away for a quick visit," Teynara remarked with a smile. "Did you stay there very long? What's this Temple of yours like?"

 

[Zak Dymo]

It was said that children should be seen and not heard.

It had been expected that those in service or servitude to Darth Scorpius be neither. Seen only when summoned. Speak only when spoken to, and then only when given permission. To talk out of turn was a punishable offense. And the Sith were nothing if not keen on punishment and the teaching value of pain.

Even before he'd come to be thrall to the Dark Lord, the roving street gangs of Coruscant's ghettos were not apt to tolerate a noisy brat. In order to be an effective panhandler, you had to be cute and you had to be quick. But, the younglings were valued more for the credits they could lift from out of a person's pocket than what they might bring in as charity. And, in that, a thief must be quiet and quick. So to be neither seen nor heard was a condition that the Pantoran had spent his whole life in anticipation of.

There was no complaining about being hungry. Everyone was hungry.

There was no whining about not having food. There was none.

You never smiled or showed that you liked something, because when you did... you gave away your power. You informed those older or larger than you were that they could take something away from you. That they could hurt you. Control. Manipulate. Have power over you.

Hard lessons, derived from the humbling experiences of looking for a meal out of a trash can. Of having that rotten, rancid food taken from you by larger kids.

...or turning around and doing it to someone smaller than you, so that you didn't starve to death.

There was a lot about sociology or the psychology of man that the boy could have taught to classes at the Imperial Academy before he'd even been ten years old. It weighed on him now, as the woman picked up on his statement and spoke about Bastion. He thought about the Pelleon Gardens, their majesty and beauty.

He thought about a Togruta woman. Bound in chains. Of a Gungan, marking time and waiting for death.

Pretty flowers, swaying in the breeze as the blood spray left droplets forming on the delicate petals. Glistening like small rubies under the light of the sun.

"It's not somewhere you should visit," the boy answered, the same soft voice. The same neutral tone, though this time with a hint of warning behind it. A slight tinge of concern. Or regret.

Neither of which went to the actual question. After another moment of silence, the youth offered, "It's in the center of the capital. There's the delos. The Imperial Palace and the Pelleon Gardens are all part of it."

It was where he'd met the Host Lord of the Primeval for the first time. It was where he'd met a Silver Jedi for the first time as well. And where he'd witnessed executions for the first time.

Not the first time he'd ever killed anyone. That had been so long ago now. But, it had been the first time he'd been that close to a target. Spoken with, gotten to know his victim. Sympathize with them.

What strange dichotomy. He'd killed dozens before and dozens after, yet the death of Assak Tey still weighed on him. It was wrong.

It was wrong and he knew it, and yet here was the Host Lord and Prophet of his religion who said, God wills it.

It was the ultimate cognitive trap of religion. The boy was conflicted, feeling guilty for questioning god's command. And for following god's command.

"Voss is better," the youngling said, for the sake of taking the conversation and putting the focus on a world outside of Primeval space. "Or Laekia. Have you ever been to Laekia?"

Even before she might have thought about the question, the boy added, "I'd watch the world turn from orbit, on Oswaft Station. The views were very pretty."

Deflect. Redirect. Don't talk about Bastion. Don't talk about the Primeval.

Talk about pretty things. Because no one ever got hurt or upset about pretty things.

[member="Teynara Jeralyr"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

[member="Boo Chiyo"]

Such careful weight held beneath those words, she thought, watching the young boy carefully. It was always a telling thing, listening to someone recount a particular memory: that they would choose it at all spoke of the fact that it had an impression upon them, but there was always more to it. He speaks of it as though it were a truly positive moment, a remarkable thing, yet it's such a simple recollection. It wasn't hard to understand the import behind that: what else could it be but a single beautiful happy moment in the midst of a time that isn't the least bit happy?

Teynara herself couldn't entirely empathise, in truth: up until recently, she'd honestly felt as though she were living a blessed life. Good childhood, caring parents, stimulating education, and now a life that was spent doing exactly what she had wanted to be doing: working as a Jedi. I guess, in some ways, it's hard to understand the mind of a person who has experienced truly terrible things, when I haven't. Not until recently, anyway, she amended silently. But seeing a world turning from space as your meditative reflection on the good things in life...yeah, I've definitely had it better than he has.

The note of warning in his voice hadn't gone unheeded, either: it was clear enough that, whatever he'd experienced on Bastion, it wasn't something she wanted to tangle with. But he's warning me to stay away: so he doesn't want to see others in that same situation. The thought of it made her heart warm a little. She'd met trauma victims who just felt numb as a consequence of it, but this boy didn't: he could care even for a stranger, hoping that wouldn't suffer his fate Not disconnected from us, but not quite ready to let go of what's happened to him. That was okay, too. She didn't have to poke him with a stick to learn what was going on in his mind.

