Lost in a Haze - Olorin Ritt

[PrimetheGrime]

I. Snowblind

"Am I, dead…?"

Blackness, a lack of sound. No… Not a lack of it, a void. Sweet quiet, one could fall deeply into it- A sound. A keening? A sound that refused to abate. That was not the sound of inner peace. Then what? He wrenched his mind from the soothing serenity he had felt calling to him, the keening growing louder with each step away from the dark. The sound grew louder, and louder. He could make out the reverb, a ringing, with distant muffled sounds that flickered through his eardrums. His eyes flickered open, greeted to a haze of blurry white imagery juxtaposed by gouts of amber that shot up in multiple directions around him. His sensations began to return to him bit by bit, he sensed rather than felt the warm trickle of blood that had formed around his lids, forcing his right eye shut. Blurry, abstract imagery began to shift and form into something altogether unknown and alien to him. It terrified him enough to want to scream, yet demanded of him silence. Carnage.

A smoking, hulking mass of metal crumpled before him, fire and flame licked at the sheets of bent durasteel, coating it in black ash. His eye drifted further, spying five spires in the distance aflame, their metal frames turnt to liquid, like so many candles reaching out to the frozen air above. The terrible groaning of scrap colliding and grinding with one another began to outpace the ringing as it slowly faded as more and more of the devastation became apparent to him. He pressed his hands into the snow- Snow? He blinked rapidly, the sensation of touch all-together returned, and he began to feel the oppressive, seeping cold that clung to him. He spied the purple swelling that had begun to encompass his bloodied hands. His mind clicked into overdrive. The dessicated carcass around him didn’t matter, the smoke that filled the air didn’t matter. He had to find warmth.

"Survive… Survive! "

His instincts roared in his ears as he stumbled towards the nearest blaze, bringing torn flaps from his tunic over his mouth as he stumbled towards the source of heat. He could feel the warmth soaking into his purpling flesh, into his frame as it breathed new life and vigor into the boy. It was a temporary solution, his addled mind knew. He needed to find a more permanent force of warmth. His teeth clacked together as the chill of frostbite threatened to envelop him. A torn piece of fabric, already aflame was flapping wildly in the breeze and he sensed with dread that a storm was coming. Panic, desperation, all of it flooded into his mind. There is no emotion… The words flitted through his subconscious, words that had been drummed into him since he was a child. He paused, kneeling by the fire, closing his eyes tightly as he replied to the echo in his mind. “…There is peace…” He inhaled, allowing the flicker of the force that lay within to flow around him, his eyes opened and he launched himself into the burning wreckage, where his salvation may yet be found…

[PrimetheGrime]

II. Whiplash

"How many days has it been?"

The question drifted through his mind as he worked off the cover on a power converter, intrusive, but valid. How long had it been? How long since the massacre… He reached into the cannister with a hand wrapped in several layers of torn fabric, removing the fluctuating power cell within, a perfect representation of the hope he carried dwindling after each passing day. Who would come for him? They wouldn’t even know he was alive, afterall. The Waystation had been blasted to pieces, what wreckage remained was of no use, and the power converters he had been able to scavenge throughout the wreck would eventually dry out. He estimated that with the passing of the sun, a power converter would last him half a day, maybe less. The coil that housed his makeshift heater itself was not built for such a process. It was already beginning to show signs of degredation. It wouldn’t be long before it too, would be nothing but scrap, even if he could find a power cell. Yet despite these troublesome thoughts, he remained. He was not dead yet. Everything in his being was screaming to him to survive. Keep going, don’t lose hope..

He carefully fit the powercell into the coil, the rapid flicker of faint amber light doing little to brighten his hopes. Feverishly, he thrust his hands outward towards the coil, his heart leapt into his mouth when it fizzled out immediately. “Come on you stupid machine…” He muttered, smacking it with his wrapped palm roughly “Work… Work!!”. The coil didn’t stir and he dropped it onto the scattered hull he had found himself bedding inside in a huff. How am I meant to survive without the coil working!? He thought to himself, scrabbling around the room. He’d never played much with machines, how was he meant to know how to operate them in such a critical moment? Dully, he was aware that it had been something of a temperature gauged room. It’s why he had been so fortunate with the power cells. He exhaled in frustration, looking around the room.

