"But you saved me, Molari-"
There was something wrong with her saying that, something that nagged him - it was her voice, the way he imagined she'd sound if she'd lived, but Janus had rarely called him by his full name. And even then she had been one of the few who knew his name, his real name. They never called each other by their real names - that had been drilled into him since he could first understand it.
Names were power.
Even as a Jedi he had been always aware of that truism, making 'Molari' his name as far as the Republic was concerned. Sometimes even 'Molari' was too much of a name, the Knight falling back to titles when agitated or wary. Humans didn't understand the power of a name, the power over someone it gave... Few species grasped the concept, he believed, feeling names were merely monikers.
Time passed. His head swam, suppressing the sensations to show as few weaknesses as possible; the Knight rubbed his wrists, reaching up to try and slip a finger under the collar and finding no give. The cuffs had almost been more welcome than the collar - at least he could still feel the Force with the cuffs, even if it'd been harder to control without the crutch of guidance by hands. He'd still been able to feel connected but now? He could barely sense anything, able to really only 'feel' a few feet, before the only perceptions he had were with his own senses. The press of what might happen was gone, the slight edge cut off and he was left with the itch of uncertainty.
Perhaps it was better though because he couldn't feel the overwhelming press of the Dark Side now - so there was some plus to it all. He could almost pretend he was someplace else, almost... except the forcefield and the cell made that illusion fracture all too easily. But at least he could attribute any feelings of sickness to merely a physical ailment (as hard to believe as that was) instead of the corruption of the Force.
The Knight's stomach twisted, hunching over and putting hands down on the ground to brace himself. The ground felt cool and his cheeks pinched, taking in shallow gasps of air as he wondered if the room had suddenly been chilled or warmed. That was...new. It must be the stress, he reasoned, certainly not something else.
Ari...
He couldn't tell if the voice was in his head or in his ears, trying frantically to sense if there was life nearby and failing. Maybe it was in his ears, maybe she really was close by, maybe... Molari shook his head, running a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. He felt hot, splaying his fingers against the cool floor to try and draw the chill into himself.
Almost as an after-thought the Jedi thought to check his nose, the one the guard had slammed a knee into when he'd been knocked back. It was barely even tender though he could smell the blood still, the injury already mostly-healed. This was one of the few times he'd be thankful he wasn't as human as he looked, thankful because he couldn't imagine any stay on Dromund Kaas was going to be pleasant for long.
The cell faded, hazing as the dull headache started up, starting at the sound of footsteps. The ground rocked underneath him and when he looked up he wasn't in the cell, feeling the weight of the saber in his hand as he got blearily to his feet. But then the room shifted, the superimposed vision of his ship's deck fading before he was simply alone in the cell.
But her voice was in his ears again, or maybe in his head, and he found himself hoping that she ended up being only in his mind because if she was here he wasn't quite sure what he'd do.
Ari you have to make it home...
Was there someone watching? Were those footsteps he heard, the click of heels on flooring? Was Janus just past the wall of his cell, Molari moving to put a hand against the wall not protected by the field, trying to extend his senses again and finding nothing inside the short area he could reach out to.
Caged-
Collared-
Trapped-
Blood-
His eyes glazed before he caught himself, stepping away from the wall and back, facing the doorway.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Knight's Trials [Molari Jayd] (Part Six)
Two times in a span of days he came-to in restraints though this time was infinitely worse than the time he'd found himself surrounded by Chiss. At least then he'd been given medical treatment on-site, offered continuing medications, and been released after being reassured by Master Darnell Othone. This time his eyes narrowed, stretching as best as possible, rolling to the side on the provided bed before getting to his feet. The injuries he'd sustained had healed up, the Knight thanking the Force for his ability to heal so swiftly.
There was a tremor and unease in the pit of his stomach that he would need to rely on his species' traits more than he had ever before.
"You must be mistaken..."
Molari had begun to hear Janus again, catching glimpses of her again, and had followed the prompting to go to Rishi, feeling a tug that he attributed to the Force's guidance. Surely the pirate's planet would have rumors, as much as Nar Shaddaa had, and surely someone would know what had been happening.
The information he had been given by the Aide and by Master Tel-raan had been invaluable. And as the Aide had pointed out, given the fact that his condition had improved while on the medication provided to him, it was highly likely that thier insistence that he was infected was correct. Somewhere in his belt he still had their contact information, but with the cuffs it was impossible to reach.
He would admit that was more than likely why he was cuffed. His memories were hazy enough that he couldn't even be certain he hadn't actually been divested of his communication devices, the swift kick to the jaw that had sent him sprawling making everything somewhat hard to recall. And the bayonet through each thigh had been a splitting agony of pain, the knife slicing through the joints in his armor plating. Being pulled to his feet had hurt but after those injuries he was in no condition to try to run.
The Agent and the Inquisitor had been a good pairing. He might've been able to overwhelm one of them alone, the Knight finding them an even match, but together it had been too much. Their insistence that he submit to their authority and comply with their orders was more than unusual; their knowledge of who he was still was unsettling. But the Agent had relied on precise blaster fire from his bowcaster, and the Inquisitor had relied on both lightning and their saber, and he couldn't counter them both working in concert. He flexed his shoulders, feeling the pull of sore muscles but none of the tauntness of the injuries he'd sustained.
