Winterwald

[The Major]

"Thank you."

Sybil politely paid the price stated and took the wrapped vegetables. Money and its retention meant next to nothing for the Fallanassi, since she simply had it when it was needed. In this case she decided to leave the unlucky girl an extra ten credits to go along with the asking price -just because. She had plenty more, but credits never actually solved anything on the spot. It also might trigger something suspect from the local populace. Charity wouldn't help any such fellows so diminished by circumstance and moral conundrum. Pray then, that she was never pushed to such an end; for she wondered if she would have the strength of character to push on like these people had.

Understanding now that strength was something far more nuanced than who had the biggest rifle or who was in the biggest army, the Major pensively returned to [member="Eralam"] with gloominess in her heart.

"..."

"Have you, with your knowledge and understanding, ever tried to save the world? Save the world of people like these?"

 

[Eralam]

The Shard nodded.

"When I was younger, more full of myself, and yes, a bit braver, sure. I've tried plenty of times. You know what I learned?"

The Shard sighed heavily, then lowered himself into a seated position, his back against the wall. He motioned for [member="The Major"] to join him on the ground. The wind was starting to pick up a bit, and the grit was swirling through what was once a window. By sitting down, they could avoid the worst of it.

"I learned that people don't want to be saved. As much as philosophers and madmen like to talk about how they're rather die on their feet than live on their knees, or how they prefer dangerous freedom to comfortable slavery, the Common Man is content to wear a collar, so long as he has his pride. He might word 80 hours a week under nigh intolerable conditions, but at least he's working, dammit, unlike those lazy bums who sit on their asses in a cubicle all day. His work might not be easy or safe, and the pay might be terrible, but it's an honest living.

"His pride is both his armor and his blindfold. He won't thank you to strip it away. That was my mistake. I swooped in and tried to save the day, and they hated me for it. Even when I did manage to kill the bad guy and set them free, in a few years, they were no better off than they were before. They went right back to what they knew. If you really want to save the world, you've got to convince them it's worth saving. Let them do the heavy lifting. It gives them a sense of investment and, yes, pride."

 

[The Major]

Six hours later.​

Aboard Eralam's -self-styled silicate detective and adventurer- traveling vessel of choice. . .​

​

Bombastic, dark and suggestively digestive music swells from a pair of speakers placed to the side of a woman crouched upon one knee in the posture of prayer. Her long limbed arms cross at the point of her hands where they squeeze in an almost subconscious timing to the frantic peels emanating from a orchestra. A section of violas beat down and oppress the listener as though the very weight of the music could crush any final tidbits of positivity.

A choir now joins in and the piece transforms into something giantesque. Too massive, in fact. The initial introspective and depressing tone is now lost.

Not all could be perfect.​

Internally, she pondered upon the nature of futility and egocentric pride. For some reason she could not shake the image of that hopeless looking girl trapped upon that Whill-forsaken planet. Were we all truly slave to little more than random chance? And if pride was so deeply ingrained into the human condition, how could the Fallanassi claim it to be otherwise? Where they lying and using that lie to propagate a more long lasting strength? Perhaps more interactions with different walks of life would lay clear an answer.

[member="Eralam"]​

 

[Eralam]

A different sort of music played in the cockpit with Eralam. Loud. Harsh. Mechanical and grating, the thrumming base weaving a surprisingly organic undertone amidst the industrial chaos. Their destination was the exact opposite of the hellish world they'd just departed from. For starters, they had hotels, with showers. Eralam didn't have much use for one, but in his experience, organics always welcomed a chance to wash their bodies and their souls of the grit and grime.

Eventually, he got bored sitting by himself. It was rare he had company, and even rarer than he had interesting company.

The Shard made his way to the back of the freighter, where [member="The Major"] was clearly lost in thought. Rather than interrupt whatever meditation she had going on, the Iron Knight took up station across from her, legs crossed, photoreceptors shut off. He didn't meditate, not quite. That would have dropped defenses and subjected Sybil to things that would probably have done unpleasant things to her perceptions. Instead, he focused on the mental barriers that he erected around his presence and softened them a bit. Not enough to blast Sybil with 1000 years of Shardly baggage, but just enough to gently point out that he was there, if she desired to talk. And if not, he was perfectly happy with contemplative silence.

