Quest Abandoner

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro couldn't stop herself from laughing along with Nellara; it was a strange sound, and until now, the doctor hadn't been certain Nellara was even capable of laughter. Either the Castigator was loosening up, or Itxaro was beginning to get used to her formality. Or she was getting drunk.

"I can't speak for life on Mars, but in my country, a party that doesn't have meat, music, and plenty of booze isn't really a party at all," Itxaro said cheerfully as a passing Glen, barely able to stand, still managed to refill her mug to the brim from a leather pouch. She watched, giggling, as the drunken soldier immersed his entire muzzle into his own mug and took in great, heaving gulps before emerging with a soaked snout. She turned back to Nellara. "A universal truth, maybe? Eh, I guess the Glen and Iriad would disagree," she considered with a shrug, remembering they were vegetarian, or close to it.

Itxaro grew more serious, though no more sober, when Nellara talked of humanity.

"Yeah, we're all the same species, but that's where the similarities end. Different languages, cultures, religions, values, planets, all that shit. There's some idiotas who say we're not the same species, but they're just, ya know, racist," Itxaro said with a scowl. She remembered reading in one of Vigdis' reports that, on KA, only the S'tor killed others of the same species, and briefly imagined human history if humans were more like the Tekeri. She wondered if killing your own kind was simply a condition of being the sole dominant species on a planet. Tekeri certainty didn't have any qualms about going to war with Glen, if Nellara was any judge.

"Humans have been killing each other since the beginning of recorded history. Not like your people. Maybe it's our nature, but I don't buy that. I think, deep down, we're fundamentally good. But we've created this violent culture out of necessity from our history of scarcity, only now it's a poisonous cocoon that we've wrapped ourselves in. We've outgrown it, but we can't figure out how to escape it, can't create the utopia we already have the means to inhabit," Itxaro said, feeling herself rambling, but no longer with the inhibition, nor the desire, to stop herself.

"But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe, even without this culture, we're still just the most savage group of monkeys that ever spilled out of the jungle. Only now, we have engines and bullets and explosives." Itxaro nodded towards the Jotunheim. "That ship? Impressive, sure, but don't fool yourself. It's a weapon. We use them all the time to kill each other. This one just had some special toys on it stolen from some refugee aliens by very greedy people." Itxaro was growing almost angry, her voice rising.

"Let me tell you something about ships like that. 800 years ago, three wooden ships, cutting edge technology at the time, arrived at my homeland. Within a few generations, 95% of my people were dead, and the rest enslaved by the newcomers. All for money. Humans can do horrible things when money is on the line."

Itxaro paused. She'd said too much.

"You know what? Forget I said that. Nobody wants to talk ancient history at a party!" Itxaro said, trying to inject some joviality into her tone, not that it would translate. She hefted up her mug to a passing Tekeri in salute and drank while she thought of some way to turn the conversation away from her favorite topics.

Music. Talk music. That's safe.

Unfortunately, Itxaro didn't really have a great answer for Nellara on the origin of metal. "Death metal, its like... Eh... They sing about death because it's cool? It makes them look strong?" Itxaro grasped, trying to explain such an abstract concept to someone with no point of reference.

"Honestly, I don't get it. Vigdis might have a better answer. She's Norwegian maybe. Or Finnish. Swedish? Nordic, at least," Itxaro said with a shrug. Too bad she didn't ask about Trova music. She looked over to the band and saw, with a frown, that they seemed to be setting up some sort of improvised speaker system gutted from the ship's trashed escape pod, and the solar engineer stowaway was utilizing panels from the same wreckage. "I think you're about to find out where the 'death' part comes from though."

Mercifully, or perhaps not, the conversation took another turn, now towards KA politics.

Itxaro listened with an intense focus possessed only by those not entirely sober, as if they could compensate for their intoxication through sheer force of will. Her intense stare was almost immediately broken by a nearby Tekeri who drank by dipping their beak into their mug, pulling it out, and tilting their head back to let the beer drain down their throat. The image of an old childhood toy her mother had given her came to mind and she desperately held back a laugh, instead snapping her attention back to Nellara.

The Castigator's description of the tension between the two nations was startlingly familiar to Itxaro; she could think of a dozen instances of rising tensions between the old order and the new in human history. She thought of the Napoleonic era, of World War One and the death of the old empires. She wondered if this planet would follow the same trajectory, or if the bloodshed could be averted. The only political or anthropological theories focused on humans, though the the Yenge provided an interesting new landscape for theories, and that field was a muddled nightmare full of misinformation. Itxaro decided to stick with what she knew.

"I hate to tell you this, Castigator, but religions and monarchies? A real bitch to get rid of. We still have some of those dusty old bastards back home, for some reason. People just hang on to tradition, I guess, even if it harms them," Itxaro said, realizing with a slight wince that religion had been brought into the conversation, yet another human faux pas. She pressed on. "Now, my country, we've moved on from both, but unless you can burn them out root and stem, you'll just have to get along with them for now. Kick the can down the road for another, oh, maybe 400 years or so." Itxaro wanted to say more, but managed to stop herself.

