Post by lilabelle on Aug 6, 2007 13:21:49 GMT -5
Name: Ah'ma Larkwing
Race: Human
Age: 26
Height: 5'7
Weight: 123 lbs
Birth place: Alderaan
Faction: Dark Jedi
Rank: Dark Knight - Force Rogue
Long black curls, and wide grey-blue eyes give her a slightly mad appearance. A vague smile is hitched onto her face, and she rarely blinks. Her clothes, in a shade of silvery blue, are torn and ragged, and her skin is pale and bluish from living in darkness. She was once pretty, with loose ebony hair and delicate almond eyes, tall and slim, but now her appearance is eerie and disarming. Her silvery lightsaber casts a pallid gleam to her face, and many are taken aback at her open wearing of Jedi colours, but due to her unfortunate state of half-sanity, she dwells but half in this world and doesn't care at all.
Born to proud parents in Alderaan, a peace-loving planet. She showed signs of the Force at an early age, and was taken at three years old to the Jedi Temple in Coruscant. Her parents were loving and kind, and told the Jedi who took her not to let her forget them, and let her visit when she had finished learning the ways of the Force. The Jedi assured them that Ah'ma would return to them, a promise they never forgot though it never came true.
At the temple, Ah'ma advanced quickly. Her lack of skill with a saber was made up for by her wisdom and knowledge. She was generally quiet and peaceful, though she had been known to disobey the Jedi code and the Order in her time. Her teachers were proud of her, and her fellow younglings were in awe of her. Her talent with the Force was unusually high, and the Council were informed when she turned ten years old, and was ready for a Master.
"Ammy! Ammy! Wait!"
"What is it now, Liran?"
"I heard the teachers, in the conference room talking about you..."
"What? What did they say?"
"They were saying, you needed a Master. And they were talking about how good you were at stuff. The Force."
"A Master? But nobody has a Master yet except Lana, and she's -"
"A teacher's pet!"
"Yeah!"
"Well, they said you needed one. True!"
"Yeah, right. You're lying."
"No, really! Honest!
"I don't believe you, Liran. You always lie!"
Her first lightsaber 'Ammy' made in less than thirty days, a class record. It was long, and a delicate shade of white-silver. She named it Purity, and though she wasn't too good at combat using it, she made up for it with new tactics and moves that she customised for her own personal use. Her strength was low, but her endurance was high and she could duel for a long time without getting tired and making mistakes.
At eleven, Ah'ma was taken as a padawan by a newly fledged Jedi Knight, his hair still growing from where the braid had been cut off. His name was Ghrin Knackler, and he was only seventeen. Nobody was sure why he took her on - maybe he wanted a challenge. But sure enough, under his care Ah'ma began to flourish, displaying skills with the Force that were near unbelievable. Her fighting was improved, and she asked so many questions Ghrin couldn't answer them all.
"Why can't we get married as Jedis? What's wrong with that, Ghrin?"
"It's not allowed...you're not supposed to..."
"Yes, but why?"
"Because...emotion is bad."
"Good emotion isn't bad! Like happiness and love, that's alright, isn't it?"
"Attachment is bad. You would...seek revenge if they were killed."
"What if you didn't?"
"Well, you would."
"But if you didn't!"
"It's not allowed."
Ghrin was fun-loving and amusing. He loved challenges, and he loved to fight. He wasn't the wisest or the calmest young Jedi, but he tried hard and worked harder. His sole ambition in life was to become a Master, and he believed that if he took on Ah'ma, trained her correctly and made her a Knight, that ambition could be realised. After all, Ah'ma was such a prodigy! A talented youngster that would go far, further than most before her. If she could just fight a little better, she could take her trials at fifteen maybe! And Ghrin was just the person to teach her, coming top in his class with his violet saber, 'Justice'.
She crafted a new saber, a purple shoto, 'Raging Tide', though she never told anyone the other half of the name. With it she could fight a little better, though her first saber was always closer to her, and the one she used most often. With both her sabers, she was an enemy to be feared and Ghrin was as proud of her as a Master can be of his Padawan, and maybe, just maybe, a little more.
"My trials are soon, right?"
"Hopefully. If you try hard."
"No, really. Will I become a Jedi soon?"
"That depends on you. But you will receive your chance soon."
"Really? Oh, Ghrin..."
"Are you nervous?"
"...not really..."
"It's alright, I was nervous too."
"Will I have to lose my arm?"
"Probably not."
"What if I fail the trials?"
"Then you do not become a Jedi..."
