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Roene Givrah

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Roene Givrah last won the day on November 2 2020

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About Roene Givrah

  • Birthday 08/15/1989

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  1. “No,” Roene said, a wan smile creasing the edges of his weary face. Though both ideas bore considerable merit -- long walks amidst the endless cosmos, unraveling depths of the force that no master had ever dreamed of; or standing guard as a bulwark for Dathomir and all those who would corrupt it -- that was not his purpose. He had a mission. And although part of his mind tugged at the hem of his worn brown robes, begging for him to stay, ironically, the stubborn willful edge of Roene’s thoughts brought him back to the task at hand. Darex’s orders rang clear in his mind as if he’d received them mere moments ago. But it hadn’t been moments ago. A month had passed. What had happened in that time? Was Dashel still on Mon Cal? Did Darex have a new direction for the Jedi? Questions cobbled themselves together in front of Roene like the pieces of so many jigsaw puzzles. He looked to the deep calluses of his right hand, weighing the possibilities. He knew where a lot of the edge pieces fit together. But, once he found a solid foundation, every new piece of information sought to break the only stability he had. He examined the scorched birch of his wooden left arm and found it more forgiving than he’d initially assumed. The wood was a bit more brittle than the oak it had replaced, but it was a tolerable change. Tyue was still with the Jedi, Dashel was force knows where, his people were plagued, and his task was done. What did that leave him with? “First things first,” Roene commented, getting to his feet. “I have a question to ask and a call to make.” The Cerean slowly began walking back to the ship, preparing a comm to Darex and nodding for Arleigh to follow. “The question is: would you like to be my padawan learner?” The Cerean’s coned pate was matted with sweat, but a mischievous glimmer touched the pale blue of his eyes.
  2. Dark… Nothing but dark. The physical manifestation of death or unconsciousness was all that lingered upon his weary bones as Roene rest, seemingly inert on the ground. No thoughts prattled about his inquisitive mind. But, all around him, the planet breathed and teamed with new life. Fallen animals were revived, patches of barren grass were now the golden brown or verdant green of former glory. Trees of withered bark, blew off the ash and weary flakes to reveal fresh wood beneath the surface. Leaves were growing in patches, dew lingered once more in the morning flora, and the air filtered itself in time, leaving the shroud of decay behind. Many dead still lay upon the plains and some even wept for their kin. But green things grew in their stead. They would provide the fuel that fed other generations of life to come. Such was the measure of life in most ecosystems. But the Cerean rested for what seemed like forever. Even Arleigh’s light seemed to do little for him. But her persistence was vital. As the spark of his padawan’s fire grew into a roaring flame, one of Roene’s pale blue eyes flicked open. The stimulation sent a landslide of sensation through his nervous system. It almost sent him back into a state of gentle repose. But Roene held on to that bright and used it to slowly ignite the life in his body. It was an agonizingly slow process. Every joint, every muscle, every vein, and every neuron groaned in disharmony as he moved. It took a great measure of energy to even fathom sitting up straight. But he fought for every inch. He needed to get back to full strength. The Jedi would need him. Arleigh would need him. His people would need him. But a prickly feeling at the nape of his neck bit at him. Even as he rasped a breath and finally took a fully-seated position, the Cerean could feel something odd. The force seemed, distant. He could still tap into it and channel it through his body, but everything felt different. It felt like trying on the same jerkin after it was washed with different soap. Everything was… odd. A cursory examination found a couple of physical after-effects: the former brown oak of his arm was now a bright birch white, and a few of his nerve clusters had burst, showing a myriad of different colors underneath the thin pallor of his weather-beaten skin. But, aside from that, little else had changed; or so he thought… “I’m… I’m awake.” Roene muttered through tired lips. A small smile worked its way across his weary expression as the cold blue of his gaze met her. “I’m glad to see you made it out okay. And, judging by the pounding on the ground - or that might just be my head - Wally made it too…”
