The Force Guides All

Jaime

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1,022 ABY, Zeltros, seven hours after the Escape...

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Zeltros is a damned vacation spot? the escaped prisoner thought as he climbed out of the crashed 'commandeered' ship he had taken off Raxus Prime after his escape. What in the kriff do the richies see in this place?

Cal-doran grunted as he fell into the bog he had crashed into. Grimy, disgusting, and rank tasting swamp water entered into his mouth as he made a sour face. He spewed it out, coughing. He wiped his mouth and began to attempt to walk toward the end of the small stream. He got to a tree and tried to balance himself against it, laying a hand on the oak to no avail. He fell on his arse and sat against the wood, breathing in pain and exhaustion.

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The escaped Jedi had tried to NOT crash the ship; he tried with all his might bat as soon as he exited hyperspace at Zeltros, the ship ran out of fuel and began its slow and agonizingly annoying float to orbit, then skyrocketed down onto the planets surface. He was surprised he was not dead; the remains of his ship that he just climbed out of was his cockpit only. The rest of the ship was completely disintegrated, now one with the planet.

Grimacing, he brought out his cloth bag of all of his worldly possessions out, opening it. His weapons, the only ones of which he possessed were a shiv, half an electro-staff, and a blaster with no more energy left in it, no rounds, nothing. That was pretty much it besides the crackers he stole from the prison on Raxus Prime before his escape, which he now was eating savagely. He sniffled and wiped his hands off after he was done. "Tastes better than when they're in the prison. Wierd," he mumbled under his breath to himself.

He sat there for a while, wondering what to do. He could try and find the many giant Zeltronian cities, but it looked like he was far from any sort of civilization. He then remembered what had happened at the prison; he used the Force. He didn't just use it. He USED it. If he could concentrate with everything he had, perhaps he could send out a call through the Force to bring another Jedi here to assist him.

He concentrated with everything he had, meditated, cleared his mind. He was sweating, it was a cold sweat, but still a sweat with the effort. He was calm throughout all of it. He sent out a single word through the Force to anyone that was listening:

"Help".
 
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Ah, Zeltros. Apart from the rare parts of it that could kill you, the planet was probably the greatest in the galaxy. Or maybe it was the fact that Ryloss was drunk and connected emotionally to fifty different people, all the while getting the inside of his head messed with by the massive amount of pheromones around the place.
Apart from being a skill few could ever hope to learn, it was also a very useful thing to have in times of war. The pheromones caused huge amounts of deserters, and the emotional tie allowed plain-clothes soldiers to move about, getting support from the locals while leaving the enemies clueless to their wareabouts. You then killed off the die-hard fanatics and got a population boost made up of good, strong men and women. Ingenious. You never had to worry about popularity, either. Slot another celebration into the already filled calendar and it was all good.
Plus, the booze and hookers were good and cheap, so where was the downside?
Well, some people began to lose their sense of individuality after a while. They wound up dead, having forgotten to eat or drink something that didn't just make them more dehydrated. They turned into physical embodiment's of the crowd. A good enough way to go, Ryloss supposed. It didn't usually happen to Zeltrons, though. Of course, this meant that people sometimes did things they didn't really mean to do. Sometimes, they got so drunk they killed a child, or hit their wife just a little too hard... Then, the laughter stopped. The neighbors would break into that house in force and kill the person responsible. The practice was called the rough dance, and as of today was still the only way someone could get away with murder on Zeltros. No one could stop the Dance, although many had tried. Ryloss had seen one once. The eyes were hollow, dead, dull. And they did indeed dance. A slamming of feet, so hard that pavements were sometimes cracked...
Zeltrons were physically stronger than a human. When a door is being torn open by a lunatic with hollow eyes, you can see that. When a body is hit with sticks and stones until there was little to show it had ever been human, you can see it. When the blood ran thick... You can see that Zeltrons were as fierce warriors as they were passionate lovers...

Ryloss jumped back into his own head. He was here to enjoy himself. That meant to stop thinking about killings and death and start to think about who he was going to take home that night. Then, of course, his happiness was cut short by a voice in his head. Not the whispers he heard when he was walking through old crypts and the lark, but an actual voice.

"Help".