At sixteen, she began preparing for the Jedi trials. She was in constant fear of what she would lose...her arm? Her leg? Her eye? Or a person; a dear friend...with regret, she looked back to Liran. If he was to be killed, she didn't know if she could cope. Or Ghrin. Especially Ghrin. Her Ghrin...
Was it natural? A sixteen year old girl, Jedi or no Jedi, growing closer to her Master, who was only six years older than her, only twenty-two years old...Ah'ma was falling, slowly but surely, in love with her Master. It was not the first time, and the Trials generally snapped the young Knights out of it, but the frightening thing was, she was sure that Ghrin loved her back. They lived and worked together, ate together, slept within each other's touch in the cramped ship they shared. They trusted each other with their lives. It was natural...just natural...
"Ghrin?"
"Yes?"
"I...can I talk to you?"
"Of course! Why ever not?"
"No, I mean, privately?"
"Oh, fine. Let's go in here, shall we..."
"Ghrin, I..."
"Ah'ma - wait, I -"
"I - love you..."
"Oh, Ah'ma..."
"I...I'm so sorry."
"No, Ah'ma, I..."
"- Ghrin?"
"I - I love you too..."
They kept it secret and small, sharing private moments when they had the time and even when they didn't. Ghrin was adamant that nobody must know. Love was frowned upon in the Order. Nobody became a Master by disobeying the Council's wishes. And Ghrin still wanted to become a Master. Ah'ma was more headstrong, saying that they couldn't keep it secret forever, and maybe the Council would make an exception, would realise how they were really and truly in love and love was...nobody could fight it, or beat it, or make it go away, right?
Ghrin, older and more experienced, knew that while love could not be shunned, people could, and they would be sacrificing their careers, their reputations, their friends. Sometimes Ah'ma doubted that he truly loved her. If he did, wouldn't he understand that she couldn't bear to be hidden? Locked away in a box, along with the most shameful of his memories. That was where she would end up, she knew it.
"Ghrin..."
"Ah'ma?"
"What am I to you?"
Laughter. "My padawan. My friend. I disagreeistant. And my love."
"Are you proud of me?"
"Ever so."
"Then why -"
"No!"
"But why not?"
"We would lose everything - including each other - I don't want that. Do you want that?"
"No, but -"
"Then that's it."
Dissatisfied, unhappy, Ah'ma turned seventeen, and was now ready for the Trials. They returned to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, where she was reunited with long-lost friend, Liran. He was also taking his Trials, at nearly eighteen years of age. They hastened to tell each other everything that had happened to them, to date. She showed him her new saber, Raging Tide, and he showed her his own weapon, apparently unnamed. Both admired the well-made lightsabers, and continued talking throughout the day and most of the night.
Apparently, Liran had been taken on by a wise and talented Master who had taken him to Alderaan, where they had seen the sights and preserved the peace there for two years. Then, they had left to visit many unusual worlds to search for young children with the Force. As they had returned them to the Temple, he had seen and talked to many of Ah'ma's old friends. They had stopped for a while in Coruscant, where he built his new lightsaber.
"It's very impressive."
"Took me two months to build! It should be!"
"Why didn't you name it?"
"Uh..."
"I named mine Raging Tides..."
"Raging Tides? Why that name?"
"Raging Tides...of Emotion."
"Jedis have no emotion."
"Maybe some do."
"I do. Ah'ma, my saber does have a name..."
"What?"
"Two blades. One called Larkwing...One called Ah'ma."
"...but they're -"
"Your names. Ah'ma, I love you."
Ah'ma could never have expected this. Shocked, she explained to him about Ghrin, and the secret relationship they shared. Liran was furious, and humiliated. Both that she was in love with her Master, not him, and that she hadn't told him. 'We're friends! Best friends!' he raged. 'Why?' But all she could say to comfort him was that nobody else knew either. It wasn't much help.
Liran, still lost in his anger, always his weakness as a Jedi, turned to the Order and the Council. He decided that it was his duty as a Padawan, soon-to-be Knight, to inform the Council of this...relationship. Jedis have no attachment. No emotion. It should be nipped in the bud. The two must be separated. And Ah'ma, his Ah'ma, would then be free from this advantage-taker. Free to love Liran as he loved her.
"Ghrin Knackler."
"Liran?"
"Yes..."
"What is it?"
"Ah'ma."
"What about her?"
"She loves you."
"...I -"
"And you love her back."
"No! I mean -"
"You mean you don't love her?"
"I -"
"Go far away from her, Ghrin. Stay away from Ah'ma. You don't deserve her."
"Mistress...I have some information that I believe is important to the Council..."
"Speak, Padawan."
