Interludes

[TheDutchman]

For Karm's Interlude

This was a great window into Karm's state of mind, especially after what he encountered at Geonosis concerning Arnor and Ken.  And L'Gan is awesome!  This is a character that I would like to know more about (the loss of her husband AND child?!)  And I thought I put Zearic through hell...   

Beautiful ending though my friend 

For LSG's Interlude
Your treatment of other writer's Universes is nothing short of phenomenal!  I always get a kick out of seeing other's characters in another writer's narrative, especially when done as well as this.  Although tragedy real!y seems to follow the Mak'Tor 

As good as the writing, I applaud the attention to technical details: the naming conventions of the Mak'Tor stand out as a perfect example!  Again: just wonderful 

[TheDutchman]

Interlude-Rewards and Consequences, Part I(This takes place just prior to “The Gray and the Unchained Epilogue”)

Holding the door for both Arnor and D’Aylanna, I gestured to the taller man as I offered for Karm to enter into the apartments that the Mak’Tor had provided us.  Ducking his head, he gave a quick word of thanks but then followed the women into the large, well-lit atrium.  Choosing a comfortable couch, Arnor patted the cushion, a wry smile upon her face as she waited for Karm to join her.  She was a beautiful woman but her ordeals had taken their toll: she still had dark circles under her eyes and a tightness about them that had not been there before.  Unsurprising that, given what she’d endured.  And she wasn’t alone; Karm’s face looked harder than I’d ever seen it, determination even now radiating from him.  Both were among the strongest people I’d ever met so I wasn’t so much worried as concerned for my friends.

Ever the consummate hostess, D’Aylanna appeared with drinks, handing them first to our guests and then a steaming cup to me.  Preoccupied, I gulped down the first swallow.  Recoiling slightly, a bit of hot liquid spilled as the drink burned its way down my throat.

I stared at my wife.  “Hot chocolate?”  She gave a knowing, amused nod. 

Karm had an inquisitive look on his face.  “Hawt chawkalit?  I don’t think that I’ve ever heard of it…”

Arnor had a secretive smile on her face.  “No, dear, you would have remembered.  And its ‘hot chocolate.’”  She reached up, playfully ruffling Karm’s hair.

Arnor’s enunciation made D’Aylanna smile.  “I know, Arnor.  I spent an entire evening teaching Zearic how to speak properly.  I can only image what the bartender thought when he first attempted to order his drink.”  As disparate as they were, both women laughed virtually identically.  I myself smiled in remembrance; the bartender had to have a translator brought to understand what I’d asked for.

“You see what I go through?” Karm directed his intentionally serious question to me.  “They believe that we would not be able to dress ourselves without them…” He continued before taking a drink, his cup hiding the half-smile on his face.  Then, looking completely surprised, he gulped down the liquid in his mouth.  “…D’Aylanna…how did you know?  This is delicious!”  He then upended the cup, finishing off its contents with obvious contentment.

Furrowing my brow, I looked inquiringly at my wife.  D’Aylanna’s face looked completely expressionless, the only hint that she was trying to suppress laughter was the corner of her blue lips twitched.  “Oh nothing, Shakal.”  She addressed Karm.  “Remember that the next time you think that you know more than your wife…”  She left the comment in the air.  Then I saw Arnor wink at my wife.  After a moment, we all gave a laugh.  The night had been full of jubilation, good cheer, and celebration.

And it had been altogether too brief.

After D’Aylanna had refilled his cup, Karm cleared his throat, sitting up straighter.  “Zearic and I were speaking earlier about something that, apparently, has come to the attention of both our Orders.”  We all fell into silence for a moment before the tall maenowan continued, relating the news of Er'Lav Racc.

“…leaving her broken.”  Karm paused.  “I’ve known Er’Lav for most of my life; she’s the strongest woman I know…” He sounded pensive, his eyes momentarily lost in the past, but quickly added, “…present company excluded, of course.”  It was testament to the gravity of the situation that neither Arnor nor D’Aylanna commented.

“Obviously I don’t have the benefit of knowing Maenowan Er’Lav like you, Karm, but—” I indicated both D’Aylanna and myself, “—our condolences, for what it’s worth…”  I couldn’t help but think about these “Sons of Kessel.”  True, what they’d done to Maenowan Er’Lav was deplorable…but what they stood for…

I mentally shook my head, bringing my attention back to the present.  D’Aylanna was speaking, relating to Karm and Arnor what she’d told me the night prior.  “…Kage Oyuna brought me up to speed.  They operate with impunity throughout Hutt Space, quite possibly dating back millennia but were the most vociferous and audacious one-to-two centuries prior to the Vhal’Dan Civil War…in fact, very close to the Mak’Tor Expulsion from Coruscant.”  D’Aylanna spread her burgundy and silver robes as she sat, keying the datapad interfaced with the holovid that took up the entire atrium wall.  “Oyuna has supplied us with a thorough dossier from Vhal’Dan Intelligence.  The Sons of Kessel have a broad yet highly organized sphere of influence, especially along the Outer Rim, although they can be found anywhere that slavers operate.  Typically, their modus operandi is the liberation of slaves, funds, and matériel from not only slavers but also organized criminals and “legitimate” politicians.  They are lethal, ambitious, and—up until recently—extremely insular against anyone who was not a slave.”

D’Aylanna keyed in on a picture of a male Togruta, his face heavily scarred and missing one of his lekkus.  “From reports, this change in policy is a direct result of this man, called ‘Scrubber.’  He has been identified as the leader—de facto or otherwise—of the Sons.  He is intelligent, pragmatic, ruthless, and patient but incredibly charismatic and loyal to his ‘sires and siras.’”  D’Aylanna used the universal Galactic pronouns deliberately; this “Scrubber” obviously had countless species among the Sons.  “There is not much in his history that Intel was able to glean.  He himself is a former slave but there are whispers that he also has had some military training, during the Clone Wars and then later during the Lijarak Mines Incident.”

As D’Aylanna named the specific events, she brought up separate relative databases and reports.  Scrubber’s Clone War holopics showed the Togruta among a demolitions unit in what looked to be the final year of the War.  The quality was horrendous but the Togruta’s face was unmistakable.  Likewise a holovid loop that must have come from an automated security camera.  In it, several Rebels were in retreat, pursued by stormtroopers.  Then a sudden explosion obscured the video feed, a cloud of dirt expanding outward from the origin point.  Only one figure is briefly visible in the frame: a bloodied Togrutan male firing a repeater from the hip.  Then the feed looped to the beginning.

