Teran Atrix
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Jun 14, 2019
- Messages
- 134
- Reaction score
- 56
Tython was a world that radiated with the energies of the Force. Generations of Jedi had lived and died here, but the tethers of the Force linked them all together. Somehow when he walked here it felt as if thousands of Jedi eyes peered at him from beyond the veil of the Force, and it was reassuring. He represented more than just himself these days, and if that was the case it was nice to have someone at his back.
He'd always imagined that if he ever came here it would be a glowing place Light. Like a pure white canvas that the Force wrote on that was connected to the rest of the galaxy, but the reality had been different. Black tar had been spewed on the canvas: the remnants of the battle fought here. The lives of the Sith that had been lost in the battle had been added to the eyes of the Jedi that watched him, and the taint could be felt by those who were attuned.
Teran hiked through the beautiful trees, boulders, and streams of the world until he came upon the first scene of battle. His hand ran along the scorch marks burned into the tree from a blaster. Shattered pieces of armor that hadn't been cleaned up in the aftermath still littered the ground. The young Knight bent down and picked it up, focusing on what had happened.
Teran's eyes opened again. His breathing was quick and his heart was racing. He knew that what he saw likely wasn't what it really felt like to die, but the feeling was shaky every time. The woman had been an Alliance soldier, and her end had been a violent one. Like so many others who had fought to defend or re-take Tython.
He stood and placed the armor shred against the tree. I hope the Force greeted you with open arms, he said quietly. There wasn't another soul out here and no one who would hear him. He had wanted to get away from the war and the politics. First it had been Tython, then the war declaration, and then Jedha's convention. He was going to meet with Leandros and he might soon end up like the woman in the meadow.
And what had he accomplished, really? He'd left his parents on Taris and hadn't been back since he'd left. Calling on the hololink wasn't the same, and he knew his mother missed him dearly. He had left the clinic to affect change in the entire galaxy, but he'd done nothing. Saving a few people here and there was something he could have done in medicine, but the Jedi had barely altered anything. Was it all just a mistake? Should he just go back and return to his old life?
He shook the thought from his head and pressed on through the battlefield. A cold wind caused him to pull his jacket collar up further, and the darkness of the Force here sent an unrelated chill down his spine. It reminded him of the same chill he'd felt when he faced down the Sith Lord Kados. The battle had been quick: a simple exchange of blows, but it had had a lasting impact on him. Day and night he'd tried to reason through his decision to allow the man to walk away. Killing in cold blood didn't seem like the Jedi way, but the more he had thought about it, the more he questioned that simple assertion. Killing wasn't the path to the Dark Side, it was the motivations associated with it.
Hate. Anger. Fear. These were the emotions that stained the minds of the Sith. These were the things that led to the Dark Side, but Teran hadn't experienced any of those. Would taking the life of an enemy who would go on killing such a travesty? Wrestling with the thought had cost him sleep, but he ultimately settled on an answer: no, it wasn't.
He regretted not killing the Sith Lord when he'd had the chance. If he could redo it, he wouldn't have made the same decision. Next time he wouldn't hesitate. The galaxy couldn't afford the Jedi to hesitate anymore.
He continued to climb near the stream, relaxing at the sound of the running water. It wasn't much longer before he reached a small plateau. It seemed this area had escaped the battle, and his eyes moved slowly over the beauty. Trees rose up from the far side, but along the course that the stream ran there was nothing to obstruct the view. A small valley with more scattered trees.
It was only when you looked closer that you started to see the errors in the landscape. A patch of trees that had been torn down and uprooted by a crashing fighter. Explosions and fire that had left patches of scorched earth. Signs of battle lay hidden within the otherwise beautiful canvas. The entire galaxy had been suffering under war for a decade, and the results had gouged the people and their homes.
There can't be any more half-measures or compromise, he said. He needed to be something more if he wanted to make a difference. There wasn't room for not being committed. It was time to either run forward at full speed or turn aside completely.
And that brought him to the Mandalorians.
The thought made him sigh heavily, and he unslung the backpack he'd been carrying. He'd talked to Hugo, and he'd read about the history, but he needed something more. He needed the Force and its input. He needed clarity of mind. He needed meditation.