"The Padawan Ah'ma Larkwing, and her Master, Grihn Knackler, I believe they have a relationship..."
"Friendship is not uncommon."
"Closer than that. Romance."
"And you are sure of this?"
"I was told by Ah'ma herself."
"I see. You are dismissed, Padawan."
"Thank you, Mistress."
Ah'ma was never sure what happened next, but the results came soon. Ghrin left the Temple alone, to do some work (apparently) in Alderaan. After Ah'ma had gone through the Trials successfully, he would gain his Master title. That was more important than love, and attachment. More important than Ah'ma. The Jedi Code was clear - serenity, and the Force. There is no death, there is the Force. He forgot about her, eventually, and moved on.
But she didn't find it so easy. Fury and contempt at Liran and Ghrin, love for her Master and misery at the way he had left her, fear for the Trials and hope for her becoming a Knight, all of these emotions raged inside her like the tides, swelling and fading, raging tides of emotion inside of her. Now she knew why she named her saber that. Bitterly, she dismissed the thoughts, focussing on the Trials.
"Ah'ma."
"What is it, Liran?"
"Do you still -"
"I love Ghrin. Now, and always."
"Are -"
"Yes."
"Ammy..."
"Liran, I never loved you. You were my friend, not a lover. I have never loved you, and I never will."
She shut down her emotions, like a good Jedi should. No feeling. No anger, no love, no misery, no fear. She prepared herself for the Trials, practising duels and meditating for long hours. Liran visited her every night, but she was so stiff and cold he eventually gave up on her, and grew into blaming her for everything that had happened. Their friendship ended. They never talked again.
The Trials soon came upon her, faster than she'd have liked. Many agree that it was the Trials that broke her, letting her sanity fade like rain on a sun-baked stone. It was a shame; she was a good Jedi with potential, and Ghrid could have been a Master so easily.
---
Red and white, the sabers danced. Flickering in and out, almost faster than the eye could see, parrying and attacking in a dance of death. It seemed like it could end any minute, but each blade was always ready for the other, and so the end never came.
Ah'ma broke away for a moment, breathing lightly, blinking away tears from dry eyes afraid of closing. The other fighter, a tall woman with long, straight hair as pale as moonlight, was readying her lightsaber for another attack, so she drew her second, violet blade. Both pairs of eyes narrowed, and the three blades resumed their dance.
Eventually, neither side advancing, the attacks slowed down. They circled each other, both on their constant guard, when one spoke.
"Ah'ma...Ah'ma Larkwing."
Ah'ma blinked, but didn't move a muscle from her slow, steady pacing.
"What do you want, Larkwing?"
She did not reply, her mind already trying to figure out how the Dark Jedi knew her name. The paces continued, her shoes slapping against the hard flooring.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
"Well, Jedi? What do you want?"
A sudden movement. Ah'ma's eyes flickered towards it. A scrap of cloth, nothing more. And then the Dark Knight's saber was upon her, and she had to banish everything else from her mind in a desperate bid to parry every blow. They were hard, unrelenting, and difficult to block, especially with her mind still in turmoil over what the Knight had said.
The blows finally eased, and the Knight stepped back, an arrogant smirk hitched to her beautiful face.
"What do you want, Jedi?"
Ah'ma steadied her growing anxiety, and paced in ever-tightening circles around the Knight.
"I want -" she spoke quietly, and then darted forward, her lightsabers flickering like candleflames around the Knight's body, scoring a deep cut along her arm. When she retreated, the Knight was still smiling, even as blood began to well along the wound.
"Child, they sent you to fight me?"
"I am enough!"
"You are an apprentice. A padawan, they are called, I believe." The relish in her voice was evident, and the way she spoke the word 'padawan' showed exactly what she thought of it. "Only a few years from a youngling infant."
"As I am but a few short months from a Knight," Ah'ma retorted, her anger rising even as she tried to keep it down.
"So these are your 'Trials'? How quaint. I'm rather honoured," the Knight replied, punctuating it with a slam towards Ah'ma's chest that left her gasping even after she blocked it, pushing it away. The force of it was terrifying. How could a person be so strong?
The Knight wasn't even out of breath. "I presume if you win this fight, you will become a Jedi...am I correct?"
Ah'ma was determined to give nothing away. "Maybe so."
But she only laughed, a low laugh that could have come from a mother, or a Master. Slightly mocking, kind and serious. "Young Jedi, you have so much to learn."
A snort. "I knew that from the moment I was born."
"Oh, really?" she replied politely, inferring that she didn't really think so at all.
