These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

[Dissero]

Vassek System
Lord Dissero's Secret Home

Holocrons.

Rare, powerful, coveted. Their contained knowledge was often as dangerous as it was sought-after. Passing from owner to owner, hand to hand, the proliferation of history's greatest secrets was a tracable, tangible thing. The arcane and ancient had a way of leaving trails of stories, powers, and information. Though a truly powerful holocron was a great rarity, there was but one thing even more scarce: the knowledge and skill of creating these Master-craft artifacts.

Dissero stood before the gaping mouth of his forge, newly updated with the cannibalized pieces of Isley's Dark Forge replica. Intense heat spilled across the skin of his bare chest as he leaned in, peering through the visor of a protective helm, to manipulate the metal pieces of a holocron slowly coming to shape.

Velok had once exclaimed his surprise at the young man's capability - a lost art, he'd called it, and Dissero having made three successful holocrons at his age.

That time felt so far away and long ago, given everything that had happened since then. But time had only given the Archivist-slash-Alchemist the opportunity to practice, to learn, to grow. He'd carefully accessed, used, and copied dozens of the artifacts since then: the Phobis Holocron, Velok's, Xushan's, Xo'Xaan's, the Telos, Moridin's, nameless others - many of which now sat securely in his own vaults.

He'd crafted more than he could presently fathom. Minor models containing simple spells or sectional passages of knowledge - sold at auction or through the market front of Great Leap Forward Inc. His collection literally saturated the galaxy - made attainable to even the most base person. You only needed the credits.

Today, after a great deal of deliberation, he was about to embark on a new side project in the wee hours of the dawn when any normal person would be sleeping. Something a bit more complex, but something he would thoroughly enjoy the outcome of.

No Arkanian dragon necessary - which was just as well, Faenrovon was sound asleep.

 

[Dissero]

Alchemized metals and heat of the forge flames...

Hand over hand, the metals glowed within the flames, sparking under arcane magics uttered under his breath. Old Sith spells of long past metallurgists to harden, make durable, embue with the powers of the Darkside. Every syllable spoken grew within him his connection to the Force and, subsequently, the materials. Heat, shape, fire, forge, withdraw, repeat. The mantra continued on long into the twilight hours as muscles growing sore and stiff from repetition were willed to press on. He stopped only upon completion of the first batch: twelve molded cubic skeletons of black metal gleaming in the forge's light. Their edges were sharp and unrefined, their surfaces needed polishing, but before that would come a second firing and hand-stamping.

High Sith enchantments and guidance by old names...

The contents of the ancient Sith Spellbook were an invaluable asset to a man of his passions. It was within those pages that he'd found and studied old arcane spells used for containment and enhancement of items and objects. Further research and notes of holocron crafting, though sparsely mentioned, had only given him further knowledge for the skill. He now knew the steps of implanting and imparting a will upon the object in question, and with a few practice rounds had become quite comfortable with doing so. A scroll or two from the collection of Velok provided insight on a few underused Force powers.

Pale paper Sith scrolls tied up with strings,
these are a few of my favorite things.

 

[Dissero]

Earth colored beast skins and brass metal hardware,

Aoelocrons had now long been under his research and experimentation. Long hours collecting crystals, tenuring Force powers, perfecting containment spells ... he'd since uncapped the first of his prototypes to both [member="Verie Lacroix"] and [member="Cerita Sarova"]. His intent was within grasp, but much like the ongoing theme of his life the opportunity, or as most others would call it--distraction--happened upon his lap in the wee hours of the morning.

Gunbelts and Rave's will
and Bodo Baas' hip-flair.

How he'd missed it the first time even he couldn't say. So much had been going on and the shock of Rave's untimely death had done well to mystify the man who normally kept his head about him. Being willed the whole of her archival and prototype collective was beyond anything he could have expected - actually seeing it all in person in the company of Ovmar? Well, he supposed no one was perfect.

The Bodo Baas gunbelt, crafted by Rave and distributed by AEL, was a project he'd heard of but never saw with his own eyes or touched with his own hands. The original Belt of Bodo Baas had been one thing he lamented auctioning off after Rudrig and so it was to his genuine surprise that he found it stashed away amidst her prototypes.

The Belt of Bodo Baas, back in his hands. Dissero sat in disbelief for longer than he'd willingly admit.

 

[Dissero]

Fog covered dragons with the moon on their wings,
these are a few of my favorite things.