  3. Roene’s vertical strike was ruthless. He used his downward momentum to cleave through the Terentatek’s midsection. Gas issued from the gaping maw of flesh as it fought to push itself back together, but Roene wasn’t paying attention. The primal heart of Dathomir was pounding deep in his ears. The rush of adrenaline barred realization. He followed his victorious blow with a lateral strike at the creature’s leg, to lame its pursuit, and the remaining animals desperately clawed at the flagging behemoth. Anger surged through the beasts as they fought tirelessly to avenge their fallen. And it was in that anger that Roene’s mind began to stir. Something was wrong... One subsection of Roene’s conscious mind caught the scream of his ward as it pitched over the whipping winds, his storm still crashing raucously against the plains Like an arrow, coursing through frictionless space, the Cerean moved to her side. The cold words of warning that spilled from her, pooled at the base of his ears. But he didn’t see their callous red eyes as they bore down on him. His pale blue eyes, wreathed in a verdant fire, took in the broken form of Arleigh. Roene’s feelings warred within him. A small frail kushiban laid on the grass beside her. He wasn't sure if it was real. But, then again, what was real? Animals big and small scattered beyond the reach of his young padawan’s hands. It was a subtle thing. And although the Jedi had never felt a great deal of shame or embarrassment before, the logical implications of his actions consistently wore on his mind. With a touch, he grabbed Arleigh and held her tight against him. He idly recognized the eyes swarming around him. And, without a word, the Cerean shot across the plain once more, past the mob of animals that swarmed the flailing Terentatek, and over to where the husks were cast to the cold ground. He set Arleigh gently on the ground. He didn’t know what this would do. He didn’t know what any of this would do. His brain, diverse as its potential was, was scattered to the wind on the beating heart of Dathomir’s primal energy. But, with a cold confidence striking against the uncertainty he felt, he embraced both of the husk’s small, child-like hands in his wooden one and embraced Arleigh’s cold hand with his other, fleshy one. The necrotic chill of their embrace began to wither the wood of his prosthetic and numb the flesh of his arm. Roene looked straight into the cold eyes of the frail Dathomiri children. The other eyes, hollow and red, swarmed to their position, flitting through the trees to surround the Jedi. He could feel the pressure of their curse pounding against his coned pate and smelled more than felt the warm gooey liquid as it dribbled down his nose and out his ears. His misgivings, his miscalculations, his uncertainties didn’t matter. The scar of Arleigh’s body burned against the back of his mind as he sat, staring into the cold hateful eyes of death. Enough… You. Will not. Take her. Each word was bitten off with a terse confident edge, attenuated only by the effort it took to cast them from his ailing mouth. Then, with the final act of his failing mind, Roene opened his body to the powers of the cosmos. He opened his frail shell as a conduit for the wild powers of both sides of the force. He opened himself freely as a final sacrifice, channeling everything he could into a healing energy that would counteract everything pushing against him. With a silent concussion, the entire world shook. A giant siphon of light poured into Roene. A chaotic stream of energy, born of the raw force, pierced the flesh of his welcome conduit and hit his system with the fury of ten lightning bolts. The world felt like it was on fire. Roene’s vision went white and all clarity went away. Everything felt scalding hot, and cold, and loud and soft and abrasive. There was sound and silence, knowledge and ignorance. It was everything and it was nothing. Just as the final touch of decay worked its way to his shoulders, the energy that suffused him, pushed it back all the way to his fingertips. But it was too much. The internal fibrous parts of his circulatory and nervous systems were bursting and disconnecting. Then, just as fast as they disconnected, they reconnected. His body was being ruthlessly destroyed and powerfully renewed in tandem. It was too much. The pain was tremendous. But, after one agonizing moment, Roene was blissfully distant. The last conscious thought he had was of a hill. It was a small grassy hill outside the perimeter of the Gala Praxeum. He sat there quietly with his friend Galen, contemplating the silent mysteries of the galaxy. But this, this moment of peace and tranquility, was mere moments from the firestorm that would threaten everything. A place of light and sanctuary was mere minutes from destruction; the fate of the world, or any world, balanced on the fringe of a single moment. What did that mean? Why was it significant? Roene’s thoughts jumbled, his musings were broken by hundreds of whispering voices that were lost in an incoherent blur. He heard the codes of the Jedi and Sith wrap around themselves and worm their way through his mind, but in ways that he’d never heard before... Passion tempered through Peace Knowledge bolstered by Strength Serenity sustained by Power Victory prompted by Harmony The chains of self-doubt and uncertainty are wrought of conscious thought. Through balance, we achieve oneness Through balance, we see the endless potential Through balance, we achieve the ultimate freedom Death is a beginning. The force is our destiny. We are the force. The force is everything. And then, as the final word kissed Roene’s fading light, everything was silent. Everything was black. And everything stilled.
