Helvie Sol-Kre - Scene of the Crime

In Character Roleplay
#1

The Bad Luck rattled like a dying organism, groaning under the duress of escaping the hyperlanes. The ship was new, and fabbed with care, but all the same took the multitude of jumps poorly. Whether it was impatience or inexperience with the procedure on the side of its pilot was hard to tell, and besides the point. Its journey was complete, and the tired Falchion will soon get to rest.

The world of Corellia rose up against the ship’s view, blotting out some of the sun that gave it life. A rush of thoughts came to Helvie’s mind at the sight, and the lights coming from Coronet, its capital city, were both inviting and foreboding; playing on the discord that nestled deeply within the young woman’s mind. Home was not on the agenda today, and the Bad Luck shifted gear and shot its way past the planet to locate one of its moons - Gus Treta.

Evading both the Corellian Dockyards and Gus Treta’s Market Station, the ship ran silent for a time, emitting its transponder on a low frequency. A repeat of last time was not due to happen, and a scan of the moon’s surface was necessary in either case. The crash site was on a remote island, that much she knew, but there were thousands and they would all have to be scanned. It was her hope that scrappers haven’t gotten to it yet, or that at least a part of it would be lodged in the sand somewhere near the scene of the crime.

It only took a few minutes for the scans to pick up on a promising lead that saw the Corellian’s Falchion descend down to the moon’s surface, and though the machine’s glide was made with intent, it was also handled with restraint. The lone islet sat in the middle of the foamy sea, and on it a half-chewed skeleton of a ship, much larger and heavier than the agile fighter she currently possessed. The Loot Krayt, as it was dubbed by the collective of colleagues she recalled so fondly, was torn away and barely there. Any smoke from the wreck had long since lost the fire to sustain it, and the single palm tree that rose above the dug-in durasteel beast was bent almost in half, serving as a natural umbrella as though by the ruined ship’s bidding.

Landing not far from the site, Helvie hopped out of her present ship’s cockpit. Like standing between an old flame and your newest fling, the pilot’s mind was alight with disjointed memory - another note of the discord she struggled with daily. But there was no time for hesitation, and she was not here to give a eulogy. The Loot Krayt would rest here until it would rust away, but it was no longer hers to mourn. From it, she only needed a piece - a piece to ground her, and remind her that the two lives she’s led are one. To remind her that there can be no divide in a warrior’s mind, and the only conflict that could exist within it should be held against those without, not within.

A resource harvester was all she needed, in theory. Any piece would have done because she knew it would be from it, but all the same she wandered the wreck, silently looking for anything more than a beam of metal or synthetic wiring. Near the back of the ship, close to where the engine room used to be, she found it - the head of a metallic krayt figurine poking above the sand. An elaborate bobblehead, which she deigned to pull out with a grunt of exertion. The first piece was found.

Heading back to the Bad Luck, Helvie had no temptation to look back. On her quest to become whole again, there can be no lingering on the past that had broken her body and afflicted her mind with deeper doubt. In her next endeavors, she would have to go further back, to tackle the ridges in her memory and spirit. But that would not be today.

Today, she would begin forging a weapon - a weapon that would propel her to strength.

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#2

Peace is a lie, there is only passion. The first words taught to her on this new path resonated in the back of her head, a constant drone. Like all words, written or spoken, the phrase could be analyzed a myriad different ways by one mind, and even more than that by two, and so on. No objective truth enveloped it, but the agreed upon general interpretation of those Helvie cavorted with said that to accept peace was to deny conflict, and thus invite stagnation and limit one’s growth and potential. This was evident to her firsthand - her time submerged in kolto was the most peaceful she had known, and all it served to do besides the obvious procedures was keep her in stasis. Though not the same as what the Jedi practiced in their temples, she knew that the principle was the same.

When she dove deep beneath the earth in front of Veles in search for her quarry, those are the thoughts that came to her. She had ruminated on what it all meant, and, while sneaking through the shadows of the underground tunnels, her mind combed the Code she had wanted to live by. When she had what she came here to retrieve, she needed to be in understanding of who it is that is going to use the power she finds. To what end would she wield it? The gloom that enveloped her somehow deepened, and her slow, methodical steps toward the tunnel’s zenith became louder, more apparent. The mossy cavern wall echoed her every sound, muffled as she was, and threatened to consume her - but the emptiness of the earth could not fight back against the determined. The vision she had seen here so long ago and its interminable seeding of doubt in her mind would end today, and the question of her resolve will be answered. She cannot stagnate. Peace is a lie.

Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Power, and self-improvement. Correction of her own weaknesses. These ideas led her to continue on the path through the black. She would challenge those things, material and not, that were stronger than her. She would seize her own spirit back, just as she will seize what awaits at the end.

Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. Though she would never admit such openly, these weaknesses of hers were her chains. Her soft mind kept her imprisoned, and though she knew the feeling of power, it has always been ephemeral. And victory? Victory was as an exquisite vintage for those more deserving. Victory had always passed her by, because she did not reach to take it. Hesitation had signed off on her constant defeat, hesitation brought on by doubt and a heavy fog upon her brow.

Eventually, a dazzling brightness shone somewhere down the path. Evading notice by anything strange was now out of the question - it was time to rush to the light. As the cavern opened up before her, so did a flood of memories from her last visitation. She saw herself, then, draped in the same darkness that clad the outer tunnels of the cavern, with rivulets of blood streaming along a sickly pallor, and the vicious yellowed eyes of a fanged predator. At the time, she thought it a warning of what she would become, but now she realized that it was her future self, reaching back to tear at what constrained her. Her gaze was obscured by doubt, but no longer.