"It's amazing you know," A few nights later Dissero recalled sitting high on a rocky outcropping of the moon that was home, next to him sat Faenrovon the Radiant gorging himself on a freshly hunted meal. Faen didn't speak very often anymore and that was just fine by Dissero, but he was something of the Alchemist's confidante now and had spent plenty of time quietly listening to the man think aloud.

Dissero caught a short curious glance from the dragon and smirked, "your hunting prowess, my Radiant friend..." but what he had really meant was the belt in his hands and, by extension, the means by which he'd come into ownership of it. He might've remarked on this but he knew when to placate a beastly ego and when to press for attentiveness. Now was not the time for the latter.

The moon's fog rolled around them, thick and heady in the night. Dissero looked up into the sky above, obscured by the clouds and pale with backlit moonlight - he lifted a hand and closed his eyes. High above the clouds began to part and dissipate, revealing the moon in full, its illumination washing across the peaks and making the scales upon the dragon and scars upon his own bare chest gleam.

He turned his attention back to the artifact in his lap and went back about his work: find every pocket.

 

[Dissero]

Velok's notes had not been particularly explicit on this item, but he had talked at great length about its mysterious qualities. Pockets upon pockets upon pockets - 65 in all. The old whiphid had found every single one which came as no surprise to Dissero, he was a venerable and obstinate creature at the best of times.

He began, at first, by simply hunting blind and seeing just how many he could find by perseverance. It became quite clear after a time that this alone would not do. An hour had passed him by in a blink and he'd counted 34 pockets in total. By now Faen had finished his meal and sat preening in the moonlight - an activity that was graceful to watch when it concerned beasts like cats or birds ... but somehow awkward for a dragon.

"Sithspit," the Archivist commented, drawing the dragon's attention for a blink, "I think I've already encountered this pocket. You know, it's shadowy interior is distinctly different from the shadowy interior of every other pocket."

Faen idly picked at his fangs with a claw, batting a glance at Dissero with a gruff rumble that might've been an inquisitive word.

"Thirty-four," Dissero replied without hesitation, it was like he knew what the dragon was really thinking, "I think. Even found some lightsaber crystals in a few and a mini-rebreather in another. Wonder how long they've been in there...oh, look," he withdrew something from another pocket and held it up to the light for the dragon to see, "a seashell. So that's thirty-five."

 

[Dissero]

Who knew seashells were such a curiosity for a dragon.

"Don't they have beaches on Arkania?" Dissero queried as he set the shell down for Faen to collect. Say what you will about dragons, no amount of sentience and learned civility would keep them from breaking old habits. Hoarders, the lot of them.

"Exocron has beautiful beaches and clear waters," he added the crystals to Faen's pile then turned the belt over and began attempting to persuade more pockets from hiding through means of Sith Sorcery, "Been years since I've seen the sea ... How long for you?"

It had been quite some time for the dragon as well and it was in that moment that Dissero felt a twinge of regret. Had cooping this mighty beast up on this dreary, woe-begotten rock made him homesick? Did dragon's get homesick? Neglecting the fact that Faenrovon had volunteered for the position offered by the Archivist to guard his home vaults, did he ever yearn for the freedom of the skies that his home planet had once offered him?

"Ouch!" a painful revelation as one of the pockets forcefully snapped shut on his fingers, "Don't like the Dark Arts, eh Belt? What do you make of it, Faenrovon?" He held the belt up for Faen to examine. Perhaps a being as ancient and long-lived as the artifact might have some insight. The dragon leaned his gargantuan skull in, turning to the side to peer one-eyed more closely before pulling back to give it a sniff. Dissero blinked into the plume of hot dragon's breath, his dark hair billowing about his face.

Crumbssssssss. Faen rumbled and lifted a giant clawed hand to scratch at his opposite foreleg, showering the ground beneath them with small shed scales gleaming in the moonlight.

 

[Dissero]

Crumbs.

Crumbs?

He leaned down to scoop up a handful of the scales - tiny things no bigger than a quarter, nearly pearlescent in his palm. He'd never really looked that closely at the Arkanian dragon's hide nor had he ever asked for scales, Faen might as well have showered him with gold coins.

But crumbs?

Dissero did not question the dragon, no. He'd learned already that doing so was considered quite rude and so he instead did what he learned was more proper - he took what was given to him and pondered on it. This relationship of theirs was a curious one indeed. Faen had signed on at the prospect of learning anything and everything he could at the hands of the Master of Vaults yet he'd come with several of his own lessons to teach.

