Unfading Scars

[Tydeus of Tion]

A youth lay in a cot, his bed one of many, many others that spanned the length of the medbay. His features blinked wearily awake, shedding sleep and dreams with a deep sadness as he awoke to a place of pain and suffering. Intermittent groans rose from the beds surrounding the youth. He breathed out softly, wincing as he did. The sheets of his cot were pulled up to his waist, leaving his chest and arms bare and exposed. Bacta patches covered his shoulder and lower abdomen, where two Sith sabers had pierced his body. He remembered the sight of those glowing blades jutting oddly from his torso. He recalled the smell of his flesh as it burned. It made him sick.

One arm was bound up in a sling. A monstrous Sithspawn had dislocated the shoulder and broken the wrist. They would take a while yet to heal. That fight had been a grueling experience in combat, but it was nothing compared to the sight of seeing his home, the Temple, nigh destroyed. The crumbling statuary and the collapse of many spires set a cold fist closing about his heart. His jaw tensed and he closed his eyes, but he could find no peace in this place. The sounds of the dying and the wounded cut through his meditation like a hot knife.

This was all the Council's fault. If they'd been focused on fighting the Sith instead of attacking every nation within reach this never would have happened. Fools. They had pointed to the Fringe and to the Confederacy and to the Protectorate, denouncing them as conspirers with the Dark Sider. And they had overlooked so many of their own who had fallen into darkness. Daella Apparine and how many others? Ryan had heard the list, but the numbers had staggered him. So much Darkness had been festering inside the Jedi Temple. And now, Dragonsflame had deserted like the coward he was, Carn Dista had disappeared to Force knows where, and all what was left was a shattered Temple and a shellshocked Order.

But Ryan would rather have those few Jedi than a thousand Dragonsflames. It was because of cowards and warmongerers like him that the Order had fallen in the eyes of the galaxy. With these remnants, they could start anew and be the guardians they were supposed to be, not the Neo Pius Dea crusaders that butchered everyone supposed of Dark Side taint.

The Jedi had forgotten their true purpose: redeemers, not executioners. Perhaps now they would remember it.

Korr kept his storm grey eyes closed, listening to the aching of the wounded. It had taken him several full immersions in bacta to get to the state he was now. How often had his screams kept others up at night? His eyes blinked open and he frowned as a presence spilling forth Light approached.

[member="Darron Wraith"].

 

[Darron Wraith]

An Hour Earlier...

"Will you please hold my hand?"

It was such a simple question, that it could the wounded Jedi Master off guard. Pausing mid-stride, he had to turn fully to face the small boy who had made the request. Depth perception wasn't Darron's forte at the moment as his left eye was swollen shut, and his right was barely doing better. What should have been easy was anything but. Yet, that didn't stop him from walking the few meters to the boy's bedside chair and slowly sitting down. Bruises littered his body, and a bacta patch could be clearly seen on his chest. The tank top he wore covered little, and cuts and scrapes littered his body. What was new would eventually blend with the old from the thousands of battles he had fought within the thirty years he had been allowed to walk the galaxy. Leaning forward wasn't easy, but Wraith did his best as he placed his one hand out. Awkwardly leaning in as he was, it took a great deal of effort on his part to sustain his postion for the boy. What was left of his prosthetic was mangled and destroyed, and his right shoulder had only been recently set back into place. Multiple cuts on his face hindered him from smiling at the injured boy, no older than maybe six years old.

A small hand laid into his injured one, and with a strength beyond his years, the boy grasped Darron's hand. "What happened to you?" He looks like Tobias, he thought. Wraith was too enamored with the boy's blonde hair and blue eyes to much pay attention to the question, until that familiar kick in his rear was initiated by the part of him that listened. How do I explain that I brought down the Jedi temple, and did battle afterwards in the archives to a boy? Senses reached out, though they where still weak from the heavy exertion on Coruscant. Feeling that the child was Force sensitive, Darron quickly deduced that he was a student who had survived the attack. Forming what he could of a smile, Darron spoke to the boy. "Well, I was in the battle in the temple, and I had to stay a while to save the most important things in the archives." Realizing he'd bore the boy, or say too much, he changed the topic.

