Before - Legends Dead Onn -- Complete - 28-Mar-2008 - humor, sarcasm, Jedi mission -- Jedi OCs, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan

Title: Dead Onn
Author: ardavenport
Timeframe: pre-Episode I, pre-TPM
Genre: drama
Characters: Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi, OCs
Keywords Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi, funeral
Summary: Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and other Jedi attend a funeral.
Notes: This is a style experiment of a sort; and you might notice that I've been reading Terry Pratchett lately as well. Typo is my middle name, with missing words and errors that spell checkers don?t catch being my speciality ? if you see any, just post a reply or send a PM with the what and where and I will kill them with no mercy.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to George and Lucasfilm; I?m just playing in their sandbox



The skies of Coruscant were clear and sunny.

On purpose.

On a planet with every bit of surface area covered with truly galactic-scale urbanization, weather was no accident. It was outlined, evaluated, planned and focus-grouped by several fractious committees before making it's debut in the planetary atmosphere.

As a result Coruscant residents had nothing to make neutral small talk with. While the inhabitants of other lesser Republic worlds could always count on breaking their long silences with a cheery, "Ooooh, it's cold outside, isn't it?" or a marginally sincere, "Beautiful day, isn't it?" the Courscanti had to settle for topics that could be blamed on someone else, like the food or lack of brain cells on the hemispheric weather committee.

So, the various dignitaries on the Senate VIP landing platform only mumbled about business or the traffic or their last meals. Except for the six brown-robed figures standing silently among them.

They said nothing. They were Jedi, and Jedi were just like that. Mysterious and stoic. Quite a lot of citizens regarded them with awe and respect. Others just thought they were pretentious, especially since their Temple occupied some of the most valuable real estate on Coruscant. It was a huge, ugly gray bunker with five tall spires rising up over the whole structure like candles on a giant, pyramidal cake. But no matter how much a blight on the skyline it was, or how many building codes it violated or how desirable the location, no city bureaucrat or real estate mogul could do a thing about it since it had been there before the city.

A ponderous, fat transport rumbled toward them, finally coming to a stop at their platform. Smartly dressed crew and polished droids formed a line to usher the dignitaries aboard, the Jedi among them.

One happy crew member with a plastoid smile on his face ushered the Jedi through the impracticably grand passageways of the VIP hyperspace transport. Only after the door slid closed on their suite did one of the robed Jedi push the hood back off his head. The others immediately did the same.

"Hmm," Master Qui-Gon Jinn commented about their stately accommodations, his bearded, Human expression thoughtful. They had a plushly furnished main room with two smaller attached parlors, a service alcove and droid. However since suites of this size had been assigned to each of the other dignitaries, relatively speaking, the six Jedi were traveling economy class.

Master Zamtoe crossed to the wide view ports. His enormous, hulking Padawan dutifully followed. The ship began to rise up into the atmosphere. Zamtoe watched the sky change from perfect, pre-planned blue to violet and then star-flecked black. Master Zamtoe had not been off-world in years, so he thoroughly enjoyed re-acquainting himself with space travel.

Zamtoe, blue and bald and cheerfully middle-aged (for his species; he was nearly 100 standard years), turned around and almost collided into his Padawan's stomach. Enling had been watching space go by over his head. Zamtoe gulped, as he often did, at their size differential. Enling had been much smaller when he had adopted the youngling as his apprentice less than two years ago. But Zamtoe's choice had been guided by the will of the Force, with no consideration for the expected hei

 

Hello there,

I'd just like to say I really love your style of writing. It felt almost as if I was on the transport with them. All the details about the different Masters was so interesting, espiecally the different persepectivss on Onn.

This was an awesome begining. Please add me to your PM list if you have one. Thank you.

 

Hurray, I was starting to go through withdrawals for one of your fics. This should stop the twitching.

Very nice setup. The idea of a hemispheric weather committee made me laugh, and you are right it would change the whole nature of small talk.

