The Graveyard that EVERYONE Forgot (Coruscant)

[Harvey"The Gent"]

It had been over a full year since anyone visited the Graveyard. The drunken woman left, the Jedi did too, and no one bothered Harvey Dologanta. He did feel rather lonely throughout his constant Journey across the graveyard, he was at peace with the silence. He did have the secret yearning to see a living soul walk into the Graveyard, for any reason. Dologanta was the Ghostly Gravekeeper, the Spirit of a Clone Commando, and the Commander of the Shadow Clone Commando Squad.

He had died just when Order 66 fell, and thus, was at unrest for the whole of the Galatic Empire's Reign, and still is, to this very day. The Location of the Graveyard isn't a secret anymore, since it is located nearby the Jedi Temple. Harvey was in one of two forms, the casual Black Trench coat, top hat, and Umbrella, with his usual, Ghostly appearance. Anyone was welcome into the Graveyard, Harvey just made sure the Graves were respected, and the history protected, as this had been such for the many decades he had been here, wandering the Graveyard as its only Grave Keeper.

 

[Locke]

Buried bones and moldy stones. The old, dusty earth was untouched by time. No spade or shovel touched the soil, no weeping families. No mournful visitors. No respects to be paid. No life.

The lone figure tread lightly, carefully, silently through the headstones and tombs. A ghost among ghosts. A shade of the past even as he strode among the ancient dead. What few sounds could be heard became mute. The wind stopped. The echoes ceased. The very air seemed to hold its breath.

His footfalls elicited no sound. No crunch of gravel, no shifting of earth. Old armor failed to rattle or clink as he walked, worn boots leaving no trace upon the graveyard dirt. There was only silence.

Or perhaps not.

There was no mist, no rain or drizzle. No droplets to guide him as before, and yet the signs were clear. Footprints in the ancient earth. Boot prints. Imprints upon the very ground.

This way, it called. This way, came the familiar croon.

A gloved hand left its grip on the battered rifle he carried, it's fingertips brushing lightly across the tops of the headstones as he passed. Each touch left a mark, each fingertip left a blemish. Dust and age and patina abraded, even if only slightly.

This way, came the call. The footprints led onwards, forwards. He didn't bother looking back. There would be nothing. What mattered was before him.

The footprints came to a stop. The figure paused for a moment, head cocked to one side. Listening, perhaps. Pondering. Questioning. Focusing. Communicating.

The whispers returned, but this was normal for the lone figure. Eyes closed behind the blank faceplate of the helmet. He could not hear the voices, only feel them. Perceive them.

Understand them.

Or perhaps he only believed he did. Perhaps what he perceived, what he understood, was imperceptible. Incomprehensible. It was possible, he felt. Probable. Perhaps in embracing what he had become, the changes he'd accepted, he had lost his last, final grip on reality. It was a possibility, but not one he ultimately accepted.

He saw reality with the clear logic only someone such as he could. Where there was life, there would be death. Where there was death, there would be life. It was simply a matter of... Finding it. Rekindling it.

Recreating it.

At the edges of his vision, he could see the mist that trailed in his wake. This task was beginning. It was time.

 

[Desmond C'artyom]

It had been far too long since Desmond had come to the graveyard. He had been out of touch. A long list of warrants for his arrest had kept him away. But, now that he had enlisted in the Galactic Alliance his warrants and past crimes had been pardoned as a result. He crept through the old graveyard carefully. He didn't want to ruin the aesthetic feel of rest that this untouched place seemed to radiate.

But, the feeling seemed superficial. As, as if the dead were clawing at their coffins. Not quite ready to throw in the rag just yet. It sent chills up Desmond's spine. Still there was something he had to do. Something he must do. And so, he wandered through the graveyard in search of one stone in particular.

He found the stone. It was well worn, rough to the touch. By the grave sat an old holorecording of him. It detailed mostly just images of the man performing miscellaneous actions. It was like seeing a ghost. His father had died in the Chiss exploratory fleet some time ago. His corpse now lay preserved and buried in this crypt. Held tightly by the cold hands of lady death.

