Aonar
Jun 8th, 2016, 10:47:44 PM
Suarbi Seven-Five
It is a strange twilight that softens the darkness of this world.
The words pierced into his thoughts, unbidden; half-remembered fragments of half-remembered teachings, half-translated and half-understood from wisdom first scribed four thousand years hence. They were words of the Starwind: unburied and unravelled near half a century ago, only to be lost once more, twisted and changed as they passed from mouth to mouth, spoken of in hushed whispers by a devoted few who hid in the shadows beneath a whole world's notice. Every man, woman, and child who embarked upon the Hidden Path learned to horde every fragment of past wisdom they could find, clinging with desperation to stave off the forgetful oblivion that awaited the Jensaarai. They had been born from prophets and martyrs fleeing from death. They had endured attempts at their destruction from the Republic and the Empire; from the Jedi, and Vader. They had survived into this new era, Imperial influence driven from this corner of space by forces unknown and uninteresting to the inhabitants of this moon; but what should have sparked the beginning of a golden age for the Followers of the Hidden Truth had turned to bitterness in their mouths.
Perhaps it was the same vanity that had proven the downfall of the Jedi Knights. The Jensaarai had lurked beyond public notice for decades, the secret Defenders of Susevfi from harm. They soured through the rings of Suarbi 7, and crept through the shadows of Susevfi's cities, battling the pirates, smugglers, and Imperials bent on doing the populace harm. In their minds they painted themselves as heroes, and the whispered folk tales of Susevfi agreed. That was the mistake. That was the misstep. When the Galactic Empire had been forced to withdraw, the Jensaarai had been keen to step into the void, and the populace - the common folk, at least - had been all too happy to accept. But the power and authority had already begun to corrupt. Through power, I gain victory, the Hidden Path said. Through victory, my chains are broken. Yet what use is power when the victory is already one? What foe is there left to fight once the chains have already been broken?
That was the quandary that had plagued him: and the philosophical disagreement that had led him here, driven from hope and home by the Saarai-kaar for daring to ask the question; left to wander the wilderness, contemplating the twilight. Such thoughts had always occupied so much of his mind; now they were all he had left, clinging to them the way the Jensaarai clung to their relics of knowledge.
What troubled him most about talk of twilight was that for near everyone who heard it, the wisdom had little meaning. Such words were the contemplations of an outsider: a fugitive that had fled to Susevfi's embrace to enshroud himself in the cortosis from her soil. To him, the twilight was different, brightened by proximate reflections off the swirling clouds of Suarbi 7's surface, and glinting against fragments of the surrounding rings that spun just right into the path of the sun. That was not normal for many other worlds in the galaxy, or so his childhood teachings had explained: but he didn't know such things, he had not seen them with his own eyes or felt them with his heart. Like so many others, this world was the only one he had ever known; this night sky the only kind they had ever witnessed. The Jensaarai whispered the words as scripture, but the meaning was lost upon them, just as they were upon him. It made a man wonder: just how many of the other sacred words were marred by the same affliction?
He narrowed his eyes, squinting into the gradually thickening woods. Helpful as the watchful world and her shepherd moons were, such assistance began to diminish in effectiveness the further into the wilderness you travelled. Boughs and branches reached overhead, shielding his eyes from the twilight, concealing roots and rocks within long shadows and poorly contrasted undergrowth. His pace had slowed, footfalls careful to avoid the various hazards, breath escaping in silent wisps into the frigid air as he looked and listened for the warnings of other dangers that made these woods their home. When expatriates from the Corporate Sector had built their colony at Yumfla, they had carved a swathe through the wilderness to accommodate their needs, and then stopped, never venturing further than that initial radius, an ominous verdant Wall encircling the capital and it's cousin settlements scattered across the continent. As the population had grown, Yumfla had sprawled further, but the wilderness stood firm, and now the Wall menaced the population in the near distance. Measures were taken to safeguard the populace from any dangers that might spill out from the green; but for the most part, both civilization and nature respected the boundary, knowing which side it was they were to remain on, left to flourish with little opposition save for the occasional culling, and the modest impact of hunters and trappers seeking flesh and fur. Haunting tales of nightmarish creatures were imagined - or perhaps remembered - upon the world's children, instilling a deep sense of caution and a deep fear of finding oneself on the wrong side of the line.
A sound rattled through the night air, stuttering like the rumbled breathing of something large. He froze, hand falling first for his blaster, then shifting towards the hilt of his vibrosword instead. On the civilized side of the Wall, a blaster was everyone's helpful companion, and the lightsaber of a Jensaarai would make short work of everything the blaster could not. This exodus had stripped him of that advantage however; and any creature large enough and brave enough to stalk him through these trees would surely have a hide thick enough to stave off a few blaster bolts; such was true of so many of the monsters on this world.
He reached out with his mind, extending the senses that the Force blessed him with, searching for his predator as his fingers flexed impatiently on the vibrosword's grip. He heard it, saw it, felt it; all at once, and all too late. From the darkness a tail the size of a grown man whipped out, slamming the last breath from his lungs, hurling him from his feet and into a clattering impact with the trees.
