Before - Legends Fallen From Grace - Obi/Qui, Pre-TPM - Updated 8/12

I have returned from an extended hiatus with a new tale - complete with Jedi, angst, pain, etc.

Not going light on the dark here, kiddies. It will stay within the alotted rating, but don't look for fluffy bunnies and lollipops.

It's my first stab at a first person narrative - something which has been nagging at me to write for a while. The perfect plot didn't come around, however, until tonight.

Bear in mind that I haven't written in quite some time, eh heh heh, but feel free to give me your honest opinion. This one is the first fic that I've started without any consideration for audience reaction - well, not much at least - so I'm not sure how well it will go over, but here's the first little postie - decide for yourself whether you like it, hate it, or prefer indifference.

Title: Fallen From Grace
Rating: PG-13
Time Period: 5 years prior TPM
Characters: Obi, Qui, OC (narrator)
Summery: (come later)
Disclaimer: Curious George owns this yellow hat, I'm just playing dress up.

Part One

I cannot understand why anyone would come willingly to this hell planet. Even those who have the money to keep themselves from the auction block have no life worth living. The entire world is filthy, disgusting; nothing grows here anymore - nothing that I want alive, at least. This is the planet that, on the day - week, millennia, whatever the popular religion claims - of creation, was conceived in the bowels of the lowliest of goddesses and birthed in swaddling of excrement.

That, of course, is not the version taught to the younglings at temple - but few can swallow tales of pristine waters and lush vegetation when faced with the decrepit ghettos and acrid sludge which flows freely in the cities. There are none who believe in the Ancient Beings enough to devote themselves to priesthood; even they who are to be the spiritual leaders of their people allocate themselves unwillingly to the role - drafted. Victims of the lot.

The government is in control. It is by their unsurpassed benevolence that we have the pleasure of religion. God is a privilege, not a right. They could take that away, so the remind us, shoot everyone found in worship, flood the streets with their brainwashed drones, deprive us of our higher powers - they?ve done it before.

I think, at most, six perished for alleged prayer during that darkest of hour.

Anything - everything - we need, we obtain through them. Clothes, food, housing - we are made to be infants suckling at the breast, feeble products of the one who provides for us - helpless, able to do naught but rely upon the generosity and care of another. And what if that aid should be withheld? We would shrivel up and die, of course. We know no other way.

It took four generations to sufficiently break my people. The spirit of rebellion was passed from father to son, mother to daughter, disrupting the new government?s plans. It was near a century before they devised an efficient means of quelling this distasteful characteristic prevalent among the slaves. Why, how simple it was! How could the answer have gone overlooked for so long? Just take the children from the parents before the nasty lies and tales of a time long dead and gone could be instilled in them. Steal them away before their minds could be polluted with talk of freedom and equality. And what joy! Only one generation need be cared for by the state - those taken will be able to breed without such problems as they will know nothing of the past to impart upon their spawn.

Their plan was flawed, however, in believing that they could eradicate all talk of the world left behind. Every child could not be accounted for - and so our struggle lived on in them, those overlooked.

I am of the ninth generation born in bondage, and recall the tales well - a knowledge which, if I am ever mindsweeped, will earn me death. As is the law of this beloved planet.

Why those two came, I will never fathom. Perhaps they had no prior knowledge of the horror which awaited them. Or they trul

 

And you stopped there!!!.
Too short too short.
You got me.
Great post!!

 

Ooooh good start I like how you're using an OC narrator. Interesting way to write a story More soon please!

 

Ditto on that. OC narrators can be very intresting! More soon, and it's great to see you back!

 

I am dumbfounded, dear Antigone - that was truly incredible. You painted such a vivid portrait of death and pain and horror that I can close my eyes and see it, and taste the bitter desolation generated by living in such a place.

As I have mentioned elsewhere on these boards, I plan shortly to make my departure as a poster on this site - but I will most certainly check back to follow this very powerful, intriguing saga that you've just begun.

And you know me; I do ADORE dark and angsty.

CYN

 

I was so excited to see a new fic from you, Antigone!

This opening post was fantastic. You described the wasteland of a planet perfectly. I was especially moved by the fact that the priests are drafted into their positions, that this place is so terrible and hopeless that the passion for religion has waned so far.

I can't wait to see what happens next. Wonderful, wonderful job!

 

That is an amazing start. I couldn't help but to be drawn in to the vivid world of squalor and desolation.

 

I had forgotten how much I looked forward to the feedback - it's rather nice to be back in the non-lurker capacity.

PatttyB0123 - a response I receive all too often Next will be marginally longer, at least.

Ginger_Jedi - I was slightly worried as to how the OC would go over. The first person pov was something I had been dying to do for years and I think, finally, the right muse has latched onto my pen.

Arwen-Jade_Kenobi - Thank you, glad to be back.

Cyn, my dear, your words, as always, are too kind - but much appreciated. I had heard that you were leaving us, but would you mind my asking why? Having only begun to renounce my cloistered ways, I am still rather out of the loop. Banned one too many times, perhaps?

