Recollection among the Ruins

[Alkor Centaris]

Flora had crept across the long untrodden stones that were strewn in deject piles across the mossy forest floor. Togoria was a world rife with varies biomes and fierce, resilient residents that adapted seemingly to any circumstances. It was the perfect place, once upon a time, for those who sought new challenges and harsh, unforgiving environments. What remained of the Xendorian Citadel was a mockery of what it had been in the golden age. It stood no more than two heads higher than the man staring up at the top, assessing it.

Pride had always been their downfall. Infighting had destroyed first Asgard, then this, and the final resting place- Muunilnst. Decadence was the perfect descriptor, and the perfect headstone for the Dark Jedi. Yet in their teachings, Alkor had been elevated above so many others. He had ended lives deemed unworthy of note, beneath him, and he still felt no pity or remorse.

Perhaps he never would. The weight of their lives wouldn't change, no matter how he felt about it. That was as constant as day and night.

They came to this place to reflect, and to study. With leave from the Silver Jedi, Alkor was able to visit one of the few worlds that, even if only for a short period, he had called home. To thank them, however?

He'd let someone else do it.

The power that lingered was little more than a shadow of what it was. He could still taste the violence in the sands of the arena, now overgrown and indiscernible from the rest of the ruins. Even the blood sink now smelt of fragrant flowers and rampant growth. Proof that, if left to its devices, even life could return to a place once ruled by death.

Memories of the matches they fought against each other, and the invitational fights against outsiders- Alkor sighed as he leaned against the tower's stump. Who he was, who he had been, and who he would be- had he ever known?

Had it ever mattered?

The words of a recent acquaintance resonated in his mind. "Too much introspection can be dangerous." He shook it from his thoughts and reached into his pocket for his flask.

"Would you be proud of what I am?" he asked quietly. "Would you take credit?"

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Flying over the top of the once pristine and prestigious Xendorian Citadel was perhaps his first taste of how much time had passed. The Togrian tribes who once rallied their camps to them, and those who embraced the technology they offered in exchange for their armies, were now long gone. Nature had conquered their constructs as their constructs had once conquered nature. As the Charon II landed and the ramp descended, Hevn stepped out onto the plains of Togoria for the first time in ages.

The Togorians had easily embraced the culture of the Jen’jidai. Warriors through and through they made the best soldiers Hevn had ever known. What impact did the Jedi have on them now? Did any of them still remember what it was like to be champions of the galaxy? Was it better to thrive in a civilization built around war and competition, or to cultivate and prosper quietly in peace outside the eye of destructions indomitable path.

Hevn addresses Roarschen and Mad Claws with an unnecessary command, “At ease.” As far as he knew there would be no interruptions on this excursion. He knew the pair to be diligent enough to report any incoming curiosities but would make so entertaining themselves while Hevn went for his hike. The Shistavanen and Catharian settle themselves to a drink, cigar, and dejarik. The generally favorite pastime of the ship as they travelled between whatever missions fancied Hevn’s whim.

Turning toward the ruins was a sight that instantly brought him despair. He felt a plummeting feeling in his chest and stomach facing the overgrowth where once such a proud city had stood. He recalls the first time he walked this path, as his feet carry him down it. A large and beautiful road leading to their glittering Citadel. The staggering swagger of Xerox Pyros in all the weapon master’s glory striding out to welcome the newest addition to the Dark Jedi Order. Though stern and serious as they all were, the master had still extended his arms in welcome. Perhaps the last time that had ever happened to Bedrovelse Hevn.

