Pure Motives

[Maranon]

Many thousands of years ago.




The middle-aged woman, clad in a dark green gown, her skin pink, almost purple, but her eyes were a lovely carnation pink that brimmed with vibrance as she addressed the audience. She was still very beautiful at fifty, but it was clear that in five years maybe less, her looks would finally start to fade. She looked at the groups of students circling her, wondering if she was passing on anything, anything these poor souls they were sticking lightsabers into the hands of, that would save them someday.

As it stood, she paced a little in the center of the Auditorium. She decided she would start on the most prudent lesson.

"A Jedi must ever be aware that the quest, the search for justice does not become an excuse, a thirst for revenge like so many quests for justice against the worst of villains have ended..." she started, the students transfixed by one of Ossus's most skilled Jedi Sages.

"The evil that others do can strike us with the Dark Side in ways we are not fully prepared for. They can shock us, use our own sense of decency against us. The crimes of the darkest worshipper of Bogan can pale sometimes in comparison to the depravity ordinary people are capable of. One need only happen upon some madman's photo collection of their victims, as I did, once, to feel that temptation to visit just as much evil on that which commited the original offense, if only so that our own sense of balance can be restored."

Kerimi Avalon, not yet known as Maranon, Keeper of The Six Blasphemies, took a stern countenance.

"It goes without saying...this is one of the single most dangerous impulses to indulge in as a Jedi...to punish the evil with yet more evil--"

She stopped, remembering just how close she had been to cutting the head off of that ordinary man who nonetheless had a bodycount higher than most Dark Jedi and how broken she had felt, broken and empty at sparing him.

Did she believe it was a dangerous instinct? Yes. Did she believe it was a sometimes justified one? She...

...she wasn't quite sure.

Kerimi felt those small, familiar underpinnings of frustration to her teachings...there was so much about reality she could not show them, so much that they could not observe from the confines of a temple. So much that could and would kill many of them when the Jedi Code could not dictate the answers to every problem. And when she felt that frustration, all she could do was wonder if she wasn't setting them up for failure...

"Master Avalon?" One of the students called out. Kerimi broke from her reverie to focus on the Nautolan boy who spoke. "You stopped speaking..."

Kerimi felt embarrassed, then ashamed. She had been getting more and more of these little brushes with doubt as of late. "To answer evil with more evil risks twisting everything one stands for, justice, compassion, society, into a beast that stands for everything those three concepts oppose." There. She had given them the standard line. The safe line. The easy line.

"But what's the alternative?"

"Acting in the way that marks a true Jedi...letting the Force be your guide..." Kerimi answered, remembering how that criminal had laughed as she held that magnum revolver to his face, cocking the hammer...

Kerimi had seen his scrap book, the disgusting horrors and mutilations he had photographed. He was no Force Adept, but the Dark Side surrounded him almost like a nexus. He hadn't needed a code imposed from without. That was twenty years ago, and she STILL had yet to run into a Bogan worshipper as cruel or as senseless as that one civilian. She still had nightmares about not killing him. Still felt the guilt that maybe she should have.

"But to elaborate...trying to tell who is good and who is evil, and who is right or wrong can often be trickier than it sounds..." she added, getting her grip back. "Sure, there are clear cut, couldn't-miss-'em-if-you-tried villains, but the Force is more ambiguous in some people...your enemy may not always be obvious..."


Wearing: Civilian armor (all black)(http://starwarsrp.net/topic/130159-cabarello-series-armored-clothes/)

Armed with: The Force, stunning good looks...

Royal Decree (44. Magnum Revolver)


Maranon, Keeper of The Six Blasphemies.

It was a name that stuck, far more memorable than Kerimi The Apostate, over the centuries. Once she had been telling younglings about the complexity of Good and Evil. Now she was in the business of engaging in the latter and eschewing the former. Not that she minded this--her life as a Jedi had been coarse and unfulfilling.

But much to Maranon's lack of surprise, as she sat in the corner, drinking her fruity drink with the little pink umbrella in it, she was already bored with the glitzy Nar Shaddaa night club, and its ultra-sexy inhabitants. As usual she had drawn stares from both men and women. As usual this wasn't her first drink.

Ordinarily Maranon might have taken home a particularly scrumptious specimen but she just wasn't feeling it tonight. She wanted something more, something dangerous. It had been a long time since she had walked the galaxy as a mere civilian. She didn't even have her lightsaber, just a delightful, brass colored royal revolver, a forty four, for making punks feel lucky.

The glitz and glamour were common...too common. Maranon loved the energy, the passion, the frenzy of the occasional rave at a nightclub, but if you have been to one rave you have been to all of them. Danger on the other hand...infinite variables...Maranon considered unpredictability among the ultimate forms of stimuli.

Finishing her drink, and knowing danger was never far away on Nar Shaddaa in any era, Maranon threw her black civilian hood over her voluptuous features, using specialized contact lenses to alter her sulphur eyes to the bewitching carnation pink shade they had possessed when she had been held back by the light and its sense of morals.

