Log:Force: Light and Dark Personified

Fate has a way of bringing two roads into one. The Force has a means converging paths. It is on an unsuspecting neighbourhood street on Tatooine that such a convergence occurs. Where two scions of Light and Dark collide for the first time since the return of the emergence of a new Emperor.

Light and Dark Personified

OOC Date: June 05, 2022
Location: Mos Espa, Tatooine
Participants: Xavier Harcourt, Qutha Buvu Pah

__/< Sandstone Neighborhood - Mos Espa, Tatooine >__/~~\____/~~\____/~~\____/~

Passing through a sandstone archway one will find themselves in a small neighborhood of sorts.

This is a collection of homes one can purchase and call their own. These homes are connected via sandstone archways that lead in to each personal residence. They are similar in design to the slave quarters to the south, but are larger with more amenities, including personal backyard areas and even basements to further get away from the heat.

These residences are quiet and rarely see much trouble, though sometimes trouble has a way of making itself an issue.

__/~~\____/~~\____/~~\____/~~\____/~~\____/~~\____/~~\____/~~\____/~~\____/~~\

-- Xavier --

Night is nearing over Mos Espa as the suns are marking their natural arc towards the horizon. Workers are starting to return to their homes and vendors are packing up their stalls. In another hour or so, the light of the twin suns will have gone to bed beyond the horizon, bringing in the chill of a desert night. Moving from work to leisure, life gathers to bustling bars and cantinas as denizens begin winding down for the evening. Tomorrow will be another brutal, blistering day.

The crowded adobe houses of the Sandstone Neighbourhood line the sandy streets and alleys with natural facades where shadows of late day grow longer. Families begin gathering inside for dinner and lone survivors eek out a moment's reprieve watching a rerun episode on a staticky holovid.

A figure lumbers down the street; a portly man hefting his weight in an uneven waddle that betrays a limp. Hefting a bag over his shoulder with a grunt, the stout man grumps and grumbles to himself, thin hair in a comb-over and sweat beading his brow even in the cold of the night. On his way home, he stops for a moment to lean against a darkened, empty home; grabbing a kerchief to dab at his forehead when a suddenly he is all but sucked into a shaded alley at an alarming speed; dropping his bag in the process and marking nary a sound.

-- Qutha --

Running low on time, but the mushroom farmers working with a local moisture fielder had been repaid in full. For the supplies and the assistance in traveling the Dune Sea during the early days of the banning of the Order and the persecution for their protecting a person who, personally, Qutha felt was due punishment for his crimes. Not free reign to travel with the order he helped to almost eliminate for the second time in less than a century time.

Moving at a quickened stride through Sandstone, hood up to hide his features and his robes looking more like a common workers than a member of any order. Even with the cross breasted tunic and trousers - the belt is a serviceable tool belt rather than one for utilities and his boots are heavy, durasteel toed, work wear rather than smooth and polished things favored by his fellows.

"Dear oh dear." cloak closed tight before his chest his movements are arrested by the sudden disappearance of the man who was only a handful of meters ahead of him - stopping in his tracks and looking about with wide eyes glimmering like gemstones in the reddening light.

"Oh... bother." looking one way and then leaning to try and peer down an alley.

-- Xavier --

The alley itself is narrow and comes to a dead end halfway down, the shade of the buildings on either side darkening the narrow passageway but not fully obscuring it. Light of the suns still reflections and bounces around, providing plenty of beams to make the sight of two figures within.

One is the porty man now pressed up again a side of the alley, his eyes bulging wide like a fish brought up to the surface too face. He is staring up in silent, mouth-agape terror at a taller figure pinning him in place. This second figure is broad shouldered and adorned in common Tatooine attire. A dark taupe robe over a sand coloured tunic, a faded slate blue ring of fabric hung loosely about his neck. A full head of black hair falls over a large brow; heavy eyebrows sunk down over his eyes in a tense expression of concentration.

"Where? Tell me where they were going." It's a hiss of a command; one that Xavier does not expect the rotund man to answer verbally. Instead, his grip under his quarry's neck tightens; dark eyes intensifying.

-- Qutha --

There's a part of him, a part that he has always fought against, been ashamed of despite having never cowed or capitulated to, that screams for Qutha to just keep walking. But the tug of his instincts turns his head to see the two down the alleyway. Mouth pulling into a sad frown. Rather than furious. Rather than indignant. Such cruelty is common place all across the galaxy and it breaks the Zelosian's heart every time. Brow turning into corrugated duranium and that little voice he's always ignored demanding that it's not their business. Not their concern. Turn and walk, get back to the ship before dark. Get out and get back to where the light won't go out. Where some of his charges have stowed away on while the rest live and thrive on their new homeworld.

"Sir... y'need t'put 'em down... sir." Pulling his hood back from his face and the mop of sandy hair with it, "Don' know what he might'a done what got you all stirred up as such... But t'ain' ever call for treatin' folk as that. N'matter whatcha feel they done 'gainst you."

One foot into the alley and the urge to run renews itself. The hairs on the back of his neck stand out and the chlorophyll in his veins runs cold. Hesitation. Doubt. Fear. Fear like that comes with the fingers of darkness with the setting sun running over the land. Fear; the great enemy that begs to take the easy way. The quicker way. Fear the great seducer.

"I'm one with The Force..." whispered, barely above the sow of breath past his lips. A deep breath taken and he lets go of his sense of the present. He lets those subtle tugs guide him. Instinct. Reaching out with his feelings. The second step and it's silenced.

"And The Force is with me." breathed out just as softly.

