Celeste — Roleplayer Guild

Tamare hummed and shrugged at Joard's question, lightsaber still in his hand, ready for the sudden appearance of new foes. He tried not to stare too much at the corpse of the creature his fellow Padawan had slain. The first glance had made him sick to his stomach and filled him with a sort of guilt. It was not fair that the non-sentient creatures of this planet fell victims to the madness of war.

He lit his saber and nodded when Joard proposed searching for the lost Padawan. At this point, Tamare felt that following the Knight was the only thing he could do, at least if he wanted to live through this battle and achieve something.

Then, he nodded towards the other Padawan, the one with pale hair, and offered a flimsy smile, forced but necessary. He did not trust any of those present to hear him speak, so gestures would have to do. So far, his companions all seemed capable and committed to this battle, which was a good sign that he was in good company, at least so long as they did not too much ask of him.

Tamare's ankles still hurt, but in his heart he felt the need to move, to crawl his way through the mud, the ponds, the rocks and the vegetation, to jump from one branch to the next.

It is just like the undercity.

The thought escaped from him before he could restrain it, and it brought him goosebumps.

And just like in the undercity, death lurks around every corner.

A memory [+]

The club was half-full, or maybe that was just Tamare's mind being overwhelmed by the thickness in the air. It smelled like alcoholism, spice addiction, euphoric dancing, lively chatter, lust, and a tinge of shyness in a secluded corner of the bar. He wanted to block them all, but he could not, and it hurt, although not nearly as much as the hunger. It fluttered inside him as he clutched the small tube, like a persistent winged bug.

Tamare felt his presence long before he stepped into the club, concern mixed with disappointment. The Padawan did not turn his eyes to him, and he tried to pull himself away from his mind. If his Master felt him, he was doomed, so he concentrated, tried to erase all traces of himself in the Force that surrounded him, tried to make himself smaller as he sat on the bar stool.

He should have known better.

He felt the growl long before he heard it, low and lacking in violence, yet full of emotions.

"I haven't taught you how to bury your presence, so don't try it. You are only going to hurt yourself."

A tall Togruta was sitting on the stool beside him now, his features darkened by the lighting. He felt a vibration beneath the stiff expression on his face, and he knew that this was it. He had gone too far, and now his Master was hurt, hurt deeper than any weapon would ever be able to reach, and all because of a death stick.

Koryan Lyu did not look his Padawan in the eye. Rather, he stared forward for a long, silent moment, large red hands balled into fists. Then, he eyed the death stick in Tamare's hand, and his face softened into pure, unpolluted sadness. "How many have you had, Rada?"

Tamare cast his eyes downwards, to the pristine surface of the bar, and pressed the tube against his stomach, as if to conceal it within himself. He waited, either for his Master to grow tired of his silence and leave, or for him to invade his mind to find the truth. Either way, his silence was his last barrier, one he stubbornly clinged to, even if he knew it would bring him no comfort. Silence would not cure him of his weakness.

Nothing happened.

The silence stretched.

He gave up.

"None. I only bought this one, and I didn't drink it." He mumbled, trying to sound monotone, and failing most tragically. He opened his hand to show it, casting a sideways glance at his Master. The Togruta's expression remained the same. "I couldn't."

"How much did you pay for it?" His Master said, now staring at him, his gaze deeper than usual.

"My entire allowance... and some of my savings..." He answered with hesitation, offering it shyly to the older male. "The dealer said it would be soft. Harmless, he said. Just enough to give me what I needed."

Koryan took the tube from him slowly, barely touching it with the tip of his fingers. "You were cheated."

Tamare sighed. "I know."

"You could have died from poisoning."

"I know."

Silence reigned once again, and it was unbroken for many minutes, until his Master spoke up again, ordering a drink for both of them. Green wine. Vintage. Expensive. Tamare did not care for its bitter, spicy taste, or the way it seemed to clog his throat for a moment before it finally slid down, but he drank all the same.