  4. Roene’s brow was covered with a matte of new sweat. His concentration wavered slightly as the ground shook, spewing forth a titanic beast. But his gaze did not falter. As the suppurating words of cold excrement listlessly pushed at the Cerean’s will, his focus shifted and a new series of tasks began to pour seamlessly from his mind, weaving intricately with the first. More sweat beaded on his convex pate and his bushy white brows knit into a furious line. The verdant green in his eyes grew brighter, the glow pushing out a few feet from his eyes in an aura of strength and vitality. His expression was hard as he channeled the heart of primal Dathomir through his body. And, in a small but meaningful stroke, the Cerean got to his feet and clicked a small button at his right side. Then, a series of things happened all at once: First, the small patter of rain was whipped into a proper storm. Knots of blackened clouds swarmed overhead pressing cold rain all over the fields; sounds of thunder echoed in the distance. Second, the thunderous sounds that pounded from the sky were echoed by the vicious roars of the beasts at Roene’s side. And Roene, his mouth open wide and a brilliant viridian blade illuminated at his side, joined the chorus of roars with a primal ululation. The power of Dathomir was fierce and wild; all that remained of the planet’s heart was fighting to survive, using the Jedi as a conduit for its will. Last, as the cowed creatures regained confidence and turned on the mammoth terentatek with their own shows of genetic dominance, the smaller animals scurried quickly behind the beast and gathered Arleigh to take her from the field and into the adjacent wood. The beasts that escorted the padawan from the field were primarily herbivores, but Roene’s instructions were clear. In fact, each beast had been instructed not to eat the Jedi. However, the hungry beasts, driven by their needs and wants, were not easily persuaded. It had taken a lot of Roene’s strength before. But now, with the heart of Dathomir beating through Roene’s open channel and a large target of meat standing in their path, the beasts regained their vicious hungry eyes and turned to the biggest object in their way. But their hungry malice was another weave in Roene’s plan. His hand felt the rust of time and ill-practice as the cold leather handle rest against the light calluses of his palm. But his blade wouldn’t cut until its time. As Roene’s posturing continued, puffing up his metaphorical chest at the terentatek’s procession, a few of the rancor that had been standing beside the terentatek, closed behind it. The few of them that moved, standing at half the beasts’ bulk, did not grab or seize their prey, they waited. Then, the malklocs, standing at the beasts’ shoulders, reared back and charged at the titan. Four malklocs, a few of them bearded, flanked the shoulders of the beast and moved at terrific speeds, hoping to box the creature and knock it down. The group of rancor in the back, led by Wally, waited to catch and toss the beast. And the other animals, the ones that had been eagerly waiting at the sides, were anticipating the outcome. The Cerean’s proclivity for mental and force-based multitasking - his racial advantage and probably the best use for his over-large head - was starting to wane on his body. But he betrayed no weakness. Even as his muscles protested, sore and weary, he continued his mighty ululation. And, at the beast's movement, he added a mighty force push, supported by the gale winds of the storm, toward the terentatek and toward the husks, pushing outward with the force of a small hurricane. His grip tightened on the dewback leather of his saber and the vitality green of his eyes seemed to burst with ambient flame. No words would win this day. The Cerean lept to the back of the mighty Malklocs as they collided with the terentatek, keeping his feet planted even as the concussion would rock through the beasts’ mighty body. And, whether the blow knocked the beast down or simply resulted in a mutual collision, Roene readied himself for a strong downward strike at the beast’s face.