Maybe it was a failing to understand but... no one had helped. No one had interfered. No one had stopped the procession through the pirate's cove, no one had questioned a Sith and an Agent apprehending a Jedi, no one had done anything.
"Oh Ari-" He shut his eyes tightly at Janus' voice. His dreams had been chaotic, snatches of sleep punctuated by the return of a splitting headache.
He had never before been to the capitol of the Sith Empire but now he was forced to wait for Darth Digaal, to see what exactly the Sith had wanted him for. The Jedi paced the confines of his cell for a few minutes before he took in and let out a breath. Eyes closed as he sank to his knees, another breath before he let go of his worries and concerns and meditated. He would put his trust in the Force and wait. After all he had nothing else to do.
Knight's Trials [Molari Jayd] (Part Five)
He had to get home. Janus kept telling him to go home, kept telling him to get on the ship and leave. Sometimes he blearily stayed in place, a vague recollection that he was on Tython echoing behind his confusion. Other times Molari stood still and wavered, hands to his head as the pain sliced across his thoughts and pounded like a sledgehammer. The babble of the healers sometimes was sharp and vivid, challenging and getting a rise of frustration from the man, and other times it faded and was easy to listen to and obey.
Ari, you need to come home... I miss you.
He'd gotten to the point where he didn't start from hearing Janus in his ears, though he still craned his head to look for her. She kept telling him to go home, to leave, and softly she urged him to escape.
It was lunacy. Utter and complete lunacy. Sinnest had brought him to Tython to help him but every time the healers turned away Molari paced uncertainly. The healers had tried to help him, expressed their concern that he was so obviously sick, and it ate around his thoughts that they were waiting.
Watching.
They would keep him there. Lock him up.
Ari, you need to get out- And he listened this time while letting the healers work, ignoring the pounding in his skull and the way the world tilted after they professed themselves confused. One of them had tried to ease his mind to sleep and he let them think it worked, waiting for the healers to trustingly move away to the next patient before sitting up. They knew what was ailing him, didn't they, and they weren't telling him--
He wouldn't stick around long enough. His ship... where had he left it? "Send the lockdown code and I'll get you to Tython-" It was on Coruscant.
Still on Coruscant.
He was on Tython.
He had to get home.
---
Come on Ari, just around the bend, shuttle waiting for the troops she urged him, half a mind wondering why Janus darted in and out of sight before telling him everything she did. If she was there why did she want him to go home but maybe - he shook his head, swaying on his feet before he slammed into the wall. Wall. His shoulder twinged from the impact. Maybe she wanted him to go home to see their family, and tell them she was alive, because they all thought she was dead.
He hopped the shuttle though, settling in among the passengers leaving the planet and thanking the Force that whatever ailed him had begun to leave him alone again; his stomach settled, his nerves relaxed - he stretched out then wondered why he had no hood, running fingers through his hair.
When he stumbled off the shuttle he followed Janus again, trusting her to get him to a place to go home. The shuttle hadn't been bound for home but he couldn't quite make out where it'd taken him until the Chiss had insisted he was on Nar Shaddaa.
The Chiss. There'd been two of them, Janus telling him no, to keep looking for the ship and shuttle transports but the doctor had hurt himself and Molari knew it was his duty to help him. And the other one, the female, had known how to get through to the shuttles and taxis. Hunched over a bench Molari tried to order his staggered thoughts.
They'd said he was infected. He'd finally been composed enough to sense they were being truthful when they insisted it, and Master Othone had confirmed their words. He still didn't know exactly where he'd woken up but he had put his trust in the Jedi Master and pulled back from his immediate reactions.
Janus hadn't been there when he'd woken up. And, as he popped the medication he'd been given, he realized she hadn't been around again. But he'd been able to eat, been able to sleep again, and the aggression and feeling of being watched had abated.
He pulled out the datachip he'd been offered with the information on what, exactly, he'd been prescribed. He had one more dose of it.
What had they meant by infected? Why had they insisted he'd been attacked?
He scrubbed his face then looked up, blinking green eyes.
He still had to get home.
Ari, you need to come home... I miss you.
He'd gotten to the point where he didn't start from hearing Janus in his ears, though he still craned his head to look for her. She kept telling him to go home, to leave, and softly she urged him to escape.
It was lunacy. Utter and complete lunacy. Sinnest had brought him to Tython to help him but every time the healers turned away Molari paced uncertainly. The healers had tried to help him, expressed their concern that he was so obviously sick, and it ate around his thoughts that they were waiting.
Watching.
They would keep him there. Lock him up.
Ari, you need to get out- And he listened this time while letting the healers work, ignoring the pounding in his skull and the way the world tilted after they professed themselves confused. One of them had tried to ease his mind to sleep and he let them think it worked, waiting for the healers to trustingly move away to the next patient before sitting up. They knew what was ailing him, didn't they, and they weren't telling him--
He wouldn't stick around long enough. His ship... where had he left it? "Send the lockdown code and I'll get you to Tython-" It was on Coruscant.
Still on Coruscant.
He was on Tython.
He had to get home.
---
Come on Ari, just around the bend, shuttle waiting for the troops she urged him, half a mind wondering why Janus darted in and out of sight before telling him everything she did. If she was there why did she want him to go home but maybe - he shook his head, swaying on his feet before he slammed into the wall. Wall. His shoulder twinged from the impact. Maybe she wanted him to go home to see their family, and tell them she was alive, because they all thought she was dead.
