Master Prophet

(OOC: Previous Post) He could feel his muscles pulsate as the surge of beams struck his armored body, although Sly had been taken a fair amount of torture in his days of being captured by the Hutt Clan, his body physically would be unable to sustain itself with three separate shots of a stun blaster. Feeling the blasts coming only moments before they struck, he braced his body for the uncontrollable spasms that would follow and did the best to relax as he collapsed onto the floor unconscious in his physical form. Knowing that he had only one hope of surviving the encounter that he had left himself relatively unprepared for, he readied his mind just before the blaster shots hit his body. It's interesting how the mind of an individual can still run even while its body has been rendered unconscious. Your mind, when unlimited by physical limitations of flesh and bones, can be a very powerful thing; especially when that mind belongs to one of the most dangerous outlaws in the galaxy. As the two storm troopers waited for their newly un-appointed lead officer to return with their captain who fell through the cantina, they readied the body for containment. As Sly's mind was still conscious within, his connection to the force was never severed, as such, his most powerful weapon was about to bring an end to the two troopers that stayed behind to guard the body. The trooper that had pulled his interlocking cuffs felt it first. He felt somewhere from beyond, as if being struck by an invisible enemy, his arm that was holding the detaining mechanism suddenly snapped in half. The bone shot from his arm violently and shattered with enough force to splinter through the white pristine armor he wore. His partner felt it next when his left leg did the same. It was as if they were being crippled, snapped in half, by an invisible enemy; and they were. The two men screamed in agony as the pain continued on for a few more moments before their heads twisted, snapping their necks, and ending both of their lives. Through the force, Sly made his new aquentance feel his need for help as he lay only feet away from her ships. Within the hanger Mirdala felt a calm presence calling for her help, asking her to come outside. The mind is a dangerous thing, especially one as fearless as Sly's. By the time the other officer would return, he would find only the two dead bodies of his soldiers, no witnesses to the escape, a fully fueled but almost empty ship in the hangar, and only the drag marks of a body through the sand into an almost completely empty hangar. Stevenson had narrowly evaded the Empire, again.

(OOC: Previous Post) The storm trooper made a grave mistake. He clung to Stevenson and for a moment Sly jerked and bucked like a ronto bull, attempting to fling him from his back. He could sense the danger approaching as the other troopers raised their weapons and fired, but it was too late. The heat from the bursting flames shot from Sly's armored jetpack which had sprung to life, lifting the two men off the ground. The stun blasts missed by only a few calculated inches as the two lifted and went soaring into the air like a rocket shot from the ground. Had the soldier kept in close combat, he might have actually done some damage against the aging former Jedi Master, but he had made a terrible mistake by getting TOO close. You could tell from the expression on the storm troopers face, he went from having the upper hand to losing control of the fight all together. It all happened so quickly and as a result, Sly had the advantage again. It was easier now for Sly to fling the man from his back with a stiff elbow to the un-helmeted face of the man that nearly split his face open. With a simple push from the force, the trooper felt his hands separate from his grip, and realized his doom. Turning to face the falling man, Sly could see the white's of his eyes; he was close enough to see the expression of horror that came upon the man's face. He was falling, and fast. Like a rock being pulled by Tatooine's gravity to the ground, he plummeted towards the roof of the cantina. If not for his armor, he would have likely died on impact, but he would surely be rendered unconscious when he crashed through the roof and landed on a table. The crashing sound sent the bar dwellers diving for cover thinking a bomb had just gone off. Hovering above, Sly drew his lightsaber to protect him from laser bolts that would likely be flying his way soon. Tapping his helmet to initiate his comm. device he spoke; ”œI'm on my way, are both ships ready?”

(OOC: Previous Post) Sly barely had time to dodge the weapon that came at him in the blink of an eye. Strange, he hadn't seen that one coming; this imperial soldier was trained well. His focus was on other parts, and even with Sly tapping into his mind to attempt to detect his next moves, he found it difficult to sense where the man would go next. Cathair's fist struck straight in the chin of the helmet, almost knocking it clear of Sly's head; the force of his fist knocking Sly to the side and jolting his head gear to a rattle. The echo of the shock from the trooper's fist rang through Sly's helmet; almost making him regret he was still wearing the armor. "Focus" he heard his master's voice say in his head, remembering his training long ago. He quickly regained his foot, and stumbled to the side, using the momentum of the punch to carry him into a turn that placed him a few feet from where Cathair had landed his first strike. Tucked within the compartment of his armor was Sly's lightsaber, the code, waiting to be awoken. In a worst case scenario, Sly knew that if he had to save his own skin, he could quickly call upon it to end his opponent's life. Using the force to aid his step, Sly turned from his stance into a full spin kick with his armored foot aimed straight for Caithar's head. Within Sly, he knew the truth. The truth was, the former Jedi and the Imperial officer weren't the real battle. The true fight had already long ago begun and the pieces were sliding into position for his final act.