I loved this whole section and how each personality shows through even when they are just sitting in silence

They each had their own style of silence. Qui-Gon went for the standard majestic Jedi Master in repose. Obi-Wan just copied what Qui-Gon did, which was merely a tenor version of 'not nearly so majestic as the guy sitting next to me.'

Boraku, whose robe and tunic were only half as wrinkled as her gray, hairless skin, sat unnaturally still and looked a bit like something that might be found decaying in a museum. She had been mistaken for a statue on a few occasions in the Temple gardens.

Minee was all business with a touch of un-Jedi-like tension about the lips. One could see just by looking at her that whatever she meditated on was important and was not to be interrupted unless your business was Really Important.

The ever helpful Zamtoe, a fixture for years in Temple Operations, meditated with a pleasant inviting smile, an expression the exact opposite of Minee's. Just in case someone needed to come to him about a problem with the plumbing or a malfunctioning holo-projector in a conference room he did not want anyone to be afraid of disturbing him. His comlink was always on.

'not nearly so majestic as the guy sitting next to me.' Perfect.

I can't wait for more.

 

Hey nice new story and it has master Zamtoe in it from the USJS. I like a PM if you update this one.

 

Great start, ardavenport!

They each had their own style of silence. Qui-Gon went for the standard majestic Jedi Master in repose. Obi-Wan just copied what Qui-Gon did, which was merely a tenor version of 'not nearly so majestic as the guy sitting next to me.'

Loved the insight into a politician's life on Coruscant--
The politicians smiled through the bad music and a few tone-deaf ones even feigned enjoyment. They were all battle-scarred politicos from years of rallies, bad food, bad speeches, bad music, demanding supporters, sector fairs and loony constituents who commed them about everything from the slow space lanes to why their darling pets were being discriminated against because they weren't allowed on the upper walkways of the cities (an ordnance demanded by the residence of the lower walkways who complained about the sometimes unusual and unpleasant precipitation from above). the Learned Ones' poor presentation hardly registered to most of them.

Can't wait for more!

 

Very nice story! As has already been mentioned above, your writng style is very enjoyable and I love the way you showed each of the masters' unique personalities.


Qui-Gon Jinn had been smug about the outcome for quite some time afterwards.

They each had their own style of silence. Qui-Gon went for the standard majestic Jedi Master in repose. Obi-Wan just copied what Qui-Gon did, which was merely a tenor version of 'not nearly so majestic as the guy sitting next to me.'

(I especially loved these two lines!!!!)

Can't wait for the next update!

 

Sounds interesting.

The first time Obi-Wan Kenobi had ever encountered Salabatio Onn, less than two years ago, he was vomiting in a public gutter at Qui-Gon Jinn's feet. That mission had gone downhill from there.


Oh gross, did he miss Qui-Gons feet.


They each had their own style of silence. Qui-Gon went for the standard majestic Jedi Master in repose. Obi-Wan just copied what Qui-Gon did, which was merely a tenor version of 'not nearly so majestic as the guy sitting next to me.'

Looking forward to an update.

 

Hooray! Just what I needed!

Please PM me when you update. An ardvanport fic is just what the doctor ordered!

 

Cole_Kenobi: Thanks very much! I like putting lots of details in stories though it does take longer to work through them all.

azizah: Thank-you! My recent move put me behind on writing and I've got costumes to make that will slow me down a bit, but I try to keep writing anyway.

earlybird-obi-wan: Thanks! Yes, I put Zamtoe in the USJS thread. He's a minor character that I've used before and good to have for fixing things around the Temple.

Bastet: Thank-you! It was fun picking out the details on the characters; they always make a story more real.

Bkcbookworm: Thanks for the reply! I have a fondness for Jedi OCs.

Gkilkenny: Thanks for reading! Yeah, Qui-Gon picks up some unsavory characters.

VaderLVR64: Thank-you!