  5. Amidst the torrential outpour of dark, the Cerean knelt to the ground and sat upon it. He crossed his legs and the soft soil hardened beneath him. Blackness clouded the world and foul words threatened to bleed Roene and Arleigh dry. The Cerean couldn’t decipher the meaning of the spell, but he could feel tingles where the effect was supposed to hurt him. The Jedi Knight’s expression was deceivingly wooden and impossibly, pleasant. Pity… I never got the chance to know her. The storm of darkness billowed away with the breeze of cold dawn. Roene’s mind, fully recuperated, even as his body complained in a symphony of sore tissues and tired tendons, was open and working feverishly on multiple tasks at once. The rallying planet, fighting to stay alive, pushed its living energy through Roene as he combatted the curse that these ‘things’ were trying to inflict upon him and his ally. Roene’s counter efforts wrestled Arleigh from the darkness and hardened the soil beneath her as well, keeping her feet planted on the cold ground. Roene’s words echoed in her mind slowly and methodically. You are fine. You are safe. The world will protect you. I will protect you. The darkness will fade. You are fine. You are safe… Roene’s pale blue eyes glowed with a dull sheen as the ebony storm shifted from the plain and drifted further down the fields and into the sky, dissipating as it rose into the clouds. “As it is, I don’t care what your mommy thinks. This planet has rejected its inhabitants. It doesn’t have the patience for humanoids anymore. It wishes peace and to exist as it had before people came and fought over it. Dathomir is a primal place; a place of predators and beasts. It wishes to recall that past and forget the destruction that took place. As many have said, the dark side will find a way to taint and writhe and wriggle into any place it can, to claim power wherever it finds it. But darkness is merely the absence of light. Like anything else, it is a natural thing. It will fade. Only nature persists." Bearded Malklocs broke through the trees to stare at the withered fields. A gaggle of feisty Purboles came up to the edge of the area and chittered wildly. A herd of Verne passed by and bucked before continuing on their path. A small group of Rancor, joined by Wally as he regained his vision, joined the group... Bolmas, feeding on small Kwi that gathered a few meters distant, looked at the husks with nothing but scorn. Brackasets quibbled among the weeds and continued to squirm against the insects that made their homes deep in the tainted ground A small imperceptible hum emanated from all of the creatures, hungry though some of them were, and resonated with the Jedi Knight as he sat on the soil. Dark clouds gathered above Roene’s coned pate and shifted as they crowded amongst each other. Low sounds buffeted the group before small drops of liquid began to fall. The cold viscous substance was startling to the Cerean at first, but his attention never ceased. His frigid blue eyes never left the husks as they continued their foul chant, finding their curse impotent upon the icy blue tide of his protective will. Then, with a subtle shift, Roene’s thoughts moved once more. His eyes took on a verdant green hue. The rain intensified and the beasts moved closer to the field. The Cerean’s hands rested on his knees and worked around in small circles. Small particles of sand-like things rose from the soil. The sand-like particles grew as more and more molecules were added to them. After a few moments, there were thousands of marble sized chunks hanging above the field. After a few more minutes, the marbles became the size of baseballs. And, in time, they would grow until all of the destructive substances were removed from the soil, leaving the receptive, fertile land in its wake. All the while, the Cerean’s eyes never left the greedy stares of the impish husks. He kept chanting to Arleigh, filling her head with peaceful tones. He chanted to the forest, to the field, and to the creatures. All together as one, they hummed in unison and held the dark at bay, pushing the curse away and removing the taint from their home. “We are Dathomir. And your taint will be removed. In better times, I would study you and help you. But you have made your intentions clear.” Roene’s tone was even, and he made no move to attack or strike the husks. Rancor and Malkloc roars thundered around them and it was very present that, even if Roene didn’t move to attack, the beasts would if the husks made any move to stop the Jedi from doing what he was doing.