It is a strange twilight that softens the darkness of this world.
The words pierced into his thoughts, unbidden; half-remembered fragments of half-remembered teachings, half-translated and half-understood from wisdom first scribed four thousand years hence. They were words of the Starwind: unburied and unravelled near half a century ago, only to be lost once more, twisted and changed as they passed from mouth to mouth, spoken of in hushed whispers by a devoted few who hid in the shadows beneath a whole world's notice. Every man, woman, and child who embarked upon the Hidden Path learned to horde every fragment of past wisdom they could find, clinging with desperation to stave off the forgetful oblivion that awaited the Jensaarai. They had been born from prophets and martyrs fleeing from death. They had endured attempts at their destruction from the Republic and the Empire; from the Jedi, and Vader. They had survived into this new era, Imperial influence driven from this corner of space by forces unknown and uninteresting to the inhabitants of this moon; but what should have sparked the beginning of a golden age for the Followers of the Hidden Truth had turned to bitterness in their mouths.
Perhaps it was the same vanity that had proven the downfall of the Jedi Knights. The Jensaarai had lurked beyond public notice for decades, the secret Defenders of Susevfi from harm. They soured through the rings of Suarbi 7, and crept through the shadows of Susevfi's cities, battling the pirates, smugglers, and Imperials bent on doing the populace harm. In their minds they painted themselves as heroes, and the whispered folk tales of Susevfi agreed. That was the mistake. That was the misstep. When the Galactic Empire had been forced to withdraw, the Jensaarai had been keen to step into the void, and the populace - the common folk, at least - had been all too happy to accept. But the power and authority had already begun to corrupt. Through power, I gain victory, the Hidden Path said. Through victory, my chains are broken. Yet what use is power when the victory is already one? What foe is there left to fight once the chains have already been broken?
That was the quandary that had plagued him: and the philosophical disagreement that had led him here, driven from hope and home by the Saarai-kaar for daring to ask the question; left to wander the wilderness, contemplating the twilight. Such thoughts had always occupied so much of his mind; now they were all he had left, clinging to them the way the Jensaarai clung to their relics of knowledge.
What troubled him most about talk of twilight was that for near everyone who heard it, the wisdom had little meaning. Such words were the contemplations of an outsider: a fugitive that had fled to Susevfi's embrace to enshroud himself in the cortosis from her soil. To him, the twilight was different, brightened by proximate reflections off the swirling clouds of Suarbi 7's surface, and glinting against fragments of the surrounding rings that spun just right into the path of the sun. That was not normal for many other worlds in the galaxy, or so his childhood teachings had explained: but he didn't know such things, he had not seen them with his own eyes or felt them with his heart. Like so many others, this world was the only one he had ever known; this night sky the only kind they had ever witnessed. The Jensaarai whispered the words as scripture, but the meaning was lost upon them, just as they were upon him. It made a man wonder: just how many of the other sacred words were marred by the same affliction?
He narrowed his eyes, squinting into the gradually thickening woods. Helpful as the watchful world and her shepherd moons were, such assistance began to diminish in effectiveness the further into the wilderness you travelled. Boughs and branches reached overhead, shielding his eyes from the twilight, concealing roots and rocks within long shadows and poorly contrasted undergrowth. His pace had slowed, footfalls careful to avoid the various hazards, breath escaping in silent wisps into the frigid air as he looked and listened for the warnings of other dangers that made these woods their home. When expatriates from the Corporate Sector had built their colony at Yumfla, they had carved a swathe through the wilderness to accommodate their needs, and then stopped, never venturing further than that initial radius, an ominous verdant Wall encircling the capital and it's cousin settlements scattered across the continent. As the population had grown, Yumfla had sprawled further, but the wilderness stood firm, and now the Wall menaced the population in the near distance. Measures were taken to safeguard the populace from any dangers that might spill out from the green; but for the most part, both civilization and nature respected the boundary, knowing which side it was they were to remain on, left to flourish with little opposition save for the occasional culling, and the modest impact of hunters and trappers seeking flesh and fur. Haunting tales of nightmarish creatures were imagined - or perhaps remembered - upon the world's children, instilling a deep sense of caution and a deep fear of finding oneself on the wrong side of the line.
A sound rattled through the night air, stuttering like the rumbled breathing of something large. He froze, hand falling first for his blaster, then shifting towards the hilt of his vibrosword instead. On the civilized side of the Wall, a blaster was everyone's helpful companion, and the lightsaber of a Jensaarai would make short work of everything the blaster could not. This exodus had stripped him of that advantage however; and any creature large enough and brave enough to stalk him through these trees would surely have a hide thick enough to stave off a few blaster bolts; such was true of so many of the monsters on this world.
He reached out with his mind, extending the senses that the Force blessed him with, searching for his predator as his fingers flexed impatiently on the vibrosword's grip. He heard it, saw it, felt it; all at once, and all too late. From the darkness a tail the size of a grown man whipped out, slamming the last breath from his lungs, hurling him from his feet and into a clattering impact with the trees.