There is no Ignorance… The intrusive thought once more penetrated his subconscious. He took a breath, steadying his wobbling legs in order to settle himself into a meditative stance, closing his eyes, exhaling. “…There is knowledge…” His eyes opened, and he began searching the room with a lack of madness to his movement. He found a small compartment, the words had been all but blown off, but he thought he could make out ‘…ual inide’. Manual? He tore open the compartment and breathed a sigh of relief as the manual for the power generators had miraculously survived the blast. It took him some time, but with the instructions to guide him, he managed to get the coil working, the dull amber light filling the room, mercifully free of the outside elements by way of the floor above it having collapsed ontop of it some time ago. Without leave, his mind began to wander as exhaustion overtook him, and sleep claimed him…

"Surrender, or Die."

He’d been hidden away with the other younger initiates by Master Ordo with express orders of watching over the younglings in his stead. They had slid down into the vents beneath the Waystation, a bolt hole designed for just this kind of emergency, but who would have ever expected to need it, so far from everything? He’d of course obyed the Jedi Master’s wishes and instructed his younger cohort to hide. Curiosity overtook him and he had watched from the grate closest to the surface as the Sith entered the station, demanding immediate surrender. Few of the faces he could make out, and those he could… He shuddered at the terrible evil that wafted from them. Master Ordo would handle this, he thought… He would defeat all these Sith single handedly. How wrong he had been. The second the venerable master hit the floor, eyes glazing over, he’d clutched his mouth tight to hold back the scream of anguish and terror he felt welling inside him. He couldn’t afford to make a sound, not now.He knew if he did, he would be dead. The ensuing sounds of blaster-fire and lightsabers only confirmed the horrid truth that the Sith had killed everyone. There was only three initiates beneath the vents alongside him, and he’d ushered them far deeper inside. Their only hope laid in the killers not being thorough enough to search the ventilation.

With choked relief, he’d watched as they had retreated from the waystation. There was no way to explain what happened above to the younglings. He could scarcely believe it himself. He’d ushered them through the ventilation network and out into the antechamber some distance from the bodies quietly, just in case a return visit followed. He in the meantime was making his way towards the communications room. He had to get word to the Order that there was an attack! The communications room was located on the far end of the Waystation, leaving him with quite a trekk to make. But it would be worth it. He’d get word to the Jedi, Master Ordo’s sacrifice would not be in vain, Everything was going to be alright.

He’d reached the communications room to find it in shambles. Scorchmarks and lightsaber burns covered the consoles, sending fizzes and sparks into the room around him. He fell to his knees and wept quietly, but his tears were put to pause when he was thrown off his feet violently by the sudden quake that errupted throughout the Waystation. Picking himself up, he moved to the windows of the station, his eyes like twin saucers of terror, watching helplessly as the cruiser above continued it’s bombardment. He watched as the antechamber wing went up in a shower of scrap and molten fire. He launched himself towards the exterior airlock of the waystation, clawing at the transparisteel windows desperately as the scheduled filtering occured. Seconds felt like minutes, his terror made manifest as the showering blasts from the cruiser above continued to rock the station. Hurry! …Please… Force… I don’t want to die! He was greeted by the sudden icy snap of wind as he shot out of the airlock, lacking the warm clothing that would normally be proceedure for such a trek. He ran.

His heart pounded in his chest, his breath ragged, He was wheezing, his fingers already numb, legs pumping to keep his bloodflow going. He sprinted for the nearby black rock that was common in the frozen tundra. His head whipped back, and his eyes were illuminated by a sudden red beam of light. It struck right at the airlock, the force of the blast sending him flying, he fought to remain conscious as he pinwheeled through the biting air, his descent swift, and the frozen snow below greeted him. Then, there was only darkness…

[PrimetheGrime]

III. Resilience

"I can hear them in the darkness."

