Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
William Butler Yeats
The Year of Blood, part II (prior chapter here)
Objective 1: Defend Local Communities (
apprehension and arrest of Dace Terrix)
Post
1 of 20
His head slammed against the durasteel bulkhead.
Stars danced in front of his eyes, a dark abyss calling at him from his peripheral vision as the young Pantoran began to black out. Pain seared through what remained of his consciousness, as the hand pressing him into the metal came away and was replaced by a fist. Then another.
Through fluttering, swelling eyelids, the bloodied youth could see the torn, tattered bodies of two Antarian Rangers on the ground.
And
laughter.
Unreasoned, babbling laughter as one hit after another pushed him closer and closer to the edge of darkness. So he let himself. Slip into the cold, unforgiving, familiar embrace of darkness.
Falling into shadow...
There is no scream of rage. Twisting away from the bloodied section of wall, the child was no longer the boy he wished to be, but the monster he had been. The Dark Side flowed freely through him. A knife hand snaked up, knocking aside the incoming punch as the young Pantoran ducked low and sent the flat of his palm driving up into the man's solar plexus. As the man doubled over, a backflip powered a solid wheelhouse kick straight to the jaw.
The sound of bone breaking resonated somewhere past the distant gaze of the tweenage assassin.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
V O S S
48 Hours Earlier
Today seemed the culmination of everything he never knew he wanted, and thought he could never have.
Dressed in Sasori attire, the robes and colors of a Silver Jedi. A lightsaber at his side, of his own choosing. A crystal that he had searched for. A blade of azure, not crimson. The weapon of a Jedi, meant to be wielded as a
guardian -- not a tool of murder.
Adjust the bandage that encircled his left hand, the boy was waiting outside of the chambers of the Silver Council. Once upon a time, he'd imagined he would wait judgment from them. Instead, he answered their summons. After time on Voss, the Primeval boy had found some place among the very people his religion stood in opposition to.
As the doors to the chambered open, the blue-skinned boy found himself ushered inside of an audience with the Jedi Masters. Which, he was just realizing that the room was a circle. So... who was he supposed to bow to? Awkwardly then, the youth made a kind of gangly gesture at the waist -- as though he were trying to face two very different directions at the same time.
He really knew nothing of this Jedi stuff.
But he was learning. And they were being patient.
"The Coalition is moving to help the people of Felucia," one of the masters uttered. No sooner had the boy turned to face that one, than a different one spoke.
"We will be assisting in these efforts."
"To that end..." Yep. Different master. Different direction. How did Jedi stand before the Council and not look like they were just spinning in circles? "...we have chosen to allow you to undertake an assignment for this Council."
"I am honored to accept," the boy intoned, with a bow toward the last person to speak. See? Much easier to focus on one person.
"You have not even heard the terms, Young Chiyo."
Another master. "There is a man in custody on Felucia," the master offered, without elaboration. Only a name. "Dace Terrix."
The part of the boy's mind that still functioned like an agent immediately questioned what a common criminal could do or have done to be so singularly interesting to the collective brain-trust of the Jedi Order? But, his not to ask why...
"Two Antarian Rangers will accompany you. Bring this man to us."
Bowing again, the boy kept his head ducked down as he said,
"If Nogras' wills it, the Starmaker's light will show me favor as I travel."
To journey as a Jedi Knight. Not as a Sith. Not as an assassin.
This was a moment that would change everything.
...unnoticed, a single drop of blood slipped from the folds of the bandage around his hand. The material had grown dark, as through being consumed. The color of the blood that dropped upon the floor was not red, but a befouled shade that was almost black.