The foliage is no match for Hevn’s heavy steps. Each boot fall snaps another tangle of resilient green under the weight of his powerful legs. He passes under a short arch and instinctively wanders toward the stone garden. To his amusement the stones still stood, though there was no trace of the sand or water that once surrounded them. A paradise for meditation, or a duel as memory served him right. These stones were where Hevn had trained with William Reign. Virtually every lesson had taken place here as a member of the Order and the Xendorian Guard. Not only had they clashed sabers, but honed Hevn’s grasp over telekinesis to be razor sharp. Managing control over the stones in the air as he endured wild varieties of physical and mental assault. Under the tutelage of the Sage his mastery and concentration with the force were arguably the greatest in the galaxy. It was why the mantle of Sage had been taken on by Hevn. Not because it was bestowed, but because he chose himself where the Order would choose no other. Togoria was where Hevn found his purpose. To acquire, conquer, and master the knowledge of the force. To be host to every secret of power that lurked within the universe and see to it that they would not fall into the wrong hands.

Vengeance had clouded that goal. The purpose he had forgotten. Until now. Phantasmagoria has drank the blood of all whom he set out to slay. Their bodies and souls were destroyed with cruelty that stirred fear in even the dark things from beyond this reality. The kings of hell averted their eyes in terror as Hevn’s revenge came to fruition. The void of that anger and hatred gave him clarity. The void of enemies and the hunt for them gave him time to reflect. The galaxy had no memory of Bedrovelse Hevn. There was no trace of his power. The champion, sorcerer, necromancer, conquerer, The Sage, was no one. Nothing.

This was because of their distraction. The vanity. The pride.

Sadly, he turns from the stones and walks just as instinctively toward the arena. The pinnacle of their glory and of truth be told their joy. The Jen’jidai could not deny their love for single combat. Humiliating courageous warriors with frightening displays of brutality as demonstrations of superiority. Of their right to be the top of the food chain. So too though did it keep the peace. The Togorians, and others who followed the Dark Jedi, took comfort in these displays of dominance. It was a remind that their defenders were decisive and unstoppable forces that crushed all opposition.

Upon entering the arena his gaze finds Alkor, flask in hand. Well if we’re feeding our demons. He pulls a cigar to his lips and lights it. The familiar coil of smoke curls down over his tongue into his lungs, and he released it with a sigh.

“Right here. This is where we died. Everything after Togoria......a mistake.” There was no attempt to conceal his despair. “I don’t mean them.” With a huff he strides toward the center. His steps softly spinning as his memories paint over reality with the roar of a crowd and their gleaming pedestals high above all who did not call them self Jen’jidai. “They got everything they asked for. Every decision lead them blindly toward demise. Following it to Muunilinst. That was my mistake.”

 

[Alkor Centaris]

"I don't know where the hate began," he strained to look beyond his own life, into the lifetime of the Dark Jedi Order. It was there before him, but it was aware of him. It actively sought him out, took him in, and twisted him- but there had been more to it. The distance between groups, between those who followed passionately the teachings of Xeroc Pyros and William Reign, and those who believed vehemently that Plaga and Eversio were the ones who would lead the Order into a new age, became so great and so quickly, everyone had a side.

Alkor only knew one truth. He followed the orders he was given. He killed who he was told. He was on his own side. There was no animosity for those within the Order itself. They had their quarrels, they differences, but the rest of the Galaxy flowed on without them.

"Plaga never told anyone why he saved me from Corellia," Alkor said at last. No, the student of William Reign was the last person Plaga would have revealed his reasons to. Leto Bes'tial and Eversio were both born on Corellia, and both had reasons for leaving- but they kept their eyes, and their ears open.

Alkor had been scouted notoriously young by a Crime Lord, but his greater potential- and the reason C'thulu ran his corruption so deep into the underbelly of the Blue District, was something that would potentially benefit him far more.

Not since the original, infamous vision of Xeroc Pyros had anything been able to truly tempt the direction of the Dark Jedi. Everything after that had been segmented, blustering, and created a void between the so-called Brothers. When Plaga heard about a "seer" in the dregs of Corellian society, he moved money across the Galaxy and fiendishly invested in foreign politics just to get his hands on someone who had that power.

And Alkor did.

"There were writings about it in the Jedi Libraries," Alkor explained, "things my Master had me go out and learn, fiendishly study, things that made my dreams worse and agitated my sleep until I learned how to live on no more than scant hours at a time."