The conversation turned to their poor feathered friend Kerchak, running into the bushes with his body rapidly morphing. Nellara seemed unconcerned, explaining simply that mages and alcohol didn't mix. It was then that Itxaro noticed Nellara wasn't drinking at all, and was totally sober.

"Ouch. A life without alcohol? I hope I'm not a mage. Let me check..." Itxaro mimicked the full-body, flowing motions she'd seen Shirik display for them, sloshing her drink on the dirt, before directing her "flame" towards Nellara to no effect. She did slightly stumble in the process, though. "Hmm, nope. Guess I still get to drink!" Itxaro laughed. The engineer hadn't had a serious drinking session in many years, and was beginning to realize that her alcohol tolerance had dropped dramatically. She set her drink down on a nearby table, realizing perhaps she'd had enough, but no sooner had she abandoned her beer did a passing Glen press a new mug into her hand.

"Well, proud or not, I wanted Kerchek to help me look for some lost gear at some point, and I can't do that if he's turned himself into a pile of goo or something. I'm gonna go check up on him." Itxaro eyed the retinue that followed Kerchek's path into the grass and grew anxious. Four S'tor guards, another local, Zey, and even more worrying, Darnell and Ezra. The last two were likely to get someone killed, and Itxaro didn't want to see her newfound alien friends gunned down by a lowlife mercenary and a corporate stooge. Maybe we'll get really luck out and he'll turn them into a cockroach.

Itxaro set her second drink aside and turned to leave. She paused and studied the crash site, as if with new eyes. A colorless streak of wire and crepe, ash and cinders in an otherwise verdant and vibrant world. Freshly dug trenches and turned up earth cobwebbed the surrounding untouched countryside. Scorch marks from the fire reached out from the Jotunheim like the first stage of a malignant cancer extending creeping tendrils out to engulf the planet.

She turned back to Nellara and locked eyes with her, now in a hushed but deadly serious tone.

"One last piece of unsolicited advice. I normally wouldn't, but I think I'm a little drunk, so I will. Make peace with Mythadia. Or at least try. You have more in common than you think, and your world is big. Bigger than you can imagine. Someone could be sailing across the sea right now, some nation with better weapons, better soldiers, looking for a new home and willing to kill you all for it. They might arrive today, they might arrive 100 years from now, or hell, they might not ever, might not even exist. But you'll all be better off if you make peace. Don't make my ancestor's mistakes. Don't get caught up killing each other over border wars when there might be someone more dangerous out there."

Itxaro cleared her throat and returned to her earlier conviviality.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go look after a drunk wizard."

She turned and ran towards the brush.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

”Well, I hope I'm good company at least. Hell, two more of these,” Itxaro said, hefting up the massive wooden mug, "and I'll be the best company you've ever had." Itxaro paused. Was she flirting? Some sort of nervous impulse? No, she wasn’t nervous. The alcohol made sure of that.

The alcohol. She was getting drunk.

Too late to stop now.

Nellara didn't seem overly-enthusiastic about the party, from what Itxaro could tell, but she admittedly knew very little about Tekeri body language. Nellara did welcome the opportunity to mingle though.

”Good luck getting to know us. Any two people on this ship are about as similar as you and your good friend Lord Silbermine. We’re from all over our world, some from different planets too,” Itxaro replied. "Honestly, I feel like the alien around this crew sometimes.” Itxaro’s speech was beginning to slow, not slur, as she struggled to translate her thoughts into a second language. As if to highlight her “otherness,” Itxaro switched to Spanish, knowing the translator program might not be as accurate, but it was better than fumbling for words. She even tried to sprinkle in the occasional native phrase as she spoke, more for her own benefit than Nellara’s.

"But you’re right. We might be here a while, may as well get familiar, yeah?”

Itxaro grinned broadly at Nellara's takedown of Glenn music; she didn't hate it that much, but nothing brought people together more than shit talking. She cast a glance over at the raucous musicians and let out an audible groan upon spotting the metal band. "Well, if you’re lucky, or I guess unlucky, our stowaway band might just play something for you. Melodic death metal or something, stuff from 300 years old. I still don’t get it personally, but hey, there's rhythm. I think.”

She looked up at Nellara, searching sharp eyes for a sliver of the familiar. Something human. To Itxaro’s surprise, she found it. Faint, but there. Not human, but if she gazed into the mirror long enough she would recognize it. Sentience, she supposed. It was strange, looking into this avian face, so alien, and to find something of yourself in it, no matter how distant. Itxaro shook herself out of what she realized was a drunken musing and returned her attention to the actual conversation.

"So, let me ask you this, Nellara. Ascendency and Mythadia. Obviously, some bad blood there. Eh, animosity. Conflict." Itxaro threw out several words, not sure which would make it through the translator unmuddled. "But I’m assuming it didn’t just start last week with us showing up; what’s the story there?” Itxaro hadn’t meant to bring up politics. In fact, she'd intended to avoid it, trying to artfully steer Nellara away from Silbermine to keep the fragile peace intact. But she simply couldn't help herself. Any conversation worth having, Itxaro thought, revolved around either history or politics.