 

[The Major]

It was a few minutes before Sybil opened her right eye and stared over at the Shard relaxing in meditative stance. Lowering the volume of her music she leaned backwards and adopted the typical cross-legged sitting posture upon the floor.

"Would you say silicate life is superior to organic life?"

It was a queer question to ask at this point in time. One could derive any kind of implication from it -either Sybil was wondering if organics were at a terrible disadvantage, or if she felt [member="Eralam"] was also a being racked by pride. So far this journey was already becoming a success. Much ignored in her past now had a quality of weight. She could only wonder how many opportunities were being lost by not fully comprehending other people.

 

[Eralam]

"I suppose that depends on how you define 'superior,'" Eralam said. "My people live lives that can stretch for centuries, maybe longer. We don't succumb to disease, we're not subject to hunger or thirst, and killing us takes a great deal more effort. Where as a human can be killed with a pointy stick, you'd at least have to tie a rock to the stick to do us in."

It was an interesting question, one that got his mind flowing in unusual directions. For once, he just went with the flow.

"But for all that, we're amazingly dependent on organics. Without your interference, we'd still exist as crystal formations on a single planet, immobile and insensate. We rely on your technology for the bodies we move around in, and your societies for homes. And, powerful though individuals might be, we'd still be helpless if organics made a concerted effort to wipe us out. We could make you pay dearly for the prize, but you'd get there eventually. I'd say superiority is relative."

[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

"My mother once told me that an old empire almost killed most of the shards out of greed. The story could have been a lesson on why greed is a vice, but did such a thing happen once? If so, are you a survivor or a child of one?"

There was a lot Sybil had explained to her about the Shards. It could possibly explain why she was so quick to trust this particular one. There were the usual set of warnings for any young Fallanassi, but many of the messages stated that those old beings were curious, frustrating, but inclined to be helpful out of a need to simply see things. It was difficult to ascertain, but Sybil could almost bet that her mother had a distinct fondness for the species. If the stories were true, then there were definitely a lot of overlap in the tragedy of both of their culture's history.

Regardless of these thoughts, the four eyed woman awaited his reply.

[member="Eralam"]

 

[Eralam]

He couldn't quite close his eyes, but nonetheless, Eralam managed to give the impression that he had. His shoulders slumped a bit, head bowed under the weight of memory.

"I was one of the originals," he said. "Before explorers came to Orax, my people didn't have a name. We're called Shards because that's what we are, shards of a whole. I was there when we took out first steps into the galaxy. I was there when the Jedi Order declared the Iron Knights to be heresy. And I was there when Palpatine tried to wipe us out. Most of the survivors were scarred in some way. Rusty, the gunsmith, went pretty much insane. A few decades ago, he was little more than a serial killer who hunted Sith for fun. Me, I lost everyone I had ever known. Hid in the shadows for a couple centuries, learned how to hide, how to survive."

The old Shard sighed heavily. In some ways, it was nice to open up about this stuff. He'd had curious apprentices before, but the conversation had never done more than skim the surface. This one though, he sensed was something of a kindred spirit. She was, in her own way, much like he had been in the early days: cast adrift into a strange universe with nothing but wits to survive on. Eralam suspected she was far better equipped for the experience than he had been, mind. That might explain why she was doing so well, relatively speaking, but her advantages ran deeper. It was probably a good thing her species rarely survived past a century; give her three or four to really get a feel for things and even he wouldn't be able to stop her if she turned bad.

"So what's your story, if you don't mind my asking? I've known Fallanassi before, but you're a bit of an odd duck, even for them."

[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

So much weighty conversation and introspection. Why, it almost called for the need for booze. They would have to make do without any such chemical aid. Plus, she figured substance abuse might compromise the integrity of their interaction.

"Odd?"​

It was a rhetorical comment; a self aware comment and reflection of her presentation. Not a day went by where Sybil didn't consider herself to be an intrusion upon this galaxy; like a pox or virus cowering in the most hidden of corners before that moment of critical saturation. Heavy research on such thoughts revealed a tendency for such consistent emotions to be related to manic depression or suicidal tendencies. Neither of these neatly tied up her current world view, but even she knew there could be a bias skewered towards wanting to seem normal. Despite this rumination, the young woman oft called upon as "the Major" spoke.

"Let's skip what rumor you might have heard: Fallanassi are cultists -zealots. And that we were once, like the shards, wiped out without a trace from the face of the galaxy. These are perspectives on the matter, and ignorant ones at that."