D’Aylanna continued.  “Regardless of incident, whenever Scrubber is present, his endgame is the same: the abolition of any and all slavery.”  My wife’s blue lips pursed into a tight line.  “And wherever Scrubber goes, so too does this…being.”  She keyed a dropdown and expanded the file.  Scrolling through, she stopped on a frantic holopic, obviously taken during some armed conflict.  Despite the harried action within the frame, there was no mistaking the subject: the figure must have been over two meters, perhaps even three, a hulking brute completely covered in jet-black armor…

I blinked.  “Zearic…that looks a lot like your dagger.” Karm’s quiet, deep voice echoed my own thoughts as if reading my mind.  What the hell…? But even as I asked myself the question, D’Aylanna continued.

“There is no information regarding this…figure.  The only nomenclature attached to this being is what the Sons call him: ‘Black Armor.’”  D’Aylanna’s face had adopted a perturbed visage; she did not like having incomplete intel.  “Best guess: Black Armor is Scrubber’s enforcer.”  She keyed off the holovid, looking intently at each of us in turn.  “Which brings us to the present: the Sons have captured an abandoned Imperial stockade on the Outer Rim World of Teth III, same system.  There they have collected, commandeered, funneled materiel and personnel.”  She let that sink in. 

“The Sons of Kessel are actively recruiting.”  This was new; D’Aylanna had only told me up to this point what Oyuna and her had discussed.  “Arnor and I have been speaking to our respective Kages and are in agreement.”

Both Karm and I had identical looks on our faces.  Arnor and I…? I thought.

“Excuse me, but you both decided…what?” Karm’s voice was equal parts suspicious and troubled, the fingers in his cybernetic glove unconsciously flexing.  I nodded my agreement, wondering what our wives had discussed.

“We’re sending a joint scouting mission, a small team.” Arnor stated.  “We need more information concerning the Sons of Kessel, especially with them arising as a new player in Palpatine’s post-Empire.”  The taller woman’s eyes turned to D’Aylanna who nodded.

“Both of our Kages have valid concerns about the power vacuum that the Emperor’s death created.”  My wife looked at me.  “In fact, Oyuna intimated that when you’ve recovered, we’re to investigate a rumored cache of Force artifacts that Palpatine had secreted away.” 

“‘When I’ve recover—?’” I began but D’Aylanna stopped me cold.

“Do not even attempt to dissemble, Shakal.  I’ve noticed how you try to hide the fact that you are still in considerable pain, not to mention the limp in your right leg. You are not going.” And I had thought that the Kage’s eyes were hard during my trial years ago; they were nothing compared to my wife’s as she stared at me in admonition.

And out of the corner of my eye, I heard Arnor castigating Karm, almost a pitch-perfect match to D’Aylanna’s tone.

“L’Gan already told me about your ‘sparring match.’  You’re pushing yourself too hard.  You are not going.” Arnor folded her arms, D’Aylanna’s gestures an exact match.  “Now, Ka'A'Mack, D’Aylanna and I have preparations to make.”  As both women went to exit they walked arm in arm together, their heads—Arnor’s taller and D’Aylanna’s shorter—conspiratorially close, leaving Karm and I facing each other in the atrium.

“Well…” Karm looked poleaxed for a moment.  I could empathize.  However, he quickly recovered, looking thoughtful.  “Zearic, what do you think about these Sons of Kessel?”

I inhaled slowly, gathering my thoughts.  “I think that they’re trying to make their lives better.”  I ran my hand through my short shaved hair, looking at the ceiling, the indigenous granite refracting the light in a pleasant scintillation.  But when I looked at Karm, I suddenly stopped.  His piercing eyes were staring at me, through me.

“…By terrorizing innocent women?  Savaging them?  Murdering people?” His deep voice was soft; he wasn’t exactly angry…but I recognized the fire in his eyes.  I’d seen him adopt it when he was Singing a battle-Song.

“Karm…these women had deliberately attached themselves to slavers.  And the people…no, not ‘people,’ slavers—” My own anger began to flare thinking of them…and incidents of my childhood I’d thought I’d put past me.  “—that have the audacity to treat people as…no, worse than, chattel… Well, I consider that reciprocity.”  My eyes stared straight at the taller man’s, neither of us wavering.

“‘An eye for an eye makes the universe blind’ is an old Mak’Tor axiom.  And those who are affected include the innocent.  How can you countenance their suffering?” Karm’s voice was steady, controlled…but beneath it all was unyielding quadranium and passion.

“I don’t.  Sometimes bad things happen to good people; each and everyone a tragedy.  But those that are truly evil…they are deserving of retribution.  More importantly, the Sons are fighting for the freedom of every single slave.  What is a more grievous crime: to enslave an innocent or to punish the wicked?” I fought to control myself as well as Karm obviously did.

“To fight evil with evil is to deny the humanity within ourselves.  No, worse, it is counter to what the Maker would have of us!” Karm’s voice echoed his conviction, his temper finally appearing through his demeanor.

“And where was the Maker when these slavers were exploiting, hurting, killing people?! People like my mot—” I stopped short, attempting to reign my anger in…and failing.  “I would have thought that perhaps you’d feel different given that you’ve lost a parent to violence, violence perpetrated by those you’d have me forgive!” As soon as I’d spoken, a small voice inside my head chastised me for bringing up such a painful event.  I crushed that voice to silence.  I didn’t realize it but I was on my feet, somewhat unsteady as my right knee nearly buckled, indicative that I was not recovered…either bodily or in spirit.

Karm had also stood while his face…changed.  The look on his face became…dangerous.  He was at least 15 centimeters taller but I outweighed him by 35-40 kilograms.  When he spoke, his voice was heated but soft, sliding as if between the chinks in armor.  “You…” He shook his head, almost as if disagreeing with himself, his eyes closed but when he spoke his words came rushing out.  “How.  Dare.  You… What would you know of my father?  He was a great man, a man that was a true follower of the Maker, a man without peer and I WILL NOT HAVE YOU SULLY HIS NAME AS A LEVER FOR YOUR ARGUMENT!”

We stood mere centimeters apart, both of us breathing heavily.  The silence stretched, booming through the atrium as both of us were coiled as if to strike, jaws and fists clenched.  Both sets of eyes, unblinking, self-possessed.  He’s a more powerful Force-user but I— I stopped short, my thoughts shocking me…and shaming me.  I lowered my eyes.

“Karm, I’m sorry.” I said, again shocked when I realized that he’d also spoken.

“Zearic, I apologize.” Karm had said almost in unison to my own apology.

Slowly, we both gave a small smile.  Karm held out his hand in more than a gesture, his eyes clear, focused, and calm.  After a moment, I grabbed him in a bear hug, clapping him on the back.  I could feel the back of my Water Warrior insignia burrow into one of the lightning scars of my chest.  It’s the least that I deserve… I thought.  Stepping back, I looked up into my friend’s eyes.

“I…I should not have spoken about things that are none of my business, Karm.  I am ashamed...  I am indebted to you”  His face remained impassive but the tightness around his eyes seemed to diminish, a slow exhale lowering his broad shoulders as he relaxed.  “I...my…mother was a…”  I had not spoken to anyone about this since…D’Aylanna.  “…She was a…‘pleasure’ slave.  I have no idea who my father was.  I didn’t really know my mother; she’d been killed by her master for…” I shook my head.  “It doesn’t matter.”  I focused my eyes, staring from underneath my brow.  “Again: I am sorry.”