Belly full and with a few new trinkets to add to his own hoard, Faenrovon offered no further assistance. The dragon collected his treasures with a swipe of his tongue and slowly ambled off over the edge of the outcropping, wings spreading to catch the fog and glide silently out of sight.

He sat with his brow furrowed, mind churning, and looked from belt to scales and back again.

Crumbs.

Dissero thumbed open a pocket on the belt and looked inside. Empty, dark, much like all the rest, and slowly he slid a dragonscale into it. Even in the shadowed confines of the pocket the scale gleamed. He shut the pocket and opened it again.

Breadcrumbs.

One by one the Alchemist opened the pockets and put a scale inside.

 

[Dissero]

"What is that belt you're wearing?"

[member="Cerita Sarova"] was a sassy apprentice at times, lucky to have a Master with a sense of humor like himself. Dissero narrowed his eyes and considered her. Would he reveal the identity of his new artifact?

"You've been wearing that thing for weeks and you won't stop fussing with it," Cerita eyed the belt, eyed her Master, then eyed the belt again, "it's distracting."

"You're distracting," he replied and went back to reading the GNN newsfeed on the datapad before him as though everything were perfectly normal, he thumbed another pocket open, "I'm trying to read the news."

Cerita frowned, narrowed her own eyes and went back to eating her plant food.

Breakfast, she went back to eating her breakfast.

Dissero checked the contents of the pocket with his free hand without looking. Empty. Yessss. "...fifty-sevennn..." He deposited a scale. Two weeks. He'd been wearing the belt non-stop for two weeks and had been stuck at 56 for three days now. Cerita might not have even noticed if it wasn't for the fact that he was being a little weird about the whole thing. He wore it constantly, which wasn't to say that was the weird thing - Dissero often went days without finding a change of clothes mainly because he was a busy and hard working guy, he didn't have time to put on clean clothes when there was so many things to do! - no, the weird thing was that he wore it over his clothes and not like how one was supposed to wear a belt. You know, on their pants, through belt loops.

I can't have clothes impeding access to my belt, Cerita, he told her matter-of-factly the day she commented on his strange wardrobe choices, Life lesson number 32: Efficiency is key.

She'd not commented on it since then, probably just for accepting the fact that sometimes he was strange and that eccentricities often came with the territory of Pseudo-Evil Geniuses, or so he liked to believe that's what it was.

Nope, he hadn't revealed the identity of the belt to her.

Oh shet another one! Score.

"...fifty eiiiight...."

Cerita promptly got up from her seat and left the room muttering to herself, bowl of plant food and all.

Weirdo.

 

[Dissero]

"And...what exactly am I looking for?"

"Pockets. You're looking for pockets. Here, put one of these in them if they're empty."

Mahet the noghri looked positively scandalized, which was to say he looked nominally more irked than usual. Noghri weren't known for their broad range of expressions.

62. He was at 62 and the end was so close in sight he could nearly taste it. This was week three and somewhere along the line Cerita had vanished. This might have something to do with her walking in on him in the the kitchen with nothing but a towel around his waist and that accursed belt holding it up. That day had been number sixty and he'd been in the middle of a miniature victory dance while his breakfast burned on the stove.

Life lesson number 37, Cerita: Always celebrate the little victories.

Mahet, nonplussed, held the belt out before him as though Dissero had handed him a bag of dog-doo and glared at it, "Pocketsss."

"Yeah, it's got lots of pockets. Just...you know, play with it."

The approach of searching for pockets absent-mindedly had worked for a while before the belt caught on to his tactics. By now Dissero was nothing short of obsessed. He hadn't slept in days, which wasn't entirely unusual for him except for the fact that he also hadn't seen the moon either and this whole project was starting to wear on him in strange ways. It was enough to drive the garhoon halfling mad, and he was definitely going there.

He would have given the task to Cerita were it not for her apparent hatred of the belt in question. Also she'd disappeared and he'd yet to put a tracking beacon on her.

She'd be back.

Her actual curiosity about the belt was palpable. It had become the repulsive, rotting, forbidden fruit. The red-headed step child that you couldn't help but want to strangle yet love at the same time.

"There are no empty pockets, Merovign," Mahet remarked after begrudgingly examining it for a few minutes.

"Sure there are, keep looking."