A hum of crystalline life filled the air. Within the open cavern, a thousand and one sparkling clusters of kyber enforced their presence and will on the beholder. Not a spot of shade, the sight was almost blinding. She must have wandered the room for hours, and while she could have taken whichever piece she wanted, she realized that now is one of the rare times that the predator had to carefully pinch for its need. She waited for a sign, some kind of resonance, something that immediately caught her instinct, like a sand panther finding its most optimal target within the gazelle pack.

She passed by a blue cluster that shined brighter than others at her passage. She had only noticed it the once, but now once had been enough. She knelt down, and chiseled away one of the smaller pieces, only to watch it dim. She tried again, and again, until only one crystal from the back of the cluster finally maintained itself, pulsing its light ever so slowly. Its watery blue depths were hers, and it was time to return it for inspection. It was time to leave the light, and return into the shadow, where her will shall be imposed over those that would stand before her.

The Force shall free me.

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#3

Laying out the materials on the workbench, Helvie’s eyes grew weary at the daunting task ahead. Mechanical objects were no strangers to her practice, but the words of warning that were given to the process stuck. It was not doubt, any longer, but an apprehension at the possibility of failure. Still, this was yet another conflict that had to be resolved, a foe that had to be overcome, and power to be acquired from the experience. For an hour, she toiled with the parts with the worn instruction parchment on display nearby, and for an hour, experienced failure after failure. She remembered, a bit too late, that this was not only a mechanical procedure - the wiring and tools had fooled her even though she was told just minutes ago. The process of building this infernal contraption was a testament to one’s control of the Force, and she had to show it, instead of worrying about the specifications of her wrench.

Her mind’s eye cleared, and she drew on the same feelings that brought forth her manipulation of the Force. The same sights, smells, sounds. The same faces and the same spoken words. The same acts. Anger and frustration welled, but she had now learned to control them. Manifest them into potent declarations of her will.

She failed again. The channeled emotion needed to be more grounded. It had to be settled and it had to be maintained. Perhaps more advice could be sought, but for now, she had to keep trying.

The Force shall free me.

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#4

Her practice in telekinesis had paid off. The parts of her path’s signature weapon had clicked together in a satisfying manner. While she broke an innumerable amount of parts to get there, it was finally there - every piece squared where it should be, and the durasteel krayt bobblehead was affixed to the emitter. The small crowd that had gathered behind her seemed to approve, and all that was left for the future was the crystal.

How she dreaded having to deal with the crystal. Even now, it thrummed along with her heartbeat in her breast pocket. It was difficult to describe the act that was about to transpire, and she was glad for it. If words came easily to her on this subject, she would fear for her grip on herself. She escaped the view of others, and absconded to a reclusive spot in the Enclave - a place she had learned to appreciate in recent weeks, amid the trees and in sight of that great lake. Kneeling to a familiar meditation upon a slight rise, she took out the blue crystal she had retrieved from the depths of the planet, and had pushed it away, to float harmlessly in the air in front of her. It is then that she breathed deep, and harnessed that which brought her to Hatred.

It is hard to say how long she remained there, and how much of her pain she had poured into that miserable rock. It did not speak, but she could feel what it felt, and knew that she had inflicted her pain on something besides her. She felt guilt, but at the same time, a sense that they were now entwined. Some strange solace in the idea that she had no longer been alone in precisely what she had pent up for this long.

It was then that the crystal, previously a deep and mesmerizing blue, began running with rivulets of blood, and when it had been drenched in crimson - it had stopped being the victim. Its beats and pulsations were no longer in order, no longer made of serenity and peace, but shrill and chaotic. The rage she had pent up in herself until then had released all at once, causing her to falter and waver, and the contest of wills began anew. She had to subdue it, make certain it will remain entwined with her… but before she could finish her fight, the crystal had let go. It fell to the grass with a soft rustle, and there it remained, while she made sense of what had happened.

Meditation came uneasily, but on the morrow, when she felt ready, she slipped the agitated crystal into its new chamber. The path from then on had become clear.

Through Victory, my chains are broken.

#5

A stiff, cold breeze that heralded winter blew through the sandy lakeshore while she waded through the water. The revelations of these last few days and the resolution of her inner turmoil alongside still tore holes in her psyche. That alone required a steady hand and a conviction to overcome. Her spirit soared like the wind when her mind resolved on the course of her actions. There were still things that needed to be done, but she did not see them here. A quick sense of jadedness, brought on faster by her prior disillusionments, threatened to overwhelm her - but this morning, she needed to have only peace.

Peace is a lie.

The water was up to her neck, and her focus returned to the here and now. To avoid hypothermia, she had to focus not only on the upcoming technique, but on regulating the temperature of her body. An added challenge, and as small as it was, she did not feel too confident in her success. Raising her legs up from the murky depths, she outstretched her arms and closed her eyes, beginning to float on the water’s surface, as she has done many times before, but today her instructor’s lesson will have to break on the shore of her struggle.

There is only passion.

Hatred and wrath, the quintessential emotions of the Sith, had to be simmered. They had to be silenced, kept underwraps. This she knew well. Entering the sleep-like state was something she was practiced in, but this time she had to dance on its edge. Anger bubbled and roiled under her, lapping at her with the motion of the gentle waves - the manifestation of her psyche, her dormant self. Fire licked at her focus, but it needed to be steel-clad. Maintaining it in the face of her own panic before has helped; she was no longer conflicted. There was a clear path ahead, and to walk it meant to bleed. Action called to her, in the very depths of the dreaming below, but above her was an open sky. The real and the unreal enveloped around her, until she walked the edge of the knife. Neither here, nor there.

Passion, yet serenity.