At first, Ryloss froze. He didn't trust voices who's origin he couldn't see, and this was no exception. But, well, he had to listen to a cry for help, no matter the origin. He stepped out onto the street, the smells, sounds and sights assaulting him. The neon lights blinded him, the smell of pheromones confused him and the screams of joy, laughter and other things that probably shouldn't be heard on a public street were audible. Ryloss focused, though, and he tried to search for the origin of the voice. Somewhere, hundreds of miles to the east. Bollocks. He checked the amount of credits he had. Enough, he supposed. So he headed to the closest bike-stall and bought himself a sturdy hover-bike, for the cheap-ish price of two thousand credits. He didn't even have to sign a form. Ryloss walked the bike to the closest road and took off, skirting around larger vehicles as he went. The Zeltron highways were well kept and wide, allowing for freedom of movement between different cities. Ryloss took the route in the closest direction to the voice, heading towards Zel, the capital city.
The speed made him feel free. He didn't buy a helmet, so he had to keep his eyes nearly closed to be safe. The short hair of his was being pushed back across his skull. Eventually, he was laughing as loudly as he could, shocked at the feeling of freedom it gave him. No wonder people liked to live like this. But Ryloss had a job to do. The voice was close two hundred and eighty miles away, he could feel it. That was a huge distance. He had enough gas to make it easily, though. He sure hoped the voice didn't go out on his way there. That would surely ruin his day. He did send a message back to it, though.

"On my way."
 

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"On my way."

Cal-doran's eyes jutted open instantly. He had fallen asleep after waiting with no hope for an answer.

And now he had one.

The Jedi grinned, slowly beginning to chuckle. He looked down at his leg, however, and his happiness died. He just now realized that he had three pieces of fractured ship material puncturing his thigh, the wounds bleeding and pussing. He must have been unconscious in the crashed vessel longer than he had initially thought. The wound looked infected and, to sum it up, genuinely ****ed.

Cal grunted as he reached for his bag, then realized he did not grab any medical supplies from the prison. He rubbed his temples, annoyed with himself. Who doesn't grab medical supplies when you just escaped a high-security prison? A Jedi should not be so arrogant as you, you fool.

He couldn't put himself down at the moment; he needed to act. He looked around for anything to stop the bleeding, and his eyes landed on his shiv and then to the ragged clothes he had found in the ships cargo he now wore. He reached for the small weapon that lay on the ground, wincing, and began hurriedly cutting into the fabric until it broke off from the clothing. He then cut off the spot of clothing that was covering the wounds, and then tied the already detached piece of cloth around them, trying to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. It worked after about a minute.

He grunted in excruciating pain as he used his shiv to try and remove the metal jutting out of the wounds, and the smallest one refused to remove itself from his muscle inside the leg. Cal sighed and pounded the ground with his other fist in frustration. The pain was absolutely, undeniably excruciating. He had no clean water and he did not know what kind of bacteria and who knows what else was in the stream beside him. The wound was already infected it seemed, what else could he do besides stop himself from bleeding out? Perhaps that was best.

Better to die free then die in that hell hole of a prison building.

He heard a faint growling to his left. Cal turned slowly, ever so slowly his head to see the creature out of the corner of his eye. There were several of them.

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Garral, the Jedi thought. He thought of a more appalling way to die than in a prison.
 
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Ryloss felt the mental connection he had with the person seeking help begin to pull him left, off the road. He had covered roughly two and seventy miles in hours. His hair was now pulled back from his face, buffeted into place by wind. He was now looking off into the marsh. Apparently, the first road here took a week to map because of the amount of dangerous animals in there. Seven hundred men died building a two mile road. It was, at last check, the third most horrible place to live on the entire planet. Bad, bad place to go down, that marsh. Worse place to be stranded. The chances of survival in there for more than two hours was so low the Zeltron government no longer funded rescue missions with an approximated completion time longer than that.
Ryloss looked down at the bike. According to his head, he had seventy miles to go. He could cover that if he went over the marsh, but not through it. Going through it would be a death sentence. But would he have enough fuel to make it back out if he went over?
Ryloss decided to risk it. Kicking the bike into gear, Ryloss rose over the trees. He could still sense the guy, whoever he was, so thank gods he was still alive. Ryloss also sent another message to them.

"Five minutes."

He rose above the tree tops, bike boosting up and shooting forwards, towards whoever this sorry bastard was. Hopefully he would make it. Please, gods, let him have made it. Ryloss was betting on this guy in his head, he had to win. On top of that, two thousand credits, by no means a small amount, would have been lost. Ryloss shot forwards, heading towards his target with a desperate speed about him.
 