High atop one of the collapsed spires, within the mass of melted metal and circuitry he crept. It had been slow going, even after the Snowstorm had abated due to the frigid temperature it left in it’s wake. He had stumbled upon the supply room whilst scavenging, breathing a shaky sigh of relief as he clutched the warm thermal clothing. Even without a power-cell to keep the suits heated, furs and thick clothing was better than his ragged tunic alone. He’d noted with some concern that despite the storage crates being intact, the food-stuffs had been torn apart, but from what? It did not look like the work of the Sith bombardment, it’s position in the delapidated room would have seen it blown to bits had a blast hit it. He noted, with dread the large claw marks he spotted along the side of the food crate. Scavengers… Big ones…Ones that were nearby… His head shook away the intrusive thought. He couldn’t afford to stay here long. The weak rays of the sun streaking through the mass of clouds above had already begun to dip lower, signifying that night would not be far away. Thoroughly rugged up, he slipped out of the scorched supply room, clambering over the top of the melted spire, squinting as he was once more greeted by the bleary white snow so bright it all but forced his eyes shut to cover the glare. He looked to the east, the sky already beginning to darken to a deep shade of blue. What vestiges of warmth the sun could offer would be gone soon, he knew, and he still needed to collect what materials he could to build a fire. He dared not build his fires on the ground, not after hearing the growling one dark night.

He snagged up a broken capacitor, a useful fire-starter before clutching the remains of an antennae rod, sliding down it to the ground below with a grunt of pain as the swift movement hadn’t allowed his feet to prepare a suitable landing. He shook himself irritably, soldiering on. Dark was fast approaching, and he’d all but completed his collection when he heard the deep, beastial cat-like purr from behind. He froze, willing himself to be invisible, to blend, to be anything but obvious. The eight-foot long feline predator prowled the scrap heap in a fluid, languid manner, it’s ears pricked up at a sound, it’s head snapping towards him, a snarl ready on it’s wide lips. His eyes widened to the point of saucers, his body rigid and unable to move as the beast began to lope towards him with ever gathering speed, launching itself into the air… …Only to land a few feet from him, leaping from one shattered metal ledge to another until it was out of sight. The breath he held came out in a haggard gasp, forcing him to cough. He shoved his arm into his face, muffling the sound. Alive. He was still alive.

"The force doesn’t want me dead yet…"

He almost smiled at how giddy he felt, shaking his head of the silly thought before grabbing the last of his scavenged hoard, searching the wreckage for a suitable location. He spied an overturned monolith, likely a hallway of sorts. Bracing himself and bending his knees, he called upon the force, a weak flitter, willing it to imbue his legs as he lept for the high point, seeking the room he saw within. With his connection to the force questionable at best, he found himself hurtling towards the ledge, desperately scrabbling up the groaning pipe before it snapped off, breathing a sigh of relief as he put down his hoard, working to start a fire as quickly as possible. The dark had come, afterall.

–

He’d heard the sound. The prowling, the scratching. He’d covered his fire as best he could with rags and sheets of metal, but he knew it was not a perfect disguise. The light would draw them, as would the warmth the fire possessed. And now, they had come. It was more than one this time, he realised, swallowing the glob of saliva that had gathered in his throat. He could see the reflection of the fire in six pairs of eyes, all looking upward, looking at him. ‘They smell the fire, they’re hungry’. The thought pierced his mind but it did him no good to dwell on it. He was safe, relatively so at least, whilst still in the antechamber he’d selected to rest within. Yet, he could sense this was not the case. He frowned. Had he conceived a problem that didn’t exist? How would he know if danger was coming? Technically, the danger was below him, right? He closed his eyes, that flicker of the force that trickled around him enhancing his hearing as he breathed slowly, listening. He could hear it, the slowly rising and sickening groan of metal grinding against itself. And then he felt it. The ground he sat on had began to shake, wobble. His eyes snapped open as the groan became a crackling ear piercing screech as what supports had held the antechamber up had begun to crumble and peel open. The world around him was slanting dangerously to the left, and then a snap followed. ‘No…’ He lept upward desperately scrabbling for the ledge as the chamber he had been resting in began to careen into the snow beneath. He watched, horrified as the six pair’s of eyes he had spotted now came into focus around the flickering campfire, spluttering as it began to die, and he felt his grip on the ledge weakening. He was going to fall… and he had no way to stop it. His fingers dug painfully into the metal, only to slicken from sweat, and slide off, his strangled cry of shock was short as he found himself colliding with the snow not far from the antechamber.

