Ask Constantly Seeking; Never Reaching

The Storyteller

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Space-rocks-could-be-carrying-life-across-the-Milky-Way.jpg

Jedha Debris Field​

Jedha was a planet long since left for dead and longer still scarred, cracked and broken.

The damage from the test firing of the first Death Star's main weapon was enough to break the planet down to it's core upon impact and the results were still very visible even hundreds of years later. With no one willing to undertake a massive mission to restore the planet to some kind of order, the Jedha Debris Field had formed, the rocks like blood cells of a wound eternally gushing blood out into the void of space.

But Jedha was more than the sands of it's surface, the rocks of it's mantle or the magma of it's core.

Jedha was, and continued to be, a beacon into the Force on such a scale that it was impossible to ignore by those who were not blind to the Force's presence within the Galaxy. Jedi, Sith or Other - it didn't matter. Jedha could, would and did call to those who would claim to hear the whispers of the Force's will upon solar winds and between their own heartbeats.

Come.

It was a call that resonated through the Force, to those who could feel it. To those who could feel it, it was akin to a shining star and a beckoning voice that called out for them to approach, to land their ship upon the flat edge of one of the many massive chunks of rock left floating in the void.

Come and See.


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Xolani Mai

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Time did not flow so plainly forwards, as the scientists in Coruscant would like to believe. Past, present, and future were in constant conversation with one another through the force. What happened 5 minutes ago or 5,000 years ago was just as important as what happened in the present; it defined the present, spoke to it. This is how the Force spoke; not through linear time, but through visions of past, present, and future, unfolding all at once. The birth of the universe and its demise were folded together, bound inextricably in the woven embrace of the all-powerful, all-present Force. Each moment as important, imperative as any other. All moments bound together.

Yet the mortal mind could only perceive so much of this glory. The divine Force that lived in each being called them to their destiny; yet only few were given explicit direction. Such was the nature of the Force. Even to those who could interpret its messages, the path ahead was never clear until it was.

And sometimes it became clear very quickly. This night, Xolani fell into an uneasy sleep in a cantina's inn; sweat poured across his face as he shivered and convulsed in his sleep. In his dreams, he saw moments stitched together in a bloody quilt: A holy city, streets paved with gold. A sun so bright, it illuminated all that he could see; the golden streets reflected this sun's light to create a dazzling array. It was perfection.

Until it wasn't. Suddenly, instantly, the sun changed; it's bountiful rays of yellow and orange light bubbled, melted, boiled to become something different. The sun, it seemed, died, leaving a rotten and diseased carcass of a sun in its wake. A gray, bloated orb, now, its light was a putrid shade of green that slowly touched the golden city. Once its cursed light reached the surface, everything changed; the golden streets ran red with blood. Children were reduced to ash, in an instant, livestock became covered with boils, hair evaporating off of their bodies. Flocks of winged, hairless birds circled the once-mighty temple at the city's center, its golden veneer now peeling off to leave a tower of bone. In the center of it all, Xolani. And a voice.

Come. Come and See.

Xolani woke with a start, rubbing the beads of sweat off of his face. He had left the holonet on - odd, as he didn't typically sleep with it. Too distracting to the mind. He went to flick it off to think before he looked at the screen. It was a familiar sight: Ripley's Believe It or Not. He rolled his eyes before settling into an episode, figuring that his guilty pleasure of a show could calm his mind for a moment before he meditated. The episode was one he hadn't seen before - a rare treat! His brief, shameful joy became awash with confusion and dread when he learned the topic of the episode: Jedha. Its destruction.

There were no coincidences. He went to Coruscant forthwith, to seek an audience with the woman herself.

Shortly after, they were dropping out of hyperspace in his tiny scout ship. He was hit with the sensation instantly; the planet was oozing, its whole being crying out through the Force. He had never heard a pain of this type before. He looked towards Ripley, a frown settling on his face.

"I think we're getting close."

Amongst the wracked world's debris, one space in particular called out to him. An asteroid with a perfectly-sized landing pad, as if it had been made for his ship. He slowed the descent to orbit, now, touching his ship gently down upon the rock's surface. He had no idea what was coming, but, for better or for worse, he was where he needed to be.


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Ripley Virago

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Jedha. A planet of mesas and dustbowls. Not unlike Ripley's home planet of Arkania, it was cold and frosted by a permanent winter. It was not the planet's cold, however, that cut through bone and clothing. It was the destruction that the Galactic Empire had brought to the mid-rim moon so many years ago.

Over a hundred years had passed since Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin had opened fire on the planet of Jedha, but the destruction of the Holy City still haunted the planet and loomed over some of its citizens to this day. Time marched on, but not all wounds healed.

The planet called to those gifted to hear the voice of the Force, and it called to Ripley. The historian had recently traveled to the planet of Jedha to record an episode on its destruction for the docuseries she hosted. From the surface of the moon, something floating out in space had called to her.

Never one to ignore her own curiosity, Ripley had answered the call and searched in vain for its source. There were too many asteroid fields and too little time to narrow it down, and the disappointed Arkanian had been forced to return to Coruscant for the time. Back on the core world and with an unending supply of resources at her fingertips, Ripley had poured over numerous maps in search of some clue or lead to follow.