(OOC: Previous Post) He could feel them come at him through the force, their muscles flexing, their fists balling, and their kicks bracing for impact. They had clearly received hand to hand combat training while at the academy of the Empire, but they were far inferior to the skills of the former Jedi. On top of being trained in martial arts with the Jedi, he was also well trained in Teras Kasi martial arts. Whether one or one hundred, the Teras Kasi touch the skills needed to defend yourself in a hand to hand combat fight and use your body to leverage against your enemy. As with most teras kasi warriors, his fighting techniques were mostly defensive, and once the opportunity opened, a well time strike that would cripple the enemy. He could hear their grunts every time he inserted his fist into their armor sections, or his hand colliding against their face. He dipped, moved, used other combatants against each other by pushing them, or throwing them into one another; the most dangerous part was, he wasn't really using the force to aid him in defeating his enemies. With all of their helmets removed, his favorite move was to ram his helmeted head against their skull, rendering them immediately unconscious or worse. The numbers quickly began to fall, and he counted his remaining targets in his head as if it were a game to him. ”œ5”

(OOC: Previous Post) She looked at him waiting for his next move, his mind already calculating the scenarios and possible outcomes. The individuals in the bar didn't give him much time to think at all, he could sense them ready to move into position moments later. He returned her gaze, putting his helmet back atop his head, then spoke through the metallic voice. ”œGet to the ship, I will meet you there. If I'm not there within 5 minutes, pick me up rooftop.”

(OOC: Previous Post) ”œI will accompany you to Concord Dawn and assist you in acquiring what you need”¦”

(OOC: Previous Post) Sly returned her smile with what resembled his own smile, never showing his teeth, the corners of his mouth just slightly turned upward. In reality, he hadn't smiled in years and he couldn't remember the last time that he was truly happy with his life. Things, as they were, had become so complicated these recent years with all the hunting, betrayal, and deception. The hunting was something that he knew all too well now, and he thought it was bad when he was leader of the Jedi Order; that was just a warm up. He was more machine now than man, figuratively speaking; he lacked many of the characteristics that made up any normal human. His body had become accustomed to lack of sleep, scarcity of meals, and consistent dehydration. His heart hadn't felt compassion for anyone in a long time, the world he knew became darker and more difficult to find joy. All things considered he was actually in the best shape of his life from years of being on the run. Sly actually knew very little about her, only what he told her which was provided to him by a spy network contact he had used many times in his years of being on the run. Raek had become a loyal friend to Stevenson, even though they had only met a few times; they shared the passion together for the destruction of the Empire. Raek had once told Sly that if the information Sly was giving ever came back to him, that he would gladly be tortured and killed before giving anything to them. Not just because they shared the same view on the Empire, but because they had become brothers over the years, and as each mission became more successful and the holonet began to report, Raek took just as much pride in the mission as Sly had. Assassinations. Rebel rescues. The destruction of weapons facilities, ships, and personnel. All had been completed with the information Raek had supplied. Sly was grateful to his little bothan friend, for the endless information he provided which had ultimately led him here. ”œI appreciate your assistance in any way possible. I've slipped some, imperial entanglements, coming into the city.”

(OOC: Previous Post) He wasn't exactly sure how Raek had known her, possibly through other mutual contacts, but he convinced Stevenson that the only way for his mission to be an ultimate success was with her help. Sly realized that he may be coming on strong, but he didn't have time to explain, or the time to convince her to help. He knew that every moment that past by, the hunt continued and whoever was looking for him, was making progress. ”œHe did,”

(OOC: Previous Post) He moved inside the back yard apartment, lowering his head to fit inside the doorway, the apartment opening up allowing him to stand at full height again. Still unsure if this was who he was in fact looking for, he spoke again looking for confirmation; "My informant gave me information that I may find help from a Mandalorian woman in the city of Mos Eisely. I submitted myself to the will of the force and it has led me to your bar.”

