Cruelty of Love: Repentance (Marcus)

[imported_Terran Starek]

Three days after the confrontation. . . (http://www.swforums.net/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=30792)



The shadows had grown since last he remembered. The streets, usually covered in a silverish-gold light, looked darker than ever. He'd usually appreciated the nights of Coruscant, strolling for hours away from the temple. There was always a small hustle and bustle, but within it lie a deeper, prideful quiet. A quiet he appreciated. A quiet left unsaid. Tonight, he felt no quiet.

It had rained all day, and his damp cloak stuck to him like a wet paper bag. Huddled in an alleyway, he leaned against a trash can. He had no money--he'd never had much, and after three days of buying special medicine and food, he had none. A large, dirty duffle bag accompanyed him, but that was about all. The mud that splattered it was as brown as the mud on his cheeks, the only part of his face not shadowed by his hood. His mouth, though barely seen, was shaped tightly and firmly. It had been wired shut--a very old method used by the few medicinal facilities that had no money or staff for bacta. The wires tasted like copper--though they were 'sterile--and they rubbed the inside of his lips raw.

He was alone.

A Jedi, he'd been taught, was never alone. Always there was a greater energy with him--the Force. He felt it not. It was as though it had forasken him. Carrying a small injector device full of pain medication, he scoffed at it. Normally, he would have been able to concentrate. To meditate. To ease his pain with the Force. Not anymore, he thought. Just as the voice inside of him had said, the Force was gone. The pain of being alone returned, and he became as hollow as the shadows around him.

His breathing picked up as a memory was replayed in his mind. It had been replayed more times than he could count now, like a commercial on the holo that would not go away. He saw Sejah. He saw his saber--felt the pain in his jaw. He saw the eyes of a friend, a comrade, a fellow student, go blank. He felt the life drained from his body. He felt. . .he felt. . .

Shame.

Tears sprung forth as his mouth quivered. It was time to cry again--something he'd done more times than he could remember in the last few days. A painful cry, one with snot and burning-hot, salty eyes. The tears fell as he heard thunder in the distance. Trash rustled around him as the wind stirred--bringing a cold chill to his bones. Once he had appreciated the breeze. Now he hated it. He drew his cloak in, hugging it tightly around him as he began an audible cry again. Why? Why did this happen? Why Xazor? He could trust her the most--more than any living being in the whole galaxy. Still, she had forsaken him. She'd caused all this. He groaned in pain and anger at her.

But the chilling fact still remained: he was the one who killed Sejah. He was the one who sent the mongoose over. He was the one who delivered the death blow and harmed a friend more than he ever imagined to do. He was at fault, and the blood of his friend that remained on his hands was darker than the night itself.

A bum walked by, staring at him. He stared back from beneath the shadows of his head. It was a cold stare, his eyes lifeless. He hated himself, he hated the world, he hated the Force. Why did he ever buy into this lie in the first place?

Burrying his head into his arms, Terran Starek, Jedi Padawan, sobbed.

[Marcus Telcontar]

He had spent the better part of two days tracking Terran Starek. Sejah Haversh's life hung in the balance.... but it was not what drove him on. Trouble between Jedi didn't ordinarily trouble him. But this.... his Padawan had attacked one whom he regarded as another learner and a good friend. There was no way that Terran was goignt o get away with this.

trackign someone through a city like coruscant was nothing like tracking someone on the plain or forest. There was no footprints, no broken grass... no clear scents. It was so easy for someone to leave no appreciable trail, to disappear into the cess pit of beings that was Coruscant. You could disappear forever into the Undergorund and no one could ever find you.

That is, if you were hunted by an ordinary being. Very rare Bounty Hunters knew how to do it. Those from his home on Arnor called Rangers, they could do it. Marcus Elessar, a Jedi of almost unique power, bent down and brushed the dry concrete, his weather beaten and lined face crinkled into a frown of concentration. He knew how to do it, he could alomost feel the places Terran had stepped. He could almost see and trace the path in his mind, seeing what had occured in this spot a hour ago, when Terran passed.

