Old Wounds - Part 1 (PG-13 SW)

[Xae-Lin Ardel]

Title: Old Wounds - Part 1

Rating: PG - 13

Rated for: Violence

Critique level: Encouraged

Franchise: Star Wars - Original Fiction

 

This is a story that was co-written with TeVerd.

 

Mirdala is mine, but TeVerd, et. al. are TeVerd's.

 

Neither of us owns Star Wars, but then again, you guys know that...

 

Check out our DA pages -

 

Mirdala

TeVerd

_____________________________________________

 

He stood in the clearing in the fern forest, dressed in worn, comfortable green fatigues and boots. With him were two items - one was a slim rifle carrier, and the other was an angular box full of coppery colored pellets, gelatinized Assiri pepper oil. On contact with exposed organic tissue, the oil would melt and irritate pores, causing an uncomfortable tingling sensation; not enough to cause pain, but certainly noticeable.

 

This was both a hunting exercise for him, and a training exercise for his quarry. There was one hiding out there who needed to be nearly perfect about hiding, both physically and in that nebulous thing called the Force. Right now, he felt her as a trickle of sensation across some part of his psyche. He expected that to change soon.

 

Having assured of himself that the magazine was in working order, he turned to the rifle case. Unsealing it, he slowly removed a full-stock Verpine carbine. The weapon was old, nearly ancient, but carefully maintained in perfect working order. After adjusting the trigger group and fore-grip to the desired positions, he turned to the receiver area. As his strong, lithe fingers worked the action, he found himself remembering. Quite unwillingly, considering these were memories and emotions he'd thought long buried and forgotten.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Ne'kral, Prophet of Fate, found himself enjoying this. The damned Mercenary Brotherhood had been harrying his servants and interfering with his plans for several Skies-forsaken years, and the Prophet was finally levying some retribution. He and several of his adepts had united to ambush and psychically overwhelm several of the more persistent mercenaries during a battle, and now Ne'kral practiced his taste for inflicting unfathomable pain, both in body and soul.

 

Many of the sell-swords had expired more quickly than the Prophet expected, given their reputations. This last one, however, the Force promised him, would be interesting....

 

He'd never seen it's like before, and exoticness was always appreciated. It was a veritable joy to learn the tolerances and fears of a new species. Two adepts hauled the thing to the bar hanging in the room, tying its wrists securely with straps. He doubted they were needed. This alien hung loose and limp in the restraints, breathing shallowly.

 

Taking three long strides, Ne'kral held it's face between his strong hands, forcing it to meet his eyes. "Shall we begin the lesson?" He laughed. He called on the Force, began pushing his will into it's mind. Astonishingly, the thing smiled, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth, and it's purple eyes seemed to glow. Ne'kral was peripherally aware of the markings on the alien's face darkening, before he found himself in it's mind.

 

A burning settlement, dead innocents scattered about like so many cast away toys. A sense of deep smouldering anger tinted the vision. The Prophet's mind moved on.

 

A gallows, strewn with hanging forms like so much spare equipment on a rack. The sense of Justice, of deep accomplishment and pride at this result, was sickening to one like Ne'kral. He pulled away hastily.

 

Gazing down at a muffled, unmoving form at his feet in a dark alley, disgusted and ashamed that he didn't feel more guilt about what had transpired. But this had to be stopped, all too many innocents had been dragged into it already... Ne'kral's mental view flickered again.

 

A beautiful young woman lay dying in his arms, blood flowing from a puncture injury in her chest. He could not even begin to help her, the injury was so great. He would probably soon join her. He could feel the plasma leaking from the brutalized tissues of his lower back where the weapon had managed to find purchase, as well as the blaster burns across his chest and leg. Such a waste of all that effort, how had this gone so wrong so fast? But she'd been so brave, so very courageous, defiant of fate until the moment blessed unconsciousness had claimed her, meaning that the eternal night of death could claim her more quietly. She'd been so very beautiful, and very brave, and she'd nearly been his...