Desmond had only come to tell his father of his recent success. He had thrown away his criminal past. Made himself a new man. Even become a commander in the resurgent Empire. But, now that he was finally here all he could do was be silent. To do anything else would be to disturb the sleep of so silent a place. So, instead he simply stared at the holo images with a melancholy smile.

 

[Stardust Solus Skirae]

A graveyard, stardust hated them, gifted with the force you just felt those who wished not to rest at all, she treaded carefully, her armor rattled only a little, even then she had on the essential on, mostly to protect her growing belly and protect her back

Sabers on her hips alomg side a sith blade, always at the ready in a galaxy like such

She had come to visit old friends, those that had fallen when she was with the Republic before she left it to fall, she stopped at a line of Graves, she looked at it as she gAve a sigh and a small smile, she couldn't figure the words out to speak...how many has she seen fall?

[member="Desmond C'artyom"] [member="Locke"] @Harvey"The Gent"

 

[Harvey"The Gent"]

He had seen a few people wander into the Graveyard, and he inspected them to see if they were worth approaching, from a distance.

[member="Locke"]: He appeared to be another spirit of the Graveyard, one he had never seen before. He relatively left new spirits alone unless they approached him first.

[member="Desmond C'artyom"]: Harvey watch the Chiss man walk up to a crypt, and talk to a small holo recorder that was on one of its steps. He did want to approach the man, but left him to his mourning.

[member="Stardust Raxis"]: He Immediately wanted to greet the Jedi with as much respect as he could. He walked up to her, his form changing to that of his Black Clone Commando Armor, and salutes her, speaking from the Nightly Black Armor. "Hello Master Jedi, I am Commander Harvey Dologanta, Commander of the Shadow Clone Commando Squadron."

 

[Stardust Solus Skirae]

@Harvey"The Gent"
she immediately turned with a westar pointed ready, stardust didn't like anythung coming from behind, she looked the man over listening as she lowered her weapon confused

I..am sorry to say you may have it wrong, I am not a Jedi at all commander harvey...wait...did you say clone army?...how are you even alive right now?

She was quite confused at this very moment

 

[Harvey"The Gent"]

He'd remove his helmet, showing a white figure underneath the armor. "the answer is simple, Ma'am; I'm not. I've been dead since the beginning of the Great Jedi Purge of the Galaxy."

"What I do now in my afterlife is...well...I'm the Grave Keeper here, at this GraveYard...I am buried nearby the back...Next to my Squad Mates."

He sat down at a stone bench, placing his helmet down on said bench. [member="Stardust Raxis"]

 

[Locke]

Here.

Here.

The footprints had led him here. Here, of all places. An old grave holding old bones. Ancient bones. He could feel them, each of them, as if he held them in his hands. All of them. The old warrior buried beneath stirred imperceptibly. Imagined rather than physically. Perceived rather than reality. The figure's head righted itself. He could feel it. Sense it. Taste it. This mist swirled again, entwining about his feet. Watching. Waiting.

He could feel spirits around. Most dormant. Most asleep. Some absent, their incorporeal form elsewhere. Moved on. Transcended. Ascended. Once, he might have felt warmth, satisfaction at such a thing. That a fallen soldier had found peace at last after such violent lives. Now he knew better. There was no peace, not for the living. Not for the dead. Empty bodies were useless to him. Husks of their former selves. Unaware. Unintelligent. Useless for his purposes aside from, possibly, adding greater numbers.

There was one, though. Active. Alive, in its way. Moving. Acting on its own. A strong spirit. Dead, and yet alive. A rarity among rarities. He would return for this one some day. For now, he knew his ability was insufficient to bind such a thing to the body. To control and manipulate it to his own bidding. Someday, but not this day.

There were others there, perusing. Browsing. Paying respects. Visiting. Wandering. There with a purpose or there without. It didn't matter to him. He could sense them, one more clearly than normal. More than the other. One sensitive. One not. One strong in the Force. One without a presence. Would they interfere? Possibly. Possibly not. To the figure, it was irrelevant. Unimportant.