Some called it a hidden sight, or a sixth sense. Marcus knew it was The Force, the power that bound the Galaxy together, that spoke to him in these times that he tracked someone.

There's nowhere to hide he thought, standing up. It appeared Terran's flight had slowed - he was gaining. With quiet self assurance, he began to stride out, walking calmly and without real pace. He had time on his side. Terran was going to answer to him - soon, very soon indeed.

[imported_Terran Starek]

OOC: Please pardon the late response--very long and busy weekend. :)

IC:


A glimpse of something, a breath on his neck, a few fleeting footsteps--as though it was in his imagination, Terran caught a whiff of the Force. He hadn't felt it too close to him since he'd left, but something stirred his senses. His head popped up, a few locks of wet hair falling down over his forehead. His eyes were wild--it had finally hit him. He new exactly what he was feeling.

There's nowhere to hide. . .

He sprang to his feet, the weight of his soaked garments dragging him down worse than the burden of his foolish actions. Still, he had to make haste. He knew what was happening. Quickly, he gathered his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. They were coming for him--not just The Order, but someone very specific. A presence he knew very well.

Marcus Elessar.

His Master. His Mentor. Like the father he never had since he was stolen from such a young age, Master Elessar had guided and directed him for over a year now at the Order. Surely, The Council had decided to send someone close to him. Someone who knew him well. Someone--

Who could trick you by luring you close and then kill you for your crimes! A voice from inside--a whispering, reptilian voice--advised. Terran flinched at this propsect, but found no reason not to believe it. He was an outcast, a murderer, a traitor. It had come upon him more quickly than he could've imagined, but the truth remained. He could not stay here--it was not safe.

Quickly, he descended a small fire escape ladder. At the top of the building, his feet took flight as he searched for the next building top to leap to.

[Marcus Telcontar]

Close. He was close, he could sense it. Keeping the same relentless pace, he continued to stride, now and then feeling a ghost of a memory, a feeling. A hint of cloth, a flash of a face. It was the insights that gave him certainty that he was on the right track.

He was up high now, crossing a building top. His hand touched a fire escape

a hand touched the metal. A hint of fear, a sudden quickening of pace.

Frell. Terran had picked up he was being tailed. Damn, that boy had some good skills to be able to pick up that. Marcus lept down, boots crunching into some loose gravel as he too picked up the pace. Now it was time for a race and to run Terran down.

[imported_Terran Starek]

The ground disappeared and then grew large again as his feet took flight.

Terran was not known for his physical prowess--no, he never had been. He'd always been a thinker and feeler. He was known for his empathy, his compassion, and his wisdom for only being a padawan. His skills with a weapon, his strength, and his overall fighting prowess were not things that one considered to be Terran's strong points. Still, he was a Jedi, and anyone who was chosen to be trained in the specific arts of the Jedi Knights had a certain level of competence predetermined by the mentors and trainers of the academy.

Another powerful jump as he soared from the top of a building to another. He had very, very little time. He could not outrun his Master, there was simply no way possible. His Master was known for his physical dominance. Chances were, if he reached Terran in time, he would be aprehended and cut down with little effort. Marcus was an amazing warrior, few Masters could even oppose him. It was no secret and it was action that Terran had witnessed.

He reached a third building type before he nearly shook with fear. Emerging onto the a few buildings back, a dark, cloaked figure scaled the ladder, making his way onto the roof. It was Marcus. . .it was Marcus!!

"No," Terran uttered the words with little volume but with positive definition. He was scared--nearly too scared to act. But in his current state, his body fed off of fear. Immediately, he did something very stupid. The next jump would be too far for him to make. Still, his desparate need to flee gripped him, and he found himself launched from the edge of his current resting place. He was 3 meters or more from reaching the ledge.

The air zipped by him as he was in full free fall. Turning and twisting, he tried to gain his bearings. He had an idea--he could ignite his saber to slow his fall. He'd seen it before. A Jedi would jam the blade into the duracrete support of the building and his momentum would be slowed.