The search seemed to be a lost cause, and Ripley's brother urged her to just give up. Giving up was not in her nature, but with no leads to go on she had to consider the possibility of defeat.

Until a most interesting stranger showed up on her doorstep. A former Jedi who had experienced a dream, a dream similar to the call she had heard. In a surprising turn of events, he had watched her most recent documentary and now requested her help. Unlike her, he had been trained in the Force and would be able to pinpoint the exact location that they both desired to travel to.

It was as if the galaxy itself had dropped a gift into her lap, wrapped up and tied into a perfect bow.

Aboard the man's small scout ship, the pair jumped out of hyperspace and drifted through the Terrabe sector. It wasn't long until her companion turned toward her, a frown settled on his face.

"I feel it too," she replied, meeting his eyes but unable to match the sorrow written across his features. The historian was excited, eager. She lived for exploration and discovery. She added, "I'll go get ready."

While Xolani prepared the ship for landing, Ripley rose from the passenger seat and moved toward the back of the ship to equip a EVA suit.

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As the two curious travelers and seekers of knowledge set down upon the rock that had called to them through the Force, their ship would be able to land without issue. The rock itself didn't so much as move even with the additional weight and directional force of the landing - as would have been typical of space debris under normal circumstances.

Of course the circumstances were not normal because this was not so much a random chunk of rock hurtling through the void as it was one of the very cells of Jedha, cast adrift by great violence and madness.

They were, of course, right to equip themselves for a space walk, however, as the section of planet they had landed upon was nowhere near large enough to support even a rudimentary atmosphere, let alone one robust enough to keep them both alive should they choose to attempt to breathe without apparatus. Through the Force a warmth would wash over the two of them upon their landing and though there was no voice this time, they would both be filled with a sudden need to get moving.

As they stepped out from their ship, they would find that the jagged chunk of rock seemed to be rather easy for them to traverse despite having nowhere near the mass to have gravity of it's own. Part of that could be explained by the continued proximity to Jedha's main body (close on the cosmic scale of course) but part of it was beyond the science and into the realms of the Force.

Further ahead of the two of them, the rocks were different.

Because they were cut.

Because it was not an outcropping of blasted rocks but, rather, a small shine still intact from the surface of Jedha itself. A small, open, shrine with four pillars of marble holding up a wide roof, with no walls or doors between the marble posts. Within the center of the shrine sat a simple bronze offering bowl.

Above the shrine, the travelers would be able to see small chunks of the roof almost peeling away from the shine, disappearing upward.


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Xolani Mai

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After Xolani donned his bulky vac-suit, he brought little else with him towards the shrine. Save, of course, his stun blaster and lightsaber. The lightsaber sat plainly on the hip of his vac-suit, magnetically sealed to its waistband; his trusty companion throughout all of his adventures.

He gestured towards the shrine to Ripley. She had a cavalier attitude about this excursion - it was to be expected, for someone who had little training in revering the Force. Still, though, he feared she had not fully grasped the gravity of their situation. The Force had called them to Jedha, the site of one of its greatest tragedies. While they were bound to learn something, it was sure to be more somber than pleasant.

The shrine. It spoke to him. He remembered his dream: A massive, gray orb with green light. It was an obvious stand-in for the Death Star. He wiped his vac-suit feet as he entered the outcropping, and prompted Riley to do the same. "We are in a holy place - our every move must be humble. The Force that created us can surely destroy us, here."


Then, the offering bowl. Thinking back to his history courses on the Jedi Temple, he remembered what he could about the Death Star. It was a massive, secretive weapon that wrought untold destruction across the galaxy. Its entire existence was a testament to the cruel alchemy that powered all Darth Side innovation: It was made using slave labor, to subjugate and murder innocent worlds. On Ripley's show, he had also learned the extent of the Death Star's corruption - the massive space station had used tons of the rare Kyber Crystal to fire. He glanced back to the bowl, thought back to his dreams, and looked back at the bleeding world they floated above. Kyber. The power source of the Death Star. It must mean something.

When he built his own saber, he distinctly remembered the Jedi overseer speaking about the nature of Kyber. How it would test the Padawans, challenge them to overcome their fears. How Kyber was a wise and peaceful part of the natural galaxy, imbued with the Force just as the Jedi were. How the Sith would cruelly enslave the crystals, like they had in the Death Star; perverting the peaceful creature-stones into weapons of mayhem and bloodshed. He glanced again to his own saber, and back down to the offering bowl. He knew what had to be done.

"Ripley, know this. I'm either a genius or an idiot. And I'm leaning towards the latter, right now." He called upon the Force as he raised both his hands. His lightsaber, with its a simple, black hilt, rose off of his belt and towards his chest. It ignited there, as it floated, its green light illuminated the bronze offering bowl. The light rose above the bowl, its brilliant emerald glaze cast across the whole room before it was consumed by the maw of darkness that the disappearing roof produced.

He spoke next to no one - or, to the one who he thought could make this right. His lightsaber.

