What the 7 Hells, Loklorien s'Ilancy?

How many days had she been here? How many nights had she spent staring blankly at an unfamiliar ceiling? It was nothing cold or sterile, as she had imagined would be the case in whatever Imperial facility she imagined herself to be placed within. No, nothing about this place was Imperial. The notion that her psyche might be rejecting some reality and overlaying an existence far more soothing had certainly entered her thoughts during those times that she was awake and cogent, but there had also been enough reassurances to eventually convince her that her ordeal on Umbara with Captain Wygraant hadn't resulted in her being spirited to Coruscant.

She knew that the two of them had been taken from the old Eta shuttle, she knew Zem and the healer, Kaie, had been there. Teagan as well. She knew she had allowed her body to fall into the deep embrace of slumber so that her metabolism could begin to knit together the damage done to her. She could even remember waking, eating a breakfast of sorts, and watching as the Imperial Captain had made his way down the shuttle's boarding ramp and into the dusky afternoon of Antar IV.

And then... then everything seemed a blur. She had returned to the small bunk offered so that she could rest once more, sleeping soundly even as they landed upon Ossus. Vague memories of being taken to the medical ward, of being treated, and then... then nothing.

When she'd become aware again, Zem had been there. He was perched over her, and she caught a mumbled string of words that sounded vaguely like 'you're home now'. Exhaustion took her back after that, and her world went dark.

* * *

Eyes opened slowly to cast a broken gaze up to that unfamiliar ceiling. A groan, and the Lupine rolled to her side in a ponderous movement beneath a heap of blankets and covers. She felt sluggish, a cobweb of disoriented thoughts stirring through her mind as her body haltingly obeyed her wish to rise.

All around was silence, and taking a shaky first step, the blonde shifted her gaze up and around her. A hand shifted upwards to grasp a handful of the soft white fabric that was the shirt she was wearing. She swallowed, throat achingly dry.

The quietness of the house was only disturbed by the sounds of nature outside. The sun caused the drawn shades to glow, and she reached out to pull one side over. Unfiltered, the light was blinding and her eyes clenched shut as her fingers let go, allowing the homespun cloth to fall back into place.



There was no inspection of the house she was in; there didn't really need to be. She knew who it belonged to from his descriptions well enough. He'd called it their home, and so had Teagan. In any other circumstance she would've enjoyed the chance to see where her children now lived, but in the here and now there was only one need - to quench the terrible thirst that currently plagued her.

Stepping from that back bedroom, the Lupine had found a roughspun cloak to wrap herself with, and padding cautiously down the hallway, emerged into a kitchen and dining area.

It took little time to find a glass, and greedily she filled it from the tap. Moments later she had finished half.

The glass was set roughly on the counter as she sucked in a long breath.

She was back.

Back on Ossus.

But for how long?

The smell of vegetation and blue skies were small comforts to Morgan. He needed comfort in knowledge. He needed to rest, according to the doctor.

He moved stiffly off of the boarding ramp of the Alliance supply shuttle. This was now the extent of the Alliance's funding to Ossus, a trickle of supplies in exchange for advice. Unlike the Jedi of the past, who were interwoven into the fabric of the Republic, both parties seemed to be more comfortable with the friendly role of neighbor who mostly talked over the fence and exchanged baked goods and tools.

How long had he ever stayed on Ossus? It seemed he was never there for more than a few weeks. He had spent most of a year on the Novgorod, and then he'd been everywhere else. Morgan shuffled painfully towards his small dwelling. His nerves flared randomly as he walked. He exhaled through gritted teeth. He suspected that if not for his unique combination of gifts, he'd be dead.