It pleased her to hear Eralam specifically refer to the monster as Palpatine. Certainly it could not be a myth if even a being like the silicate one knew of him. To her knowledge only one other person referenced that specific name.

"On Almania, a cold planet in the Outer Rim, there was a very small and tight knit tribe of White Current worshipers. After some time that group of followers went separate ways save for one. She decided to stay with her three daughters and raise them alone in that estate. There, they were trained in all aspects of survival and practical skill. It was as grueling a process as forging Beskar, but each of the girls developed. Teachings of the White Current encourage a nuanced approach to problem solving, and each of the three daughters grew into. . . ​

let us say. . . ​

unique roles."​

Why did it look like the Major was struggling to remember such a tale? Well, regardless of the reason, she stood up and walked over to the side of Eralam, sitting on a chair close by.

"They rarely entertained visitors. Even the servants of the estate were kept mostly away. Growing ladies always have a means to cause trouble, however. You could say they were sheltered but that would be inaccurate. Eventually they were told they were ready to explore and the path out was made clear. Now, here I am."

Some details were omitted for sake of propriety. Such as awaking in that strange bar a year and change ago with no recollection of the journey. Or the nagging bit in her brain that compensated for that initial fear. Or the likewise counter medley of calming balm that was the knowledge that no matter what, Sybil could always return to see them again.

"Here, let me show you something I was given to remember the way back."​

She produced a strange pendant hung to her neck via a long chain. Housed in the center of the ornate metal was a sizable ball comparable to a flintlock round. Sybil pushed a button built into the round. Clicking open a small projector streaked out rays of blue light which hung a message that flickered weakly until it splayed prominently in the air.

I'd wish you good luck. But there is none around me.​

​

Closing the trinket and somehow reassured by what clearly is a negative message, Sybil contently smiled at Eralam and without thinking quipped.

"I think you'd like my mother. ​

Yes, I think Diva would like you very much."​

It felt great talking about herself at length to someone she knew she could trust.​

[member="Eralam"]​

 

[Eralam]

It felt like something fundamental should have shifted, clicked into place. Like there was some cosmic purpose that should have become clear, or some grand quest unveiled.

But there was not.

Huh.

The momentary strangeness faded quickly. Eralam regarded the age lead orb curiously, then put it out of his mind.

"Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman. Perhaps we can go see her, if you'd like. Our next stop is little more than a layover so we can clean up and resupply, but it's up to you where we go after."

Sybil's story explained a great deal. It explained how she was so well equipped to survive in a hostile galaxy, but also how she was, at times, startlingly naive. That was a trait shared by many of the Fallanassi he had encountered. Well, maybe not many, as they were a rare breed even before this pogrom [member="The Major"] spoke of, but relatively speaking, a great many he had met shared that trait. Intelligent, resilient, and capable, they were nonetheless blinkered by their own strange views of the world, views that didn't necessarily line up with the way the rest of the galaxy saw things. That didn't mean they were wrong, necessarily, but to them, their worldview was so neat and logical that they were often caught off guard by the sloppy, haphazard way the rest of the galaxy worked.

The name Diva struck the Shard as odd, but as he understood it, Fallanassi weren't attached to names. They might adopt one for a particular purpose and discard it once it was done. They had one they might like to be called among friends, another among enemies, but there was rarely any great significance behind them. To them, names were just a string of phonemes used to get their attention, not anything to be fussed over.

Of course, they were also notoriously deceitful to outsiders and especially to males, but Eralam didn't think too hard about it.

"It's up to you though. The whole galaxy, wide open, full of wonders and terrors in decidedly unequal measure."

 

[The Major]

"We're currently heading in the opposite direction on this course."

She noted, stowing away the pendant in its proper place before lounging backwards in her chair.

"Besides, I'm rather enjoying these lessons you have in store. Truly, it's mind awakening stuff. In the sense that as one question is posed more surround the flanks like an ever expanding puzzle."

After months of mission after mission after mission sitting here was choice. And in that little puzzle was the truth on the factor otherwise known as freedom. Fallanassi, above all else believed in being free. Right now seemed close.

[member="Eralam"]

 

[Eralam]

32 Hours Later

https://youtu.be/ODSZl44vDno

The scene before them was not one that Eralam had expected.