Of course, right after asking she regretted it, and Itxaro glanced around the party to see if anyone from Silbermine's camp was listening in to their conversation. She caught a glimpse of Kerchak dashing off into thick grass, and if she hadn't been several drinks in, Itxaro could have sworn that the Tekeri's flesh was shifting and rippling as if two entirely different entities were wrestling for control of the same body. Itxaro looked to Nellara, trying and gauge her reaction. "Ehm, is that normal for your people?"

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Despite the disturbing image Vigdis' proposed cloning technique planted in her head, Itxaro couldn't help but laugh. "Good point, we'll keep you in one piece for now. The last thing we need right now is another Vigdis running around," she joked, nervously eying the new arrivals from their vantage point.

Kareet explained their strange method of transportation, and while it seemed safe enough, Itxaro decided if they ever took a road trip using those monsters, she'd be riding on top. Either that, or she'd have a life mage transform her into hawk or something. Or just, you know, walk. Probably safest.

Itxaro watched as Zey spoke with the new arrival, the Warden of the North. Pretty nice title. Beats "doctor" by a mile. The warden, like all S'tor she assumed, towered over almost everyone present. Zey seemed intimidated, and rightfully so. If things went awry she was well within striking distance of the lizard creature's hulking mass. However, things did not go wrong; in fact, there was a party.

---

"Vigdis, Itxaro, beer?"

Though the words came from the Jotunheim's most loathed crewmember, it may as well have been the voice of angels to Itxaro. She'd been milling about awkwardly during the festivities, flitting to and fro like a moth around a light. She wasn't typically like this in social settings, but everything was just so damn strange. So Darnell's offer of a drink was like a life raft thrown to a drowning woman.

"God, yes please."

Itxaro took the offered drink in both hands, and it was absolutely necessary to do so; the Glen cups were decidedly not made with humans in mind. She felt like a child holding this enormous wooden mug, but at least she didn't have to find something for her twitchy hands to do. Itxaro brought the beer to her lips and drank deeply. The alcohol burned her throat and she panted the hot fumes.

"Wow. Not bad for a bunch of horses. Thanks, Darnell," Itxaro. It was a far cry from anything humans had now, but Itxaro was no stranger to renaissance fairs all over the USASR, where enthusiasts cooked up their own "historically accurate" beer, and this Glen-beer was closer to that than anything. Sweet and strong like mead, with no carbonation, but 20 other alien flavors competed in her mouth that she couldn't come close to identifying. Vigdis, on the other hand, looked like she was struggling to keep hers down. She wanted to ask what booze they cooked up in those zeppelins that hovered over Venus that made her turn her nose up at some good ole fashioned alien hooch, but the engineer was locked in conversation with Kareet.

A couple more swigs and Itxaro was more relaxed, her body just beginning to tingle and grow warm. She hadn't bothered to check with Silbermine on the drink's alcohol content. Itxaro was feeling so comfortable, in fact, that she did something totally out of character.

"Castigator Nellara! Enjoying the party?" Itxaro asked as she finally zeroed in on the Tekeri. In part, Itxaro was curious to learn more about her, especially the nation she represented, but Itxaro also wanted to keep the representative far from Silbermine and his warband, especially the Warden. World War K-A wasn't happening on her watch. Mundane, pointless conversation was Itxaro's goal, at least to start.

"Is all music on Kanth-Aremek this bad, or is it just the Glen's?" As she spoke, a harsh cacophony of horns and braying broke out from the improvised band that made Itxaro wince. It was all drums and horns, but in the worst ways. Still, the Glen seemed to enjoy the songs as they sang along in their strange, reedy voices, stomping their hooves to the rhythm. "I mean, we've got some mad stuff back home too, don't get me wrong. In the USASR, there's this band, Muro a Muro. All their stuff sounds like five songs all playing at once. But this... Really, not great."

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Words spilled out of Itxaro's translator as Kareet gently pulled their decidedly-intact limbs from her grasp. The translator formed a coherent sentence, but in her frantic state it took Itxaro several moments longer to fully understand what they meant. When she finally processed what had just happened, she felt a surge of anger, then disbelief, found a brief moment of humor in it, and then finally settled for exhaustion, slumping onto a metal crate that served as a chair.

Kareet, too, seemed a little confused; at least, confused by Itxaro. "No, no, I... Nevermind, doesn't matter. I'm just glad you have two working hands again. Claws, I guess," Itxaro replied, quietly packing up the medkit and tucking it under the table as if to hide her mistake. "Next time you decide to chop off your arm for laughs, give a girl a warning, yeah?"

Kareet further explained that any life mage would be able to heal any similarly grievous injuries on a human, given adequate anatomy lessons. Itxaro's prosthetic reflexively at the thought, as if protesting the idea of being replaced by flesh and blood. The possibility of becoming fully organic again both excited and frightened her, though she wasn't sure why. Steel can be replaced, but muscle and nerves? A bit trickier, Itxaro considered, and even in her own mind knew it was a weak and fearful excuse. Too bad we didn't bring along a therapist. We'll all probably need one, however this trip ends.