Like most of the Jedi, he had a small, spartan space he called his own. It wasn't much more than a bed, a place for clothing, a fresher, and a kitchenette that totaled to 24 meters. For his purposes, it could have been smaller, although he appreciated the space for a workbench. Morgan opened the door. The place had been cleaned, likely by a droid or a Padawan. There wasn't a lock on his door. His workbench was as he left it from disassembling the tractor gauntlet: not everything had been put away, but there was clearly a form of mise en place at work. Tools were not scattershot. There was a sample of the neccessary equipment from their respective boxes, but nothing more. Morgan had put everything that wasn't in action back. Now nothing was in use. He moved to the bench and put the remainder of his tools away. The rest of the room came back into existence. A pair of simple but overstuffed chairs occupied a corner. There was a small, low table oriented to the chairs. The kitchenette occupied the window wall, which brought natural light over the sink. The fresher was split between the sonic shower and a toilet.

This was his space. He had helped build it. Yet he felt no connection to anything but the tools on the workbench. He took a drink of water, filled it and downed half in a clumsy gulp. His hand felt that it was on a star, and then that it burned with the cold of deep space. The hand wrenched itself open. Gravity took its course. After the glass had fallen almost all the way out of his hand, the hand snapped closed. The glass clattered into the sink no worse for the wear. He stared blankly for a minute before he shuffled to the bedroom. Morgan pulled his jacket, holster and belt off. He lobbed them into a corner of the room and then collapsed gracelessly into the bed, his booted feet hanging off the edge. He felt his eyes roll back.

He woke slowly, and could feel the full pull of gravity, but he felt that his vision was blurry. It was dark. It smelled damp. He could hear a steady drip. Morgan blinked. The sound of the drop had a slight echo. Was he in a cave? No. It was too round. A pipe, then. He turned back and rubbed his eyes. What was he doing again? He turned back to the datapad and the wires from the conduit, but he couldn't count the wires or determine their colors and couldn't read the display. He looked at the datapad itself, and could tell from the shape was his prefered cheap model that he used when he was worried about counter-intrusion systems. Morgan left it dangling from the wires after another failed attempt to read it.

Soft light issued from one end of the pipe, so he followed it. Each step seemed slow and heavy but the walk seemed to take no time at all. There was an access ladder and a manhole cover that was open, which explained the safety blue/orange/yellow/infrared striped clothing he wore. And the helmet. He took the helmet off for a moment, but couldn't read the logo or markings. Again, they were too blurred. Strange. He put the helmet back on and climbed the ladder. Again it felt slow and heavy but seemed to be done almost instantly. Buildings towered kilometers above him and suddenly he was falling. He couldn't focus on any of the rooms that rushed by. He could only see them but their depths were closed. The ground was getting close. It was too close. His heart pounded and panic flooded his mind.

Morgan jerked up in a cold sweat and took a ragged gasp. One hand was filled with pillow. It took effort to unclench the hand and return the pillow to the head of the bed, but it was done. He took a slow, deep breath and focused on his present surroundings. The light from the window had dimmed, but was still bright out. He'd only been asleep for two to four hours. It was likely early afternoon.

He took another deep breath and disrobed. He shuffled into the sonic shower and clumsily mashed the controls to work. He placed his forehead against the curved wall and squeezed his eyes shut. His nerves fired random, incorrect messages of pressure, pain and temperature. Morgan turned the shower off after a minute. He left his head against the wall and blinked the tears away. After a slog back to the bedroom, he managed to dress himself, drink more water and shuffle back into the daylight. Sometimes it felt warm, but there were times it felt cold or like waves of pressure. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he was going.

He saw Loklorien through the kitchen window. Her silver eyes and mess of blonde hair were unmistakeable. She was here on Ossus, and following the chaos of the fleet battle above, he had never gotten an explanation. He willed himself to the door and lifted his hand to knock.

The muffled - it seemed muffled - rapping on the front door was enough to pull her from inner contemplation, and s'Il set her glass down on the counter beside the sink. She cast her gaze down to the two basins, then let her eyes scan to the side, past the few items of permanent residence on the countertop until she was looking across the expanse of the front room to the door. Was it locked? There was no way to know.

Being the only body in a strange house, despite the fact that it had been called hers as well, was enough to bring forth a feeling of indecision. Should she answer? Should she ignore? If Zem were here, what would he do? Was the person on the other side expected?