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Cal closed his eyes, trying to remain calm and collected, as he was most of the time. But with three carnivorous garral staring at him with a hunger for his flesh, it was slightly more difficult. He clenched tighter to the shiv in his hand.

Then, another message: "Five minutes."

The Jedi nodded; "Hurry. Garral."

He suddenly realized that he could die right here right now, almost only seven standard hours time after escaping the prison. After finally breathing air taht wasn't practically laminated in toxic air, garbage, and every bacteria known to the galaxy, after a decade of imprisonment. Cal sighed, then winced in pain; a drop of water fell from nowhere. Probably a drop of dew from a random leaf. But the wince attracted more attention from the hungry and savage beasts off to his left. The largest of them, which could only be the pack leader of the biologically made predators, roared. Loudly. Ear-shattering noise that deafened the Jedi's left ear.

Unlucky for Cal-doran, he made a sudden move, yelping and reaching for his ears. The garral behind the leader roared in response and followed i their leader's steps, sprinting with lightning speed toward the Jedi.
 

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Garral. Ryloss sped up. He knew about them. They were another reason the marshes hurt to live in. They were better hunters than anything native to Zeltros apart from the Zeltrons themselves. He was now approximately sixty seconds. He could see the scene with his mind, now. The Garral lunging. Ryloss reached out with the force and created a wall. The animal cracked it's head on the non-existent wall and backed off. The human was now surrounded by a wall of Force energy. Ryloss lowered himself to the bike and urged it to go faster. It had less than two percent fuel left. Well, he could hardly drag it out of there and it would just go to waste otherwise...

Ryloss aimed the bike near where the Garral pack was, the leader still confused. He jumped from the bike at the last moment, blue lightsaber coming into his hands. He landed in a roll, aiming for the Garral and striking it in an under-handed swing, just as the bike behind him shattered against a tree and exploded. Four of the Garral died in the blast, Ryloss cut another's throat and the last bolted. The leader, unfortunately. He looked around. A small fire had been made by the wreck of the bike, and even as he watched the tree it had hit fell to the right. It hadn't been a young tree, either. Ryloss turned to the man and 'deactivated' his force barrier. He had rarely seen such a sorry state.
"Well, looks like we're walking out of here."
 

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Cal-doran blinked as chaos unfolded around him. Explosions, lightsabers, and dead garral. I don't remember smoking anything before I took off.

He went into a fetal position as the tree came crashing down next to them, and after that, he sighed, grunting, trying to rise, but fell back down again. His leg was in agonizing pain. He felt it; no blood was seeping from the wound anymore at least. He turned to the stranger as he settled himself against the same tree he was leaning against before, eyeing the Jedi stranger up and down. He had never seen a Zeltron before, but he had studied them when he was in the Temple for less than a year. He had found their culture quite fitting to his own self needs.

As he spoke, he had a clogged nose so his voice was slightly nasally; he also had a sore throat. "Do the Jedi always make fancy entrances like that nowadays? Since we're not in the spotlight anymore we have to make a show, eh?" He stared examined the dead garral in the bog. "And a fine show indeed."
 
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Ryloss smirked and crouched beside him, putting his blue lightsaber back onto his cargo-pants' covered leg.
"I needed to let my theatrical ability shine, I'm going insane keeping quiet."
He gestured towards the leg.
"I can have a look at that, if you want?"
He examined the human's face. Sharp eyes, although they had an unnerving color that reminded Ryloss of the one his eyes once took, sharp features obscured with dirt... Once he'd had a bath, this guy would be popular with the women here.
"Only it'll get infected if I don't. Ever seen a picture of that? Gangrene, nasty thing to die from. I met a man on Taris with one arm, said he'd chopped it off when the gangrene set in..."
He was looking at the other man still, trying to gauge his reaction.
 

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"You think you're suffering and going insane?" He scoffed. "Try and spend a decade in an Imperial prison where one word against the Sith will get you a nice and tidy place in the hole. For two weeks. With a half of a piece of bread passed down to you every day so you wouldn't die, but you'd still suffer." He smiled a yellow grin.

He stared at the wound in his thigh. "Do your best; I've already stopped the bleeding and the damn thing looks infected already." Cal winced. "Sure kriffing feels like it."

