I'll Trade You This Picture For 1000 Words -- Putting the "light" back in "light side"

This sounds awesome! Count me in.

 

Okay, this turned out longer than I expected, but it's not exactly a fanfic, so I don't feel like I can post it in its own thread . . .

****

This is the ancient city of Ndidiveh of Os, which is not ?lost,? because everyone knows where it is, but which may as well have been blasted from the face of the galaxy, because of what happened there.

Ndidiveh was once home to a civilization of highly-Force-sensitive beings called the Lír, who alone out of all the peoples in the galaxy discovered how to create vergences in the Force and fix them around objects. So great was their skill that they could even imbue objects with specific powers, such as the power to create light, or the power to heal certain wounds. These Force-powered objects could be used by anyone who knew how to trigger their special energy?an act which required no special powers or abilities.

When faster-than-light travel became possible, the Lír began to trade some of their vergence-objects for the goods of other worlds. Initially, the trading brought benefits to all the peoples involved. But before a generation passed, it was the undoing of the Lír.

At first, the trouble was over certain objects the Lír refused to part with. They held back only those things which they said had religious significance, and since no one else shared their religion, one would think that this modest taboo would have been respected. However, to some, power is like strong wine, or the Huttese glitterstim people chew in rancid flats in the underlevels of Coruscant. The more they have, the more ravenous their appetite grows.

Stories spread about the wonders that the Lír refused to share. It was said that the plea for respect of ?religious objects? was a lie, and that what the Lír truly withheld were things so full of power that any civilization which possessed them would become an invincible empire. It was rumored that the Lír guarded the secret of eternal youth, and could even resurrect the newly dead. The fact that the Lír denied that anyone or anything could perform such feats made no difference; in fact, the more they denied it, the more they were hated and disbelieved. The Lír had shared too many of their gifts too fast?it was as though they had used all their wood in kindling a fire, and now they had a roaring blaze with nothing to feed it with. People had gotten taste after taste of power, and they never wanted the gushing well to slow. The Lír were mistrusted and hated simply for not having omnipotence.

When the first pirate attack came, the Lír easily repelled it. After all, even the most Force-blind of their warriors could make use of vergence-weapons created by their adepts. But then another attack came, and another . . . former allies began to complain that Lírian objects they already possessed were losing their power, or had secret curses embedded in them. In this they were not so far off, since a little power is a curse to those who continually expect more.

The attacks swiftly became so unmanageable that the Lír closed their ports, and then barricaded the roads leading to Ndidiveh. By then it was too late, however. The Sith, who had not yet instituted their Rule of Two, had heard of the wonders of Os, and rival factions of them banded together?united, for once, in their determination to steal both the Lír?s vergence-objects and their secrets.

No one knows exactly how the fateful battle went, since no one ever returned from it to tell. Perhaps the Sith became overcome by bloodlust, and forgot their intention to enslave the Lírian Force-craftsmen rather than kill them. Perhaps the doomed Lír unleashed some terrible weapon that wiped out attackers and defenders alike, rather than allow their secrets to fall into Sith hands.

All anyone knows for sure is that on a single day, thousands of years ago, Ndidiveh of Os fell silent, and no living voice was ever heard from that city again.

Os is still inhabited?or rather, it is re-inhabited, by settlers of various species from dozens of systems.

 

Ndidiveh? Play off of Ninevah?

 

Kinda. I got it out of the Fantasy Name Generator and liked it. But yeah, it sounds like a RL ancient city, so I went with it.

 

That was a cool backstory. I like the name of the city, too.

Here's mine:

Author's note: Meridi is a planet in my original system. The Arachani inhabit one of the other two habitable worlds in that system.
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The initiate wiped a film of dusty sweat off his forehead before setting to work once again. The carving was nearly done, and was turning out to be the best he?d made. If only?

?Are you ready, T?anthu?? The voice made him jump.

?Nearly, Master. I am working on Ashthar?s slipper, now.?

The old priest walked through a cloud of biting flies to examine the carving of the god. ?It is well done, Initiate.?

T?anthu bowed his head in acknowledgement. For the master sculptor to compliment one?s work was honor indeed. Once again, he wiped sweat from his brow. The jungles of South Meridi were stifling, this time of year - precisely why the priests had built the stone temple now. What better way to honor the god Ashthar, than to sacrifice comfort building a temple for him in the jungle during the hot season?