A myriad of other possibilities and questions rattled about in her mind as she slowly stepped back. There was no reason to not answer; this was Ossus after all. There was no worry of some Imperial with a squad of stormtroopers waiting on the other side.

A halting gait brought her through the kitchen area, past the living area, and into the front entryway. Bare feet met the cool tiled flooring, and reaching out, she closed one hand around the doorknob as the other reached for the deadbolt. It was a simple yet effective design that seemed to survive through the ages. The bolt slid back, and she turned the knob.

When the door opened she found herself face to face with a man she'd not seen since the Battle of Ossus.

Morgan stopped, unable to form a complete thought. Between his own personal traumas and whatever had happened to her there was many questions that had gone unaswered. Both had been through recent damages.

"Hi." Morgan said, as if he didn't entirely believe that he'd uttered the word. She stared blankly, equally unable to cope with the reality of the simple greeting.

"May I come in?" He asked. This question was more real. Lok was still mute. After a bloated pause, she moved her body out of the doorway and gestured to an empty chair. It appeared to be of Cizeri origin, and was more elaborate than any furniture he'd owned. It was probably a gift from the Meorrrei family. It's design didn't detract from it's function. In fact, the chair was exceedingly comfortable. Loklorien took a seat in something plainer, probably something Zem had found.

Morgan let out a slow, painful breath when he settled back against the chair. He attempted to gather his thoughts, and then concluded they had to wait. She looked almost frail. Not a physical frail, but a strong person who had taken a beating to the body and soul.

"Are you okay, Lok?"

For a moment she let her silence continue, but it wasn't long before the quiet between them became a thing needed to be broken.

"I am recovering."

Simple words. For now, there was no underlying meaning other than what they were on their face. Morgan Evanar was entirely capable of reading between and beneath the lines, but why do that when plain words did the job so much more efficiently?

"Umbara was not kind."

The Lupine wasn't blind however, and it was easy to tell that Evanar looked as discordant as she.

She kept her eyes locked with his.

"I'd wager that I'm not the only one who looks and feels like Bantha shit right now, though."

Umbara was one of the worlds with "NO" written above it on maps. The Umbarans were known to fire on everybody. However she had gotten there would have a helluva story. A story for another time.

"I'm not doing so great." Morgan admitted. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He returned his mind to the chaos above Ossus, in the strange, ancient Lupine ship and it's recalcitrant droid brain. He remembered the stench of evil from the Dauntless as she burned. His fight had been to keep the damn thing operational, which the never intentioned melding of modern and archaic technologies fighting him at almost every turn.

He gathered the will to ask, although neither were in the best condition. The way their lives seemed to be going he'd never get another chance. He opened his eyes again.


"Lok, over Ossus, what happened? Something changed you."

It was a question that she suspected would come about, and there was no real surprise in her features as her gaze shifted from him, tracking downwards to the floor. It was a straightforward question that deserved an answer.

"Everything I did before," her voice started slowly, each word spoken carefully, "... I did because I was convinced that it was the only way to save my children."

Her hands shifted, slender fingers weaving together in her lap.

"The lie had been with me for a very long time, weaving himself into my life and promising everything. Love, a family, hope, and so much more."

A cloud of shame darkened the Lupine's features then, as her mismatched eyes went back up to Evanar.

"The funny thing about such lies though, they are never fully unraveled until it is too late. I'd fought the Dark until the moment I could no longer defend myself, but before that happened I was determined to do what I could to ensure his - and my - defeat."

The memory of Marlon Kori and countless others flashed briefly in her mind's eye.

"It was not enough."

But, all of this was still vagueries, and she let out a long breath before returning to a much more violent moment in the past.

"How much has Sol Iman told you about what happened on Generis?"

He stared at her for a moment and turned away. She'd sold her soul and she knew it. She also knew how much it cost everyone around her to get it back. It weighed on her. She was tired and hurt, but not just from her wounds, but from the burden she refused to share.