"Did you see Voss from orbit as you were arriving here?", the blonde questioned in that same calm, polite tone that was her default. "It's really quite lovely, to see it like that. I do prefer being down here on the surface though, provided you don't get into a discussion with the Voss over what the Mystics have decreed," she added with a soft grin relaxing her features. "Here, they believe in an absolute: if the Mystics see it through the Force, every person on Voss accepts it as natural." She shook her head, a flowing whirlwind of blonde locks. "Can you imagine something like that?"

It still mystified her (no pun intended) that any society could function that way, but it was the Jedi way to trust in the Force, and allow it to guide them. Just not so unquestioningly, at moments, she thought, continuing to watch the boy through her pale-blue eyes. Given where he's come from...I imagine our ways are as different to him as the ways of the Voss are to me. They were going to end up spending a good bit of time trying to unravel that, she was sure.

 

[Zak Dymo]

Imagine someone who believes in absolutes?

"My master was like that," the young Pantoran remarked, without hesitation. What was it that the great mystic, Darth Scorpius, would say? Fight the future. Control. Manifest destiny. "I think all Sith are like that," the boy added, though it was more a stereotype. The only Sith he'd known was his master.

And, truthfully, that one had been enough.

Jedi are... different," the youth opined aloud. That much was a given, and the boy still didn't understand how someone used the Force without emotion. Without their passions driving them. Fear and anger were the boy's constant companions. How were the Jedi so self-less? So serene? "You're more..." he began, trailing off as he struggled for the right word.

Friendly?

Kind?

Caring?

"...strong," he uttered finally.

"I'm amazed at how strong the Jedi are, compared to the Dark Side."

[member="Teynara Jeralyr"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

[member="Boo Chiyo"]

Strong? Is it strength to resist something that would ultimately turn us into something that we're not? Teynara couldn't say for sure - her exposure to the Dark Side was fairly limited, and she frankly remained skeptical that such a thing truly existed. It seemed to her that evil was a choice more than a compulsion: you could choose to cause harm to another, or you might choose to help them instead. Or simply ignore them altogether, but that can be evil, too, if they need your help and you choose not to give it. That had been part of the reason that the Sanctum had been formed, after all: to provide aid and serve the people, not the Republic or whatever political power was in control at the time.

She didn't see the Jedi as strong in this respect, though: strength was a measure that was suggestive of pitting forces against something else that sought to oppose you. Strength is the measure of force applied against resistance, with a positive being when you can create motion, she mused, remembering long-past science lessons of her childhood. But Jedi aren't a force that pushes: we are that which gives way, surrendering to the will of something far greater than ourselves. That was hardly strength: it was passivity. But in that surrender, we step aside and let something truly powerful step forward. Nothing could stand in the way of the Force. Perhaps that was the boy's point.

"Imagine yourself part of a stream," she said, letting herself relax a little, slumping back to rest against the cushions of her hoverchair. "It flows where it will, carrying everything along with it. A small pebble, which is you, can either be carried along by the flow, simply wanting to go with it, or you can provide resistance, trying to change the flow." And that way lies futility, she thought, though invariably the Sith felt it a worthwhile endeavour. "If you try to resist, to control the direction of the stream, you must throw your very soul into the attempt. Anything less, and you'll be washed away."

That was the Sith, in a nutshell. They felt their gifts with the Force entitled them to control the flow of that eternal stream of energy, to wield it in pursuit of whatever ends they cared for. That they sought to do this naturally required them to place everything on the line, and so they threw themselves into that pursuit with a passion that the Jedi simply could not match. They use their emotions, fan them into a flame that burns all that it touches. In due course, it burns them, too, engulfing them in a raging inferno that cannot be stopped, but that it be completely extinguished. As she understood it, moderation would be anathema to the Sith.

"We can't serve anyone that way," the blonde woman continued, softly tapping her hand in a rhythmical fashion against the shell of her hoverchair. "So we surrender to the inevitable: the Force is beyond our ability to control, and so we let it guide us, carry us where it wants us to go. It's not strength we exhibit here, my young friend," she offered, smiling at the boy in an amiable manner. "It's acceptance."

 

[Zak Dymo]

The boy listened, turning his head to look over and up at the woman as she spoke.

Even the metaphor that she used was wholly different than any other illustration for the Force he'd been told. It had always been described as a fire. Or as a storm. Destructive, terrible acts of nature's power that must be predicted, controlled, contained. To speak of it as a stream of water made it seem almost trivial. And perhaps that was a more apt view. With the age of the universe, the multitude of planets, and the vast peoples in it... was not their understanding of the Force trivial by comparison?

