In Desperate Times

[Dark child]

Many things are incapable of change. Since the dawn of their order, from the very moment their perversion of the force was conceived, the Sith have sought one thing above all else - Power. To strip others of free will and force them to beg to continue living on in pitiful servitude. Blood pooled at the feet of the Sith of old, and the new still continue to this day to slit the throats of those who refuse to bow, an endless river which the galaxy will slowly begin to suffocate in. Pulled beneath the crimson surface and into the darkness below. The world denies that this is true, it hides such things away, makes people believe that such terrors can be battled by the light, but the blackness exists in all who have the ability to make their own choices. Free will is nothing more than a promise that the evils of the past will always return, disguised in the name of peace and order.

Beneath his grey cloak, Xanthier's armor was stifling, it's weight, it's protection, the pieces of metal no longer felt like a comfort but rather a burden reminding him that he had only ever been good at one thing- Surviving. Noon had came and went and now the sun hung low in the afternoon sky, casting long shadows from the oblong shaped buildings on either side of the street which rose up several stories above Xanthier's head. In the street itself, many passers by gently brushed against the cloaked man's body as he wove through the crowds, something which, along with the heat, had began to aggravate him. Foreign languages from the many creatures engaged in conversation and trade deals filled his ears, various grunts, squeaks, and clicks, the meaning of which were lost to him, their words incomprehensible.

Shoving himself past a kel dor who let out a disgruntled breath through his respirator Xanthier was finally nearing his destination. The shipyards lay just ahead. Freighters which towered high above the already imposing buildings of the port town were now in his sights. The docks were full of crates, barrels, pelts, live animals in cages, and of course people of every race size and shape carting all these things on and off the ships. Xanthier only cared about one of the behemoth sized ships however, The Break of Day a Tayana Class frigate who would soon be setting coarse to deliver food rations to Imperials stationed just beyond the front lines of the war. Without the much needed food supplies, Imperial troops pushing a forward offensive from the Sith occupied Outer Rim would begin to starve until other supplies could be sent. Something that could easily turn the tide for any rebels and Jedi fighting the constant threat. Though the supplies themselves were insignificant and destroying them would only amount to a small thorn in the side of the raging Empire, Xanthier was willing to do just about anything to ensure that the Imperials would suffer starvation just as he had in years past while on the run from their troops.

As he watched the final crates become loaded into the hull of The Break of Day Xanthier felt relief wash over him, or at least as much as relief possibly set in within his troubled mind.

Somewhere in that cargo was enough rigged explosives to tear the ship in half, and it appeared that, in their haste to leave, none of the crates had been checked. A smile formed on Xanthier's pale lips. This would be the last voyage of the frigate. The satisfaction of putting the craft and it's crew to and early grave in the cold clutches of space would soon be his. Preoccupied in thought, his fingers subconsciously drifted to the detonator affixed to his belt, brushing against the hilt of his lightsaber as he did so.

Time began to pass, every minute that lapsed began to make him nervous. Soon, nearly a half hour had gone by, yet the cargo bay doors still remained open. All the relief that he had felt had now shifted to worry. The ship should have left by now. Taking a furtive glance towards the bar behind him, Xanthier began to stress that he had lingered in the same spot for too long, that others would grow suspicious, but this was not the case, in the crowded port city he did not stick out much and when he did turn around he did not see any eyes trained on him. Dismissing the foolish thoughts of being watched, Xanthier returned his attention to the freighter once more, and with great dismay discovered why the take off had been postponed for so long.

A line of travelers had formed outside of the cargo doors. The freighter was taking passengers who could not afford more luxurious transport. Xanthier's ever watchful grey eyes gazed on in frustration as the settlers began boarding the ship. This would take some time. Time that the crew could use to do an inventory check and discover that something was very off with their cargo.

The young dark haired man had seen nothing when he turned around, and was now too preoccupied by the events unfolding at the ship, but someone had been watching all along. Xanthier perceived himself to be undetictible, and to the naked eye this was true. His aura though, the very thing which defined him, was clear as a cloudless night. A horrible darkness dwelled within Xanthier, something which any nearby force user could detect. This, along with his conflicted emotions, spelled trouble. Those walking around him had much purer, lighter force signatures- something that Xanthier himself was incapable of seeing. His connection to the darkside was nothing more then fueled rage, rage which blinded him to many other aspects of the force such as sense.

