Nar Shaddaa

[Frond]

An encrypted holospace transmission is redirected from Borleais to Sandy Sarna's vessel.

 

 

What showed first was the rotating 3-dimensional hologram of an allied Jedi commander who spoke curtly,

 

"Master Sarna, this message was received in response to the Jedi Summons. It appears to be from your apprentice. We thought it best to forward it on to you immediately. We are. . . .er . . .not entirely sure what the tree means. The message came from pretty far out though."

 

With that the commander's head vanished, replaced by that of Frond's, looking much worse for the wear as his entire nose had been carved from his face, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of the tree-like beings head. His voice was somber as he spoke

 

"A seed on the mount

Buffeted by windy gales

Wrong about the worm

 

Cut down like timber

Two snakes ravaged our mission

Ficcabin Yule gone"

 

[Frond]

Setting out of place within the grimy world, a large twisted tree stood. It’s branches hung heavily, the black foliage glistening in the sunlight. It was such an odd eccentricity amongst the manmade structures, prefabricated homes, and dreary life that even now hovered over the people of Nar Shaddaa. Nobody knew where the tree had come from or what had forced the upheaval of duracrete cobblestones to reveal the earth the tree clung to. If asked, any passerby would just shrug and offer an explanation of some variation amounting to, “one day it wasn’t there. Then one day it was.”

 

And yet, there was something about the tree that kept the locals from hacking it down for firewood or fun, a soft glow that seemed to warm the hearts of any that took rest beneath it’s shadow. It really was in the way if one thought about it.

 

The tree bore no fruit. It’s black leaves seemed a stark contrast to the usual green of plant life. The twisted wood was of little use but to be burned. Still, it rarely dropped leaves or branches and all in all was a tidy little spot that seemed to not accumulate any rubbish or refuse.

 

Today, a group of children had taken to playing amongst the great timber’s branches, scrambling up and down and around. Their laughter echoed down the streets, warming the hearts of those who heard them. Their mothers gathered nearby exchanging gossip, bits, and baubles with ever watchful eyes.

 

Deep within the tree, a being sighed mentally. It was not a sigh of frustration or grief. If one were to compare sighs, this one was almost pleasant. And with that sigh, the tree’s branches and leaves rustled as if blown by a warm breeze even though there was no wind in the still cityscape’s air.

 

Contentment. Frond was content here. After the goings on of Ossus, he had cast himself away from the Jedi and back to that which he knew, to the world beyond shadows. There he contemplated for what felt like a step before eternity. Yet even there, the lessons of the force, of the Jedi, followed him. In a world beyond physiciality, the tree found himself meditating, moving his wooded humanoid body along the paths of  martial contemplation. He did not have a lightsaber, that part of him, along with his connection to the Jedi and the poisons of the dark side had been hewn off by the Jedi and Imperial Knights.
 

Frond was still a Mind Walker and yet, he was more. He cared little for the material world. The force was all that was truth. Beyond the crude matter of the worlds about him in the galaxy. Yet he continued to see glimpses of the galaxy, of the mortal coil. Flashes of violence, smoking deathscapes, burning jungles, and more. Violence plagued wherever he looked, whenever he looked. So it was that one day, Frond had taken to securing transport off world to this dreary landscape, drawn by the aura of hopelessness and an inexplicable feeling that something of great importance to not just the mortal world, but the force itself, could happen here.

 

And amongst such dreary existence, Frond had planted himself one cloudless night, a flash of yellow light and a frack transforming his humanoid form into a towering ancient tree, willowy in nature, twisted trunk and hanging tendrils. From there he returned to his meditations, emanating the seeds of light implanted by the Jedi outward to counteract the looming darkness.

 

So even now, Frond sighed, relaxing and enjoying the moment as it played out. He did not look towards the future and her looming darkness. This was peace. Here, amongst the laughter of children and the chatter of friends, the backdrop of pain and suffering, carried by a galactic war, melted into oblivion.

 

Frond was happy. Well, he was as happy as he could be on what he felt to be this doomed mortal scape. And so he sat, basking in the light of the sun, nourishing his wooded form, his mind aglow as he simply existed in the moment, allowing the joy of the children to become his very own. At least here, in this out of the way intersection of the burrows and ghettos, there was joy.