(OOC: Previous Post) The metallic voice that came from the helmet softly spoke one word to her; ”œSu'cuy”

(OOC: Previous Post) His jetpack's engines cut and his metallic boots slammed against the ground; the sand sliding beneath his feet as he sunk an inch or two. Through his helmet, he took note of two imperial watchmen who stood outside the northern gates, neither patrolling nor standing on guard; he assumed they were on leave. In either case, they didn't seem much interested in his approach, and for a moment, he appreciated the deception of being within the armor suit. It had been months that he had this feeling of freedom, but he was lonely, although he probably wouldn't admit it. He missed being able to walk, just to enjoy the stroll and the stretching of his legs. He missed his conversations with strangers, and learning from their different upbringings. He missed everything. He had casually walked past the troopers and had even gotten a slight head nod and a raise of a hand that passed as a wave. He thought for a moment how different the situation would have been if he weren't wearing his helmet. Would they raise their weapon? Would they lay it down for him? Call for reinforcements? It didn't matter, because he WAS behind the mask, his deception”¦ his new face. So he had no choice but to play the part, ”œhail the Empire.”

(OOC: Previous Post) ”œWe're here, bounty hunter.”

(OOC: Previous Post) The bounty hunter's composite assault armor wasn't much to look at, that's for sure. It was plain, dark in color, and had lost its reflection years back from too many fights. He could tell that it was somewhat of a keepsake to the bounty hunter he ”œpersuaded”

Real Name: Sly Stevenson Nickname: Master Prophet/New Prophecy Age: Unknown Age. Species: Human Height: 6'5 Weight: 235 Hair: White/Silver Eyes: Light Blue Sex: Male Homeworld: Ilum Alignment: Neutral/Good Clothing: Robes Weapon: Multiple Lightsabers (assortment of sabers constructed over the years of living in hiding.) Force User or Non-Force User: Force User Inventory: Assortment of Jedi tools. Crystal Farming tools. Leather Bags that carry many Ilum grown and harvested crystals. Spare parts for constructing lightsabers. Jedi Comm. device, inventory of fallen stormtroopers Possessions: A small Imperial shuttle craft Force Side: Lightside Trained by: Lei Kim Ness / RaveN Trained who: Mes Tisserand, Eas-San Fenrir Current Affiliation: None (Former/Seeking Jedi Order) Current Rank: None (Former Jedi Master/Former Head of the Jedi Council/Reinstatement Level: Jedi Knight)

The shuttle that holds the Prophet sits idle above the space near Coruscant. Though he is too far to see any of the events, he feels them through the force. His companions lay restless below, near defeat. The lifeless bodies of the storm troopers lay on the floor now near the rear of the ship. Their bodies lay lifeless as cold as the black of space. Master Prophet does as he has for many years now, he waits.

The shuttle carrying the hidden beast exits hyperspace above Coruscant airspace. The meditating Master Prophet is soon interrupted with the loud shouts of commands being received over the Communication systems within the shuttle. The Imperial air-frequency was transmitting information and commands to the fighters that flew below. Familiar voices of the past were heard shouting for air raids and attacks to commence. Master Prophet uses his senses of hearing to feel what was going on in the sky and land below. War. A battle had broken out and the Imperial Frequency was chaos. Commands, orders, and directions were all being called out over the intercom. A brief moment past as Stevenson attempts to contact the bright spot of light side energy on the planet; he feels the empty halls of the Jedi Temple frantic Jedi that scattered. Yet again, Coruscant was under fire. The Imperial troopers aboard the ship spoke to each other of the events that were happening on their radio. Just before hitting the planets atmosphere.... *Vroooo* The hiss of a blue lightsaber blade shoots from the hand of the Prophet who now stood at the edge of the co_ckpit. The pilot feels the saber only for a moment before it pierces out the other side of his skin. From Stevenson's other hand shot another blade, identical in color, which sliced through the co-pilot. A spinning motion rips the blade from the Pilots chest and intercepts a fist being thrown from a trooper standing near by. The blade slices through the white armor as the storm troopers arm falls lifeless to the floor. The Prophet soon halts the ship from entering the space above Coruscant ... there; he sits and waits; listening to the transmissions being sent below... alone in his new empty ship.