Karm’s entire demeanor changed.  “No, Zearic.  You need not explain.  I…should not have said what I did.  That was not… I did not mean to impugn your character, my friend.”  He put his organic hand upon my shoulder.  “Please accept my apology.”  With that, he extended his cybernetic hand.

I looked at it and then grinned.  “I will…” I said, taking his hand in mine, "but under one condition…”

[TheDutchman]

Interlude-Rewards and Consequences, Part II

After our wives had returned and Karm and Arnor had taken their leave, D’Aylanna and I decided to take a walk through the Concordia Gardens, the late night pleasant and clear, pleasing smells emanating from some beautiful cyan flowers.  And even though the constellations in M’Tzigon’s sky were completely foreign to what I was used to, I found them to be…welcoming.  But as I continued to look, I could’ve sworn that I saw the “Two Judges” just above the eastern horizon…

I breathed in deeply, exhaling loudly.  D’Aylanna’s head rested comfortingly upon my upper arm.  As we slowly made the rounds in the Gardens, I allowed myself to reflect upon our most recent trials.  As if to punctuate the change in my thoughts, my right leg began to ache again.  Even after all of the bacta treatments and the Singers’ Healing, my body still had not completely recovered.  Frankly, I was lucky to be able to walk at all.  Either by the Maker’s will or luck, my cybernetic leg had taken the brunt of the crushing weight of the durasteel container that Gaet—Mendax had pulled down upon me.  But enough damage had been done that I still walked with a noticeable limp, one that I hoped would go away…

“I know, Shakal.  But we need not worry about her.” D’Aylanna’s voice was quiet, just above a whisper, again reading my mind.  “I took care of that tralk.”  Her soft voice was incongruous with the vehemence of her pronouncement.  Casting my eyes downward, I saw that D’Aylanna was gazing intently at the stars, a wistful look upon her olive face.  “…Just a little while…”

I almost didn’t hear what she’d said.  “Ereneda?” I asked, concern heavy in my voice.  Instead of answering, D’Aylanna turned to face me, her small hands smoothing my robes, straightening the device of my Water Warrior rank, and finally wrapping her arms around my neck, going onto her toes and deeply kissing me.

What seemed like hours later, her lips left mine, her head sinking onto my barrel chest.  And for that time—just a little while—my wife and I were just two people holding one another among the stars shining in the endless night sky.

            <<<<< >>>>>

The elevator stood before me, the rusting industrial piping and clouds of vapor obfuscating the periphery.  But the scene in front of me was focused into crystal clarity: the waves of oppression drown out everything, even our voices as we shouted amongst each other, D’Aylanna, Jorya, and I.

“Dear One!  Jorya!  RUN!” My voice was all but lost in the howling tempest.

Looking confused, the Togruta hesitated, concern etched upon her face.

“She’s too young, too inexperienced!  SHE CAN’T SENSE IT!” D’Aylanna’s blue lips formed the words, shouting to be heard above the maelstrom.

All the while, I knew…it was getting closer.  The hallway was already poorly lit, but it was the presence that absorbed all of the light.  And before I knew it, it was upon me.

No sooner had the elevator doors opened then the Dark Figure emerged.  Clad in darkness, backlit by blinding light, I knew that I had scant seconds to live.  Yelling my rage, I ignited my lightsabers, the Force flowing through me.

For all the good that it would do.

Quicker than thought, the Dark Figure…moved.  A force hit me, knocking me onto my back, the water on the floor soaking through my robes.  Pain immediately followed…but not what I had expected.  Looking down, I saw that my robes were intact, if disheveled, my body whole, if sore.  I almost laughed but I realized—to my growing horror—that there was no wind, no sound at all but the ragged breathing in my chest and the drumming of my pounding heart.  But…where…?  Hurriedly, I looked around me, disbelieving of what I saw.  And then, my eyes focused on my greatest fear…

D’Aylanna no longer stood beside me.  Instead, I only saw her motionless legs, Jorya blocking the rest.  My daughter was on her knees, her eyes wide in fright, her mouth open as if to scream but no sound came forth… Slowly, I crawled past Jorya in order to see around her, absolute dread threatening to shatter my sanity.

Every inch I moved illuminated more of the scene that assaulted my eyes: first I saw the blood, already pooling in a large puddle mixing with the water on the floor, like paint colors mixing in tableau.  Then D’Aylanna’s dark eyes…dull and unseeing, staring forever at nothing.  And finally, the wicked gash that almost bisected her body from navel to neck, her spine visible amidst a soup of viscera and gore…

            <<<<< >>>>>

“NO!”  This time I yelled myself awake, my body drenched in sweat, the bedding completely tousled and wrapped around my throbbing right leg.  It took me a moment to become aware of my surroundings.  And when I did, I saw D’Aylanna’s worried face looking at me, her right hand upon my bare chest, her night dress falling off one shoulder exposing the dark, olive skin of her throat and upper chest.  Whole.  Unscathed.  Alive.

Shuddering breaths racked my entire body, goose flesh dotting my skin despite the comfortable warmth of M’Tzigon’s nights.  “Shakal?  The…dream?” I’d told D’Aylanna about the dagger…the dreams… No, not a dream…

“A nightmare, Ereneda.” I corrected.  “The worst yet.”  I told her everything about it that I could remember, her love and concern palpable.

Silently, she got up, rounded the bed to sit next to me on her knees and wrapped me in her delicate arms.  I rested my head upon her breast, the calming sounds of her strong beating heart and her steady breathing causing to wash away the terror of the nightmare.  “It’s alright my darling Shakal, it’s alright.” She soothed, her tone gentle, intended to relax me.  It worked.  Somewhat.

            <<<<< >>>>>

Despite the events of the night prior, D’Aylanna and I felt jubilant.  We were tired, yes, but we were also delighted, full of pride and expectation.  Gathered around the austere offices of the Mak’Tor Kage within the Gray Hall, we were ready.

Thanks in no small part to Karm, we were able to organize a minimal assemblage for our needs.  And although we were relatively few, it was enough that we were, once again, welcomed indiscriminately as part of the order.

Standing in front of the broad transparisteel window overlooking the Gardens, with a wide vista of the San’Ctus Mountains, there peaks still white with snow, Kage Silman stood, his robes of office immaculate, the Mak’Tor Songsteel sword at his hip.  Attending as extended family, Karm, Arnor, and Ken—in his new koawan robes—were gathered in a place of honor to one side, all three looking resplendent in their ceremonial robes.  Just in front of Kage Silman, D’Aylanna was situated in the position of acting Arbiter, her burgundy and silver robes pristine.  She even wore the crown of her royal position and house: the golden diadem on her brow, a flawless emerald sparkling on her forhead.  Finally, as witness to the ceremony Master Chillum stood as audience surrogate, the venerable master bedecked with his many accolades upon his robes.