"What's your name?" Childish eyes lit up, and he strained to sit up. A small whimper came from the boy's lips and Darron instantly stood up. I shouldn't have done that, he thought to himself as multiple scabs opened up. "Are you okay?" Pain receded on the child's face, and he answered Darron. "My name is Pedrus, and I was in Master Lundt's class for young Jedi." Darron smiled again, well attempted to as he congratulated the boy. "Well that's wonderful, and I'm glad you made it off Coruscant." Cerulean blue eyes began to look around the find the youth's medical record, but it wasn't in sight. More attempts to feel the child in the Force were met with futility, he was simply too tired to try. Becoming lost in thought was a talent for Darron, and the child once more broke his reverie. "You look familiar you know that?" Pedrus sat up, and he weakly brought his free hand up to frame the Jedi Master's face. "I know who you were, you were the GrandMaster of the Jedi Order! Why did you leave?" Realizing he shouldn't have said that, he asked another question. "Why did you come back?"

"Well, Pedrus, it seems you are sure asking an awful lot of questions." Upon those words, the boys grip grew stronger. Darron could barely feel his fear growing, and Wraith leaned forward in response. "Please don't leave me," came Pedrus' small voice. "Don't worry, I won't." Softly releasing his grip, he leaned forward and rubbed the boy's hair and carefully moved the boy's Padawan braid. "Everything will be fine."

Present Time...

His steps were heavy, but he never moved for those he walked through. Instead of reaching out to the Force, he instead kept himself closed off. Whatever physical pain he had felt wasn't bothering him presently. In fact, there was no pain. Walking among the wounded, his wounds could be seen as the lights shined brightly down on him. "Master Wraith, please stop for a moment for us to check your wounds." The medic's voice was soft, but it didn't ease his spirit. Instead he stood there, completely numb as he was being guided to sit at a bed next to another injured Padawan. Hands and medical tools moved over him, but his gaze never left what was in his hand. It's texture was soft, and a bit of dried blood could be seen as he examined it intently while he was being looked over. How did I miss that? Am I that blind and shut off?

More pain as inflicted on his wounds during treatment, but Wraith's focus was on Pedrus' braid in his hands.

The boy was one with the Force now, having died from the wounds sustained in battle.

[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Avalore Eden]

This was all entirely too depressing. Good thing Avalore was snoozing through most of it.

Strangely enough, after the rescue from Coruscant and the birth of her child, Avalore had found herself the center of some very curious attention when arriving at this medical bay. Wherever the feth it was - it didn't matter. Amidst all the blood, gore, death, pain, anguish, suffering, something beautiful had happened. A new life had formed within the destruction and carnage, the Force had willed it so.

Or, at least, that's what all the Healers, Medics, and Nurses were spouting.

Your child is blessed by the Force.
A beacon of faith and hope for the Order.
You should be proud of what you've done.

Listen, after over 8 months of pregnancy and a severely limited diet, I could do without the fawning. Someone get me a cheeseburger, extra cheese, extra burger.

Naturally there would be no cheeseburger. Not here. Such indulgences would have to be saved for another time - nope, it was freeze-dried and rehydrated dinners from now until Cato Neimoidia, whenever that would happen. Avalore would have to make do with her recovery; a few scrapes and bruises from her escape, but the majority of her physical pain and fatigue came from the several hour long process of pushing that kid into the world. She tried not to think about it, the whole experience was far too jarring to deal with a second time.

"Avalore Eden," her attending Nurse arrived, she opened her eyes and grunted a greeting, "your baby is doing just fine. She's responding well to treatment, I suspect you'll be able to take her home within a day or so, once everything is settled."

Once everything is settled. She could count on two hands how many times that statement had been made in the last month. Wincing at the light, she uttered a word of thanks.

"Have you thought of a name for her yet? I'd like to add it to her records."

Avalore looked up at her, unsmiling. McPuff, she wanted to say, that's her name. Put that down on your records and like it.

She settled for a quiet, uncertain, "No..."

This was supposed to be an easy process. I was supposed to wake up in the middle of the night with a water-soaked bed and then spend several hours of labor at the Temple hospital. Just shoot the kid out and hand it off to the Temple Protective Services. Slap an adoption sticker on it boys, I'm outta here. Don't get me wrong, but none of this was supposed to happen anyways. That's not how the story goes for a Jedi, right? Jedi don't get happy endings. They don't get beautiful families without making some bloody sacrifices. If everything had gone according to plan, I'd still be home on Corellia watching dad's local election race, sitting next to Domos on the couch sharing a pint of ice cream, planning out baby names and picking colors out for the nursery. Lime Green, that's the color I would have chosen. Good old flourescent Lime Slurpee Green, the best flavor. I never said I had good aesthetic taste.

