Open The Funeral of Crix Aran

[The Storyteller]

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It didn't take long for the Jedi Order to hear the words no one wanted to hear. A well-beloved Jedi Knight passed away into the Force, his body yet to be found. Crix Aran's name was whispered through the corridors, some in shock, some in sadness, and some in appreciation as they remembered his life. But regardless of the tone, his death sent ripples through the Jedi Order.

Within days, a funeral was planned, and it'd be held in one of the Jedi temple's many gardens on Yavin IV. There may have been no body, but that wouldn't stop the Jedi from saying goodbye to the Jedi Knight one last time. The empty and closed casket, lying on top of the traditional cremation pyre, was placed on the bright green grass, surrounded by tall trees with white flowers. Sunlight danced through the gently swaying treetops, showering the casket with warmth.

Every Jedi, as well as those known to be very close to the Jedi Knight, was invited. It'd be a day to remember the Jedi knight, tell stories about the half-Zabrak, and, most importantly, celebrate his life and all he'd achieved.

The Jedi were allowed to enter the garden one by one. Stone rocks led them past benches to the casket, where memorials to the Jedi Knight were placed next to the unlit pyre.

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[Willa Kanz]

She didn't want to celebrate.

As of late, Willa drifted off alone. When Crix went missing, she left off to find him, only to find no trace. Nothing but radio silence filled the gloom that filled her heart. She was a terrible friend; when she should have been by his side, she failed, wrapped up instead with the bitterness of her own losses. And now...

She didn't know how she could even walk. How her feet could move, her heart could keep beating, but her eyes remained dry. She wasn't even sure she had the ability to shed tears. She walked quietly. She could hear the whispers; the condolences were empty sounds to her ears, the gentle touches and hugs like dry leaves brushing across her skin.

Her gaze, half-blind, settled on one view alone, and though the peace of the garden could have been a balm to others, to her, it burned. There was no body, not that it mattered. Whatever the masters or knights told themselves and others as condolences sounded empty to her; he was just...

Half her soul was gone. Somewhere far away, he was lost to her forever, and nothing, not even screaming into the void of space, would bring him back. Step by step, she came closer. And then, the memories flooded in. Crix, grinning the first time they met. Just kids, with a bloody nose after they wrestled over whose streetracer was better. He apologized... or did she? It didn't matter. Hours playing hologames in his empty apartment. Trys.

Oh Force, who was gonna tell his mom?

That thought undid her. Her shoulders began to shake, but she forced herself to move forward. Trys. She had to talk to Trys. See her face to face, and explain why she failed to be with Crix when he needed her. She couldn't lie to her and tell her he died some heroic death. She'd have to explain that... explain--

"Hng." She doubled over, clapping a hand over her mouth as the sobs came. Deep, primal sobs that wracked her chest and forced her to her knees, tears rolling down scarred cheeks and onto black robes. Cries that shuddered with every breath, that cut.

"I shoulda gone too," she managed out, clutching her own robes. "Fuck, why'd you have to do things before me? I---"

Crix framed in starlight, when they ran away from home together. Tricksy Crix and G. Wiz, off to take over the galaxy. Her best friend. Her partner in chaos, her player two. But...

"Fuck this."

She gritted her teeth, and defiantly wiped her face off with a sleeve.

"I'm gonna keep fighting... but not like this. We were wrong... I'm sorry, old friend." Talking to an empty casket. To the air. To the void that wasn't him anymore... she closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath. Wiped off her face... and reached to her belt.

"I'm not gonna let this go."

When she left, her lightsaber sat on one of the rocks near the casket. Being a Jedi wasn't worth this. She was gonna find out what happened and make them pay. So she forced herself to walk away. She was gonna have to find his mom. And then... figure out how to plan next. Now, she had nothing but time. Let the Order mourn and celebrate however the hell they wanted to.

She'd only celebrate after she knew those that killed him would pay in return.

 

[Zerath Eblon]

Funerals sucked. There was no way around it, no way to sugarcoat the loss of anyone. Death, and the suffering it left in its wake, were an inescapable part of life. Crix Aran had been beloved within the Jedi Order, which had watched him grow from a headstrong padawan to a slightly-less headstrong Knight, who then took on a Padawan learner of his own... Crix's legacy- and his absence- would loom over the Order. Zerath had made it a point to arrive early, knowing that Crix's death would his the Order hard... and it didn't take long for him to notice the reaction of one of Crix's best friends.