Ah'ma did not even deign to reply to this, instead moving forward for a traditional cut and parry. The Knight blocked her attacks easily, as if bored with the proceedings, and added her own slice that left a thin scratch along Ah'ma's wrist.
She sucked in her breath, but the pain was small and no blood seemed forthcoming. "You are strong."
The Knight allowed herself a pause in the demanding pace of the fight. "I have been fighting longer than you, child."
"Maybe so."
"What do you want?"
"To kill you."
"But what else?"
"To pass the Trials."
"But what else?"
"To become a Knight."
She sblack personed. "Oh, little Jedi youngling, you know nothing. Luckily, I know what you want."
Ah'ma was curious, though sure that the answer would be typical. She had known that she would be tempted -
"You want to be allowed to love."
- but that answer knocked the breath from her body as neatly as a blow to the stomach.
"What are you talking about?" Ah'ma fought to keep a shiver from her voice.
"The Jedi are so strict about love...attachment is wrong, is that right?"
"Attachment leads to sadness. Sadness leads to anger. Anger to revenge." The words were recited to persuade Ah'ma as much as the Knight.
And then both blades were locked together, the Knight's red saber against Ah'ma's throat. She was so strong, the Dark one. The lightsaber moved slowly, but surely, towards her neck, touching it, cutting a faint line, then a stronger one. She shut her eyes in the pain, and kicked out, scuttling away to place a hand at her bleeding neck.
But the Knight left her no time to restore her strength, standing over her like some fierce animal, and attacking again and again, stabs that Ah'ma could barely parry and return without falling. She was losing this fight. Losing, and she knew it. Another stab to the leg that hit, wounded, and she fell.
Then the blows stopped, and a pale, elegant hand reached out to help her up. Ah'ma looked up at the Knight, all strength faded from her thin limbs. "What -"
"Stand, Ammy."
The use of her childhood name spurred her back into movement. She took the Knight's hand, and was pulled to her feet once more. Unsteadily, she stood upright, one lightsaber in her hand, the other fallen to the floor, bleeding in the leg and throat.
"Let me help you." And the voice was back, kind, loving, gentle like a mother's. Ah'ma had never had a mother, but that was what one should sound like. "Let me," the Knight pleaded, her fair hair loose and framing her proud face.
Ah'ma could do nothing but nod, and let the soft hands clean her wounds and care for her, as she fell into unconsciousness.
---
She was taken to the Knight's home on Alderaan, where she was cleaned, dressed and healed. During the time she stayed there she was treated with kindness and care, and she found herself comparing it to her childhood in the Jedi Temple. They allowed love. Love...
Ah'ma was slowly losing her sanity, and it showed. She forgot the twisted stories she had been told of the Sith and what they had done, dismissed the terrible rumours of death and torture, and though only of the Knight's kind voice and gentle hands, of how like a mother she was.
At the end of her time there, she was given an address so she would know where to return if she needed help, and sent safely on her way.
Her return to the Jedi caused an uproar. Everyone had been convinced that she was dead. Liran had mourned her death for the entire time, and Ghrin had flown back, against his commands, to talk to who had sent her, to search for his Ah'ma.
But she had changed. Half-mad, and unhappy, she ignored their questions, collected her clothes and items, and left the Jedi.
Instead, she returned to the house of her Knight, her carer, and was met with warm and welcoming arms. She was trained as a Dark Jedi for several years, and then was sent out on missions with the Knight, who she now knew was named Lihfa, to fight and kill members of the Jedi Order who had restricted her love.
Even as they lay dead, she felt no remorse, but her soul was gradually fading, and her sanity was on the brink of collapse. One final straw, and it would topple.
That was then she killed a cloaked Jedi and what she took for his Padawan, on Lihfa's orders. It was only after their hearts were stilled that she saw their faces.
Liran...
Liran and Ghrin.
Ah'ma left her Knight, insane and confused and repulsed. She took to wandering the streets in her tattered Jedi clothes, killing who she saw or blessing them depending on what memory she was reliving. She lives in the past, cloaking herself in Liran and Ghrin when she knew them as a little boy and a loving Master. To her, they are real. They help her, and guide her through madness. Twisted, warped and evil, she roams the streets of Alderaan, giving out death or life to whoever she sees fit. Fair-haired, tall beauties scare her like a child, still, and Masters and young boys cause her to babble. Beware of poor Ah'ma, children, but do not laugh and jeer.
---
Lightsaber: Dual (one single and a short)
[glow=Silver,2,300]Purity[/glow]: Her first saber. She is most comfortable with it.
[glow=Purple,2,300]Raging Tides (of Emotion)[/glow]: Her second saber, a shoto. Not as handy with this one as the other one.
