Crix Dolan (TL8)
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2018
- Messages
- 207
- Reaction score
- 115
The Assessment
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The Jedi crossed the mesa following the call until he came to a valley swimming in the force. His emerald eyes scanned the area searching for Arda and the source of the force's undulation, but all he found was a peculiar rock formation and twelve steps leading to an empty flat surface.
Crix frowned continuing to search the area, but the only other beings around were the dokma and krykna. The two seemed to exist in harmony, the predator and prey aspects seemingly wiped away from their normal prominence. The pull of the force led him down the steps and to the flat empty surface. The pull culminated in this spot and not knowing what else to do he settled down on his knees and closed his eyes meditating on the force.
The past revealed itself as an unwanted guest and Crix tried to push the memories from his mind, but found they wouldn't be denied. Pale white hands with fingers outstretched in spiderlike tension illuminated with evil purple light as electricity erupted from the fingertips. The image transitioned as the scream of a small voice filled the darkness, his eyes snapped open and he was in the cockpit of The Highwind Leah was sitting in the co-pilots chair and the lightsaber she'd taken from the sith in the hold called out to him.
The Darkside was at war with the light. Turmoil still resided within and Crix watched as he struggled to resist the temptation. Next, he was on his knees, the crystal from that lightsaber rested in his palm and he channeled the lightside of the force into it. It had taken weeks, but he'd managed to restore the crystals attunement to the lightside of the force. This lesson had been his final test, and the image wavered placing him on Jedah. Sickly green light emanated from a ceremonial pyre. Crix stood alongside his comrades and ignited his pure white blade.
The images began to replay with greater frequency and intensity. His chest burned, the ruined flesh seeming to writhe in agony as he consistently chose the light. Like any oily inkblot, it clung to him refusing to be banished. The tendrils of the scar wriggled and flexed attempting to garner deeper purchase as if to further embed itself into his being.
Crix's eyes snapped open, he was covered in sweat, his chest burned, and he suddenly felt a presence that was both intimately familiar and alien at the same time. Tentatively he looked up from his kneeling position and gazed into the face of this supernatural entity.
@GABA @Nefieslab
Crix frowned continuing to search the area, but the only other beings around were the dokma and krykna. The two seemed to exist in harmony, the predator and prey aspects seemingly wiped away from their normal prominence. The pull of the force led him down the steps and to the flat empty surface. The pull culminated in this spot and not knowing what else to do he settled down on his knees and closed his eyes meditating on the force.
The past revealed itself as an unwanted guest and Crix tried to push the memories from his mind, but found they wouldn't be denied. Pale white hands with fingers outstretched in spiderlike tension illuminated with evil purple light as electricity erupted from the fingertips. The image transitioned as the scream of a small voice filled the darkness, his eyes snapped open and he was in the cockpit of The Highwind Leah was sitting in the co-pilots chair and the lightsaber she'd taken from the sith in the hold called out to him.
The Darkside was at war with the light. Turmoil still resided within and Crix watched as he struggled to resist the temptation. Next, he was on his knees, the crystal from that lightsaber rested in his palm and he channeled the lightside of the force into it. It had taken weeks, but he'd managed to restore the crystals attunement to the lightside of the force. This lesson had been his final test, and the image wavered placing him on Jedah. Sickly green light emanated from a ceremonial pyre. Crix stood alongside his comrades and ignited his pure white blade.
The images began to replay with greater frequency and intensity. His chest burned, the ruined flesh seeming to writhe in agony as he consistently chose the light. Like any oily inkblot, it clung to him refusing to be banished. The tendrils of the scar wriggled and flexed attempting to garner deeper purchase as if to further embed itself into his being.
Crix's eyes snapped open, he was covered in sweat, his chest burned, and he suddenly felt a presence that was both intimately familiar and alien at the same time. Tentatively he looked up from his kneeling position and gazed into the face of this supernatural entity.
@GABA @Nefieslab