  6. Roene’s pale blue eyes cooled further as he turned his gaze to the husks that lingered at Arleigh’s thigh. Impulsively, he fought an instinct to simply study the creatures, and instead, froze them in walls of telekinesis. The dying planet did not have much power to lend to him, but with the tributary of power that he felt, he let the ebb and flow of the force encase the two and halt their movement. Now, with their advance halted, Roene’s thoughts could move beyond the impatient ramblings of his subconscious. He reached out with his mind to see what lay beneath the surface, but Arleigh’s reaction had been founded. These creatures were born of pure sorrow. An act of malice and cruelty had created a reflection of sorrow and fear. Roene had read about things like this but had never seen what kind of things walked away from scars in the force. And, now that he’d seen a lifelike example, it filled him with all kinds of unease. His brow knitted and heavy concentration marks lit upon his face and coned forehead. He looked into their glowing purple eyes and could see the eyes of his mother when he left Cerea. He saw the eyes of Galen as the Praxeum was being destroyed, he felt the soul of a grieving mother as her husband wasted away in unknown space. Echoes of the past came to rest on his shoulders, threatening to drag him away. But the Cerean stood strong. Despite his weakness, the determination in his blue eyes was granite. He steeled what emotions did stir in his heart and resolved himself to a scholarly indifference. “Darksong… Hm. I’ve heard of them.” Roene said, rubbing at the tuft of stark white hair at his chin. “I think I remember hearing or reading about their association with the Sith. But what little I’ve read would suggest nothing in this situation. As to your earlier question, I have no more answer than you do. I suspect, however, if any of these creatures still live, in any capacity, they might have an answer for us.” Roene put a staying hand out to stop what he supposed would be a raging rancor - due to the husks approaching Arleigh - and walked a little closer to the boys. He hoped to find… He didn’t know what he hoped to find. They were entirely unnatural at this point. It set all of his hairs on edge. He was fighting between impulses to stop them, to dissect them, or to abandon them in this field. And neither of those proposed anything productive. Instead, Roene held them in stasis and approached, touching at the death of their shape with a healer’s hand. Can I make them natural again? Is there anything still natural about them? Or are they completely irredeemable?
  7. Roene’s eyebrow shot up at Arleigh’s bold language choice, but instead of commenting, the Cerean chuckled in response. She had a point. “There is a way to relieve pain and soreness, but the fatigue of the mind cannot be won I’m afraid. And, as it is, we’d be better off not channeling the planet’s energies or the energies of the living things around us while the planet’s ecosystem is in its current state. It would be quite counter-productive.” Roene said, smiling a little and gazing up at the smoky night-time sky. Wistful thoughts mingled among dutiful musings as he sat, wondering and meditating in the moderate Dathomirian breeze. “We have a lot of work over the next few days. We won’t be able to get the planet to full-working order. But, with enough care and persistence, we will get it to a point where it won’t struggle to muster up a resistance of its own.” Roene sighed, bending back against the tall dried grass and nestled himself on the dry soil. He found a sizeable patch of foliage and started to close his lids, letting the Dathomirian wilderness pass him by. _____________________ With the rising of the sun, Roene started work. His muscles and motor functions were quite a bit better than they were when he was wrenching in pain the day before - mostly due to the fact that he was a Jedi and had a superhuman metabolism. It was a trait that all Jedi inherently garnered over the course of their training and was more subconscious than anything else. When he had shaken the last dregs of sleep from his eyes, Roene shook himself out, stretched in the morning sun and started to work his way toward the acres of farmland that were a couple of miles to the north. He figured Arleigh and Wally would have no trouble seeing him across the plain, but just in case, he avoided any type of cover.
