It's The Same Old Thing Since 1916 (Carach)

[Ashin Varanin]

MOS EISLEY SPACEPORT​

TATOOINE​

ARKANIS SECTOR​

ABRION CORPORATE ALLIANCE​

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES​

​

Maybe the Force had brought him here, but generally when the Force saw fit to guide him, it was through circumstance, not sensation. With dovin basal-inflicted stresses all through the superstructure of his old E-25, and grutchin bites marring his transparisteel, he'd just aimed for the nearest halfway safe place to put down. The old Windspeaker homestead was long gone, but Mos Eisley would still have spare parts, or enough comm gear to get word offworld, or a tramp freighter with an empty berth. He'd have liked to walk the desert streets dressed as a local, but a faded orange flight suit would just plain have to do -- one of the grutchins had taken a liking to his suitcase.

Something, he recognized as he made his way toward Wuher's, was very seriously different.

[member="Darth Carach"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

He was a different man now, his face was different, his mannerisms, even the simple cadence of his speech shifted in different tunes as he vocalized his believes, and yet… and yet he was the same man. One could ask what this man was doing here, amidst the sand and dirt of a long bygone civilization, jawas trundling along, old worn-down ruffians dicing in the corner, drunks openly loitering on the streets. It was not a location you would expect from a man such as this one.​

​

And yet here he was, sitting alone on a bench and studying all that transpired around him. The man with the lazy eye checking out the general store, he was noted, the shorter-than-average lass with a revolver stuffed in her pocket? Was noted too. More and more little facts and mannerisms were noted and locked away for further references, through it all this lonely sitting man had only one question.​

​

Who was he?​

​

Once a lazy grinning man had danced through this Galaxy, hurting people left and right, laughing his problems away with the cheap grin and solving those who dared not to leave with wealth unearned. Was he him? Before a conspiracy ended him and his love there had been a man whose life itself was akin to the mirages made apparent in deserts. Was he him? An obsidian throne and perching on it a maelstrom of darkness and deceit, its empire build on blood and destruction, every act spurned more death until the wheel itself would spin out of control. Was he him?​

​

His mind was fractured, made only apparent to those who knew what to look for. His master had only given to him that which he needed to know, with the addition of the memories of a thousand and more years of living, and yet… he had found out just yesterday that he could not cook. The lazy grinning man had been able to cook, he could picture it even now, yet his hands did not know the acts.​

​

This had upset him.​

​

And so Carach had left Coruscant, his face molded differently, his identity hidden away in the cracks of unneeded drama and despair, finally he had arrived on Tatooine. The place where melancholy was crafted into an art, there he had found a bench… and there he had been sitting. ​

​

How many days? Impossible to tell.​

​

What was his cause? Difficult to explain.​

​

Somewhere out there he could feel a familiar presence, someone that he used to know. A man that was him, and was not him. But what did it mean? Perhaps they would find out soon enough, or perhaps the problem would walk on by. ​

​

Who really knew these days.​

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Carach"]

Emotion, any emotion, shifted the Force like sound shifted air. He smelled emotion in just about any city, facing the choice between intervention and efficacy. You could spend your whole life stopping to help, and who was to say whether the repercussions would be lesser or greater than what you would do once you got to your destination? Destinations, in general, were picked through habit and mortal reason or some reflection of necessity, and none of that was infallible. The problem compounded for telepaths; the presumable but unheard plea transformed into a deeply personal awareness. Today he was tired of the job.

Be mindful of the future, but not at the expense of the moment. The old dictum of the Living Force. He slipped his lightsabre back into the pocket of his flight suit as he exited the alley, his mind still ringing with a Snivvian's shocked relief. Two Weequays and a Trandoshan lay in bloody sand behind him; their fear ebbed away. No, the true tension wasn't between getting places and stopping to help along the way -- the most crucial tension lay between the desire to help and the assumption of a right to intervene, at the cost of lives. He'd made that choice on Kashyyyk for the first time since he stopped being Je'gan Black Eyes. Thousands of Yuuzhan Vong had died, and Yugwaaargh had fallen.

But he couldn't stop hearing cries for help, and he had no more desire to be a man who ignored a plea than a man who was too quick to kill in response to one.

An element of melancholy struck him as unnatural. A Force-user was feeling, and feeling in a profound way, without care for whoever or whatever might hear that cry.

A shaggy man in a dusty orange flight suit sat down beside the Voice of the Dark Lord.