"You have served me greatly, my friend. You alone have been my companion, through all these years. I will miss you greatly."

He cast his arms to either side of his body, and the lightsaber split to its component parts. The black metal pieces, intricately crafted by him as a boy, disassembled, landing at his feet. When the final, igniting piece fell, the green light disappeared, leaving only a floating crystal of Kyber in its place. It hung there, spinning like an ornament dangling from a tree. He got down on both knees and kissed his forehead to the floor. The crystal shortly followed, gently drifting towards the floor.

It landed softly in the bowl. Ker-plink. Xolani did not look up, but he knew it was there. Tears formed on his face.

"Thank you, again, for your service."


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Ripley Virago

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It was clear early on that Xolani and Ripley approached this investigation from two very different points of view. Curiosity had brought them together, but it was likely to tear them apart if they did not compromise with one another. Ripley understood this perfectly, and she also understood that she needed the former Jedi if she were to traverse this floating, listless rock. If she was being perfectly honest with herself, she imagined she needed him more than he needed her.

So when the man insisted that Ripley wipe her feet before stepping food on the outcropping, she did not offer any objection and obliged his request. The Arkanian did not view the Force as this man did, and she was not a zealot as were those who aligned themselves to the Jedi Order.

A historian through and through, she studied and attempted to discover and document history and prove the existence of things often labeled as myth. Nothing more, nothing less. She did not think of herself as disrespectful, merely practical. This might have once been considered a holy place, but now it was an abandoned chuck of earth that held untold secrets.

The unlikely pair lumbered across forsaken rock, each of them as slow and awkward in their EVA suits as the other. A shrine with four large pillars lied ahead. It was completely laid bare with no windows or walls to cover the gaps between the pillars. At the center of the shrine sat a bronze bowl.

"It's an offering bowl," Ripley said aloud, perhaps to herself or perhaps to Xolani as she approached the shrine. The historian had seen a hundred of them in her lifetime, but with no etchings or designs to decorate this bronze bowl was simpler than most. "I wonder if we're supposed to offer something?"

Her mind filtered through one culture after another, calling to memory the varying sacrifices and offerings made throughout the history of the galaxy. It was an informative mind exercise but was not very helpful, as a thousand different options came to mind. Food, incense, oils, gold, people... the list was endless.

Xolani had come to the same conclusion, except with one exception. The former Jedi had already decided upon the offering required and had begun to take the next logical steps.

Ripley watched from beside him as the tearful Jedi parted ways with his lightsaber, the green kyber crystal dropping into the bronze bowl with an audible clink.

It was strange to watch a man so attached to an inanimate object, but the Arkanian supposed this was something she could not understand. To a Jedi, a lightsaber was not just an inanimate object. It was their constant companion and friend, a unique weapon they had crafted with their own hands as a young learner.

The Arkanian had never possessed a talent when it came to comforting others, so she merely placed a hand on the man's arm and offered him a small smile.

An offering now made, the two of them waited with bated breaths to see if anything would happen.
 

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The Force was not a creature that could be reasoned with and it was not a person who had motives or grudges. But it was alive. Sith and Jedi alike would be able to confirm that the Force was alive in a way that regular, Force Blind, peoples of the Galaxy could scarcely comprehend. Members of both Orders of Force Users often didn’t understand it as well as they believed they did either.

What was meant by the Force being alive, typically, was that it had a Will of its own and that could interact and intersect with the Will of those who attempted to use it.

The Force could be with you… or against you.

Neither Xolani or Ripley would be able to say for sure if the Force was with them or not but they would both before to feel a change in the air as the pure, ringing, sound of Xolani’s kyber crystal hitting the bronze began to stretch. The sound would vibrate on and on in a way that didn’t make any sense – neither of them should have been able to hear anything. Between them and the crystal was a void and sound couldn’t travel through the void.

It didn’t – the sound that rang and rang and extended on and on was within their minds, in sync. It would grow louder and louder within their minds, a sound that could not be stropped or blocked with a note so pure that it cut straight through mental defences and patterns until they were seeing white spots in front of them.

A hand reached down in front of them, worn with age and dedication to a manual craft one second, unblemished the next, mechanical after another second, to touch the still vibrating crystal.

The noise within their minds stopped, their vision cleared and they would be able to look up from the hand to see the spectre that had been called forth. A vaguely humanoid shape wrapped in an impossibly dark series of cloaks and wraps, hovering in the air at the kind of height that would imply it was standing – but with no legs or feet to stand on, the cloth ending in ragged scraps.

What had stopped the ringing, the hand, withdrew within the confines of the sleeves. Every time they blinked the hand was different, a different species, a different colour or with different surfaces. Constantly shifting every time they took even an ounce of their concentration away from it, until it was entirely hidden as if it had never existed.

Deafening silence as the collection of cloaks, cloths and scraps seemed to just hang limply in the air before it turned away from them and lazily began to float away from them. As it turned, both of the adventurers would find that they were suddenly no longer in environment suits… and they felt no worse for it, as though there was suddenly an atmosphere they could breathe.

The air they breathed was hot and dry, with the faintest smell of spices lingering upon a breeze that should not be.