  8. “I feel, while I may be uniquely suited to the task at hand, I am not well versed in tempering anger in my padawans. I fear my usual platitudes and aphorisms seem inept and usually backfire a lot of the time. I know it seems strange to say,” Roene said, coughing a little and taking a moment to regain balance as he continued, “But our mistakes are what define our path. And I must acknowledge that, even as a Jedi Knight, I make mistakes. All I can say, all that would be even remotely helpful, I feel, would be to say that anger is natural. Anger, as with other emotions, is not born of nothing. It is our body’s reaction to outward stimuli and a reflection of a more virtuous or pleasant feeling. In this case, I’m assuming, it is your love for this planet, its people and its animals that have you as angry as you are. And your anger, while perfectly reasonable, is a reflection of that love.” The Cerean hefted another block of sludge from the river and dissolved its baser elements, letting the energy of its form carry the caustic particles upward into space, leaving the biodegradable parts to saturate the dry soil. “That feeling is not a ‘bad’ feeling. Other Jedi would tell you that anger and hate are terrible things, that you should avoid hate and anger at all costs. But anger can be practical as well. Tempered anger and harnessed energy can lead to practical outcomes. For instance, if your friend does something that disappoints you and you get angry, you can use that energy to help in finding a more practical solution to your problem. It’s when you ignore your anger and let it rally inside you, or when you embrace it and embolden it, that it threatens to consume you. That, at least from what I’ve seen in stories, documentaries, and historical accountings, and a number of other recorded verbal and non-verbal testimonies is how force-users succumb to the dark side. They let their anger control them instead of controlling the anger inside of them. If you maintain vigilance and learn to channel the energy of your emotions into something better, you will become a more balanced person. And that transition won't be fast or simple. The balance in your body will come with time and practice. In the meantime, mistakes and shadow will follow in your footsteps, trying to steal your footing. But you must learn to stand to spite it all. After all, it's the choices we make that define who we are. We don’t just define our lives by the trips and falls we make to get to the end, we also measure every time we get back on our feet..” ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ SIx hours passed. After half a day’s work and a serious break to eat and rejuvenate, the Zanthek river and its tributaries were gleaming in the low light of one of Dathomir’s four moons. The water gleamed and glittered with fresh new life. There were still particulates in the water, that much was certain, but the level was no longer dangerous. And, in time, the water would neutralize itself. A large amount of biodegradable sludge was left in a huge mass right next to Arleigh and Roene’s workspace. The health of the water brought a measure of vitality back to Roene’s face and helped clear the toxins from his mind. “Alright. Now our next task is to take this sludge and help the soil. Acres of farmland were ruined a few miles from here. While I remove the chemicals from the soil and break them down into less harmful substances, I need you and Wally to spread this sludge on as much of the fields as possible. I know that sounds a little weird - why are we putting the gunk from the river in the soil? Well, as we removed it, I did what I could to remove all the harmful chemicals from it, letting them dissolve into the air, which is something we will deal with later. For now, the river is clean and we have a neo-fertilizer to help saturate the fields and breathe new life into them. You and Wally can even turn it into a game if that sounds like fun to you.” Roene finished with a little smile. He knew she must be taking all of this really hard. But, Roene also knew that, in times of hardship, having someone to enjoy life with almost always made the hurt feel a little better. Oh Galen, my little kushiban friend, how I miss you…