"My name's Shule."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

‘Hello.’ it seemed right to give the man a greeting, few if any people truly greeted other people these days. It was all… rushed, go there, go here, claim this and that, fight, make love, cause drama, there was no time anymore for a simple genuine meeting, a conversation amongst peers and the easy exchange of ideas and feelings. It was no longer part of their purview, it was all about the short con, the quick game, the fast pleasures and could Carach really blame them? Was he not one of those many?​

Had he not always been one of them, in this memory and the following? Every man that was part of him had been one of those. In one way or another, so it only made sense that he would follow in their footsteps, or was it? Could there be such a thing as the freedom of movement in the mind? Carach leaned back in the back of the bench, it screeched softly under the pressure of his garganian frame, but held for the moment.​

A girl fell, boo’d her knee and a father picked her up, she cried and he gave her a hug, so simple, so free of complicated thoughts and emotions. His world had hurt itself and it was his duty to pick her up. The Sith Lord had always found it more difficult to influence such emotions, those inherent things in human nature that clinged and clutched beyond that which laid apparent at a first glance.​

‘My name is… hmm. Carach, they call me now.’​

Finally he looked to his right, and gave the shaggy man in his orange suit a nod.​

‘A pleasure meeting you again, Shule.’ ​

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Carach"]

"You'll have to forgive me." It was evening, and a harsh wind blew sand down the street. The bench creaked under him, though he didn't weigh much compared to the big man next to him. "I've gone by a few names, and I'm guessing you've done the same. I know the name Carach from intelligence reports, but it's not one I know man to man."

He refocused from the city briefly. Situational awareness remained the priority, but adrenaline began to seep into his blood; he listened for stray thoughts, the efflux of a Dark Master's mind. Carach was, he felt, the source of the disturbance in the Force he'd perceived. That made him either a problem to solve or another lonely voice crying to the Force for significance, validation, comfort, peace.

"If we're talking true selves, I wasn't born Shule. But I think you'd know that. What were you born?"

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

‘I was born…’ what was it? The grin, the horns, the ol’ hat or the obsidian throne? Many metaphors, less answers to be given. He went with the safe answer, the answer that wouldn’t end up with them descending this city into chaos and madness, as they would wage war within the confines of their minds. It was not yet that time and as seconds passed by, more paths closed down before them; forever lost.

He resettled himself, crossing one leg over the other, physically relaxing, mentally struggling against the limitations. Pondering his answer a few more moments, before he finally let it loose into the world. No take-backs.

‘Ovmar.’

Vestige of a lazy grin spread across his lips for a second, before dying away again, he wondered if Shule would try to end him now. It would be fair, no? Not-him had killed him and his woman, not directly and yet he had been part of the cause.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Carach"]

"Ahh."

At first the name didn't click, apart from half-memories on the Lords of the Fringe and Santhe/Sienar. Then a stronger memory swam up, a name he'd glimpsed in the mind of an attacker. A mind that had, to some extent, been inside his.

"You know, Ovmar, Carach, I really don't mind dying." He leaned back on the bench, arms crossed over his belly. "I've been able to turn off physical pain for the better part of a millennium, and every time I die there's the hope that it'll finally take, that I'll stay dead. I've gone through faces and names and species...more than I can remember. Would you believe I've spent the last week trying to remember my original surname? It just now clicked for me -- Katren, I was called. Nash Katren. Then Jakaan Orion, then Je'gan Olra'en, then Darth Shule, then Seren Irreantum, then Je'gan again, now Shule Windspeaker -- names I took for different more or less legitimate reasons. Nash Katren." He shook his head with a chuckle. "I haven't thought of that name in centuries.

"But see, Carach, that day on Rudrig when you all killed me and the Herglic put me in the sword...which was a very nice try, but it's far from the first time I've been trapped in a soul anchor...that day on Rudrig, I cared quite a bit.

"See, that was the day you and your Sith friends took my wife from me."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

A serious nod, acceptance, agreement, perhaps just a little bit of guilt. It would do no good to note that he hadn’t even seen the woman, too busy fighting of a man whose mentalistic potential had far outweighed his own at that time, then too busy being unconscious to really note her death.

An other part, the lesser one that crept up at him when he least suspected it would remark that it hadn’t been him, not really. But such discussions and excuses were for lesser men, those who tried to escape their responsibilities and shift the blame from themselves to a thousand and one other things. Their upbringing, their broken heart, the simple act of the Darkside clinging to them or a request asked and accomplished.