He hopped the shuttle though, settling in among the passengers leaving the planet and thanking the Force that whatever ailed him had begun to leave him alone again; his stomach settled, his nerves relaxed - he stretched out then wondered why he had no hood, running fingers through his hair.
When he stumbled off the shuttle he followed Janus again, trusting her to get him to a place to go home. The shuttle hadn't been bound for home but he couldn't quite make out where it'd taken him until the Chiss had insisted he was on Nar Shaddaa.
The Chiss. There'd been two of them, Janus telling him no, to keep looking for the ship and shuttle transports but the doctor had hurt himself and Molari knew it was his duty to help him. And the other one, the female, had known how to get through to the shuttles and taxis. Hunched over a bench Molari tried to order his staggered thoughts.
They'd said he was infected. He'd finally been composed enough to sense they were being truthful when they insisted it, and Master Othone had confirmed their words. He still didn't know exactly where he'd woken up but he had put his trust in the Jedi Master and pulled back from his immediate reactions.
Janus hadn't been there when he'd woken up. And, as he popped the medication he'd been given, he realized she hadn't been around again. But he'd been able to eat, been able to sleep again, and the aggression and feeling of being watched had abated.
He pulled out the datachip he'd been offered with the information on what, exactly, he'd been prescribed. He had one more dose of it.
What had they meant by infected? Why had they insisted he'd been attacked?
He scrubbed his face then looked up, blinking green eyes.
He still had to get home.
Knight's Trials [Molari Jayd] (Part Four)
You should go to the Temple, Ari a voice tauntingly whispered over his shoulder. But if you do... another countered,they won't let you go again. Trapped. Caged like an animal... dangerous...
After Bob's capture their tight-knit little group had been requested to remain for twenty-four hours to ensure that whatever Bob had spread to the enclave did not infect them. While Bob had been kept sedated and transported to who-knew-where, Molari and his sudden comrades had been moved to a medical facility and kept under observation.
He kept scrubbing his face, using his self-control to iron-will repress the waves of nausea and headaches which had started a few hours into their time. Molari had counted on the occupation of his fellows to avoid a further discussion of his own health, hood studiously drawn up to completely shadow his face. He forced himself into meditation, locking himself in his mind to remain calm. Because just beyond the room he could see her and he knew she was dead...
But the dream - was it a dream? - had been so real. He should've touched her but then he recalled picking up her body before she'd told him to reach the console - it'd been so real...
Molari wished for one of his normal visors as he scrubbed his face again, knowing his eyes were discolored and edging to bloodshot. If he'd had one of his visors then he wouldn't have so much visibly wrong; the nagging feelings threw him out of his meditation, the Knight rocking before he climbed to his feet.
"We're prepared to release you, once we have a blood sample-" the medic said from the other side of the sealed door. The Knight had to stop himself from moving as his fingers had curled, teeth bared, at the sudden interruption of his tumbled thoughts.
Blood. He blinked, hand falling to the pommel of his lightsaber as a ghost of something else superimposed itself over the medic but Molari continued to hold himself still.
Dangerous-
Caged-
Flee-
Run-
Screams-
Blood-
As the group slowly was released Molari lined up and let them run his blood through the check. Maybe it was because it was only checking against the infection Bob had - but whatever the reason Molari was waved to leave, thanked for his patience and understanding, and offered transport back to his ship. As soon as he hit the boarding camp of his Defender the Knight's fragile control fractured, Molari keying in the security sequence more than once as a hand went to his head and he swore.
Ari, you should go home.
"Where," he growled, nails dragging down the doorframe he was standing and leaning against. The voice didn't answer him though and the Knight wavered, nostrils flaring as he inhaled. He could almost hear footsteps behind him stomping up the ramp, boarding his ship and he whirled, saber drawn.
After Bob's capture their tight-knit little group had been requested to remain for twenty-four hours to ensure that whatever Bob had spread to the enclave did not infect them. While Bob had been kept sedated and transported to who-knew-where, Molari and his sudden comrades had been moved to a medical facility and kept under observation.
He kept scrubbing his face, using his self-control to iron-will repress the waves of nausea and headaches which had started a few hours into their time. Molari had counted on the occupation of his fellows to avoid a further discussion of his own health, hood studiously drawn up to completely shadow his face. He forced himself into meditation, locking himself in his mind to remain calm. Because just beyond the room he could see her and he knew she was dead...
But the dream - was it a dream? - had been so real. He should've touched her but then he recalled picking up her body before she'd told him to reach the console - it'd been so real...
Molari wished for one of his normal visors as he scrubbed his face again, knowing his eyes were discolored and edging to bloodshot. If he'd had one of his visors then he wouldn't have so much visibly wrong; the nagging feelings threw him out of his meditation, the Knight rocking before he climbed to his feet.
"We're prepared to release you, once we have a blood sample-" the medic said from the other side of the sealed door. The Knight had to stop himself from moving as his fingers had curled, teeth bared, at the sudden interruption of his tumbled thoughts.
Blood. He blinked, hand falling to the pommel of his lightsaber as a ghost of something else superimposed itself over the medic but Molari continued to hold himself still.