Just in case the Jedi was not who he appeared to be, perhaps a Dark Jedi- why else would he have killed those things without remorse, empathy or mercy?- he emptied his mind and let the Force seep into his body, feeling the invisible power flowing into him. He tried to, weakly, put a sort of Force 'Shield' around his mind to cloud the Zeltron's Sense ability. Some Jedi were trained to read minds, he had heard in the prison.
 

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Ryloss raised an eyebrow at the man. He didn't press the point, though. They'd just argue. Instead, he reached out with his mind towards the leg, probing the last piece of metal mentally. Stuck in the bone, the muscles cut. Dam, that must hurt. Ryloss placed his hand just over the wound.
"This is going to hurt like a bitch, just a word of warning..."
Ryloss reached in with the Force and pulled the shard. He wasn't exactly gentle, either. In fact, the bone began to warp slightly as the shard was removed. Finally, though, Ryloss held it in his hand. He simply tossed it away, it sticking in one of the Garral corpses.
"Well, that was fun."
The sarcasm in his voice was obvious. He immediately placed his hands over the wound and began to heal it, closing it as fast as he could and removing any foreign elements. There was quite a bit of dirt and other much, now covered in blood. He threw that away, too. He checked the man's mental output to make sure he wasn't going mad in pain. He felt a block. A block? A very weak one, yes, but still a block. Probably self done. Dam. Well, he still had a mouth, didn't he?
"Are you going to die on me in the next few moments?"
 

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The Jedi screamed. Loudly. Very loudly, as the other Jedi pulled the shards of metal from his flesh. Blood spewed from the wound, running down his leg. He breathed heavily, trying to control himself and keep himself from making anymore noise than was needed.

As the Jedi asked his question, he felt the Force Shield around his mind trying to be broken through. He closed his eyes and reinforced it, making so the Zeltron could not break through it for sure now; but now he felt the Force he had gathered all concentrated on that one task, that one part of the body. He could not use any other powers at his disposal. He cursed in his mind and kept his eyes closed, still breathing heavily.

"I've survived through worse."
 

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"I'll bet you have..."
Ryloss withdrew his mental probe, seeing the wounded man's face screw up in concentration. Purposefully blocking him out...
"Mate, if I was going to kill you you'd be dead."
He began to clean out the other holes, removing anything that wasn't supposed to be there or was infected. About two square inches of flesh removed themselves from his leg. Ryloss could see straight through to the bone for a second before the blood filled in.
"Shit..."
He immediately held the man down with the Force and began to heal as fast as he dared, trying to cover the gaping wound.
 

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Cal-doran was going to reply but as soon as he was about to he cocked his head in curiosity at the new and seemingly fatal pain that just hit him. Before he had a chance to react the other Jedi-or whatever he was- used the Force to pin Cal to the ground forcefully and without mercy.

He did not see the Zeltron trying to heal him; his natural thought was that he was being attacked, and as was the Force that he had already let become one with him. The Force went all at once from his mind to the palms of his handa, and from there, Cal knew what to do. He grunted with the effort but he used the Force to send the Zeltron flying toward the remains of his crashed vehicle. While the Jedi was still in the air, he winced and grunted with the movement, but he scrambled for his shiv and the half of an electro staff in his bag, switching the energy on in the latter weapon and gripping the shiv tightly. He stood up weakly and set himself ready for a fight.
 

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Ryloss made a shocked noise as he was thrown. He landed in a puddle, getting the manky water all over his clothes. Cursing, the Zeltron tried to get to his feet. He heard the electro-staff activate. Oh, he hated those things. One had been used to singe the hair off his ass, once. Albeit, he hadn't exactly been saying no...
Ryloss used the force to pull both weapons away from the man.
"Thanks, you know..."
He lifted him up and twisted his body so he was looking at his own leg.
"See?"
He then threw the infected material at his back, leaving bloodstains down it. A little over the top, maybe, but he was lucky that he wasn't dead. Ryloss walked forwards, picking up the electro staff as he went.
"As you don't like the thought of my healing you with the force, we have another option."
Ryloss aimed the electro-staff, spun the man around and powered it up.
"Cauterization."
 