A clear, chime rang throughout the office.  In my capacity as custodian, I escorted the initiate within the Kage’s Office, stopping two meters from the Arbiter’s Station, as per Vhal’Dan tradition.  But that soon ended.

Smiling, the Zabrak Kage, looked down upon the initiate, his voice carrying throughout the room.  “Jorya Fah, you have been tested and found worthy to join the ranks of the Knights of the Gray Jedi.  With the confirmation of the Council of Balance I now offer to you the rank of Koawan of the Gray.  Do you come to accept this commission?"

Her face dignified, Jorya gave the traditional Mak’Tor responses.  “I do, Kage Silman.”

Kage Silman turned his attention to me.  Meanowan Zearic Vih’Torr, you are the initiate’s Mentor as well as her Father.  Do you, without reservation, endorse her elevation to the rank of Koawan of the Gray?"

Again, in accordance with Mak’Tor ceremony, I responded, “I do, Kage Silman.”  I practically beamed with pride, D’Aylanna’s face mirroring my own.

His face stern with the weight of ceremony, Kage Silman decreed, “Very well.  Jorya Fah, you have been endorsed by your Mentor and custodian of your Trials.  Present your lightsaber for inspection."

Stepping forward, Jorya offered her gleaming saber hilt to the Zabrak Kage.  Taking it in his hand, he ignited the weapon, the snap-hiss of the purple blade casting a brilliant hue over all in attendance.  With obvious ease, he performed a perfunctory flourish of saber swings, elegant and beautiful.  Closing down the weapon, he attached it to his belt.  Then, grabbing the Songsteel sword at his side, he intoned, “Jorya Fah, please kneel.”

Taking a step forward, standing above Jorya, Kage Silman presented the sword, the bright silver blade steady bare centimeters atop the Togruta’s head.  Again he spoke, his voice full of dignity and authority.  “Jorya Fah, you are found fit to accept the title of Knight of the Vhal’Dan with the rank of Koawan of the Gray by your Mentors and Peers.  Further, you have indicated your willingness to accept the honor and responsibility of this rank.  Do you, Jorya Fah, swear by the Holy Maker that you will honor and defend the Gray Jedi, living by their principle and following the Code of the Vhal’Dan Order?”

“I so swear, Kage Silman.” Jorya’s voice was strong and assured.

The Zabrak’s mouth slightly curved, the ghost of a smile on his face.  "Then having sworn these solemn oaths, I Kage Silman Lo, by right of law and in the name of the Knights of the Vhal’Dan and Kage Oyuna Chan’dn in absentia , dub you Knight..." the blade dipped, faintly touching Jorya’s right shoulder, "...Koawan of the Gray..." he then tapped her left shoulder, "...Knight of the Vhal’Dan."  A final light tap on Jorya’s right shoulder and the Zabrak sheathed the sword.  Looking to D’Aylanna he said, “Arbiter, please record the advancement of our newest koawan in the Book of Balance!”

As one, we all recited the Gray Jedi Code:
“Flowing through all, there is balance
There is no peace without passion to create
There is no passion without peace to guide
Knowledge stagnates without the strength to act
Power blinds without the serenity to see
There is freedom in life
There is purpose in death
The Force is all things and I am the Force”

For as small a group congregated within the Kage’s Offices, our cheers were thunderous, all of us crowding around Jorya as we congratulated her, giving offerings of goodwill and joyfulness to all assembled.  And as Jorya finally was able to face me, I could see a single tear fall from her blue eye, happiness and pride radiating from her as she hugged both D’Aylanna and I.

And softly she said, “Mom…Dad…I love you both more than I could ever say!”  And there, surrounded by the people whom we’d fought side-by-side with, we were truly among family.

[Taegin Roan]

See, now that just isn't fair. I struggle to come up with a decent chapter every 2 weeks, and you, Karm and LSG put out 1-2 a day. 

But seeing Karm and Zearic put on edge by each other, that was worth it. But I'm getting scared. Are these dreams just that, dreams? or are they something else? I guess we will just have to see. These Sons of Kessel sure seem to be popping up a lot. Just another cool reference to LSG's tales.

[Lord_S_Gray]

For all Karm and Zearic making up after their little tiff...they didn't really address the essence of the issue i think, differing viewpoints remain at a conceptual level...had it not become personal re Zearic Mother Karmacks father...then they would have been arguing on the basis of ideology and i doubt that would've had such an easy reconciliation attached had it been allowed to go on...in a way making it too personal saved them form a larger argument i think....

At any rate between his nightmares and his till damaged knee...still a lot to recover from it seems...

[TheDutchman]

See, now that just isn't fair. I struggle to come up with a decent chapter every 2 weeks, and you, Karm and LSG put out 1-2 a day. 

But seeing Karm and Zearic put on edge by each other, that was worth it. But I'm getting scared. Are these dreams just that, dreams? or are they something else? I guess we will just have to see. These Sons of Kessel sure seem to be popping up a lot. Just another cool reference to LSG's tales.

Thanks TR  . And this is a direct lead to "The Gray and the Unchained."

And these dreams are √π∆£€¥¿~   See? SO much better when you know that!

For all Karm and Zearic making up after their little tiff...they didn't really address the essence of the issue i think, differing viewpoints remain at a conceptual level...had it not become personal re Zearic Mother Karmacks father...then they would have been arguing on the basis of ideology and i doubt that would've had such an easy reconciliation attached had it been allowed to go on...in a way making it too personal saved them form a larger argument i think....

At any rate between his nightmares and his till damaged knee...still a lot to recover from it seems...

Exactly!  There was no resolution here, too much emotion for either... At best: they agree to disagree.  And the larger issue is too polarizing to be limited to just them... 

You hit the nail on the head LSG: Karm and Zearic have A LOT of wounds that are affecting them still...which is why Arnor and D'Aylanna were so vehement.  Maybe we'll see a "women's trip?"

_{Karm whispers into my ear}...oh that's right...Armor's still recovering and D'Aylanna has to help Zearic with these nightmares... 

[Karmack]

Dutchman, nice!  I loved the knighting ceremony, its uniquely Val'Dan.  Nicely done!  Thanks for the great view into M'Tzigon as well.   Your treatment of the Mak'Tor characters is excellent!  Thank you for that.  :-)

And the dreams...  Ouch.  I'd like to chalk some of that up to PTSD, but with that dagger there...  Yeah.  I'd be worried about it.

Very worried.

