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Search And Kill
As the two only organic beings made their destination to the bridge, the young Togruta Ahsoka took the silent moment to swim into the ripples that were the force. Ignoring the cutting shrills her escort was emitting under the graceful leisure he took to, the young Togruta felt for anything that could be closely recognized as an acquainting familiar. Anything to comfort her like the shimmering warmth that usually radiated from master Plo Koon, or the same vibrant blankets of tranquility that resided in every corridors of the Jedi Temple. Just the small remembrance brought Ahsoka to choke back a soft moan of want for her old life. A life where she was not being prepped for experimentation against her government, or tormented into a forced servitude unless otherwise, beaten until capitulated. But above all, she wished for her life where master Plo Koon and she used to walk down the paths of the Jedi Temple like they frequently did when she was smaller.
The mere memory brought back the past whence, earlier in her years, she was delighted to see the Kel Dorian whisked her away from her youngling group and enjoy the evening splendors of walking through the temple gardens. The sweet smells of the flowers and trees they bred filled Ahsoka's nose with its delicious scents as they strolled around, waving to other fellow Jedi as she walked at the Council members side.
But, though her habitual tendencies of poking and prodding through the force, Ahsoka could feel nothing she felt accustomed to. Nothing of large size, with a dark, guarded, liberty that defined the character it signatured. Nothing that had always sent Ahsoka to shrivel and leave untouched. All she could see was a vast desert of nothingness.
And then it hit her to realize just what it was she was looking for. Or hoping to look for? Ahsoka questioned her motives as it began to dawn on her the company of the bio-droid she trusted as a bodyguard and caretaker was sorely missed on her part. She knew that it was never long when he would leave her by herself, usually taking extreme pleasure to have her at his side as he carried about his actions freely against those who were unable to oppose his purpose. But when exactly did this attachment birthed? At what point did Ahsoka's liberty become dependent for that monster? It made her feel worse that perhaps something was wrong with her. Or that the trauma Grievous inflicted upon her over through the duration of her contract damaged her mental independency to, over time, limp unless supported at his leisure.
Either way, the craving did not leave even as Ahsoka desperately tried to shrug it off both physically—and mentally. As much as she tried to dismiss for good, the dreaded thought still remained: she didn't want to be with Count Dooku anymore. She knew better though. It was suppose to be Count Dooku to depend on, and not general Grievous. It was Dooku who had Grievous' servitude at his whim, not Grievous' influence upon her that should be leading her to security. But then again, as Ahsoka began to replay the time spent with the Count, there was never a time where Ahsoka could not shake off that disgusting crawling feeling whenever the Sith laid eyes on her.
Against her better self, Ahsoka tried again. She felt nothing. It started to sting again, and it worried her more so.
Blinking twice, Ahsoka perked her head up to Count Dooku, and remembered that she was supposed to be following him. "I'm sorry? My apologies, I was thinking."
"Do concentrate on the matter at hand." The hiss of irritation did not escape Ahsoka's hearing. "For my sake," Dooku asked with bland courteous.
Jittering on her own feet, Ahsoka put in a quick bow as low as she could while at the same time trying to appease the Sith. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
The count waved her apology as if it were nothing. "It matters not. This undisciplined behavior only recalls me of your youthful ignorance. It's not your fault—of course—but leaves you in a position of questioning whether you are a compatible asset to my cause."
"I assure you I am. It's just. . . how do I say this properly—I don't know." In spite of her best efforts, Ahsoka was at the brink of chewing off her lower lip to keep from crying.
"Settle down, little one. Settle down," Dooku rested, placing his arm over Ahsoka's shoulder to keep her from shaking, dispelling her fear to instant numb. "I meant nothing of it. It is still in my interest to utilize your efforts." Lifting his arm, Dooku patted her head softly with a similarity to her master's fond gestures. "After all, you've been such a good girl. And I know you would never disappoint me. . . Ahsoka," he wooed.
At hearing that, Ahsoka let go an uneasy breath, then nodded slowly as they came closer to their destination. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Now where was I?" The senior Sith took a moment, then collected himself no long after. "I was asking what lightsaber basics have you practiced," Dooku repeated, yet was unable to hide the displeasure for repetition.
Ahsoka mentally compiled any particular training she underwent in the past, particularly the important ones. Or at least the ones she thought was the most important. "O-h, yes. I've covered basics in terms of guarding and parries—you know, in case of blaster fire and necessary self-defense."