 

None knew how long his kind lived anymore, but it was quite long enough for them to have all too much time to remember their losses, and, to learn how to hate.

 

Ne'kral's mind snapped back to the present, staggered by the sensation of having traveled centuries in mere heartbeats. He found himself looking into the alien's purple eyes still, and was frightened by the pure hate and anger there. And he realized the thing had broken free, and had it's hands around his head, as well.

 

The alien issued a savage, feral growl that spoke of ancestors all too used to killing their food. A sharp sliding motion of it's hands, and the Prophet felt an electric tingle in his neck. He nearly fell then, but the alien restrained him long enough for two sharp thumbnails to punch into his throat, rendering him voiceless and allowing a thin trickle of blood into his throat. He dropped to the floor, unable to move but quite aware of what was going on around him.

 

The adepts came in, swinging shock-rods at the now far more bestial alien. The thing sidestepped the first one, then slid in and landed a kick across the guard's kneecap, resulting in a loud wet cracking noise. The alien stepped closer, grabbing the screaming man's left arm and viciously snapping it at the elbow, before contemptuously kicking the man in the throat. Before the other adept could formulate a new attack, the alien had seized the fallen shock-rod, swinging it into the adept's temple, felling him with a sizzle and a scream. The alien leaned over him and almost gleefully beat the man into unconsciousness with the staff it held.

 

Then, the fury seemed to pass, and Ne'kral, from his position on the floor, could see and feel the alien flooding with calm. Then, the presence of the thing vanished from the Force. Ne'kral would have screamed if he could, old tribal memories leaking into his mind. The alien strode over to the Prophet's trophy case, casually tearing the wooden door off it's mounts. The thing reached in and began dragging weapons and armor free, strapping them on with full familiarity, confirming Ne'kral's fears. Before it was finished, the thing hauled out a Verpine musket Ne'kral had removed from the corpse of a paid assassin he had literally pulled apart with the Dark will of the Force.

 

The alien opened the receiver of the musket and began stuffing bits of wood, glass, and metal into the loading chamber. "The injury to your neck would normally pass within a few hours, Dar'jetii," the alien purred as it closed the receiver and used one thumb to adjust the muskets power coil, "but, it won't matter to you by then." The alien raised the musket and shot Ne'kral in the stomach from almost point blank range, puncturing organs and blood vessels.

 

Again Ne'kral wanted to scream, in unfamiliar pain and sheer terror. How could the Force desert him like this?? The alien leaned over. "I know what you're wanting to say, Dar'jetii, but I don't speak hut'uun, and so I don't care. If you had never forced me to remember, then I might simply have killed you outright. Then again, finding this in here, perhaps not..."

 

The alien pulled the helmet it had retrieved from the trophy case over it's head, the one Ne'kral had claimed from a murdered constable on a planet in a sector most of the galaxy tried to forget. In doing that, it became one of a faceless legion, a member of a "race" that excelled at producing some of the fiercest and most deadly opponents known through time.

 

The alien gazed down at the shuddering Prophet for a moment, a strange glint visible through the helm's gray T-shaped visor, then strode out. After it had gone through the door, Ne'kral tried to calm himself down, tried to summon the Force to himself to live another day and end this pain. Suddenly, a small device was flung back through the doorway, spewing blue and green sparks in every direction, setting the room ablaze.

 

As the room was engulfed in sheets of flame, Ne'kral tried one last time to scream.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

The hunter wrenched himself back to the present, bile filling his mouth for a moment. He gazed down at the Verpine in his hands, disgust and sharp pain vibrating through his psyche. Then, at the back of his awareness, a jolt of electric fear and concern skittered across his soul. His emotions had obviously flooded back down his empathic link to a certain young girl, one born with special - and sensitive - gifts. He took a long calming breath, focusing on the sensation of soft fuzzy blankets, which he knew would soothe her. The small note of fear he had felt deep in the link faded away, reassured.