Color: Silver-white, violet.
Race: Human
Age: 26
Height: 5'7
Weight: 123 lbs
Birth place: Alderaan
Faction: Dark Jedi
Rank: Dark Knight - Force Rogue
Long black curls, and wide grey-blue eyes give her a slightly mad appearance. A vague smile is hitched onto her face, and she rarely blinks. Her clothes, in a shade of silvery blue, are torn and ragged, and her skin is pale and bluish from living in darkness. She was once pretty, with loose ebony hair and delicate almond eyes, tall and slim, but now her appearance is eerie and disarming. Her silvery lightsaber casts a pallid gleam to her face, and many are taken aback at her open wearing of Jedi colours, but due to her unfortunate state of half-sanity, she dwells but half in this world and doesn't care at all.
Born to proud parents in Alderaan, a peace-loving planet. She showed signs of the Force at an early age, and was taken at three years old to the Jedi Temple in Coruscant. Her parents were loving and kind, and told the Jedi who took her not to let her forget them, and let her visit when she had finished learning the ways of the Force. The Jedi assured them that Ah'ma would return to them, a promise they never forgot though it never came true.
At the temple, Ah'ma advanced quickly. Her lack of skill with a saber was made up for by her wisdom and knowledge. She was generally quiet and peaceful, though she had been known to disobey the Jedi code and the Order in her time. Her teachers were proud of her, and her fellow younglings were in awe of her. Her talent with the Force was unusually high, and the Council were informed when she turned ten years old, and was ready for a Master.
"Ammy! Ammy! Wait!"
"What is it now, Liran?"
"I heard the teachers, in the conference room talking about you..."
"What? What did they say?"
"They were saying, you needed a Master. And they were talking about how good you were at stuff. The Force."
"A Master? But nobody has a Master yet except Lana, and she's -"
"A teacher's pet!"
"Yeah!"
"Well, they said you needed one. True!"
"Yeah, right. You're lying."
"No, really! Honest!
"I don't believe you, Liran. You always lie!"
Her first lightsaber 'Ammy' made in less than thirty days, a class record. It was long, and a delicate shade of white-silver. She named it Purity, and though she wasn't too good at combat using it, she made up for it with new tactics and moves that she customised for her own personal use. Her strength was low, but her endurance was high and she could duel for a long time without getting tired and making mistakes.
At eleven, Ah'ma was taken as a padawan by a newly fledged Jedi Knight, his hair still growing from where the braid had been cut off. His name was Ghrin Knackler, and he was only seventeen. Nobody was sure why he took her on - maybe he wanted a challenge. But sure enough, under his care Ah'ma began to flourish, displaying skills with the Force that were near unbelievable. Her fighting was improved, and she asked so many questions Ghrin couldn't answer them all.
"Why can't we get married as Jedis? What's wrong with that, Ghrin?"
"It's not allowed...you're not supposed to..."
"Yes, but why?"
"Because...emotion is bad."
"Good emotion isn't bad! Like happiness and love, that's alright, isn't it?"
"Attachment is bad. You would...seek revenge if they were killed."
"What if you didn't?"
"Well, you would."
"But if you didn't!"
"It's not allowed."
Ghrin was fun-loving and amusing. He loved challenges, and he loved to fight. He wasn't the wisest or the calmest young Jedi, but he tried hard and worked harder. His sole ambition in life was to become a Master, and he believed that if he took on Ah'ma, trained her correctly and made her a Knight, that ambition could be realised. After all, Ah'ma was such a prodigy! A talented youngster that would go far, further than most before her. If she could just fight a little better, she could take her trials at fifteen maybe! And Ghrin was just the person to teach her, coming top in his class with his violet saber, 'Justice'.
She crafted a new saber, a purple shoto, 'Raging Tide', though she never told anyone the other half of the name. With it she could fight a little better, though her first saber was always closer to her, and the one she used most often. With both her sabers, she was an enemy to be feared and Ghrin was as proud of her as a Master can be of his Padawan, and maybe, just maybe, a little more.
"My trials are soon, right?"
"Hopefully. If you try hard."
"No, really. Will I become a Jedi soon?"
"That depends on you. But you will receive your chance soon."
"Really? Oh, Ghrin..."
"Are you nervous?"
"...not really..."
"It's alright, I was nervous too."
"Will I have to lose my arm?"
"Probably not."
"What if I fail the trials?"
"Then you do not become a Jedi..."
At sixteen, she began preparing for the Jedi trials. She was in constant fear of what she would lose...her arm? Her leg? Her eye? Or a person; a dear friend...with regret, she looked back to Liran. If he was to be killed, she didn't know if she could cope. Or Ghrin. Especially Ghrin. Her Ghrin...