Dangerous-
Caged-
Flee-
Run-
Screams-
Blood-
As the group slowly was released Molari lined up and let them run his blood through the check. Maybe it was because it was only checking against the infection Bob had - but whatever the reason Molari was waved to leave, thanked for his patience and understanding, and offered transport back to his ship. As soon as he hit the boarding camp of his Defender the Knight's fragile control fractured, Molari keying in the security sequence more than once as a hand went to his head and he swore.
Ari, you should go home.
"Where," he growled, nails dragging down the doorframe he was standing and leaning against. The voice didn't answer him though and the Knight wavered, nostrils flaring as he inhaled. He could almost hear footsteps behind him stomping up the ramp, boarding his ship and he whirled, saber drawn.
Knight's Trials [Molari Jayd] (Part Three)
By the fourth day of on-again off-again headaches Molari was ready to admit something was wrong. As Flayr had mentioned Firrerreo were notoriously hard to injure for any long period of time - their natural healing abilities tended to take care of infections easily, even going so far as to close wounds - and he shouldn't have come down so apparently and obviously sick. Sinnest's concern over his inability to find something to purge when he'd thought it merely food poisoning was no longer an unfounded one, the Knight ready to admit there was a problem.
He was tempted to return to the noodle-shop doctor, Flayr, and ask for a medical work-up but knew that he should, no needed, to report to the Temple.
And the dreams...
The pain had been indescribable for the Knight. After a day of his symptoms receeding he'd figured that he had gotten over whatever infection he'd picked up while on Nar Shaddaa, thanking the Force as he'd begun to fall into his normal routine. Although his dreams had left him edgy and unsettled the santuary of his ship had helped ease nerves. Meditation had settled them further though he'd jumped at every noise, started at every unfamiliar sight, and had wondered more than once if his ship had been haunted.
But the pain - the headache had been building while he meditated, growing steadily before it'd spiked; he'd come-to with the start of a bruise but knew it'd quickly fade but the sounds had woken him completely, the ship rocking and shaking as the warning shots had gone over his bow.
It'd been so real, so real to him. None of the slight fog of a dream, none of the muffled sounds of a dream - his footsteps had been clear as he'd run the length of his ship, hailing the attacking vessel. He vaguely recalled he was somewhere near Republic space and had refused their orders to be boarded, leaving the defense of his ship in C6's capable piloting hands.
Stolen cargo? He'd gone down to his bay, following the feeling of fear and life, and stood transfixed.
His mind couldn't and didn't put a name and face to the Zabrak and and Twi'lek but he'd recognized the scent of Firrerreo in his cargo hold and then he'd seen her face. Heard her voice. She'd aged - she was older than he, her two-tone hair falling over her back freely like she'd always worn it and she'd matured. Grown into a woman. She'd been alive. Janus had been alive, her voice as vibrant as the daydream where she'd called out to him. Ari where are you? echoed and he'd thought maybe, just maybe, she'd been a figment of his imagination.
"You saved me... Molari are you all right?"
His world had tumbled, thinking of two realities - the one where his beloved, protective sister had died and the one where he'd managed to save her. Before he could question her too deeply or touch her, see if she was real, the ship had rocked, alarms blaring the hull breach. He'd ordered them to stay, drawing his saber and rushing up towards the invaders, blocking the doorway to bar their entrance. His path had been reckless though, leaving a few scores on the walls along the way.
The fight had been uneven and short. The Imperials - no mercenaries were they, though that had been the lie they'd given him when demanding he prepare to be boarded and hand his cargo over - had pushed into the ship. The battle was short and brief, the Knight overwhelmed and unable to truly fight, to defend, in the cramped space of the ship. The electronet had stunned him, incapacitated him, the commandos running past him while he struggled to get back to his feet. The shrill scream had drawn a growl, starting to break the net as the commandos dragged the three stowaways to the commons.
The blaster bolt made him feel like his world was ending again, watching Janus crumple. The Zabark lay dead, Molari tackling the last surviving commando and forgetting his saber in the sudden rush of primal and feral reaction. And he'd picked up Janus' body, saber clattering discarded somewhere on the floor. Molari had wanted to hold her but he knew duty when she told him to get the distress signal off and he'd set her down, moving quickly towards the console again. As he'd keyed in the sequence the pain had overcome him once more, the Knight coming awake slumped over the console.
He felt nothing, nothing alive in his ship when he'd awoken, pushing to his feet and running to the commons.
The hull was undamaged, the bodies gone, the air clean.
His head pounded with his heartbeat and he'd inhaled, scenting no traces of the blood he knew had been there. But his saber was still where it'd rolled during the battle and his hand felt the groove in the frame where his blade had clipped the metal. Absently Molari had picked up his saber, clipping it back to his belt. A hand went to his head as the pain picked up, feeling like an ice-pick was slamming behind one eye and taking an uneasy step back.
Had it just been another dream?
Hours later, after his stomach had again lost what food he'd consumed and his headache had eased, Molari thought to check his communications console. He'd sent a message? The only one he'd sent recently had been the one in his dream...
He couldn't trace the message nor retrieve its contents, his effort leading to a complete destruction of whatever had transpired. Molari admitted and recognized the concern he felt building, pushing away from the console and heading back to his navi system. He was halfway through programming the console for the needed jumps to take him to Tython when he stopped.