*Aboard a ship that travels through hyperspace from the icy planet of Ilum to the heart of the universe; Coruscant. The Imperial officers that pilot the ship are unaware of the beast that they carry in the rear of their ship. Hidden in shadows, draped in darkness, meditates a warrior that will soon be re-released on the galaxy. He focuses on his plan to escape the ship undetected while readying himself for a backup plan, in case he is seen. He focuses on the living force that speaks to him, his thoughts begin to drift into the near future giving him the advantage of a battle that is soon to come.* "May my blade be quick and accurate. Force, give me the strength..." the man whispers softly to himself in the cargo area of the Imperial ship. He repeats himself over and over, chanting as if to call upon the force itself to fight his battle for him. Those who stood in darkness would now stand against him for the champion of the force had returned.

The door to the Imperial shuttle begins to close as the ship slowly lifts from the icy planet surface. A strong gust of wind blows through the closing door and nearly knocks the Stormtrooper that shuts the door on his feet. "Winds picking up - lets get back to Coruscant ... No sign of any Jedi here today, Captain." The trooper says as the door completely shuts, the thumping sound of the cabin being pressurized. "Roger that." The captain says as the ship moves into the blackness of space. Just as they set their coarse for home, to safety, there in the shadows of the corner ... waits a man, a man with one mission. The danger that entered their ship was mistaken for a gust of wind. The screaming of the engines howl as the ship blasts into hyperspace.

The last of his possessions and belongings were gathered up into what he could carry before his departure. His hilts, his sword, his staff, and holocrons especially all gathered again. *In his minds eye he sees a view of the future, of something that is about to take place. On the other side of the planet, an Imperial shuttle sweep is taking place. Its standard and the very few storm troopers are about to re-board their shuttle after examining the small market area. The shuttle lands within his mind; and just in time for...* Before the blink of an eye the man that once stood in his hut again flies from the insides, running with the aid of the force, blazing towards the market area that lay on the other side of the planet. He pushes himself and the force as fast as he can to make it here in time, as he knows this is his only way out. Flakes and frozen rain slam against his face as the blur zooms over hilltops and open fields to make his destination.

OOC: Sorry about the double post but - ......... I'm baaaaaaack! Please read the last paragraph of that post if you are on this planet. Thanks. IC: A tremor is briefly felt on the planet of Ilum that rocks any who feels the lightside of the force. A shiver runs up their spine speaking only to them.