But he was a warrior and he couldn't sit still. Meditation in motion was a technique he'd read in the Jedi tomes, and he'd latched onto it quickly. He grabbed three remotes and tossed them into the air. Repulsor technology did the rest, and in short order they were surrounding him on every side. He called the hilt to his hand and took a step out toward the center of the plateau.
The remotes followed.
He thumbed the switch to activate his blade, and the familiar hissing and the weight in his palm were a comfort. The first shot came in, and he batted it aside with ease. Another came, and another. Faster and faster the shots came in until Teran wasn't even thinking about avoiding them anymore. He moved so fast he was almost a blur and each movement was like the flowing stream. He drew on this world's strong connection to the galaxy, and by extension, the Force.
Even as his body moved, adeptly blocking and deflecting gunfire, his mind was far afield. He thought about the history of this war. What had and hadn't been done. The Mandalorians had been fighting the Sith and driving them back at every battle, and it made Teran wonder if they weren't the best path for him to take.
The Knight wanted to end this war. Whatever the cost, the galaxy needed to know peace again. The Jedi had something to offer that the Mandalorians would never have. They could track and destroy not just Sith, but the Dark Side itself. Artifacts, teachings, writings, cultists, Sith... it made no difference. They could find it better than any Mandalorian.
But what would that cost? This was the question that plagued his soul. The Mandalorians were dark in many ways. They fought for glory and honor, but their lust for vengeance and retribution was unmatched on such a grand scale. Their means weren't those of a Jedi, but perhaps that was what was necessary. Could the Jedi participate in that? Or at the least stand by and condone what was done? Did they have a choice? Could they ask others to go out and fight battles that they shied or cowered away from? That was a shame that Teran couldn't endure. He couldn't send someone else to fight his battle.
Come what may, he thought as a new determination came over him. They - no, he - was out of choices. The war against the Sith needed finishing, and he could help finish it, but first he needed to survive the next trial. A meeting with the Mand'alor himself.
The day ticked by, and Teran didn't even notice. When the training droids finally gave up their power supply and lowered to the ground, the sun was nearly down and Teran was drenched in sweat. Exhaustion gnawed at every muscle, but his mind hadn't felt clearer in years. He knew what he needed to do, and what he needed to become to make it happen.
He'd always imagined that if he ever came here it would be a glowing place Light. Like a pure white canvas that the Force wrote on that was connected to the rest of the galaxy, but the reality had been different. Black tar had been spewed on the canvas: the remnants of the battle fought here. The lives of the Sith that had been lost in the battle had been added to the eyes of the Jedi that watched him, and the taint could be felt by those who were attuned.
Teran hiked through the beautiful trees, boulders, and streams of the world until he came upon the first scene of battle. His hand ran along the scorch marks burned into the tree from a blaster. Shattered pieces of armor that hadn't been cleaned up in the aftermath still littered the ground. The young Knight bent down and picked it up, focusing on what had happened.
Heavy breathing. Spikes of adrenaline. Fear. An enemy. A blaster rose and the trigger was pulled. Miss. Then there was pain. Sensational burning and blood that poured freely from the wound. Slumped against the tree, she felt faint. The edges of her vision blurred. Every breath came with pain. Then there was darkness.
Teran's eyes opened again. His breathing was quick and his heart was racing. He knew that what he saw likely wasn't what it really felt like to die, but the feeling was shaky every time. The woman had been an Alliance soldier, and her end had been a violent one. Like so many others who had fought to defend or re-take Tython.
He stood and placed the armor shred against the tree. I hope the Force greeted you with open arms, he said quietly. There wasn't another soul out here and no one who would hear him. He had wanted to get away from the war and the politics. First it had been Tython, then the war declaration, and then Jedha's convention. He was going to meet with Leandros and he might soon end up like the woman in the meadow.
And what had he accomplished, really? He'd left his parents on Taris and hadn't been back since he'd left. Calling on the hololink wasn't the same, and he knew his mother missed him dearly. He had left the clinic to affect change in the entire galaxy, but he'd done nothing. Saving a few people here and there was something he could have done in medicine, but the Jedi had barely altered anything. Was it all just a mistake? Should he just go back and return to his old life?