He shook himself awake, the gurgling sound of spilt fuel somewhere to his right, and the growing growl of the Snow cats approaching him. His head whipped back and forth, spying a piece of debris sharp enough to work as a weapon. He lunged for it, dipping it in the oil spill nearby, reaching for one of the few power-cell’s he had left, cracking it violently over the coated ‘blade’, the act immediately sending a gout of flame ignited over the metal, licking at it greedily. The cat’s paused, caution and fear dogged their steps. Fire was unknown to them, and it was threatening, more than the bipedal thing in front of them. The lead cat growled a challenge, sinking into it’s hind legs. He realised with dread it was preparing to lunge at him. He exhaled, taking up the one stance he had any smattering knowledge of. Shii-cho. The first lightsaber form. His blade levelled centre, he waited with bated breath as the beast launched itself like a bullet towards him. He had one chance to deliver the strike he needed, One chance to kill the alpha. That would stop them, maybe… But he had to kill the alpha, that was clear. It had to- There is no passion… His senses heightened and on overdrive, the motion came slow as his eyes opened, his uncertainty palpable. Was he going mad? Is that why he kept hearing Master Ordo’s voice in his head? …Was it even Master Ordo? He shook his head. The voice, whoever it was, was right. He’d begun to let fear claw at his heart. That was not what he had been trained to do. That flew in the face of Ordo’s strict lessons. The flaming shard of metal dropped to the floor, sizzling the snow beneath into a puddle of icy water, his hand outstretched towards the beast, eyes closed. “There is Serenity…” He intones… His anxiety had faded, standing tall, he willed his thoughts to reach out to the beast, for it to see him as neither threat, nor food. He wasn’t sure entirely if it would work, but this had to be a sign from the force…

…He opened his eyes, certain to see the snarling jaws of death and yet… In it’s place he saw the large snow-cat standing on it’s paws, watching him, it’s head tilted. The other beasts watching the Alpha, confusion evident in their faces. He blinked. It had worked? Wait-, We’re not out of the woods yet he mutters to himself. He pushed his hand out further, willing his thoughts to reach the beast, to leave in peace, that he was no threat to them. The Alpha seemed to consider the bipedal being wrapped in it’s prey’s furs, before turning it’s back to him, trudging away with nary a sound in the snow, it’s pack following after it. He stood there… Dumbfounded, before he let go a constrained, giddy laugh. He was alive once more. “The force works in mysterious ways…” He marvelled. He gathered the remnants of the metal shard, dipping it in the oil once more, lighting it with the embers of his campfire before trudging on through the snow, covering his face with rags as he braved the night. He may have managed to convince the beasts today to leave him be, but he didn’t know for certain if that would remain. He had to find shelter. Permanent shelter if possible. He had to survive.

[PrimetheGrime]

IV. Instinct

"That was the last of the rations…"

His frostbitten fingers clenched tightly to the half-frozen canister, it’s contents already sitting tightly in his stomach. With each chew, each mechanical movement of his jaw, he realised dully, that his problems were only ever growing. What few powercells he had managed to scavenge in the previous day weren’t enough to keep a heating coil operational for more than a few hours. Or was it days? How long had he been sleeping? How long had he been scavenging? His cracked, blue lips pursed at the thought. He’d been unable to keep track of the days. He recalled he’d scratched a marker for each day he’d been alive in the upper spire when he was cloistered inside, safe from the elements. But who knows how long that had been? He’d had to abandon that hideaway once it had crumbled to the snow below. That night when he, by stroke of luck, had managed to waylay the pack of snow cats was only a brief victory. One he did not have the option to repeat, he thought glumly, looking at the clawmarks in the thick furs that clung to his body. He’d been fortunate there was scraps of medkits in an emergency hatch that he’d chanced upon the day before. Or was it a week before? He shook his head. Dwelling on days and time would only slow him down, and more than likely threaten his resolve. He needed to stay focused on the current problem. That his rations had run out.