"Willa..." the Miralukan waved the Padawan over to a chair nearby his as she left the pyre. "Come, sit." Crix was dead, and there was nothing Zerath could do about that... which meant that all he could do was walk with the living through this tragedy.

@Killa Ree

 

[Waxillium Drast]

Wax hadn't known Crix, but he had heard of him, even out in the Outer Rim word had reached him of the Zabrak's exploits. He had no idea what sort of man he had been, but he had been a good Jedi, which Wax hoped translated to having been a good man as well. A smile came to the young Knight's face at the thought, when had the two become exclusive of each other? Had they really fallen that far?

Shaking his head, wondering when he had started buying into all the Imperial propaganda and how the average citizen must feel if even someone like him wasn't immune to all the chatter on the holonet, Wax stepped up and pulled out a small blue flower he had picked from a nearby bush. Placing it before the casket, he gave a small bow, respecting the man with the honor he had earned, before stepping away, retracing his steps back out the stone path to the larger gathering.

He didn't really know anyone else, but they were Jedi, so he'd mingle. Walking over to one of the tables set up near the garden, he picked up a glass and filled it with some ale before drifting away, looking for someone to talk with.

 

[Atias Zaldreell]

Atias walked like a zombie through the corridors of the Jedi Temple. Everything that he did since he felt Crix’s presence disappear from their bond had been in autopilot. The half-Morellian couldn’t believe that his Master was dead. Even after he was captured, the Padawan hoped that he was going to escape.

After all, he was Crix Aran. He could escape from anything that the Sith could throw at him. In the end, Atias knew that he was stupid of thinking this way and that he should have considered the Zabrak to be already dead as soon as he was captured, but he had wanted to have. Because what would the Galaxy be without it?

However, his hope proved to be stupid and Crix was dead. As soon as the Zabrak’s presence disappeared, Atias even thought that he could have saved his Master if he had picked a ship and tried to rescue him. But soon he thought that it would have been stupid and this funeral would have ended being for both of them.

In the end, he decided to focus on the fact that there was no death, there was the Force. Always when memories of his time with Crix came to his mind, Atias reminded himself of it. He had spent the past several weeks doing it and was also doing it while walking toward the garden. Thanks to it, the Padawan had been able to bury his grief and sadness. It was working, because he didn’t cry at any moment.

Crix is only another death, like many others that came before him. He wasn’t gone, he is part of the Force. the Padawan repeated to himself, together with the part of the Jedi Code that had become his mantra.

When he arrived at the garden, the Padawan walked through the crowd toward the pyre. Some Jedi that knew that the Zabrak had been his Master stared at him, but the half-Morellian only continued walking. He stopped in front of the casket, staring at it with empty eyes. The smile that he usually had long disappeared, being replaced by a neutral face, while he supressed his feelings about Crix’s death by mentally reciting the Jedi Code.

 

[Clove Vanhoop]

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Clove didn't want to go to the funeral. Despite helping out where she could, including messing up a hand full of invitation cards by writing Alan instead of Aran, the funeral itself was something she didn't want to face. She couldn't cement the pain she felt right before Crix died. The burning, which she assumed to be flames, that crept up his skin and melting flesh. All before getting impaled three times through the chest. And through it all there was so much anger, so much agony, until that too vanished, making way for a strange peace. As if the sunlight broke through the pitch-black clouds. But that peace didn't last long, as the worst pain she ever felt sliced through her chest only seconds after. No, not her chest, it cut through her soul. It was ripping away something that had once been there, leaving an empty void in its place.

She knew what that pain meant. But she didn't want to accept it.

Still. Clove eventually found herself in the temples of the Jedi Order after being dragged up on her feet by Luxor and taking Sebastian onboard. It felt strange walking through the halls that had once been her home. All while being shadowed by Crix's traveling companions. Or, at the very least, Sebastian had been his traveling companion. Luxor was her own companion, but she discovered her with Crix, and the four of them had flown through the entire galaxy together.