"I see," said the Nurse, tapping across the holoscreen of the datapad, "we'll keep her under your initials for now then. No rush, dear, pick a good name." She smiled, but it looked like a worried sort of smile.

"Am I allowed to get up and walk around yet?" Avalore abruptly changed the subject, "I've been laying in a bed for the last month and my jaunt through the Temple wasn't exactly refreshing."

Nurse blinked, noticeably taken aback at the flippant remark on the Temple, "If you're feeling up to it, I suppose that'd be alright. Not too long though."

"Wizzard," Avalore sniffed and none-too-gracefully swung her legs off the bedside, pushed herself up, and slowly toddled off down between the row of beds and their wounded occupants. Somewhere down the line she could make out the image of a large man walking the slow, withered gait of someone defeated. Those were always the most interesting people to talk to, so that's the direction she hobbled.

[member="Darron Wraith"]
[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Grey eyes stared at the newcomer. There was steel in that gaze, a hint of thunder amidst the forming clouds, but there was also a wistfulness beneath the hard exterior, a hope for peace. Ryan breathed out softly. There could be no peace. Not now. Not with Coruscant lost. He sensed a long, bloody campaign ahead and expected that this was not the first time he would wake up in a medbay. Ryan listened as the nurses fussed over the man who sat on the bed next to his. He looked him over.

The man was tall by human standards, taller than Ryan by several inches at least. His bronzed skin bore scars that whispered songs of battle. Long golden hair tumbled from the man's head almost to his shoulders in a mane that he wore pushed back, away from proud features. He bore himself like a king, not in vainglory, but in posture and conduct. When his people laughed, he laughed. When his people wept. he wept with them. A rock-lion, who would suffer no harm to his pride. His blue eyes shone with a depth of wisdom, but now they looked about wearily. Ryan could feel the Force aura of this man. Powerful. More powerful than most he had felt, as strong or stronger than Marcello's own.
What had they said this man's name was? Wraith.

A flash of memories. A statue on the Temple steps. The face of a Grandmaster. A hero.

Ryan regarded the man calmly, then said in a simple tone, "You're Darron Wraith."

Beneath the tone came a roar of emotion. "Where were you?" Ryan asked quietly, his storm grey eyes betraying the accusation and well of anger that his voice did not bear. In his heart, where Darron Wraith could not hear, Ryan finished the full of his accusation. "Where were you when the Temple was flooded with false Jedi? Where were you when the Council sought war rather than peace? Where were you when they led us to the destruction of innocents in the name of future security? Where were you when they led us to ruin?"
[member="Darron Wraith"]
[member="Avalore Eden"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

[member="Avalore Eden"] | [member="Ryan Korr"]

Faces were all blurs to the Jedi Master, his injuries had taken their toll on him. It wasn't actually the temple falling that had left him in this state, it was the escape from Coruscant after that had left in in such a somber state. Having found a renewed focus in his place in the galaxy, he was now more at peace. It was just simply seeing the horrors of war up close that had left the Jedi Master in such a shocked state. Children weren't meant to die before their elders, but war made many things happened that shouldn't. Wraith breathed in his pain and exhaled his acceptance into the Force. The empty cup concept was working wonders for his spirit, and it kept him as a rock in the Force while so many others were adrift in the winds of war. So many lost faces were nearby, and he could feel their pain in the Force. While his spirit did hurt knowing that the boy had died, a part of him was happy for the child to find his peace. After seeing how happy his deceased daughter was, it had brought more of a measured peace to the Jedi Master.

That, and knowing his son was still alive had renewed his thirst for life.

Finally walking some more, he didn't even see [member="Avalore Eden"], nor pay her and the nurse any mind. Instead, he kept on until he made eye-contact with @Ryann Korr. A bit of confusion crossed his face as the young man said his name, and then a question was asked. Had there been no undertone to it, Wraith would have simply answer. Yet the phrasing of it implied that it was a much more loaded question than originally implied. The survivor of hundreds of battles, and warrior without peer simply stared for a moment. "Yes, I am Darron Wraith, and you are?" Raising his hand of flesh, he simply offered it to shake the Padawan's hand. "I was away, there are some wounds that medical treatment cannot heal. I had to wander and be lost for a while, and only upon returning home did I find myself again. What happened to you, why are you so wounded?"