He’d been exceptionally sparing with his food stocks, making the mistake of rationing too heavily to the point of exhaustion. He understood his mistake quickly enough when he barely survived an encounter with a snow-cat whilst he was hunting for scrap. There were no suitable elevated hideouts now. What structures had survived the degredation of the winds, hail and snow had been ousted at last by gravity. He had noted that one of the trio of spires of the waystation, but the spire itself was far too slippery to scale, and he doubted he had the strength to climb it, even if he were in peak physical condition, something far from what he was now. Gaunt, sunken cheeks clung to the partly insulated welding mask that had offered his weathered face sanctuary from the biting cold winds, Fatigue continued to play at him, even after he’d finished the mere morsel that remained from the ration pack. He had little to no choice in his next moves. If he was to continue to survive, he would need to hunt, and hunt well. This, he realised would be his most trying task of all. Weak as he was, a confrontation with a pack of apex predator snow-cats was tantamount to suicide. What he needed was a plan. And that was why he had been at deep pains to collect scrap, even to the detriment of a dangerous run-in with the singular snow-cat the previous day. He was running out of options however.

His current lair was shrouded beneath long dark circuitry wires and suction hosing. The engineering room, he surmised. Though half sunken into the snow, it had provided a tight squeeze, making it difficult for other creatures to slip into his hovel. He’d hung up what furs and material he had found in his scavenging trips to line the interior of the scrap-dome, keeping the worst of the winds from piercing his hideaway. A ‘snap’ from the makeshift contraption he’d tied together rang in his ears. It was a crude design, certainly not for repeat use, but it was a test, not only of his creation, but also his willpower. The force is testing me… the thought had come to his mind before, and no less strongly was it received. His eyes narrowed over the device grimly. He did not wish ill of his prey, but he had run out of all other options. To survive, he would need to hunt.

"Come now… I know you’re out there…"
He murmored out to the ice clearing, suspended around delapidated thick durastell and wires that cascaded down, hovering above him like many tendrils of circuitry. His eyes, even as honed to the dark as they were, found it difficult to see with the sheer mass of shadows that were created from the towering wrecked hull above. His visored helm was slick with sleet and snow, his breath permeating the visor, fogging it’s already shaky visuals. He suspected if he had the powercells to get it working, it would be able to clear both the fog from his breath and the damage the element had done to it, but worrying about powercells was so far detached from his mind now. A flicker of movement, a rustle? There! He thanked the force that his ears yet remained attuned, unhindered by either the helm or the cold. It was the one sense he could safely rely on, what with his nose all but tuning out his own terrible smell. He heard the faint padding to his right, a low but unmistakable growl of a predator. “Yes… just a little closer…” His heart hammered in his chest like a base drum. This was the make or break moment. If his contraption failed, he doubted he would survive the beasts charge. Another pad… He could almost make out the form of the Snow-cat, even as his harried vision picked up the faint glint that came from the beasts amber eyes, his steely gaze locking to it, his focus unsurpassed. “One…more…Step.” He murmored, all but urging the beast to come to him, his hands clutched the mass of cables wrapped around his arm. “Now!” He grunts with effort as he ripped the cables tight towards himself, the clattering ‘snap’ of the contraptions jaws sinking into the beast was deafened by the cat’s own bloodcurdling screech of pain, it’s head snapped left, right, zeroing in on the slight form wrapped in bundles of furs before it. “Oh no-” He launched himself to the left, feeling the hiss of the wind as the beasts claws raked past him by mere millimeters. Though the trap had worked, the beast was most certainly caught from it, it did not kill, only enrage it. He heard the thrashing of it’s powerful body as it caught itself in some of the cabling that hung loosely from above. Dully, he shook his head to clear it, drawing the make-shift blade made out of durasteel scrap. He had wanted to avoid this. Weak as he was, he was good for only a few strikes, if that, and that beast was plenty mad already. He had to make these strikes count.

Whilst the beast snarled and bucked it’s rear legs back and forth to be rid of the entanglements, he drove himself forward, moreso on his urge to survive than his muscles. He felt the numbness in his fingers begin to fade as he gripped tightly to the blade, recalling what training he had with a weapon. Stepping forward, pushing his legs to pump blood into his muscles, he charged at the beast, his blade held close to his chest in a two-handed grip of Shii-Cho as it came descending down upon the beast, now free of it’s restraints. It roared angrily at him, it’s front paw coming upward to rake at his pitiful protective clothing, only to catch nothing in it’s grip. It felt a sharp stab of pain as this two-legged creature drove the blade into it’s side. With another scream of pain, it batted what had been it’s dinner away, the powerful swipe of it’s arm sending the weak little thing flying. It attempted to pick itself upright, only to find it’s legs begin to wobble, buckling beneath it. It’s furious gaze shifted to it’s side, seeing the steady onrush of hot blood that pooled out of it’s body, sinking into the snow, a dark patch already forming around it’s body. It’s breathing grew slower… and it began to shut it’s eyes… It had nothing left to give, the small creature had been shoved away, and it was tired… so tired…