Finally, the slipper was done, and T?anthu stepped back to examine his work.

?Come, Initiate,? the master sculptor said. ?The temple is complete. We must return.?

?Master,? T?anthu began, and hesitated before continuing. When the priest paused, he said, ?Why is it we must abandon the temple to the jungle? Is it not a shame to leave such a beautiful thing for the growllyngs and monkills??

?Do not speak such words, Initiate. The great god Ashthar glories in the worship of the creatures. He would have it no other way. Therefore they will stay, and reap the wonders of the temple, while we return to our monastery, where we belong.?

With that, they turned, and followed the other bowed monks and initiates through the pathless jungle, and the first monkill swung from the trees to rest on the carefully built wall.

* * * * *
*two thousand years later*

Screaming monkills scattered as their sanctuary of a thousand years was invaded by tramping people - a human male, a lithe femalie Twi?lek, and their Arachani guide. The Twi?lek stopped in awe as she saw the magnificent piece of architecture before her. For having been left to the jungle for two thousand years, it was in surprisingly good shape. In some places, the ground was littered with building stones, were the giant ketzu trees had dislodged them, but most of the carvings were in near perfect condition - virtually untouched by the damp seasons of the jungle. ?It?s amazing. Amron, it?s really here.?

The human said nothing. What was there to say?

After a few moments, the guide broke the awed silence, saying in heavily accented Basic, ?We must leave this place before sunset. Take nothing; change nothing. Only do what tests and studies that will not harm the temple.?

?Sunset, eh?? Amron said. ?Well, we?d better get started, then.?

 

Whee, more people are playing

Someone noticed! I've become extremely fond of my own takeoff of the Jedi Archives and I honestly couldn't resist having another bash at the format. Glad you like

thesporkbewithyou: A SW version of Indy! Fantastic! I love the idea of him coming to Yavin - it's exactly the kind of place Indy would poke around in. And then find something dreadfully powerful (powerfully dreadful? ) in the ruins and end up chasing SW-analogue-Nazis across the galaxy for it. You nailed that kind of character perfectly. Good stuff!

ophelia: WHOA. Holy flying banthas, I'm astounded. You clearly have a talent for this kind of description, and it's so very evocative (and creepy).

All anyone knows for sure is that on a single day, thousands of years ago, Ndidiveh of Os fell silent, and no living voice was ever heard from that city again.

The eeriness of this is incredible. I love the idea of life and voice linked together - reminds me of Obi-Wan's line about the destruction of Alderaan. Intentional?

Those who have dared to get close speak of seeing things?bloody handprints appearing at uneven, desperate intervals along a stone wall, and then grotesquely-elongated streaks of fingermarks, and then nothing. People claim to hear things, too?the tense whisper of voices speaking a strange language, or the ragged gasps of panicked breathing?breathing which does not stop when the living intruders hold their own breaths.

No words. This is the bit that really did it for me - it's so wonderfully evocative of the whole idea of the place. Egads, give the woman a medal.

Nobody really knows, however. Nobody is willing to go and find out. Nobody knows what the Sith?s version of the story is, either, but they certainly must find the defeat bitter. After all, they are the warriors that not even the Jedi could conquer. And yet, millennia later, the band of Sith that invaded Ndidiveh is still missing.

The Lír keep their secrets.

Brilliant understated ending, and I love the little open-ended bit about the Sith. So much potential . . .

I've been rather long-winded, but it's a brilliant evocation of a distinctly ghostly and haunting place. I love it!

Rogue_Pilot_2347: Good stuff! I like that you integrated it with your own OC 'verse.

?Master,? T?anthu began, and hesitated before continuing. When the priest paused, he said, ?Why is it we must abandon the temple to the jungle? Is it not a shame to leave such a beautiful thing for the growllyngs and monkills??

?Do not speak such words, Initiate. The great god Ashthar glories in the worship of the creatures. He would have it no other way. Therefore they will stay, and reap the wonders of the temple, while we return to our monastery, where we belong.?

I love the idea of a religion that will build something so beautiful and then leave it to nature. Fantastic idea

There's some really high-quality work here. Fantastic thread idea, ophelia.

Oh, and re open-source fanfic; my Archive rip-off is also OS. I'll go and edit that in to the original post.