Kareet expanded her knowledge of life magic, mentioning that Kerchak would be able to turn them into a variety of creatures, if they so desired. Itxaro raised an eyebrow at this. "Ok, so you turn me into a bird. Then what? I immediately know how to fly? Or do we just fumble around until we figure it out?" Itxaro asked. She didn't doubt that Kerchak could do this, but wasn't sure it was the best idea for her or her human comrades.

Then again, flying could be fun.

Itxaro looked to Vigdis, who, as she guessed, was laughing her ass off. She flashed a vicious scowl at the Venerian engineer, but the grim façade was broken by an embarrassed grin. "Yeah yeah, keep laughing and I'll have Kareet chop off your head, see if that'll grow back too," Itxaro replied, a little shakily but in decent humor. "Sorry, by the way," she added, a weak apology for her rough handling of Vigdis moments earlier.

Shirik interjected with some words Itxaro thought were meant to comfort her, but the image of a mangled man knitting himself back together after being torn in half only made her queasy. Mercifully, his story was cut short by a sharp horn blowing in the distance; judging from what little she knew about the Glenn, she had a feeling more had just arrived, which was confirmed by Shirik before he left the table.

The air was tight and strained as a stretched skin, and Itxaro could feel it. Her hand checked to see if her holster still contained the revolver. The wheel gun still sat there, secure, which made Itxaro feel a little better. Her eyes sought out the source of the horn. She wished she hadn't.

Hideous, massive creatures skittered through the marsh on stilt-like legs, nightmarish beasts with riders. Itxaro watched in disgust as the creatures shivered and vomited people, living people, who then proceeded to climb through the foothills towards them. Itxaro looked to the aliens at the table as she slowly stood up, mentally preparing to greet or shoot the new arrivals, whichever the situation called for.

"Friends of yours?" she asked hopefully, but judging from how the Glenn flocked around them, she seriously doubted it. "If Nellara hasn't already, she's gonna have a stroke when she sees this. If we make it out alive in the next two hours, it'll be a damn miracle." Itxaro let out a deep sigh before looking to the others. "Well, no time like the present. Let's go."

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

CW: Emetophobia

---

Itxaro barely stopped herself from jumping up and celebrating when the commander gave her permission to search for missing cargo, but she couldn't suppress a small smile. This faded when she realized Silbermine would be joining her on the hunt. Well, as long as I don't bring Nellara, Shirik, or J'eon, it'll be chill enough. I hope. Itxaro tossed a smug glance of satisfaction toward Dr. Lambert, having intuitively known, or more accurately, guessed, that the fish was safe to eat before her analysis.

"I'll gather the work crew after our little picnic, Commander," Itxaro said before taking her leave. "Oh, and I appreciate the chance to join you, Lord Silbermine," she lied, walking away quite pleased with herself.

---

Itxaro didn't make it far before she saw Kareet, Vigdis, J'eon, and Kerchak gathered around a table deep in discussion. "Who st-," the half-formed sentence had barely escaped her lips when she saw Kareet brandish a massive blade, glistening malevolently in the afternoon sunlight, and cleanly slice flesh and bone. His own. Itxaro heard a dull clang as the metal blade struck the metal table, muted by the weight of Kareet's now-severed hand.

"Huh."

Any color in Itxaro's face from her morning hike drained until her skin matched her hair. Itxaro turned slowly, drunkenly, and walked away carefully at first, as if she might fall, head swimming. Faster now, as the bile stung at her throat. Itxaro barely made it back aboard the Jotunheim and into the bathroom. Violent convulsions racked her body and she kneeled over and surrendered to the mechanical churning of her insides.

Eyes burning and mouth now coated in a film of bile and mucus, Itxaro cursed and spat and cursed again. It wasn't the violence of the act, necessarily; she'd seen her share of gruesome workplace injuries. No, it was this specific injury that so disturbed her. Itxaro reflexively opened and closed her prosthetic hand as it burned with an irrational pain, one that grew the more she dwelled on it. Her own amputation hadn't been nearly as neat and tidy as Kareet's; a shotgun blast at close range didn't really compare to a surgeon's scalpel, and Itxaro's loss wasn't as voluntary. Still, it was a gruesome reminder.

Itxaro spat once more, wished desperately she had a cigarette, and sucked in a deep breath as she stood. A final shudder ran through her and she shook out her limbs and ran to the medbay. Better late than never.

---

"Fuck out of the way!" Itxaro growled as she pushed her way past Vigdis, who was still milling about as if nothing happened. In fact, they were all in the exact same place as when she'd left. She looked around at them in astonishment. Idiotas. Itxaro gently pushed the lifeless claw away and flung the half-opened medbag on the table next to Kareet. "Ok, Kareet, let's see your scratch. I've had worse," Itxaro said as she pulled out a tourniquet, organic hand trembling. Stop the bleeding, get the hand on ice next. Go from there. At no point in her frantic thoughts did Itxaro consider finding someone actually qualified to treat horrific wounds, and Kerchak's alleged magical healing abilities were the furthest thing from her mind.