Had he a better grip on the force, he would have been able to tell that the sensation of paranoia which had gripped him just moments ago was very real. A Jedi had sensed the wretched and dark aura flowing off his body and had found it very suspicious indeed.

Unbeknownst to Xanthier, that Jedi was on his way towards him at this very moment.

@Sangga​

 

[Sangga]

The Force flows through, and links all of us. We know it is there, it does not care , whether we know...
​

Provisions. Food, water, some items to maintain the Temple. This had been a simple mission, a Padawan could've been sent. However, it was Jak'po's task, time, like the Force had flowed to make it so. The journey passed uneventfully, a calm on the ship seemed to emanate from the Knight as he meditated. As they came into land he rose to join the Captain. "I shall contact the superintendent of the dock, when we land and see about our supplies." As the door lowered , the cooling air of an evening washed in. Any observer would hardly note the Jedi, he moved effortlessly through a packed in crowd. His smaller than average from sidestepping the less agile before anything came to a head, or were noted.

The superintendent was easy enough to find, and a group of droids stepped, rolled, or hovered away to commence loading. A humble bow was given, and a nod was returned to the dock official. There would be sometime, before the ship was loaded, and as he paced back Jak'po watched as all manner of races crossed his path. He let his perception of the world transfer to an open state, one that was observant of the Force. Such a myriad of ripples, flows and shaking tension. The effects of the War were seen here, the noise of life was not just sound. Slowly, he edged to the side of the street and then leaped up onto a fire-escape, a small augment from the force allowed him to grab the ladder.

After the ascent, he found himself on a rooftop. Here he chose to sit and look as the last of the sunset died. The air cooling much quicker, he closed his eyes and meditated once more. The rippling effects from below not so obvious from here. It was like watching a flock of small waterbirds, if you focused you could find an individual. The skill was following them, and keeping track. Slowly, he focused. Some individuals were so loud, such anger or joy resonated with the Force. He let the felt the Force flow through him, but as if something tugged a string he felt something. Such conflict, such hatred, such concern, and... darkness!

He shot up and running to the fire escape, descending as fast as he could; without the use of the Force. Darting through side alleys, he made his way to the dockside, where he had sensed the troubled, dark individual. Before he came out from the alleyway, he reached out to allow the Force to show him the individual once more. So much closer, it was like picking out a flower on a bush. He could sense something else, something like... expectation. He dropped to his knees, and began to focus on the flow of the Force, where was it going? What threads were moving where, where did this go? Pain, suffering... that was what this troubled one sought.

He looped around, and found himself looking at the cloaked youth from down the alleyway. He stepped out, softly at first to get a little closer. "You know, inflicting pain, will not quell the thirst of that which is in you?" He was still regaining some focus, after foreseeing what lay ahead in the boy's life. But, a conversation might give him sometime, it all depended on what happened next. He wanted to know how the Force led these two to meet here, on this world. What did it have in store?

@Dark child

​

 

[Dark child]

Itching for the release that always seemed to follow after taking Imperial lives, Xanthier could hardly bear to watch the freighter be loaded. The pace at which the new passengers were escorted unto the ship was painfully slow. Settlers and merchants loaded down with all the meager supplies and wares, families with small children dawdling behind their parents like a disorganized gaggle of geese, and vagabonds who could barely afford the price of transport had brought the line to a standstill. Nothing was going smoothly.

Xanthier's fingers trailed up and down the cold metal hilt of the saber tucked into it's holster on his belt. A nervous twitch which had developed many years ago, but did little to calm his brooding thoughts. How easy it would be to just trigger it now. One simple code, one button to press and it would all be over. No proof of his involvement would be discovered after the resulting fireball. The ships next to The Break of Day , and the surrounding docks would be engulfed in the flames.

The heavy casualties, while slightly troubling, did not bother Xanthier nearly as much as the possible chance of being discovered by Mandalorian authorities. True, he would have nothing on him that they could link back to the explosion if he deposed of the detonator properly, but all traffic out of the city would undoubtedly be stopped after the event. His actions on Sundari nearly half a decade ago had forever labeled him a danger to Mandalore, something that had undoubtedly placed him on their black list. Xanthier's Oceanspray was fast, but not nearly as fast as some of the fighters the Dominion had at their disposal. If they could catch him before he could jump to hyperspace...