Would they think he was mad? His symptoms had faded by nightfall, deciding to hold off returning to Tython and see how he felt in the morning. But his dreams twisted cruelly, jamming the too-vivid dream of watching Janus die in front of his eyes; he cried out this time, but the dream faded and instead threw him into the last bloody clan battle he'd seen.
He woke up without a headache, without nausea, but he felt more on-edge, almost twitching before throwing himself to his feet. He threw off the visor and heard it break, turning his head to stare at the twisted and shattered contraption and wondering why he'd reacted so violently.
You should go to the healers. He could almost hear that in Janus' voice or Master Khem's. Hands ruffled his hair, mussing it until he looked as bed-haired as ever before, before he dug nails into his scalp, as if that sharp slice of pain would calm his racing thoughts. If he went to the healers he'd be kept there and although his rational mind said this would be fine, safe, acceptable, he found himself biting back a growl. Something was wrong but he couldn't trust the healers to find it or have an answer, not now.
He threw his hood up, starting to reach for his visor before remembering he'd destroyed it. His ship pinged, C6 calling out another hit on Knight Smith's appearance. He raced out of his quarters, grabbing the railing as he threw himself over the gap and to the bridge, pushing C6 aside to stare at the display. There. Maybe, maybe they had him.
He was tempted to return to the noodle-shop doctor, Flayr, and ask for a medical work-up but knew that he should, no needed, to report to the Temple.
And the dreams...
The pain had been indescribable for the Knight. After a day of his symptoms receeding he'd figured that he had gotten over whatever infection he'd picked up while on Nar Shaddaa, thanking the Force as he'd begun to fall into his normal routine. Although his dreams had left him edgy and unsettled the santuary of his ship had helped ease nerves. Meditation had settled them further though he'd jumped at every noise, started at every unfamiliar sight, and had wondered more than once if his ship had been haunted.
But the pain - the headache had been building while he meditated, growing steadily before it'd spiked; he'd come-to with the start of a bruise but knew it'd quickly fade but the sounds had woken him completely, the ship rocking and shaking as the warning shots had gone over his bow.
It'd been so real, so real to him. None of the slight fog of a dream, none of the muffled sounds of a dream - his footsteps had been clear as he'd run the length of his ship, hailing the attacking vessel. He vaguely recalled he was somewhere near Republic space and had refused their orders to be boarded, leaving the defense of his ship in C6's capable piloting hands.
Stolen cargo? He'd gone down to his bay, following the feeling of fear and life, and stood transfixed.
His mind couldn't and didn't put a name and face to the Zabrak and and Twi'lek but he'd recognized the scent of Firrerreo in his cargo hold and then he'd seen her face. Heard her voice. She'd aged - she was older than he, her two-tone hair falling over her back freely like she'd always worn it and she'd matured. Grown into a woman. She'd been alive. Janus had been alive, her voice as vibrant as the daydream where she'd called out to him. Ari where are you? echoed and he'd thought maybe, just maybe, she'd been a figment of his imagination.
"You saved me... Molari are you all right?"
His world had tumbled, thinking of two realities - the one where his beloved, protective sister had died and the one where he'd managed to save her. Before he could question her too deeply or touch her, see if she was real, the ship had rocked, alarms blaring the hull breach. He'd ordered them to stay, drawing his saber and rushing up towards the invaders, blocking the doorway to bar their entrance. His path had been reckless though, leaving a few scores on the walls along the way.
The fight had been uneven and short. The Imperials - no mercenaries were they, though that had been the lie they'd given him when demanding he prepare to be boarded and hand his cargo over - had pushed into the ship. The battle was short and brief, the Knight overwhelmed and unable to truly fight, to defend, in the cramped space of the ship. The electronet had stunned him, incapacitated him, the commandos running past him while he struggled to get back to his feet. The shrill scream had drawn a growl, starting to break the net as the commandos dragged the three stowaways to the commons.
The blaster bolt made him feel like his world was ending again, watching Janus crumple. The Zabark lay dead, Molari tackling the last surviving commando and forgetting his saber in the sudden rush of primal and feral reaction. And he'd picked up Janus' body, saber clattering discarded somewhere on the floor. Molari had wanted to hold her but he knew duty when she told him to get the distress signal off and he'd set her down, moving quickly towards the console again. As he'd keyed in the sequence the pain had overcome him once more, the Knight coming awake slumped over the console.
He felt nothing, nothing alive in his ship when he'd awoken, pushing to his feet and running to the commons.
The hull was undamaged, the bodies gone, the air clean.
His head pounded with his heartbeat and he'd inhaled, scenting no traces of the blood he knew had been there. But his saber was still where it'd rolled during the battle and his hand felt the groove in the frame where his blade had clipped the metal. Absently Molari had picked up his saber, clipping it back to his belt. A hand went to his head as the pain picked up, feeling like an ice-pick was slamming behind one eye and taking an uneasy step back.
Had it just been another dream?
Hours later, after his stomach had again lost what food he'd consumed and his headache had eased, Molari thought to check his communications console. He'd sent a message? The only one he'd sent recently had been the one in his dream...
He couldn't trace the message nor retrieve its contents, his effort leading to a complete destruction of whatever had transpired. Molari admitted and recognized the concern he felt building, pushing away from the console and heading back to his navi system. He was halfway through programming the console for the needed jumps to take him to Tython when he stopped.