[TheDutchman]

Interlude-The Samaritan, Part I (Takes place after CH.5 “The Gray & the Unchained” with flashbacks concurrent with Karmack’s “Destruction of a Knight” and directly after “Interlude-Conflagration in the Snow”)

Shutting the door, Ken stood for a moment, his back against the door trying to control his breathing.  The things that Jorya had said had made him…angry.  Sitting down on his bed, he worked at slowing the hammering of his heart, thinking instead of what Scrubber had told them of his plans.

…Plans…

Ken felt adrift without a life-raft. …I…I need help… he thought.  Normally, he would have talked to Jorya but after their…disagreement, he knew that that was not an option.  …Besides, would she even listen…? Ken closed his eyes, trying to let cooler heads prevail.  Even still, the anger kept welling up, threatening to distract him from the real issue.  …Think…!  Trying to collect his thoughts, Ken tried…and failed to focus on something, anything but his anger. …Jorya is being obstinate, deliberately so! He felt like hitting the wall.  …How can anyone reason with her…?  I can’t even imagine how her parents live with her… I would’ve thought that Maenowan Zearic—

He suddenly stopped.  …Maenowan Zearic… He thought about what the big maenowan had told him during his Knighting Ceremony…

After his father had released him from his third hug, his mother proudly beaming with her hand upon Ken’s shoulder, her other arm gingerly supported by a sling beneath her robes, Ken came face-to-face with father’s wide friend.  “Congratulations Ken!  Excuse me, Koawan Kenneniah.”  The big man winked, making way for his regal wife.

Ken shook his head, inhaling slowly then exhaling, Singing a Memory motif…

…Surrounded by a few other koawans, Ken heard one of them talking about stormtroopers: “I have never met one that wasn’t a kriffing buckethead.”  Ken was about to speak when he heard a deep, baritone voice boom from behind him.

“Then perhaps you need to get out more.”  Maenowan Zearic’s voice was hard; his face was even harder.  “Don’t make arbitrary judgments from your decidedly limited experience.”

As the big man turned to leave, Ken called to him: “Maenowan…you know different.  Would you please share with us your experience?”  Looking at each of the young koawans and then finally at Ken, the big man focused on him but spoke to everyone there, beginning with a desperate fight on the planet Belassar…

            <<<<< >>>>>

Sighting down the shaft of the arrow, Ralen Yorul waited motionless as the boarwolf tentatively sniffed at the shaak meat that he’d left as bait.  …Just a little more… the stormtrooper thought, his camouflaged light armor obscuring his profile from most predators…and the Rebels that had attempted to annex Belassar.  They’d been ruthless, killing several trooper units in surprise attacks, sometimes so full of bloodlust that the Rebels were often among the Imperial casualties, victims of their own traps.

The Empire had been quick to respond to the eco-terrorists, establishing several forward positions throughout the southern continent, most of the action taking place in Ralen’s latest detail in the Viridias Forest.  Already he’d been in over half a dozen skirmishes, the latest the most costly: almost a quarter of his squad had been killed in a cowardly Rebel ambush.  Intent on saving as many of his trooper brethren as he could, Ralen told his lieutenant that he would ensure the rest of the squad’s retreat although—in truth—he had other ideas than self-sacrifice.  No, he would be the Empire’s vengeance, retribution against those who thought that they knew war.

Now they would know what real war was about.  Or so the Rebels learned as the “Shade of Belassar” killed each and all of them one by one leaving no trace, no evidence that it was a man whom they faced.  No, as far as the Rebels were concerned it was a resurrected Sith-wraith from the nearby abandoned Temple deep within the Viridias Forest. 

By now Ralen had been in-country for a couple weeks, living off of the land despite winter’s cold blanketing the forest with both snow and a deep freeze.  He could see the hot breath of the boarwolf as it inhaled deeply, the fresh meat and hot blood too much of a temptation to pass up.  Greedily, the enormous creature thrust forward, tearing and shredding the meat as it took great gulping mouthfuls.  …Now… And with that, Ralen loosed, the laconic arrow flying true, striking the boarwolf between the armor plates sinking deep in its neck.

Incredibly, the animal sank to the ground, dead.  His arrow had severed the central nerve cluster in the cervical node within the boarwolf’s neck.  Slowly exhaling, Ralen allowed himself to relax; with this kill, he could eat for a month.  Slowly walking to the downed animal, he pulled out a stout vibroblade cutting through the hard plate and bone, decapitating the creature; there were no usable parts within the head.  Then hoisting the animal’s broad carcass, he lifted the entire body over and onto his shoulders, heading back to his camp.

As he walked, he kept thinking about the Rebels.  Ralen had seen neither hide nor hair of them for the last couple of days, not since that sniper had almost gotten the drop on him.  Luckily, his instincts had warned him that the normal forest sounds had been decidedly…quiet.  Well, if the Rebels happened to come across the body of that sniper he hoped that they did so before the boarwolves got to it.  He knew that the Rebels would get a clear message; he’d had to burn the clothes that he’d worn when he was done with the body.  No amount of cleaning would ever get out that much blood…

Suddenly, the air around Ralen felt…electric…the atmosphere….oppressive.  Moving slowly, Ralen sank towards the forest floor, shrugging the boarwolf’s body from his shoulders.  Deliberately, he hoisted his blaster rifle to the ready, his eyes scanning the entire forest.  He knew that unless he moved, no one would be able to detect him. …Patience…

At first, he thought he’d heard an explosion.  But even looking around, none of the snow looked disturbed, none of the trees branches had moved, none of the animals had bolted.  Yet…

…Yes…there.  Towards the forest vale, Ralen knew that he’d heard…voices; one a deep baritone, almost a bass… The other: almost…mechanical.  Shadows were more conspicuous compared to Ralen moving through the forest.  As he made his way deeper and lower to the forest basin the voices stopped.  Still, he had a vector…

Suddenly, as he moved from behind a copse of trees, he saw two men, one almost completely covered in black towering above another man, wide and sitting prone against a tree.  Again, Ralen scanned the scene, taking in the minutiae.  The man in black turned, walking away from the large man.  Now that he could see his other side, Ralen noticed that the man’s helmet had a hole in it as if…cut by something.  He spoke again, his voice sounding…filtered.

“…Tell her…that Rowahn sends his apologies…and go home to Jorya”  Then the man in black walked away without a backwards glance.  Ralen didn’t know anything about a “Jorya” but he’d heard the other name before…

Rowahn.

Even word from the Joint Admiralty had been furtive concerning Lord Vader and his Inquisitorious…but there were always whispers.  Especially throughout the Barracks, those kind of rumors spread like wildfire: failure was always a point of contention with Lord Vader.  And the latest tales told of one of the Dark Lord’s favorites losing position, his charge assigned to an outside contractor, Caedon Ti-rell. 