He shook the thought from his head and pressed on through the battlefield. A cold wind caused him to pull his jacket collar up further, and the darkness of the Force here sent an unrelated chill down his spine. It reminded him of the same chill he'd felt when he faced down the Sith Lord Kados. The battle had been quick: a simple exchange of blows, but it had had a lasting impact on him. Day and night he'd tried to reason through his decision to allow the man to walk away. Killing in cold blood didn't seem like the Jedi way, but the more he had thought about it, the more he questioned that simple assertion. Killing wasn't the path to the Dark Side, it was the motivations associated with it.
Hate. Anger. Fear. These were the emotions that stained the minds of the Sith. These were the things that led to the Dark Side, but Teran hadn't experienced any of those. Would taking the life of an enemy who would go on killing such a travesty? Wrestling with the thought had cost him sleep, but he ultimately settled on an answer: no, it wasn't.
He regretted not killing the Sith Lord when he'd had the chance. If he could redo it, he wouldn't have made the same decision. Next time he wouldn't hesitate. The galaxy couldn't afford the Jedi to hesitate anymore.
He continued to climb near the stream, relaxing at the sound of the running water. It wasn't much longer before he reached a small plateau. It seemed this area had escaped the battle, and his eyes moved slowly over the beauty. Trees rose up from the far side, but along the course that the stream ran there was nothing to obstruct the view. A small valley with more scattered trees.
It was only when you looked closer that you started to see the errors in the landscape. A patch of trees that had been torn down and uprooted by a crashing fighter. Explosions and fire that had left patches of scorched earth. Signs of battle lay hidden within the otherwise beautiful canvas. The entire galaxy had been suffering under war for a decade, and the results had gouged the people and their homes.
There can't be any more half-measures or compromise, he said. He needed to be something more if he wanted to make a difference. There wasn't room for not being committed. It was time to either run forward at full speed or turn aside completely.
And that brought him to the Mandalorians.
The thought made him sigh heavily, and he unslung the backpack he'd been carrying. He'd talked to Hugo, and he'd read about the history, but he needed something more. He needed the Force and its input. He needed clarity of mind. He needed meditation.
But he was a warrior and he couldn't sit still. Meditation in motion was a technique he'd read in the Jedi tomes, and he'd latched onto it quickly. He grabbed three remotes and tossed them into the air. Repulsor technology did the rest, and in short order they were surrounding him on every side. He called the hilt to his hand and took a step out toward the center of the plateau.
The remotes followed.
He thumbed the switch to activate his blade, and the familiar hissing and the weight in his palm were a comfort. The first shot came in, and he batted it aside with ease. Another came, and another. Faster and faster the shots came in until Teran wasn't even thinking about avoiding them anymore. He moved so fast he was almost a blur and each movement was like the flowing stream. He drew on this world's strong connection to the galaxy, and by extension, the Force.
Even as his body moved, adeptly blocking and deflecting gunfire, his mind was far afield. He thought about the history of this war. What had and hadn't been done. The Mandalorians had been fighting the Sith and driving them back at every battle, and it made Teran wonder if they weren't the best path for him to take.
The Knight wanted to end this war. Whatever the cost, the galaxy needed to know peace again. The Jedi had something to offer that the Mandalorians would never have. They could track and destroy not just Sith, but the Dark Side itself. Artifacts, teachings, writings, cultists, Sith... it made no difference. They could find it better than any Mandalorian.
But what would that cost? This was the question that plagued his soul. The Mandalorians were dark in many ways. They fought for glory and honor, but their lust for vengeance and retribution was unmatched on such a grand scale. Their means weren't those of a Jedi, but perhaps that was what was necessary. Could the Jedi participate in that? Or at the least stand by and condone what was done? Did they have a choice? Could they ask others to go out and fight battles that they shied or cowered away from? That was a shame that Teran couldn't endure. He couldn't send someone else to fight his battle.
Come what may, he thought as a new determination came over him. They - no, he - was out of choices. The war against the Sith needed finishing, and he could help finish it, but first he needed to survive the next trial. A meeting with the Mand'alor himself.
The day ticked by, and Teran didn't even notice. When the training droids finally gave up their power supply and lowered to the ground, the sun was nearly down and Teran was drenched in sweat. Exhaustion gnawed at every muscle, but his mind hadn't felt clearer in years. He knew what he needed to do, and what he needed to become to make it happen.