Was it natural? A sixteen year old girl, Jedi or no Jedi, growing closer to her Master, who was only six years older than her, only twenty-two years old...Ah'ma was falling, slowly but surely, in love with her Master. It was not the first time, and the Trials generally snapped the young Knights out of it, but the frightening thing was, she was sure that Ghrin loved her back. They lived and worked together, ate together, slept within each other's touch in the cramped ship they shared. They trusted each other with their lives. It was natural...just natural...
"Ghrin?"
"Yes?"
"I...can I talk to you?"
"Of course! Why ever not?"
"No, I mean, privately?"
"Oh, fine. Let's go in here, shall we..."
"Ghrin, I..."
"Ah'ma - wait, I -"
"I - love you..."
"Oh, Ah'ma..."
"I...I'm so sorry."
"No, Ah'ma, I..."
"- Ghrin?"
"I - I love you too..."
They kept it secret and small, sharing private moments when they had the time and even when they didn't. Ghrin was adamant that nobody must know. Love was frowned upon in the Order. Nobody became a Master by disobeying the Council's wishes. And Ghrin still wanted to become a Master. Ah'ma was more headstrong, saying that they couldn't keep it secret forever, and maybe the Council would make an exception, would realise how they were really and truly in love and love was...nobody could fight it, or beat it, or make it go away, right?
Ghrin, older and more experienced, knew that while love could not be shunned, people could, and they would be sacrificing their careers, their reputations, their friends. Sometimes Ah'ma doubted that he truly loved her. If he did, wouldn't he understand that she couldn't bear to be hidden? Locked away in a box, along with the most shameful of his memories. That was where she would end up, she knew it.
"Ghrin..."
"Ah'ma?"
"What am I to you?"
Laughter. "My padawan. My friend. I disagreeistant. And my love."
"Are you proud of me?"
"Ever so."
"Then why -"
"No!"
"But why not?"
"We would lose everything - including each other - I don't want that. Do you want that?"
"No, but -"
"Then that's it."
Dissatisfied, unhappy, Ah'ma turned seventeen, and was now ready for the Trials. They returned to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, where she was reunited with long-lost friend, Liran. He was also taking his Trials, at nearly eighteen years of age. They hastened to tell each other everything that had happened to them, to date. She showed him her new saber, Raging Tide, and he showed her his own weapon, apparently unnamed. Both admired the well-made lightsabers, and continued talking throughout the day and most of the night.
Apparently, Liran had been taken on by a wise and talented Master who had taken him to Alderaan, where they had seen the sights and preserved the peace there for two years. Then, they had left to visit many unusual worlds to search for young children with the Force. As they had returned them to the Temple, he had seen and talked to many of Ah'ma's old friends. They had stopped for a while in Coruscant, where he built his new lightsaber.
"It's very impressive."
"Took me two months to build! It should be!"
"Why didn't you name it?"
"Uh..."
"I named mine Raging Tides..."
"Raging Tides? Why that name?"
"Raging Tides...of Emotion."
"Jedis have no emotion."
"Maybe some do."
"I do. Ah'ma, my saber does have a name..."
"What?"
"Two blades. One called Larkwing...One called Ah'ma."
"...but they're -"
"Your names. Ah'ma, I love you."
Ah'ma could never have expected this. Shocked, she explained to him about Ghrin, and the secret relationship they shared. Liran was furious, and humiliated. Both that she was in love with her Master, not him, and that she hadn't told him. 'We're friends! Best friends!' he raged. 'Why?' But all she could say to comfort him was that nobody else knew either. It wasn't much help.
Liran, still lost in his anger, always his weakness as a Jedi, turned to the Order and the Council. He decided that it was his duty as a Padawan, soon-to-be Knight, to inform the Council of this...relationship. Jedis have no attachment. No emotion. It should be nipped in the bud. The two must be separated. And Ah'ma, his Ah'ma, would then be free from this advantage-taker. Free to love Liran as he loved her.
"Ghrin Knackler."
"Liran?"
"Yes..."
"What is it?"
"Ah'ma."
"What about her?"
"She loves you."
"...I -"
"And you love her back."
"No! I mean -"
"You mean you don't love her?"
"I -"
"Go far away from her, Ghrin. Stay away from Ah'ma. You don't deserve her."
"Mistress...I have some information that I believe is important to the Council..."
"Speak, Padawan."
"The Padawan Ah'ma Larkwing, and her Master, Grihn Knackler, I believe they have a relationship..."