He turned to the whispers. The voices. Black mist roiled around his feet, dark tendrils prodding at the ground below. They, too, could sense the slumbering soul beneath. The dormant spirit, nestled among the bones of its former life. The figure knelt, a single hand placed upon the soil above the buried body. The dark haze darted forward and disappeared beneath the gloved hand. He could sense the spirit beneath slowly waking, realizing that something disturbed the peace of death. Ending eternal rest with a silent jolt.

For a brief, fleeting fragment of a moment the figure felt recognition from the spirit. It was familiar, in a way. He'd felt it before in the past and he'd felt it as he'd walked the bone orchard all around him. A spirit recognizing a spirit. He was, however, very much alive. Breathing. Biologically, he lived, but only in such a way. While the spirit within the graveyard lived while dead, the figure was very much dead while alive. Spiritually he was something else. Empty. Hollow. A void where a soul once lived, torn apart and away over years of hardship and war, given up entirely in the process of understanding reality. Unreality.

This time, the bones beneath shifted. Aligned. From around the figure's hand, black steam trickled and flowed. The mist grew in strength, beginning to obscure the figure and the grave he stood upon.

His work had begun.

@Harvey"The Gent" [member="Stardust Raxis"] [member="Desmond C'artyom"]

 

[Stardust Solus Skirae]

She lowered her weapon and holster ed it, she had seen ghost before, she had interacted with her mother briefly once, however she had never met a ghost she didn't know

Dead since the great purge...that is...several centuries ago...why have you not moved on?

She took a seat by him interested in what was to be said, stardust enjoyed learning about history
@Harvey"The Gent"

 

[Harvey"The Gent"]

"Because a Clone's work is never done...I was assigned to guard this place once, and my death was nothing more than a repeated duty assignment...and I don't want to go."

He watched her sit down next to him, showing great respect for her, even if she wasn't a Jedi like he previously thought. [member="Stardust Raxis"]

 

[Stardust Solus Skirae]

She was confused, his duty was done, he had guarded till his death...but she did find it admirable that even in death this clone contiuned his work to guard his brethren

Usually I'd say you need to pass on and be with your men resting, but I can not stop a valient soldier from his duty, but you look like you need someone to talk to I imagine the graveyard gets lonely

@Harvey"The Gent"

 

[Harvey"The Gent"]

"And you are not Wrong. This Graveyard is full of Jedi and Clones who fought and Died during the Clone Wars. Who ever you are mourning over, I show my deepest apologies and Condolences."

He'd slightly bow his head in respect, keeping a welcoming smile on his face. [member="Stardust Raxis"]

 

[Stardust Solus Skirae]

Just...lot of men I've seen die....the new Republic that was around recently I fought for...the mandalorians I fought for...lots of men got buried here by their family

She looked to him as she smiled and sighed nodding

I've seen lots of war in 32 years
@Harvey"The Gent"

 

[Harvey"The Gent"]

"And I've seen hundreds of Clones die...Hundreds of my brothers in arms fall dead to Clankers."

"I just wish we saw the deception right in front of us, before we turned on one another."

He'd silently point over to a grave, marked with a Solid Black Helmet on top of it, this being His own Grave.

[member="Stardust Raxis"]

 

[Stardust Solus Skirae]

She gave a gently nod, she looked over at the grave seeing the old worn helmet

How did you die commander, I know it's a rough topic I'm sure but life is hell sometimes you just gotta talk about it

She said as she looked to hin
@Harvey"The Gent"

 

[Harvey"The Gent"]

"I died by the hands of my own Brothers...when Order 66 fell, they started killing Jedi at the front gate...when I ordered them to stop, they shot at me."

"I killed the ones in my squad, but the clones led by Vader were too over powering for me to fight them all off...I died at the hands of a new Clone army."

[member="Stardust Raxis"]

 

[Stardust Solus Skirae]

The 501st I believe wasn't it? The strongest and most loyal that they had...