"So you have gone over the most basic of techniques, then?"
"That part?" Ahsoka thought for a moment once more, and then answered in somber, "I didn't get through. For my age group, we go through the simple tasks such as defensive practice, studying the galaxies various known planets, and meditation uses."
Standing at the eye of the bridge, the Count regarded two simple B1-droids to his attention, looked over whatever it was they were holding, and shooed them away. "That is a shame," he examined over with pity towards the Togruta before him. "I would have thought you've managed some means of technique."
"Please don't be mistaken, sir," Ahsoka quickly interjected. "I'm a quick learner. I was even praised for my advance abilities for my age."
"We shall see in later time," Dooku said. "Besides that, on a different subject, has my general been keeping you good company? Despite the previous conflicts you have brought to stress upon him—as well as his. . . charming personality, it urges me to ask for your wellbeing," Dooku spoke with a thick veil air of nurture and understanding. And all awhile he spoke his concerns, Ahsoka could not deny an unshakable feeling like a Sarlaac was latching onto its prey with its tentacle ready to devour its meal.
"His charming personality as you may call it doesn't even come close his actions and methods when it concerns to the safety of others," coldly stated Ahsoka. "He's a barbarian, and someone who would prefer to end conflicts with a massacred civilization than civilized debates for world peace. I'm sorry, but I can't find it to be at ease to be near him knowing he has liberties to do as he pleases."
"On the contrary, he had these freedoms because I allow him to."
"But. . . why!"
"Simple, my dear," Dooku stated. "Grievous proves satisfactory to my every expectation. Had he not, then I would have disposed his purpose long ago." He said it so easily that the level of detachment could be highly distinguished.
"But you do feel he should approach these delicate matters under a more humane condition?"
Count Dooku nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. There are times when I contemplate the obstacle. However, politics aren't always settled under peaceful conditions either. Sometimes, there are issues that must be answered with a more . . . aggressive approach."
"I understand that not everyone can agree on one single opinion," Ahsoka admitted, keeping her opinions as brief as her inner conflict would allow. "But it should not call for aggressive acts like Grievous."
"Ah, but then all my efforts into my fabrication would have been for not. Including his training."
Ahsoka stared after the man with a gaping expression as his back was turned to her to face the viewport. "You trained general Grievous the arts of lightsaber, Lord Dooku? But he's not even—"
"Force sensitive," Dooku cut in smoothly. "That trait hardly aroused for my attention whereas his motivations and intelligence deemed more worthy to recruit."
She heard another smile planting under the senior human's smooth beard. "Yes, recruit can be one way of putting it," he mused softly, staring off to the distance towards something Ahsoka could not see. Her montrals tingled from the thick air of agitation and deception that started to loom over the Sith Lord like a preying bird-like creature. "It was by pure fate our paths ever crossed." He continued to say. "He probably never enlightened you of his employment—though, it is a rather . . . touchy subject on his behalf."
"I'm not much of a gossiper, sir," said Ahsoka flatly.
"And yet you urge many questions."
Ahsoka dropped her gaze from his back, voice meekly speaking, "One must be curious as means to learn the knowledge of others."
"Yes, but curiosity can also lead to one's own demise." He turned back to Ahsoka now, entrapping her in a solid gaze that kept her immobile and alert to his conversation. "The first time I met the dear general it was under less than civilized territory. He was originally under the employment of the Trade Federation—Gunray's field—but after observing the genius he carried with tactics, why I simply could not leave such a thing sullied by San Hill's and Nute Gunray's influence. He was more than eager to appoint to the Separatist movement."
Ahsoka had to ask nastily, "Has he always been so . . . well—him?"
"I cannot find such a time when he was not."
"That may be so, but the general proves his methods to be far more efficient to my expectations." The count had a thoughtful smile planted upon his expression, fixing his silvered mustache in a way that left to question whether he meant his words. "I assure you, my dear. In the end it is I who commands Grievous at will. He is obedient at my whim, and had been reminded on such occasions not to believe otherwise."
Count Dooku's flashy declaration did not comfort Ahsoka in the least bit. It wasn't just because he was a Sith Lord, but it failed Ahsoka to believe that anyone could truly control Grievous.