So he waited. Until the heat of the afternoon gave way to a calm breeze in the early evening, one which was pleasant, and brought with it colder air and the smell of food cooking in food carts in the city streets to the north.

Xanthier enjoyed none of the new sensations. So absorbed in thought, he did not notice the old bothan come up behind him at all. Jak'po's words, when it finally did dawn on the darksider that they were indeed meant for him, took Xanthier by surprise.

Who had spoken? What kind of stranger had the prowess and audacity to sneak up behind him?
Thought the dark haired man, who's arrogance had grown so much in past years that his former self would not even recognize these thoughts to be his own.
The old Xanthier was a coward. A frail weak animal that he believed had died after a Conclave assassin had nearly taken his life. Better, stronger, more rational, more refined, Xanthier believed he had perfected himself in almost every way. This was not completely true.

The cloaked figure, which had been leaning on the railing of the stairs leading down to the docks now quickly turned his attention to the bothan who had spoken to him, grey cloak folding and shifting with his movements as he did so.

"And if I told you that it would would that be the end of this conversation?"

Replied Xanthier in a snappy tone, one which made it very clear that he did not have time for whatever religion the monk wished to preach to him. For, after looking Jak'po up and down from beneath his hood, Xanthier had come reached the conclusion that he was nothing more than a holy man. He had to be. These streets were full of devout practitioners forcing the word of their gods into the minds of any that were willing to listen. The bothan, who's height only reached the very bottom of Xanther's chin, did not register as a threat at all...​

 

[Sangga]

The Bothan's eyes widened, then his gaze tumbled to the right a few inches and down. Such aggression, and antagonism, the Force stormed around this individual. It was rare that Jak'po entered conversation, but the youth seemed to be in such a state of flux; emotionally, and within the Force. He found himself compelled to continue and find out more. The 'noise' was almost unbearable, he began to wince. "Hrnngh, that is yet to be seen. The Force flows constantly, we could part now... or the conversation could continue. Any number of things could happen, so that is not the question you should be asking." His focus still built higher, the conversation was not helping. If he could get the youth to say a little more than one sentence. So he had to distract, redirect the attention of the youth.

Another cursory glance of the individual was enough, especially if he was seen to do so. He crouched onto his haunches with his back against the wall. The reddish brown robe's outer cloak pooled around him on the floor. He could feel the Force pooling around him once more. He looked to the ships, such vessels, they could travel the stars and help so many find their way. Yet they could all get brought down by one individual. "They stall, you stall. You lose control... you wish to have control, and power. Power over them, over those that wronged you, over me..." he let his right hand drift to his lap as his left fluttered around gesticulating as he continued. "... at least that is what the flow has shown, your past is like a wake... so messy, so turbulent... all of ours are... life is messy..." he did not look directly at the youth, but never let them leave his sight. He began to regain focus and became susceptible to the flow once more.

 

[Dark child]

Far off in the distance, a ship's docking horn bellowed, audible over the low hum of the crowds in the streets. Xanthier paid it no mind, his eyes glancing over the bothan's face from beneath his hood, the unmistakable taint of the dark side present within his irises, but in the fading light of the evening, their glow could not be distinguished.

The holy man perplexed Xanthier, both in words and appearance, the monk unnerved him. Jakpo's brown eyes had a softness to them, kindness beyond doubt. Xanthier wished to chalk up all that the elderly man had said to ignorant preaching, something the holy man told everyone he spoke to, but the bothan's words were too specific, and suspicion, perhaps even the slightest pang of fear settled within Xanthier. Like all members of his race, the holy man's features were both feline and rodent-like, tougher to read, different from that of a human's, who's deception much easier to detect. Every little twitch, mannerism, every habit, told a being's story, one which was usually far more truthful than the words they spoke. Xanthier relied on this basic instinct to judge those around him, without it he felt blind. The darksider trusted none, and feared the unknown. The world wished him dead for his actions, and it had nearly succeeded on several occasions. The unknown haunted him because it was always there, a weakness that could not be improved upon, circumstances that could not be prevented.

As if the monk had sensed his uneasiness, Jakpo leaned against the wall, nonchalantly slumping down, the monk seemed to almost meditate as passers by walked past the two of them, their feet a steady rhythm against the smooth stones of the street and down the steps. His eyes did not meet Xanthier's, and this too calmed the darksider. Xanthier listened intently as the monk finished speaking.