She took one of Kareet's feathered arms in her hands and studied it in confusion, glancing at the severed claw. Am I losing it? She scrambled for the other arm, also intact. She looked at Kerchek. She looked at Kareet. She looked at Vigdis.

"Alright, what the fuck guys."

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro's face flushed at her commander's comment but it was hardly noticeable, her skin still tinged pink after hauling the massive fish from the uplands. Zey invited Silbermine and his retinue to join their little get-together, which was now dwindling with his arrival, and Itxaro was tempted to join those who fled. Anytime this jackass is around, things get sketchy. She was about finished with all the politicking between the Ascendency and Mythadia; it seems like the two nations had long been looming near the brink of war, and there was little she could do to stop it.

As if she needed another reason to flee, Dr. Lambert also arrived. Oh great, here comes our very own mad scientist. Really the makings of a great party. Arriving to test the food, and hopefully not splice their genes with the Tekeri. As Zey's voice echoed through the camp on personal comms systems, Itxaro saw her opportunity to absquatulate and seized it the best she could.

"I can go stomp around in the swamp if you need me, commander. I've already got my sea legs. Kanth-Aremek legs? Sea legs sounds better," Itxaro said to Zey with a shrug. "I know what to look for, what's important, and hell, I haven't even unpacked from my last hike. We could just throw some beacons on the gear and have the drones pick it up." She paused to consider the logistics. "Might take them multiple trips for each crate, but it beats us slogging through the mud, no?"

Itxaro never considered if it was necessary for her to make the trip; she just wanted to. Once she set her mind to something, she'd rarely steer from the course. The engineer was stubborn like that. Zhao might not like it, Itxaro thought with a flicker of a smile, but what's she gonna do? Fire me?

All she needed now, in her mind, was a partner to go along with her. Itxaro would prefer a native, someone who would know the land, or at least the creatures that trod it, but she'd settle for one of the Norwegian rockers at this point just to get out of the party she helped create. Always thinking two steps ahead, even midstride.

"Shirik might be sick of me by now, but I can play well with others," Itxaro said as she rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms as if preparing for another strenuous hike. "Our shapeshifting friends come to mind. Maybe they could turn into a pack mule if I showed them a picture. Or something better?"

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro hopped aboard the Jotunheim to make herself something approaching presentable, shaking the sand out of her hair and boots, and throwing on a clean jumpsuit. She still looked a little wild as she returned to the makeshift commons area outside the ship. They’d dragged together a variety of crates and other detritus from the crash to create something approximating a long dining table. No five-star accommodations to be sure, but the view wasn’t too bad.

As the mixed crowd of humans and aliens gathered to take a slab off the massive roasting fish, Itxaro noticed several other dishes appearing alongside. Simple fare, mostly forage from the surrounding region along with whatever rations the locals had brought with them on their trip.

A regular Thanksgiving feast. Hope this doesn’t have the same second act.

Itxaro caught a glance at Zey, who beckoned her over. Curious about their catch.

“Thanks, but it about caught me,” Itxaro replied to Zey. “If Shirik hadn’t been there, you’d probably be down an engineer. Or I’d be very wet, at least.”

Itxaro turned towards the mountains and gestured with a knifehand that followed the path they’d taken. “Shirik showed me a huge lake up there to the south. Past the foothills, there’s a valley where the water gathers; you can just barely see the other bank if you squint. Runoff from the mountains feeds it, cold as hell and crystal clear.” She turned back to Zey. “Like nothing back on Earth. If we have any anglers aboard, they'll want to see it. Mallory seems the type.” Probably more detail than Zey wanted, Itxaro considered, but she’d been excited to share her discovery. A crack in the façade.

Itxaro took her leave to join the festivities but looked back to the commander. “The fish isn’t too bad, either. Hasn’t killed me yet, anyways, though not for lack of trying. I’ll save you some, commander.” A faint smile on her lips as she left.

---

For Itxaro, it’d been a good day so far. A day to shape the days upon. She’d taken her seat at the long table, feeling like a disciple at the last supper save for the strange company. Human crew and Ascendency strangers, all intermingled in this peculiar convergence. A mosaic of shapes and forms, clothes and faces. Tentative conversation at first made more difficult by the translators, each individual grasping out for connection across the expanse of unfamiliar worlds and experiences, but common ground was soon established. Family, food, home. Comforting human voices and laughs interspersed with crow-like croaking and cackles.

The first real step in interspecies diplomacy in Itxaro’s eyes, a fleeting moment of communion and a fragile harmony amid the chaos.

Then she saw a familiar equine silhouette in the distance.

“Oh, goddamn it.”

As if in response to her expletive, many of the Ascendency citizens and soldiers stood up abruptly and took their leave together like the Red Death had just arrived at the abbey doors. He’s going artifact hunting.

Though the feast was far from over, Itxaro stood up and sought out Zey.

“What’s the move?” she asked in a hushed tone, her mind racing with possibilities. “I don’t have an inventory on hand, but there’s a lot in the shuttle bay we can’t let them find. We'd lose leverage and gear. No way we could outpace them on foot, and they know the land. I guess we can either get the Ascendency's help, or work with Silbermine.”