"And I really do hope. . ." a finger played upon the tip of Ahsoka's elaborate constraint, tipping the edge in an almost teasing gesture that Ahsoka found to be most uncomfortable. The count looked down on her with a dark shadow over his face safe for the eyes that watched her like a vulture watching its prey slowly die to feast upon its mortal flesh. ". . . that I will not have to conduct the same manner against your liberties as well."
Ahsoka, weary enough as it is, took a weak gaze up to the diplomat. "Yes, sir?"
"Please refer to me as master, would you?" he asked with a detached smoothness. "You are under my tutelage, so it is only natural to refer me as such."
Stricken with surprise but unwilling to displease, Ahsoka made a small movement of a nod in response, "Yes, sir—I mean . . . . . master. . ."
On a planet of far distance from the flagship, the sky had not the slightest hint of brightness to the murky shades of grey as the rain fell upon the metropolis with a roaring passion. The streets were crowded with inhabitants seeking dry refuge from the moisture, biting back the passing winds that stung at the flesh without remorse, as it were; Grievous was kept in the dark with ease. Not a single person had noticed him, nor could, fortunately, if not for the rain. The colorless hues that were the city and its pale and discolored civilians worked well against the general's bleached-colored physique. If not for the bright yellow that were his eyes, Grievous could have truly been invisible to a passerby who would make the mistake to point him out against the bland structures. Thankfully, nearly all inhabitants were too preoccupied to the ongoing of their city for the sake of their own wellbeing.
Mindless bugs. Grievous had thought at a moment. A civilization that based itself on surviving working-class to not only their occupations but to their society as well. All money profited directed from the coal mines, refineries, and manufacturing of metal property uses for regular items, led to the destruction to their once-rumored-green-planet to a dead wasteland reconstructed into cities, railways, and construction sites, leaving little to no vegetation to survive unless manufactured—and the air was so stale that it stung the eyes.
It was at this moment, as he scaled around pipes aligned to various buildings, that the cyborg wished to be over and done with today's task. Grasping firmly to the edge the rooftop not far away from grievous' standpoint, he maneuvered his weight to leap off the wall that was his resting point to the top of the next building. Gathering himself Grievous took another small moment to gaze over the cities current state, snarled, and ventured further to the location that led to the objective of his occupation. The rain was only getting stronger, and would have swept Grievous toppling had his weight not been such an advantage against the merciless weather. Rain was something the bio-droid found to dislike over the years, even before his rebirth, it was something he truly hated. Droplets stung at Grievous' eyes and cascades in a way that made it seem as if he were crying. Cape discarded behind within his personal vessel, The Soulless One, the general had no means of keeping himself dry. The fear of rust did not enter his database as Grievous knew the materials that crafted him were well put, and thus, such a petty handicap was the least of his concerns. The lightsabers at his waists, all four accounted for, dripped from the constant precipitation. That, on a different consideration, was his biggest concern. It would truly be an eyesore if any of his favored weapons malfunctioned and left him unguarded. Nevertheless, Grievous did his best to stay as dry as possible as he ventured through the city discreetly and neared closer to the power plant. Escalating through a series of passageways, and carefully stalking over roofs that were not as well welded, Grievous was nearing his destination without difficulty the more adept he was to the unending waves of weather.
A speeder was making its way towards the same direction just above the same rooftop Grievous was stalking on. Just as it flew by, Grievous made for a jump and magnetized his footing just as his talons nimbly touched against the hull of the speeder. Neither passengers nor driver were none the wiser to the bio-droid pressed against the hull of their ship. And when they made a turn from the flank of the power plant, none noticed the decrease in weight their vessel was exceeding as a blur zipped through the air and cut through the rain in a split second to the darker regions of the narrow streets that remained alone and desolate from people. Grievous landed on all fours with graceful precision as to not cause an uproar from the sudden impact. He lifted himself and recollected, then stalked toward and below the bridge that led to the power plant where it was nested inside a narrow but un-hindering crevice flanking the bleak and dreary city it scarred. Grievous, who was always one for appearances and dramatic entry, thought it best to press forth as it were such, and knew best that, despite his habit, it necessary to simply deny his targets the satisfaction to the existence of their demise.
In accord with the grace and dexterity his mechanical appendages afforded him, the general sentient crawled from under the bridge and inside the power plant through a secret passageway his databank located provided from the blueprints his master gave him. The first sense that caught the general off-guard was the sudden change in temperature as he made his way to the heart of the plant. Large blankets of tasty warmth enveloped the general, drying the moisture from his body in a matter of minutes.