 

spork: The whole getup would have made her look like Darth Vader if she hadn't been wearing blush that accented her high cheekbones on top of white face paint.

And except for those heels! I think you should continue it, so I can see more of Indy throwing answers back in her face.

ophelia: Wow, creepy. I love how all the details are so vague - just makes readers wonder even more what the hell really happened.

Rogue_Pilot: Therefore they will stay, and reap the wonders of the temple, while we return to our monastery, where we belong.

I really liked that line. You don't really see ancient people building things with that in mind. The Arachani must have great respect for it, too. Great job!


I can't think of anything to write for this one, but it did inspire a bit for a story I've been working on for the past, oh, two years?

 

Did you say when the deadline is?

 

I'll have to do proper replies in a little bit, but just to answer Ish's question--I don't know that there's an official deadline, but I was thinking I'd post new pictures Friday nights/Saturday mornings, since that's when I usually have a little bit of free time. If you want to respond to an earlier image it's fine by me--just make a note of which picture you're responding to, so people don't get confused.

 

Okay, sounds sensible enough...

 

Ophelia:The idea of Indiana Jones--or some GFFA incarnation of him--on Yavin IV is really cool, sporkbewithyou . . . he'd love seeing that place. Appalling things would happen to him there, and it's always good when appalling things happen to Indiana Jones.

Thank you! Though I really didn't intend for this piece to be like that. Maybe my subconsience caused it to. However, rest assured walking into this abandoned temple won't be a piece of cake, especially with a Jedi with ulterior motives.

Yes, Darth Vader was not known to be a major consumer of personal cosmetic products . . . not that he couldn't have used some. He looked kind of like an undead version of the Michelin Man. Yeesh.

That picture is just...freaky dude. Although I must say it does kind of look like a charicature of Zithra.

I can completely hear Indiana Jones saying that . . . from talking down to someone as if they were a small child to sounding like one himself: "Well, I was here first!"

Thanks again! It's interesting that you say that, because not only did I not really intend to have this be like him (though perhaps naming Indy after him had something to do with it) I don't even know the character that well. It's nice to know I did something right.

This looks like the beginning of a horrible friendship . . . I can see why you'd want to write more. If you do, please post a link.

Oh, don't worry, it will be. It's sort of an "anti-friendship" sort of thing if you will.

JediNemesis: SW version of Indy! Fantastic! I love the idea of him coming to Yavin - it's exactly the kind of place Indy would poke around in. And then find something dreadfully powerful (powerfully dreadful? ) in the ruins and end up chasing SW-analogue-Nazis across the galaxy for it. You nailed that kind of character perfectly. Good stuff!

Thank you. Well, he won't really be the one to find it since what Zithra is looking for is a Force-object. *sighs* This is turning out to be so much bigger than I intended it to be. I have a whole backstory for Zithra and the rest of Jedi for what they've been up to now.

Onto Ophelia's piece.

Oh my. This was written extremely well and was quite chilling to read. It's exactly what Star Wars is all about - people causing their own downfalls through their own actions and the media taking things the wrong way. Fantastic.

It always ends the same way, however. A few years after their confident departure, the would-be adventurers? families quietly fold away their clothes, and distribute special possessions among friends and relations. Children, if they are told anything, generally hear that there was an accident.

Nobody really knows, however. Nobody is willing to go and find out. Nobody knows what the Sith?s version of the story is, either, but they certainly must find the defeat bitter. After all, they are the warriors that not even the Jedi could conquer. And yet, millennia later, the band of Sith that invaded Ndidiveh is still missing.

The Lír keep their secrets.

Ooh. I found this particularly haunting. What could have happened that a civilization would keep visitors hostage so the secret wouldn't get out?

 

You know, I had this whole long post written out and then my browser freaked out & I lost it. The best I can to for tonight is respond to thesporkbewithyou's last question:

Ooh. I found this particularly haunting. What could have happened that a civilization would keep visitors hostage so the secret wouldn't get out?

I'm not sure, but it might have something to do with whatever happened to the Sith there. Those aren't guys who are going to go down quietly. If they have to curse a place forever before they check out, they will. Then again, maybe the Lír's "nuclear option" was so hard-core that it still sucks in anyone who gets close. It wouldn't be as fun to know for sure. Thank you for your kind comments, by the way.

