The room smelled of incense and perfumes. Alhazred sat quietly at the center of his chambers, arms and legs cross on the pillow. His typical attire of robes and turban were set aside, and now he simply wore a black blanket over his shoulders. The door was locked. Alhazred had double checked it himself. He didn't want anyone to come in and see him without his turban on. Such a thing could frighten the others.
More importantly, he didn't want anyone interrupting the ritual.
Before the Nu-Vaal on the floor were three objects. The small black rag, the knife and the container. The DX Incubator/Container Pod, about 2 feet in height, was mostly filled with water, already condensing on its outsides. The small panel on its side beeped as it adjusted the temperature, making sure the water never began to boil, and only simmered. The water, heated up to a few degrees below boiling, should've been the original waters from Vaal. Unfortunately, such water would've required Alhazred to journey to Vaal. And still, Alhazred did not know his home world's wherabouts.
Alhazred shook his head. Such regrets and pains needed to be ignored for now. The nutrient rich water from the Jedi Temple would have to do.
Setting the blade down, Alhazred picked up the rag and began to tie it around the central tendril of his head, leaving enough to cover the smaller, hair-like, 'communicating' tendrils. While Alhazred was sure this practice was religious at one point, for him it was more of making sure the mess didn't get onto the floor. Plus, the rag was soaked in Bacta juice. Once the ritual was done, it would be applied to the wound to make sure no infection began.
"Affa Ng'gtun..." Alhazred whispered, trying not to strain his vocal cords. "Affa Ng'gtun da lak Affla"
The ritual words spoken, from some older dialect of his people's tongue, Alhazred picked up the knife. Alhazred's webbed hands gingerly felt the blade's edge, testing it for its sharpness. The cold blade drew a singular droplet of blood blood from the fingers. Alhazred smiled. It would work. He was fortunate enough to get this blade. His 'cousin' on Ektra had been kind enough to loan the blade expressively for this ritual. It would've been hard to downright impossible to come by otherwise. The handle was made of the very same coral from Vaal, and it blade was crafted from the bones of the Dead God. While such bones had little weapon application, it was tradition to involve the Dead God in this important occassion.
"In Birth, there is Death" Alhazred continued the ritual. Alhazred focused his mind. His host had taught him that during the birthing process, one needed to focus on the words of the ritual, and associate memories with it. With these words, the memory of the Killik Queen popped up. Such a glorious and nasty beast it was. It, ironicly, fitted the phrase very well. The Killik Queen gave birth to thousands of drones, and in turn, killed many more.
"In Life, there is Pain."
Alhazred's mind flashed to the Starweird. How long ago it was, and yet how fresh it still felt. The mental pain and aguish Alhazred endured under that thing's screeching and talon-esque fingers, the near death it brought, and the raw undeniable anger the thing exuded... It was both alive, and pain. And Alhazred's life had created that pain, if unintentionally.
"In Pain, there is growth"
The reprecussions of the starweird. Alhazred having to deal with the momory over and over again until his mind would allow him to move past it. The entire ordeal helped Alhazred bond with the Jedi around him. He now knew a bit better at what kind of mental pains and anguishes, self-inflicted or not, all sentients went through.
"In Growth, there is Knowledge"
The training with Scorpio. The place where Alhazred received his knighthood into the Jedi order. It was truly the event that Alhazred marked as the place that he felt like he grew.
"In Knowledge, we know that Life Creates Life, even in Death."
With these words, Alhazred raised the knife. The vision he had received during his training with Scorpio drove him on. The sight of seeing the Dead God crash into the lifeless oceans of Vaal, setting in motion the evolution of the Nu-Vaal species. Even now, as he readied the knife for the deed, he could hear the thundering boom of the great Summa-Verminoth breaking the atmosphere and the tidal waves that rippled across the entire planet. The vision was breath taking.
Alhazred also remembered the younglings Scorpio had. The warm family. The happy community of blood. And how, at that moment, Alhazred felt alone and envious. Such a potential sin could not be let to stand. And to battle the oncoming sin, Alhazred knew what he needed to do.
The tendril throbbed. The divine sign was given. After weeks of eating excessive nutrient pills and food, his central tendril had reached its maximum size. Any further delays would result in either the tumor-like growth resettling back into the Nu-Vaal's head, or worse, begin its own cancerous growth cycle that would result in his death. The Mitosis was ready.
Alhazred's blade began to cut deep. It wasn't as painful as he first expected it to be. True, there was some pain, as some of the nerve tissue to the tendril was still unique his and not the spawn, but overall, it was more discomfortable than painful. The Blue blood that trailed from the cut settled nicely onto the cloth, and quickly was absorbed. Still, Alhazred had to continue cutting. Millimeter by millimeter, the knive had to go deeper and deeper.
At the center of the tendril, the real pain began. Alhazred thought he was braced for it, when the blade would begin to sever the central nutrient tube from his body to the tendril, but no amount of preparation could help with this. The Nu-Vaal gasped and groaned, nearly stopping more than once. However, each time he stopped, a little voice in his head drove him on. If he stopped, he wouldn't be able to start again. Keep cutting. Through the tube now. Keep going, through the flesh. Through the blue blood in the flesh. Almost there...
Alhazred screamed as he pushed the blade all the way through. The knife fell to the ground, following the squishy tumor-like thing that wriggled and writhed on the ground. Alhazred breathed a few moments, before clumsily grabbing the thing and stuffing it into the container.