 

Then he felt it, a presence not of these tired and toiled, but something different, a regal bearing of blemished light, stomped but not extinguished. Where it moved, it glowed, lighting embers of hope upon it’s path.  Such a peaceful moment approached and before he knew it, had melded with his own. Without eyes in this form, Frond could not see, but he felt her, this hope giving gracefulness, and he was intrigued.

 

The tree creaked as Frond instinctively leaned slightly, his viney swaying appendages reaching to be nearer the presence that was Queen Namari.

 

One of the children, a dark-haired boy of no more than nine, with eyes to match ran to the Queen and grabbed her hand. His white toothy smile illuminated his entire face as he tugged at her hand. “C’mon! Come closer to the tree! Leave a gift and be repaid in ten!” he chortled playfully as he tugged Namari beneath the dangling blankets of glistening black plant.

 

Within the shadowy canopy, children crawled back and forth above and the twisted and gnarled trunk was adorned with all manners of toys and baubles left there by the locals. Each day they would leave their gifts for the mysterious tree and the next sunrise, they would be gone. Sometimes they appeared at another’s home in their window or upon their doorstep. Other times they seemed to vanish for days or weeks before showing back up; always at the home of they that needed it most. It was a miracle to some. Magic to others. Yet no one could deny the benefits that were conveyed when their need was met by the mysterious tree that seemed to facilitate the provision of their communal needs.

 

And as the refugee Queen of the Naboo passed beneath his fronds, his tendrils draping her shoulders like a cape, Frond felt her touch and his mind reached out for hers, ‘The touch of the spring, carries hope unto the life, vanquished is autumn’

[Frond]

Frond’s fronds rustled in the non-existent breeze of the force. He could feel the emotions that boiled beneath the Queen’s warm calm demeanor; the weight of a crown. And so, he allowed the warm weight of his tendrils to ever so slowly press in with a warm embrace.  
 

“Like wind, you speak truth, from the deadness of winter, life flows like a stream.” he pressed from his mind to hers, gently rebutting her statement with the warmth and hope that he felt assured of within his own soul. Where evil existed, so did good; where death, life; and where darkness was the strongest, light would always shine through. Such was the way of the force.

 

The tree would stand, radiating warmth and life throughout the day. It was as he had done for many days before and as he would do into the future; a weight in the scales of light to hold the cosmic balance in place.  
 

Yet, here in the moment, Frond felt the weight of the queen’s short life, her desires to do more, to be more for the souls of her people. Without words, he encouraged her to stay as long as she needed. He embraced her with the warm weight of his leafy limbs. Wordlessly, he invited her to return late that night when the people had all gone home. He urged her to return so that they could do what was right. 

[Frond]

Frond’s heart smiled at the return of the stalwart queen by cover of night. He had not been sure she would return. His viney limbs rustled in response to her query; the soft sound of nature piercing the still night of the back streets. He glowed warmly at her return and then, they waited. His warm aura continued to radiate into the emptying streets. Gently he allowed the peacefulness of eternal stillness and bliss to wash the area, a light breeze that seemed to emanate from nowhere and blow outwards; softly chasing flecks of dirt and darkness away. 
 

Eventually the streets were entirely bare, even the most grog-addled soldiers searching for a place to sleep off their inebriation. The occasional patrol would pass, but here in the shadows, the tree was nothing of concern. And as they waited, Frond’s knot holes creaked and slowly morphed enclosing the gifts of the day, opening anew, empty. 
 

And then the stillness was pierced by a single sharp crack, the sound of limbs snapping as a instant flash of light broke the dark shadows of the night. Stillness followed in it’s path as if nothing had happened at all. Yet, the towering willowy tree was gone, replaced by a four-legged creature of twisted grain and glistening black leafed ‘fur’ down it’s back. It was almost caninoid in appearance, standing shoulder to shoulder with the queen. Turning, the creature gazed upon the woman, swathed in disguise. They were not that different these two, hiding in plain sight.

 

The wooden creature closed his eyes in a drawn out blink before looking to young ruler again, his mind feeling for her own. He beckoned her to accompany him, a hand on his shoulder or atop his back, he did not mind either. Quietly he padded down the street, allowing the force flow outwards, feeling for those within. Where he felt need, they would stop, a gift from an earlier time, regurgitating within his maw. Gingerly he would deposit it at an open windowsill or within the shadows of a doorway.  
 