"I don't need power. I don't need-"
Uncertainty crawled it's way into Xanthier's mind. The worst feeling of all for someone who was so sure of himself- doubt.

Taking life. Killing. It made him feel in control. It took away the uncertainty, the fear. He was no longer the property of the Empire when he cut Imperials in two with his blade, no longer an animal in a cage. In those moments of taking life he controlled his destiny and the destiny of others. The Sith wanted to build an Empire, he wanted to tear it down along with everything else. Controlling life and death, that was true power, and the truth was, Xanthier needed that power very much.

Xanthier paused, his tone was far more neutral than it had been, not threatening at all anymore. It was inquisitive.

"Everyone needs power in one way or another. Tell me you're not guilty of wanting something. How can you see all this?"
The black haired man stood rigid beneath the cloak, his muscles still tense. The monk knew more then he should about the past.

​

 

[Sangga]

The steps on the path thudded their chaotic rhythm, but even in that chaos the flowof the Force was strong. Peoples lives intertwined in such a small space. He looked around the troubled youth, the hesitant warrior. Unlike the tales of those corrupted, restraint was there. Therefore a mind was there, a fine mind. This was a problem, it might be too fine. Many an idiot has fallen to become aware of the stupidity. Those that were gifted, that have then fallen... they had to fall soundly, and convincingly.

The uncertainty was an oppurtunity, the redirection of attention was that oppurtunity widening. Now they could talk. "I am but a humble traveller, on a journey following that which we all follow... knowing or otherwise." He let his left hand rest on his chest. "I want to know why it picked me. Why I see things others choose to hide." He shrugged, and for the first time looked up into the young male's eyes. The Bothan's golden eyes, with slit pupiils gazed almost through the male. With his focus fully on the human, and his effect on the Flow. It was like several overlays spreadout from the lad. Some showed the saber, some showed him walking away. Some showed Jakpo his own death, some showed the terrible explosion. "I can show you, if you want... we'll need to move... somewhere away from the noise."

Jakpo rose and began walking away from the dockside, the overlays did not stop. The explosion had not disappeared from possibilities. He turned to look back to the male. He had to give some incentive for the lad. "It can help you against the ranks, hordes, and individuals arrayed against you. It requires a great deal of skill. Are up to the task? Do you want that which intrigues you so?" He saw the Legion, the Sith, he felt Xanthier's pain; more precisely the echo... resonant damage within. He did not hide his affinity at this point. Now was the time to build trust.

 

[Dark child]

The seconds ticked by. Each one passing more quickly than the last
Just like Xanthier's heartbeat.

How could he know?

The question repeated itself endlessly in the back of the youth's mind. Xanthier searched the bothan's eyes for answers but could not bear to look into them for more than a passing moment, feeling as though even in the insignificant amount of time that the two beings had connected, he had betrayed himself. The uneasiness grew and multiplied within. How is it that this...this thing that called itself a traveler knew of him. How could it see through all that he was so easily? Those eyes, which shimmered with kindness were so foreign, so distant from what the youth was used to, their gaze became more unsettling than any Sith's ever could be. Behind their kindness and warmth there had to be something else. Alone, they meant nothing, but coupled with the bothan's words they chilled Xanthier to the bone. The monk knew about him, of his past, what he sought, it was all there, coming from the monk's mouth. Xanthier watched as the elderly bothan's whiskers moved, dark lips forming sentences which Xanthier deemed to be the truth but had no way of knowing if the old man was deceiving him.

What if the monk was not reading him at all, but instead had his information?
What if, at this very moment, authorities were on their way to take the darksider down and this priest was merely a distraction. Xanthier's eyes searched the crowd for anything out of place, but anyone could be a bounty hunter, an agent, an assassin. He needed to move. Away from here. Away from the possibility. Away from the monk and his stories that were too true to be a coincidence.

"No."
Was the only response uttered from Xanthier's lips.

He tried to conceal his nervousness, his voice now lower and gruff, as if he did not have time to listen to the traveler any longer, but behind the dismissive and even offended undertones, something else remained- Fear.

"My destiny, my journey, whatever you and yours call it, cannot wait."

Xanthier leaned down, tempted to grab the elderly man by the throat, but decided against it. His eyes now met Jakpo's as he spoke. What was there to fear if the bothan already knew...

