On the Trail

[Mr.BossMan]

Calvyn Eltros stood in the cockpit of his ship, Knight Two. This time, unlike so many others, the Jedi was not alone. Deashe Devoter was onboard as well, although Calvyn didn't exactly know where. Unfortunately for Cal the two Jedi Knights were being paired together for a sensitive mission. They were to locate and find two Jedi that went missing in Sith space. Normally Calvyn would do these sorts of things alone but for some reason the Council saw fit to make sure he was not alone this time. He couldn't shake the feeling something was off about this whole thing.

His ships AI, Darvo, came on over the speakers and informed Cal they were nearing Yavin and about to land on the moons surface. He let out a sigh as he began his walk towards the hanger bay. Reaching out through the force Cal found his companions mind: We are almost there, I'll meet you in the hanger he spoke to her telepathically. Cal knew little about the woman and ultimately tried to keep it that way. During their short time together he made a conscious effort to keep his distance from Deashe. In his mind there was little reason to form an emotional bond to someone whom he may never see again after this mission.

As he walked through the kitchen Cal grabbed an apple off of the table. He was a bit hungry because he skipped dinner last night; instead he spent his time honing his Soresu form. Cal knew he was getting better, already better than most others he met, which is why he continued to practice. When he finally reached the hanger he just stood there eating his apple. He knew Deashe was going to be with him soon and for some odd reason Cal checked his appearance. He was dressed like he always was, black Jedi robes, black boots and hood and his black hilted grey lightsaber hung on his belt.

Cal was ready and he stood in the hanger bay, eating his apple, waiting on a woman he didn't want to be here with.

@Oncaro

 

[Oncaro]

It was easy to lose oneself in meditation, in communion with the Force; and, perhaps, that was the entire point. As much as the Force was used as an extension of the power of the Jedi, so too was a Jedi an extension of the Force, blessed to be chosen to wield its incomparable power in order to spread and protect peace and harmony among the Galaxy.

But the Force was polluted now. War, bitterness, hatred, bigotry; all of it served to cloud the Force, and this war against the Sith that had gone on for several years now had taken its toll on the Jedi. The Order as a whole refused to get involved, and thus the Jedi Army, the so-called Army of Light, had been formed in a proactive measure to combat the old enemy. But in so doing, in committing grave sins against the Force and the Jedi way in the process, such as the temple bombing and schism on Tython, and the stripping of the Force from the Dark Lord of the Sith by the Jedi Lord of the Army of Light, these warriors of peace and justice had served only to pollute the Force further, bringing it even further out of harmony.

Deashe Devoter rejected these things. She rejected these atrocities against her way of life, she rejected what she perceived to be the increasing savagery amongst the Jedi Army; she knew full-well and did agree that the Sith absolutely needed to be confronted, needed to be driven back, needed to be vanquished. But would doing so lead to the Jedi falling to the Dark Side in the process, if it hadn't already? No... There had to be another way. A way that would keep the Order and its way of life intact.

Help me, she thought, so deep in her trance; it was a request, the simplest request one could make to the single greatest power in the universe, and one that so many who were sensitive to that power took for granted, no matter who they were aligned with. But Deashe Devoter never took the Force for granted, or at least she did her absolute best not to-- and this was one of those instances, in the sincerity of her plea.

And the Force answered.

Her body lurched in its meditative stance as a piercing wail echoed through the Force and into her consciousness; no, not a wail-- a whimper. How could a mere whimper hold so much strength as to reach her through the Force? What had happened? Who was--?

Deashe opened her eyes, the bright blue orbs wide as she gasped for air, as if waking suddenly from a night terror. In less than an instant the answer had come, and she had no idea why it had done so.

Kira.

A woman Dea had not seen in years, but whom she remembered clearly from their numerous sparring matches, and study sessions in the Archives; admittedly, Dea had spent more time in the Archives than most, while Kira had been made a Padawan earlier than her, and over time the two had drifted apart. Having been in a self-imposed exile from the Order for the past four years-- was it four, or five? Dea could not tell anymore-- she had only learned of Kira's fall to the Dark Side and the atrocities she committed after the fact, as well as Vosrik Tanari's own blasphemy against the Force when he stripped her of her connection to it. Dea had wanted nothing more than to reach out to her former friend, to connect with her, to help her break free of the durasteel grip of the Darkness.

And now she would never get that chance. Kira Elan-- that was who she was, and had always been, to Dea-- was dead. She wasn't sure how she knew it, but she did. And she closed her eyes again, shunting her grief over this away, to another part of her mind; or at least, she tried. Now was not the time for grief, she knew. Through this, the obvious question did not come up: Why had she felt that?

Blinking, Dea looked around at the small room that she had claimed on this ship, the Knight Two, and things clicked into place.

The recent memories came back to her, about her assignment on this covert mission with Calvin Eltros: a Knight she had never really interacted with before but, based on her impression of him-- aloof, cold, calculating, a man who put up barriers around himself in the worst way-- she thought it likely that she had been assigned not simply as his partner, but as... a handler? No, that wasn't the right word; a helper. She was good at helping.

His telepathic message entered her mind, and Dea did not respond; her own mind was a jumble of confusion right now, which she was trying her best to straighten out. She needed to be focused for this. And so she stood, straightening her robes, and took a deep breath before striding out to meet the younger Knight, making her face impassive as she moved to the hangar bay.

"Calvin," she said, her tone as gentle and pleasant as always. "We're taking a grave risk, coming here. But if we can find our comrades, and bring them home safely, it will all be worth it."

@Mr.BossMan