From house to house they moved, the goodness of the living force radiating from them as they sought to meet the needs of the many. Stopping at a dilapidated home, the creature craned his head to look at the queen. In a world of loss and need, even this structure stood out like a beacon of need. One did   not need the force to see the need here. Indications of numerous children existed everywhere. The door barely remained on it’s hinges. Windows were cracked and some even missing. A corner of the building had been rebuilt with scavenged planks; even now rubbish piling up against it.

 

Pawing at a piece of metal in the dirt of the ground, Frond unearthed and flipped a metal sign. In the dim light from a wall-mounted glowstick down the street the sign read ‘LITTLE REBELS ORPHANAGE a home for those abandoned by the ravages of war”

 

”Saplings need water; in the desert, rain is scarce; a bucket, a friend.” Frond spoke, his mind pressing in on the queen’s. He did not know her. She did not know him. Yet they were united under the causes of goodness and compassion. In this, he invited Namari to take a turn, to take that which she had been given and to make a difference in the lives of those less fortunate. A low mewling pleading growl punctured Frond’s point, spilling from his wooden maw.  That which they had was fleeting. It meant nothing; but it could be used for eternal good, to wrest the cosmic balance back from the deepest darknesses that lurked in every man.

 

They were a long ways from Frond’s growing spot and the first lights of the sunrise were just starting to graze the horizon; their pale glow against the smoggy sky radiating above the jutting buildings that surrounded the rundown orphanage. 

[Frond]

The maw of the creature-formed Frond twisted into a toothy smile of wooden teeth as he looked at the queen. This place held a glimmer of hope amongst the hopelessness that seemed to radiate from it’s very porous walls. His eyes glimmered with hope. 
 

Raising up on his hind legs, Frond twisted unnaturally towards the sky, a flash of yellow light and a wooded crack piercing the night for but an instant. Standing where the wooden creature had been, now stood a towering (8 feet) tall humanoid. It was if he had grown from the viney and trunks and tendrils of trees. Garbed in all the splendor of nature.

 

Turning to the queen, Frond smiled widely, exuding a sense of peace towards her as he extended a hand to the queen. He reached out to gently take her hand, turning it so her palm lay upwards in his own smooth woody tendrils. With another limb, Frond reached into a deep scarred rift in his chest and removed a prepackaged can of Salthia Bean Paste. He pressed it into her hand as he whispered, his voice carrying to her ears for the first time since they met. “Give.”

 

Frond smiled at Ann. He could see the pain such a sight pressed against her. He could feel her desire to help. He knew that he alone could not care for everyone in need. He had nothing; serving only as a pass through for the generosity of neighbors for neighbors. But from those who had excess, he welcomed them to care for they that did not even have necessity. It was up to this girl to decide what she did from here. Each soul was responsible for its own place in eternity.

 

Taking his eyes off of the queen, Frond glanced towards the brightening pre-sunrise sky. 
 

“Sunset brings the night; mystery thrives in shadow; sunrise purifies” he spoke, gesturing back the way they had come. They had cone far depositing gifts through the night, but now Frond needed to return before the waking of the townspeople stirred alarm at the mysterious giving tree’s disappearance. 
 

Turning, Frond squeezed Namari’s hand before letting go. “Tonight?” he sighed, before shuffling away as quickly and quietly as he could. 

[Frond]

Frond shuffled quietly back to his perch in the dilapidated city square as the first rays of sunlight began to trickle in from above. The long shadows of sunrise blanketed the world in starkly differentiating patterns of grays and purples, yellows and reds. Amongst that, a sharp crack echoed down the empty streets and in a flash of yellow light, a light that was lost in the rays of the sun, Frond transformed. The Neti’s body twisted and arced growing upwards and outwards, 30 feet in each direction, until his foliage reached towards the sky and encompassed the better part of the intersection. 
 

Here the ancient being stood, in the rapidly warming air of the day, an aura of peace radiating outwards. A new day had began and soon enough the waking people were discovering the blessings of Anne and his own nighttime handiwork, blessed in their times of need. He basked in it. With the newness of day came the freshness of rest and the hope of a future. Soon enough, as denizens began to shuffle to work and children to school, they stopped beneath the heavy fronds of his canopy. Some left gifts in his emptied crevasses,  others simply ran a hand down his smooth barky exterior in silent thanks. 
 

Frond exhaled, a directionless breeze flicking and flittering his foliage in gentle symphony. He was at peace.