"Is this some kind of joke? I don't approve."

"No joke, just a belt. A belt with lots of pockets. It's got three empty pockets, see if you can find them."

Clunk.

"Where are you going?" Dissero looked up just in time to see Mahet leaving the room muttering something under his breath about stupid children and their games.

Weirdo.

 

[Dissero]

They say necessity is the mother of invention.

It also happens to be the mother of pockets number 63 and 64.

65 had turned out to be quite elusive, but Dissero was determined to find it.

"That's the Belt of Bodo Baas."

Dissero stopped dead in his tracked as he walked down the ramp of the Magnum Opus, disembarking from the ship unto the planet Annaj where he had set to visit with his sister Amore. Eyes wide and surfing around, he didn't respond immediately.

Amore smiled faintly, "I've been talking with Cerita. She sent me a message a week ago concerned about your mental health. I invited her over,"

"...you..." he eyed her suspiciously.

"...well, to give you room to think, of course." Though actually it had been to give Cerita some sensible company and a much-needed vacation from absurdity. His sister smiled warmly, "Let's have a look at it. Have you found every pocket?"

"How do you even-"

"Oh she was quite happy to talk about your new obsession. At first I thought you'd managed to get a hold of one of Rave's gunbelts, but the more Cerita talked about this belt the more I knew that you'd found the genuine article. Of course you'd be obsessed with finding all the pockets, what Alchemist wouldn't? If anyone could do it, it'd be you."

"Well ...I..." blankfaced, he peered off to the side, hands in his jacket pockets and rolled up onto his toes. Yeah.

"Ohhhh..." Amore tried not to smile, "ohhh... so, you haven't found them all yet."

"Well, I mean, I've found most all of them."

"How many have you got left?"

"Just one."

"How long for?"

"....four weeks."

"Mmm," she nodded knowingly and squeezed his upper arm with a gentle pat, "hungry?"

