#arwen01

   “Ah--”

Even while taking a simple stroll, the monk had a keen gut for the chi of the world around him. Was it not his job, after all, do discern and deal with varying disturbances which fragmented the peace of the world? Well, true as that was, this city was quite an enigma -- fluctuating with stress and imbalance, it was like a cacophony of sensation.

Therefore, when he came in contact with a small pocket of peace...it was like a wave of clarity in his mind and soul. Losing his idle smile in exchange for a rather surprised expression, Nito turned towards the source of that serenity; a young-looking woman making her way in the opposite direction of himself.

@luthiensdaughter

Ah...now this was truly intriguing. For the first time since his arrival, the Pontiff was surprised -- it was not a pleasant surprise, either, though not entirely unwholesome, either. Simply put, he was at a loss for how to react, which could not possibly have sat well with one as controlling as him. And so, his form, perhaps twice as tall as she was, swept towards her with increased intention, slender arm reaching out to gesture towards her.

   “Maiden, prithee, answer me this...thine ears, thou must be...”

Indeed, her pointed ears, the kind of which Sulyvahn had seen only a select few times in his long, long life. His cavernous voice lurched with spiked curiosity as he looked down at the woman, mask concealing any form of visual emotion he may have been experiencing.

@luthiensdaughter

   A Jedi was intended to be a force to protect. A force to nurture. Above all, a Jedi valued life and all that surrounded it -- they were the natural enemy of those who would subject life to cruelty or darkness. Barriss often spent her time poring over ancient texts in the Jedi Archives, learning about the philosophies and struggles of past Jedi, learning what it meant to truly be a Jedi.

   What did it really mean...? In the end, everyone had to find that answer for themselves.

   Barriss sat cross-legged in the lonely space. It was fairly easy to find an abandoned enclosure in this city, she’d found, and in this space, she could truly connect to the silent world around her. In front of her sat a plant in a pot, withered and dead from the cold. Gently, the Jedi cupped her hands around the plant and closed her eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. She was the world around her. She was herself, and the air, and the flower, and the building. She was the Force, and the Force was her.

   Slowly, the plant between her palms began recovering its green color, rising to meet a nonexistent sun. Barriss gritted her teeth internally, concentrating. Her Force powers here were weak, but she could still use them. She could still heal, she could still remove malady, she could still offer the gift of life. This was what a Jedi was.

   “.........Who is it?”

@luthiensdaughter

As a Sith, one must accept certain teachings. One must accept that he has power. One must fuel that power with all he can. One must set his eyes on a goal and plough forward until he reaches it. One must struggle until his fingers bleed and he can no longer see through the tears in his eyes -- and then he must forget the pain and keep on moving.

And to some, that was quite a literal situation.

Darth Sion clutched the ground, his breathing ragged. Around him, stone and dirt were scattered -- parts of the thick wall which surrounded the massive city he had found himself in. Being unable to locate his lightsaber, he had taken to dismantling a solid concrete wall with his bare hands, desperation and rage fueling his work, his muscles tearing; his skin shuddering in atrocious agony, and still, through the pain, he worked. It was only with exhaustion after hours of maddening labor that he had collapsed, having worked remarkably deep into the wall with not a single hope of escape, even now.

“.................Do not stare at me with such judicious eyes, wretch.”

All that brought him back to reality was the presence of a stranger, a woman who had approached to find the Sith, his body a wreck, torn and scarred and serrated with the wounds of a thousand battles, the countless deaths he had experienced and not allowed to take him. His voice sounded the same -- as if someone had cut open his vocal cords and sewn them together haphazardly, an evil vibration in his words. Turning his head from his bowed position, Sion glared at the stranger with his lone good eye, the orb burning with hatred.