Where Hevn was trained as a Sorceror, Alkor had no externaltalent with the Force. He could manage what his Master taught him, some defensive wards and a few tricks of the darkness, but he had the power to see.

"Imagine," Alkor drawled after a moment, "that when you looked at the world, and you strained to see it in the highest clarity you could, that your mind would find fault with what it saw." The smaller Dark Jedi leaned his back against the ruin and stared down at his drink. "Imagine that, in seeing that small imperfection, you inherently understood what held it together, and how everything connected to it was intermingled, how it stood, and what could cause it to give- even the tiniest of touches."

"I was his greatest failure," Alkor revealed, "not because I didn't see the end coming, but because I did. And I chose to do nothing."

[member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Hevn was surprised at the path of conversation Alkor had decided upon. In truth he knew little of the Order’s personal backgrounds. Even that of William Reign remained shrouded in complete mystery to him, save for scant details the Sage could not hide. Besides that, many of them came from unsavory and unspeakable backgrounds that were about as uncomfortable to recount as they were to hear. Alkor had always given him a very distinct impression of a boy who battled for everything. Every skill, strength, breath. His style, his mentality, all gave Hevn the impression that his talent was not natural, but cultivated.

A spark of both shock and rage erupt inside of his chest. You knew, Alkor? Many of us deserved the deal, Hevn himself included, but there were those among them too naive to understand the direction they were taking. That the ship was sinking harder and faster with each passing day. Their blood unnecessarily shed as collateral damage to clashing titans. Though a certain disgust hollowed his stomach at the thought of it, he was no better. Worse possibly. Neither were the type to lose sleep over dead bodies or mistakes made.

“I disagree,” Hevn began carefully. It was clear he was still composing the thought, sifting his point out from a muddle of feelings invoked. “Given the choice you have made, it would be we who failed you.”

Hevn’s sympathy was a nigh impossible feat achieve, yet Alkor admittedly inspired a sliver of it. Not for the gift he’d been given, not for the burden it was to bear. What Hevn would give to rip that power from Alkor and keep it for himself. What Alkor deceived to Hevn was one of the two most powerful gifts one could be given by the force. Shatterpoint. While precognition helped you see something before it happened, shatterpoint gave you a glimpse at the now and the after. What is, AND could be.

It was how Hevn imagined Plaga and the others must have pushed him. How they must have driven him to madness and psychosis with a power he did not understand. Forcing him to use it in service of their will, to be forced into a specific and crippling servitude. It explained much about Alkor’s attitude towards the Jen’jidai, Hevn’s slight exception to that disdain, and why despite his best efforts, he’d never broken Alkor’s wrists in a duel.

Though Hevn was also “born” with power, if you counted the gift of necromancy coming after death, their struggles were comparable but different. It was the dead who haunted Hevn’s waking moments, quiet thoughts, and nightmares. His family, his victims, the victims of his enemies, it was all a terrifying adjustment until his mind and soul hardened to the grotesque specters and their wicked whispers. For the first time in his life he took solace in that loneliness. On perhaps the lack thereof. The prospect of what wicked measures Plaga would employ momentarily sickens him.

If Hevn was not mistaken, their first meeting on Corellia had been a sample of one of these such missions. Alkor must have been following these orders he was given. Plaga must have neglected the training that would bolster Alkor’s abilities, and focused instead on what would advance his own agenda. Hevn remembered how the choice of punishment had actually been a rogue decision on his part, and for the first time saw how that mutilation might have been a kindness compared to the level of mental abuse Plaga was capable of.

Hevn manages but a whisper in the weight of this revelation. “Why say nothing? Why....apathy?”

The options that Hevn even considered were predictable considering his character. The only reason to let it happen was to benefit. Was it the only way Alkor could be free? Was it because he knew he would make it out of the other side? Was it to dig his blade earnestly into those who had done him harm for the sake of growth? It was baffling, and somehow he expected the answer would be even more so.