 

A heavily robed person with a large pink head, a tall staff and immense lung capacity bellowed the announcement of their group, which was the names of the senior Senators from Coruscant 'and party'. They descended a grand stairway and were politely herded into what was apparently the receiving line.

At the head of the line, Grand Learned Foshuda had his best manners on display. Though he had caught little sleep in the past three days since Salabatio Onn's body had been found under a pedestrian bridge, he had hit his second wind in this marathon. All he had to do now was last through the actual funeral rites. And hopefully survive them.

"It is such a terrible loss to your world." Senator Lazzo of the Erzin Confederation was the eighty-second person to utter those exact same words. It had been a very long receiving line. But according to his assistant at his elbow, the Coruscant delegation was the last important one.

Somewhat overfed and grossly overdressed, the Galactic Senate contingent filed past at a respectably slow pace, their mumbled condolences bouncing off of Foshuda's equally insincere acceptances.

Grand Learned Foshuda's face froze into a rictus of grinning formality at the sight of the first underdressed person from the Coruscant group.

Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, tall and stately and simple, bowed, as was the Jedi custom. Behind him, his shorter apprentice did the same. Master Qui-Gon spoke for both of them, saying something about how pleased he was to see him again, even if it was for such an unfortunate circumstance. Foshuda did not really pay attention to the words. Qui-Gon Jinn had the skill of making even the most cliched condolences sound genuine, but the Jedi's sincerity was lost on Foshuda, who mouthed his usual acceptances.

Grand Learned Foshuda was not happy to see them.

Less than two galactic standard years ago Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi had resurrected the Citadel's once most promising and wayward student. Before then there had been only Foshuda and his assistant, Mo'Usha, and a few others to covertly support, pity and scorn Salabatio Onn throughout his extended decline. Foshuda might have been angry or terse with these two Knights for what they had done, but his brain cells were still floating on a three-day exhaustion; he did not have enough energy for it.

Jinn and Kenobi shuffled on with the rest of the line and three more Jedi followed them, the ones who had been there at the height of Onn's powers, when he was young and strong and quick witted and could stop a war armed only with his words. Foshuda had not seen Zamtoe, Minee and Boraku since then and the years showed on the Jedi.

Boraku's wrinkles had nearly taken over her stone gray face, Zamtoe looked a bit fatter and Minee's glossy brown hair had gone completely gray making her calm self control look metallic and severe. Foshuda had to admit his own nearly white hair was quite a bit thinner. But they all looked considerably better than Onn (even Boraku) and not just because Onn was dead and laid out for his funeral rites above them.

Even though his excesses had not in the end been what had killed him, Onn's lifelong habits had worn him down to a pathetic creature of the streets. Even at his prime, they were the reason for his expulsion from the Citadel of Pourish-Tow. But back then fame and youth were a license to be indulgent and stupid. And that fame especially had kept Onn perpetually on the verge of being forgiven and taken back into the ranks of the Learned (at least among the ranks of the non-Learned and other rabble). Those annoying calls for un-merited forgiveness had thankfully faded with time as Onn's supporters deserted him, or were driven away. At least until Jinn and Kenobi had excavated Onn from his vices long enough to revive them. So, for the past two years Foshuda had been turning aside calls for Onn's reinstatement as a Learned, and even more demands that the Citadel at least take him in, so he wouldn't be living on the streets as a beggar. Foshuda had privately ret

 

Even while being humorous you sure know how to build suspense.

Now you've got me hankering for more!


ratna

 

Ahah. Love the tenseness of the situation, and the humourous ways the Jedi interpret or "feel" the distrubance in the Force.

Splendid update. Thanks for the Pm.

 

Like walking on broken glass one wrong step and
your shreded to pieces. It may be lucky that the Jedi
still have their sabres. Sounds like a storm brewing.

great update.

 

That was great! A wonderful mixture of tension and humor. Wonderful work.