Utilizing the pipes warping the ceilings and stairs as if they were the veins of a body structure, Grievous hid within and rounded himself in the direction where his intelligence reported where the fiends were last noticed. He could make sense of the steam and the oil-burning smell even without his sense of smell. He lurched back as a sudden blast of steam gave off from a pipe that was a good distance away from the general's face plate. Grievous would admit the combustion startled him, but registered such an expression was humiliating and was inwardly grateful none had seen his startled reaction. He would surely be shamed had that orange child seen him. What would she have done had she witnessed? Laugh? Snicker? He would smote her with his saber or smack her forehead for sure. Fortunate for both parties, the occurrence did not occur. And Grievous was fine by that.
It didn't take long to locate the two immigrants, much to the genera's chagrin who was hoping for the hunt to prolong into a suspenseful mood that would surely satisfy his pleasures. Over the second reactor crouching on to the pipe that connected to it, Grievous eyed the two—both unmistakable decedents of the Jedi Order—as they lurked around the shadows like the vermin they were—likely to steal the reactor's energy. Grievous hissed lowly, ready to release his talons from his perch and ambush them without them noticing. And when he was sure they were securely inside the room with just the three of them, Grievous simultaneously locked all exit directions, and was delighted to see how this affect had on the two Jedi. Their shocked expressions were a delightful picture to Grievous, who, at this point, released his hold from his hiding place and emerged from the pipes and in the open for the two force-wielders to behold. Had it not been for the mask, he would have bid them a smile that neither meant hello or pleasant but cheeky and arrogant. When the two Jedi beheld the general's overall appearance, their surprised was widely obviously. More so when the vocabulator fixed in the bleached mask staring them down intently began to produce vocal sounds that were ghostly independent of an organic.
"My my. What have we here?" His eyes smiled brightly from the orange scenery the energy produced in its core reactors and batteries that helped function it. "Vermin in need of extermination."
The man's expression quickly altered. "I should say the same to you. . . sir?" he spoke calmly, but the wariness in his eyes did his features injustice. By now, Grievous could clearly make out distinct characteristics from the man who spoke a human and the other, quiet, shorter companion a Twi'lek. "I take it you to be the guardian of this treacherous factory?" He asked politely.
"That remains dependent to the gist of my current assignment," Grievous mused, "Including revealing my existence before you."
"Whichever it is, I must insist you to stay out of our way. We here under the services of the Republic, and prefer to avoid taking innocent blood."
Grievous waved off the statement with a hand, stepping closer as the two began to distance themselves. "I know why you are here, I assure you. There is no confusion."
"If you are true, then we implore you to stand aside," the second, obviously younger, Jedi spoke urgently. That one practically reeked of fear. His elder companion silence the youth with a swift gesture, as if not to cause to provoke the general further.
Grievous looked to them with a dark humor, chuckling to himself the cyborg spoke: "So long as your kind lives, I will not rest." To make himself perfectly clear, Grievous touched at his waist where his four trophies glimmered. When their eyes met to where the general was gesturing towards, they took to quick stances. "And I. . ," the buzzing ignition sounded twice as the vocabulator twisted into a darker tone,". . . see it against my function to merely stand aside while you scurry about with your filth."
The older man called his weapon to his hand as he raised his arm into stance. The other did the same. Both equally adept with the powers the Force graced them, the two Jedi indicated sheer focus and poise without the slightest difficulty. It was quite obvious who was the master and who was the student between the two, as Grievous came to see the lack of finesse in the farthest figure's posture including their discipline with their weapon. But in the fragmented second Grievous took to observe, neither compelled the other to step down, nor did each portray any conformation of fear against the being hovering over them. It became clear who they were facing up against. And they had no intentions of falling before this creature's blade.
The said creature, on the other hand, had other arrangements.
"Before we proceed this unnecessary quarrel, may I ask for the appellation of your acquaintance?"
Grievous blinked for a moment and frowned at the statement in puzzlement. This has never occurred in his previous memory bank, as many combatants who foolishly faced the general never left with their life to even mouth of his existence. So there was no need to grace them his name.
"I see no need to do so," Grievous responded, "as you will be dead soon enough."
"Surely you cannot be so arrogant to believe you can best two Jedi?" the master asked, almost jokingly.