 

He remained as such as the day wore on, exuding peacefulness to all that passed. Yet something different wafted on the air. With each hurried passerby or marching column of soldiers; every speeder that whizzed by in the distance and craft that glode overhead, it seemed to grow microscopically, as if carried on the very breath of this bastion moon. Something was afoot. Tension raised. It was the beginning of unseen preparations for an unknown but suspected act. The world itself seemed to brace itself as the denizens made their preparations. On a stronghold such as this, war was always on the air, it permeated all that took place; but now, it was as if that everpresent lurking truth had been thrust to the forefront. It even rippled oh so delicately on the force, for those that took the time to watch it. Beyond Shadows, Frond had seen something of the sort centered on this world, these people. It was what had drawn him to this very spot, anchored to the world itself. He did not know what was coming, but he felt it. A surge of suffering to tear not just the insignificant physical world, but one that rippled upon the waves of the eternal force.

 

With this fresh in mind, and never one to jump brashly, Frond finally knew what it was he had to do. So, that night, when the sun had set, the aged seer transformed once again. Only this time, he did not shuffle through the streets leaving gifts. No, this time, Frond directed himself towards the Rebel and Jedi bade that occupied this world. If such a force was coming so as to tear at the very fabrics of truth, he would do what was needed of him. Frond was no longer a Jedi, in truth, he really never truly was; and yet, it was to the Jedi that he would go, would they have him. The people he had taken to looming after would need him in a way more tangible than ever. He would see to it that he was there for them. 

 

[Frond]

Frond took a seemingly meandering but decidedly direct path out of the Rebel stronghold and back into the city at large. There, he was just another of the meandering masses, albeit an odd one. He moved as one with little purpose but the grand mysterious guidance of someone or something unseen; and yet, Frond knew where he was going. Turning left, then right, then left again, he continued on, sure of his own path. He came to what seemed to be a trash-strewn alleyway that curved into shadow. Shuffling down it, Frond reached an askew manhole cover. Kicking it aside, the tree being’s body writhed and shifted as he fit his hefty frame down into the stinking sewers below.

 

Even here, one was not entirely sure of being alone. Criminals roved these underground highways of filth, even here. The old ways lived on in shadow.

 

Frond waded waist deep through the stink and filth. It did not bother him. His body relished in the nourishment contained within. Frond moved until he found a ledge deeper in. He pulled himself up on it, clear of the muck, and into the thin rays of broken light that shone down from a small drainage grate above.

 

Reaching into his opening knothole, Frond removed the smooth wooden case. He felt it’s weight in his tangled hand. The protective layer inside contained the force powers of the dark tools within.

 

In one hand, Frond held the holocron, in the other, the case of darkmetal sabers and mask. With a sigh that ruffled his leaves, Frond set the holocron before him. He needed a lightsaber. Maybe these would fit the bill, tinged as they were. Holding the case in both hands, the Neti gingerly opened the lid.

 

He felt the glow of dark energy wash over him like a warm wind. A familiar old friend that greeted him with warmth. A warmth that brought a smile to Frond’s face. He was wiser this time. He would overcome. These weapons were merely saturated in darkness, his last one had been formed from it without  blemish or watering down.

 

Setting the open case down beside the holocron, Frond reached for the duo of matching hilts. His viney fingers encircled the weapons. They were cold to his touch, sapping the heat and energy from his palms. Frond inhaled sharply at the draw of energy before he lifted the hilts and activated the blades. Immediately a pair of crimson beams speared into the heavy dark air and Frond’s face twisted as the darkmetal blades’ draw increased tenfold. Frond opened his mind to the force, pulling it from around him to feed the call of the blades. They cried for destruction and Frond wanted to give in to their desires. He reached out, his mind touching the life forces of the small creatures that filled these sewers, he drew from their power, feeding it through his viney wooden limbs. He felt alive, young, and ready for anything.

[Frond]

Frond sat in the dark glow of the duel sabers, his mind extended outwards enveloping the world about him and drawing on it for several minutes. It would have been longer but a sudden jolt of fear arced like a bolt of lightning across his senses. Opening his eyes, the Mind Walker powered down the blades. He felt their hunger fade to a faint tug, like a constant twitch. It was there, but could be ignored with ease. And still, the stabbing bolt of fear lingered.