His arm flexed and turned; inside his pounding chest his heart sinks as the man who taught him in the ways of the force flew at him now. The force had truly turned into his greatest foe now clearer than ever”¦ it had even turned his former Master against him. With one clean swipe of both sabers, the blades move in on each other then off in opposite directions. The saber in the farmer's left hand strikes just below the chin line on his former Master. The blade in his other hand strikes just above the belt line moving at a downward angle. The moves were quick and smooth and without any prior thought. Out of pure momentum of the slices, Stevenson somewhat spins to the side to see the head roll to the side. The flesh melts away and the realistic features begin to fade from his vision; as the head begins to slowly stop spinning the head was that of the life-size statue that stood around the outside walls of the Council chambers. A sigh of relief escapes the farmer's mouth as he is suddenly jolted from behind. Stevenson slides across the floor as another statue of a former Council member slams into him from behind and continue moving past him. Stevenson slides across the snowy and icy floor until stopping near the light that shines in the center of the room. Stevenson sabers fly from his hand and slide against the cold floor to the other side of the room. The dizzy feeling that comes after being run over by a statue was very unpleasant and left the farmer rising to his feet slow. Without his sabers, he stands now in the center of the room, defenseless as the other statues on the wall begin to shake lose. *Woosh* From behind a slight sound of a whipping wind is heard which gives Stevenson just enough time to avoid another hit from the statue that already leveled him once. He side-steps to see another statue straight in front of him that had shaken lose from the wall. One after another, the statues began to pry from the wall and fling towards the man who franticly dances around the room to avoid their icy crystal blows. His wounded arm was now pulsing and dripping with blood as he steps closer and closer to his lightsaber that lay deactivated on the floor. If he could just pick up one saber, he could make quick end to this circus of force tricks that surround him. Just one more step closer, his back slides off the front of an oncoming statue until he finds himself standing directly overtop of his hilt. Stevenson slams his foot down just a few centimeters in front of the hilt and dug his foot underneath. With a firm rotation of his foot in a upward kick, his saber fly from the ground and lands in his hand that was held out in front of him. Lose snow that was knocked free from the kick dusts the area in front as his thumb moves to activate the saber. With his finger firmly placed on the button he gently applies pressure to the trigger when suddenly”¦ *Slam* Stevenson's arm that holds his lightsaber his is slammed between two flying statues. The grip of his fingers release the saber again as it falls helplessly to the floor. Just as the saber goes down to the ground, so does the farmer as his arm is crushed between the two statues that fall backwards from each other and hit the ground. Stevenson falls to his knee's gripping his arm in pain as another statue levels him from the side. This one splits the side of his head and opens a very old wound that was healed shut long ago. Bloody and broken, the former master now lay on the floor, head pounding, hoping for the strength to perhaps crawl out of the room. His remaining arm grabs against the snow and begins to pull him towards safety. The slow snails pace crawl was not quick enough to avoid the massive moving statues that move all around him. They hit him and ricocheted off him, causing a massive amount of pain. As one statue bounces off him another at full speed slams into his side, rolling him over from on his stomach to his back, he now lay exposed in the dead center of the room. His eyes flickered thinking this was the end of all things ”¦ now looking upwards at the whole in the ceiling designed by the original council to represent the force always watching you. His body lay in the center of the floor looking upwards seeing nothing but clouds above. The fact was, as he looked at the clouds above, he realized that this was the story of his years spent here. He was being broken down by his past, defeated by the sins of his past, all the while ”¦ never seeing the light ”¦ never seeing, always being shrouded by the clouds around him. Just as he begins to think there is no hope, a chariot from the sky breaks through the clouds, a ray beaming down on him, give him the hope. The day was not over. He struggles to his feet his arm dead at his side. Looking at the statues that seemed to pause on the outside, he knows what he must do. Diving forward, Sly reaches for his lightsaber with his only good arm. His saber activates in his hand as he slides on his back, a statue following closely behind him, he slides on his back away from the statue as it moves closer. The blade leaps forward as Stevenson throws the blade at the center of the statue. Its beam sticks from the stomach of the statue that stops moving due to the sabers momentum. Rising to his feet, Stevenson spins in a round house move with an upwards kick that shatters the head of another ice statue that move on his location. His turning motion places him directly in front of the statue that has the saber sticking from it. Firmly placing his hand on the saber Stevenson rips to the side, cutting the statue in half, not stopping there and following through with a spin attack. The attack cuts a third statue in half that moves towards his location as he follows through to finish off the second statue again. The headless statue slides against the wall and is soon stuck with a saber through its bottom half, as the top quickly slides and shatters on the floor. Only one statue left Stevenson eyes it from across the room as he moves closer to the center of the room. (Slow motion) To Stevenson the statue was his final obstical. It was something he must conquer before moving forward, before facing the world again”¦ he had to do it alone. No fist would shatter this ice, no kick would destroy it now, no ”¦ not even a saber could break this one. There was only one way to destroy this last statue. The statue moves from the shadow with an eerie familiar face moving towards him. The statue of himself, a younger version, as a former Council member, his own statue now moves towards him. It slides against the floor but lifts when it gets closer as Stevenson closes his eyes slowly. The beating of his heart spoke the way to survival; it spoke the truth now more clear than ever before. It was not the force that was his enemy, but only one aspect of the force. The Darkside of the force as many Jedi had discovered before him, destroyed Stevenson's life just as it destroyed every Jedi prior to him. Without even realizing it, the Darkside had taken the life of a Jedi and turned it against him ”¦ though he thought he had a wide knowledge of the force in every aspect ”¦ the hatred and anger that he had learned to tame within himself was now his enemy. This enemy of his own anger and hate was now fueling the Darkside of the force to end his life”¦ The enemy was not the Force all together, but only the one aspect of the Force that knew hate; the Darkside. *Stevenson's hand deactivates his saber and moves his hand in front of him.* ”œI am now your greatest enemy!”