His Master drank with a small, feeble smile. It vanished with the end of every sip.

"I tried death sticks when I was younger than you, Rada." He said, his inflection concealing the falsehood of his confession almost perfectly. "It was not worth it."

"Liar." Tamare retorted sourly, before gulping the last remaining wine in his glass.

Once again, he felt the growl before hearing it.

"I told you to stop peeking into my mind, Tamare." His Master dropped his glass softly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to."

He grew quiet for a moment, afraid to voice the question. It had been eating at him for weeks now.

"Is my mind truly such a monstruous place that you would keep it as far away from yours as possible?" Tamare's eyes glimmered like molten gold as he made the accusation. He did not think before making it, did not think how awful it was. He just blurted it out, resentful, frustrated. The wine did not quench his thirst, and the death stick was still there, in his Master's hand, intact, untouched, ready to take his mind away from this Universe.

Koryan averted his eyes.

"No... No, Rada. Mine is."

The jetpack had worked properly when the time had come to abandon the freighter. The parachute, not so much. It ¡deployed when Tamare needed it, but a burning piece from the freighter rendered it useless as he fell down, towards the endless green of Gthrak. The distance from the surface was not deadly, but it was painful.

It was an awful start to a mission he had been second-guessing the moment it had been announced, and had seriously considered deserting as he had entered the freighter along with his fellow IRSOG 37 members. Tamare had expected to be sent to participate in less bombastic endeavours, like inflitrating planets under Mandalorian occupation, contacting potential allies in nearby systems, or salvaging important historical sites before invaders came to destroy them. He had not felt ready for battles such as this, and now he felt even less prepared. Listening to his Master's lectures aboard the Duct Tape Express had not helped.

The days before had been marked by snide comments from the Republic soldiers and officers behind his back, and uncomfortable silences when faced with most fellow Jedi, except for a rather arrogant Firrerreo Jedi Knight, with whom he had exchanged a handful of strained words. IRSOG 37 had gladly taken him, if only because no Jedi Liturgists had joined their ranks thus far, and more lightsabers were always welcome. Clearly, however, they had not been expecting someone like Tamare, and that had been the first sign, as far as he was concerned, that he might have made a mistake, that he might have been better off on his own. He had always worked better on his own, save when in the company of his Master.

His jetpack obliterated by the fall, and the remains of his parachute burning alongside it, Tamare climbed down from the tree he had unceremoniously landed on with a hand on his hip, pressing on the pain, and walked towards where the fighting sounded the closest. He did not think he had broken any bones in his landing, but there would certainly be plenty of bruises, and both his ankles hurt in a way suspiciously reminiscent of his Master's description of sprains. His clothes, sufficed to say, had been noticeably damaged.

He perfectly remembered where the rest of IRSOG 37 had been headed to before the trees swallowed them all, but the whole world seemed in motion now, so all he had were his senses. He crawled and climbed his way through the thickness of the jungle, a hand always close to either his lightsaber or his blaster in case he found himself face to face with a Mandalorian, or predatory local wildlife. The air was so humid he felt as if his skin would melt, and the pools of mud he stepped into now and then had the foulest stench he had smelled in years, and it clinged to his boots.

His hearing was accompanied by the feeling of the presence of nearby fighters as he came closer to the sound he had been moving towards. He felt the Firrerreo and his Padawan, as well as that of a specimen of the planet's fauna. The creature was in a frenzy, one that had in no small part been caused by the cacophony of the grand battle taking place around them.

With a few more movements through branches, hollow trees, and holes in the ground, he reached them at last, the Firrerreo's back to him. With a quick, practised motion, he pulled his lightsaber and blaster from his belt, and walked towards them as quietly as he could, mostly to avoid enraging the ferocious creature even further.

When he felt he was close enough, Tamare merely hummed. For this situation, he felt any words would have been superfluous.

Celeste Member

Status

Bio

Most Recent Posts