 

With deft mind work, Frond sought to follow it, concerned that one of his wards had fallen into a quandary that needed immediate intervention. What he felt at the end was something different entirely. It was a being, no two, connected as he to the force behind the veil of this physical world. What more, this being seemed to carry a light and void within his countenance. Could it be? Another seeker of the cosmic balance called to this world by the will of the force itself? Frond was intrigued.

 

Grabbing up the holocron and sabers, Frond tucked them into a knothole, sealing them within his thick wooden frame. He then picked up the mask. Staring at the visage it contained, he could not help but see Aidan’s face materialize across the metal surface. Was this what they had arrested him for? Was this why he was imprisoned even now?

 

Frond shook his head. He did not know. What he did know was that to possess such items as a Jedi, and so he guessed even more so a Knight, was not good. He recalled his own dark weapon and the response he had received for it on Ossus. Aidan had helped him then, and so, now Frond would return the favor.

Taking the mask, Frond hurled it into the darkness of the sewers where it landed with a splatter and sank beneath the caustic muck of the city itself. 
 

Frond then set off the opposite way, back the way he had come; following the glowing silvery tendril of whoever’s fear had jolted him back to this world. He would find this one.

 

Back up and out of the sewer the tree-man shimmied. Along the streets he walked with purpose, his eyes darting to and fro. He did not stop until he was staring straight up a spire that shot up into the sky. He could sense the presence above. 
 

With a flash of bright yellow light and a loud wooden crack, the humanoid vanished, a large willowy tree taking it’s place; his long viney black-leafed tendrils swaying with the sudden change. Thirty feet into the air the tree stretched and suddenly he was beside the kedge that held the presence and . . . a baby? A potential liability to be dealt with later. For now, his limbs creaked and moved as if pressed by a nonexistent wind, reaching out for the pair, beckoning them to climb amongst his branches downwards to safety. On those same reaching branches, a presence called on the force,  “A flake on the wind, snow falls lost to forever, it remains alone.”

[Frond]

Lowering the man and child to the ground, Frond passed them from viney ensnaring tendril to tendril until they touched the ground.

 

With a blinding yellow flash and a loud cracking of wood, the tree vanished leaving a hunched thick wooden being in it’s place. He still towered over the other man, his glistening black cloak of leaves fluttering at his back about his shoulders. Canting his head, Frond regarded the two before him. Slowly he blinked feeling the two out in the force; annoyed by the child’s whimpering cries. “The scales of justice,” Frond spoke holding out two gnarled wooden hands equally before him with his palms up, “perfectly balanced by fate,” he wavered both hands up and down regarding each with his eyes before turning his attention back to Scorpio and his child, before continuing, clasping his right hand over his open left hand against his chest; “both sides must be here.” Frond had felt the darkness and light in the man he regarded. To forgo one against the other invited ruin and sought to shift the momentum of the force itself; the only true entity of this illusionary existence.

 

“Wind called from beyond,” he gestured to the sky and the horizon beyond sight, “flocks follow preordained courses,” the Neti’s hand traced a zigzagging path across the sky zeroing down to the ground at their feet, “called here by the force.” Frond’s eyes followed his hands before stopping, looking to Scorpio as if seeking confirmation that he too was called to this place by the will of the force. Frond was a seer and he traced the trails and tendrils of he force across the cosmos. It was part of his millennia as a Mind Walker, and his connection with the younger force users of this reality was sometimes lacking. If he could see these deep truths and branching futures, why couldn't anyone else who touched the force?

[Frond]

Frond took the man’s words in stride. He did not move as he watched Scorpio speak. He did not even blink. Like an ancient tree rooted against the changes of the world about him, he stood.  As the man introduced himself, Frond’s face twisted into a smile. His arm creaked as the Neti placed a single gnarled knuckled vined finger against his chest. “Frond.”
 

Frond’s eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted to the child, his mind turning to the visions of the future that captivated his waking thoughts. He wondered why the child existed; why she was here, in this place, with the tempest that brewed ever closer on the horizon. “The storm gathers nigh, leaves atree or free are lost, what must be done, will.” Frond’s inner eyes flashed to the chaotic gale that he had seen Beyond Shadows. He felt the winds buffet his very soul and saw the force itself torn asunder. His entire body tensed, creaking as if buffeted within a gale. He had been called to this world, to stand against the Jedi and Sith alike who would rend the force like a rag in their questing for their monastic and Imperialistic ideal.
 

The force was all that mattered.