 

Okay, this is my attempt to reconstruct what my browser ate days ago. I'll either get a new image up tonight or tomorrow, depending on how tired and/or indecisive I get.

I really liked this idea . . . it reminded me of the sand gardens that Zen monks make, where they put all this effort into making everything look perfect, knowing that it's going to start eroding the second they walk away. I understand that they sometimes paint on stones with water, too--the image only stays for as long as the lines stay wet. "Thus passes the glory of the world," indeed. (Or "Sic transit gloria mundi," which is where I always wondered if Ki-Adi-Mundi's name came from.)

. . . then again, just because you aren't going to try to prevent something from eroding doesn't mean you have to hasten it. A very Zen idea--walking in and out of the world without leaving a ripple. That reminds me if the "This is Obi-Wan Kenobi in the light" section of the RotS novelization.

Not consciously, although I wouldn't rule out unconscious plagiarism. I literally learned to write from Star Wars--at the age of six I pretty much went straight home from the theater and started scribbling. As a result, I steal from it all the time without noticing.

 

. . . this is the other half of that post, which TFN wouldn't let me send all at once for some reason.

Aww . . . thank you. I'll never be as cool as, say, the Jamaican bobsled team, but I appreciate the sentiment. (On a semi-related tangent, Ethiopia has sent its very first cross-country skier to the Olympic Winter Games this year. The country Robel Teklemariam has spent his time crossing has not, unsurprisingly, been Ethiopia:
[image=http://img158.imageshack.us/img158/7817/windstorm1rd.jpg]
Instead, he grew up in the United States. But what the hell--he's got as least as good a chance as the Alpine skier from Senegal. Not that the Alps are in Senegal.) . . . and that's not this week's picture, btw--that's just . . . Ethiopia, where there's not a lot of cross-country you can ski through.

Thank you very much once again . . . and as long as you want to write something nice about something I've written, be as long-winded as you like.

You know, when I named my imaginary planet "Os" it never occurred to me that it could be an acronym for "open source." I'll spare people my spiel on the subject and myself the hassle of typing it, but I'm fascinated by the idea of fanon and the creation of a dialogue between fans and a work's originator. I'm not out to take money out of anybody's pocket, but the expectation that entertainment be 100% passive is disturbing, to say the least. Not only have we utterly lost the cultureal matrix that gave more than "cheep thrill" value to Gilgamesh and Hercules and Nanabozho, it's considered abnormal even to try to reclaim it. Sad.

I think vagueness is scarier than anything specific an author can dream up . . . the human mind just rebels from an information vacuum. People feel frightened in the dark, but that's not because there's anything in it that wouldn't be there if you turned the lights on. It's the blankness itself that scares people.

Well, maybe I'm making it up in my own imagination, but I swear I could see and hear Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones in that section. Which is a fine thing to see and hear, btw.

Thank you, as well . . . I'm very fond of biting irony and impending doom. Especially impending doom.

Mmmmm . . . doom. (Note sig)

 

Okay, I went through a lot of pictures, looking for something very different from what we had last week. Finally I came up with this one. Click on the thumbnail for a larger image:

[image=http://img60.imageshack.us/img60/1656/artnouveaucomb5am.jpg]

(Er--the thread title is a reference to a song on "Christmas In The Stars," for those of you lucky enough never to have heard that album. It's what LFL released around the holidays after they decided another Holiday Special would be a bad idea. "Christmas In The Stars" was also a bad idea. Some of those songs latch on like a rabid weasel, though. More than 25 years later, I still get "What Do You Get A Wookiee For Christmas When He Already Owns A Comb?" stuck in my head all the time.

Totally random asides: people are selling used copies of the 1994 CD for as much as $116 on Amazon. Why? Why? Why??

From Wikipedia: "Jon Bon Jovi made his first recording ever on this album (he?s credited as John Bongiovi), singing lead vocals on "R2D2 We Wish You A Merry Christmas." Jon did it as a favor to his uncle Tony Bongiovi, one of the producers of the album."

. . . I swear, all I was trying to do was look up exactly what year the silly thing came out.

And your response doesn't need to have any Wookiees in it. Or Jon Bongiovi. At all.)

 

A very Zen idea--walking in and out of the world without leaving a ripple.

Great...now I'm looking like a Zen Buddhist...