He gasped as he hit the side of the durasteel hull with a slam. If not for the helmet, he imagined he’d have left a bloody smear from the back of his head, though it didn’t do much to prevent his head from ringing, or his vision shaking from left to right in slow, hypnotic patterns. He hauled himself upright, still winded from the force of that strike, but ever thankful that the beasts claws hadn’t sunk into him during it’s back hand. He reached for his blade feebly, stuffing it into his make-shift belt, trudging over to the beast warily. Even dead as it was, he feared it might make another deaththrow and end him. It wouldn’t take much, he thought grimly. A strong wind could knock him out by now. His head snapped up as he heard the sound of gurgled growls penetrating his dizziness. “Oh… oh no.” He turned, only to see another five snow-cats, Creeping towards him from above, below… hells, even from the right. He was all but surrounded. He considered his options. He’d already used what he had left of his fighting capability on that single snowcat, what else did he have to giv- Wait, was that a spark?

A fizzling crackle garnered his attention, his head snapping to the sound and visual of amber beads striking out into the frosty air, illuminating the area briefly in a flash of amber. His eyes narrowed briefly, puzzled. How did that happen? Did the Snow-cat strike a fuse? That’s not possible, all of this equipments offline. How could- The Blade! His eyes glazed down at his durasteel blade. He must have struck it against an exposed wire! The heat from both his sword-strike and the furious beasts attempts to dislodge itself from the cables that had ensnared it must have ignited it! His brain clicked the problem at hand, and he felt his mouth go dry as the sparks seemed to snap and crackle all around him, a deep groaning could be heard from inside the hull, and even more terrifying, he could hear the electrical hiss and crack of the wiring begin to get louder. His eyes shifted around the exposed area, desperately seeking- There it was The fuel tank. The second the sparks reached it, this whole area would become a veritable landmine! His head swam, the approaching beasts didn’t really matter anymore. They’d all be engulfed by the oncoming explosive impact. Within the split of a second he’d had the thought, his vision was blinded by a violent flash of scarlet light as the fuel tank ignited, spewing molten scrap in every direction, consciously, he realised that the explosion, within what he guessed was the engine room would not be the last and he was swiftly rewarded for his deduction by the sudden cacophany of blasts all around them. There was no time to get away, no time to get to cover! He was about to be engulfed in this fiery crecendo of explosions.

There is no Chaos… Time seemed to slow, his mind drawing upon his not yet forgotten teachings. Desperately, he reached out to the force with both arms thrust out, his eyes shut tight. No, not like that… He took a breath. Fear and anxiety were his enemy. Trust the living force. Let it guide you… He thought to himself, even as he retracted his arms, bringing them to bear in front of his chest, exhaling “There is Harmony.” Harmony in all things, he realised, his mind still locking him into this almost dream-like state of motion. His head slowly turned towards the nearest blast, he could feel the flicker of the force inside him, nourishing his famished frame, nurturing his weathered flesh, lending strength and stamina to his exhausted spirit, willing him to continue, to live. His mind struck back to the present, a flurry of motion as he began to dive to left, using the smattering of debris as cover from the molten projectiles flying all around him. His mind became fluid like water. He began to dodge, duck, weave and leap from cover to cover, his body a mere conduit for the flowing force that had so graciously taken him, whirling him through the ever-present explosive payloads, at one with body and mind. He felt scores of shrapnel come hurtling towards him, lowering his body backwards with smooth rapidity, his mind overclocked, the force pushing his body to it’s cognitive limits as he became in sync with everything around him. It was unbelievable, incomprehensible… Awe inspiring… And for but a split second, he felt… connected, to everything. Then the sudden force of the explosions around him sent shockwaves through the air, sending him tumbling higher and higher into the bitter cold winds above… the ground below looked no less inviting than last time. He was almost thankful when the darkness finally came…