[member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

"Plaga was not a kind man," Alkor responded bluntly. "He was not a kind Master. I was not the willing zealot Eversio proved to be, nor was I the sadistic creature Lahash was. All of those men had something in common, however, when I looked at them."

Alkor looked at the flask in his hand for a long moment. "You've heard the term "wound in the Force" used colloquially, I'm sure. It's descriptive of a specific feeling or sensation given off by something that is unnatural, or a manipulation of the Dark Side. It's a type of perversion that is unmistakable. Each of the Jen'jidai was a stain in the Force itself. A black morass, a sink for power."

He glanced at Hevn. "The natural Force- everything around you- it's acutely aware. It weeps for you. That's why it's called a wound. It festers. It never heals."

Alkor took another swig. "It was inevitable," he explained at last. "Those men had hoarded power, amassed every means available to keep it, and made themselves content, sequestered away from the universe. But each one of them held weight enough to shift the balance. They looked for a way to maintain the status quo, not a path to understanding or truth. Whether or not I spoke up, it would have continued in a cycle, edging on the fringes of breakdown until it no longer mattered. I chose the simplest way."

Alkor held out his hand. "They've always been bloody. The blood of Peasants and Kings, Tyrants, and Martyrs- I killed everyone they asked me to kill, and I never questioned them. The opportunity came for me to be free, or to keep them held together by a thread until even that came undone?"

"I wanted to know what it felt like," Alkor revealed, "to make a choice for myself. And every decision I've made since has felt just as wrong."

[member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Wise words Alkor. Wise indeed. Inactivity was in fact, the action required to break the circle. It was true about the wounds, at least from his side of the world they shared. The Jen’jidai were among the most powerful dark siders and the danger lies in that they answered to nothing, not even each other. In instances like Plaga and Lahash, a desire to vomit roils in his stomach. A depression clouds his feelings. They were darker than pitch black. In so many ways they were the worst men Hevn had ever known. They were worse than Sith and each one of the sadistic maniacs belonged in a special kind of prison. One where hell could not feed their pleasure or their egos.

Hevn’s time in training was different. He had established himself as a wild and brutal force to be reckoned with. He was treated with an undeniable air of caution from both Pyros and Reign as they placed him upon the scales of worthiness and found him worthy. Though his brutality on the battlefield could rival that of Lahash, it did not bleed beyond the confines of war into his personal life. While his obsession to conquer death in al it’s realities rivaled Plaga’s, it was to understand and better himself. The masters made an effort to temper Hevn’s flaming edge, and hone it into something more refined and manageable for the homeless, kinless, wandering revenant. They gave him missions that sated his desires and enhanced both his strengths and weaknesses. The Sage and the Weaponmaster bestowed upon him an irreplaceable wisdom, and built the monster into a titan. Once he proved he was capable of their teachings and could adhere to their code, the world of the Jen’jidai was open to him.

He had only heard stories about the Black Guard, and what it meant to be raised as one of them. Eversio was quick to swing between cold stoic silences, and tongue lashings that turned into real ones. Lahash was whatever words exceeded barbarism and savagery. The lack of mercy and excess of violence still struck awe and horror in his heart. Rhea’s dead eyes, ripped torso, and the tools of her torment left behind. Still a memory that scarred even his callous heart. Plaga had always been forthright and cooperative in their mutual study of the Nether and its workings. It was the whispers of his private ventures and dealings, that made the order wary of his methods.

He spares a second to be grateful for Reign’s tutelage, before the bitter pang of the man impaling himself comes to mind. Such thoughts never lasted long before ending in the eruption of plunging blade and Reign...vanishing. Leaving all who looked up to him behind to rot in the wake of how he achieved such a feat, or what they were meant to do with the wreckage of their failure. Hevn had spent much of his life an isolated and lonely creature, but it was the first time he felt abandoned. He had lost many people. Had them taken away. This had been Hevn’s first taste of someone choosing to take their own life as escape from whatever pain haunted them.