Within their minds they felt the words taking shape, not hearing them so much as suddenly knowing that a thought not of their own making was within their minds.

Follow and Know.



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Ripley Virago

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Ripley watched with eyes wide and waiting as the green kyber crystal struck the bronze bowl, shaking it as a ringing filled her ears. Gradually, the bowl fell still but not silent. The ringing did not stop, only growing louder as it pierced the Arkanian's ears. It was not natural. It was not right.

She turned to Xolani, her eyes studying the man's hardened face to see if he could hear it too. Could he, or was it just her? The historian knew she ought to ask him, but she didn't breathe a word. Somehow, she just knew that her words would fall on deaf ears.

Turning back to face the bronze bowl at the center of the shrine, the ringing ceased. In its place stood—or floated—a specter dressed in black cloth that draped across its form. Only its hand was visible, outstretched through a cutting in the cloth. Ripley blinked several times in confusion, each time the hand taking the shape of a different sentient species.

If she hadn't believed in ghosts, she might have run back to the ship right then and there. Nothing about this place was natural, and nothing was as it seemed. One minute there were unnatural sounds, and the next minute there were unnatural sights.

The natural did not interest Ripley, however, and it was the unnatural that she had been hoping to find. It seemed she had found exactly that.

She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing that she no longer wore a vac shoot. Gasping, her hands shot to her mouth, only to discover the very next second that she had no difficulty breathing. There was oxygen here, and the air was warm. Somehow.

Swallowing her fears, the Arkanian took a step forward, her intentions clear. She would follow this creature, and she would know.

"Who are you?" Ripley couldn't keep herself from asking. The more accurate question would have been "What are you?" but it was not wise to offend whatever this was right off the bat. Perhaps it was not wise to speak at all, but she couldn't stop herself.

 

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Xolani pulled his face off the floor to witness the arrival of the supernatural. They were...captivating. Hypnotic. The hand of a being both within time and without it, a being composed of many, perhaps all, forms; shapes within shapes within shapes, and endless puzzle, constantly turning.

Unconsciously, his hand reached out to the being's; he caught himself before touching them, though. He knew that would be a mistake. As he reached out, he saw that his vac-suit gloves had disappeared. He caught himself staring at his own hand, his own skin, exposed to the vacuum. Just as Ripley had, he instinctively covered his mouth - before he caught wind of the warm scent on the breeze.

It reminded him of home. Not his home, on Savareen, or in any of the Jedi temples, but home nonetheless. A preternatural sort of home, a home of the spirit from which all things were created and to which all things return. Or, in a word, the Force. A dizzying sort of wonder took hold of him as he beheld the supernatural around him, feeling as if he was somewhere far beyond his comprehension.


Follow and Know.

In a state of bliss or shock, he opened his mouth to speak as he scrambled to his feet. Ripley took the words right out of his mouth - who was their new guide? He knew better than to expect a straight answer, like a name or introduction, but his curiosity had overtaken him. He tepidly, cautiously took steps behind the pair, leaving the skeleton of his lightsaber on the floor of a shrine that now felt millions of miles away.


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Silence was the answer to begin with as the spectre seemed to ignore the question about it's origins and identity. Instead of answering, it moved further away from the two adventurers, thrusting them to follow it as rock and sand around them began to twist and bend to it's will. Ahead of them, they began to form a pathway that ascended upward before spiraling in a helix pattern. As they would continue along the new pathway, they would find themselves sticking to the path despite it's lack of adherence to either gravity of sense.

Ahead of them, the spectre would lead them ever onward at first in silence before, at length, it decided that it would answer the burning query that Ripley had asked. Both the one she had asked aloud and the one she had practically screamed within her mind as the answer was, predictably, slightly cryptic.

We Are Those Who Suffered And Those Who Could Not Flee.

With that said, the spectre would continue onward without further explanation. Both of the adventurers would begin to note, however, that every step they took seemed to be taking them much further than it had any right to. Whole kilometres of distance were covered in single strides along the impossible path as they grew closer and closer to the destination that the spectre had in mind.

Ahead of them, the pathway leveled out into a platform made of sand and rocks so fine that it appeared to have no chance of actually supporting their weight. But when they placed their feet upon it, they would find it as solid as durasteel beneath their feet. The spectre came to a stop, hovering between the travelers and the planet of Jedha, framed but the bulk of the planet and the edges of the colossal crater that had torn it asunder.

Directly ahead of them they could see the core of the planet. Molten rock in shades of angry red streamed from the core, as though bleeding out slowly into the void of space.

Why Have You Come?


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Ripley Virago

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The unembodied cloak moved steadily onward, the two humans trailing behind it. Without any persuasion, coaxing, or force, this specter had convinced both Xolani and Ripley to follow it into the unknown. Without any knowledge of their destination or the footing of their next step, they followed the specter as if it were their master.

Both of them were transfixed, drawn in by their own curiosity and held there of their own free will. It was their choices that had led them here, and it was their choice to stay. Ripley could not speak for Xolani, but she had no regrets.