Her shaky black heels made their way along the stone paths, her gaze low to the ground to avoid seeing Crix's pictures or the casket. But she got too close to it to avoid it for much longer, and she was forced to confront the thing that hurt her the most. The lack of a body. Not only was their connection broken, but his body had also disappeared.

The half-Annfyn had promised not to cry, to remain collected as she lifted the bundle of red lilies toward the casket. But it was a promise she couldn't keep; warm tears almost instantly streamed past her eyelids and onto her cheeks, and muffled sobs escaped her forced-closed lips. Still, she went on, placing the flowers on top of the casket before adjusting the ribbon that was wrapped around it. The black fabric, adorned with an infinite number of stars, rested on the wooden casket.

Stars were once supposed to stand for everything Clove had ever dreamed of—her desire to see the galaxy. But now, after so many years, those same stars represented a promise. A promise not to forget, and a promise to keep your head held high. Clove reached up with a trembling hand for the star map tattooed on her chest and hidden beneath her black coat. There were three of them, and now only one of the tattoos remained.

Shit. She wasn't meant to outlive Thelian or Crix. She wasn't supposed to be the only one standing after Dantooine. Why had Crix left her?! She never even managed to say a proper goodbye; the last time they spoke, they just casually parted, expecting to see each other on another mission or on another fun traveling trip together. And now it would never happen. He was never going to return.

"I'll always love you, Crix. Even in death." Clove spoke softly. She lifted her head and took a shallow breath. Even though it hurt so badly and she wanted to run back to Yavin 8 and vanish once again, she couldn't. She promised she wouldn't run, not anymore. And right now, there was a Padawan who needed her more than she needed herself. Clove lowered her hand from her chest, feeling the presence of the Padawan in question not far away. Her gaze lifted to the half-Morellian, noticing how dead his eyes looked.

After excusing herself from Sebastian and Luxor, Clove stepped away from the two and instead got closer to Atias. She spoke no word and instead wrapped her arms around her former Jedi Padawan brother, if he let her.

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[Alexandria Voran]

Cold eyes stared back at a hard face. Firm lips pressed together in a frown. Was that her? Was that who she had become? This woman in the mirror? A face she hardly recognized. Alex ran a hand through her hair before adjusting her jacket. She needed to leave. She was late already. Her right hand balled into a fist. The urge to smash the mirror beating in time with her heart. Deep breaths. Scatter the face looking back at her. Slowly, she unclenched her hand. You’ve done this before. You can do it again.

How many friends would she bury? How many more funerals until she joined them?

Alex’s eyes tipped towards the ceiling. Could the Force not give her a sign? Any of the lost to tell her she was on the right path…Talak, Hans, Max, Oota, Sada…now Crix. This was her lot in life. To watch people those she cared for cut down. To stand and look in the mirror as another life was lost. To always be too late. Where was the mighty Grandmaster when they were cut down? Sitting safe somewhere while other died for their cause. She shook her head and turned from the mirror. There was no sense waiting any longer. Her walk would not suddenly become easier. A hard thing needed doing.

Slowly, she made her way to the pyre. Her eyes flicking over the gathering Jedi. There were more assembled than she could count. A testament to the young Zabrak. Alex’s thoughts snagged on Clove. Her frown threatening to come back. The silly young girl who dressed in Halloween costumed was gone. The Jedi that Alex knew gone. She had right to be here, Crix had cared for her…but Alex would have the guards watch all the same. The Morellian Jedi had precious few friends left. She was not about to lose more.

Her footfalls carried her to the front of the pyre. Her voice raising. The pain of those gathered palpable in the Force. “I have no words.” A pause. “How could I? How could any one of us explain the light that was Crix Aran?” Alex felt her eyes brim with the tears. “He cannot be replaced, and I will not ask you to try.” That was just as true for herself. “Today we mourn…and then we strive to live our lives in his memory.” A shuddering breath. “He was the best of us.” She turned and lowered her voice, her hand coming to rest on the casket. “Rest easy, my friend. You’ve earned it.” The tears flowed in earnest now…silently as she prayed.

@Nefieslab @LilyNion @LouJoVi @Wit @SlagathorTheUnknown @Killa Ree

 

[Varyn Atrix]

Across the Galaxy - Korriban​

Varyn had heard about what happened on Korriban. He had heard all the rumors about Killiks and Sith politics. About backstabbing and Sith infighting. About the narrow victory snatched away by the defenders led by his friend. And he heard about a single Jedi prisoner that no one else cared about who was killed in the battle.