"So hungry."

~~~~~~~~

"His name is Caeyrn," [member="Amorella Mae"] smiled warmly and at that moment in time Dissero wasn't sure what that ethereal glow about her was - the afternoon sunlight pouring in through the open windows of the solar or her motherly pride.

A child. She'd given birth to a child. The very child he now held in his arms - darkskinned, pale blue eyes, and inextricably hers.

"Cameron's?" he asked and she nodded. He was baffled. Utterly speechless. It must have shown in his face as he looked from son to mother, the question he begged to ask but simply couldn't find the means to. How? How had his sister, who had reported being barren several years ago, managed to produce this healthy baby boy?

"I don't know," she answered, meek smile etched with wonder, "it just...happened. It was a miracle. He was a miracle."

"You never said anything," belt now long forgotten and in the hands of his sister, Dissero gently brushed the dark hair from the infant's forehead, "why?"

"I was so worried I would lose him. I mean...nothing for so many years and then suddenly...something. I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up, not even my own. I never thought..."

"It's ok," he said gently, "it's ok."

Amore nodded, smile pressing into her eyes that had misted over, "Thank you Mero. You know, I never expected to be a mother. I wanted it so badly for so long, when I learned it couldn't happen I just gave up that hope. I decided to be content with the children within my life. Sol's ... yours."

"Mine?" he ask with a smirk of disbelief.

"Yes. You and Verie. Your future children. I've seen them, they're beautiful and you're all so happy."

"You're not supposed to poke around my futures."

"Sometimes it can't be helped. I see what the Force shows me. Those visions got me through some hard times, you know."

"Hm, right. So, Cadeyrn. Cadeyrn...?"

"Relek, in honor of Uncle Vas."

"Oh, he'd like that. It's a good strong name," he lifted his nephew up, "yes. The Black Vascious!"

Amore laughed and moved to step forward, offering the belt in order to take her son back. He looked at it for a moment before shaking his head, "No way, I've got too many things to teach Black Vascious, you hold onto it for now."

 

[Dissero]

Resin lacquered armor with gold-painted sigils,
Knowledge and mythos and holy crusade vigils.


The belt lay forgotten for an entire weekend. Dissero talked, laughed, ate, slept, and felt himself renewed. Between the revelation of his sister's greatest accomplishment and how all his own greats seemed to pale in comparison, it made the Master of Vaults revisit what goals he'd set for his life. After holding his infant nephew and feeling the lifeforce of the tiny child in his arms, he knew for certain that things were going to change.

This. This is what he wanted. More than anything he'd ever wanted in his life before, more than his pursuit of the Phobis Device or the myriad mysteries of the galaxy. More than all the contents of his vaults that he kept so painstakingly hidden away. More than any riches he'd ever known from his life as a Prince and his life as a Sith.

I want to be a father.

It was hard to say goodbye, hard to go back to his dark hermit hole on the third moon of Vassek. Is this what knowing the Lightside felt like?

Dissero stood at the bottom of the entry ramp to the Magnum Opus, the belt in his left hand while he embraced his sister with his right.

"Please don't say anything to Sol. I'm not ready to tell them yet," she said to him, cradling Cade in one arm.

"No? You should, though. He'll be upset if you don't."

"I know, and I will, I just don't know when. There's just... so much going on right now. It's got to be the right time. Here, take this with you." Amore handed him a small woven pouch. It felt empty. "It's a few locks of his hair. For safe keeping?"

Looking at the pouch he frowned and nodded. There was no safer place in the galaxy to store anything than in his very own vaults, "Of course. The safest. Be well, Mae. I'll see you again soon." Dissero leaned in and kissed both his sister and infant nephew on the brows, smiling, then turned and disappeared up the ramp.


Some time later, after entering hyperspace, Dissero sat in deep thought within the pilot's chair of the bridge. Of all the things that happened this weekend, the most profound had nothing at all to do with this belt. Suddenly the worth of a lock of hair transcended anything the belt had ever meant to him.

Without thinking he reached down, opened the last empty pocket on the belt and deposited the pouch where he knew it would be safe until he could store it in his vaults.

Dark locks of hair trimmed from a young king,
these are a few of my favorite things.

65.

 

[Dissero]

When the blade cuts,
when the forge burns,
when I've fallen mad...

"Mero? Are you in here?"

Verie didn't often venture down into what she formally dubbed his crypt, but he'd been rather absent the last few days since returning so likely she was checking to be sure he hadn't fallen into his forge.

"I'm here Ve," he called back over the dull roar of the flames. He peered over a rod of molten brass as her figure slowly inched into the lab, wincing at the heat.

Her curiosity was quite strong, strong enough to overcome what was otherwise a tremendously uncomfortable chamber. Dissero was shirtless and slicked with sweat and soot, his face obscured by a forger's mask. He hammered at the molten rod, sending sparks flying, uttering incoherent words under his breath that conjured up a pale green aura around his form.

Strike, turn, strike, turn, fold, pinch. Archaic words of strength and endurance murmured from his lips, imbuing the metal as it took form into that of a small O-ring.