Reality bent to this specter's will, and witnessing the sudden and unnatural changes in their surroundings was beyond surreal. Every minute Ripley expected to wake up in her apartment on Coruscant, wrapped beneath her blankets and staring up at the ceiling.

This was nothing like the historian had ever witnessed. Not in holofilms, not even from a force user. And yet somehow... somehow it wasn't a dream. It was reality.

She only looked over her shoulder once, to spare Xolani a glance, but it was impossible to read his thoughts. Was he scared? Excited? Confused? She smiled to herself. Of course he was confused. They both were.

The cloaked specter led them to their destination, stopping before the core of the planet where molten rock as red as blood bled into view. It was bright, and it was captivating, as if the very core of the planet itself was crying out in pain and anguish. Slowly and painfully bleeding to death.

"This planet called to us," Ripley answered, her white eyes darting between the core and the specter, unsure where to stay. "We answered its call. We want to know."

Her answer was, perhaps, as vague as the specter's answers had been cryptic.

 

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Why had he come? He thought he had been called here - because a dream had told him to. Because signs continued to point in this direction. But there was no doubt - some part of him wanted to journey to Jedha, to understand what had happened. Jedha could make sense of the present, he thought; the suffering of the world due to its religious connection to the Light Side mirrored the suffering that he felt, constantly pulling at him through the Force. The suffering that he had wrought to those on Felucia, who wanted little more than safety on their farms. The suffering of those victims of AMS,

Ripley spoke first - explaining their rationale for arriving. The words were still burned in his mind. Come. Come and See.

But what had he come to see?

He looked down on the dying body of Jedha, beautiful and terrible from his impossible vantage point. He almost felt like he could heal it, like a normal wound; that he could reach out with his hands, bandage the asteroids to the soil and seal the flow of magma out of Jedha's core. But Jedha had been dying long before he was even born - it was a supreme act of arrogance to believe that he alone was destined to fix what hundreds of thousands of people before him had fallen victim to. He must remain humble before the Force, he reminded himself.

"We want to learn," he echoed Ripley's own thoughts. "The galaxy cries out in pain. Thousands of worlds, just like here. Starvation, disease, war; all evils have prospered since Jedha was taken." And for thousands of years before then, and, perhaps, thousands of years later. But the Force must have a greater destiny than just suffering, pain, and cruelty; why should the powerful be permitted their vices while the weak are left to be exploited? "I seek understanding, that it may lead to true, lasting peace."

Was it further arrogance to have such expectations? His mind went to the Sith code, taught through years of study and battle against them: Peace is a lie. He did not think the Sith the sole arbiters of truth, but what if there was some wisdom in that statement?

Either way, he had spoken his truth. He now waited for the entity's response.


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She wished to know why it called to them and he wished to understand things greater than the sum of parts assembled before them on the cosmic scale. Together they had ventured forth in a way that few others could ever dream and they had done so to seek More. More knowledge, More understanding and always More. They, like every creature before them to have ever gained sentience, wanted More.

The never-ending quest for More had brought them here and it would be the quest they were held judged against.

You Want More.

But the spectre said no more as it continued to watch as the planet of Jedha continued to slowly bleed from it's core into the uncaring void of space. In place of the spectre, the pair of adventurers would receive an answer from another source, one perhaps even more unexpected than the spectre itself.

"Oh don't mind the spectre - it is needlessly crytic."


From behind them, where once there had been nothing, now sat a man dressed in black and red monk robes. Hands busy whittling a piece of wood with a small metal blade, the monk looked to be a human man of roughly middle age with no otherwise notable features save for his eyes - his eyes were a sea of stars set within his skull. They sparkled as he eyed them briefly before returning his impossible gaze to his work.

Should the adventurers check after being startled by the man, they would find that the spectre had vanished.

"The path that you are on is not one most people wish to experience."
the monk warned them in a somewhat chipper tone, "It will lead you through pain and suffering and loss. Are you sure you want to take those steps? Hmm? Why face these things when you can just go home and live in peace and comfort?"


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Time and space bent around them with each step they took. The Specter, wholly preoccupied with the devastation happening on Jedha, offered more sage thinking. He wondered if this being could only speak in the form of koan, small, intellectually challenging riddles that provoked greater wisdom. Perhaps now was an appropriate time to meditate on the mystery before him - a Spectre who offered few words that spoke volumes.

The Specter spoke truly - he did want more. He wanted answers. He was not content to continue lingering in ignorance, living in blindness; was that, too, arrogance? To demand rationale, reasoning, from the Force itself? As Xolani sat down to meditate on this question, a voice from behind startled him. He flipped around, grabbing for his nonexistent lightsaber, before he regained control of his bearings. A monk, sitting in a chair, in the middle of the great maw of the galaxy. Today was full of surprises.

He chose to sit, cross-legged, across from the monk as he spoke. He looked into those eyes, ancient and terrible and wonderful: dragon eyes. He could get lost in them, in an instant, had the monk not spared the pair his gaze. He considered the monk - a rather cheery sort of eldritch manifestation compared to the previous entity - before speaking. "I must say, this is a quite lively corner of space." Two humans, a specter, and a ghost monk. It was almost a party, if one ignored the doomed world bleeding out behind them.

