Terra Firma

[Will]

A haggard man stepped down a gangplank, long silver hair and beard obscuring his features. He leant on a long bar of durasteel, old and carbon-burned. He turned about, casting an eye over a ship that had a cobbled look, the name Kokabeil scrawled on the hull. He remembered his old ship. Metatron. A glorious vessel. He was not worthy of that, no. This small ship, with naught more than a sail and some tiny engines, would have to do.

Tubes snaked across the floor of the landing bay. The man motioned to a pair of droids, the automatons obliging the man, clamping the mouth of a few tubes into connectors. Fuel poured into the ship. He would be able to get out of this system, finally.

If only it were that simple. He needed new scrubbers. Fortunately, living to no more than your basic needs meant he didn't spend credits. He still had plenty of funds to bring to bear. Unfortunately, it meant having to deal with people. People he could kill, if he lost control. He screwed his eyes shut, seeing again the devastation, the broken body of a small girl...

He crushed his force presence down. It would not do for a Jedi to find him. He stooped slightly, giving himself the impression of a far older gentleman. A mad hermit.

Leaning heavily on the staff, he shuffled from the bay, into the thriving community that build up around fuelling stations.

 

[Will]

He hobbled through a bustling market, bent over, but still towering over people. He kept his eyes open for a parts supplier. He wanted to be done here as quickly as possible. He hated the hustle and bustle of civilisation. He was...content... to be alone on his ship. Not happy. He could never be happy.

He staggered as a youth bumped into him, muttering an apology before melting back into the crowd. He narrowed his eyes, patting down his robe. His credits. The urchin had picked his pockets. He needed that money for fuel and parts. His mouth set in a grim line as he wheeled about. He straightened, still leaning on the staff.

There.

The youth was running. An error. He set off after the youth, the crowd seeming to move around him, like a river. He caught up quickyl, with long strides. He grabbed the smaller individual by the collar of their clothing, lifting him up with ease.

''Return what was mine, boy.'' He growled. He hated it here.

The boy spat in his face. The glob of phlegm stopped in front of Beric's face, and dropped to the ground. The boy's eyes widened. He yelled out, a word in an unknown tongue.

Six figures came out of the crowd, street toughs. Pierced and tattoos, they were hulking brutes of men. Each probably saw themselves as unbeatable, as rulers of these streets. Today, they would be shown the error of their ways.

 

[Will]

''Watchoo doin' messin' with our boy here?'' The leader, obvious from the extra tattoos and piercings, babbled, a smile on his twisted face.

''I am taking what is mine.'' He stared into the eyes of the leader.

The leader laughed, drawing out a vibro-shiv. The rest of his goons followed suit. Brave, for the middle of a walkway.

Before the leader took a step forward, Beric moved. Lightning quick, he dropped the boy, straightened fully, and punched the staff forward, shattering the sternum of the ganger. He let out a surprized wheeze, then a scream, as Beric shattered his arm with a tap, seeing the weaknesses of previous breaks.

Beric spun, sweeping the staff at foot level, knocking the circling thugs to the ground. His staff rose and fell, breaking kneecaps and shins as he incapacitated his foes. It was over quickly. Beric looked about himself, at the staring crowd. He heard the alarm of law enforcement. Beric had the feeling they would not be coming for the gang members.

In all the confusion, the boy had run off, with his credit pouch. He ran again, cursing his luck. All he wanted was some damned parts! The next station was too far away for him to go without CO2 scrubbers. He did not look at the havoc he had wrought on those men. If he did, he would be reminded of the padawan. Of the city. He needed to finish his task. They he could brood, and meditate on what he had done.

 

[Solaris]

A much younger man, hand still on the blaster holstered at his side, looked over what the old-timer had done. He'd been about to step in when the old man opened up on the thugs, moving faster than anyone else Char had seen and breaking bones with simple touches. Though Char could sense nothing of the Force about the man, he knew there was no way someone could pull that off without some kind of trick. He also noted that the old man had left all of his opponents alive, something Char would not have done. Scum like that didn't deserve to live. Still, beaten was beaten and Char didn't have time to waste if he wanted to get some answers out of the old man.

"See if you can't pick up the pickpocket," Char commed his Dark Eye tail, then ran after the old man. Above him, the sinister-looking DRK-153 probe droid zipped off to try picking the little thief out of the crowd. The little droid tooted and chirped merrily to itself as it rapidly scanned the people below it.

 

[Will]

Beric could hear pursuit. He presumed it was the 'law enforcement'. He picked up his pace, catching sight of the boy again.

The boy looked over his shoulder, wild fear in his eye, yelping as he saw the ex-grandmaster loping after him. He turned quickly down an alley. Beric caught him as he saw the boy running towards a wall. He could not let the boy get away.

Hefting the staff, Beric threw it at the youth, knocking him in the shoulder as he leapt. The boy tumbled, striking the wall with his forehead, knocked out cold. Beric stooped down, picking up the credit pouch, and retrieved his staff leaning upon it again. He hunched over, disguising his six and a half feet.