"What are you making?" Verie called over the din, shielding her eyes from the brightness of the forge, "You've been down here for days!"

"A bag!" he called from within his mask.

"A what?!"

Strike, turn, strike, turn, fold, pinch, plunge and sizzle. With a wave of his hand the gate to the forge swung shut, plunging them into a dull quiet. He flipped up the mask and wiped the sweat from his face, "...a bag."

"...a bag?" perhaps she had been expecting something a bit more sinister?

Dissero raised his brows, smiling faintly, fatigue evident on his face, "yes," he replied over a breathless chuckle, "a bag."

"Oh. What sort of bag?"

Breathing slowly, heavily, the Alchemist nodded to himself silently and moved to the worktable where his current project lay amidst a heap of terentatek leather tailings, metal scraps and a jar of some strange lacquer. He set the finished brass rings to the side and picked it up, holding it out for Verie to take.

"Oh."

He knew that answer. It was the polite noise Verie made when she really didn't get what all the fuss was.

"This is ...nice. Does it ...do anything? That's what you do down here, right? With Alchemy?"

An easy smile this time, he chuckled again and rubbed at the stubble on his chin, "It dances and makes tea."

"Well that's terribly convenient. Does it keep its tap shoes and tea bags inside?"

"Yes. In its pockets. It has quite a few, you'll see. Take a look."

Verie gave him a questioning look and began to politely look through the bag. After a few minutes he could see she was quite unimpressed, but truly the value of the bag could only be found through the experience of its use. One didn't find the marvel in a bunch of empty pockets.

"Well," she placed the bag gently back on the work table and smiled her practiced smile, "That's nice."

"Thank you," he smirked, "The outside layer is terentatek hide. Ah - terentateks are sithspawn that are highly resistant to the Force. Their hide will protect the contents of the bag from being manipulated by it. There's also a lacquer lining to conceal the presence of Force artifacts within... the whole thing has been alchemized to withstand wear and damage, and the pockets are ... " he'd lost her at terentatek hide and he knew it. His smirk broadened, "I made it for you."

"Oh," she replied, a frown desperately trying to form on her lips.

"No, I'm kidding. It's not for you."

"Oh thank heavens, I'd never be caught dead with-" Verie glanced around, "ahem. What I mean to say is, whoever you did make it for I'm sure will be very happy with it."

"I can make you one, too, if you like."

"Oh, no! Don't trouble yourself, I'm sure it takes a lot of work-"

"It's not that much work," a lie but he was having far too much fun.

"No, really, I've got far too many handbags already. As a matter of fact I should probably get rid of a few. Donate some old styles to a charity..."

Dissero began to laugh and he couldn't bring himself to stop.


I simply remember my favorite things
and then I don't feel so bad.

 

[Dissero]

Varunda XI - Rave Merrill's Cabin

Since the final passing of [member="Rave Merrill"] things had gotten a bit more complicated. Being one of the very few, if one of the only fully aware of the extent of her work in Lightside Alchemy, Dissero had a number of projects to contain and a list of missing links to follow through on. His first had been that of her Ankarres Trees on Varunda IX: one of her greatest projects of her second lifetime, so far as he was concerned, and one left out in the cold with her absence.

There was a certain sense of foreboding that greeted him as he stepped into the woman's cabin to take in the smells and sights left behind. Various small projects sat in organized disarray, things he doubted she'd meant to leave out or unattended, but he couldn't bring himself to touch a single thing. Something about the place felt sacred ... or perhaps haunted. Rave had always managed to leave her mark wherever she went.

"Mero? What can I do?" the gentle voice accompanied the bright presence of his sister, [member="Amorella Mae"], who he'd asked along due in part to her Lightside presence that would likely be needed to gain any footing in the decision of what to do with the trees.

"Nothing," he said quietly, blue eyes casting around the interior of the cabin, "not in here. Not right now, anyway." The cabin would need to be locked up and sealed until he could find Rave's next of kin. She spoke several times of her niece, the girl that had found the Ankarres Sapphire...what was her name? Mira? That could wait. His eyes settled on a shelf of books, one notebook in particular he recognized from his first visit here. The one containing her research notes into lost or forgotten Alchemy processes. More specifically, the one detailing her research into crystallurgy and the Lightside approaches. Dissero reached up and pulled it from the shelf, paging through with a frown.

It felt much heavier in his hands than it should.

 

[Ereza]

Silent, contemplative, Amorella quietly walked the floorboards of the cabin, inspecting its contents with a solemn gaze.

"I wish I had met her," she offered gently, "the way you talk about her sometimes makes me wonder if you weren't in love. She must have been truly special to get that sort of respect and attention from you..." her brow knit upwards, a small teasing sort of smile present in her expression.

"You said she turned her path, began working on Lightside Alchemy?" Amore stopped at a worktable where several cut pieces of wood sat off to the side, a bag of sawdust and woodchips hung from the end of the table, "Do you think I could do it?" Her only attempt had been at helping him with crafting the Velokrons, imbuing the essence of Force Light into the small holocron-like objects. A task rendered more and more difficult by the fact that her brother could not withstand the power long enough to guide her through the process. The first several Velokrons failed but with time and a fair amount of ingenuity he'd created work-arounds. Amore only wished she could have been more help.

 