Reign.....what happened? A question he asked a thousand times and silence replied in kind every moment he wasted on it.

As for Alkor’s final thoughts. Entirely relatable. “As towards the Order, I understand. Without condoning or condemning, I understand.” Did Alkor care? Did Hevn, really? Hevn knew he wasn’t looking for empathy, and the understanding came from Hevn’s request. While it was a heartless conclusion to what the force had shown him, Hevn would have done worse with such knowledge. Exploiting the positions of power and resources for his own gain. Claiming everything as his own. Temptations that only Reign’s demise could curb from Bedrovelse. “As for your choices....I confess some curiosity. This web woven by the Confederacy, by Darth Metus, it is all around you. How much it must torment you to be trapped inside the imperfections of bureaucracy. I find it beneath you to serve others, and while you are more than qualified to lead others....it seems against your nature to do so.”

Hevn desires above all this response. He had not yet had the opportunity to grill Alkor about finding him here or the peculiar nature of his position. Alkor had explained his path since Muunilinst but now was the time to understand it. How he got here and why he stays.

[member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

"Metus is..." Alkor stopped himself for a moment. Hevn deserved an answer that was more than the simple one he might deliver to anyone else. They had known one another long enough that anything flimsy or half-baked would be a slap in the face. "Metus was the first man I met in this Galaxy after the Order to accept me for who I was. What I was. He asked nothing more of me than to sit at his table and to be a Brother. He did not ask for my power, or for my commitment to any cause. He offered me a glimpse into what it meant to be "family."

That had never been a reality for Alkor. Learning it had strained him further, recognizing what he had never had, what he would always truly lack. Metus' family was staggering in scope, it was always growing, and yet, he was merely an adoptive element. A footnote. He was no heir to House Vi'dreya.

It just felt... comfortable.

Perhaps that was why none of it say right with him? "Bureaucracy, rule of law, politics- to tell the truth, I tire of it more with each new document I have to commit to memory. They have asked me to lead men, but Brother, how many men have I destroyed? Men like me only know one way. Following me should be a choice hard made."

He looked at his hands.

"Before I came back to Isley, to the Confederacy, I worked for the Sith Emperor, Kaine Zambrano. I helped him secure the Stygian Cadera by thwarting multiple efforts to resist his rule, and systematically worked to oust the Silver Jedi and Dominion from his path to command in the Eastern fringes of the Galaxy. After he had won all the prizes he wanted, he turned his gaze inward, and I asked that I be allowed to disappear since I had done my part.

I returned to Mandalore to find it had been fully swallowed by internal strife. I did what I could to rebuild, to use my life's savings to undo damage, to try to build meaning for myself outside of a life of destruction. They had already sold themselves mind and body to Zambrano. They wanted a war. I kept faith while I could, while I believed the soul of the people was intact."

He sighed. "I should have known better. I think I did. I think I wanted to believe in something other than Chaos, than the malevolent nature of humanity. I wanted to be more than a killer."

But that's all you are.

"Time away from the Dark Jedi showed me many types of people. Strong and weak, dark and light, all trying to live their own lives in their own way. I wanted to define what my way was."

It was already preordained.

He turned to look at [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] and exhaled.

"At what point did I lose the ability to choose, Hevn?"

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Family...the only thing close to it was the man who stood before him. What little familiarity they had left between them. Only the distorted caricature of the Dark Jedi Order ever gave him a sense of common purpose, defense, or anything resembling care for one another. Hevn could admit somewhere within, that he sought it too, and although he was at first envious of Alkor’s success on that front, it appeared to him to be an illusion.

His story of the Sith was more along the lines of what he expected from Alkor. Carving victory from the stagnant log of wood the galaxy provided him, and leaving his masterpiece to rot under the rule of morons. There could be no helping what came of such things after men like Alkor and Hevn left there mark. It wasn’t difficult to see their aptitude for destruction and turn them loose either.