 

Edited October 28, 2021 by Frond

[Frond]

Frond’s face creeked as it creaked into a warm smile. Here was one who understood; but even then, he, like Frond, was limited by their very existence.

 

With an inhale, Frond closed his eyes, dampening his very essence against the backdrop of the all-encompassing noise of the force that echoed across the galaxy. The dark hunger of the sabers he bore shone more clearly against the haze and he melded into the intricate geometries. He felt the tangle of countless emotions, of worlds and star systems, of the crashing and receding flow of powers above and beyond the mortal coil, the will of the force. He was insignificant, yet he was here, bound upon this mortal coil.

 

He pondered Scorpio’s words before he spoke, each word drawn out, slow, and pondered. “Many lives will be lost. The force itself churned anew. We will stand against.” He allowed his presence to surge back out, blanketing the area in a mystical heavy aura of peace and comfort. “The future flexes. Three souls intertwined are strong. Sabers in defense.” His words were a question within a statement. Alongside Scorpio’s split soul, Frond was willing to stand; to face off against the churning onslaught of the dark side that even now was lapping at their doorstep.

 

Turning his attention towards the child, Frond regarded the young humanoid for a moment before speaking again; “The wind blows cold, death.” He shook his head, his aura douring at the idea that formed in his mind. “A divided mind is weak.” He ran his hand across his chest before reaching out to touch Scorpio’s, feeling the warmth of the man in his viney tendrilled hand. He urged a comforting soothing warmth to flow from he to him. “We will defend this.” 
 

Moving his hand down to Scorpio’s, Frond grasped it firmly and began to shuffle deeper into the shadowed cityscape. He pulled the once-Jedi, once-Sith, now both and neither, man after him. Through the winding streets, beyond ghettos and slums, the hidden face of the world they now trod, Frond moved.

 

The sun set beyond the spires in the distance as the run down villagescape of this reach of the planet fell under the rising stars. This was where Frond had stood since he came to the world. This was where Frond had cast his shadow on the force itself, a protective warming shield over the small people who struggled to eek out a living. Stopping in the very intersecting clearing where he had stood a weeping tree, he offered a warm smile of positivity. These were the people he had come to protect; their  existence the thread that kept the force from being torn into the void.

 

Frond gestured to Scorpio’s child, warmth exuding from his every pore. “Sheltered by shadow. Protected from Death’s cold touch. Stones shielding your child.” His offer was a simple one. The people he had protected, would protect this child. He had felt their desires, their needs. Frond knew this community, these people; their hearts and minds. He knew who would cherish this child for days, months or years, who would protect it. All Scorpio needed to do was give the child to Frond. He held out his arms.

[Frond]

Frond stared at Scorpio intently. He did not intend to fight for the Rebellion or for any political cause. His goal was simpler and more grand. He was a servant of the force as he understood Scorpio to be. The Neti extended his hands outward as if to encompass the gathering of people that were coming and going, seeing the strange duo amongst them where the Tree of Giving had stood for many months. “Leaves bound to the branch,“ his eyes turned to them and back to Scorpio before looking downward. Squatting he ran his hand over the worn roadway and the dust and dirt gathered atop it over the centuries. “branches affixed to the trunk”. Looking back up to Scorpio he concluded, understanding them to be bound by the same calling even if they came to it differently, “rooted in the force”.

 

Frond shook his head remorsefully as he patted the sealed knot where the dark-tinged sabers rested. They were a curse he would bear until the the time was right to give them up. He had spent time with those who followed the light. He tasted the insatiable hunger of the darkness and the call to at ensnared those who craved it. He would not be bound to or by either.   

 

With creaking limbs Frond stood slowly back to his full height to regard the clouded sky of daylight overhead. As he looked overhead he spoke again, “day, night, bound as one”. He clasped his tendrilled hands together as if to emphasize his point. “The force is the same as this; it calls me to stand. Shattered and stagnate;” Frond spoke of his concerns that could be wrought upon the very aspect of the force by those gifted enough, those real enough to touch it. Those meant to serve it but strayed by their own ideals. “Ideals to manipulate.”