Xolani glanced at the monk's hands. He shot Ripley a glance, and then followed his gaze back to whittling monk's hands; he hoped to silently communicate his curiosity, what is he making?, before pondering the actual content of the monk's question. To this point, Xolani had been rather selfish, he realized. He had barely considered Ripley's own interests, own sentience, in their decision-making so far; rather, he had scolded her and concealed the true depths of fear he felt here. That, too, had been a selfish decision.

"Ripley, the choice is yours." He nodded towards her. "I am beyond curious as to what we will learn, but I would consider his words carefully. We could always turn back, return home." Easier said than done, when they were obviously at the mercy of this being; hard to 'turn back' when they were sitting in the abyss of space without a space suit on.

For him, though, the answer burned within his mind. Pain, suffering, loss. These things he knew well - they followed him, three buzzards constantly circling above his head. Pain on Savareen, when his family was subjugated by the violent cruelty of Syndicate-led pirates. Suffering in the Jedi Order, where the more he learned to harness his natural Force ability, the more powerless he felt to change the unjust nature of the galaxy that burned while he studied. Loss on Felucia, where he had robbed innocent people of their lives, families of their fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, as he indiscriminately bombed the surface of the world. Countless other examples stood behind these three, the spirits of those long gone and recently taken who plagued his dreams, his mind, at every moment. Even here, he still heard the screams of his tribesmen while their tongues were cut. All he could do was watch.

No, a return home would bring only greater shame and pain. If it were solely his choice, he would endure whatever these spirits had to offer. There was no peace in the world from whence he came, and the little comforts he could take came at the cost of his soul. The path ahead was the only path he could follow.


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Ripley Virago

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You Want More.

This was the specter's summation of the pair, of their desires and their motivation for coming to Jedha in the first place. It was a general declaration, but Ripley could not fault the accuracy of the statement even if it was an over simplification. It was the specter's accusing tone that rubbed the Arkanian the wrong way.

As if it was a crime to be curious? To crave knowledge? To want to know more?

The Arkanian turned toward Xolani, surprised to find him sitting on the ground with his legs crossed. She opened her mouth to speak, but held her tongue. Was this really the best time to be meditating? Surely he could have done that back on the ship or something?

A second voice sounded behind them, calm and even. Ripley spun on her heel, her white eyes studying the red and black robes of the seated man. She exchanged a glance with Xolani, both of them curious as to the design being whittled from wood within the monk's hands.

Or at least, that's what he looked like—a monk. A monk that had appeared out of nowhere and from nothing. Were Xolani and Ripley both experiencing shared delusions? Visions? Or was nothing here subject to the laws of nature and science? Was it all too marvelous for their understanding and their infinite minds to comprehend?

The Arkanian's heart ached at the thought. She hoped not.

Xolani left the choice to her, something that surprised her. Perhaps Jedi—and, more accurately, former Jedi—were actually as unselfish as they made themselves out to be these days. Maybe it wasn't all good PR. Ripley studied Xolani with white eyes, considering his choice in the matter.

From the gleam in his dark brown eyes, she had a feeling that their answer would be the same. He was just as curious as she was, and they had not come all this way just to tuck tail and run at the brink of discovery.

"We're sure," Ripley replied, her tone steady and firm.


 

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In the end both of the adventurers came to the same decision. That they would not see the quest for more knowledge further demonized and denied to them based on the morals of some unknowable thing from beyond the regular Galaxy. The Spectre might have made it's opinions clearer but that didn't matter so much to them as the truth did, so much as what it meant to know what it was that was currently haunting this area of space. Without looking up at them, the monk seemed to be amused by something as he listened.

"Then, I suppose, I shall have to indulge you."
the monk agreed as he pulled himself up to his feet, "To tease people with knowledge and to deny them it is truly a terrible thing. I do hope you'll forgive me - but I expect that you won't."

Reaching up with both hands, the monk held out a hand in front of both of their faces for a few seconds as he seemed to focus on something. Then, without warning, he pressed his thumbs against the middle of their foreheads and all of a sudden he was transferring knowledge directly into their brains not as knowledge but as memories.

Both Ripley and Xolani would feel it as they were torn apart by wind and rocks thrown up by a flash of green in the distance.

They would feel it as their skin, their organs and their bones boiled from the sheer heat the energy gave off when they were closer to it.

As much as they could, they would feel what it was like to exist one moment and, the next, have every physical trace of said existence snuffed out by the

Both adventurers would jerk with the pain and experiences of every man, woman and child who had died on Jedha as a result of the firing of the Death Star laser. Pain in every conceivable way possible as a result of the destruction of Jedha city and the scarring of the very planet itself. Their bodies would fall away from the monk's thumbs, leaving them sprawled on their backs as they had to come to terms with having the True Feeling of having died a hundred thousand different ways all at once.

The monk stared down at them, face impassive, as stars erupted into supernovas within his eyes.

"Stand."


His voice was no more than it had ever been but the note of command was there.

"Stand and know more or stand and run."