The news about what precisely had transpired was still murky and Varyn would probably never know if Crix had been trying to escape or something else, but he had gleaned enough to discover where he had fallen. His body was long removed, but Varyn could still practically feel the death hanging in the air.

The sun had gone down on Korriban and the temperature had plummeted with the night air, but Varyn was undeterred. He had ascended the side of the temple and taken a seat along the edge where Crix had died. He knew there was no returning to the Yavin temple for him to mourn, and he didn't seek that. He paid his own respect to Crix.

He had still been a Padawan when the two had met, but he considered the Zabrak to be one of his few surviving friends in the Jedi. He supposed that Crix no longer numbered among those either, and it left perhaps one single friend left in the Order.

The Champion set two glasses down next to him, pouring a small amount of liquor into both and tapping one to the other.

I guess this is it, Master Aran, he said with a sigh of melancholy as he took a drink.

I'm sure you'd hate where I ended up, but maybe if you were here, I could convince you it's the only way. Sometimes we have to make hard choices, he said. He drained the remainder of his cup. I guess our paths diverged a long time ago. I'm sorry I couldn't find a way to get you out, he said. Perhaps that guilt was what had driven him here. A feeling of remorse that he hadn't done more when he had the chance.

But in the end, they were all alone.

He sat in silence for a long moment, finishing off another glass, looking out at the empty desert and the Sith milling about in the courtyards below, making their way back from training. He let out a long sigh and chewed lightly at the inside of his lip.

I hope you find rest, old friend, he said and tapped his glass to the still full one next to him, leaving it behind as he slipped back into the night.

@Nefieslab

 

[Drastus Drahr]

Elsewhere, Days Ago
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It had been years since he had left the Order, years since he had seen friends and loved ones. Was it a fear of loss that drove him to depart? No. Was it hate for those he stood beside? No.

Since the attack on Ajan Kloss, Drast had been consumed by hate, by loss, so much so that it threatened to push him to the Darkside. He was a tool for war, something the Mandalorian wouldn't ever complain about, but a tool nonetheless. And the darkness within only grew deeper.

That is, until he met Lani. She was his galaxy. The hate, the anger, it was being replaced by love. And so, they left. Together. Before the war could rob either of the other. He had never looked back, never regretted it. This new life had become all he needed, all he wanted.

But all good things, come to an end. Despite not practicing it for years, he could feel the death of one of his oldest friends, galaxies away. A feeling that rocked him to his soul. Two days of remembrance, of sorting his affairs. A kiss to their children, to his loving wife. He was about to head back into the fire.

And he was back before his armorstand. The martial training, he never gave up. His beskar was still clean, battle-ready. Piece by piece, it was pulled on in reverence, the sigil of his Clan and Coalition emblazoned upon it. Once he was armored, one hand lowered to touch the hidden drawer and it slid open to reveal several hilts to lightsabers: Lani's, Kori's, and his. He would take the hilt, affixing it to his belt, his eyes closed in memory of Max, the man who had helped him construct it. The weapon of a Sith he now killed a lifetime ago. Finally, he would grab the harness that held his scabbard and beskad, strapping it around his torso, over his cuirass.

Yavin-Jedi Temple, Now
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The Kom'rk-Class starfighter exited hyperspace over Yavin. The Orar'da'yadr had been allies of the Order out of necessity for years at this point, often bleeding alongside the Jedi. The kin with Drast would have the proper clearance codes to land.

Even under his beskar, Drast couldn't help the physical quake upon seeing the Temple again. He had known three Masters in his time as a Padawan, two now dead, one having abandoned the three Padawans she claimed to teach.

Once landed, Drast would head for the woods, passing through the remains of what had been his hidden camp. A makeshift garage and forge where he had built his armor, fixed his speeder following Denon. It was now reclaimed by the forest, as the Force willed.

In time, he made his way to where the pyre was. There, he watched from a respectful distance. He didn't dare interrupt nor approach. He no longer bore the right. Instead, he would stand there with his arms crossed. Watching the speech from the Grandmaster, a woman he respected greatly and had fought beside before.

There would be no tears for his friend, none for the memory of those past. Crix was at peace, free of this galaxy, of the wars. His visor would stay fixed on the casket.