Would they think he was mad? His symptoms had faded by nightfall, deciding to hold off returning to Tython and see how he felt in the morning. But his dreams twisted cruelly, jamming the too-vivid dream of watching Janus die in front of his eyes; he cried out this time, but the dream faded and instead threw him into the last bloody clan battle he'd seen.
He woke up without a headache, without nausea, but he felt more on-edge, almost twitching before throwing himself to his feet. He threw off the visor and heard it break, turning his head to stare at the twisted and shattered contraption and wondering why he'd reacted so violently.
You should go to the healers. He could almost hear that in Janus' voice or Master Khem's. Hands ruffled his hair, mussing it until he looked as bed-haired as ever before, before he dug nails into his scalp, as if that sharp slice of pain would calm his racing thoughts. If he went to the healers he'd be kept there and although his rational mind said this would be fine, safe, acceptable, he found himself biting back a growl. Something was wrong but he couldn't trust the healers to find it or have an answer, not now.
He threw his hood up, starting to reach for his visor before remembering he'd destroyed it. His ship pinged, C6 calling out another hit on Knight Smith's appearance. He raced out of his quarters, grabbing the railing as he threw himself over the gap and to the bridge, pushing C6 aside to stare at the display. There. Maybe, maybe they had him.
Knight's Trials [Molari Jayd] (Part Two)
Fighting back a wave of nausea Molari went over the brief report he'd given to the Council regarding the Enclave.
The dead had been burned, their stacked bodies given some form of final rest instead of left in the heap they'd been piled in.
The medical records and whatever datapads had been scrounged from the security office had been brought out, pulled from wreckage and salvaged for investigation. The mysterious illness that had begun to sweep through the Enclave was still mysterious, unknown, but everything pointed to Knight Smith as being the culprit.
How, they did not know.
Why, they still did not know.
What they did know was Smith's assignment and mission into the Seat of the Empire had taken just slightly longer than anticipated, three months for a task that might've been scheduled to only take two and change. Three months was a long time though, certainly long enough - as Ereta had mentioned - to be found and changed by the hands of a Sith.
And then sent back?
Molari hunched over the sink. It wasn't nerves that made his stomach churn and head swim, and it wasn't worry over what would happen if Knight Smith found his way to another Enclave.
But if he wasn't stopped, if he wasn't found, if he wasn't quarantined - the story of the Enclave would repeat again.
Sabotaged transmissions. Broken communications. The dead had been stacked like piles of firewood, hidden behind the walls so that from a distance they were unseen. But the stench - he'd thrown out his robes, knowing from experience that the stench of rotted flesh hung in the fabric no matter how often you laundered it. Maybe that memory was why he gripped the sink, pale beneath his gold skin, stomach twisting again before he lost what food he'd managed to eat.
Molari had waved off the helpful Jedi who'd offered to bring one of the medics for him, promising he'd go see them himself if he worsened. His headache had returned, reaching up and again dimming the visor to help ease eyes that had become far too sensitive to the light. Dunking his head under the running water had helped, the cold giving him a temporary respite from the pain which throbbed behind his eyes, and eventually the nausea abated enough that he righted himself.
While his droid restocked his ship with fresh rations and food - it hadn't looked expired but he'd eaten his food and a few things at the cantina on Nar, maybe he should go back there? - he ran a hand through his hair, pulling his hood up. He'd gotten a few comments and questions if he was feeling well and they'd begun to seem... edged. Watchful. He'd found himself baring canines almost, a rise of feeling threatened hitting him without warning. The sounds of the Temple started to seem... he shook his head, shoulder hitting the wall as he stumbled. His steps slowly grew more hurried, picking up pace to avoid being ushered towards the medical wing. Boarding his ship he settled into the chair with a sigh, tension unknotting from his neck as that creep of discomfort left. While waiting for clearance and departure times the knight dozed, shifting to comfortably slouch in the chair.
Ari, where'd you go?
The voice was achingly familiar and he stood up, chair skittering backwards with the speed he'd gotten to his feet. He blindly groped for the console to steady himself, head turning as he wondered how that voice was in his ears.
His heart pounded in time with his head. She was dead. He knew she was dead. But her voice had been just over his shoulder, close enough that he could hear the slight hiss on the end of her words. His head turned at the flicker just at the corner of his eyes and he moved, following out the deck and hitting a run to make it to the crew quarters, fingers digging into the metal frame enough to dent it slightly, leaving little half-moon grooves in the surface.
He shared a few things with his sister. And he remembered the two-tone hair, one of the signature, defining characteristics of their species, and he knew he'd seen her duck into the room. But the cabin was empty and he stood to catch his breath, mouth hanging open before he snapped his jaw closed, feeling his canines click and then shaking his head.
"Just a dream."
The headache started to recede and Molari ran a hand through his hair, making his way back to the cabin. As the headache cleared he adjusted his visor again, rubbing his forehead before reaching for his comm, pulling up the listed frequencies.
The dead had been burned, their stacked bodies given some form of final rest instead of left in the heap they'd been piled in.
The medical records and whatever datapads had been scrounged from the security office had been brought out, pulled from wreckage and salvaged for investigation. The mysterious illness that had begun to sweep through the Enclave was still mysterious, unknown, but everything pointed to Knight Smith as being the culprit.
How, they did not know.
Why, they still did not know.