(I'm not, BTW) Not even close...

 

Well, not to imply that you shave your head and wear orange or anything . . . unless, of course, if you do . . .

Anyway--I liked the story's premise. Creating otherworld religions is difficult, and yours was intriguing.

 

Thanks. This was actually my first time trying to do that.
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All right, here's my response to the next picture. It kind of ran away on me, but, anyway...
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She pulled the ornate comb savagely from its display at the Museum of Galactic Anthropology on Coruscant and held it in front of his face. ?Where did you it come from??

?What?? Aram asked, perplexed.

?Where did the comb come from??

?I - uh?Why? Don?t you like it??

?Don?t evade the question, Aram. Where's the comb from?"

Aram sighed. ?To tell you the truth, I don?t know. Got it from a small time dealer two weeks ago. He didn?t know its history.?

?Well, you?d better find out, hadn?t you. Two people have died over this little thing, and I want to know why.?

* * * * * * *
two thousand years earlier

It was a comb - only a comb. Why was it so important? What was so much more horrible about stealing a comb - pretty as it was, with its two graceful birds, and two jewels, blue as the sky on a summer day - than stealing anything else? The human thought desperately as he stood before the somber faced panel of Athani magistrates.

?We find the accused guilty of thievery of the highest degree - punishable by death. The sentence is to be carried out immediately.?

The human cried out, and fought the bailiffs as they led him to his doom. But, at three to one, he had no hope of escaping. He used the only leverage he had left. ?If you kill me you?ll never get it back - you hear me? Never!?

For the barest fraction of a second, the beings in the room paused, and he thought perhaps it had worked, but then, with an almost imperceptible nod, the head magistrate set the bailiffs into motion once more. His last hope was gone. He went to his death with only the satisfaction that he had dealt his killers some sort of blow in return.

* * * * * * *
two hundred years later

The dancer looked stunning. Her delicate blue skin was set off beautifully by the stones in the comb the Hutt crime lord had given her. ?You must smile,? Atra insisted. ?Lord Dulga doesn?t like a dancer with no smile.?

The girl tried. She really did, but the effect was only dampening to her looks. A large tear trickled down her cheek, adding yet another streak. Atra shook her head. ?You must. If you don?t, Lord Dulga will be very displeased, and there?s no telling what?ll happen then.?

The girl shook her head. She was much too young for this kind of work, Atra thought sadly. But then, most of them were. Most of them never stood a chance.

But this was the girl?s first night. If she didn?t please the Hutt now?

A wall-eyed alien stuck his head into the door. ?It?s time.?

Atra sighed as the girl left the room, and waited tensely. As usual, only a small shred of music found its way into the tiny preparation chamber. Then even that was drowned out by callous jeers. Then a long, drawn out scream, which was cut off at its height. She sighed once again. Yet another death to the Hutt?s tally.

* * * * * * *
one thousand years later

He pulled it from beneath a pile of rubble. It was the glint of gold that caught his eye. Gold often did. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the thing in its entirety. It was a hair comb, with two golden birds flying over two equally golden flowers, set with two blue stones, mottled like a summer sky, with a few wisps of cloud in it.

?This?ll fetch quite a price back home,? he muttered to himself. Vaguely, he wondered what had happened to the poor being whose bones it had been found on, and then he dismissed thought, offering the skeleton a facetious bow. ?Thank you for making my fortune.?

?Not quite, Jaz.?

The grave robber whirled, his hand on his blaster, but it was too late. Almost before he was turned to face the intruder, a red laser bolt caught him square in the chest, and the beautiful comb went flying.

The newcomer stepped over the smoking corpse to pick it up.

* * * * * * *
two weeks before the present

?

 

Rogue_Pilot_2347 wrote: The dancer looked stunning. Her delicate blue skin was set off beautifully by the stones in the comb the Hutt crime lord had given her. ?You must smile,? Atra insisted. ?Lord Dulga doesn?t like a dancer with no smile.?

The girl tried. She really did, but the effect was only dampening to her looks. A large tear trickled down her cheek, adding yet another streak. Atra shook her head.

I really liked that--you don't have to get explicit about Lord Dulga's cruelty to get the point across. Actually it's more effective this way--there's just something especially hideous about making a girl do something she plainly does not want to do, and forcing her to smile about it, too.