Frell! He didn't have his weapon!! How stupid could he have been!! Just as he scolded himself, he felt it. A piece of rubble--an old pole which most likely held some type of flag or other protrusion--cought on his robe. The material stretched but held strong. Just long enough for him to spin around the shaft (which was painfully dizzying) and grip it with his hands. There he hung, right underneath a ledge. If he could just free his robe, he could make his way up onto the ledge.

For the moment, however, he hung, catching his breath and his senses. He was tired and sore. Still roughly 50 meters from the ground, he knew he had little chance to survive a fall. Hopefully, he could hold on.

CREAK

You're kidding me! The pole bent a bit as he saw the supports beginning to give. He didn't have much time now. . .

[Marcus Telcontar]

The chase lead to one final leap.... and tailing Starek, he could see he wasn't going to make it. Marcus came to a stop on the edge, grimly watching the fall, without pity on his hard edged face. He saw the flukeish grap on the pole and the halt of the fall, under a ledge, many meters below.

Unlike the Padawan, that was no real problem to leap for him. He cast himself off the ledge, cloak whipping in the wind as he fell, speed adjusted by The Force. His boots hit the ledge, his weight making the ledge creak again. There might have been a cry of surprise, shock and desperation from the Padawan. Maybe. Marcus wasn't in the mood to listen to that.

He leaned a bit over the edge.

"That's a rather long way down, don't you think? The Dark Side isn't going to save you here Starek. You see down there? That's the truth the Dark Side only can offer - death. Certain death. Not power, not revenge. Nothing but death. Is that what you want?"

[imported_Terran Starek]

The Darkside? Terran's voice echoed questioningly in Marcus' mind. He could barely talk with his jaw in such condition, so he resorted to telepathy instead. He was good at it, and it wasn't hard for him at all. No. . .it's not. . it's not. . . He trailed off, his eyes confused as he hung precariously onto the pole. Then it hit him harder than ever.

The Dark Side was upon him.

He'd felt infinite, endless emotion in the past week. Since Xazor had admitted the truth. Since he saw she and Dasquian together. Since his visit with Navaria. Since Sejah and he--Sejah. Sejah. One of his best friends, dead by his own hands. What he had so blindly ignored and so foolishly failed to realize was that it was the Dark Side. It lingered in his every move. Without the level-head that he had been trained by his Master to carry, he was a perfect candidate for its intrusion.

Shame fell upon him. Not a devastating emotion but rather a disgusted conclusion. He was a fool. He had been so ignorant, and as the facts caught up to him, he realized that everything was entirely his fault. It was all a product of his inability to control emotions that he once had controlled well. Sure, events had come to pass that weren't exactly to his favor. But he had forsaken his training--forsaken the mentoring he recieved from Marcus--and followed the path of the selfish. He was truly ashamed.

Master, I. . . Tears began in his eyes. He was pathetic, hanging on to the ledge before a man whom he considered as close as a father. He had half a mind to drop and save the rest of the Order the burden of his presence. But he knew it was a foolish thought. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. It was easy to tell that emotion was taking over within him.

I let everything get to me. I let go of reason. I. . . He wondered if Marcus knew about Sejah. Surely he did. Surely. I did that to Sejah out of confusion. I didn't mean to, I didn't. He's dead because of me. I know that I am guilty of this crime, and I will surely and willingly pay the price for my foolishness. I've. . .I've felt so alone in the past week. I'm sorry, Master. I've failed everyone.

[Marcus Telcontar]

"Sejah isn't dead. He is wounded critically, but he will most likely live"

He looked over the edge, unconcerned. It was rather a long way down.

"And how do I know your words will be true? Have I not told you a person is defined by their actions, not their words? So what are you goign to do to prove yourself?"

[imported_Terran Starek]

A wave of relief washed over him at the news that Sejah was alive. Alive! Terran breathed a heavy sigh of pure emotion as he heard that his friend--if not his best--would be ok. It had been his fault, and the blood that had stained his hands the past few days had been to dark to bear.