‘Is it time to settle scores then, Shule?’ the Sith Lord asked quietly, knuckles turning white as they firmly grasped the leaning of their bench.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Carach"]

"What kind of a Jedi would I be if I did? What kind of husband, what kind of man would I be if I didn't?" He slouched a little farther in the bench, staring across the way, at an alley that led out to the Jundland Wastes. Grit as far as the eye could see. "That was how I spent my time in that sword, Carach -- pondering that question. Whether justice could be free from revenge if I was the one to exact it, no matter what my state of mind turned out to be. I thought I'd found my tranquility, but then I got my chance to tell the Jedi Order that the Tion Hegemony is led by Dark Lords who killed at least two Jedi Masters in secret. I still have that chance to see things done right."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And I'm not taking it. It seems, in the end, I'm as much a husband as I am a Jedi. But no, that's...that's too nice of a way to put it, that's me letting myself off too easily. I'm...trying here. New mind, right down to the roots. New personality, best I could make. New life, new home, new allies, new goals. Mercy. Meekness. Gentleness. Reminding myself I'm not the ultimate arbiter of life and death, that I don't have the answers.

"Kashyyyk hasn't dissuaded me from that drive to be who I want to be, instead of who I was. I still killed half the Sith army at Yugwaaargh, personally. And it was just so easy to make that decision. The man I want to be would have taken longer to decide, or maybe not even made that decision at all. The man I want to be would just chalk this up to random chance, or say the Force had given him this opportunity to learn to walk away, and do just that."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

Rev had told him about Yugwaaargh, had been an absolute mess. Whole Kashyyyk affaire had been a mess for Carach, first time he had channeled the Dark Lord, hadn’t been fun, after the battle… no, not important. Not right now. As the Sith Lord listened to Shule talking he was getting more and more the sense that they were the same, to a degree and stretch, just simply the inverse.

Him, a Sith Lord, trying to be… more. Him, a Jedi Master, trying to be less. It was a perspective that surprised him to a degree. Part of Carach thought Shule was heavily trying to convince himself not to take this road, other parts were too busy trying to figure out himself.

‘For what it’s worth.’ the Sith Lord finally said, still studying the crowd, swirling, moving on and about with no apparent goal. Just sheep, herd that some wished to lead and others wished to use to lose themselves. ‘I am sorry about your wife.’

And a part of him was. She had never been the goal, she shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Not that it really mattered, but some things simply had to be said.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Carach"]

"Define sorry. 'Oh, that's too bad we murdered your wife' is a far cry from the kind of regret that keeps you up at night. The kind of remorse that brings change." He stirred; elbows on his knees, he looked up to the man beside him. "Are you capable of feeling that anymore, Carach, or will you just shrug and keep doing what you're doing? Aiding and abetting the murder of billions of civilians? See, Carach, I don't care if you're sorry for one death. You're going to do it again when you think it's necessary. You're going to be part of the death of someone else's wife, over and over. Aren't you."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

‘Everytime I kill I feel it, Shule. Doesn’t matter if I do it personally, or if happens because of my actions. So when I say I am sorry, I mean it as deep regret of an innocent life snuffed out before her time.’ there came the but. ‘The Republic and the Order has had as much blood on its hands as the Sith, we simply don’t make excuses about it. I will do what needs to be done, just as you snuffed out the lights out of those thousands on Kashyyyk.’

A sigh.

‘Let’s get this over with, we both know what you want to do.’

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Carach"]

"Thousands of soldiers. They chose their fate. I doubt the One Sith could say the same for the civilians of Alderaan." He stood up and turned; the simple lightsabre migrated to his hand. As of yet, though, it remained unlit. "I don't think you know what I want to do, Carach. I don't think you're capable of understanding it, but I'm aiming to rectify that."

An assault on a Dark Lord's mind had to be a phased thing; that was almost a necessity. No one avenue of brute-force attack could get through everything, and brute force wasn't the most effective way regardless. A mind had multiple overlaid structures, to his eyes: elements of psyche, complexes of energy, links to the Force, all colored by biochemistry and more physical structures. Carach's mind was, of course, hidden behind an opaque barrier, apart from the angst he'd bled into the Force. But even though minds differed widely, Shule was intimately familiar with the general model of a conflicted, identity-warped Sith Lord. He'd probably spent more time on those kinds of minds than any other, finding their familiar patterns, learning their ins and outs.

So when he hissed "be healed," the influence that struck Carach's mind had one specific and fairly well-targeted agenda: the reawakening of Carach's conscience. The instilling of a bone-deep knowledge that no rationalization, no shrug, no long-acquired callus of the soul, could ever really cover the pain and horror that Carach had aided and abetted. His intent was to shred those rationalizations, and give Carach the kind of mirror from which he couldn't look away.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

He had been expecting it, read it, lived it, the life of Je’gan and Shule had been less mystery and more open mystique. But expecting it and being prepared was different from dealing with it, men and women who lived in the realm of the mind were different from others, or so they usually claimed.