@Nefieslab @Valen Pelora

 

[Atias Zaldreell]

Atias was so distracted inside his own mind that he didn’t notice Clove approaching him. He only reacted when she hugged him. The half-Morellian only turned slightly to see who did it. When he noticed that it had been his sister, the Padawan remained imobile, allowing her to continue with the hug.

Like her, Atias also didn’t say anything. He remained silently looking at the casket. Even when Master Voran started her speech, the half-Morellian didn’t react. Not even a tear was shedded at the moment. The only thing that passed through the Padawan’s mind was the constant reminder that Crix was now part of the Force.

When the Grandmaster finished, the Padawan placed a hand over the casket. He had been careful to wear gloves, fearing that under these circumstances his psychometry could be accidentally activated. The half-Morellian didn’t want to have visions in the middle of a funeral.

After removing his hand from it, Atias would turn to Clove. “He is with the Force now. There is no suffering anymore.” it sounded too robotic for the Padawan, who seemed to be happy most of the time. Once again he was using these words to suffocate the sadness that constantly tries to surface.

@LilyNion @Nefieslab

 

[Arctus Friers]

Arctus found shelter beneath the green canopies, his form bathed in shadow. Back pressed against the rough trunk of a tree, the Padawan couldn't find the strength to approach the gathered mourners, let alone see and feel the pain and grief that hang heavy in the air. Though familiar with the emotions, he still felt as though he were drowning the longer he focused on these emotions that were not his own.

He didn't personally know Crix Aran, and now that he was gone the opportunity to meet and be acquainted with the Jedi whom Clove once called Master was well and utterly ripped from the Corellian's grasp. The half-Zabrak became yet another statistic in the Jedi's conflict with the Sith and while it was a tiring fact, it was still a fact that Arctus had to face and swallow in a bid to strengthen his own resolve in being a Jedi. Though he was Arctus first and Jedi second, the sad truth still remained that as long as they upheld their duties and fight back against the Darkness, they would all still fall, one after another, whether by the enemy's blade or by the dangers they faced while helping those who needed it.

Still, Arctus felt sad that he didn't get to meet and interact with Clove's Master. From what he'd seen of Clove, Crix Aran had been not just a good teacher but also a good influence to his friend. Arctus felt sad that they didn't even have a body to bury. Poor kid. Who would tell his mother about this?

The Padawan remained where he stood as the Grandmaster rose to speak. Arctus closed his eyes, and even though he wasn't one to believe in higher powers or deities or religion, he still sent a silent prayer that Crix, and those who died before him, found the peace and rest they deserved after a life full of strife and fighting. It was the least he could do for now, and he had to make do with what he had at the moment. Thoughts and prayers were one thing, but at the end of the day they meant nothing... though a part of Arctus, no matter how small, hoped otherwise.

Hazel grey gaze scanned the crowd, finding familiar faces among the gathered Jedi. Clove's arms were wrapped around Atias, lilac wound around bronze in a bid to bring warmth and comfort in this otherwise bleak gathering. His gaze lingered on the pair for a moment, giving them the space they needed to hold and comfort each other. He then caught sight of Willa as she moved to leave, but Knight Eblon tried to engage her in conversation. The arrival of an armored Mandalorian confused Arctus for a moment until he realized who was underneath it.

The sight of Drastus prompted a different kind of pain within Arctus. The younger Padawan's presence reminded him of Indy. Unlike the last time she disappeared, Arctus now had zero contact with her. He had no idea where she was, no idea how she had been. He knew she had buried herself into her work, but then she disappeared completely. It was one of the reasons why Arctus himself vanished for a while. The man didn't want to think about how abandoned he felt, but Drastus' presence only made that feeling even more visceral now.

Arctus didn't know where Indy was, prompting a brand new objective in the Padawan's mind. He needed to look for her, to find her – to make sure that she still lived. Though their bond in the Force assured him that she was still out there, Arctus knew that he had to see it for himself. He needed to see her, to keep his promise of helping her as much as she had done for him.

The Padawan took a deep breath, lifting his gaze skywards. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, and a light breeze swept past. Arctus closed his eyes.

He had a Master to find, but for now he lingered, offering his respects to a fallen Jedi Knight.