The birthing process was complete. Alhazred, alone no more. Alhazred, host to a spawn.
More importantly, he didn't want anyone interrupting the ritual.
Before the Nu-Vaal on the floor were three objects. The small black rag, the knife and the container. The DX Incubator/Container Pod, about 2 feet in height, was mostly filled with water, already condensing on its outsides. The small panel on its side beeped as it adjusted the temperature, making sure the water never began to boil, and only simmered. The water, heated up to a few degrees below boiling, should've been the original waters from Vaal. Unfortunately, such water would've required Alhazred to journey to Vaal. And still, Alhazred did not know his home world's wherabouts.
Alhazred shook his head. Such regrets and pains needed to be ignored for now. The nutrient rich water from the Jedi Temple would have to do.
Setting the blade down, Alhazred picked up the rag and began to tie it around the central tendril of his head, leaving enough to cover the smaller, hair-like, 'communicating' tendrils. While Alhazred was sure this practice was religious at one point, for him it was more of making sure the mess didn't get onto the floor. Plus, the rag was soaked in Bacta juice. Once the ritual was done, it would be applied to the wound to make sure no infection began.
"Affa Ng'gtun..." Alhazred whispered, trying not to strain his vocal cords. "Affa Ng'gtun da lak Affla"
The ritual words spoken, from some older dialect of his people's tongue, Alhazred picked up the knife. Alhazred's webbed hands gingerly felt the blade's edge, testing it for its sharpness. The cold blade drew a singular droplet of blood blood from the fingers. Alhazred smiled. It would work. He was fortunate enough to get this blade. His 'cousin' on Ektra had been kind enough to loan the blade expressively for this ritual. It would've been hard to downright impossible to come by otherwise. The handle was made of the very same coral from Vaal, and it blade was crafted from the bones of the Dead God. While such bones had little weapon application, it was tradition to involve the Dead God in this important occassion.
"In Birth, there is Death" Alhazred continued the ritual. Alhazred focused his mind. His host had taught him that during the birthing process, one needed to focus on the words of the ritual, and associate memories with it. With these words, the memory of the Killik Queen popped up. Such a glorious and nasty beast it was. It, ironicly, fitted the phrase very well. The Killik Queen gave birth to thousands of drones, and in turn, killed many more.
"In Life, there is Pain."
Alhazred's mind flashed to the Starweird. How long ago it was, and yet how fresh it still felt. The mental pain and aguish Alhazred endured under that thing's screeching and talon-esque fingers, the near death it brought, and the raw undeniable anger the thing exuded... It was both alive, and pain. And Alhazred's life had created that pain, if unintentionally.
"In Pain, there is growth"
The reprecussions of the starweird. Alhazred having to deal with the momory over and over again until his mind would allow him to move past it. The entire ordeal helped Alhazred bond with the Jedi around him. He now knew a bit better at what kind of mental pains and anguishes, self-inflicted or not, all sentients went through.
"In Growth, there is Knowledge"
The training with Scorpio. The place where Alhazred received his knighthood into the Jedi order. It was truly the event that Alhazred marked as the place that he felt like he grew.
"In Knowledge, we know that Life Creates Life, even in Death."
With these words, Alhazred raised the knife. The vision he had received during his training with Scorpio drove him on. The sight of seeing the Dead God crash into the lifeless oceans of Vaal, setting in motion the evolution of the Nu-Vaal species. Even now, as he readied the knife for the deed, he could hear the thundering boom of the great Summa-Verminoth breaking the atmosphere and the tidal waves that rippled across the entire planet. The vision was breath taking.
Alhazred also remembered the younglings Scorpio had. The warm family. The happy community of blood. And how, at that moment, Alhazred felt alone and envious. Such a potential sin could not be let to stand. And to battle the oncoming sin, Alhazred knew what he needed to do.
The tendril throbbed. The divine sign was given. After weeks of eating excessive nutrient pills and food, his central tendril had reached its maximum size. Any further delays would result in either the tumor-like growth resettling back into the Nu-Vaal's head, or worse, begin its own cancerous growth cycle that would result in his death. The Mitosis was ready.
Alhazred's blade began to cut deep. It wasn't as painful as he first expected it to be. True, there was some pain, as some of the nerve tissue to the tendril was still unique his and not the spawn, but overall, it was more discomfortable than painful. The Blue blood that trailed from the cut settled nicely onto the cloth, and quickly was absorbed. Still, Alhazred had to continue cutting. Millimeter by millimeter, the knive had to go deeper and deeper.
At the center of the tendril, the real pain began. Alhazred thought he was braced for it, when the blade would begin to sever the central nutrient tube from his body to the tendril, but no amount of preparation could help with this. The Nu-Vaal gasped and groaned, nearly stopping more than once. However, each time he stopped, a little voice in his head drove him on. If he stopped, he wouldn't be able to start again. Keep cutting. Through the tube now. Keep going, through the flesh. Through the blue blood in the flesh. Almost there...
Alhazred screamed as he pushed the blade all the way through. The knife fell to the ground, following the squishy tumor-like thing that wriggled and writhed on the ground. Alhazred breathed a few moments, before clumsily grabbing the thing and stuffing it into the container.
The birthing process was complete. Alhazred, alone no more. Alhazred, host to a spawn.