"If I were you, I would find a temple and pray."
While it wasn't a direct threat, malice could still be detected in Xanthier's voice. He then rose back up and dusted off the bottom of his cloak before taking his first steps into the crowd. Time was no longer on his side, and now risks would have to be taken...
​

 

[Sangga]

Some of the ripples in the flow disappeared as time went on. Now this intriguing individual was actively choosing to forgoe the Path. He saw the deaths, he saw the anger. Images that were now being recalled from their first sighting. "No?" The fear, it loomed behind this humanoid. Fear of nearly all, including him. With his final utterance, Jakpo had to act. He recalled his Master, the times they had gone in search for those that were going to do wrong, had done wrong. When the Order and the Army were separate, co-operative entities. "I am here for my temple, it isn't too far from here... only on Jedha."

"Your destiny flows like a stream..." he spaced out his legs in a solid stance, his focus returning to the here and now, the ripples fading; his vision becoming clearer. "... if a rock falls into it, the stream will be diverted..." he pulled out his saber, ignighting it, and settling into the opening Soresu stance. "... but all streams will reach their final conclusion. All will reach the same end." His warm, 'grin' and friendly gaze had not fallen. "I cannot let you succeed, I will help you around the boulder." The deep orange blade hum, nothing fancy. A standard saber, with a clean, and focused blade.

 

[Dark child]

Jedha

Within Xanthier's consciousness, memories stirred. Frosty hair, and eyes pure and blue, eyes that blended together into vastly different individuals, of different faces. Their lips had all spoken the same word. The name of the place the monk had just told him he hailed from. Jedha, home of the Jedi. In Xanthier's mind the pieces finally clicked.

Jakpo continued speaking even as Xanthier put two and two together, turning around in the crowd to face the monk once more. Even before the peaceful elderly man reached into his robes calmly to remove the cylindrical metal object, Xanthier knew what it was. The darksider dreaded the violence he knew would ensue, not because he thought the Jedi to be capable of defeating him, but rather that he could not afford to be slowed down now. He had come so far, through obstacles other men could not bear to overcome, and now he would not be stopped by some Jedi who believed that peace was the only course of action.

The orange blade flickered to life in Xanthier's eyes. A fire of purity, light, and simplicity.
The owner of the orange flame assumed a stance of utter stillness. The orange blade of the lightsaber was now a rock upon which any amount of force would break against and be rendered useless.

Through it all, the Jedi's calm demeanor remained. The Bothan's confidence was undeniable, Xanthier could see it on his face, hear it in his voice. More was there however, because in the bothan's brown eyes Xanthier could see something different. That of hope, and perhaps even the slightest hint of pleading. Pleading that the youth should give up this fight, everything he had sought to achieve, and take up a different path, away from the grief.

So too did Xanthier reach beneath his grey cloak. So too did his fingers clasp the piece of metal, and so too did he display it in front of the Jedi.

But it was not his lightsaber.

In Xanthier's hand, he now held a sphere, a sphere of meaningless metal packed with explosives. A thermal detonator.

Xanthier rubbed his thumb across the smooth polished metal surface, seeing his reflection there.

"Then you have made yourself a bolder in my path."

Were the only words Xanthier spoke as he twisted the grenade's outer shell, igniting the primer. In just seconds from now the grenade would explode.
Xanthier drew his hand back, and then hurled the explosive device into the air to his right, where it would land in a crowded cross street.

The Jedi had one of two choices. The distance between them was too great to stop both circumstances from occurring. The Knight would have to choose between stopping the deaths of many innocents in the cross street, or charging Xanthier directly to run him through with the orange blade and prevent any future damage. Kill the source of the danger, or save the lives of those who do not truly matter.

Xanthier shoved an ithorian out of the way as he began to turn on his heals to run. Everything was happening so quickly.

As the grenade traveled through the air, Xanthier fumbled, nearly tripping over himself as he tried to run through the heavily crowded streets. Many people tried to flee the scene, but they simply weren't fast enough to get out of his way. Heart racing his hand began reaching for his saber, but he knew that he would not be fast enough to draw it should the Jedi decide to forgo saving the people in the street to stop him instead.