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Stormy eyes stared at the extended hand. A gesture of trust and friendship, once began in an effort to show that the extending hand would not reach for a sword. Ryan exhaled through his nose in a soft snort, taking his fallen hero's hand and shaking it once with his unbroken hand, then letting go. Who had knocked the great Darron Wraith off his pedestal? What wounds could he have possibly suffered? But then Ryan knew all too well that the Force could bring suffering as well as peace.

Ryan lifted his shattered arm, "Sithspawn," he rasped, then pointed to the bandages on his chest. "Hidden Sith stabbed me in the back. Nearly burned my heart out." Although Korr would not have felt the difference at the time. The destruction of the Temple had left a hole in his chest either way.

Part of him still looked up to the man, despite what had happened. It was that part which urged him to continue the conversation.

"You?"

[member="Darron Wraith"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

[member="Ryan Korr"]'s snort didn't go unnoticed. Had they been in an instructional enviroment, Darron would have called him out on in differently. The med-bay isn't the place for the Darron. Thoughts stormed in Wraith's mind, and he instead turned his focus to discovering why Ryan so troubled. Could it be his pride was wounded when he was physically wounded? Did he take it like I did back then at his age? Maiming wasn't a new subject to Darron, and it had been one hell of a crucible for him when he was a Jedi Knight. Nothing could shake your confidence quite like being impaled or losing a part of yourself to battle. Emotional scars wreacked havoc on the older, but physical scars were always around to be seen, and at a younger age they hurt badly. It was one thing to lose, but to have constant physical evidence of it was an entirely different animal.

Poor guy, he was ambushed. His hardened face softened a little at the question. "Well, today I brought down the Jedi Temple using Shattpoint. I single-handedly brought down the very temple I was brought to at the age of fifteen, and where I met all my friends. The very epicenter of Jedi activity had been brought down in a defensive move, and it will be my name history records as the architect of it's destruction." An exasperated sigh escaped his lips, and he motioned for the injured Padawan to follow him. "What hurt more was knowing I was away and not around to help the Jedi from getting to this point."

He brought his arm of flesh behind his back, and let his damaged prosthesis dangle. "Do you know anything of what brought us to this precipice?"

 

[Avalore Eden]

"So you're the reason I was forced to give birth in a pile of rubble."

Oh, she'd not been there long, only long enough to hear things. Certain things. Things concerning a certain Temple. The one that had crumbled down around her as she made her attempt at escaping with her life. If there was one thing, one thing that Avalore Eden had hoped to do with this whole pregnancy deal in a normal manner, it had been giving birth.

Picture now, if you would, a stale, sterile, while-walled hospital attended by stale, sterile, quaint Jedi Healers and Medics. It probably smells of metal and bleach and dry linen sheets with a hint of artificial parfume, and no doubt the tiled floors are scuffed, boot-marked and cold on bare feet and the beds are unforgiving on a patient's back. In all likelihood, it's a dull place - the maternity ward. Full of aching, griping women as willing to throttle someone from hormonal overload as they are to devour an entire 20 ounce bantha steak. There's not much to do but read and watch the holo-dramas during the day. Maybe learn a bit, if you aren't too far along. Visit with friends and family, if they cared to come.

Avalore didn't have friends or family to visit with save her Master Moridena. There wasn't a face in the Jedi Temple she'd felt the need to see on a regular basis. She hated those beds and couldn't stand the cold of her feet. Those bantha steaks were terrible too, always dry and overcooked, but feth, when it came down to brass tacks she would have had a team of attending physicians, drugs to make her go numb clear down to her toes, a nice little flimsy curtain for privacy, and someone to cart that kid off once it was out, belting its newborn woes to all the world.

It could have been simple. It could have been fine. It could have been decent and normal. Avalore could have given birth in a clean, safe, private environment and she might never have had to look that little chitlun in the eyes. She might never have had to second guess herself.

But nooooooo.

Not this Avalore. Not this chitlun. They'd almost made it out. Almost made it to the safety of the evac transports - but the second collapse had dragged them down.

Nope, it was all vag-to-the-wall, down-in-the-rubble-dirty, public display. She was surprised it hadn't shown up in the holozines yet.

Pregnant Jedi Bares All In Temple Destruction

Heck, it was more action than she'd gotten in the last 9 months.

But that was beside the point.

Avalore's brown eyes narrowed on Darron. She popped her lips, expression bemused, "Thanks for that."

[member="Darron Wraith"] [member="Ryan Korr"]