But their tactics were almost always the same, construct the biggest citadel around the mind, find the loopholes within the fringes and keep generating power until your doomsday device is finally ready for fire. Carach, or he’d rather say Ovmar, had been one of them for the entirety of his career.

Things changed though and this was no different.

Audacity ran its course, but Shule would find no impenetrable fortress within the confines of Carach’s mind. Instead, as his soft touch of questionable healing traversed the plane and shifted from the void to the intrapersonal, the touch would be sped up, pulled into Carach’s mind.

The farther it reached, the faster it went, until finally it arrived at the core itself.

There Shule would find the truth of the matter, and the truth was that Carach was no man, not even a person really. He was simply the last piece, a personal project of a man long vanished into the ether. There he would find the separate pieces and shatters of different personas and personalities.

Ovmar had been a collector, some made mock of it, but he had taken it seriously.

Fragments of Ordo, of the Dark Lord, of Velok and Je’gan, fractures within fractures pieced and glued together by a subtle touch, all shards and thousand years of memories coming together in the persona of Darth Carach, self-styled Lord of Freedom.

So what happened within those past few micros of a second, when audacity reached realization and vengeance turned light. A good question, but not the right one. Instead one should ask what was attempted to be done. As Shule slowly awoke the vestiges of conscience hidden away in those shatters, Carach hit back, it was no attempt of destruction, instead it was an attempt of understanding.

He pulled him in, or at least attempted to - as connection was established, the Sith Lord would try to use it to pull the conscience of Shule into himself.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Carach"]

He'd suspected a composite personality, hoped for it; his plan, two or three moves from now, had been to get exactly this kind of viewpoint. To anyone else, Carach's mind would have been a mess of conflicting viewpoints and disconnected memories. He could respect the strategy inherent in Carach's construction. So many people tried to dabble in the absorption of souls or memories, and lost themselves as a result. Ovmar had collected more than most, but found a receptacle rather than inculcate them into himself. It was a little like a computer system running on partition: by booting up through Carach, Ovmar could choose to be someone else. The similarities to the Seren Irreantum project, and the Wind speaker project, were undeniable. He understood, as he got a grip on Carach's system files, that proximity like this would let Carach perceive the sutures in his own mind, his attempts to keep himself at bay. A sort of mental self-vivisection.

What came next? He looked at the components of Carach's psyche, all stolen. He caught the edges of Aleidis Ijet's presence, as if Carach had been as close to her mind as the two men were now. He knew, in that moment, two things. His heir was lobotomized or dead. Carach could be unmade.

-it wasn't enough to kill me and my wife-

-you had to kill my last baby too-

The stitches burst, eroded by Carach's grip. And now Shule had absolutely no limits except what he set for himself. In the end, supposing he could alter himself had just been hubris. A man made choices; anything else was cowardice, a refusal to take accountability.

He refined his target - recent memory, the only experience Carach had earned rather than inherited. Knowledge of the One Sith, their secrets, their leaders, the links that bound them together. Carach's memories combined with Ordo's, the things the Mandalorian brute had known as a host of the Dark Lord.

-don't dig too deep, boy-

-don't tempt me-

-I still remember how to shattersoul, and you're the best target for it I've ever seen-

Twin suns sank below the horizon, and Mos Eisley grew cold.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

A soft sigh moved through the open space. There was no limit in this realm, stars could be born, planets destroyed and new eras signed, few came to test the reality of this fact though. They were too busy, plotting, scheming, moving one piece after another in an attempt to further themselves, they used their talents not to explore the width of our collective conscience.

Instead they chose to ignore it in its entirety, and that was their purview, their prerogative to being a human.

And that was it, no? As Shule shifted between the vast quantities of knowledge hidden within the core, Carach came to realize something. It was still vague, abysmal in its shaky nature and fragility, but it was there.

It was the realization that once a man comes into this world, be that through natural reasons or the machinations of a bored Sith Lord in need of a host, that once he takes that first step from nonexistence to consciousness - that he changes. For better or worse, but the Galaxy was ever shifting and changing, the same could be said about a man.

First he had been that which Shule was exploring right now, but deep within… there was change. The change of a man who took his instincts and tried to guide them into a less destructive path, the stubbornness in which he always tried to give people the chance to leave, the nurture given to those underneath his wing - even when his Sith had taken them, claimed them for his own.