"On the contrary," Grievous countered by flashing his weapon, "I have bested your kind on multiple occasions. This will be no different."
"Very well, have it your way."
To Grievous' surprise it was the youth that made the first at charging at him head on. Grievous parried the young Twi'lek easily, then batting him from his path with his other. This went on for several approaches, until Grievous was fed with the Twi'lek's persistence and made for a stab at his heart that cat through the air with a hiss. The Twi'lek foresaw the attack as quick as it came, pushing from his left footing to sidestep and slice at the general's attacking appendage. What the tail-headed alien could not see was the durasteel knee ramming straight into his stomach. A cracking sound was heard—most likely ribs breaking—as the young apprentice went sailing across the room and colliding against a nearby radiator. Grievous gaited towards the fool and raised his lightsaber over his head to take the apprentices'.
Until the ceramic armorplast-plated duranium, electrodrivers, and crystal circuitry that composed the general's body was sent soaring by some invisible force.
Grievous collected himself quickly as he steadied himself from the wall he collided with, chiding himself for forgetting the key attribute separating the Jedi from the rest of the galaxy: their ability to manipulate the Force.
The master came to his pupil's rescue in a heart's beat, lifting the young man by the arm then returning his undivided attention to the general. Grievous howled and hurled a fury of attacks that forced both duelists to press against the bio-droid rather than one at a time. Grievous snarled as he made for vicious blows towards vital areas, such as their limbs and heads—and in the Twi'lek's case, his head-tails. To slice off the headtail of any tail-headed creature is said to be of most excruciating pain, even brain damage. The Twi'lek must have sense the general's intentions for he became more defensive above his shoulders as they proceeded with their deadly dance. The eldest master, as expected, took over most of the most lethal stabs, only exhausting himself from exertion. His foolish attempts to assist his student only dwindled in stances the more he wasted energy, and allowing the powerful general Grievous more opportunities to strike and punish them for their mistakes.
Feinting an attack before back flipping a yard away, the jedi took the time to catch their breaths, droplets of moisture glittered their skin against the lights. The elder gave Grievous a stare. And Grievous smugly returned the stare, his chest rumbled into a sensational cheer resembling joy.
Yes. This is what it has come down to.
It was moments like this that Grievous felt that he was living up to the occupation of his recreation. His master's great effort for giving him the opportunity to act his revenge and soothe the pleasure of warfare he long for were not in vain. Nor, as he grudgingly came to accept, did the banking clan's funding for his body was wasted at his leisure. No, Grievous repaid his new life's debt with his loyal services and the blood of Jedi and any disloyal subjects who dared fight against his leaders as interest.
Behind the detached, expressionless bleached mask there hid a smirk of triumph. "I shall not fail. So long as this heart beats, your Order will finally come to and—as it should have long ago." He lurched forward and swiped at the ground upward to throw off the Jedi's peripheral vision. When the older man, who was still gasping for breaths, was too slow to raise his lightsaber in time to defend himself from the attack that would surely follow. And for all the great efforts the master put into protecting his apprentice, taking the blows and defending them both when the apprentice was suppose to help his master instead, he paid the ultimate price: the loss of his appendages.
A spray of blood filled the room as the man kneeled to the ground as he saw helplessly as his arms dropped to the floor with loud 'thumps', his lightsaber clattered somewhere in the distance. His eyes re-directed to the shadow hovering over him, but that was he saw before he felt the stab of sheer energy piercing his lungs, then his heart, until the last feeling was the cauterization of his head from his neck. And then all was dark, and nothingness.
Brimmed with an adrenaline that made his eyes glisten with lustful agony, Grievous repeated his acts until the corpse was filled with holes and chopped to tinier pieces. Innards became unrecognizable, a corpse reduced from a body to a gorish pile of hot lumps and sludge, filling the room with a new fragrance Grievous once smelled as a mortal in the battlefield. And out of the corner of his vision, his audience watched in his affliction as his master was horridly mangled by a monster. Adding to the irony of his master's fall, Grievous made a show of bending down and pledging the mess in cheer.
"It appears I can best two Jedi. But fear no more, for you have been given the honor of a warriors death." If he had the ability, he would have spat at his fallen-once-duelist—but felt his attention was better needed to the ignored, and helpless novice who began to back away as the Twi'lek realized the creature was looking for him now. "It appears your master's efforts in protecting you were in vain. Now I ask, should you, too, fall—and shame your master with your death."