This had been a peaceful world, full of life and beauty. It was a smallish moon in orbit around a brilliant blue gas giant. During the day, the planet, designated V-32526 on star charts, but known as Vee to the locals, painted the world in shades of sapphire. The ecosystem had evolved to make the best of this. Massive trees to rival anything found on Kashyyyk sprang up in the low gravity, about two-thirds Coruscanti standard. The leaves were a dark red that absorbed the blue light and reflected back the less useful part of the spectrum. They resembled nothing so much as raindrops; during the local autumn, it appeared as though the forest canopies rained blood.

The large, grassy plains were dominated by a similar color scheme. The locals had realized that a particular species of vine produced a rich red dye, a tone that science had wholly failed to reproduce synthetically. The cultivation process was eerily similar to the moss of Vražji Dom; it was hard, backbreaking labor, and the locals did much of the work by hand, rather than by machine. But the conditions surrounding the dye trade were markedly different.

These people weren't criminals, they were religious refugees. They had been driven out of what was once Republic space for heresy; their religion believed the Sith to be the messengers of one of their deities. The deity was seen as a bringer of death and chaos, but one whose destruction brought held off the death of civilization. It was their belief that chaos was the antithesis of stagnation, and that stagnation was the root of decay that took all civilizations in the end. If the military junta masquerading as Jedi that controlled their homeworld had bothered to research past that, they would have discovered a kind and compassionate people. Though they thought the Sith to be semi-holy, they believed that it was their duty to provide balance to the chaos by living calm, orderly lives. They prized humility and charity above all else.

They had settled on Vee-8 (the shorthand designation of this particular moon) because they believed that, by taking over the burgeoning dye trade, they could not only find peace, but live out their ideals as best as possible. They did the work by hand because they believed hard labor to be virtuous. They sold the dye they produced at reasonable prices because they believed in treating all beings fairly. And they donated vast sums of money to a variety of charities because they believed, first and foremost, in helping those less fortunate than themselves.

Eralam brought students here to demonstrate the power of faith. Having seen pride, and what beings could endure for the sake of it on Vražji Dom, he liked to counterbalance that by showing what they were willing to endure for the sake of faith. If the locals had upped their prices a bit more and donated even ten percent less to charity, they could be fantastically wealthy by this corner of the galaxy's standards. Instead, they chose austerity. It was a lesson in fanaticism that could be taught without a great deal of risk. The locals were gracious with visitors, and had come to view the Iron Knight as an embodiment of balance.

That balance that they so valued was shattered as the ship touched down in the still-smoking remains of a village. In its place grew rage.

The villagers' bodies had been stacked in the amphitheater that formed the literal and metaphorical center of their lives. They were broken, twisted into unnatural shapes, slashed and hacked apart. None had been spared.

As the rage grew, the barriers Eralam kept around his presence began to crumble ever so slightly. What leaked out wasn't like anything an ephemeral organic might muster up. It was as white hot and implacable as a volcano on the verge of eruption, vast and ancient.

"Grab your weapons," he growled to [member="The Major"] as the boarding ramp touched the cobbles of the landing pad. "We're going to get to the bottom of this."

 

[The Major]

"Eralam. . . Were any of these people. . . your friends?"​

Up to that point it had been a quiet and horrifying picturesque of wanton slaughter. Bodies were piled about where they had died, many unarmed and holding on to kin and children alike. Sybil was almost terrified to ask the Shard such a question, as his anger radiated in white hot justice. The First Order Agent wasn't even sure if investigating was something she wanted to do. But the elder being commanded such presence it was difficult to resist as a meager human. This was no test. No experiment. This was a tragedy they had stumbled upon.

Like a lightning rod, the Major absorbed in some of the Shard's inhuman, pure anger via a simple mind techniques as taught by their last lesson. Fear and uncertainly melted away in rage, and clarity and purpose invigorated her senses. Empathy could provide a deep well of strength as well.

Ghostly and frankly haunting wind whirled about them both, as the only sounds to be heard in the area were their marching footsteps. Boots thudded heavily with righteousness. Alert, she followed with her rifle in her right hand while the left drifted over the revolver or a number of other quick deployed items that would be useful if they both came under fire.

[member="Eralam"]​

 

[Eralam]

"They were everybody's friends," he snarled. "Never met a guest they'd turn away. Good people, and I don't say that lightly."