*woosh* The same blast that knocked the farmer off his feet, made a mad dash into the darkness of the corner. The noise was like the sound of a sealing door or similar to a humans exhale. The farmers head quickly whips around with the sound of the moving object on the other side of the room. His eyes beat as he does not dare move, perhaps if the person/beast was to believe he was dead, they would not return”¦ a tactic used many times to ward off enemies. The farmers robe draped over his face, but left just enough room for his watchful eyes to see through a small crack between his shoulder and his hood. Nothing could be seen in the darkness on the other side of the room; his hand the entire time being firmly rested on the hilt of his lightsaber. *woosh* The same noise was heard once again moving again, but sounded like it was coming from above. Out of his field of view, the farmer was confident in his skills with his blade as he quickly springs to his feet. His rotating body left his robe to slide off his shoulders, and beneath its warm cover springs a blade the color of the sky. The farmer stands clutching his lightsaber tightly in his already damaged hands. His eyes looked above as he could see nothing, but felt that something must be there. A familiar sound comes to his ears once again, the sound of cracking ice. He had heard this same noise when his foot steps crossed over the frozen plains, but this time, the noise came from”¦.. *thud* The farmer quickly jumps out of the way of a falling ice stalactite that comes rushing down and shatters on the ground where he stood. A moment passes and his heart begins to race again, as the sound of cracking ice begins to amplify, louder and louder the noise begins to grow from the darkness above. A series of falling ice stalactites begin to rain from the darkness above. From the shadow falls another icicle beautiful when intact, deadly when loose. The farmer quickly dodges and moves, looking upwards to see more and more begin to come down on him. The sound of crashing ice heard on the snowy ground makes it more and more difficult to concentrate; his focus begins to evade him. *whooo* His saber moves from side to side above him, slicing the pieces in half as he leaps from side to side. All around the room, the man moves avoiding the falling ice. For a moment, his elegance is one to be awed, respected, and commended, but just before his proper recognition is given, a careless mistake is made. *whooo* His saber slashes the top of an icicle that juts from his arm. He was one step too soon and did not have his saber ready. The blood begins to stain the ice, as its icy cold peak digs deep into his flesh, barely missing his bone. The pain was blinding, but he knew he had to keep moving, another dodge, a step here, a step there; he danced around the room jumping, twirling, spinning and slicing his saber. After a few moments, the noise of cracking ice was silenced. His free arm reaches upwards and pulls the spike that digs in his arm. A loud sigh could be heard as he ripped it from his bloody flesh, throwing it to the ground as it shatters into hundreds of pieces. ”œWhat do you want from me!?”

The farmer did not waste any time, making haste towards the Crystal Temple that stood in the distance. His feet carried him faster than he ever thought they could. The snow provided no resistance as most the time he was so quick his feet barely sank an inch. The temple moved closer and closer and with each passing step memories began to come back to him as the features of the temple began to shine more. "Alas, he stood before its greatness with pleasure on his face; the sanctity of its freedom now giving him his grace." The farmer says as he lowers the hood on his robe; showing a smile. The once beautiful and elegant Temple was now scarred, damaged, and deformed. The entrance sealed shut many years prior by Stevenson himself with a blast that sealed it perfectly. "The tomb of my soul ... the answers to my questions ... and the cage of my enemy. I must enter." The footsteps were soon returning to him, as he finds himself moving up the side of the hill mountain hilltop that the temple was build into. He is quickly beginning to retrace his footsteps, remembering the temple he once found many years ago. *swoosh* The sound of the falling farmer slides down a small tunnel shaft designed for easy exit access. Its small cavern was reserved for emergency exits, but now turned entrances. The footsteps echo throughout the great halls of the Jedi. Snow and ice frozen on the ground can be heard cracking as the farmers feet walk over it. The ice splinters outwards from his boots that firmly plant on the ground. Though he cannot see, he knows the way to his own chambers, the way to his former Councilman's seat. *huh* The sound of his freezing breath can be heard escaping his lips. The moisture from his mouth was no more only to be replaced by chattering teeth that he held back. Stevenson turns the corner and exposes the Councilman's chambers; a light, bright as the sun, shines down on the center of the room. His first footstep smacks against the ground but quickly lifted from the ground as he finds himself being flung through the air. Before his other foot could place against the ground he is lifted into the air as if being shoved. The crystal mirror against the wall provides no padding as he slams against it, soon falling to the ground in pain.