Shule saw his secrets, and while some would have blocked it, hidden it away… some part of that which was Carach kept pulling Shule in. As if he wanted him to see, see it all, no takebacks, no excuses or dodging of the responsibilities.

In that one moment Darth Carach owned up to all that he had done himself, and all the vile acts he had inherited. For Shule it would not matter, it had been Ovmar who had killed him and indirectly his wife, it had been Ovmar who had wanted to show the world that even the brightest light could be dimmed if you push hard enough… but he was Ovmar, was he not?

Were they not one and the same?

One figure standing, another sitting; all around them the men and women and children of the streets halted their movements. They felt it. Even if they could not fathom what it was, they could feel the shifting in tides as the Force swirled and moved around the two figures.

-Am I not Ovmar?-​

-Have I not killed?-​

-Do I not deserve this?-​

Even now the inherent teacher inside of him was questioning, pondering. Before finally a final pull was attempted, to bring Shule closer into the fold of what Carach was, had been and could become, behind him the path would slowly close.

-End me- ​

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Carach"]

-where's the good in that?-

He was getting what he looked for, all of it and more. The challenge lay in retaining clarity while processing volume, but that was a manageable task. And, knowledge obtained, he selected a new target.

-I can give you what I want for myself-

-you don't have to be that man anymore-

He'd seen a strategy game once, played with birdsnests of repulsor sticks. When one was removed or added, the three-dimensional mess acquired form or entropy. Take out a critical element, and a complex structure -- like, say, a patchwork psyche-- collapsed into a new form.

An element like an overriding codependent connection to the mind that took over and became this one when the mood struck. Jared Ovmar wore Carach like a suit of clothes. That link was the piece of the target mind that took the brunt of Shule's growing assault, an attack informed and refined by an increasingly intimate understanding of how Carach had been put together. It was a link somewhat comparable to the one that Carach was trying to choke off between Shule and his body.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

-No-​

He needed the connection. He was Ovmar and nothing could change that, not him, not Shule, not even the Ancients themselves if they would decide to come knocking. For if he was not Ovmar, what was he then? Some freak experiment? A project made to fit and be used as a floppy disk for the treasures of an ancient Master?

He could not, would not accept that.

-We are… what we are, Shule-​

Around them the scene changed, Mos Eisly disappeared and its steed was a simple rolling field of grass. The sun was slowly setting, it painted the scene in blood
red, Carach and Shule stood on that field.

Facing each other, concentration palpable.

Yet the question remained.

Why was he fighting?

-This won’t turn me good-​

-You know that do you not?-​

A lingering thought as he started to file away things, future reference, obfuscate other things. They were as close together as two separate entities could be, minds melting in and out each other, but this was his realm.

Carach did not touch the details on the One Sith, because in that moment.. that silly little moment Shule would see why the Sith Lord was there in the first place. A mole, so deep undercover that he himself was no longer sure where his loyalties lay, but his common goal, the thing that he had set out to do was laid clear.

Infiltrate as deep as possible, find out all there was to know and slowly work against them. But when a man without foundation is dropped into the miasma of darkness, it is hard to continue such a path.

-Will you end them?-​

He had failed, perhaps Shule would not.

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Carach"]

-of course i know that-

-make yourself into what you want-

-you-


Among the modules and components that made up Carach's mind -- an awareness overlaid on this new image of a grassy field, as well as the actual dark Mos Eisley street where he slouched and Carach sat; he could juggle all three -- Shule began to add a new one. He doubted Ovmar was in direct contact with Carach at the moment. The avenue for Ovmar's control was a matter of some familiarity to him; it was very close, methodologically speaking, to the mechanisms of his particular curse. He'd intended to cut that link, but between Carach's desire to retain his current existence and the revelation he'd just glimpsed, well...maybe some things shouldn't change. Maybe he had a foothold; maybe he didn't have to go over the edge here.

So he built a door. A mechanism to ensure that this end of the Carach-Ovmar relationship was on Carach's terms. A gate labelled Je'gan was here.

In the field, he mat Carach's eyes. "If past performance is any indication, that's one possible outcome. I tend to break what I touch."

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

He kept standing there in the grass as he pondered the possibilities, the actions just taken and the ones still enfolding. Truth to be told Carach doubted he could defeat Shule, perhaps in his prime, perhaps if… if… he had been Ovmar things would have been different.

But as revelations built themselves up, as the mirror was starting to grow and conscience arose it was becoming harder to ignore the simple fact that he ain’t all that. Another sigh, started to become wearisome. So many changes in such a short timespan.

-When the time is near… you can count on my help-​

Wasn’t worth all that much, but it was probably better than nothing.