​

 

[Sangga]

His outstretched palm swung over his head and then behind to shoot forward at the the orb, a pulse of Force shot forth and sent it high into the air. Higher and higher still, its radius far from ships and public citizens. His gaze saw the male tumble through the crowd, and with that the Bothan was on the hunt. Heading in the direction of the fleeing Bomber, he extinguished the sabre and focused on the target; the adrenaline of a pursuit returned like something from a distant memory. His sense sharpened, he was young again, and then he only had to reach out slightly to grab an idea of where this troubled youth was. A bright beacon of emotion and confusion. His smaller form, and dextrous form gained on the gap that had been made. Closing in he brought his focus back into the here and now. He yelled out, hoping to phase his target. "We all move as the Force wills us. If I must be the boulder, so be it... but I will not stop your course in the Flow. I will undoubtedly change its course, an I hope it is for the better." He made a lunge to get out in the wake of him. "Why cause such violence? What will it acheive, other than pain... for you and for those you may harm."

His hand was outstretched before him, running as much as Xanthier would. But that would be insufficient, he needed to act, so he reached out to pull his leg out from under him. His outstretched hand clenched into a fistand he yanked back. His momentum lowered as his upper body drew back,with his lightsaber ignighting once more.

 

[Dark child]

Flecks of ash and sintered metal rained down unto the city street below, remnants of the grenade. Scattered in the wind, they were all but harmless as they touched down unto the skin of those who were still below. Though few, several chunks of the superheated metal, landed on the shade canopies of several street vendors, burning holes in the thin fabric. One unlucky toydarian cried out as a chunk of the metal landed on his wing, causing him to spill the boiling hot pot of stew he had been in the middle of creating before the event had taken place.

The grey cloak, which had helped conceal Xanthier's presence, now hindered him. It's wide hood billowed up in the wind as he ran, soon, it was blown back unto his shoulders completely, revealing locks of greasy black hair. Disheveled and chaotic, Xanthier's hair was a testament to the life he had lived. His reluctance to let go of the past, to change, to better himself and become more than the animal which the Sith had shaped up into. Wild and free, the mane of dark hair was unsettling to behold by most who did not know him, immediately leading others to believe he was not of sound mind.

The boots of the darksider pounded across the cobblestone street. Forward momentum building along with every footfall, along with the desire to escape the Jedi.

He believed he was past it, beyond the careless ferocity he had demonstrated in youth, but Xanthier was still motivated by primal instincts.
To Fear those that would harm you.
To Kill those that would do so before they had the chance.
To Dominate those who were weak and guide them against those who oppose your survival.

These beliefs resemble those of a Sith's, and although he had not realized it, Xanthier was drawing ever nearer to becoming the embodiment of all he despised.

Face now exposed, Xanthier's hands gripped at the grey fabric, tempted to tear off and remove the cloak completely, continuing to run as fast as his legs would allow. Feet battering the pavement as he rounded yet another corner. Up ahead, the crowd thickened. He looked behind him to see that the Jedi was in fact gaining on him. The bothan's powerful legs built like those of a predator, it would only be a matter of time before the crowd slowed him down enough for the monk to close in. Jakpo felt closer than ever as he called out, demanding that Xanthier listen to reason.

Letting go of the bindings that held the cloak in place, the youth channeled his frustration, the necessity to escape the threat. His hands began to outstretch towards the crowd and-

Xanthier lurched forward, the world around him blurring as his face connected with cobblestone, his body continuing to slide, pulled down by the Jedi's use of the force on his legs. The sound of his armor could be heard scraping across the hard stones, and the youth came to a complete stop against something softer, something that in turn also gave way to the darksiders momentum, and toppled over unto the unforgiving ground.

Behind him, a saber crackled into being. A sound which had relentlessly followed the creature known as Xanthier throughout his life. No peace existed for him. No rest. The color of the saber did not matter. They were all foes in the end.

"You ask me why Jedi?"
Xanthier's teeth clenched, and he winced. Blood dripped unto the ground from his lip. His hand made it's way to his side, and he felt the cold metal hilt of his saber against his palm. His voice sounded wet as he spoke, blood still pooling within his mouth, a few drops dripping unto the cloak.

Beside him, lay a small foot, with an equally small sandal.

Xanthier reached over, and grasped the ankle of the child, who had been slower than the rest of the fleeing crowd.

Both mud and dust from the street shifted off of the darksider's cloak as he stood up, grasping the body of the street urchin in one hand, and his saber hilt in the other.

"Why not ask yourself."
Said Xanthier spitefully.