''I hope he learnt his lesson,'' Beric muttered, ensuring there was no more damage. He didn't want another death on his hands.

 

[Solaris]

The little probe droid darted in, zapping the boy with its blaster set on stun. It seemed to noticed Beric only after it 'helped', then floated back letting out an ominous sort of buzzing sound interspersed with beeps and trills.
"Don't mind it," Char said as he slowed to a walk. "He's just trying to be helpful." The droid floated over to him, chittering in its electronic language.
"I saw what you did back there," Char said to the old man. He carefully kept his hands where the old man could see him, and spoke calmly and evenly. It was the same sort of tone he'd use for a skittish animal. "My name is Char. I'd like to speak with you."

 

[Will]

Beric turned, leaning heavily on the staff, his ragged mane of hair falling about his shoulders.

''You...you must have me mistaken, young man. I heard a scuffle. I came to investigate, when some brigand with a staff tore past me. He went off to the dock.'' His voice sounded old, and tired. His eyes seemed glazed, only half conscious of the world they stared out to. Beric could sense that this one was a Jedi. Young, low ranked, as he used a blaster, but still a Jedi. He did not want to deal with their kind. Not yet. He focussed on masking his force signature. A trick that had helped him even as Grand Master.

''If you will... Pardon me, I have some foodstuffs to purchase.'' He looked at the droid distrustfully. Had it been tailing him? He hobbled towards the boy.

 

[Solaris]

"I don't make mistakes," Char said while the probe droid climbed up higher to get altitude. He started walking closer to the kid and the old man. "The kid's fine; I never gave the droid the release for lethal, even if he is a little prick." He wasn't exactly clear which one he was talking about. "It was you, and you used the Force. I can tell you're not a dark-sider, 'cause you're leaving people alive. You're masking your Force presence - a Jensaarai trick." Char was guessing; he couldn't penetrate the older man's veil if he tried. The big man was quiet a moment as his own presence faded away. It was a clumsy sort of effort, but it would have stood up to cursory examination. "It's how we escape notice. My father said it's how we've survived purges that took the Jedi."

 

[Will]

''Jensaari? A term I have not heard in a long time. I am not a Jensaarai, young man.''

Beric straightened. His eyes became sharp again and his voice grew stronger as he looked down at the force user. A brawler, it seemed. Powerful, but clumsy.

''Masking one's presence is not simply a Jensarrai trick. Many have made use of the gifts of stealth. Most notably the Jensaarai, yes, but not their cult alone.''

He regarded the boy.

''You are a force used that decides upon a blaster over more elegant solutions. You intrigue me. In a past life, I may have asked you many questions, and we could have talked at length about your small force cult. Instead, I ask only why you have taken such interest in an old man with a few little tricks up his sleeve.''

He gripped the staff, still seeming to favour his weight upon it as the droid hovered above them, chirping irritatingly.

 

[Solaris]

"It was six on one," Char pointed out, and the 'one' hadn't been the old man. "'Stun' is a lot faster than using a lightsaber, and dead-an'-pretty is still dead." He shrugged. "I've known a total of three other Force-users. My father's dead, I killed one, and the other knows less than I do." He paused a moment, thinking, and let up the Force stealth when he did so. Char was not a man who words came to easily. "Ah, hell. Mostly I just wanna know how you did that - and why you left those punks alive."

 

[Will]

''Six who relied on their brawn and intimidation against one with a smattering of training from a previous life. There is a reason I have been hiding, trust me.''

He paused. Seeming to mull something over before continuing.

''Walk with me. I need to get a CO2 scrubber. After that, I shall leave you.''

His staff beat rhythmically on the metal shod walkways as he walked down the boulevard.

''You have not had much training, I presume. To know only 3 force users. And to still think a blaster can be faster than a lightsabre.'' His expression grew sombre.

''I will not teach you. I have no right. I left them alive because every man should have a code. Killing them would have made me no better than those common thugs. I am not worthy to decide who shall live and die. Perhaps once... But not any more.''

He looked at the ground, visibly sagging.

''Anyway, tell me about yourself. You are not a Jedi, or a Sith, so what are you?''

 

[Solaris]

"I've been training all my life," Char replied. "'Sides, I was about ten feet from 'em and they were more paying attention to you than to me. If I woulda lit up my lightsaber, they would've been all eyes on me. Them shooting me with blasters I can handle, but most of those guys had blades." He shrugged. "I'm from Tatooine. Pretty much anyone who can gets out of there as quick as they're able - that includes anyone with Jedi potential. I suppose they would've picked me up, too, if it hadn't been for my father. Force stealth was pretty much the second trick I learned."
That didn't precisely answer the question of what he was.

 

[Will]

''Training from birth. To what end? I presume you are bound to a set of rules, a hierarchy?''

A smile tugged at his lips.