Ralen’s eyes narrowed in thought; one never wanted to so much as report failure to Lord Vader, much less be responsible.  The universe had little tolerance for fools

A noise recalled him from his ruminations.  The big man.  Again, without moving, he was able to focus on the target…or rather the left flank of the man.  Slowly Ralen stalked forward and around, never once making a sound.  Now he could see the man in profile, his face obscured by the blood that covered the left side of his face.  Ralen noticed that he did not have his left eye.  Unsurprising, that.  Silently as he continued his circuit more details slowly became apparent: he was bigger than Corporal Boaz, the squad’s heavy-weapons operator, he was missing his right hand or at least the cybernetic had been…crushed as if in a mechanical press, and the man was not so much sitting on the tree stump as he was impaled by it.  …I’m surprised he’s still alive… Sharply, he came to a stop, Ralen’s breath catching in his throat.  …By the Emperor… Dashel?!

He couldn’t believe it; the man could have been his brother’s twin…if Dashel had weighed 50 kilograms more.  Still…the short, shaved dark brown hair, the heavily muscled, clean-shaven jowls, the trimmed beard and mustache.  Suddenly, the man looked up at Ralen, his right eye staring directly at him.  …Now that’s different… Instead of Dashel’s light blue eyes, the big man had the fiercest hazel eyes: red surrounding the pupil encircled by brown rimmed with green.

Silently, the man stared at Ralen, neither saying a word nor making any movement.  And before he’d even realized that he’d made a choice, Ralen lowered his blaster and took the medkit from his backpack.  Examining the big man’s wounds, Ralen considered the impalement to be the worst injury.  As he opened his medkit with his one hand, he unsheathed his vibroknife with his other.  “I am going to look at the branch behind you.” He said.  The big man gave a slight nod, closing his right eye.

Kneeling down, Ralen could see that the branch was fairly smooth, no bark or protrusions.  Moreover, the branch had about 10 centimeters between the big man’s back and the trunk of the tree.  …Good, I can easily cut this… Expertly, the vibroblade cut through the branch, freeing the man from the trunk.  He barely made a sound, only uttering “Thanks” under his breath.

Ralen inspected the branch.  Again using his vibroblade to cut the wood, he clipped the branch mere centimeters from the man’s stomach.  Readying his medkit, he looked right at the man’s remaining eye.  “I am going to withdraw the branch.  As soon as it is clear, I will spray the wound with poly-bacta.  But I will have to cauterize both sides.  Are you ready?”  The big man merely nodded, again his breathing the loudest thing about him.

Ralen kneeled behind the man, his cauterizer within easy reach, the poly-bacta spray in his right hand.  Grabbing the branch with his left, he gently said, “Now.”  Moving with expert precision, Ralen pulled the branch free, spraying the entrance wound just as soon as the wood cleared the skin.  Then, he pivoted around, spraying the man’s stomach where the branch had exited.  Before he was done, he picked up the cauterizer with his left, applying it to the man’s back, his quick inhale testament to the pain.  Quickly switching the cauterizer to his right, he pressed on the man’s stomach, again sealing the wound.  Now the poly-bacta could do its work, repairing damaged tissues and organs.

Once again, the big man spoke one word.  “Thanks.”  He then abruptly lost consciousness.  Unsurprised, Ralen continued his triage, spraying the man’s left eye socket and right…stump on his arm.  That done, he gently gathered the man, laying him down on the forest floor, covering him with a thermal blanket from his medkit.

He looked around, searching for large, straight branches to fashion an improvised stretcher.  Finding what he needed, he was able to fabricate one in a short time, moving the big man onto it and dragging him back to Ralen’s camp.  Once there, he broke into his MRE rations, mixing portions until the contents were edible.  Even before he’d finished, he saw that the man was awake.  “What’s your name?”  Ralen asked, his quiet voice carrying no further than the camp perimeter.

Instead of answering, the big man looked around.  “You…helped me?”  So, this was the owner of the deep baritone voice he’d heard.  Ralen nodded, continuing to prepare the soup, his eyes darting around as he kept watch on his surroundings.  “Thank you.”  Something with the way that the big man spoke… “I…I am in your debt.”  He coughed, pain racking his body.  “…Tell me, please…did you…see a…woman?”  Ralen briefly shook his head, relating his tale to the big man.  Odd that; he wasn’t usually so…candid, especially to one whom he’d only met.  …But gods he looks like Dashel…

Dashel Yorul, his eldest brother.  The reason that Ralen wanted to join the Imperial Academy.  His role model and best friend…dead almost seventeen years.  ...Dammit… he thought as his emotions threatened to break loose, unbidden.  Clearing his throat, Ralen shook his head.  “No.  No woman.”  Thinking that would be an end to it, he was shocked to see that the big man was attempting to rise.

“…I…I must…find…my wife.”  Rising shakily to his feet, the man stood, his knees wobbly.  He then collapsed nearly hitting his head on the shelter that Ralen had constructed.

…Damned fool, do you want the wounds to break open…? Ralen thought but said nothing, grabbing the man and getting him settled once again.  “You need to rest or you will bleed out.”  Ralen sighed, again uncertain as to why he felt…compelled to help.  “…I…I will go look for your…wife.”  He shouldered his blaster rifle, placing the hot soup in front of the big man.  “Tell me what to look for; I can track virtually anything as long as I have a good idea of my target.”  Those were the most words that Ralen had spoken since he’d been on Belassar.

The big man’s eye closed, his face almost relaxing.  “…Thank you…my wife, small, 1.57 meters, 55 kilograms, delicate, wearing silver and burgundy hooded robe…dark, olive skin…” His voice trailing off as he became insensate momentarily.  Suddenly, his eye snapped open.  “…There, that way…north-by-northeast, half a kilometer…there…”  This time the big man did not regain consciousness.

[TheDutchman]

The Samaritan, Part II

Ralen sighed, thinking about the man’s precise directions.  He had heard of people that could give accurate measurements and observations—Ralen was one himself—but it was still…disconcerting, the way that the big man said it.  Almost as if he were…witnessing the exact position.  Mentally shrugging, Ralen quietly made his way through the forest.

Using the big man’s directions, Ralen already had the necessary vector.  Despite his meticulous and silent pace, he made good time.  He easily found the woman that the big man had described.  She was lying on the ground, her breathing ragged and uneven.  Ralen knew that portended something serious.  Kneeling down, he put his ear to her chest, carefully listening.  …Yes…just as I thought… He was no doctor but Ralen had absorbed all that he could from the Battalion medics.  Her lung had collapsed.

Again, opening his medkit, Ralen removed a polysteel tube.  Cutting one end at an angle, he sprayed the cut end liberally with poly-bacta.  Feeling along the small woman’s upper chest with his finger, Ralen nodded to himself.  And, with the quickness of a surgeon, he plunged the tube in between the small woman’s ribs.  Immediately, air flowed through the tube, filling her lung while the bacta fortified the injured organ.  Using his thumb to simulate breathing, Ralen’s other hand was busy loading an injector with a nano-bacta supplement.  He placed the loaded injector on the small woman’s neck, pulling the trigger.  Within a minute, she was breathing almost regularly.