?This?ll fetch quite a price back home,? he muttered to himself. Vaguely, he wondered what had happened to the poor being whose bones it had been found on, and then he dismissed thought, offering the skeleton a facetious bow. ?Thank you for making my fortune.?

?Not quite, Jaz.?

The grave robber whirled, his hand on his blaster, but it was too late. Almost before he was turned to face the intruder, a red laser bolt caught him square in the chest, and the beautiful comb went flying.

The newcomer stepped over the smoking corpse to pick it up.

I got a kick out of this part too--you've got sort of a triple heap of doom here. There's the in media res opening where we *already* have some poor yutz lying there dead with the comb on him (her? it?), then there's the sudden twist of the grave robber getting fried, and then the "newcomer," who obviously can't take a hint, goes and picks the thing up too. D'oh! You can just feel a freight train of doom coming . . .

Both had died in the explosion. The only artifact left intact was an ornate comb with dented gold decorations, one cloudy blue stone, and a hole where another stone had once been.

I loved the final detail about the hole and the missing stone. Things with gaps and holes in them always seem more mysterious, and therefore more powerful, and the disappearance of the stone echoes the "disappearances" of all the people who've come into contact with this thing. It just seems very appropriate that the curse-comb would have a mysterious void at the center.

Very cool.

I have an idea about what to write, but I have to go back to work for real tomorrow, and finding time for anything will be difficult. :: I miss being an unemployed student.

 

Ophelia:I'm not sure, but it might have something to do with whatever happened to the Sith there. Those aren't guys who are going to go down quietly. If they have to curse a place forever before they check out, they will. Then again, maybe the Lír's "nuclear option" was so hard-core that it still sucks in anyone who gets close. It wouldn't be as fun to know for sure. Thank you for your kind comments, by the way.

*squeals* OMG! When that whole "nuclear option" thing sort of blew up, I found this really cute cartoon in the New Yorker that had a looming figure of Darth Vader near the white house with nuclear option written in his lightsaber, and little R2 with I forgot what written on him. It was adorable.

And I got that sense from the piece, that they only did whatever they did as a last resort. And no problem.

Well, maybe I'm making it up in my own imagination, but I swear I could see and hear Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones in that section. Which is a fine thing to see and hear, btw.

It's good to know! I was probably subconciously channeling him. Hm... I have to figure out how to do that more often.

Thank you, as well . . . I'm very fond of biting irony and impending doom. Especially impending doom.

Mmmmm . . . doom. (Note sig)

*grins* I was going to comment on that sooner or later. It always makes me giggle every time I see it.

Healer_Leona:managed to miss your entry in my posting. Very nice, I'd like to know as well if you post more.

That's 'cause I edited it in quite a while after you posted. 'Sokay. And I'm working on it, though it's going kind of slow.

Ophelia: LOL at the album... now I'm going to have to see if I can get my hands on a copy of it.

Hm... now what'm I going to do for this one? *jams her thinking cap on*

Rogue_Pilot2347: Nice piece! It kind of reminds me of a story in one of Tolkien's History of Middle Earth series, where there was this necklace made by the dwarves that had been cursed because of something and caused so many deaths.

 

Ophelia: thanks. I never thought of the hole that way. I guess I just figured someone stole it over the centuries...

thesporkbewithyou: I read the two books of lost tales, and then never got around to reading the rest of the History of Middle Earth series. Maybe I'll have to now...

 

My apologies for neglecting this thread over the past few days . . . in essence, I've been trying to quit my job, because it's driven me absolutely mad, but for some reason they don't want to let me go. Therefore, my week has been filled with indecision and agony.

How was yours?

I wanted to respond to the above picture & give it around 12-24 hours after upping to see if anyone else has anything they want to contribute, then I'll move on with another image. Sorry again for being late.

Also I wish this entry was better. Meh. I guess every day can't be a great writing day.

********

At the time, he was certain she'd dropped it on purpose.

He hurried forward to pick the hair comb up off the pavement and return it to her, before an individual less honest than a Jedi Knight found it, or one of the Clone Troopers helping guard the Governor's palace trampled it by accident. In some ways, he felt a deep kinship with the troopers, whose lives of total service were very like his. In other ways, they were hopeless. Then again, what could one expect? They were clones.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen any of the troopers around for hours, which was odd . . . . The Jedi frowned briefly in puzzlement as he strode to catch up with the gracefully-robed young woman in the garden. A whisper of some unseen malice crossed his awareness, and then evaporated, like a rank smell dispersed by the wind. There was *something* . . .