In response to the general, the Twi'lek yelled and attacked him like he did before; using some of the skills Grievous learned when he first learned the art of lightsaber combat. This young man was nothing to worry over. Grievous did little to defend himself, and offered with bland vigor in returning the favor. Each blow he blocked, and each parry he batted away with ease. When it finally dawned that he was no match for the mechanical warrior, the young Twi'lek turned on his heels and ran for the nearest available exit.
Grievous raced after the young man with a quick speed, a quick remembrance of déjà vu washed over his previous arrangement whence his Togruta charge behaved in the same manner, under the same impression that she could elude him. He confessed her absence was miraculously having an effect on him, but he would never admit to her or anyone in particular. It was a feeling he could not finely describe as many feelings and sensation to be vague whereas his anger was more precise and clear. And this was not anger, but something Grievous made to reside from the years of his previous life as the being that once had a peaceful life and tranquility in the swamp of famine and forced-reparations.
But that was long ago. And he was in need of maintenance if that is what it took to get the notion through his cranium.
He did what he could for his people. And for his family. . .
Before a rattling sensation crawling through his mind registered, a flourish of green was the next slide flashing his yellow eyes. Grievous took action without seconds thought, bringing up his lightsaber to shield the other blade from slicing his shoulder blade. Reaction was all that drove his limbs and circuital veins to attack, nothing but pure animosity and intensity fueled by a re-awakened rage. The lone Jedi, master-less and stranger to his own blade, summoned a diversity of dashes and swipes with a renewed vigor that reconsidered past pity towards the young duelist's abilities. Grievous began to worry—not for his demise, Gods no!—but for whether this deluded creature carried the aspect that he could injure the general in some way. He could help but inwardly laugh at the mere thought as he was incapable of feeling pain any longer.
"Flesh is weak. You need only gaze on me to see that."
And Grievous was not weak, he was power developed from the dark forces of Sith and machine, he had not equal, and he would make sure of that. In fact, when the young man was about to make another hasty retreat Grievous followed after and, in a flurry of vibrant blue, dispatched the latter the usage of his right leg. The padawan fell to the floor, twisting and screaming for the stump that was once his leg. This show was watched by a feeling of pity and revulsion as general Grievous neared his victim. His arm lifted over his head with his lightsaber still ignited, hissing the air for flesh, Grievous prepared to continue what he should have done before he was rudely interrupted.
"It appears it would seem so."
And with that note, the padawan was quickly removed from below the waist, then from his head, until, he too, joined his master's state—though in less mutilation.
Poor thing, really.
But sympathy was a tool of the Jedi. And Grievous would be damned if he ever attributed their traits. Kicking with his right talon, the body was pushed over and dumped into passing magma deposit where a black smoke exerted from the fires and vanished, the body removed from this galaxy forever. Only the lightsaber, which was now in the possession of a durasteel hand, remained.
The other lightsaber the reptilian eyes took to gander was given more special treatment.
It bothered the general to a degree to the dedication the master Jedi had for his pupil, despite his student's mental incapability. That sort of behavior was highly discouraged with the sitih, as Dooku made it plainly clear whence he proved insolent and arrogant before his master. Not long after his rebirth, Grievous was allowed the chance to train with the arts of lightsaber, and took to it quickly. But what the Sith Lord really wanted to teach him was the reality that affections of any description blinds one's true ambition unless driven with the passion of rage to push one towards it. And that was that. There was no mutual community between he and his master.
But. . . it was compelled of another time in which such a moment existed. And like his recent logs, his memory started yet another, more prominent recollection.
He raised his makeshift sword and swished it around just as he was told to do so. Or at the very least, he tried. And of course, it was never satisfactory.
"No. No. No! You foolish boy," was the starting lecture each time he made a mistake, and each time he was yelled at for his mistake, the young boy winced.
The harsh voice came from a woman who but a moment ago sat in meditation not too far ways where the boy was practicing his techniques. Her pale lips quirked in a sneer, but her eyes brightened with a lively countenance that questioned whether she was ever truly angry at all. She appeared before the boy in an instant with the same stern expression that gave every indication of a harsh lecture to follow.