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As the weapons were thrown from his weak hands and he was picked up and floated with the help of the Force, Cal decided to calm himself a bit; he didn't stand a chance against him in his weak state. He was a Jedi, he needed to think before he acted. He had never been good with that though; he acted on instinct, it was what prison did to you. If someone forced you to the ground and wouldn't let you back up, you fought back and showed them who was in charge of your body and whether you lay down or not.

Cal then saw the electeo staff turn on and at the mention of cauterization, he sighed, looking at his wounds. They had been healed mostly with the help of the Force. He thanked the all-powerful energy in his head and called it to him, gathered it around him, allowed it inside. He took slow steady breaths, his eyes closed, head held down low. He slowly began lifting a rock behind the other Jedi, completely behind him, so that if he tried to do anything like that again, he would be unconscious before he could even use the Force on Ca like that again.

"Let me go, zeltron. I'll cooperate. As long as you don't use the Force against me in a hostile way like that again. I can hold myself down; I dealt with worse pain than that in prison."
 

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Ryloss lowered him down, setting his leg out and stepping forwards slowly.
"I'm just going to heal your leg, alright?"
He placed a hand over the wound.
"I took out all the infected crap out, but it had spread a bit before. I didn't mean for it to happen. I was going for Sentinel, I'm not supposed to be brilliant at this healing shit."
He did his best for five minutes, but the scar was still on the leg.
"Look, we'll get someone better at this to finish it off. But we should really start towards the road, okay? Barely anyone gets out of these marshes as it is, no point getting hungry here."
He stood up and offered a hand.
"Oh, bye the way, my name's Ryloss Narexsus. Yours?"
 

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Cal sat down and calmly let the zeltron go at his work, levitating the rock at a steady height, ready to be sent flying at any moment.

"Sentinel's were never really a popular class of Jedi if I remember from my year of knowledge inthe temple. Healing was a hard thing to learn if I recall as well." The Jedi was trying to be diplomatic now, smoothing out and charming the other being, trying to smooth out their relationship from what had happened earlier.

He nodded in response at the suggestion of having someone better finish tending to his wounds. He could tell this one was no expert on the matter. Cal-doran stuck out his hand weakly for the Jedi, slowly lowering thr rock behind him he held with the Force. "Cal-doran Varmesceance. Jedi."
 

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Ryloss shrugged.
"Lockpicking, hacking, a balance of force and lightsaber combat? Enough for any teenager to become interested in, I'd bet. Healing... I don't even remember where I learned that from, honestly."
He helped Cal up and turned around, checking to make sure that the bike and ship were completely out of it. He also mouthed out the last name. Var... Mess... Eaance... That's it, he thought.
"Well, we're walking anyway."
He kicked a piece of scrap metal so hard it flung into a tree.
"Oh, in case you die, you wouldn't happen to know where the Jedi are right now, do you?"
He turned, raising an eyebrow at Cal. Ryloss supposed he wasn't really expecting an answer. No way he'd be that lucky.
"Oh, one more thing. A rock or a shard of metal?"
 

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Cal grunted as he struggled to stay balanced. He punched his thigh lightly, trying to wake it up as it fell asleep. He started following Ryloss as he kicked away stray debris. Cal would help but he wasn't feeling the most active. He frowned at the first question.

"I just escaped a high security prison, that I'd been in for over a decade after the Alliance's fall and the scattering of the Order, with no outside source other than what the Imperials told us, half of which was twisted into the Sith's views and was so far from the truth sometimes that even the rumor spreaders had their suspicions. The question would be, sir, do you know where the Jedi are at this moment?"

He grinned at the last question, letting out a small chuckle that was barely audible. "Rock."
 

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Ryloss spat on the ground.
"Good choice. You can survive a sharp piece of metal going into your eye. A rock? Not a chance."
He shrugged, blowing out his cheeks.
"You're guess is as good as mine. Imperial propaganda said that one of the temples was found and destroyed. Apart from that, small groups. No one's died that is critical to the continuation of the order. I'd say they're still out there."
Ryloss looked around.
"This marsh is a dangerous place. More people go missing here every year than our north pole and largest desert. In both of those, nothing will usually try to eat you. It's like all our vicious is crammed into thirty or forty miles of square shit. We're close to the middle, too, which is a great help."
Sighing, the zeltron began to walk towards the highway, or, at least, the general direction of it.
"Come on, no point waiting. Do you need a splint or something?"
He wasn't being sarcastic or snide, he was asking an actual question.
 
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