Itxaro paused, returning to the first thought she'd had upon seeing the Glenn.

“Think they'd let us ride them?”

Star Wars: Jedi Academy

A pang of shame ran through Reni, sharp and swift.

She had joked with her apprentice, mocking the temple, the stern statues, and the dour atmosphere, as they often did. But here and now, she regretted it. The planet, Reni reminded herself, was practically vibrating with the Force. All she had to do was open herself to it. Her thoughts on the temple as a monument aside, it had stood for thousands of years as a sanctuary for generations of Jedi. To mock it, she decided, was to mock those that had come before her. She might not like the unnatural building, the grandiosity of it all, but those that walked this hall before deserved her respect.

Her guilt became even more stinging when she thought of Mala.

Mala, one of the few remaining Jedi from the old Order. A woman who lived through the slaughter of thousands of Jedi, and was just now seeing the order's nascent resurgence, an order to which she had dedicated her life. Surely, Reni thought, this was not a joking matter for her, but a time that called for solemnity and reflection. At the very least, Reni decided, she could keep her thoughts to herself.

Reni was drawn back into the present when a familiar fruit bar was tossed her way. A gloved hand flew from her robe and caught it before disappearing again. She smiled and nodded to Toryn in thanks, but redirected the conversation, ending their game of back-and-forth. Reni sensed some tension in her apprentice, both through the Force and what she could read in his body language. Toryn, as he frequently was, seemed like a coiled viper ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Whether this was a trait typical of all Mandalorians or just combat veterans Reni was unsure; she certainly had to fight the instinct to constantly scan for threats herself sometimes.

The war had taken a toll on many of the Jedi in the room.

“The Force is strong on this planet. Stronger than what you’re used to. Let it in, if you can,” Reni encouraged him, knowing that if he just made an effort, the young Mandalorian could find some measure of peace here as she had for the first time six years ago.

---

The temple’s stone walls warded off the worst of Ilum’s sub-zero climate, shielding them from the harsh winds that ripped through robes like a lightsaber through paper, but it was still far from comfortable for most of the Jedi. Especially, say, one who had spent most of their life onboard climate-controlled starships.

Reni smiled sympathetically at Nova, bundled in several thick layers of cloth as her fellow apprentice kept her from tottering over. “I’ll teach you that little trick soon, Nova,” she said, referring to the tapas technique. “Once I figure it out myself.” If her research in the archives was correct, Reni had only scratched the surface of the ability; warding off a little wind was nothing compared to preserving one’s body in the cold vacuum of space. It had taken her many hours just to achieve her small accomplishment, and she was still far from being able to train another. “Don’t worry, it will be warmer in the tunnels,” Reni assured her, then paused to reconsider. “Wait. No. It will be colder.”

Nova often confused Reni.

By all accounts, she was an excellent apprentice, on track to become an excellent Jedi. The girl possessed innate talent, was optimistic, and most importantly, Reni never sensed the slightest bit of anger from her. But that was just it.

Even the greatest Jedi faced these challenging emotions, wrestled with them as they sought their own inner peace. But Nova seemed to have already mastered this internal battle. It was how Jedi grew, by accepting these emotions but learning to let them go, not allow them to dominate their spirit. Perhaps, Reni had considered, she simply wasn’t pushing Nova hard enough, not challenging her. But Nova was keeping up with the other apprentices, growing at about the same rate one would expect. There were some issues, of course. Reni thought the young woman was reckless, willing to throw herself into unnecessary danger, and lacked patience, but these were typical of an apprentice, Master Skywalker had told her. Patience and caution could be taught.

It troubled the Jedi knight all the same.

Still, the Mirialan was proud of her apprentices, especially now, on the cusp of their first real milestone within the Order. Reni didn’t care for the Jedi’s near worship of the lightsaber, but she understood its importance in this moment as a rite of passage. Not wanting to delay any longer, Reni stood before the gathered Jedi and led them to the next chamber.

---

As she pushed open the unassuming stone door, Reni thought of Toryn’s words. "Because only the Jedi could ever build something so big, yet so very bland."

She wished she could see the look on his face as he entered the next room.

Where the initial chamber was stark and narrow, made of chiseled stone and little else, here, the immense circular cavern they entered was rough and wild. From their high vantage point at the door, they looked down upon massive incandescent crystals that blossomed from the ground like jagged and brilliant flowers, some stretching to the cave's ceiling 40 meters above them where yet more crystals hung like glowing stalactites of every imaginable color. There was a small circular window carved out in the rock roof from which both pale light and white snow fell. The snow turned to rain halfway to the cavern's floor, its journey ending at a pool filled with bright blue water in the grotto's center from which a small stream both flowed into and out of. Steam rose off the surface of the water. It was warm within this place, approaching room temperature, the heat surging from hot springs in an adjacent cavern which fed into the underground lake. The walls were studded with even more crystals of various shapes, jutting out in every direction. Birds and small furry mammals roosted in these high places, watching the Jedi with large eyes as if they had anticipated their arrival. By the light of the crystals they could make out the mouths of several tunnels that led deeper into the cave system where the apprentices would find their translucent kyber crystals, should one call out to them. Several rough paths were carved out in the damp moss, but this was the only sign the cavern had ever been encountered by sentient beings.