 

tension is building and what will be the outcome?
Loved the humor in it seeing those various dignitaries and Jedi each with a different approach.

 

ratna: More coming. And more suspense. Thanks for the reply!

Cole_Kenobi: Thank-you! Force disturbances are probably overused, but Jedi do seem to have them a lot, so each Jedi must have their own take on them.

Gkilkenny: Oh yes, trouble is coming. Thanks for the reply!

VaderLVR64: Thanks! Tension and humor can go well together, like peanut butter and pickles.

earlybird-obi-wan: Yes, everyone has a different view of the same situation. Thanks for reading!

 

A long, off-key keening drew the attention of the crowd to the funeral bier. At first a low noise, it rose in volume jerkily, the chanters reaching the climax of the opening rites in their own tine. Standing before them, Grand Learned Foshuda winced.

"My fellow sentients," his low tones filled the great hall and stifled the mutterings of the mourners. "We have come to honor the great. . . . the wise. . . . Salabatio Onn." Foshuda had practiced diligently to get 'wise' and 'Salabatio Onn' into the same sentence and felt pleased that he had gotten it out, like passing a digestive discomfort.

The chanting started.

Foshuda closed his eyes. To the audience it might have appeared to be in meditation, but it was really pain. The Grand Learned was at least confident that most of the off-world dignitaries, unfamiliar with the proper rites of the dead, would not know how bad the chanting was.

"The body dies. . . . dies. . . . .dies. . . . .dies. . . . dies. . . . dies. . . . .dies. . . . dies. . . . .dies. . . . .dies. . . . dies. . . . dies. . . . .dies. . . . dies. . . . .dies. . . . .dies. . . . dies. . . . dies. . . . .dies. . . . dies. . . . .dies. . . . .dies. . . . dies. . . . dies. . . . .dies. . . . dies. . . . .dies. . . . .dies. . . . dies. . . . dies. . . . .dies."

"The cities crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . crumble. . . . "

"Worlds die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . die. . . . diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

Foshuda often wondered if the persons who had written the death rites were not craving death themselves. He, himself, was contemplating his own, because when the chanting climaxed, he would initiate the sharing of the death of Salabatio Onn.

"But knowledge lives on. . . . on. . . . .on . . . . on . . . .on . . . .on . . . .on . . . .on. . . . on. . . . .on . . . . on . . . .on . . . .on . . . .on . . . .on. . . . on. . . . .on . . . . on . . . .on . . . .on . . . .on . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . oooonn . . . . on-on-on-on-on-on-on-on-on-on-on-on-on. . . . . . . .ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnnn."

All the chanters paused and, as one, gasped for their next breath to continue their pseudo echo. Foshuda could not hold back a visible cringe. Even the off-worlders could se

 

very funny update and what a writing x10

 

Interesting. Onn died as he had lived (when at his best) -- interposed between combatants.

Why is the music so poor on this planet...?

 

Whoops, I missed the post on the 9th! Loved it, of course, especially how well you built up the tension. I especially liked the way Enling sensed the tension by feeling like everyone was watching him. I've had that feeling...

And for the latest post- that chanting was certainly...interesting. No wonder everyone is so on edge, having to sit through that. But now it appears things are about to get violent, oh dear. Let's hope the loud and very distinctive thumping of bodies hitting the floor were the Jedi jumping down from the upper level to keep order...

I'm looking forward to more, ardavenport! And so I don't miss another update, could you please add me to your PM list? Thanks!

 

Ahah. Great post. Loved the chanting/singing.

 

I read this post last night and didn't get a chance to comment. Bad me.

I loved it. Very uniquely done, and it drew me right in. You're doing a superb job with this!

 

earlybird-obi-wan: Thank-you!

ratna: I think that there is good music on this planet; unfortunately there is a severe lack of talent in the vicinity of this funeral. And yes, Onn was a center of conflict. Thanks for reading!