  9. The dim glare of starlight they had as they approached the former Running Brook Clan's campsite, had taken a grim red hue. Roene, conserving his energy this time and devoting attention to simply diffusing the toxins in the air, wandered confidently toward the site with only small lapses of balance and motor capability. It was slightly awkward being a Jedi and collapsing like a ragdoll. But, within the context of his folly, Roene wasn't hard pressed to see reason in the occasion. His bare feet felt the barren soil beneath him as he crossed the main thoroughfare of the Dathomiri campsite. A scholarly musing occurred to him as he walked, slightly eyeballing the structures around him: were these Nightsisters? Or witches? Or, even rarer than that, were these Dathomiri civilians that came from other worlds to settle on the planet despite its many dangers? A trivial question to be sure. Whoever they were, they were dead now; one with the force. There was nothing to be done for them other than help heal the wounds caused by their destruction and the destruction of their home. Sure, avenging their death was a possibility. But, in the end, that would earn them nothing and simply create a chain of ceaseless violence. Which was both impractical and useless. Roene thanked Arleigh for her water with a polite bow of his head and wandered to the edge of the camp, closer to the head of the Xanthek river where it met other rivers and circled around a small landmass. The small landmass had a large Ooravari tree planted on it. It was a large blackwood tree with leaves that were long gone now. The tree's bark, as Roene saw it from the shore, was brittle and dry. The moisture had been sapped from its wood, causing it to slump. And the rivers that joined the Xanthek, although flowing, were not healthy. Their colors were the deep brown of grime, the sickly green of rot, and in some places the opalescent sheen of foreign chemicals. Oil discharge, weapon fire, waste material and a slew of other toxins were ripe throughout the river and its system. And while the Xanthek and its tributaries were not the only rivers on Dathomir, it was the primary water source for a number of villages and predators. And without it, a lot of the ecosystem would continue to fall apart. The Jedi motioned toward Arleigh and walked with her toward the water. His pallor grew as the health of his skin reflected the health of the planet. He looked at her and smiled weakly. "I have gained a measure of my strength back in no small part due to your intervention. And for that, I thank you. However, I am beginning to understand why Dashel was supposed to accompany me on this task. Even with my full strength, I I cannot do this alone." Roene said, moving toward the shore and slipping into a ready stance. He wavered for a moment, his knees wobbling a little under the pressure of his body as it adjusted its position. But, when he was ready, he began moving smoothly with both his hands and his feet. When looked at from the outside, the gestures were fluidic, mercurial and vaguely meditative. They were measured and controlled, but they were flexible and malleable at the same time. Roene looked to Arleigh, implying that she join in if she could, and then continued with his routine. The water at the shore began to flow and ebb in direct response to Roene's motions. It moved in very much the same way he did. The entire body of water that sat at the intersection of four great rivers began to move as one unit and undulate with every shift. Sweat broke as Roene started to concentrate and bring nuance to his movements. And, as Roene started to switch from flowing movements to pulling movements, the water in the intersection began to split apart. Large caustic clods of waste began to seep out of the water in huge quantities, and then congeal into solid blocks which Roene placed on the shore a few feet from where they stood.
  10. “Yes, I think so,” Roene said, after coughing a little and holding his chest. Pain still tugged with small fingers at the edge of his body and fire still wormed its way through his nervous system. But with time and concentration, he would slowly erode the persistent ailment that plagued him. He looked at Arleigh and smiled warmly, nodding in an echoed affirmative to reiterate his answer. “Sorry for that, the Grandmaster was checking in with my mission, asking for a status update.” Roene struggled for a moment, gaining his balance by using his walking stick to leverage himself against the rough Dathomiri soil. He took a deep breath and opened the pieces of his mind that didn’t hurt, allowing tides of sapphire energy to rush through him and into the various channels of his biological systems. “Just give me a few moments to gather my bearings. Then, along with Wally and Wally’s cub, we can head to the heart of the Xanthek river. It is the base for a lot of tributaries in the region and is as good a place as any to start filtering the toxins from the rivers in this region.” Roene said, his tone dry and stony.