A quick survey of the village revealed that the attackers had come during the communal meal. Once a local week, the people got together and had a modest feast. Neighbors talked with neighbors, children played, elders discussed esoteric bits of philosophical fluff they'd dug up here or there. It was a time to celebrate community and each other. So when the attackers had rolled up on wheeled vehicles, they had probably been welcomed. Raiders and pirates came into the system every so often, and while they didn't have guns, they did keep a modest sum of cash on hand to bribe them away. It usually worked, but it looked like something had gone wrong.

There were no signs of ships, no signs of any repulsorcraft. The attackers had rolled up on wheeled ATVs. The small, single seater vehicles were ideal for traversing Vee-8's largely untamed terrain. There were signs of a couple of larger vehicles too, probably ground trucks. That might seem odd to someone used to repulsorlift powered vehicles, but it was common enough on fringe worlds. These things could run off a variety of combustible liquids, everything from petroleum products to vegetable oil, and they were easy to repair. The tracks suggested they knew what they were doing too; no signs of fishtailing, no settled dust clouds from drivers who weren't used to wheels in loose dirt.

That told the Shard they were probably locals, but...that was impossible. The last he checked, there were about 40 villages like this strewn across the moon, each with a population numbering between a few hundred to a thousand or so. They were all steadfast devotees to the religion that had brought them here in the first place, and that meant almost a complete prohibition against violence.

"The tracks lead off to the west," Eralam stated. Not that he doubted his companion's skills of observation. No, he was thinking out loud. "If I'm reading this right, we're only a couple hours behind the attackers, and they can't have reached the next village yet, if that's where they're heading. Let's take to the air, see what we can find."

[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

Her own observations concurred with his analysis. And it was clear from the grisly crime scene that time was of the essence. Rather than further muck up their proceedings with discordance, the Agent mentally prepared herself for the kind of tactics that would have to be employed once they stumbled upon these vivaciously violent animals.

It was what most disturbed her about the wicked scene. These people were chopped up and meat blended in wanton abandon. How could any self respecting hunter call this fitting prey? Nothing even seemed stolen from the scene. Some of the murdered clutched unto prized artifacts or smashed idols for their religion.

"Right behind you."

Still using the older hunter's "musket" that Rusty the Shard had constructed, the Major began to swap barrels over to the .50 Beowulf and the accompanying magazines once they were back on [member="Eralam"]'s ship. An Operator's anger was pooling ever higher and higher in her throat as the craft rumbled and sped off.

 

[Eralam]

It took less than an hour to find the raiding party.

All told, there were about twenty of them. Half were racing along the grassy plains on the ATVs. The other half were piled into the back of a pair of ancient trucks. Eralam didn't see any sign of guns, blaster or slugthrower. That was odd. If they were offworlders, surely they'd have something with some range to it. But no, all he could see from the air were clubs and blades.

It was fairly clear that they were headed to the next village. There wasn't much in the way of a road network here, but repeated travel between the villages had worn paths into the surface of the moon. At the rate they were going, they'd reach the next village in about fifteen minutes, give or take.

Eralam's ship wasn't anything big or fancy. It was, however, exceptionally well armed. It was based off the old Skipray 24r Blastboats, with a few choice modifications. For starters, it had been fitted with a massive 40mm autocannon that was perfect for taking out troops in the open.

"I don't see any guns, so I'm gonna go in for a low strafing run. I'm not gonna aim for the trucks, on the grounds that that's probably where their leader's riding, and I've got some questions for that bastard. We're gonna pick off as many of the ATVs as we can, then land in front and deal with anyone stupid enough to fight back."

Suiting actions to words, the Shard brought the ship into a steep dive, practically on top of the convoy, and opened up. The explosive shells from the autocannon shredded the unarmored ATVs and their riders with ease. Seconds before the ship would have plowed into the ground, he pulled up, cut the engines, hit the repulsors, and slewed it around in a textbook bootlegger's turn that had the weapons facing towards the survivors in the trucks.

Before it had fully settled, he rushed down the boarding ramp, Colt in his left hand and the silver-bladed lightsaber in the right. He didn't bother shouting instructions to [member="The Major"]. She had enough field experience to know to kill anyone who looked like they might be a threat, while leaving anyone important alive.

The stunned survivors piled out of the trucks, most of them flopping onto the ground, tossing their weapons aside. But there was one that was different.