"What is a life worth to you? How many would you kill to save this innocence?!"
Xanthier shook the poor unconscious boy, causing the child's hair to jiggle.

"No actions could ever redeem me enough for you to choose me over this!"

"How many of you are there!??"
Xanthier demanded, shoving the hilt of the saber against the boy's unconscious body. One click of a button would be all that was needed to kill the poor unknowing little soul.
"Who else is following me!"
Xanthier sounded deranged. Trapped. Knowing full well that the authorities could arrive at any minute put him on edge, and he desperately needed to escape the Jedi before that could happen.


​

 

[Sangga]

It was worth everything, and simply it was worth nothing. If the child was to die, it was the Will of the Force. This was the truest mantra that the wizened Bothan had lived a long life by. The accusatory tone caused a slight wince to Jakpo's muzzle. "You are right in this moment." Jakpo extinguished his sabre, placing it on his belt, the youth had stopped. He took half a pace diagonally forward. "No action would redeem you. Exactly nothing. You need to stop what you think you should do as a threat. If you did nothing right now, you would be redeemed in my eyes." The Jedi held a warding hand, he dare not take another pace closer.

"One, me, I was here to pick up supplies for Jedha. The Force guided me to you, I saw you. I saw the conflict within you." He shrugged at the last question. "Not even I can see that. Who have you wronged? Who have you not reconciled with, other than yourself?" He lowered his hands, open palms toward the youth. He reached out to the Force, honed his centre, and entered his meditative stance.

 

[Dark child]

How could he?

How could he just turn his back on the Jedi? The bothan's voice was soothing, but was it not a lie? How easy it would be to let the boy go, to let the Jedi's calm wash over him. To forgo all violence and let serenity return to both his heart and the city...

In that moment, Xanthier paused, gripping the cold metal hilt of his saber tighter in his right hand, hilt pressed against the ragged tunic of the urchin, ruffling the worn fabric beneath it. It felt nothing, recognized nothing, except the threat that stood before him.

Beneath the glove of his left hand, the boy began to stir. Tiny muscles set into motion as consciousness slowly returned to the being held steadfast in his grip.

Blood pumped faster and the urchin's heartbeat quickened, Xanthier could feel it rising, a steady pulse through the tiny jugular beneath his glove.

He could not run with the boy in his arms...
He could not flee without letting go of the hostage, and Jakpo knew this. The Jedi had forced his hand. Xanthier simply could not trust the bothan enough to turn his back and run. Jakpo had to be dealt with.

"Reconciliation? Forgiveness? They would rather see my head removed!"
Xanthier threw the boy. Grabbing him by his shirt and flinging him towards the Jedi, where he would land on the hard stones close to the bothan's feet if the Knight did not intervene.

It should not have been a surprise to the Jedi that Xanthier reacted as he did. Troubling perhaps, and sad, but the nature of the dark side is difficult to escape. Corruption is a slow and deadly poison. The seeds of doubt and fear take root within, burying trust and faith beneath a growing canopy of lies and worry. Insecurities flourish, manifesting into actions. Beneath the canopy all that was once bright withers and dies and in that cold landscape all who enter are the enemy. Years of growth cannot be cut away in a single instant.

Xanthier was not blind to the purpose of his creation. Who he was had never been clear until he found out about the Jedi. The nature of their conflict. Their endless battle. Dark against the light. All he was, all he had ever been, was a weapon. His torment under the hands of the Empire was brought about by the resistance of the light. Because people like the bothan would not back down, and for this, he loathed them.


Xanthier snarled, his stark white teeth contrasting with his dark lips as the boy fell towards the ground. His hand, now free to do as it pleased, yanked at the cords which held the grey cloak in place, ripping it off as he kicked off with his right foot, beginning to charge towards the bothan. His saber crackled to life in his right hand, it's red blade hummed, reflecting in the tarnished durasteel chestplate of his armor. Fury boiled inside him. No sooner than had he let go of the cords which held the cloak, he outstretched his left hand and tilted his body as he rushed forward, willing the surge of emotion to pass through his arm, all five fingers pointed outwards as he directed the bolt of lightning towards Jakpo.




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[Sangga]

"Reconciliation? Forgiveness? They would rather see my head removed!"