"Lok..." He looked back at her again, with a new understanding and empathy.


"...no. No one told me what happened beyond the message, and I didn't ask. For many of us two friends died that day." His voice went hoarse at the end of the statement and dissolved into a painful coughing fit. He brought his arm to cover his mouth but that was all he could do as the cough wracked his upper body. He blinked the tears away as the bout subsided. Morgan looked at his arm, relieved at the absence of pink flecks.


"He did give you children, though. I guess the most seductive lies are the ones closest to the truth."

She nodded, "They are the most dangerous and hard to resist."

Words spoken in agreement, and not a little bit of self-damning. A silence hung between them for a small bit of time as her thoughts seemed to scatter for but a moment. They reformed, and she continued on.

"For so long I thought I had killed Sol. He had been an old friend, a fellow Padawan at the Temple, and I had done him the most terrible service of sending him to be one with the Force. My anger was stoked and fed, and he had paid the price."

The Lupine swallowed, and her eye focused on a point beyond Evanar's shoulder.

"Except, he had not died."

The shock was still raw, from when she'd seen him once more in the flesh. He'd been there, alive, on his shuttle. Him and James and Byl and... Zem.So much could have been wrong, so much could have been lost, and yet it wasn't. They'd been desperate in that race against time, but they had been alive. It was memory enough to quell any further words.

His coughing fit had not gone unnoticed however, and s'Il slowly returned to her feet, a motion slow and deliberate that allowed no room for argument.

"I will get you water."

Morgan didn't have the energy to argue. He acknowledged her generosity with a nod. He watched Lok shuffle to the kitchen, got a glass, and filled it. She paused for a moment, and then returned with an outstretched arm.

"Thanks." He managed, and coughed twice more before he took a sip. Lok carefully returned to the plain chair and found that his pain was seemingly mirrored on her.

"Lok, we're a damn mess." He said. Morgan could feel his throat push toward rasp. He took another sip. "We've got to get healthy. Bad things are coming. We, all of us we aren't ready for it. There is a group out there that is gunning for Jedi and not just in the gun sense. They're trying to make sure..." he disolved into a coughing fit. Once the fit subsided enough he took another drink of water.

"...so they're trying to poison the galaxy against Jedi. With deep pockets or resources. I'm trying to not tip my hand."
He drank a big gulp this time, and took a slow breath. Morgan's face strained for a moment while he willed his body to obey him.

"Tip my hand that I'm a Jedi. I got a neurotoxin for my trouble and a knife wound. I let the council know and all, but I was doing something about it. Now I can't. I think I'm scared but I'm hurting too much to feel it."

She couldn't help the stony expression that'd fallen over her features as he spoke. What he was telling her... why did it seem as though the Jedi always managed to emerge from one hardship into yet another? She scowled then, taking in each word he spoke with a measured pace, her thoughts trying to piece together what this new danger could mean. Her broken gaze settled on the glass of water that he now held, and the Lupine let out a long breath as she felt her body settle into the chair fully. It was as though she was anchoring herself, anchoring the floor, anchoring the very ground that made up the surface of Ossus.

"What can I do to help."

It was no question, rather a statement of intent. Whatever the Council decided - if she was to be able to once more walk upon Ossus or forever be turned away, she still had to help. Even if the Jedi kept her at arm's length, they were still her family and the family of her children. They were worth protecting, and she was determined to provide that protection.

"I will do all that I can," she finally finished, her voice just above a whisper.

Morgan sighed.


"I mean first we need a weeklong nap or something. We look like the nexu dragged us in and then took an extra swipe for good measure. But after we have a nap, if you bump into anything weird that might even be the slightest bit related, well, I'd appreciate it. Might save a few lives." He gave Lok a tired approximation of a smile.


"We've got to stop meeting each other like this. I'm gonna get out of your hair and lay down for a bit." He stood. His legs looked a bit unsteady. Morgan looked down at his feet. She could see him shift his weight experimentally, frown, and then disappear with a brief pop of displacement.