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(Continued from Love...Honor...Obey
OOC note: The events of Love Honor Obey would have only taken about fifteen hours in-character, but the RP got held up for OOC reasons. Therefore, this RP is retroactive to take place immediately after Love Honor Obey, i.e. long before Jhon Cordatus gets reassigned to temporary Galactic Alliance duty on Coruscant, and also before the Jedi Council reshuffling. Also received info/permissions from Bac and Den to sprinkle some flavor in.)
Deep within the basement of the Hall of Healing, a maelstrom of darkness swirled, attempting to swallow an unconscious padawan. For twelve and a half hours had that padawan resisted it, alone, before he could reach the help of the Sage Masters, or for that matter, any Jedi. Devoid of any training in mental resistance whatsoever, the now-unconscious padawan had subsisted on willpower alone, swearing he would die before he would allow the darkness to corrupt him.
The darkness, therefore, when it became apparent the padawan would not fall, willed that he die. The padawan knew not how to destroy the darkness; when he refused it entry into his will, consumed his body it had.
He had reached his assistance...just. And then he had fallen unconscious. He'd nearly died on the tarmac of the docking bay, even before the Sage Healers had loaded him onto a gurney. Jhon Cordatus himself had had to stabilize his pulse...which by the time he reached the stricken padawan, had fallen into the single digits as the padawan's body shut down. Or tried to. The patterned tattoos emblazoned upon the young man's face were still blackened and charred. They had literally smoldered, producing the occasional flame, upon admittance, when their temperature had been measured at one hundred seventy-three degrees Celsius, and that was after the wind-driven rain the padawan had conjured up had a moment to cool them.
The Sage Master wanted to treat whatever mental trauma the young man had experienced, but that could not be done until his patient had regained consciousness. The Loremaster wanted to find out why the man stank of darkness so, but too busy with his own duties to personally stand over the man for hours or days waiting for him to awaken, had left a trusted confidant in the Hall of Healing. That confidant was himself a healer, though his own Force signature would seem slightly off.
The Sage Master hadn't had the luxury of leaving someone else in his stead, for his patient was critical. No fewer than sixteen times had the head healer's hand cheated his patient's death. His patient had lost ten kilos of water and boiled-off blood when he was first admitted; now that seemed all but impossible to replenish, despite the Jedi healers pumping twenty-five gallons of water and electrolytes through him within a twenty-four hour period in a desperate, but seemingly failed, attempt to stabilize his hydration. The darkness still carried potent side effects; the patient's body seemed nearly completely unable to absorb the life-sustaining liquid. On no fewer than seven occasions did his pulse drop back into the single digits; on three occasions his pulse raced above two hundred, and on six occasions the broken man stopped breathing. The patient, unable to destroy the darkness on his own, had subsumed it into his body rather than allow it to corrupt his will. If even the Sage Master only seemed able to suppress it instead of eradicating it, what chance did the padawan ever have?
The patient would have to awaken, before the darkness could even become known.
After some twenty-nine hours, awaken the patient finally did. His eyes fluttered open, his vision was but a blur, and he felt drained. Incredibly drained. Like the Jedi Healers standing over him were in fact all Sith Lords draining his sustenance away from him, though in fact they desperately attempted to fill the black hole of the darkness' draining effects. Of course, the padawan realized that he had reached the counsel he so desperately sought. He had reached help, and the darkness didn't come from the Force presences standing over him.
It came from within. The padawan very much wished to learn how to confront it. He had seen the darkness, and turned away. The darkness, even now, attempted to consume him anyway.
He tried to speak, to ask where he was and who was treating him, but he was so weak his mouth simply hung open. He could not form a voice, not at all, and his vocal cords bled from the attempt. In spite of his severely depleted and exhausted condition, the padawan still felt better than he had before slipping into unconsciousness. At least the healers had stopped his face from burning off completely.
Lecchamemnon's surrogate would take notice of the awakening. As would Cordatus.
