"You thrum with the cloying scent of the Darkside, Arctus."
"He's not his father's son."
"You will either need to learn to handle it, hide it, or you will find yourself more and more danger."
"Some traveling robed man... a Jedi? Who knows!"
"More tragedy."
"No wonder her husband hated the kid."
"It can be a powerful tool however, if you know what to do with it. My friend."
The alarm blared loudly within the corners of his quarters, but it wasn't the reason that Arctus had been jolted awake. His breathing came out harsh and ragged, sweat making his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin. The last vestiges of his dreams, his nightmares, echoed in his mind still, the voices from the past and the present mingling and turning into a feeling he was intimately familiar with – something he wished he could just rip out of his chest so he could finally be rid of it.
But pain, sometimes, could be a good thing. A reminder that he was still alive, no matter how cruel and unnecessary it could be. And as much as he hated the recent revelation he had received about being a Force-sensitive – kark it all to high hell – Arctus was thrust in a position to deal with it, to live with something he didn't want to carry.
He pulled himself off of his bed with a loud groan – for once devoid of a woman's company. After that fateful meeting with Coven, the smuggler wanted to be alone. Visiting his family on Corellia had been too brief and too tense for his liking, the urge to ask his mother if the rumors he heard from his childood were all true rearing all their ugly heads. Was Dad right to hate him for not being a legitimate son? Was Arctus her son from another man, a wandering Jedi? Was his Dad's abuse justified? Did Arctus deserve the old man's hatred?
Did his confirmed Force-sensitivity the proof to all the gossips?
He stared at his reflection in the mirror when he reached the refresher. Maker, he looked like shit – and to be fair, he hadn't even been drinking yet. Arctus usually hit the bottle when he's particularly troubled, but for once he deemed it wise to skip on the alcohol and deal with his current dilemma like a proper man. He had given himself the self-appointed task to search for a Jedi who would be willing to teach him about the Force, after all. He couldn't just go out looking positively shit-faced while searching for space monks who could possibly beat him six ways to Sunday for being the irreverent bastard he was sure he would be under the influence of alcohol.
He needed to do this sober, Arctus reminded himself. He needed to be presentable. Vanity might be something he usually weaponized but he knew that being charming won't get him anywhere. Not this time. If he was to search for a Jedi, he needed to be honest with them and, by extension, himself.
The Dark Side had whispered at him back in Malastare. It even seduced him into believing and hanging on to Coven's words in Corellia, no matter how in denial he had initially been. And to live up to his own words that he left the Sith with, he wanted nothing of it. Wanted nothing of the power and freedom the Dark Side of the Force could give him. He wouldn't have any of it, if all it could even offer him was pain and destruction and death. The day he accepted it would be the day he broke the hearts of his family, severe the camaraderie he wished to forge with Mal and Ulysses, and spit on the helmet of the Mandalorian who saved his life two years ago.
He might have been inching ever closer within the Dark Side's grip because of his own vulnerability, but Arctus was determined not to fall prey to its clutches. It was for that reason that he needed a Jedi.
He needed the Light to keep the Darkness at bay.
No, hissed the Dark Side of the Force, a storm of negative emotions and hurtful words in his mind. Weakling, unworthy, you would dare defy this irresistible power that dances on the tips of your fingers? Pathetic, pathetic!
Yes, comforted the Light, kindness and comfort warming him with that single word.
A Jedi. I need to find one.
And Arctus was determined not to fail in this self-appointed task.
—·—
His quest had led him to Onderon.
Perhaps it was not a very smart move to follow his own instincts – the Force, he corrected himself for the nth time – when searching for a Jedi, but it was something he had always relied on for the majority of his life. It hadn't grievously failed him so far, so what's the harm in trusting it for this task?
Arctus though it best to stay away from urban areas, opting to land the Cyar'ika on the edge of a jungle forest instead. Dressed in a blue long-sleeved shirt, a pair of one of his decent-looking pants, and black combat boots, the smuggler stepped on the planet with a hopeful look on his face. He was armed, as usual, with his trusty pair of DL-18 Blaster Pistols, once again forgoing his favored blaster rifle and leaving it in the ship's weapons locker. His vibroknife was missing as well. For him to search for a Jedi so armed felt like he was walking into a disaster, so the pistols would have to do. Hey, he had to look out for himself, too.
The smuggler looked around, wondering what he should do next. He wasn't really familiar with how the Force worked... could he send a signal, a sign through the Force that he was here? If so, how?
"Didn't the Jedi meditate or something?" he muttered to himself, suddenly feeling silly that he had relied on nothing but his intuition instead of searching for information about the Jedi on the holonets like any person with a working brain cell would do. But the damage had already been done, and Arctus couldn't exactly berate himself for his mistake.
He had learned the hard way that it only made the dark, angry voices in his head to scream louder, to revel in his self-loathing.
Shrugging, Arctus found a decent spot in the middle of the clearing. He sat on the grass, slowly, trying to connect with the life surrounding him. The smuggler closed his eyes in concentration, hoping, willing, for anyone touched so strongly by the Light to come and save him from the Darkness that was steadily swallowing him whole.
Please find me. Find me and help me, please. For kriff's sakes just– I need your help.
@Killa Ree
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