"Friendship is not uncommon."
"Closer than that. Romance."
"And you are sure of this?"
"I was told by Ah'ma herself."
"I see. You are dismissed, Padawan."
"Thank you, Mistress."
Ah'ma was never sure what happened next, but the results came soon. Ghrin left the Temple alone, to do some work (apparently) in Alderaan. After Ah'ma had gone through the Trials successfully, he would gain his Master title. That was more important than love, and attachment. More important than Ah'ma. The Jedi Code was clear - serenity, and the Force. There is no death, there is the Force. He forgot about her, eventually, and moved on.
But she didn't find it so easy. Fury and contempt at Liran and Ghrin, love for her Master and misery at the way he had left her, fear for the Trials and hope for her becoming a Knight, all of these emotions raged inside her like the tides, swelling and fading, raging tides of emotion inside of her. Now she knew why she named her saber that. Bitterly, she dismissed the thoughts, focussing on the Trials.
"Ah'ma."
"What is it, Liran?"
"Do you still -"
"I love Ghrin. Now, and always."
"Are -"
"Yes."
"Ammy..."
"Liran, I never loved you. You were my friend, not a lover. I have never loved you, and I never will."
She shut down her emotions, like a good Jedi should. No feeling. No anger, no love, no misery, no fear. She prepared herself for the Trials, practising duels and meditating for long hours. Liran visited her every night, but she was so stiff and cold he eventually gave up on her, and grew into blaming her for everything that had happened. Their friendship ended. They never talked again.
The Trials soon came upon her, faster than she'd have liked. Many agree that it was the Trials that broke her, letting her sanity fade like rain on a sun-baked stone. It was a shame; she was a good Jedi with potential, and Ghrid could have been a Master so easily.
---
Red and white, the sabers danced. Flickering in and out, almost faster than the eye could see, parrying and attacking in a dance of death. It seemed like it could end any minute, but each blade was always ready for the other, and so the end never came.
Ah'ma broke away for a moment, breathing lightly, blinking away tears from dry eyes afraid of closing. The other fighter, a tall woman with long, straight hair as pale as moonlight, was readying her lightsaber for another attack, so she drew her second, violet blade. Both pairs of eyes narrowed, and the three blades resumed their dance.
Eventually, neither side advancing, the attacks slowed down. They circled each other, both on their constant guard, when one spoke.
"Ah'ma...Ah'ma Larkwing."
Ah'ma blinked, but didn't move a muscle from her slow, steady pacing.
"What do you want, Larkwing?"
She did not reply, her mind already trying to figure out how the Dark Jedi knew her name. The paces continued, her shoes slapping against the hard flooring.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
"Well, Jedi? What do you want?"
A sudden movement. Ah'ma's eyes flickered towards it. A scrap of cloth, nothing more. And then the Dark Knight's saber was upon her, and she had to banish everything else from her mind in a desperate bid to parry every blow. They were hard, unrelenting, and difficult to block, especially with her mind still in turmoil over what the Knight had said.
The blows finally eased, and the Knight stepped back, an arrogant smirk hitched to her beautiful face.
"What do you want, Jedi?"
Ah'ma steadied her growing anxiety, and paced in ever-tightening circles around the Knight.
"I want -" she spoke quietly, and then darted forward, her lightsabers flickering like candleflames around the Knight's body, scoring a deep cut along her arm. When she retreated, the Knight was still smiling, even as blood began to well along the wound.
"Child, they sent you to fight me?"
"I am enough!"
"You are an apprentice. A padawan, they are called, I believe." The relish in her voice was evident, and the way she spoke the word 'padawan' showed exactly what she thought of it. "Only a few years from a youngling infant."
"As I am but a few short months from a Knight," Ah'ma retorted, her anger rising even as she tried to keep it down.
"So these are your 'Trials'? How quaint. I'm rather honoured," the Knight replied, punctuating it with a slam towards Ah'ma's chest that left her gasping even after she blocked it, pushing it away. The force of it was terrifying. How could a person be so strong?
The Knight wasn't even out of breath. "I presume if you win this fight, you will become a Jedi...am I correct?"
Ah'ma was determined to give nothing away. "Maybe so."
But she only laughed, a low laugh that could have come from a mother, or a Master. Slightly mocking, kind and serious. "Young Jedi, you have so much to learn."
A snort. "I knew that from the moment I was born."
"Oh, really?" she replied politely, inferring that she didn't really think so at all.
Ah'ma did not even deign to reply to this, instead moving forward for a traditional cut and parry. The Knight blocked her attacks easily, as if bored with the proceedings, and added her own slice that left a thin scratch along Ah'ma's wrist.