"Your stance is lacking finesse, your sword hails to low, and your mind is not clear," she would saw through those pale lips. Her eyes watching her very young pupil stare up to her with watery eyes. "Why if I could meditate beyond the extreme of Grendaju, I will probably still hear the anger that clouds your mind."
"Meh," the child grumbled as his ears dropped miserably. "You always say silly stuff like that. I don't see why I have to watch what I feel just cuz' of what I'm doing."His answer was a hard, but controlled chop to the top of his head. The boy fell back and rubbed at his black hair tenderly. "Ow. Crazy woman," he hissed in his people's tongue.
The woman took her seat where she stood and continue to give the ignorant child her stare. "You watch what you say, child. You hear me." It was the tone in her voice that put the boy in his place in an instant, as it soon came clear to mind his mouth. He rubbed at his left mandible out of nervous habits, and frowned. The woman continued. "You were very young when I found you, alone in the forest. But before I did, what was it exactly that drove you to continue to survive in the jungles of Kunbal Jungle? Answer honestly, else I'll know your deceit."
His frowned deepened, unsure how to answer the question without being scolded until he gave up and spoke his mind. Truthfully. What he remembered was mouthed: "I don't know. I was scared to die, I guess."
"Fear can lead a person to do many things, even things they aren't even aware of doing."
The young boy nodded, his ears perked up in joy at how his answer was able to satisfy his strict teacher.
"Now, the Yam'rii," the appellation was spoken with a delicate approach. But boy still flared with an anger birthed inevitably over the years. "why do they do the things they do?"
"That's easy. They don't have a soul."
"No that is not case."
"Then what is?" The boy demanded harshly. "They are stupid insects who follow their greed and enjoy making our people into their slaves and playthings. I hate it," he yelled viciously, "I hate them!"
"There. Right there!" The woman pointed out expectantly. She crept closer to the child, caressing his cheek tenderly, soothing his anger to subside as her striped headtails fell at her side. Her montrals twitched forlornly at this child's pain and the woman placed her orange cheek against his natural Kaleesh black hair. "Be calm, little one. Remember what I taught you. . ." she reminded softly, and was heeded automatically by her pupil as he took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. She let go. "These Soulless Bugs of which you speak of so fondly clearly act on greed. Greed is a key instrument to the dark side's advantage."
"The Dark side?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "Anger, Greed, Fear, Hate, Lust, and unfortunately. . . love," she spoke the last word with less tenderness and more sullenly. "They are what drive a person to commit both extreme and awful things, whether they are aware of it or not. . . but they can also drive a person to commit things with a clear compassion."
The boy thought hard for a moment, until he couldn't decipher what it was this crazy alien was trying to explain to him and gave up. He just couldn't get this Jedi religion. "I don't get it. You don't want me to feel anything—but at the same time you are telling me to use my emotions to lead my actions?"
"Close, but not quite. I want you to mind your emotions for they are what compel you to take action with other people or situations. Be mindful of your thoughts, for they can betray you from seeing the situation at hand clearly."
"I guess." The boy thought on it hard, and clicked. "I think I got it. Just don't get so angry all the time and I'll be able to focus on things and get it right, is that it?"
"Yes." She stood again. Taking the boy's hand, she lifted his sword to the angle of her satisfaction and took a single bare step back. "Again, but don't be so frustrated just because you didn't get it right the first time."
The boy did as he was instructed and slashed at an invisible enemy the same way the teacher told him to. But the experience was much more different unlike the other failed attempts. He felt connected in some way, as he let his emotions still and quiet and allowed the peaceful silence of compassion take over his movements. He danced for what seemed like a slow, and beautiful moment as he landed his final attack to the ground, took a few breaths, turned to his master, and smiled in pride.
"I guess what you said helped, gramma!"
He was bashed in the head by the powerful orange fist.
"If I were any other Togruta, you'd be beaten to the ground."
Grievous snapped his eyes to reality. He thought hard on the fragmented memory as he always did to the other times this has happened to him. And as he made for his departure to sanctuary of his flagship, Grievous pondered the existence of the Togruta woman as he returned to his master with two freshly deserved trophy lightsabers in tow.
Heh. Sorry, but this chapter felt kind of short and boring to me, but anyways I am pleased to finally point out the Togruta woman into my story now. So yay. But, what does this mean? I guess you all will have to find out. And I apologize for my absence, it is a tough senior year for me right now, so things are kind of hectic.
But anyways, you know the drill.