Walking through the smoke filled, laser-light strewn club, Maranon again drew lusting stares from multiple species and genders, a lull appearing where she walked, dances stopping, drinks ceasing to slide down throats as she passed by expensive, fancy bar counters, exiting into the back alleys and frowning at the stink. After her initial fall she had frequented places like that. They had lost their charm somewhat, it seemed. She craved a new experience. She craved stimuli.

"Heyyyy pretty lady..."

Maranon's danger sense flared and the ancient Sith smiled as she was surrounded by thugs.

She made a convincing go at being frightened as they started waving knives.

"Someone! Help!" Maranon cried out desperately, wanting them to get real comfy as they started closing in.

However, her cries had carried past the alley, and had sounded too convincing...

[member="Kal Gast"]

 

[Kal Gast]

It had been months since I started this journey, the men, women, droids, and aliens I have come across..they're all the same, like me. This galaxy was never a fair place, it's full of people with their own desires, some peaceful others insidious. These past few months have shown me the depths of the galaxy's psyche, to see the Loth-Wolves hiding among the bantha; They would do anything to achieve their desires and powers, by society's standards they were bad people, just like me. I would do anything in my power to stand for my code, even if it meant breaking the rules, possibly endangering others. Maybe through my actions the thoughts of those around me would possibly change--to see a brighter future, one where freaks like myself were never needed. But...A man could dream.

This night was like any other, the air was wretched and the smog was heavy within the lower industrial sectors. Few Crowds passed along the grimy and decaying platforms. This level was dimly lit, hidden away from the bright and obnoxious neon lights that had fixed itself across every plaster and wall. The lowest level of criminals operated in these areas, one that acted out of impulse, desires, and primal force. They were nobodies, with little to nothing to rely on. It left them aggressive and dangerous--these would be my prey tonight.

I knelt with my black cape huddled around my battered armored, my visor faintly reflecting from the darkness that I watched from, perched high above the rooftops. That was when a sensation struck me, a compulsion. It sounded like a scream, a plead, a sound of seduction. Though my mind must have been playing a trick on me, my ears hadn't heard a single thing. My head shifted though as I heard the voice call out towards me again. Aiming my grapple hook towards a water tower that sat adjacent to my position a fired off--whipping across the dusty sky and onto the metallic round surface of the top. My helmet's visor zoomed in, scanning across the the maze of off shoot roads and passages. That was when I spotted it, a massive emission of heat signature coming from a tightly bound alley that was poorly lit and the perfect place to commit a crime.

I jumped from rooftop to rooftop, my knees aching and screaming with each impact as I felt the adrenaline build inside of me--it was like this every time. I sprinted towards the edge of the roof that overlooked the ally way, my hands sliding to the belt that wrapped around my side, sliding out a series of claw shaped daggers and readying them in my hands as I soared from my vantage point and towards the crowd of thugs. With a flick of my wrists, I sent the two blades in my hands out, the first one flinging and jamming into the eye of a large Rodian that had attempted to pick up the woman. The other arched towards the ground,, curving slightly to slice at the ankles of two of the men that had made their way to behind the woman.

Thud...crack..My feet impacted the durasteel concrete, causing my breath to escape my body for a short moment. I listened as the Rodian screamed out in pain as a series of crimson blood sprayed from his eye--he would survive. Reaching behind my cape, I would remove a short rod, clicking the button to reveal a black staff that jetted out from its ends. I twirled and whipped the blunt object towards the few standing men, cracking one in the stomach and twirling the staff upwards to crack a Sullustan across the face that charged towards me. "Go..I'll handle the rest."

tag: [member="Maranon"]

 

[Maranon]

Maranon had been biding her time, waiting for them to get closer. One of them had been about to try and grab her when [member="Kal Gast"] swooped in with an actual cape, and much like Maranon, all the criminals could do was blink in astonishment before the beating ensued. But for the criminals obviously, the aggravation was worse.

Not just because of the beating, though it played a large part in it, understandably. No, it was also due to the fact that in addition to Jedi, Sith, and a hundred thousand other horrors stalking the planets these days, they now had to worry about attack from costumed vigilantes. Maranon had been in this game a long time and this was her first experience with an honest to goodness crime fighter.

Of course, this being Maranon, Maranon could not help but nerd out slightly at this. It also made her think about all the weird similarities between crime fighters and Jedi: Henchpeople pain fests, a penchant for collecting a number of idiosyncratic villains, a tendancy to cause massive amounts of property damage, and questions about one's own necessity.

But he was new to it, clearly. Maranon detected hints of inexperience...the moves were not as fluid as they could be, or should be...thugs were one thing. Maranon reckoned it would be a while before he'd be tempted to try and fight a Mandalorian.

This could easily be some psycho however, which is what unlicensed crime fighters usually were.

Maranon got an idea. When he told her to get away, Maranon did so, but only to a safe observable distance.

How do you know if you are dealing with a man of belief and not ego at playing protector?

You test him, of course.

Maranon didn't probe his mind. If he had good training he would likely sense it. Normally she would not have cared who he was but her recent return from death an intellectual excercise was looking to be rather stimulating...