Knowing that the small woman weighed a fraction of her husband, Ralen picked her up, delicately carrying her.  Even as he made his way back to camp, he kept ever vigilant scanning the forest.  Darkness had fallen by the time he arrived back at his campsite, the big man still in the same position that Ralen had left him earlier.  

For moment Ralen paused, looking from the big man to his “tent.”  Again, not even realizing it, he was already in motion having made up his mind.  He placed the small, dark woman in his tent and bedroll, giving her another nano-bacta injector shot.  Then, remembering the boarwolf carcass, he went to retrieve it where he’d dropped it.  Thankfully, it was still there.  Again shouldering the body, he brought it back to his camp, preparing it by a simple coating of saline solution, ensuring the meat’s freshness.

He then got his blaster rifle and, finding a fairly comfortable spot along the trunk of an enormous coniferous tree, spent an intense night between looking after the injured man and woman and keeping a watch on the forest.

It was during the dead of night that he thought that he’d heard some noise.  Granted, it could have been an animal but…Ralen didn’t think so.  He trusted his instincts for a reason.  The larger of Belassar’s two moons was a waning crescent, the night lit by ever dimming light as clouds obscured the moon.  Slowly, he made his way towards where he’d heard the noise, away from camp.  Ralen knew that he had the correct vector but had not heard anything at all since the initial sound.  Crouching down, he again scanned the forest.

Nothing.

No sounds, no movement, no signs of life.  Nothing at all.  Noticing that he’d actually gone quite far from camp, he started to make his way back when some movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.  Again by instinct, he hit the forest floor as a nano-carbon fiber sheered through the air, right at the level that his head had been.  Several blaster bolts followed, attempting to track him in the darkness of night.  Seeing the origin of the blaster fire, Ralen aimed and returned fire.  A curse and a scream told of his marksmanship, the two Rebels frantically attempting to flee from Ralen as he stalked ever closer to them.  He came upon the Rebel that had screamed; he was screaming now.  Looking around, Ralen scrutinized the forest seeing only the lone would-be assailant.  The man’s screams cut off suddenly as Ralen’s blaster shot burned a hole in the man’s chest, killing him instantly.  But he knew that there were at least two more out in the night…

And even as he was looking for the other Rebels, the saw—too late—the oddly blinking light on the man’s utilities that he’d just shot.  Quickly inhaling, Ralen went to run, to jump, to get away but the Rebel’s body suddenly exploded, the trap having been activated.

Ralen was good; he’d been able to minimize the effects of the blast by putting a couple of trees between him and the bomb but he was not able to escape it completely unscathed.  Trying desperately to clear his head, Ralen attempted to regain his feet.  But it was too late; the two other Rebels came upon him, pummeling Ralen with the stocks of their blasters.

“So…” came a contemptible voice, “This is the Sith-wraith we’ve all been so scared of?!” A grizzled man stared straight into Ralen’s eyes, hitting him with the butt of his blaster pistol.  “Well…looks like just a man t’ me.”  The grizzled man spit in Ralen’s face, punching him in the stomach for good measure.  Then, grabbing Ralen by his hair he jammed the barrel of the pistol in his face.  “I’m goin’ to make you bleed bad, imp.  And there’s no one out ‘ere t’ help you.”  He raised his face to his comrade.  “Sandor!  C’mere, got us our ‘imp Sith-wraith.’”  As the other man approached, the grizzled man then pistol-whipped Ralen, breaking his nose in the process.  “You’re gonna be a long time ‘n dyin’ imp.”  Sandor began laughing, clearly enjoying Ralen’s torment.

But he wouldn’t give them anything, these Rebel terrorists.  Even as they beat him, he didn’t make so much as a single noise…which caused to enrage the men more.  Finally, when they’d tired of kicking Ralen, the grizzled man holstered his blaster and produced an old-fashioned edged metal knife.  “Now the real fun begins…”  Ralen did not so much as blink as the sharpened steel cut into his cheek towards his eye.

“Stop.  Now.”  A deep voice sounded from the forest causing both men to start.

“…Wha’…Sandor what was that?”  But even as he asked his partner, again the voice spoke.

“If you do not release that man, you will regret it.”  Still the two men exchanged looks to one another.

The grizzled man finally grew a bit of backbone.  “…No!  ‘f you don’ show yerself then…I’ll…I’ll kill him!”  Sandor nodded, a grin appearing upon his face.

Without preamble, both men suddenly flew straight up in the air, crashing back down to the ground hard.  Even injured as he was, Ralen knew that he hadn’t imagined…that.  …What the hell…?

Then, he first heard and then saw the big man step from behind a tree, a steadying arm upon the trunk.  Tentatively, he approached, each step clearly putting him in agony.  As he reached out, he half-grabbed, half-leaned upon Ralen.  “…I…I couldn’t let them do that…to you.”  The big man closed his eye.  “Besides…I owe you more than I could possibly repay you.”  He pulled Ralen up from his knees, both men leaning upon the other for support as they slowly made their way back to camp.

“…Thank you.” Ralen’s quiet voice whispered through the night, his gratitude evident in his tone.

The big man shook his head.  “No.  Thank you.  Like I said…” His voice trailed off but when he spoke again, it sounded clear and stronger than he’d ever heard.  “Zearic.  Zearic Vih’Torr.  My name.”  He gasped breaths between talking.  “And that is my wife, D’Aylanna.  You have my thanks.”

As they continued to walk, Ralen’s thoughts still lingered on his dead brother.  Would he have saved this man if he hadn’t looked like Dashel he had wondered.  Mentally shrugging, he decided he didn’t care.

“Well met, Zearic.  I’m Ralen Yorul.”  Together, the two men limped back to camp where they found a mostly recovered D’Aylanna who helped them both…

            <<<<< >>>>>

Maenowan Zearic’s deep voice quieted, his face wistful in memory.  “We’d kept in touch sporadically throughout the years but last I spoke to Ralen was…he was on Nar Shadda.”  Then his eyes adopted a predatory focus.  “So…next time you think you know everything, remember that you can fill it to the brim when you ‘feed the sarlacc.’”  He turned away, a scowl on his face.

One of the koawans—the one that had spoken out of turn—turned to Ken, utterly confused.  “What did he mean by that?”

Ken slowly turned to him trying not to show his contempt.  “He meant…that what you know would be fit to fill the lavatory.  Excuse me.”  And he left the koawan alone among the crowd…

Ken inhaled, the Memory motif slowly fading calando.  But he had answers or at least one.  He just hoped that he could get ahold of the one person Ken thought could help him in this particular instance.

Ralen Yorul, mercenary, former stormtrooper, and resident of Nar Shadda.  