Maybe the old Jedi knew what they were doing. Nothing they could build would compare to this.

"No one knows," Reni answered Zelt as she took in the chamber's beauty. "Perhaps the tunnels were mapped out once, but that's long since been forgotten." She turned to Zelt with a slight smile. "My advice? Don't get lost." If anyone could tell them more, it would be Mala, who might have more knowledge from before the fall of the Jedi Order, but even then Reni was doubtful.

Reni considered launching into a speech about the importance of kyber crystals to the Jedi, the tradition, the power of the Force here on Ilum, the purpose of the Jedi, but it simply wasn't her style. Besides, Reni figured the apprentices all knew what they were here for. However, she wouldn't stop the other knights from lecturing; some of the apprentices might benefit from a reminder, after all.

All the same, Reni entered the cavern and headed towards the lake, beckoning her two apprentices to follow. "Don't worry about the Gorgodons," Reni said as they walked. "They are aggressive, but also... Dumb. And their vision is poor. If you do see one, outsmart it, don't fight it. And do not try to use a blaster on them. It has been tried, and it will not work." She made sure to lock her eyes to Toryn’s visor when referring to the blaster’s ineffectiveness. This was not the knight’s pacifistic worldview coloring her judgment; this was fact.

Reni spoke softly now as they stood by the lake, as if her words were not for the world's ears, but their ears only. "Trust yourself. Trust eachother. Trust the Force. If you let it guide you in this place, you will not lose your way. You may not believe me, but you will feel your crystal call out to you." She watched as a slate-colored mammal glided across the length of the cavern from one crevasse to another, and spoke again. Now with levity in her voice. "And that tunnel," Reni said with a ghost of a smile, nodding at the wide mouth into which the stream ran down, "will be warmer."

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Itxaro was growing increasingly exasperated with the conflict between Silbermine and the rest. Alone, she might have dealt with both parties, but Silbermine had made the excellent decision to crash their party and send the discussion spiraling out of control. Itxaro’s face was beginning to flush with frustration, and a touch of anger tinged her otherwise cool voice, not that the translator would pick up on this. She turned to the Castigator, again turning the volume on the device low so that only she might hear it.
“If a war isn’t what you want, then work with us here; let Silbermine have his little champions, and he’ll go home with his armies. And, come on, borders? What borders?” Itxaro said, looking around. “Is there a wall I missed? Picket guards? Hell, have your cartographers even established a border in this territory?” Itxaro sincerely doubted it; one look at the surrounding area and she could tell it was “unproductive” land, unable to be farmed or civilized. Medieval borders were fluid at best, especially where there was nothing worth claiming.

That had probably been the case here, until the Jotunheim landed.

“Humans aren’t dumb. We can use Silbermine, just like he tries to use us.”

More insults were exchanged, and Silbermine gave a brief explanation of The Running; nothing concrete, nor particularly useful. Itxaro would have pressed for further information, but she received a notice on her comms from Mallory. She felt a twinge of panic rush through her blood like burning ice.
“Hey, uh, Castigator Nellara. Bad news. Some Tekeri hunters just arrived, and they’re not too pleased with our equipment up on the hill. Anything you could do to calm them down?” Itxaro discreetly notified the other aliens in their party, hoping they might be able to resolve it.

---

The situation continued to break down, and Itxaro turned her translator off completely as the commander arrived. She’d heard enough. “Commander. Just in the nick of time. Have fun with this lot, I’m gonna see what I can do about that” Itxaro said, pointing to the ship’s flashing beacon. A warning to return, probably because of the hunters.

Itxaro executed a graceful bow to the bickering aliens, and slowly drew back. She spoke quickly to her two fellow engineers. “Well, that’s it for me, I’m done with this shitshow. Hungry?” Itxaro tossed the green bread to Barbiero with a little smile. “Its no focaccia, but not too bad.” The doctor considered faking a wretch, but figured that was a little inappropriate for the current moment. She tapped at her wristpad quickly and opened up a channel with Mallory.

“Dr. Ibarra here. Told the Castigator about our new arrivals, but she’s a little busy wrangling our warlord here. Think I should recruit some of the locals to deal with the comms tower situation? I’m thinking J’eon, Kerchek, and our two on the scene might make a nice little welcoming party.” Itxaro wasn’t particularly keen on dealing with this new situation up the mountain, but she knew that the comms tower was vital for the Jotunheim’s crew; without it, they’d be severely limited in their operating range. That, and as Shirik’s rasping voice rose to chilling shout, she was ready to be anywhere but here. She looked up to the ridgeline, lined with black little evergreens that must have sprouted after some cataclysmic fire, and saw the comms tower in the distance.

Star Wars: Jedi Academy

The shuttle touched down on Ilum’s pristine white surface. A miniature blizzard erupted on the landing pad like a whirling snow globe as the silver craft’s thrusters whined to a stop, leaving the ancient Jedi temple as quiet as it had been for the past 20 years. Only the ping of cooling engines and wind running through eternal pines remained.