Just before he reached her side, he glanced up at the sky above the garden wall and saw the smoke rising from the nearby city of Umbra. It gave him a sick feeling he was unaccustomed to. The sickness came from suspicion without knowledge, which should have been impossible. A Jedi's life was devoted to knowledge.

There is no emotion; only peace. There is no ignorance; only knowledge . . .

This *something* . . . what? Was clouding his vision. It was almost as if . . . No--that could only be his imagination. No shadow was great and dark enough to blot out the light of the Force.

He had reached her by then, and the practicalities of duty erased his vague, un-Jedilike fears. "My lady . . .?" he said softly, so as not to startle her. She, too, seemed lost in her own thoughts.

She turned as if she'd been expecting him, however, and smiled. He half-expected her to start trying to flirt with him. That sort of thing happened; he was a youngish man, although not as young as he appeared, and was considered attractive by many. None of that meant anything to a Jedi, but some others put quite a lot of store by it, and he'd learned to take the issue into account. However, despite her smile, her blue eyes were brimming with tears. His expectation of an awkward moment shifted to compassion, and she took the offered comb from him without the telltale brushing of his fingers with hers.

"Thank you, Master Jedi . . . how clumsy of me to have dropped it," she said. He still didn't believe the "loss" was an accident, although what her purpose might be he didn't know. She was only about nineteen or twenty--little more than a girl--and so her actions might be expected to be impulsive and unpredictable at times. He certainly couldn't have predicted what she said next: "You have been . . . good, to my family, Master Jedi." It seemed as if she were hunting for words, picking her way around some dangerous but crucial central meaning.

His brows drew together in concerned puzzlement, and he straightened up, folding his hands into his sleeves. It was his usual, unconscious posture for regarding something he didn't understand. "Service is my duty, my lady," he said. Nobody thanked a Jedi Knight for his service--no more than anyone thanked the Clone Troopers . . . wherever they had got to. They were just *there,* the vessels of others' wishes.

She pressed her lips together as if frustrated by some barrier to communication, and her gaze slid to the smoke-filled sky above the garden wall. He looked out toward the city as well, and o

 

Rogue_Pilot_2347:I read the two books of lost tales, and then never got around to reading the rest of the History of Middle Earth series. Maybe I'll have to now...

The rest of them are a little hard to get through, but are really worth while if you can.

Ophelia:My apologies for neglecting this thread over the past few days . . . in essence, I've been trying to quit my job, because it's driven me absolutely mad, but for some reason they don't want to let me go. Therefore, my week has been filled with indecision and agony.

That's okay. I hope you decide soon - indecesion is very bad. But who knows? If they want you that badly, maybe you can weedle some benefits out of them.

How was yours?

Mine? I'm hoping that was a rhetorical question...

I wanted to respond to the above picture & give it around 12-24 hours after upping to see if anyone else has anything they want to contribute, then I'll move on with another image. Sorry again for being late.

Also I wish this entry was better. Meh. I guess every day can't be a great writing day.

It's okay. At least you got something. I still can't think of anything.


On to the piece!

He hurried forward to pick the hair comb up off the pavement and return it to her, before an individual less honest than a Jedi Knight found it, or one of the Clone Troopers helping guard the Governor's palace trampled it by accident. In some ways, he felt a deep kinship with the troopers, whose lives of total service were very like his. In other ways, they were hopeless. Then again, what could one expect? They were clones.

Nobody thanked a Jedi Knight for his service--no more than anyone thanked the Clone Troopers . . . wherever they had got to. They were just *there,* the vessels of others' wishes.

Nice insights! I never even thought about this before.

This is a nice piece, and very sad Ophelia!

BTW, I still get nightmares -and daymares- from some of the imagery in your one about the Lir. *shivers*

 

Thank you . . . And I never quite know how to respond when someone says something I wrote made them cry or gave them nightmares. Do you say "thank you?" "I'm sorry?" "Come to the dark side, your angst has made you powerful . . . ?"

Okay, mental note to self: no more combs.

I'm sorry that things were that bad. It's amazing what people go through and still find time to write . . . that's always impressed me.