Bastet: There must be so many different ways for Jedi to 'feel' the Force; it was fun comparing them. And there's nothing like bad chanting to put a crowd into a bad mood. Thanks for the reply!

Cole_Kenobi: Thank-you!

VaderLVR64: Thanks! I'm experimenting with a different narrating style with this one. One never notices how hard it is to change style until you try it.

 

*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>* - - - Part 4


The massive Jedi young one stood over a guild master and city councillor, both knocked down to the ground and still clutching heavy and edged implements that had been concealed in their clothing, 'just in case.'

Enling stared uncertainly down at the smaller beings at his feet. He had acted on impulse with the Force, the way he had been trained to do as a Jedi apprentice. Enling did not mind those quick jolts of instinct, guiding him to act. He trusted the Force. He just wished he could clearly perceive what he should do next after that first burst of activity.

Sensing his Padawan's distress, Master Zamtoe took a position behind Enling, unclipped his saber and stared down at the hostile, but still surprised crowd. His rare display of intimidation had some weight since he was standing a few stairs above them, almost shoulder-level with his apprentice. Zamtoe activated his saber.

Higher up on the stairs the other Jedi struck their own poses, green and blue lightabers hissing and snapping on.

Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi took their usual fighting stances, back to back, standing highest in the group on the steps. The only thing they lacked was a breeze to blow their robes back dramatically and a swell of background music.

Master Minee had been sternly intimidating whole classrooms of younglings for many years. This mob did not strike her as being much different and her imperious glare let them know that along with the deadly energy weapon held before her.

Even mild-mannered Zamtoe and wrinkled Boraku knew how to look like they meant business. An essential part of Jedi training included instruction and critique on how to make being a Jedi look good. While the Jedi Order would vigorously deny any obvious vanity component in this, the sound practical reason for it was as basic as non-sentients posturing and puffing themselves up over territory. If you looked big and bad enough, you had a good chance at avoiding a fight altogether.

Belatedly, Enling drew his own lightsaber. Unfortunately, the engineering limits of lightsabers did not allow for the weapon to be scaled up to his size (as an adult, he would have wielded a saber blade as wide as a male human's thigh and longer than many Jedi were tall). So, even though Enling had a blade longer than any of his elders, the weapon looked more like a light 'knife' than a saber in his enormous fist.

The room collectively gasped at this magnificent display. The group-think among the mourners reconsidered its anticipation of a long overdue brawl. . . .

. . . for about four seconds.

"Who do they think they are?" and "It's not their fight," grumbled through the locals while the off-planet attendees, seeing an opportunity, began discreetly moving toward the exits. The consensus among the would-be antagonists was that they were quite willing to fight the outsiders for their right to fight amongst themselves.

Above the funeral bier, Grand Learned Foshuda's already overworked outrage renewed. Even at his most dissipated low, Salabatio Onn had never, ever wavered from the learned path of non-violence. It was true that he wielded words like weapons, often very unwisely, but he never stuck another being in any way, never handled a weapon.

For days Forshuda had fatalistically accepted the violence that Onn's funeral rites would touch off. But now that it was upon him, the prospect seemed completely unacceptable. Onn's adherence to non-violence was the one discipline that Onn had maintained, even in his most drug-induced stupor. It was simply too cruel that his life should be memorialized with a riot. And quite a lot of damage to the Citadel of Pourish-Tow as well.

For one crazed and sleep-derived moment, Foshuda imagined himself leaping down to stand proudly over Onn's remains. . . .

. . . .and breaking his leg in the fall. Even as a younger man, he could not have managed it.

But he still had the vocal enhancer.

"What is this?! VIOLENCE?!!" he demanded as he passed by th

 

Ah, that was great! Aha, what a tribute. lol

Loved this line/imagine, "The only thing they lacked was a breeze to blow their robes back dramatically and a swell of background music." Just splendid.

Ahah, busted at laughing at the, "undergarments" being thrown on the pyre. lol

Great update!