She closed her eyes and nodded

I've not seen a clone army in...well there was at least one time...but they didn't get far thank the force

She said and sighed

Maybe either is time I left....I'd hate to leave you though seems so...lonely
@Harvey"The Gent"

 

[Locke]

His task wasn't difficult. His talent helped him, aided him. Guided him. The hard part wasn't in bringing life to death. It was in binding life to death. A mindless thing was easy to create. Simplicity in itself. Willing inanimate things to move on their own. Asserting control over that which can only be controlled. The most difficult aspect of his talent, his gift, was the binding. It could only work when the spirit was present. Slumbering away beneath the soil was preferred, but not required. So long as the spirit hadn't passed on, it could be bound.

For the bones beneath the ancient graveyard earth, the soul within ceased its slumber. It revolted, recognizing the figure for what it was. Understanding what was happening. The dark steam flowed more freely now. From around the hand upon the damp earth, but from the earth itself. It swirled and roiled, billowing this way and that around the figure. Around the grave. It behaved erratically, but with a purpose. A cause. A mind of its own.

A spirit with enough willpower could reject the attack. Thrust away the binding tendrils of power that lashed it to the husk of its former self. Active spirits found it easier, their incorporeal forms aware and conscious. Slumbering souls had no chance and as the black smoke penetrated deep into the soil, the soul beneath realized all too late that there was no escape. No respite. There would be no eternity of rest, no peace in death. Tendrils of darkness turned to bindings and shackles. Bit by bit, the figure's will forced the soul into ancient bones. Caught unaware and facing a superior will armed with a single purpose, the corpse beneath the dirt writhed and shuddered as the smoke and steam filled its body, forming incorporeal muscles and tendon and ligament where none had been before.

The soil around the figure's hand, beneath its feet, cracked and split. The tombstone jolted once before settling at an angle. All around the darkness roiled and spun, a cloud of black that obscured the figure and the grave from view. The figure summoned its energy once more, eyes now open behind the blank helmet visor. It had won, the battle over. His will had bound the will of another to the bones it slumbered within. Now came the last part. The easiest part. The most important step.

A single wave of Force energy rolled from the figure, dispelling the black mist in the blink of an eye. Where it had once knelt, the figure now stood, gazing expectantly at the now-loose earth covering the grave itself. His will had been proven through the Force. His task, for now, complete. All that remained was the waiting.

[member="Stardust Raxis"] @Harvey"The Gent" [member="Desmond C'artyom"]

 

[Priscilla Utorna]

It had been a while since Priscilla had visited some of her friends. She didn't have many though, and the 'friends' she did have were all dead, buried six feet under this pile of dirt an rubble in a run-down area of of Coruscant, well run-down for her at least. It wasn't the worst looking place, but certainly a far cry away from the pristine palaces she was once used to. Still, paying respects to people was a custom, even if you didn't like them when they were breathing.

As she walked past the entrance, the air was crisp, fresh and slightly... ominous. Was this really the right place for her to be? But just as she entered she saw a strange figure, silent but obviously concentrating. A sudden jolt of movement coming from whatever he was looking at caused her to scream, obnoxiously loud, before realizing that yes. This was a graveyard, you're not supposed to disturb other visitors.

"What are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack. Some people these days have no respect for those that have passed away."

She would then turn around, shaking her head and walking on slowly.
[member="Locke"]

([member="Stardust Raxis"] @Harvey"The Gent" [member="Desmond C'artyom"])

 

[Desmond C'artyom]

Des had paid his respects and now their was little for him to do here, but get on with his mission. He stared around the bleak graveyard. A heavy fog had begun to seep in and it reduced visibility to a low level. It was perfect for what he intended. He was looking for one grave in particular. Or, one type of grave. He scoured the bleak place until he found it.

It was a grave shaped as a cross. It had one name on it and a serial number beneath it. The grave of a former clone wars era soldier. Des took his shovel and began to dig up the soft earth beneath. Slowly but surely the dirt began to amass on the side of the grave. He finally heard a dull thunk as his shovel made contact with the coffin beneath.

He hacked it open and was greeted by a set of bones. Some even with the flesh still attached. A good sign. Someone had gone to great lengths to preserve this body. He bent down and withdrew one of the bones. He studied the disgusting thing for a moment before putting it into his satchel. The bone of @Harvey"The Gent" would be used to create a new clone army. Ironically the Imperial's have decided to make use of Kamino again and now here he was. Searching for Jedi killers once again.