[Dissero]

"Maybe I was..." in love with Rave Merrill? Infatuated seemed the better term. Merovign was in love with Verie Lacroix and not a single thing had managed to sway the very real, very powerful feelings he had towards that woman. What he'd felt towards Rave had been different - more akin to what he felt towards the power he'd gained through his Darkside pursuits.

Maybe he'd been addicted.

Maybe he still was.

Whatever the case, Rave had always embodied the thing that he sought after the most: the pursuit of knowledge. Though they'd traveled vastly different paths, her penchant for producing new and groundbreaking things had always kept his interest. She'd been nothing if not stubbornly inventive and creative - better at what she did in almost every way, he even felt his own passion paled in comparison to hers. Where she'd been free to pursue her path unhindered he'd become distracted and bridled by love.

So he couldn't have been in love with her.

"I think you could," he said after a long pause of silence while staring at the bookshelf, reading the bindings, "given enough time, practice, ...guidance..."

Dissero turned suddenly and stepped out of the cabin.

"Where are you going?" he heard Amore call after him.

"To get a crate."

He wouldn't be leaving behind Rave's research. Not when it could be put to use and furthered by someone else.

 

[Ereza]

"Can I help?" he was pulling books and notes, sleeves of parchment and papers from the shelves, stacking them with feverish care. Amore frowned at the pained line forming on her brother's brow, folding her arms at her front to hug at her elbows. She didn't want to touch anything without his permission, given that it seemed he felt a certain sense of obligatory duty over this place despite it having belonged to another.

"No," he said shortly while gently rolling a length of parchment, but he paused suddenly and took another look through the collected stacks, "...yes."

"What is it?"

"There's another notebook," he said, checking the shelves again, "it's not here."

"Which? What does it look like?"

"Brown leather binding, yellowed homemade paper. It's about the trees, how she created them. I need it."

"I'll look around."

But it wasn't anywhere to be found in the cabin. Amore did her best to search without disturbing too much, but it didn't make sense for the woman to hide it away while actively continuing her research. It had to be somewhere handy, somewhere they hadn't thought of.

"What if she had it with her when..."

"No," Dissero replied with a firm shake of his head, "she wouldn't have taken it with her. She wouldn't have risked the research. She's too careful for that."

"Didn't you say the Ithorians were helping her? Maybe they have it?"

 

[Dissero]

He stared at his sister as though she'd struck him and gave a muted grunt in reply, drawing a hand over his face and through his beard with growing weariness.

"You might be right..." the man said with a heavy sigh, put-out by what this implied.

"What's wrong?"

"That might be an issue."

"Why?"

"The creation of the Ankarres was a heavily guarded secret by Rave. She only showed me the notes because I wanted to help her with materials." And she had been helping him change his own path. It had been a joint-venture in some aspects, but the trees were wholly realized by Rave and Rave alone. He wagered the Ithorians wouldn't be keen on giving up her notes, if they had them, and Dissero didn't have the memory of recall like his sister.

"But you were helping her," Amore reminded him, "didn't they know that?"

"I spoke with them a few times here and at the shop..." brow furrowed, Dissero began slowly placing books in the crate again, "I couldn't get too close to the grove, though. I can't even touch those planks over there. I'm too..." he gripped his hands at the rim of the crate, staring at the pieces of Ankarres wood sitting on the workbench, "...too corrupted."

"But you're not a Sith and you were her friend. What do you need the book for anyway if you can't even go near the trees?"

"Because I know someone who can, I know the perfect place to start a new grove, but I can't do it without her notes."

 

[Ereza]

"Ithorians are healers, Merovign, known throughout the greater galaxy for their wisdom and unique powers. They're peaceful. Don't you think they helped Rave here because they wanted to help the galaxy? Wasn't she already selling this?" Tentatively, carefully, Amore reached out and picked up a piece of Ankarres. The tangible effects were immediate - a sense of serenity, of lightness emanating from the bark filtered through her fingertips, compounding her own calm presence in a chorus of melding ripples within the Force. If a mere slab of this could do all that she no longer wondered at why her brother couldn't go near the grove without adverse effects on himself.

Dissero's corruption ran deep after so many years steeped in Darkside practices. Full exposure would surely be excruciating to bear.

"She was..." he said.

"Then let's talk to them," Amore studied her brother from seat on the workbench chair, "maybe we're wrong and they don't even have it."

"That would be lucky."

"Or maybe they'll understand more than you think they will. Where are they usually?"

"There's always been at least one in the grove any time I've visited. I wonder if they still tend it."

"I don't think they would so easily give up on a project of this magnitude. I'll go look to see if I can't find one."

 

[Dissero]