  11. Roene roused roughly. Pangs of white-hot pain kicked at every weary bone in his body. The Cerean coughed, slowly working himself to a seated position and opening his eyes despite heated protests from the surface of his conscious brain. He looked at Arleigh as she meditated and conjured a vague smile, silently offering words of thanks to her as she focused. But the more pressing concern was the beeping commlink that sat beside him. The sounds were piercing and relentless. He almost didn’t want to answer it and, instead, smash it with the blunt end of his stick. But, considering that he was in a dangerous place and very few people knew he was here, there was a strong chance that this call was important. Fumbling slightly for the commlink, and then trying to push the call button while suffering the wailing sound as it drew nearer, Roene listened to the grandmaster’s words before sending a response.
  12. Roene tried to move, asking his neurons and praying the force for strength. Wally’s massive frame interposed itself between Roene and the falling embers, but the Cerean had a hard time focusing on it. In fact, Roene had a hard time focusing on anything. The whole area seemed like a huge blur. Cold, moistened hands dragged over the surface of Roene’s body as some warm soil was piled gingerly upon his frame. A tent was erected, but the Cerean could not see it. The Jedi Knight’s eyes were closed and his conscious mind drifted away… But the Jedi still fought. The fire in his veins stood, patiently poised to cascade further into his body, infiltrating the essence of his being. And Roene waited, braced for the wave and enduring the continued onslaught. Sleep was hard won, but the Cerean fell to unconsciousness with the grace of a bag of uneven boulders falling down a flight of stairs.
  13. The Cerean felt more than saw the medicine enter his body. The sudden press of pads and needles into his body were but dull pushes against the numb paper of his skin, when they were swept away by the onslaught of powerful new sensations. The cone head's domed cranium rocked side to side as a tsunami of flame engulfed the thin layers of dermis covering his body. Tendrils of lightning combed the edges of his stomach, triggering violent heaves and sending a flood of flotsam to come powering through the Cerean's crumpled expression. He barely had the strength to turn before all sorts of whatsits ended up spread across the dirt. His spine creaked uncomfortably and the weakened Jedi felt his bones rattle as he coughed. But, the young Jedi's voice called to him. Her sweet alto pierced the stringent tide of muck and grime that crusted his waking nightmare. Thank you...
  14. Roene’s eyelids fluttered, a fierce burning coming from deep inside. Cool water seeped through every fiber of his robe and muddled with the ash as it swarmed through the air. Any refreshment one might glean from the water that gripped Roene’s form was surely lost amidst the tainted sediment filled muck that drifted from the Cerean’s robes. The burnt grass that he lay beside, crumpled under his weight as he tried to sit up, but a sharp stab of pain hit him square in the chest. The Cerean coughed violently, raucous sounds knocking his form about and pushing him to the ground. Arleigh’s quip caught him as he hit the ground and he forced a smile through breaks in the pain. His pale blue eyes, dimmed by the fire swimming inside of him, looked to the Rancor as the beast continued to shroud them, protecting them from the threats of Dathomir’s current state. Roene tried to say something, but all of his strength was being used to keep his eyelids open. Weakly, Roene lifted his arm and pointed to a pouch that he had wrapped around his waist. The pouch was filled with - now soaked - herbs and medicines. The Jedi Knight tried to reach out with the force, but his mind was cloudy and his thoughts were occupied with other endeavors.
  15. Drifting… Ebbing and flowing… Thunderous dark echoing off the vestiges of a weary mind… Glimpses of the shore… Agonizing seconds of submersion; murky water surrounds him, robbing what little air he has from his lungs, pressure pushes against his weary chest, and fire burns all over his skin. The cone of his head swells with pain and a hand reaches out to constrict the flow of energy through his nervous system. The Cerean coughs, racketing concussive force against his chest and inhaling burning water into his parched mouth. Voices calling… Quiet, then loud. Warbling sounds surround him. Then nothing. No sound. No light. No fire…
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