If you have been embraced by others....if you cannot be more than a killer....how can I?

It was not necessarily a despairing thought to him. More so a reality he was never certain he should fully accept.

We are the strong ones, who keep to the darkness. Is that our place? Our only place?

A truth Alkor was stating for all to see. A mechanical grumble pours from Hevn’s throat. A thinking sound. “Was it lost as soon as you were chosen by Plaga? Lost when you were born a seer? Perhaps you never had it.”

A careful studying look is focused on Alkor. “What have you done for yourself? You show me only how you have followed others. How you have followed Darth Metus, and his family. What do your visions show you now?”

[member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Alkor pondered for a moment on the other man's words. "For all I have ever seen, I was not born to parents who taught me how to think for myself." He knew it was a flimsy excuse for a man in his thirties, but when it came to Alkor Centaris, somehow it made perfect sense. "Washed about in the turgid sea of destiny, whipped through currents of the Force, strung along and made to dance like a puppet by those with power- I suppose I could have chosen freedom at any time, but I would never have known what to do with it."

He closed his eyes and took another sip of alcohol, then tapped the flask to his forehead. "I've always looked for direction, and for purpose in the inner workings of others. It seemed simpler. It seemed... less complicated."

Finally, he addressed the meatiest of Hevn's concerns. "But, as you've probably surmised, I always see their weaknesses. I always see how they crumble, and I've always been cynical of them because of it. It is difficult to believe in something when you recognize how fragile it is."

He glanced sidelong at the other man.

"And what of you? I cannot imagine you place a great deal of faith in any organization, what with your checkered history of allegiances. All of them have come to disappoint you, have they not? What is it that you're looking for?"

[member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Is it the storm that whips us about, Brother? Or are we the eye of that storm. Is the path chaotic, because we are the chaos? Does all that surrounds us, all we touch, all we gaze upon, thrash about in wanton disregard because of how we have chosen to live?

It was true that those who had power were free to reign over all they could use it to command. The strong decided the fate of all. There was nothing safe from power. No world in this galaxy, no scrap of soil within the Nether, was free of that indestructible law.

If it were anyone but Alkor Centaris questioning him, they’d have stricken a nerve. Hevn’s wavering allegiances did always ultimately disappoint him, or he them. He was the nastiest kind of spy. The most ruthless mercenary. The highest bidder, the greatest promise of power, no matter how you looked at it Hevn had always slung his bid in with the likeliest to succeed. The most likely to conquer. The most likely to win.

The Confederacy was unique in only one regard. Alkor. He knew nothing of the state of this galaxy he’d stumbled back into. Only him. Alkor had helped him on Muunilinst. The last place he had a purpose. The last place he had a goal. The last time he gave a damn about anything, and that anything was still just himself. His own vengeance. His own entitlement to the relics of the Jen’jidai.

“Terribly so, Brother. All save for you. I have killed worlds. Killed soldiers. Kings. Gods. Emperors. Spirits. There is nought to slay but my demons now. The plague of memories, of the lies we were told, of the doubts those lies sow and reap. Upon finding you here I had plucked a thread of hope from the fabric of destiny. That if I could somehow repay you.... for everything you’ve done in my defense, in my behalf, in my own selfish interest, that I might grow. That I might move forward and see as I have not been able to in ages. With my tour of vengeance complete, I thought I lacked enemies left to commit myself to. I found myself waiting there to cast the gauntlet, and begin again.”

A coiling plume of smoke wraps around Hevn’s face as he exhales. His eyes dart skyward, to the stars and the systems of the galaxy.

“The universe is strange to me without hatred for it festering in every ounce of my being. This freedom from my own desires troubles me not because I have grown weaker, but because I am stronger. My will, my command over the force is infinitely greater than ever before. My darkness is my own, and not borrowed from the feelings others inspire within me, or I them. I do not understand how, but it is true.”

[member="Alkor Centaris"]