What they did know was Smith's assignment and mission into the Seat of the Empire had taken just slightly longer than anticipated, three months for a task that might've been scheduled to only take two and change. Three months was a long time though, certainly long enough - as Ereta had mentioned - to be found and changed by the hands of a Sith.
And then sent back?
Molari hunched over the sink. It wasn't nerves that made his stomach churn and head swim, and it wasn't worry over what would happen if Knight Smith found his way to another Enclave.
But if he wasn't stopped, if he wasn't found, if he wasn't quarantined - the story of the Enclave would repeat again.
Sabotaged transmissions. Broken communications. The dead had been stacked like piles of firewood, hidden behind the walls so that from a distance they were unseen. But the stench - he'd thrown out his robes, knowing from experience that the stench of rotted flesh hung in the fabric no matter how often you laundered it. Maybe that memory was why he gripped the sink, pale beneath his gold skin, stomach twisting again before he lost what food he'd managed to eat.
Molari had waved off the helpful Jedi who'd offered to bring one of the medics for him, promising he'd go see them himself if he worsened. His headache had returned, reaching up and again dimming the visor to help ease eyes that had become far too sensitive to the light. Dunking his head under the running water had helped, the cold giving him a temporary respite from the pain which throbbed behind his eyes, and eventually the nausea abated enough that he righted himself.
While his droid restocked his ship with fresh rations and food - it hadn't looked expired but he'd eaten his food and a few things at the cantina on Nar, maybe he should go back there? - he ran a hand through his hair, pulling his hood up. He'd gotten a few comments and questions if he was feeling well and they'd begun to seem... edged. Watchful. He'd found himself baring canines almost, a rise of feeling threatened hitting him without warning. The sounds of the Temple started to seem... he shook his head, shoulder hitting the wall as he stumbled. His steps slowly grew more hurried, picking up pace to avoid being ushered towards the medical wing. Boarding his ship he settled into the chair with a sigh, tension unknotting from his neck as that creep of discomfort left. While waiting for clearance and departure times the knight dozed, shifting to comfortably slouch in the chair.
Ari, where'd you go?
The voice was achingly familiar and he stood up, chair skittering backwards with the speed he'd gotten to his feet. He blindly groped for the console to steady himself, head turning as he wondered how that voice was in his ears.
His heart pounded in time with his head. She was dead. He knew she was dead. But her voice had been just over his shoulder, close enough that he could hear the slight hiss on the end of her words. His head turned at the flicker just at the corner of his eyes and he moved, following out the deck and hitting a run to make it to the crew quarters, fingers digging into the metal frame enough to dent it slightly, leaving little half-moon grooves in the surface.
He shared a few things with his sister. And he remembered the two-tone hair, one of the signature, defining characteristics of their species, and he knew he'd seen her duck into the room. But the cabin was empty and he stood to catch his breath, mouth hanging open before he snapped his jaw closed, feeling his canines click and then shaking his head.
"Just a dream."
The headache started to recede and Molari ran a hand through his hair, making his way back to the cabin. As the headache cleared he adjusted his visor again, rubbing his forehead before reaching for his comm, pulling up the listed frequencies.
Knight's Trials [Molari Jayd] (Part One)
Exposure time, two hours...
It started with a headache. At first it wasn't even noticeable to the Knight, something he'd chalked up to the blazing lights and steady pulse of the moon, especially given the fact that he'd left his usual visor behind. The glaring neon lights of Nar Shaddaa were as unfamiliar as the streets he'd been walking, trying to follow the map the gentleman in the cantina had provided him with. But the steady thrum of pain in his temples had increased as he'd walked, leaving hte Knight standing still for a moment on the bustling city sidewalk, a hand going to his head for the pain.
But the headache had gone away with practice - it was a simple Jedi trick, afterall, one every initiate knew; accepting the pain as the will of the Force, it'd gone away (lessened at least) and the Knight had continued to hunt for the offices of Cartel Security, intent on tracking the locator beacon for the missing Jedi Knight from the enclave's attack that had apparently pinged to the moon.
The nausea that came soon after Molari attributed to the headache since it'd begun pounding in his head again. Again he found himself stopping but this time with a hand on the building's wall as he hunched over, taking a moment to breathe and focus. When the feeling had faded enough that the Knight considered it manageable he'd moved on, unaware that his odd progress was drawing more than one eye.
Finding the offices had eventually been a fruitless hope - although he'd found them, and spoken with the head of Security (or at least someone claiming to be it; the Knight had found himself uncertain of his claims but too focused on his own self to read the possible lies in the Force), they'd been unwilling to hand over landing information.
They'd recommended he stick with Republic territory and take his inquisitive nose out of the Cartel's affairs.
Molari sighed, feeling the edge of another headache coming on as he climbed into his ship; with one hand he dimmed the lighting onboard, fumbling to strip out of his robes and grabbing his visor. With its settings set to slightly dampen the light he massaged the sides of his head, finally heading to the medicine cabinet tucked into his refresher and grabbing something for the pain.
The Smuggler's Moon had not agreed with him, he decided. The lights, the sounds, the press of people, the decadence - how anyone found it appealing was beyond him. If Smith's ship pinged there again Molari knew he'd dog it because the threat of the missing Jedi was too great to ignore but he wondered if maybe he shouldn't eschew the infamous Promenade in favor of sticking to the spaceports and other sectors.