You have the uncanny ability to dig up the most fitting quote for any and every occassion. Lovely choice for you signature - one of my favorites.

L_E you really are a sweetheart, you know this? I'm happy that the picture came out clear.

P_K - Many thanks. I was hoping to hook you sooner or later, I've always enjoyed your comments.

Second post in the works.

 

Will provide full details - a 'farewell soliloquey' before I go - but want to take my time to be sure I say exactly what I mean. When I do post it, you might want to read quickly - because it just might get me banned permanently. But no, haven't been banned - lately - though I'm sure it's only a matter of time.

I'll let you know.

CYN

 

When I do post it, you might want to read quickly - because it just might get me banned permanently.

I would expect nothing less.

Wherever you go, the masses - foaming at the mouth - will follow. But are you planning to relocate at a site which can accommodate your penchant for rants, raves, and all things controversial? I know that I - when Time deems it appropriate, unfortunately - come for the story, but stay for the debate. To seperate the two - now - seems almost unthinkable.

 

I do not understand about get banned?
By who?
You story is great!
Some writers get banned why?

 

Please post post. I am in the limbo waiting for the next post.

 

Oooo, excellent start! The OC narrating is definitely original. This is going to be very interesting, I can tell already.

Please update soon!

 

Ha Ha! I have returned! Now, be honest - how many of you had your doubts? Thought I had run for the hills to create my own little hermit colony - with seperate caves, naturally.

Ah, there are so many things that had to be done, still have to be - but this is now out, so I feel better. I had a poster/power point presentation which ate up so much time, between my fear of public speaking and my trying to put together a decent display from the semi-failed experiments...but it's over and I'm all the better for it.

I can't remember if I've responded individually yet - if i haven't that will be happening soon. But, I think for now I will just post, then do what any other sane east coaster is doing at the moment - sleeping.

G' night!


Disclaimer: See - somewhere on this thread...i'm sure there's one.



While there are not many well-to-do still living on-planet, there are enough politicians to fill that gaping void a thousand times over. The pompous air which puffs up most of them would put any aristocrat to shame. And, as every good elitist needs an entourage of doting servants, so I came to the humble abode of Brokadeer Ihelum Vren in the capacity of First Handmaiden to Her Honorable Brokadess Armir Vren. I am endowed with the task - strike that, privilege - of tending to her ladyship?s whims and fancies - which is, in itself, a job worthy of a myriad of First Handmaidens - and the duty of maintaining household order and food supply.

The last of which is what brought me to the marketplace that day. It couldn?t have been more than a few lunar cycles ago - I am not certain, for knowing the date, apparently, is too dangerous, too difficult, or too whatever the hell excuse they want to spit at us for the slaves? feeble minds to grasp - but, also, my memory has never been the sharpest of the bunch. I can barely recall how I saw them; I might have tripped and one helped me up - I remember looking up into his face?

He was brave - or astronomically stupid. Foreigners are not allowed out of the Governor?s compounds and men are certainly not allowed in the marketplace; if he were found, there would have been no quarter given. He would have disappeared, maybe been killed - but for some horrible reason, I don?t think so.

And he risked his exposure to do some insignificant favor to me - even now I want to strangle the kid.

The handmaiden strode through the grimy streets with a purpose - anyone without a purpose was shot. In her pocket jingled four coins, each with a symbol etched into its metallic surface. One for a basket of fruit, another for a quart of milk, and two for meat, one pound each. The freshness of all would depend on the rank of the household she hailed from.

Slipping her hand into the soft, blue linen dress, she plucked all four from their hiding place and clutched them in her fist as the approached the first shop - milk.

The handmaiden bypassed a horde of peasants, pushing and shoving their way into a mockery of a line, and took her place with others of her station - silent, presentable, orderly, in the area reserved for those of higher stature. Or rather for their help.

The line moved quickly and, when her turn came, the handmaiden placed the proper coin on the high, stone counter, giving a quick bow of her head to the man attending her. His pudgy fingers grabbed the token and, after a quick glance at the emblem stitched in navy on her shoulder, motioned to another man in the back of the shop. Moments later, the handmaiden was given a basket containing a glass bottle of white liquid, nestled in ice to prevent spoilage. Again she nodded, before taking her leave, pushing past the first group of women, still fighting over a few tin cans of warm milk, to reach the exit.

The handmaiden stepped quickly from the door-less shop, heels of her shoes clicking as she hopped down the two chipped cement stairs and back onto the path. She turned to head off to her next destination - the meat shop - but her shoulder caught the bulk of a pass

 

o wow. just saw this. beautifully written! will look foward to more!

 

How sad. Are males too good to do a female chore like marketing, or is there some sinister reason a male isn't allowed in the marketplace?

 

I really wish you had told me about this sooner. I'm not even sure what to tell you other than I'm completely impressed and nothing's even happened yet. ^_^ Don't leave this one hanging. <3

L

 

The way it flows and interchanges between her thoughts and gives us a glimpse of the actions is beautiful. Can't wait to read more