She sucked in her breath, but the pain was small and no blood seemed forthcoming. "You are strong."
The Knight allowed herself a pause in the demanding pace of the fight. "I have been fighting longer than you, child."
"Maybe so."
"What do you want?"
"To kill you."
"But what else?"
"To pass the Trials."
"But what else?"
"To become a Knight."
She sblack personed. "Oh, little Jedi youngling, you know nothing. Luckily, I know what you want."
Ah'ma was curious, though sure that the answer would be typical. She had known that she would be tempted -
"You want to be allowed to love."
- but that answer knocked the breath from her body as neatly as a blow to the stomach.
"What are you talking about?" Ah'ma fought to keep a shiver from her voice.
"The Jedi are so strict about love...attachment is wrong, is that right?"
"Attachment leads to sadness. Sadness leads to anger. Anger to revenge." The words were recited to persuade Ah'ma as much as the Knight.
And then both blades were locked together, the Knight's red saber against Ah'ma's throat. She was so strong, the Dark one. The lightsaber moved slowly, but surely, towards her neck, touching it, cutting a faint line, then a stronger one. She shut her eyes in the pain, and kicked out, scuttling away to place a hand at her bleeding neck.
But the Knight left her no time to restore her strength, standing over her like some fierce animal, and attacking again and again, stabs that Ah'ma could barely parry and return without falling. She was losing this fight. Losing, and she knew it. Another stab to the leg that hit, wounded, and she fell.
Then the blows stopped, and a pale, elegant hand reached out to help her up. Ah'ma looked up at the Knight, all strength faded from her thin limbs. "What -"
"Stand, Ammy."
The use of her childhood name spurred her back into movement. She took the Knight's hand, and was pulled to her feet once more. Unsteadily, she stood upright, one lightsaber in her hand, the other fallen to the floor, bleeding in the leg and throat.
"Let me help you." And the voice was back, kind, loving, gentle like a mother's. Ah'ma had never had a mother, but that was what one should sound like. "Let me," the Knight pleaded, her fair hair loose and framing her proud face.
Ah'ma could do nothing but nod, and let the soft hands clean her wounds and care for her, as she fell into unconsciousness.
---
She was taken to the Knight's home on Alderaan, where she was cleaned, dressed and healed. During the time she stayed there she was treated with kindness and care, and she found herself comparing it to her childhood in the Jedi Temple. They allowed love. Love...
Ah'ma was slowly losing her sanity, and it showed. She forgot the twisted stories she had been told of the Sith and what they had done, dismissed the terrible rumours of death and torture, and though only of the Knight's kind voice and gentle hands, of how like a mother she was.
At the end of her time there, she was given an address so she would know where to return if she needed help, and sent safely on her way.
Her return to the Jedi caused an uproar. Everyone had been convinced that she was dead. Liran had mourned her death for the entire time, and Ghrin had flown back, against his commands, to talk to who had sent her, to search for his Ah'ma.
But she had changed. Half-mad, and unhappy, she ignored their questions, collected her clothes and items, and left the Jedi.
Instead, she returned to the house of her Knight, her carer, and was met with warm and welcoming arms. She was trained as a Dark Jedi for several years, and then was sent out on missions with the Knight, who she now knew was named Lihfa, to fight and kill members of the Jedi Order who had restricted her love.
Even as they lay dead, she felt no remorse, but her soul was gradually fading, and her sanity was on the brink of collapse. One final straw, and it would topple.
That was then she killed a cloaked Jedi and what she took for his Padawan, on Lihfa's orders. It was only after their hearts were stilled that she saw their faces.
Liran...
Liran and Ghrin.
Ah'ma left her Knight, insane and confused and repulsed. She took to wandering the streets in her tattered Jedi clothes, killing who she saw or blessing them depending on what memory she was reliving. She lives in the past, cloaking herself in Liran and Ghrin when she knew them as a little boy and a loving Master. To her, they are real. They help her, and guide her through madness. Twisted, warped and evil, she roams the streets of Alderaan, giving out death or life to whoever she sees fit. Fair-haired, tall beauties scare her like a child, still, and Masters and young boys cause her to babble. Beware of poor Ah'ma, children, but do not laugh and jeer.
---
Lightsaber: Dual (one single and a short)
[glow=Silver,2,300]Purity[/glow]: Her first saber. She is most comfortable with it.
[glow=Purple,2,300]Raging Tides (of Emotion)[/glow]: Her second saber, a shoto. Not as handy with this one as the other one.
Color: Silver-white, violet.