Looking back out into the garden, the boy was silent for a moment. "That's the strength I mean," he offered softly, a moment later. "I think it takes a lot of courage to accept that there's something greater than yourself."

[member="Teynara Jeralyr"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

[member="Boo Chiyo"]

Does it? Teynara wasn't quite sure she agreed with that - to accept and embrace the Force took a measure of surrender, which she'd always viewed as a matter of passivity rather than of strength. Perhaps it was simple pedanticism which separated their definitions, but she had a sense that perhaps the young man was viewing the universe through the perceptual lens of force, whether physical or of willpower, as the ultimate psychological ideal. Thus viewed, one can only be held up as 'good' if they are also seen as 'strong'. That wasn't a Jedi teaching, not at all - it was Sith.

She could hardly blame him for his thoughts, though, and it wasn't her place to judge them, either - ultimately her role here was to offer reassurance, perhaps a little guidance, a different perspective to those he had previously experienced, that he might find his way a little more easily than he would do on his own. It's a distrusting methodology, that of the Healer, she thought inwardly. We always end up seeing others as people we need to treat and teach. It made them fixable, though at this point, she wasn't sure if that applied here.

"Is this not something you've done yourself, then?", she asked quietly, tilting her head slightly as she continued to look at him. "I guess it takes a pretty big leap of faith, but sometimes that's what you really need to do, in order to move forward with your life. Rationality doesn't always have an answer to your questions."

Odd thing to say, coming from a scientist. Her education had all been about answers, in one way or another: learning them, figuring out how to discover them if they weren't known, or accepting that some things simply weren't knowable. Though the Jedi taught me to look beyond that, and start perceiving the universe as something entirely different. Maybe that's what the boy needed, though aside from a damn good medic and a vacation somewhere very far away, she couldn't really imagine what else he might need. Guess that's what I'm here to figure out, and find some answers about this one.

"So...do you have any beliefs of your own, then?", Teynara asked, knowing it was a pretty big question, but probably one that needed to be asked. Stops me trampling on them accidentally and putting a really big dent in any ability we have to talk. "I'd like to know, if you don't mind sharing with me."

 

[Zak Dymo]

Something he'd done himself?

The boy was silent for a minute as he seemed to contemplate her meaning. "My master made it clear that he would kill me when I wasn't useful any more," the young Pantoran began, fidgeting slightly as he sat beside the hoverchair-bound woman, staring out into the quiet repose of the hanging gardens.

"I knew he was powerful, but I never accepted it," the boy recalled, thinking back on Coruscant, the mission to Ascension, or Korriban. And all the points in between. "I was afraid. I knew I had to overcome, but I've never thought about the Force by itself. It's always been in association with a Dark Lord."

After all, the Sith painted themselves as the Keepers of Forbidden Knowledge.

The power to overcome a life of poverty, condemned to die in the sewers beneath the ghettos... The strength to fight the future... His master had promised him credits and power. But only through service to him. Only to him. And to have no other teachers, for he was the property of Darth Scorpius.

Until Darth Scorpius said otherwise.

Of course, retirement as a Sith assassin had no golden parachute. There was no quiet retirement to Arda, or some other forgotten world on the vast frontiers of uncharted space. "Only one pebble was going to make it down that stream," the boy remarked finally, turning his amber eyes back to look over at the woman.

"That was the only thing there was to accept."

The question about beliefs actually brought a smile to his face.

A sad thing, really. For all the places where he would walk no more. Never again worship in the halls of Bastion's Imperial Palace. Never again fellowship with the congregation he had started during a missionary trip to Ord Janon.

"Oh, I have lots of beliefs," the young Primeval worshipper answered, in an almost whimsical tone. "...but, I'm probably not any good at them."

To further his education, as Lorrd had not yet joined the worlds of the Primeval, the boy had been sent to the Levantine Academy -- a neutral faction with no hostilities toward the Primeval. The resultant merger with the Silver Jedi had put the boy in the advantageous position of becoming an insider. Someone able to spy on the new government from within their own academy and its FrontierCorps.

Rescuing Theo Heavenshield had never been part of the plan.

"A Primeval rescuing a bunch of Silver Jedi kids, and then returning them to Voss..." the youth said, elaborating on the thought aloud as he tried to talk through him. Then he just paused, and gave a slight laugh. Turning back toward the woman, the boy gave a smile as he mused aloud, "I've probably been branded a heretic."

No, seriously. He was actually surprised another Bleeding Sun agent hadn't shown up on Voss to kill him.

He wondered if it would be [member="Catalys Maijora"].

Part of him hoped that would be case.

[member="Teynara Jeralyr"]​