''Tattooine. I've been there a few times, a good place to hide. Peaceful. Quiet. Not many like going there. I can understand why a young man like yourself would leave such tranquillity.''

He turned to look at the boy as he mentioned his lightsabre.

''You have a lightsabre upon you? May I see?''

He held out a hand, hobbling as he walked.

 

[Solaris]

Char snorted. "Weren't quiet where I was," he said. He reached around to the back of his belt and pulled his lightsaber out to hand it over to the elder. It was a simple, utilitarian weapon; he'd made it when he was eleven with his father's help. "I suppose you could say I fell in with the wrong crowd." He shook his head. "Aw, hell, I was the wrong crowd. A Jensaarai's supposed to be a guardian of peace and justice, but where the Jedi just sit and contemplate their navels the Jensaarai act. I got the 'act' part down."

 

[Will]

''Those with power breed conflict. It is inescapable.'' He took the weapon, examining it.

''You have some skill, it seems. A simple weapon, to the point. In my time I've seen far more intricate...'' He trailed off, clearing his throat.

''Anyway. A nice weapon. You should not fret. Everyone makes bad decisions in their youth. It takes time to temper the soul. I agree that the Jedi are slow to act, too slow, some would say. But, their actions are, for the most part, well thought out. I presume you have learnt from your past life? You seem to be thinking before acting now.''

He paused.

''Now, tell me a little bit about the Jensaarai. It is a term that is rarely heard.''

 

[Solaris]

"Don't rightly know that what I do could be properly termed 'thinking'," Char said with a chuckle. "Jensaarai aren't a terribly open group. The name's Sith, it means 'hidden follower of the truth'. The order actually has its origins in the Sith - we use their tricks and techniques against them." He smiled wryly. "We've actually joined the Sith several times, working against them from within. Recruiting drives, if you will. We tend to attract the same types, but Jensaarai stay... mostly in the light. Jedi respect for honor and discipline coupled with Sith aggression and alchemy. It's how we make armor proof against Sith lightsabers - we use the old-fashioned method of making cortosis weave."

 

[Natise]

So many questions whirled about Vinculis' mind. He had been watching the old man ever since he saw him exit the ship and take the appearance of a much older man. By the time Vinculis had tried to gauge his force potency it had been hidden so he had no suspicions of an enemy or rogue. Still though, Vinculis had found little else of interest on the planet, and decided to tail the man. When the boy took his credits Vinculis smiled, now would be the time when he would see the old man for his true self. The old man pursued the boy, and Vinculis kept up. He watched as the glob of spit fell to the ground and the old man defeated the thugs without any trouble.

Vinculis was now very interested in this man. He listened to his conversation seeing how reserved he was being, letting the boy do most of the talking. Without dropping his physical stealth illusions, he let his darkness show. His presence would instantly be felt by the apprentice for sure, whom was only about seven feet away from him. The old man would only sense him if he was a force sensitive, which Vinculis was rather sure he was by now.

 

[Will]

''Even pausing for a moment to consider the consequence of an action is good enough.''

A grey faction of Force users, based on Tattooine. Interesting. There were a multitude of grey cults, all seeming to take from both sides of the force. The diversity of such groups always amazed him.

''Ex-Sith... I can see why you would hide from the Jedi. They are very persistent in clearing away anyone they see as a threat. The old way of forging cortosis weave? That is a rare art.''

He looked up, a neon light catching his eye. A seller of parts. Good. He hunched, shuffling into the shop.

''CO2 Scrubber.'' He barked. The image of a cantankerous old man again.

The owner pointed to a pile of parts.

''In there.'' He mumbled, barely looking up from his pad.

Beric began digging through the parts, examining each with a practised eye. He smiled, holding one in a shaking hand.

''How much?''

''700.''

''200''

''650''

''200''

They haggled. Beric paid 200.

As he left with the boy, he noticed something... off... about the crowd.

''I would walk back to my ship. Now, tell me, how long has it been since you left Tattooine?'' While he spoke, his eyes kept roving the crowd.

 

[Solaris]

"It is?" Char shrugged, waving dismissively. "I helped my father spin cortosis for his armor for years before he- before I made my own armor. It's not hard, just fidgety and time-consuming."

He stood back and let the old man haggle; a native of Tatooine, he recognized a master when he saw one. He felt the dark presence, but dismissed it as irrelevant; the last time he'd encountered a dark-sider, he'd been much more interested in the bright red lightsaber about to bisect his paycheck. "'Bout three-four months," he said. "What kind of ship do you have?"

 

[Natise]

Vinculis was pleased. Even in the large crowd, the man could still tell something was not right. He dropped his illusions and let himself be seen. Quite a few people who had been traversing near him gasped at his sudden appearance and ran off, not wanting any trouble. Vinculis very casually strolled up to the two and extended a hand to the old man.

" I couldn't help but over hear you are having trouble with your ship. Perhaps you would like some help? "