The silence was broken again as the shuttle’s hydraulics hissed, sending cautious and wide-eyed wildlife onlookers scrambling back into the protection of tall green trees. The cargo ramp opened and several figures strode forth, looking like shapeless djinn in the snowstorm or wardens of some dim sect with their flowing robes that snapped in the wind like rifle fire, sent forth to proselytize among the beasts of the land. Reni was among the first off the shuttle, ever-eager to escape the metal belly of any spacefaring craft. She carried with her a ragged satchel under one arm and thick boots in the other, her bare feet padding quickly down the metal ramp as if across hot coals before sinking into the snow of Ilum, where she paused for a moment. Her eyes closed.

It was an eccentricity Reni picked up from a man in the First Recon Battalion. Daranto, a salty, superstitious old smuggler turned rebel warfighter and covered in prison tattoos that wandered like a roadmap across his body, which Reni had always found painfully attractive. It was a grounding technique, he said, picked up from an old Jedi years ago. Every time he landed on a new planet, combat drop or not, Daranto would step onto the grass or the mud or the snow or the rock with his feet bare. It connected him to the Force unique to each planet, he explained, helped him to get a feel for the world and calm his mind before plunging into battle.

Daranto was gone now, like so many others Reni had known, but she carried a little piece of him with her onto this planet as the snow softened underfoot. She wondered with a smile whether or not Daranto had really met a Jedi, or if the “Jedi” had actually been so. Still, there was something to the ritual for Reni. It gave her a moment to pause after a long, agonizing journey and connect with the world. Feel the snow sting her skin. Hear the birds fluttering in the distance on wings that went whoop whoop whoop like a children’s toy. Attune her body to a different wavelength of the Force. Having grown up on a similarly frigid planet, Reni could withstand the cold for a few moments without any discomfort.

Daranto’s trick also gave her an opportunity to try something new.

Tapas, the dusty archives called it. The ability to regulate one’s body temperature through the Force. Reni was dressed sparsely compared to her companions, a simple tunic and trousers. Nowhere near enough to ward off the subzero winds that whipped at her exposed flesh and cut through thin fabric.

As a shiver ran through her body, Reni opened herself to the Force. She abandoned all fear, all worry, all hate. She drew in the life around her, and let it flow over her like a rare warm wind on Miral, channeling the energy throughout her body and pushing it to the very edge of her being. After a moment of concentration, the violent shiver stopped. She was… Comfortable. A smile crept across her pale green lips as Reni opened her eyes and caught up with the others, leaving steaming footprints in the snow like a burning phantom.

---

The temple hadn’t changed much, nor had Reni’s opinion on it.

It was too big, too arrogant, too unnatural. It felt like a world apart from the rest of Ilum, a safe haven from it rather than part of it. No temple to Remi, but a tomb.

Still, as she pulled on her boots and heavy winter robes, Reni couldn’t help but appreciate the age of it all, for it was ancient. Reni ran a gloved hand along the stone wall as she admired the crystalline chandelier suspended in the middle of the chamber that caught the faintest glimmer of light and sent it shining into the vestibule. She wondered how many generations of Jedi had stood where she did now, and felt an unexpected surge of emotion. Which emotion, she could not say.

Reni shook the feeling off and scanned the room to find her apprentice, Toryn, who was not hard to find. He was the only one wearing 40 kilos of Beskar steel.

Many in the Order had been skeptical of training a Mandalorian; the two factions had a long history together, and not one part of it pleasant. There were knights from before the Purge who still held old grudges, and others still who had encountered Mandalorians before and saw them as bloodthirsty mercenaries, not keepers of the peace. “A Jedi stops fighting when everyone is safe,” they would say. “That’s when a Mandalorian starts.”

Still, Reni had taken him on as her apprentice with no apprehension. A lone Mandalorian aligned with the Rebels had saved her life in the backwater swamps of Tagu, and she had seemed just as noble as any Jedi Master to Reni at the time. She’d been intimidated at first by the cold glare of Toryn’s visor and the detached manner he shared with all Mandalorians, but slowly she teased out his true self. It was an ongoing process, true, but Reni felt her apprentice had real potential. Greater than her own, if Toryn could stay on the path.

“Well, Toryn, what do you think? Is it everything you imagined? Perhaps even more?” Reni asked her apprentice. The knight stood ramrod straight, each arm slipped into the opposite sleeve and held across her torso like some kind of monastic straitjacket, head fixed straight ahead. An odd posture for the usually relaxed Mirialan to adopt, unless one noticed it was the exact pose of the massive stone statue right behind her. A small smile crept up the corner of her mouth.

Reni tried to recall her first impression of the temple those five years ago, but failed. She had been a different person then, full of anger and sorrow and grief, and trying to summon those memories from the depths was like trying to recollect a stranger’s private thoughts. Reni vaguely remembered being both awed and disappointed initially though, and wondered if her apprentice felt the same confusing jumble.

If so, Reni knew Toryn’s thoughts would change when he entered the caves.