The pole creaked again as it gave way to a few more milimeters of slack. Several more and it would no longer hold. Terran gulped as he listened intently to Marcus. Begging for forgiveness--begging now for his life--he pondered how he would truly prove himself. He closed his eyes and concentrated, thinking about his life. He remembered that he had once, long ago, been a Sith. He remembered how he had never fit in, but that he had indeed murdered and conducted himself as a Sith. He remembered how he'd grown angry against Silus when they had the encounter on Coruscant. How he had brutally attacked him and how it was a very violent effort. He had barely escaped with his life. He remembered how he had lashed out against Sasha and even challenged the other to a fight--behavior not becomming of a Jedi.

Again, he felt ashamed.

You ask a question of great difficulty, Master, he replied with concern and heaviness on his voice. I can think of one possible solution. I shall give up my weapon. I will give up Halycon into safe keeping and, in my time of peace, I will train under you and the other Masters to learn the meaning of tranquility within one's self. I will learn to control my emotions fully before I take up arms again. He didn't know if that was the answer Master Elessar was looking for, but he meant it. He would hold true to his word. He thought of something else.

I know that love is good and wholesome, but it is love that put me in this position. It is passion that caused me to lose control. Master, I wish to travel to the great libraries of the Galaxy to seek out all the writings of the ancient Jedi Scholars on the place of love in a the life of a Jedi. I will not make the same mistake.

[Marcus Telcontar]

"You mean, this is Halcyon?"

He had picked up the sabre from where Sejah lay - usung it to help him track the perpetrator fo the attack.

"Then I will accept your word and keep it until you are ready, once again. But now you are to be tested, for I told you that drop would be fatal to a dark sider. You see, this platform will break shortly - only one who has his mind clear, is at peace, will think how to escape. Trust me, let go. If you are true, I can help you to save yourself. "

The sabre in his hand was on his fingertips, clearly about to fall.

[imported_Terran Starek]

Without a chance to really make a decision, Terran felt his weight shift from in his arms and hands gripping the ledge to his lower body, as the gravity of Coruscant gripped him, pulling him down, the ledge shattering and breaking as he fell. As if in slow motion, he watched Marcus' face as he fell, his own panic setting in. He began to grasp at the air for some sort of grip, his arms flailing as he began what could be a fatal plunge.

"But now you are to be tested, for I told you that drop would be fatal to a dark sider. You see, this platform will break shortly - only one who has his mind clear, is at peace, will think how to escape. Trust me, let go. If you are true, I can help you to save yourself."

He closed his eyes as he felt the wind of his momentum and the gusts of wind from the skyways pulling his clothing this way and that. He came to a simple harmony, clearing his mind of all thought. He was falling. He would need to remedy it, and rather quickly, if he was to survive. His brain was entirely deprived of emotion and was not jumbled by panic. Just like Marcus had instructed, he cleared it. Now, to be at peace.

He found the thoughts inside him--torment, lonilness, rejection--and dispelled them with all that he could. He pushed the emotion from his body, exerting all of his energy into the Force. Finding himself free of those burdens, what was left was calm and blank. It was peace; it was tranquility. Instead of a nauseating turmoil of emotion that had been brewing in his stomach, he found peace. The second element was achieved.

Now, the third: Putting his trust into Master Elessar. Slowly, he opened his eyes--not to gaze downward, but rather to scan for his plan of escape. The fall was fast, and his time was running out. Still, his mind was clear. He looked back and forth, trying to scan for an answer. Then he realized--perhaps he didn't have the answer. He was to trust in Marcus because Marcus simply commanded him to? No. Not at all. This was a test, an excersize--Marcus had said it. Thus, it had a point. He got the point. It was simple: he didn't always have the answers. All this time, throughout all this stuggle with his emotions and with Xazor, he had gone it alone. He had refused help from others and had not sought his Master for counsel.

He didn't have all the answers.

Coming to the realization, he felt slightly enlightened, a burden being taken off of his chest. He smiled, for this first time in weeks, at the prospect that someone was there for him.