He had packed away those shelves of notes and books, scrolls and archive holos. Rave was nothing if not completely thorough, so much that he could attest to after his first inheritance received from the woman. He sat by the workbench, one of the last places he remembered seeing her, and tried to envision her purpose within himself. The same purpose that drove her to leave the shadows of the Darkside. The same that tested her will against her self discipline. Had she struggled to maintain her path? Had it pained her the same wait it did him?

Did she suffer the same dreams at night? Did she even sleep?

Perhaps, within the sphere of calm influences from the Ankarres, she did. Though the distance culled their distinct Lightside ambiance Dissero still felt the innate calmness exuded by the grove, by the products within the cabin. Even their scent had a lulling nature to it. Absently his hand reached out with a quiet curiosity towards the cut plank on the workbench - the consequences of which were immediate. A striking pain shot up through his fingertips and into his arm, snaking along his limb and into his shoulder where it left a powerful yet dull throbbing in his spine. He felt his curse constrict around his neck.

"Geh-" Dissero dropped the plank after only a few seconds, yanking his hand back to knead at the palm, grimacing.

"How are you at dejarik?" Amore appeared in the doorway, red hair billowing in a gentle breeze.

"Wha-What?"

"Dejarik...the board game?"

"This really isn't the time for board games, Esmae."

"Oh, I agree, but I'm not the one that wants to play."

Dissero looked up, confusion creased into his face.

"They do," Amore stepped inside to reveal three Ithorian Priests, all wise and expectant.

 

[Dissero]

"Well I..." hadn't played in years? Couldn't remember the rules? Never was very good at it? Dissero had the sneaking suspicion he was being set up for failure and he eyed the Ithorian Priests with as much in his expression.

"They asked nicely," Amore insisted in a gentle tone, nodding to her brother and beckoning the Priests into the cabin. It was a tight squeeze considering the cabin wasn't very big, but they fit.

One Priest moved with purpose to a far corner of the main room and pulled out a collapsible wooden gameboard. As he opened it and set it up Dissero realized this was likely a creation of Rave's. Some side-project she'd made while pondering the challenges of some current problematic bump in the road. The idle task was a good way to clear one's thoughts of distraction and Dissero could think of no better way than making something simple.

Carved wooden figurines followed next from a leather satchel. Curious, he thought, considering Dejarik was a holo-based game, but Rave always seemed to have an affinity for small totems and the like. Each piece had been made with attention to detail, the Priest set them out to their respective planes one by one. Once finished he motioned for Dissero to join him.

Eyes narrowed, the Alchemist moved to take the seat across from his opponent and gave the gameboard a dubious glance. A gentle touch revealed to him this was going to be a painful failure in more ways than one. Ankarres Dejarik. The Ithorians were secretively a cruel race, he was certain of it.

"Donoma, isn't it?" the man asked as he waited for the Ithorian, who he now recognized as female and one of the usual tending gardeners to the Ankarres grove, to take her seat.

"Donoma Wakanda," said the Priestess slowly. Dissero wasn't familiar with the race, not in the same way that Rave was, but he had the distinct impression he was being smiled at in the same way a mother smiled down at a young child when she knew something they did not.

"Donoma Wakanda," he repeated with a glance to his sister who shrugged in return from her seat at the workbench, "may I call you Donoma?"

"Yes," said Donoma pleasantly, stereophonic voice strangely harmonic.

"Ladies first."

"Thank you."

With the very first move he began to regret agreeing to this game. Every touch of every piece resulted in a painful reminder of his own dark alignment. Though his efforts and strategy seemed utterly futile as he lost three pieces within the first ten minutes. Dissero frowned and rubbed at his hands, the pain beginning to linger like the deep ache of arthritis. He made another move and found himself 'well and truly forked.'

"You're not very good at this game," remarked his sister from her seat.

"I'm very bad at this game," Dissero returned as he watched Donoma slowly move to pick his M'onnok off the table, "even worse when every piece is made of Ankarres." The man rubbed the fingers of his right hand along the palm, the sensation growing close to holding a flame.

Amore winced.

He lost gloriously after two more moves. With a sigh Dissero slumped back into his chair, holding his right hand.

"Another round?" Donoma inquired, rising from her seat to allow the second Priest his turn.

Apparently this was to be a practice in futuilty. The man released a breath and nodded, "I suppose I really am a glutton for punishment. What's your name?"

"Momurr Palwaa," a male Priest this time. Dissero did not recognize him but thought this one looked younger. His glossy skin radiated a healthy youth and his eyes held an adventurous glint. But what did he really know?

"Nice to meet you Momurr. Do you tend the Ankarres grove as well?"

"Yes, Donoma is teaching me."

So he was younger ... or perhaps less experienced. Ankarres was a newer adventure after all. Another nod, "Did you know Rave Merrill?"

"I have met her only once."

"...are you any good at Dejarik?"

"Better than you, I think."

He thought he saw that same inference of a smile on the Ithorian's face. Dissero smirked, "Well that's not hard to do."

"Why don't you go first, Lord Dissero?"