A quick check of his medicine cabinet revealed that he had nothing on hand to combat the nausea that rose up again, the Knight putting a hand to his forehead. No fever though he felt clammy. Somewhat paler than normal though still the same general skintone he'd always sported. He hadn't eaten anything while on Nar, nothing that wasn't normal, but he resolved to give the rations a check to make sure nothing had gone past expiration.
For the first time in years, though, Molari dreamed of his sister. Master Khem had helped him accept the memories and pain as natural and the dreams from his youth had faded. But they were raw again, opening up a once-healed wound for the Knight and dragging every nuance of the memory back up. It wasn't long before the Knight woke up and pulled off his visor, green eyes staring up at the ceiling of his somewhat cramped room and taking a shuddering breath. Another wave of nausea rose, Molari sitting up and hunching over, hands to his head as he steadied himself. He caught snatches of sleep but the memories of his sister weren't the only things that came to creep into his dreaming - flashes of his childhood, of the clan, of the panic of the war tumbling into his mind and leaving him more unsettled on waking than he was comfortable with.
One nearly restless night and Molari found himself sitting in his chair on the deck of the White Star, inputting coordinates for Tython. Once his course was set he reached for his comms unit then stopped, sighing and opting instead of engage his hyperdrive, jetting towards the Jedi planet.
He'd pick up a fresh supply of food, since it seemed his rations had spoiled, and he'd update the Council and Order on his progress (or lack of it) on finding Knight Smith. As his ship fell out of hyperspace near the orbital station above Tython Molari once more dimmed the lighting of his ship, standing up and making his way again to his medicine cabinet and taking something for the pain.
It started with a headache. At first it wasn't even noticeable to the Knight, something he'd chalked up to the blazing lights and steady pulse of the moon, especially given the fact that he'd left his usual visor behind. The glaring neon lights of Nar Shaddaa were as unfamiliar as the streets he'd been walking, trying to follow the map the gentleman in the cantina had provided him with. But the steady thrum of pain in his temples had increased as he'd walked, leaving hte Knight standing still for a moment on the bustling city sidewalk, a hand going to his head for the pain.
But the headache had gone away with practice - it was a simple Jedi trick, afterall, one every initiate knew; accepting the pain as the will of the Force, it'd gone away (lessened at least) and the Knight had continued to hunt for the offices of Cartel Security, intent on tracking the locator beacon for the missing Jedi Knight from the enclave's attack that had apparently pinged to the moon.
The nausea that came soon after Molari attributed to the headache since it'd begun pounding in his head again. Again he found himself stopping but this time with a hand on the building's wall as he hunched over, taking a moment to breathe and focus. When the feeling had faded enough that the Knight considered it manageable he'd moved on, unaware that his odd progress was drawing more than one eye.
Finding the offices had eventually been a fruitless hope - although he'd found them, and spoken with the head of Security (or at least someone claiming to be it; the Knight had found himself uncertain of his claims but too focused on his own self to read the possible lies in the Force), they'd been unwilling to hand over landing information.
They'd recommended he stick with Republic territory and take his inquisitive nose out of the Cartel's affairs.
Molari sighed, feeling the edge of another headache coming on as he climbed into his ship; with one hand he dimmed the lighting onboard, fumbling to strip out of his robes and grabbing his visor. With its settings set to slightly dampen the light he massaged the sides of his head, finally heading to the medicine cabinet tucked into his refresher and grabbing something for the pain.
The Smuggler's Moon had not agreed with him, he decided. The lights, the sounds, the press of people, the decadence - how anyone found it appealing was beyond him. If Smith's ship pinged there again Molari knew he'd dog it because the threat of the missing Jedi was too great to ignore but he wondered if maybe he shouldn't eschew the infamous Promenade in favor of sticking to the spaceports and other sectors.
A quick check of his medicine cabinet revealed that he had nothing on hand to combat the nausea that rose up again, the Knight putting a hand to his forehead. No fever though he felt clammy. Somewhat paler than normal though still the same general skintone he'd always sported. He hadn't eaten anything while on Nar, nothing that wasn't normal, but he resolved to give the rations a check to make sure nothing had gone past expiration.
For the first time in years, though, Molari dreamed of his sister. Master Khem had helped him accept the memories and pain as natural and the dreams from his youth had faded. But they were raw again, opening up a once-healed wound for the Knight and dragging every nuance of the memory back up. It wasn't long before the Knight woke up and pulled off his visor, green eyes staring up at the ceiling of his somewhat cramped room and taking a shuddering breath. Another wave of nausea rose, Molari sitting up and hunching over, hands to his head as he steadied himself. He caught snatches of sleep but the memories of his sister weren't the only things that came to creep into his dreaming - flashes of his childhood, of the clan, of the panic of the war tumbling into his mind and leaving him more unsettled on waking than he was comfortable with.
One nearly restless night and Molari found himself sitting in his chair on the deck of the White Star, inputting coordinates for Tython. Once his course was set he reached for his comms unit then stopped, sighing and opting instead of engage his hyperdrive, jetting towards the Jedi planet.
He'd pick up a fresh supply of food, since it seemed his rations had spoiled, and he'd update the Council and Order on his progress (or lack of it) on finding Knight Smith. As his ship fell out of hyperspace near the orbital station above Tython Molari once more dimmed the lighting of his ship, standing up and making his way again to his medicine cabinet and taking something for the pain.
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