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Xolani Mai

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Xolani reeled back, body jerking and twisting and contorting across every conceivable position. He clutched his head, then his chest, then his legs, then his head again, as each experience hit with a different, unrelenting wave of torment. It was unlike the suffering he had endured. Quite unlike it, for he had survived the ordeal. To describe this as agony would be conflating eternal damnation with a timeout; it was pain of an entirely different character. It was, perhaps the pain; a primordial reference point, from which all pain could ever be drawn. The body's reaction to its own demise, its futile attempts to prevent it, begging for its host to find any kind of safety and shelter from the horrid aching.

It kept happening. Too quickly for him to ever see more than the vaguest inklings of lives. One moment, he was a mother, shopping in the market, and only had a brief moment to glimpse the metallic moon's horrid beam before it reduced her to ash. The next, he was the mother's child, gripping on to his mother's blouse in fear as he, too, was pounded to dust by the Death Star's mighty beam. The next, a Stormtrooper, evacuating the inevitable strike on her position - abandoning the Empire's direct orders - in an ultimately pointless effort to survive. In some, he would be close enough that the agony was brief - death came quicker than the body could comprehend. In others, it was slow; skin boiled off by the heat of the laser blast, starvation and exhaustion in the desert, infection caused from fallen debris and broken legs. It united all of these disparate lives, death.

Not gave purpose, but united. In one moment, every living being on Jedha, be they young, old, Imperial, Rebel, was wrapped in Death's mighty gaze. Regardless of the path they had chosen to that moment. Regardless if they deserved their fates. The Death Star had found them, all the same. None would ever know the true cause of their demise; some had inklings, of course, but such curiosities were buried beneath the struggle to survive.

It kept happening. Over and over. Each death, a grain of sand in the desert, and the desert of Jedha was vast, indeed. He could never numb himself to it; each time he died, it was as if he experienced it for the first time. The same fear, hopelessness and pain radiated through each life that the Death Star had taken. Through it all, Jedha. The silent protagonist of the tragedy. Constantly, forever, ripped asunder Opposite Jedha, the Death Star. It loomed above the Holy City, mocking each death. It was as if it was the planet's jailor, tormentor, designed specifically to sentence him to eternal damnation. Did that make Jedha Hell?

When Xolani came to, after a millennia of death claimed him at one moment, he was covered in sweat. His arms, barely returning to his command, moved to Ripley's form. He could not reach her, but he reached out through the Force. He sent little more than his presence; weak and afraid, but beside her nonetheless. As he opened his mind to the Force's embrace, the feeling of the dead once again overwhelmed him. He felt their gaze, their wanting response. They were begging for him to acknowledge them, acknowledge their pain. He mustered his courage to roll over and meet their wanting eyes. Instead of the throngs of the dead, he was met only with Jedha itself, bleeding still into the vastness of space.

Then, the monk spoke. His ears still rang with thousands of deaths, that he could barely make out a word. But he heard one: "Stand."

Xolani opened his mouth to respond, to explain the numbness that had set into his legs, but he choked on his own words before vomiting. On Savareen, it was a sign of a wicked spirit escaping the body. A purifying ritual. His bile fell off the makeshift landing, into the vastness of space. He watched it, briefly, as he reminisced on those lives. On the needless suffering they had endured. They had never even gotten to say goodbye, so quickly were they ripped from Jedha. Such was the Death Star's cruelty.

He tried once more to respond, but when he opened his mouth, only a loud cry emerged. Something past a scream or a yowl, this was the cry of hundreds of thousands who had never had their own chance to do so. Who never would. In their stead, he cried, his voice wobbling before dipping into a full-on sob. Tears flowed down his face, mingling with the snot pooling from his nose and the vomit freshly left from his mouth. He wept.

And yet, he stood.


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Ripley Virago

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As soon as the monk's thumb pressed itself against her forehead, Ripley's eyes rolled to the back of her head. The Arkanian sunk to her knees, no longer able to support her own weight. Invisible forces far more powerful than anything she could have ever imagined pulled her one way and then the next. Her entire body jerked—limbs, torso, and head. There wasn't an inch of her body that was not effected, that did not feel the pangs of death.

Green light flashed across her vision, nearly blinding her, but what came next was worse. Impending doom. The knowledge that this flash of light had sealed her doom and that her fate was to die here on Jedha. One of the countless, nameless souls who had perished at the hands of the Sith Empire. Knowing that she was about to die was almost as bad as dying itself.

No warm embrace awaited her in her final moments, no tender words whispered in her ears by loved ones. No family gathered around her, and no one offered her any comfort. Only pain awaited her.

First, hot and searing. As if some malicious soul had pressed her against the wall and pinned a hot poker to her face. Her skin burned, melting as it peeled away to reveal blood and bone. It was pain of the most imaginable kind, and yet it was only the beginning.

Next, she was falling toward her death. Heat consumed her again, boiling her skin and her very innards. It was inescapable, inexplainable. Scorching, boiling magma consumed her whole, and she was no more.

Rocks exploded, crushing her as she attempted to run. Others trampled over her in desperation. The concussive blast sent her flying into trees, rocks, and earth. Flying debris pierced her torso, and she bled out to death.