 

”To serve and maintain.” Frond tapped his chest. He would stand and fight for the people, for the force. He would protect them. In doing so, he would protect the force. He could not standby and allow the force to stagnate as an untouched pool; nor could he stand aside and allow it to be torn asunder. It was the latter that he had seen in his visions. Upon Nar Shaddaa, the force would be strained. It could be torn if what was to come was not stopped. It was that he had to stand against and which he invited Scorpio to stand beside him for. To ferry lives away would be a start, but there was no way all of these could be rescued. Someone would need to stand between them and their ravagers of the dark side. He hoped that Scorpio would understand this. They were kindred in their outlooks and ideal. Frond only hoped that Scorpio would step beyond the politicking of the galaxy and embrace the will of the force itself. He looked at Scorpio’s child, his heart longing to see that the child, like all others, be protected from the coming apocalypse. 
 

Frond turned his eyes up towards Scorpio, his face serious and his look longing. He needn’t speak to communicate the seriousness of his request. One could save the child and few of the many, or they could together risk it all together, for the greater good of the force and by such the majority of those who had taken refuge upon this planet.

 

Frond extended a hand to Scorpio, hoping that he would take it and join him against the gathering storm. His face twisted into a smile. A warmth emanated from his very core. It was tangible to those nearby as their demeanors lightened and smiles spread across their faces.

 

He invited Scorpio to again reconsider and embrace the force over his own desires.

Edited November 16, 2021 by Frond

[Frond]

Frond smiled. His heart longed for the path that Scorpio spoke of. To simply be, as he had for countless centuries as a Mind Walker, would be his greatest desire. It was a path he was not destined to follow. Frond was no longer a mere observer of the force, but a servant of it in all it’s facets. 
 

Frond regarded Scorpio’s child. He turned his gaze to all of those that passed about them giving them little more than a glance. “The grass of the field,” he swept a hand to encompass all of them. “Burns and no being cares plants fate.” He shook his head his expression saddening as he ground his rooted foot in the broken stone and soil that worked it’s way through. “Below is bounty.”

 

Frond sighed heavily, reaching into his chest withdrawing the darkened saber hilts. “Paths of passion, yes,” he regarded his fellow’s comments on war. He knew the toils it called for. He had watched countless conflicts from afar. The suffering was intense, regardless of side and cause. In one hand he held the weapons. In his other, he held the Darkfire holocron. He weighed them both. Both of them were “wrought by passions of men.”

 

Frond inhaled as he stared into Scorpio’s eyes, deeply. He stared as if to bypass his fellows’ surface emotions and touch him beyond his planar constraints. “The force, peace, prevails.”

 

Frond cared not for the lives of those about him. He cared not if they lived or died. He knew though that their deaths would be the catalyst by which the disciples of the dark side would seek to twist and shape the force to their will. It was that which he sought to stop, to stand in the way of. To save these lives would be to seek the preservation of the force itself in it’s cosmic entirety. Yet Frond knew that to serve the force would require sacrifice. It was one he was willing to make. To forego his mortal form was a sacrifice he had come to terms with long ago. And it was one that Scorpio now wrestled with.

 

”Blades against the storm.” He nodded, reassuring his comrade of the justness of their cause.
 

“Cords bound together are strong.” He stepped forward placing the holocron in Scorpio’s hand and then resting his viney hand on the man’s shoulder. He held the saber hilts before him. “These must become mine.” He squeezed Scorpio’s shoulder hoping the man trained by both Jedi and Sith would be able to combine his knowledge of weapon crafting with Frond’s own and that of the holocron to take the accursed sabers and shape them into a powerful weapon bound to the service of the force beyond that of the mantras of the Jedi or Sith. 

[Frond]

Frond smiled at Scorpio, his wooden face twisted comically. The young, always so full of ideas. He appreciated the young father’s resolve. To sever ties with the mortal world was a chore at best; a dying to self. It was a sacrifice which Frond had come to intimately understand as a Walker of The Mind. Giving himself over to the will of the force, in contrast to the innate mortal draws of his station, Frond appreciated what the warrior was willing to do. “Perhaps there is more,” he mused, his cracking deep voice trailing off into the warm air.

 

”Friends in the maelstrom are true,” he explained slowly, as he thought ahead to what was to come. “A strand of THREE cords . . .” The start of the ancient phrase rolled from his mouth into the air as the Neti fell into deep foreign thought. His mind, a plant, surging as every cell processed that which only the aged tree could see within his own thoughts. 
 

Turning, Frond tucked the items out of sight, and shuffled into the city without a word. He and Scorpio were bound in the force to this place. So long as they remained upon this world, Frond would stand with the once Jedi-Sith in the force’s will.