Nar Shadda.  Deep in Hutt Space…

[Karmack]

Well.  ROAD TRIP!  :-)

I'm not going to pretend I didn't have some input on this one, but Dutchman that's GREAT!  I wondered how Zearic got out of that one.  I didn't realize he made friends with a sith-wraithe!  ;-)

Seriously, that's a great tie-in and as always a wonderful job telling the tale.  I sincerely hope we see MUCH more of our good Samaritan in the future!  And maybe some more about why Zearic looks so much like Dashel.  Just a coincidence, I am sure...  ;-)

[Lord_S_Gray]

Ralen reminds me a little of Ethan Playn form TR' Shadows of the outcast...helping out a fallen force user even though they're a stranger...

Makes me wonder if maybe there is some kind of instinctual signal that an injured force sensitive sends in the force that can subconsciously effect peoples mind to help them out....hmmm there's  thought....

Obviously a very competent person, he shows the best of what the Empire was, dedicated, self sacrificing, it would be interesting to see more of his reasoning, I suspect he's a bit of a 'its not perfect but its legitimate' thinking about the Empire. Also good to see how a non-force user reacts to what he's seeing...with all our stories having force users in them we can tend to forget just what an impact simple techniques would have on non-users who see them, so glad you put those bits in, as well as peole like Rowahn being basically almost Myths amongst the common soldiers (ref Episode VII Luke - I thought he was a Myth!)

[Taegin Roan]

Loved that Interlude. Ralen seems like a great character to me. Hehe. I can't wait to see where you go with him.

[Karmack]

Ralen reminds me a little of Ethan Playn form TR' Shadows of the outcast...helping out a fallen force user even though they're a stranger...

Makes me wonder if maybe there is some kind of instinctual signal that an injured force sensitive sends in the force that can subconsciously effect peoples mind to help them out....hmmm there's  thought....

Obviously a very competent person, he shows the best of what the Empire was, dedicated, self sacrificing, it would be interesting to see more of his reasoning, I suspect he's a bit of a 'its not perfect but its legitimate' thinking about the Empire. Also good to see how a non-force user reacts to what he's seeing...with all our stories having force users in them we can tend to forget just what an impact simple techniques would have on non-users who see them, so glad you put those bits in, as well as peole like Rowahn being basically almost Myths amongst the common soldiers (ref Episode VII Luke - I thought he was a Myth!)

There's a good point, something that might be worth exploring - The Empire, for all that its core was evil (Because ... Sith Lords) it was still a legitimate government.  For most of the worlds in the Empire things wouldn't have changed LOCALLY at all from Republic to Empire. Sure, in places like Jedda there were differences, and I doubt Alderaan was down with the new management, but for your basic off-the-beaten-path world...  Or someplace like Kuat... 

"Meet the new boss.  Just like the old boss..."

Something to explore there.  Definitely something to explore.  :-)

[Lord_S_Gray]

For something a bit different to my recent chapters....

The Judgement

Long ago the Goddesses were arguing amongst themselves over which was more powerful.

Each insisted her powers were the greatest, they could not agree amongst themselves.  But the Goddesses loved each other and did not like fighting…but nor could they now ignore the question that had arisen amongst them.

So they went down to the river lands and found Alixa who was watering her herd.  

The appeared on the waters before her and told her about their disagreement and asked her to judge between them.

Alixa was clever and sat on a boulder to think.  As she was thinking Aertemisaea approached her.

“If you choose me, I will make you the greatest mortal warrior that ever was or could be, you will never taste defeat, or injury, your strength will never diminish and you will never weary”

Alixa continued to think

Then Aethenaea approached her,
“If you choose me I will make you wisest mortal that ever was or could be, you will understand how events flow from each other so with a single action you can achieve any goal, you will know how to make things as large as star and as small as stand, no mind or cunning will be beyond your grasp”

Alixa continued to think

Then Aphrodaea approached her,
“If you choose me I will make you the most beautiful woman that ever was or could be, everyone will desire you, the most beautiful mortals will beg for your glance, you will make love endlessly, your pleasure only increasing with each moment, you will never tire from it.”

Alixa continued to think until the sun set and the Goddesses came to hear her judgment.

“This is my judgment,” she said turning to Aertemisaea first
“What use is strength without the wisdom to know how to direct it? What use is strength if you have no loves to protect?  You are not the most powerful.”

Then she turned to Athenaea,
“What use is wisdom without the strength to enact it? What use is wisdom without love to give your love many things but never stir their heart? You are not the most powerful.”

The she turned to Aphrodaea
“What use is love without the wisdom to know whom to love, to see through deceptions of false friends?  What use is love without the strength to protect those you love from harm?  You are not the most powerful.”

The Goddesses looked at each other, Alixa feared they would be unhappy with her, but then they smiled, they remembered they loved each other, and had the wisdom to put aside their disagreement the strength to embrace each other once more.  

Then Aethenaea spoke to Alixa

“You have shown great wisdom to see that alone each of us is not powerful,”

The Aertemisaea spoke
“You have shown great strength and courage to tell a Goddess her weakness before her very face, and great boldness to do it thrice,”

Then Aephrodaea spoke

“You have shown great compassion and love to remind us that we need each other and to tell us our weakness with gentleness,”

Delighted the Goddesses decided to give Alixa a new name, now she was called Alixaea, and they realised they had no need to bless her, for she had already shown she was the strongest, wisest and most beautiful of all mortals by her judgement.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Did that really happen?” Kiraea asked incredulous

“Did a Vorynx really sneak into the house and eat your shoes and nothing else?” Karintha replied having finished her story for the night.

Kiraea opened her mouth about to say something….them thought better of it and remained quiet, Yorna simply stroked her younger sister’s hair, pausing briefly from her stitching of a new pair of shoes for her…the third in as many months.

“It happened just now Kiraea, with every telling it happens again and again,”

“That’s cause the Goddesses are always around us and in us isn’t it Aunty,” Yorna added,

“That’s right, every time you act wisely you are Aethenaea, every time you are strong and courageous you are Aertemisaea, and every time you are loving and caring you are Aephrodaea…but we have to remember to be the full Goddess…”  she fixed Kiraea’s gaze

“That means having the wisdom to guide your courage and energy in ways that don’t end up with you losing another pair of shoes in the forest, and remembering that it’s not very loving to rely on your sister to always have to make you new pairs and have no time to mend her own things,”  

Kiraea shuffled uncomfortably then turned to her sister,

“I’m sorry Yorna….” Yorna set down her work and hugged her sister in forgiveness,

As Kiraea tried somewhat unhelpfully to assist Yorna, Karintha was satisfied she had got the message…

Still she worried Kiraea might not remember it if she and Yorna were not there to remind her.

[TheDutchman]

OK THIS was one of my most favorite chapters LSG!  Not only as an Aesop, but also as a wonderful bit of insight into Kiraea's character (or perhaps lack).  And the tripartite answer(s) mirroring the goddesses was perfect!

Really reminds me of the myths I would read in my childhood.  Wonderful!