He was a short fellow, maybe five feet tall. Chiss, from the looks of it. His glowing red eyes surveyed the scene impassively. He was wearing robes of some sort, robes that looked awful familiar. He regarded the Shard for a moment, then removed a long silver cylinder from his belt. The lightsaber activated with the disctinctive snap-hiss. The blade burned blue.

"Jedi!" Eralam hissed.

 

[The Major]

It was the visions rush of endorphins which blasted through the veins of this agent. Consumed in the dazzling monstrosity of the last few moments she strode into the swirling dust as though invincible. Vindication was only a stab and shot away.

An expression so thoroughly disgusted cracked across Sybil's features as the Chiss revealed himself to be a Jedi. It was although fecal matter itself had ruptured violently just beneath her nose.

"We have questions, Nerve Burner." The woman approached the warrior and apparent leader of this mob without drawing upon any weapons. Pushing past her robotic confidant, Sybil motioned for the Jedi to drop his saber and pointed to the floor.

"Submit, please." Spoke the woman with a wide and evil smile. Instead, the blade of brilliant blade of blue hissed sharply as the man threw it into the Major in a technique described in the manuals as a saber throw. Aimed true, it burned through Sybil immediately, cutting her in twain along her midriff. As her body split and slapped the dirt in a sloppy manner, she managed to wail piercingly across the veil. It looked like a surprising and stunning way to die. Practiced and efficient, he was already on the offensive and ducking into a run to meet [member="Eralam"] head on in battle.

​

"Very well. . ." Sighed the corpse.​

!BANG!​

​

A revolver shot barked from behind the Chiss bladesman, tearing his saber holding hand into a mangled and red mess. Whether he was now terrified was impossible to say. What was fact was that his weapon sank into the dirt, and he was standing before a Shard that looked quite upset if his metallic structure could express such things.

 

[Eralam]

That had to be one of the top three most convincing illusions Eralam had ever witnessed.

It was only the barest whisper of the White Current that clued the Shard in on it; had [member="The Major"] not shown him enough illusions that he had learned to scent for the unusual flow of power, he'd have never guessed. And, he suspected, the only reason he had learned to detect it this much was she chose to allow him to do so. It was frightening in a way that he wasn't used to. This woman could very well be a threat if he wasn't careful.

Fortunately, he had bigger fish to fry.

The Jedi dropped to his knees, clutching the shattered ruins of his hand. Shock, and confusion were etched into his face, but like a good Jedi, there was precious little anger or fear. Eralam figured he out to change that.

He reached out with the Force, not for the Jedi, but for his companions. None of them had a lick for Force sensitivity. None of them were able to defend themselves from his grasp. He didn't bother doing anything as crass or inefficient as strangling them to death. Oh no. He simply grabbed them by the back of the neck and, with the skill of a surgeon, inserted a barrier between their spinal columns and brain stems. The result was instant, painless death.

Was that a trick he could have pulled off under normal circumstances? Probably not. In absolute terms, the Iron Knight was not all that powerful when compared to other Master level Force users. He really only had two skills, and if it wasn't for several centuries worth of practice with them, he wasn't much of a powerhouse with either of them. However, he had those centuries, and he had used them well.

His mastery of telekinesis was impressive, but it was his mastery of Absorb that truly gave him his monstrous reputation. At all times, there were layers of his robotic focus devoted to Absorbing a tiny trickle of power from the environment around him. Most of the time, this was barely noticeable. A particularly perceptive organic, or one with sensitive instruments, might register a drop in temperature of a fraction of a degree in the vicinity of the Shard. But, as he got better at it, he got better at casting his net out wide. At first, he could only suck in that trickle from a three meter bubble. Now, his bubble was closer to three blocks.

There were several more layers of focus devoted solely to containing that energy. Over the years, it had built into a vast reservoir, the likes of which an organic mind could scarcely comprehend. The cumulative effect of several centuries of gathering was staggering. It was imperative to keep barriers around that energy, not only to protect its gatherer from the danger it represented, but also to keep from alerting the rest of the galaxy that it was there.

Eralam had spent most of the week carefully lowering the outermost barrier around the energy. He had to do so with extreme care in order to avoid any accidents. His plan had been to use it as an object lesson for Sybil at the end of their time together.

Now, he had a better use for it.

The Jedi sensed the lives behind him snuffed out without apparent effort. He was smart enough to realize he had been shot by a dead woman. Now, there was fear in his eyes. That fear grew to terror as Eralam reached out once more with the Force and grabbed his shattered hand. For a moment, nothing happened. But only for a moment.

