Stavah Shadowfall: Holocron 010
The Jedi healers here on Tython feel it would be beneficial for me to record this holocron; I have reluctantly agreed. I am trying to push through my feelings as they don’t serve me or the Republic, but I find it incredibly difficult given the situation. *chuckle* I can hear Master Adar’s voice, reminding me to take perspective on the situation, to view it dispassionately from a distance, to accept it’s existence but to be mindful that I have control over how I react.
Let me start at the beginning.
Last year for NaNoWriMo I started a novel called “Interim”, my attempt at fan fiction, or femslash, or both. The premise was the evolution of the relationship between Mahret and Lana Beniko through the 5 years they were apart until reunited. Ridiculously ambitious, too bad real life got in the way and it’s still in progress. Parts of the story were between cut scenes (hence my insistence on re-rolling Mahret and recording every cut scene and choice made). I still work on it almost daily, if you’re interested, here is part of the playlist I made as inspiration for the writing:
Standing around waiting was always the hardest part. She was much more comfortable in motion, this idleness frustrated her beyond words. Shifting uncomfortably in her new armor, Mahret chided herself for wearing it before breaking it in properly. It will see combat soon enough she mused as she surveyed the Sith on the dais before her. One she recognized as the man who brought her group of supplicants from obscurity at the academy to join The Sith Order. A few of the others, milling about the thrones looked familiar but none she had met. One seemed asleep, another seemed involved in torturing a slave, the others were involved in conversation or looking vaguely bored. It surprised her a little to see several Chiss members of the Dark Council, nice that they allowed other races; disappointing that the races seemed to be limited to the Chiss and Sith Purebloods. She could hear her lover, G’s voice in her mind, complaining about the subservient status of the Rattataki people and the Empire’s slow movement toward inclusion; it was one of their frequent arguments. Mahret’s participation in this tournament would likely start another. She wasn’t impulsive but she knew to trust the Force when it guided her and here was where she was meant to be. Mahret pushed down these distracting thoughts and focused her preparation.
When I started writing these little vignettes, I had a specific vision of where I wanted them to go. A few (posted here) were completed, the others half formed ideas and plots but as the game evolved, so did the story.
I’ve decided to give the former plot over to Rica. I think it’s done to be honest, I don’t see her moving into the future. She’s beautiful, fascinating, terrible and damaged but not where I want to focus my writing time. I have decided to evolve my former side project into something more.
As I wrote these stories I struggled to recall specific incidents or conversations and found myself increasingly looking to YouTube to see other people’s videos. I decided to take the big leap. I renamed the character “Mahret” and rolled her fresh, then recorded every cut-scene (except companions, but don’t worry she didn’t romance any of them).
The entire story from her arrival on Korriban through KoTFE (including her romance with Lana Beniko) is found on YouTube. Link after the break.
Because I need to watch these videos at least once a month to keep my sanity. “Who’s THEY?!” “What the hell is an aluminum falcon?!”
Holocron 03 = Private = Security Encryption = Eyes Only
It starts like all the others, I’m being chased. The other dreams, my usual nightmares, are labyrinthian but varied, winding from location to location, ship to building, every time the locale is different, only the chase is the same. This dream is always the same, the scar of memory back to torment me as it has for years.
Always the same, I am once again there, the dank, small cargo hold turned bedroom on that cursed ancient freighter. He’s dragged me here, bruised and bloody. My angry tears a traitor to my stoic glaring hatred. I won’t cry. I won’t beg. He used to hold a knife to my throat, as if he needed to. He’s not a big man, but even an average sized adult is giant to a nine year old. When his hands begin to grope me I go slack; numb. He’s taken the fight from me, many months of his frequent vicious abuse has taught even my stubbornness that lesson. Fighting back now would only add more bruises, another broken bone for the droid to mend later. It was in these moments I discovered the Force; as he brutalized me I let the numbness slip and let the rage take it’s place. I couldn’t stop it, but I could endure it, and every time it left me a little stronger, a little more determined. He could for now claim my body as his prize, but one day I would be avenged.