OOC note: The events of Love Honor Obey would have only taken about fifteen hours in-character, but the RP got held up for OOC reasons. Therefore, this RP is retroactive to take place immediately after Love Honor Obey, i.e. long before Jhon Cordatus gets reassigned to temporary Galactic Alliance duty on Coruscant, and also before the Jedi Council reshuffling. Also received info/permissions from Bac and Den to sprinkle some flavor in.)
Deep within the basement of the Hall of Healing, a maelstrom of darkness swirled, attempting to swallow an unconscious padawan. For twelve and a half hours had that padawan resisted it, alone, before he could reach the help of the Sage Masters, or for that matter, any Jedi. Devoid of any training in mental resistance whatsoever, the now-unconscious padawan had subsisted on willpower alone, swearing he would die before he would allow the darkness to corrupt him.
The darkness, therefore, when it became apparent the padawan would not fall, willed that he die. The padawan knew not how to destroy the darkness; when he refused it entry into his will, consumed his body it had.
He had reached his assistance...just. And then he had fallen unconscious. He'd nearly died on the tarmac of the docking bay, even before the Sage Healers had loaded him onto a gurney. Jhon Cordatus himself had had to stabilize his pulse...which by the time he reached the stricken padawan, had fallen into the single digits as the padawan's body shut down. Or tried to. The patterned tattoos emblazoned upon the young man's face were still blackened and charred. They had literally smoldered, producing the occasional flame, upon admittance, when their temperature had been measured at one hundred seventy-three degrees Celsius, and that was after the wind-driven rain the padawan had conjured up had a moment to cool them.
The Sage Master wanted to treat whatever mental trauma the young man had experienced, but that could not be done until his patient had regained consciousness. The Loremaster wanted to find out why the man stank of darkness so, but too busy with his own duties to personally stand over the man for hours or days waiting for him to awaken, had left a trusted confidant in the Hall of Healing. That confidant was himself a healer, though his own Force signature would seem slightly off.
The Sage Master hadn't had the luxury of leaving someone else in his stead, for his patient was critical. No fewer than sixteen times had the head healer's hand cheated his patient's death. His patient had lost ten kilos of water and boiled-off blood when he was first admitted; now that seemed all but impossible to replenish, despite the Jedi healers pumping twenty-five gallons of water and electrolytes through him within a twenty-four hour period in a desperate, but seemingly failed, attempt to stabilize his hydration. The darkness still carried potent side effects; the patient's body seemed nearly completely unable to absorb the life-sustaining liquid. On no fewer than seven occasions did his pulse drop back into the single digits; on three occasions his pulse raced above two hundred, and on six occasions the broken man stopped breathing. The patient, unable to destroy the darkness on his own, had subsumed it into his body rather than allow it to corrupt his will. If even the Sage Master only seemed able to suppress it instead of eradicating it, what chance did the padawan ever have?
The patient would have to awaken, before the darkness could even become known.
After some twenty-nine hours, awaken the patient finally did. His eyes fluttered open, his vision was but a blur, and he felt drained. Incredibly drained. Like the Jedi Healers standing over him were in fact all Sith Lords draining his sustenance away from him, though in fact they desperately attempted to fill the black hole of the darkness' draining effects. Of course, the padawan realized that he had reached the counsel he so desperately sought. He had reached help, and the darkness didn't come from the Force presences standing over him.
It came from within. The padawan very much wished to learn how to confront it. He had seen the darkness, and turned away. The darkness, even now, attempted to consume him anyway.
He tried to speak, to ask where he was and who was treating him, but he was so weak his mouth simply hung open. He could not form a voice, not at all, and his vocal cords bled from the attempt. In spite of his severely depleted and exhausted condition, the padawan still felt better than he had before slipping into unconsciousness. At least the healers had stopped his face from burning off completely.
Lecchamemnon's surrogate would take notice of the awakening. As would Cordatus.
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