Jakpo said nothing, he focused and saw that nearly all of the options given to this angered soul were beginning to show the intent. As his focus faded, he could see the boy discarded in a myriad of ways, and an attack of sheer anger coming to him. "Your feelings blind you, and if you think this of the Order... than you are completely blind to reason... if you are unable to see the lack of hatred I have for you... and th want to not fight, then rest assured I will have to defend myself." No sooner had he finsihed and the child was used as a weapon. Jakpo was tired, using his perception had weakened his resolve. So he would have to rely on his other talents. Leaping forward, and turning as his first foot landed he shunted the child into the crowd. They may hurt, the child might get bumped, it was better than landing on the hard ground. He continued the turn, using the placement of the other foot to turn quickly, the retraction and replacing of his second foot caused him to face the angered youth with a firm stance. The flash of light and wave of anger had him reach for his saber. He only had time to invert it and ignite before he was forced back by the kinetic wave of the lightning. His stance broke and he had to move. Those behind him had some time to scatter but as he rotated around, moving his saber around him to keep it facing the shocker. He heard the screams of innocence, this confrontation had cost too much already, many ha been harmed, some may now be dead... but so many had not died, and would not die.

As the youth barreled towards him, he adopted his opening stance; something he had not been able to acheived in the opening of this bout. His saber was pointing toward the opponent, his off hand out before him. The saber before his face, his weight on his right and back foot.

 

[Dark child]

How blind he had become. What truth did he serve? Where was the clarity which the darksider had once held? His rage had consumed him. His promise to both himself and his dear friend Priest had been broken the very moment he had activated the grenade back in the square. But then again his entire plan had been a betrayal of everything that the Mandalorian had taught him. Perhaps, in a way, planting the bombs within the hull of The Break of Day had been one last final act against his missing friend. As if spitting in the face of his former confidant, Xathier had deliberately chosen a Mandalorian port. Beneath his other motives, a last desperate act to free himself from the compassion and kindness which Priest had taught him. For what good was the Mandalorian? When Xanthier had needed him most he had vanished. Xanthier was not selfless, but he had risked his life to save Priest. He had devoted years of his life to tracking the Mandalorian's whereabouts, he had bleed and suffered every step of the way, and now, Xanthier felt abandoned.

As the bolt of electricity arched through the air, it reflected in Xanthier's grey eyes and the feral snarl which his features bore.

For a brief moment, he felt glee as the Jedi was forced back by the blow, but as the Jakpo inverted his blade, Xanthier saw the crackling energy move towards the fleeing crowd, the single bolt of lightning becoming many as the electricity searched for the quickest path towards the ground through several bodies. Xanthier heard them cry out in pain, and even as he rushed towards the Jedi with all his might, his expression wavered. His lips lowered, no longer a vicious snarl but instead flat and devoid of emotion. He was supposed to end pain, not bring it.

The darksider had tortured many Sith before, and relished it too, but it was all for a cause, a purpose. He had never made them suffer for longer than needed.

As he closed the final steps between himself and the Jedi, Xanthier's focus was not directly on his opponent. His eyes looked through Jakpo towards the still twitching bodies which lay on the ground behind him. Their clothes smoked, as did fabric from the glove which covered Xanthier's fingers, but it's trail of smoke was quickly put out as he ran.

Xanthier's no longer smoldering left hand clasped on to the one which grasped the hilt of his saber, and with all the might he could muster he drew both of the hands back towards his left side and brought them forward in a single powerful strike intended to collide with the blade of the Jedi, and cause it to veer violently towards Jokpo's own face.

Xanthier did not wish to end the Jedi, but he felt the need to hinder him enough to escape, and against a skilled opponent like the bothan, Xanthier had to use everything available to him.

The youth had so much he wished to say, but surrender was not an option, and in this moment, Xanthier had chosen violence to speak for him. He wished for the Jedi to understand, and in many ways Jakpo did. Watching the civilian's bodies writhe on the ground in agony filled him with a somber sadness. How disappointed Priest would be if he witnessed such a horrible act? Where was the betterment for all in these quarrels? This was not an end to the Empire's torment, it was only further chaos.

A large part of Xanthier told him that the Jedi had caused this. That none of this would have happened if Jakpo would have backed off at the very beginning, but somewhere within him, a splinter had broken off, and it blamed himself for all the wrongs committed here. Both of these feelings added to his hatred, the only difference was he could no longer tell who he loathed any more, or why he had to fight, he just wanted to release all the emotion pent up within...

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