Slowly, the flesh stripped away from the Jedi's fingers in a long, continuous spiral. As the naked bone was exposed, it began to crumble into dust, crushed by power he could scarcely fathom. The process continued all the way down to the knuckles. The Jedi tried to scream, but couldn't. Something was stopping him. He stared into the alien face of the Shard, and realized that, while his had was slowly being obliterated, this monster was also, somehow, paralyzing his vocal chords.

"There will be time to talk soon enough," Eralam said. "But when that time comes, I want to make sure you're going to tell me exactly what I need to know."

 

[The Major]

Death filled the air so suddenly that it gave Sybil a surreal sense of mortuary whiplash. Bodies collapsed like dolls cut free from the marionette and although it didn't exactly cause the one otherwise known as the Major to break out in cold sweat for fear of dying, it was unsettling to say the least. Luckily she had developed a sense of trust with the Shard, because otherwise she would have been fleeing the scene or begging for mercy if she was of weaker character. The Force reverberated to the robotic master's furious intent, bending reality and filling the surrounding area with vibrato. Putting two and two together, Sybil was starting to understand the extent of power that could be exploited by such a technique. Force Absorption would be useful tool to tap into in the future but she would have to learn the finer mechanics of pooling such dangerous energy without sizzling herself out. Insight on the Force, the universe, and her place within it flooded briefly into her mind as new horrors within the Force began to torture the Jedi.

These were audible only to her mind as momentary icy whispers of a familiar voice dripping in cold malice and clarity in a language indiscernible to the mind until the final words shifted:

. . . inspiration, my dear.​

​

Illusions may be one thing. They may be useful. But how could they hold candle to the fear this Jedi truly felt as everything he stood for and all control was wrenched from his existence. She could only watch, walking back around to come into his view but giving him a wide berth -as though [member="Eralam"] would cause him to explode at any moment.

 

[Eralam]

How long can the mind endure in the face of inescapable, horrific agony?

All the way up to the elbow, apparently.

That was the point at which the Jedi passed out. One moment, he was screaming, and the next moment, silence. Eralam didn't blame him for making a ruckus. Having your arm dissected in a millimeter-thin spiral had to hurt like hell. He was honestly surprised the Jedi lasted that long. Blood loss wasn't really a problem, as the Shard had clotted up the brachial artery when he got started, but it was only a matter of time before shock set in.

As the Chiss passed out, Eralam severed the long strip of flesh with a thought, then kicked it off to the side. Another thought summoned a medpack from the ship. A quick pass from his lightsaber cauterized the stump. Infection wasn't a problem. One way or another, the Jedi wasn't going to live long enough to worry about it.

Preloaded syringes jabbed into the major muscle groups induced paralysis, without removing sensation. A spinal block would have been faster and would have numbed everything, but the point of this exercise wasn't to be humane. The chemical cocktails Eralam used were based off of naturally occurring venoms that prevented the nerves from sending the signals that would cause the muscles to contract and relax, but wouldn't stop the pain receptors from sending reports up to the brain. They would also, over the course of the next few ours, cause the muscles to dissolve into goop. In three or four hours, the Jedi's toned body would look like nothing so much as a blue bag of slop.

Another injection went into a vein in the Jedi's remaining arm. This one was designed to make Force use difficult. It was a combination of a sedative that caused confusion and a stimulant that increased feelings of anxiety. The mixture was decidedly unpleasant. The cocktail amplified feelings of fear and nervousness, but prevented them from focusing well enough to concentrate and call upon the Force to aid themselves. It also played merry hell with the cardiovascular system. Too strong a dose would cause heart palpitations, as their hearts simultaneously tried to slow to a crawl and race into oblivion.

It would take a few minutes for everything to kick in fully. Eralam turned to [member="The Major"] and fixed her with a level gaze.

"What's about to happen is going to be unpleasant. I don't like resorting to such crude measures, but time is of the essence, and besides, this calls for retribution. Hurting this man won't bring the dead back to life, but it will go a ways towards balancing the scales in my book. If you don't want to be a part of this, I will not think less of you. Not everyone is cut out for this sort of work, and that is by no means a sign of weakness. You can wait in the ship and I'll fill you in after. However, if you agree to help, I need your full cooperation. This isn't a time for half measures. The choice is yours, and I bear you no ill will either way, but you must decide quickly."