Hand over hand he moved across the rope where he held tight as to not slip into the valley. His realization of his new enemy made the elements seem even more apparent now. The wind seemed to blow much harder, his arms weakened quicker, his legs weighed heavier, and the snow seemed to stab the skin as a piercing knife. The knife of a forgotten friend comes back for redemption, so it seemed. The bridge below him was barely holding on now as the wind abuses the wet twine and rotted wood. Stevenson closes his eyes once more to focus his strength; the ice had begun freezing to his face as he crossed the center of the valley to the other mountainside. The once soft snowflakes are hurdled at the body that dangles like a worm on a hook that lowers into the valley. When his eyes open, he can see, he can see his future... he can see his freedom, he can see his redemption... it was in the symbolic form of the cliff. His eyes focus on the prize, solid land that grows closer and closer. His hands begin to move faster and faster; ignoring the pain that shoots into his arms and back down into his chest. Removing his hand from the rope to extend it beyond his last movement, he feel a slight jolt in the rope, the resistance that was once there disappears ... before another moment passes by the farmer again attempt to grab the rope with both hands. *Snap* The resistance on the line breaks and soon the peg that held the bridge in place behind him comes racing down over the edge of the cliff. His target of the other side was no longer visible as he held on for his life. His hands grab tight to the rope, but the weight was too much to hold, his hands begin to slip as he slides down the rope... burning his hands, cutting them open as he slams into the side of the cliff. The jagged rocks cut into his body as he struggles to hold on the rope. The blood soaks the rope as his moans and cries can be heard echoing throughout the valley. The wind dies down as if wanting to hear the man in pain, but just as soon as he attempts to pull himself up the side, the winds pick up again at full speed. The tears of pain run down his face as the rope becomes more and more difficult to grab, now blood soaked, his hands wrap around the rope as tight as he can. Below his feet dangle, using the cliff to hold him self when his hands thought they could do no more. After the span that seems like days, a bloody hand reaches the top of the cliff where his hand slams against the white snow. His blood stains its purity as his other hand does the same. He pulls himself up to the cliff and lies in the snow, surviving a dreadful situation with brute strength. His enemy would likely not give him much time to breath before making the next move. The farmer slowly rises to his feet; he rips a part of his robe and tightly wraps them around his blood coated hands. He tightens his bandages before continuing on. Taking his first step on solid ground ... headed to the last place he may be able to find answers, the last place, he could find peace. He turns the corner of the next ridge; before his eyes rest on a building in the distance he had not seen in ages. The purity of the structure still intact; he could make out its position, though it was half buried in this blizzard. He could see his past”¦ he could see answers”¦ he could see hope. The Temple.

The rope that runs from one side of the valley to the other snaps from the wooden spike that holds its place in the ground, danger was just around the corner. The winds blow even harder now, it seems, as the farmer grips to the rope hand rail that goes limp next to him. His frozen hands barely have enough blood to keep warm, but yet he musters the strength to squeeze with all of his might onto the rope, clamping to it for his very life. The already unstable bridge below him now starts to give way and sink deeper into the valley. His footing was firmly placed on the wooden boards below him that would soon give way. His feet slide to the left with the boards as the rope slides lower into the pit below. Using his upper body strength, the farmer rotates and grips to the rope on the right side, the bridge now at a downward angle slope his feet kick and slide off the planks that once held his footing. "Uh" the groan escapes the farmers mouth as his body had to work extra hard to grip to the rope, if he was to make it to the other side, he would have to use only upper body strength and minimal use of his legs. The farmer's eyes begin to look around, for possible exits to this very bad situation. His heart begins to thump harder, realizing that there were only two possible exits. The first by using his pure strength to swing hand over hand across the rope climbing all the way to the other side of the valley. The second by taking his chances and letting go of the rope when it had sunk far enough down, perhaps the fall was not as bad as it looked. He could feel the muscles in his arm begin to hurt, he knew the small fibers in his arm were ripping, splitting, making this a very strenuous task to take. The farmer dangles in the air above with both hands gripped to the rope that shakes uncontrollably in the wind. The voice inside his head spoke to him, in the voice that was very familiar. Though the howling winds blew loud in his ears, he could still hear the voice whispering, calling his name. The sudden realization of the truth was shocking... perhaps he was not meant to make it to the other side, perhaps this was his end. A new voice enters the farmer's ears, a quote of a very wise man, a Prophet, from his past that told him these words many years ago. ”œThere will be three times in your life you will turn your greatest ally into your worst enemy. Only you have the power to decide who the winner will be, yourself or the enemy.”