Ripley screamed, terrified and tortured. She was in absolute misery, unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her hands pulled on her hair, clinging to each strand for dear life as she fell onto her back, writhing and screaming.

Green light flashed across her vision over and over, and each time it killed her anew. Within the span of a few minutes, she died a thousand different times in thousand different ways.

One moment she was a daughter watching her father die before her eyes, and the very next she was a sister trying to escape the same fate as her siblings. She was a wife, a brother, a father, and a grandmother. The Arkanian who had not a shred of maternal instinct within her wept over the dead baby she clung to so desperately in her last moments.

Ripley wept bitterly, tears stinging her cheeks. Sweat pooled on her forehead. Pain and death had swallowed her whole, and there was no escape. The historian could feel herself slipping away. Would this be the last time she died? Or did more await her? By the moons, she hoped not. How easily she would have given up on her hopes and dreams for the future, just to be released from this torment.

Someone reached out to her, his presence touching her. Weak and afraid, just like herself. Xolani.... Ripley had forgotten he was beside her until that moment. Until that moment, she'd forgotten she even existed.

"Stand."

Tears continued to fall from her eyes, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. The last thing she wanted to do right now was stand, but this was what the monk demanded of her. She wanted to curl up and die right here and now and never feel anything ever again, and yet something deep within her stirred. Some instinctual need for survival or perhaps some imagined higher calling pulled her into a seated position.

By some incredible feat of strength and willpower, Xolani had already risen to his feet. The man's stance was wobbly and weak, but he was standing, nonetheless. Wiping sweat and tears from her face, Ripley scooted closer to him. Grabbing ahold of his arm, she borrowed some of his physical strength and pulled herself up.

Side by side, they stood and faced the monk.


 

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The Monk was unmoved.

His face was a carefully constructed mask of neutrality as he watched them writhe with the pain of a hundred thousand deaths. To the monk, this was what they had asked for. Warnings had been given and they had insisted that they could endure for the sake of knowledge and, so, he was doing exactly what they had requested. They had wanted to know and he was imparting to them the knowledge of the people of Jedha.

They both knew, now, what it was like to have been one of those people now. To have been one of the multitude of sentients who had their entire existence, their pasts and futures, erased in a single attack by an arrogant fool of a man. Casual cruelty the likes of which the Galaxy had known far too often.

And would likely see the like of again and again before the Galaxy finally faded away into the dust it had formed from in millennia to come.

"The knowledge will never leave you - it will lurk within the confines of your minds for as long as you live. Behind every blink of your eye and hidden within every dream you could possibly have."
the Monk told them quietly, "The pain of deaths beyond the understanding of mortals will be your constant companion in this life and the next."

The Monk gestured behind them to the planet.

"Jedha was mortally wounded by the blast from the Death Star but it has lingered, dying, for centuries. It is held together by misery, pain, of those cruelly cut down by the Empire."


A pause.

"You now carry the memories of this pain. You know this pain to your bones and deeper still, even. So I ask you; should the planet endure? Should it cling to this half-life and endure or should it take that final gasp and just die?"



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Ripley Virago

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"The knowledge will never leave you - it will lurk within the confines of your minds for as long as you live. Behind every blink of your eye and hidden within every dream you could possibly have. The pain of deaths beyond the understanding of mortals will be your constant companion in this life and the next."

The Monk's words were life-changing, the memories and experiences he had pressed upon their very souls life-altering. Ripley did not doubt for a second that these visions, these emotions would follow her for the rest of her life. From dawn until dusk, she would live with the knowledge of a thousand deaths. More than the knowledge, even—the very experience itself. They would influence her thought patterns and brain waves, construct her dreams and more likely... her nightmares.

Sleepless nights awaited the Arkanian. Nights spent staring up at the ceiling or curled into a ball, sweat and tears staining her face. A thousand deaths were imprinted and burned into her memory, etched like carvings into stone.

Ripley could have resented the Monk for what he had done, but she couldn't bring herself to. The Monk had warned her, after all. "Are you sure you want to take those steps?" he had asked. Both Xolani and Ripley had come to the same decision. The Arkanian wondered if her companion wished he had made a different choice. As for Ripley... she was unsure.

She did not regret the decision she had made, but she did wonder if it was worth the pain and suffering she had suffered. The pain and suffering she would continue to suffer. Still, she knew that, if given a second chance, she would have made the same choice.

The only comfort, small as it was, was that she would not be alone in this struggle. Her white eyes darted to Xolani at her side. Now able to stand on her own two feet, she released her hold on the man's arm and turned to face the Monk again.

"It should die," Ripley answered, surprised by her own words. "This place.... these people..." She spoke as if they were still alive, but their memories very much were still alive inside of her. "They have suffered enough. After all these years, they deserve to rest in peace. It is time to let go."

Ever the historian, she couldn't believe that this was her response, and yet she felt that it was the only right answer to the question the Monk put before them. After experiencing first hand the tragedies that had torn this rock forcibly from the planet of Jedha, she knew in her heart that it was time for this place to relinquish its hold on these perished souls.

They did not deserve to to suffer for the millennia to come. Rest awaited them.


 
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