 

He shoved the Verp back in the bag, knowing now that it had no place being near the girl - it was all too deeply associated with things best left buried in the long years gone by since. Pulling a magnetic pistol out and loading it with the "tingler" magazine instead, he reached for his commlink. "Game's on, Vod'ika," he purred into it, at the same time opening himself up as his species could.

 

While his kind could not use the Force, they were somehow able to sense those who could, to lesser or greater accuracy. Adding this to his empathic link with the girl, it was quite a challenge for her to avoid him. Within himself, he felt her grow calmer yet alert, and the sense of her connection to the Force began fading. Across the commlink, all he could hear were two small taps against the pickup, then silence as the link on the other end was shut off.

 

For the first time in what seemed a century since he'd set foot in the grove, he smiled to himself. What could be a greater sign of life going on than a game of "hide and seek" with a little sister who was quite capable of living up to her name?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

From her hiding place deeper into the forest, the young girl tried to make sense of the pain and harshness that echoed through her "other sense" that seemed to link her to her ori'vod. Little Mirdala tried to move among the brush and dense forest undergrowth as quietly as she could trying to get away from whatever it was that made him feel that scary, because if it was enough to alarm him, she knew she didn't want it to find her.

 

She remembered how scared she'd been when she'd gotten separated from her buir, Cyare, the first time she'd been to the marketplace. It had been so noisy, so full of strange and unfamiliar sights and smells that, coupled with the darkening sky, it had become a dizzying nightmare when she couldn't find the one familiar person who would make everything alright. Some of those same feelings began to creep in, causing her to start to panic for fear of loosing her buire and ori'vod again. She didn't want to be alone again, and soon tears began to form, leaving wet trails down her chubby three-year-old cheeks.

 

It was then, she realized, that she'd wandered particularly deep into the wooded area, farther than she'd ever ventured from the clearing before, when she felt his mood shift and his familiar warming presence flooded their connection. She sniffed a bit and wiped her eyes, trying to refocus on the task at hand, using what she knew to help guide her.

 

Whatever had upset ori'vod had passed, she surmised, but just to be sure she crossed over to a well hidden stump in a copse of young and fallen trees and carefully concealed herself in it's dank sanctuary. Remembering his lesson about blending in, she pulled some of the damp leaves and ferns around the entrance to better hide that there was an opening just large enough for her to squeeze through.

 

Quietly, she settled into her little refuge and tried to imagine herself invisible, remembering to calm down and use her kovid. She knew that he would find her, but it was always more of a game for her to see how long she could keep him from finding her. She let her extra energy blend in with her surroundings, trusting her instincts the way her buire and ori'vod had encouraged her to do. She didn't understand why, but it was important to know how to hide.

 

The young girl didn't flinch when the comlink suddenly became active and relayed ori'vod's warning, "Game's on, Vod'ika." Though she knew he couldn't see her, she nodded, then tapped the receiver twice before she pushed the button that turned off the link. She didn't want to make it easy for him. It wasn't ever any fun if it was easy.

Edited August 15, 2012 by Guest

[Travis]

Please make sure to include the proper header found here. That lets us know a bunch of good information like how much critique you are looking for and what it is rated.

 

I don't know if you want me to address it from a serious critique standpoint, so I will only give generalities. If you want me to go through it in detail, just let me know and I will be more than happy to provide more thorough feedback and advice.

 

Is this related to the RP character Mirdala in any way, or did you just recycle the name?

 

I definitely like the mood of the story. You kept it vague enough to give it a sense of discovery and mystery as each new piece was brought forth. You had great descriptions and action. I noticed a few things that were a little odd, but overall it flowed quite well. With so little dialogue, your descriptions and the action were critical and you managed to make it all work.

 

Again, let me know if you want a more detailed runthrough. I didn't want to go all psycho editor on you if you weren't looking for it.

[Xae-Lin Ardel]

Yes. This is related to both Mirdala and to TeVerd, who has only recently begun to post in the RP. This is set about 23 years prior to the present events in the RP.

 

What were some of the things that you found odd? If you want to go psycho editor on me then send me the PM.