-- Xavier --

The short legs of the man held fast against the wall are kicking weakly, feebly as if knowing he can't escape the grip but his instincts demanding he still try. Pudgy fingers gripping at the tattooed wrist that has him like a vicegrip, not quite choking the air out of him but putting enough pressure on his windpipe to make crying for help impossible. And who would come for him anyways? Tatooine swallows the weak as a sarlaac swallows the unwary. And this man knows he, too, will be lost to the sands soon enough. Yet he cannot fathom what it is being asked of him. Cannot make sense of why he is facing death in the eyes of a stranger.

Only a quirk of an eyebrow as a voice from the end of the alley interrupts Xavier's concentration; unable to probe the feeble mind of the man paralyzed in fear. Then a slow turn of his head. That brow returns pinched to the other, scrunched in vague recognition. Then... a grin. "Ah. A small galaxy indeed. The farmhand from a wayward planet here on the dunes. This is hardly your trouble."

Xavier looks back to his prey, his eyes sharpening once more. A cry breaks from the man's throat somehow squeezing through what is left of his trachea, his head snapping back as if slapped there suddenly and violently. Sweat pours down is face as it reddens under the strain.

And from this pair in the alleyway, the Force shudders.

-- Qutha --

"Well, t'ain the type who'd be lookin' t'other way when folk are bein' hurt. Even if he'd done wrong, no one deserves that." another step into the alley as though he were wading into a pool where the calm that envelopes Qutha becomes a breakwater for the harsher ripples that echo from the other pair. Serene in the face of a viper, the orchardist takes another step and another.

Brow creasing again, corners of his mouth pinching back, Qutha stops just out of arms reach, "Sir. B'reasonable. Take a breath an put t'poor fellah down, please." unwilling to do more than try to get what read of the tall man feels, to try and understand him - lower lip sticking out slightly and both hands are up, palms out to show they're empty.

"We had a pleasant, if a little intense, chat way back then. Could do the same. But you need to be reasonable. Calm. Anger t'ain' gonna help nosuch, lease v'all you, sir." offering a polite smile now, emerald like eyes flitting from one figure to the other and in the back of his mind he feels something tugging at his belt as if to reassure him that if they both find there is no choice; that its there at the very end of need.

-- Xavier --

There's a niggling in Xavier's mind like gentle fingers tickling just beyond his sense of perception. But it's there all the same, plucking the threads of the Force like the strings of a tightly wound harp. Brown eyes slide closed, relinquishing the idea that he would be able to probe the information he needs from his target. No, not with this man here. And not with the tiny, tiny ripples he is feeling.

Oh, they are minute. So small that Xavier finds doubt already rising in his mind. It could just be annoyance at this interloper who seems to have an uncanny ability to show up when he's on the trail of the Missing Hand. So close, damnit. So close. "Friend." Xavier's voice lowers to a subterranean level: a place where a term such as 'friend' does not belong. "You misunderstand. I am not angry."

The grip Xavier holds on the man tightens, bunching up the fabric clenched in his fist and drawing around the short man's neck like a noose. When his eyes open again, the Force pulses once more; fanning outwards like the roar of a krayt dragon. "I am working."

A smile splits across his bearded chin and Xavier tilts his head towards Qu. The air around them condenses and grows taut like a spring about to snap. "Put him down?"

-- Qutha --

"You don't have to do this, sir." a shake that tremors Qutha's entire frame when he feels things coalesce and tense. The threat of the doubting voice and the bite of Fear coiling now, preparing to cast itself on his back and grip hard. "There's better options than t'work that way, sir." Qutha's shaking stops and he feels himself let go, again. Trusting when others might bend or turn.

"I ain' gonna leave, an'I can't let you hurt this man any more." mouth a hard line and he lets his arms fall at last to rest a shift of concentration in his features while a cylindrical object slowly moves beneath his cloak, up from his belt and into the sleeve, coming to rest against his forearm and the heel of his palm, waiting to drop down now.

"Please sir. Set 'em down, unhurt and let'em go. This is all over now and y'need to take a long look at what y'doin here. What good can'nit be if you gotta be n'better than an animal t'git whatcha want?" a firmness taking to him now, "This's y'last chance t'do the right thing."

-- Xavier --

The pressure only builds, drawing inwards as the man in his grip radiates fear and despair. That panic of losing one's breath and seeing the peripheral vision begin to fade. All the more fuel for Xavier to pull into himself. Deep inhale fills his lungs and exhales in an almost blissful sigh. "Last chance? Yes. Yes, I think it is."

It happens in a blink. Xavier's left hand releases the bundle of clothing within his palm, dropping the heavyset man and allowing gravity to do its work. Before the portly fellow can even feel the flatstones beneath him, a twist at Xavier's waist brings the full arc of his arm around. In the flutter of momentum, the wide sleeves of his Tatooine robe pulls away, revealing the jagged pattern of a dark tattoo running up the length; disappearing again under the fabric with the promise that it continues upwards.

There is no chance to appraise it, however. Palm outwards, Xavier unleashes the fury he had pulled in around him into one solid, point-blank blast of pressure. Boots rooted to the ground, a wall of energy punches outwards aimed directly for Qutha's mass. The intention to send him off of his feet and propelled backwards towards the entrance of the alleyway once more.

The victim crumbles to the ground, grabbing at his constricted throat and coughing hoarsely; left behind as Xavier is already running forward and plunging his hand into his robes to grasp at a cylinder beneath.

-- Qutha --

Kicked off his feet and sent skidding along the ground, the literal Force behind the strike battering the air out of him. Bones and tissue bruising and only, finally, stopping once he has tumbled from the mouth of the alley. Coughing and rolling to be on one hand and both knees - wooden sheathed cylinder meters away from him and laying against a wall, Qutha's hand lifts and extends towards Xavier now.

"Please stop." said, commanded, but there's no strength in it. The will cannot be summoned and like his voice at present, it's like a wheezing gasp in the living force. He can only get to his feet, shakily, and sway there. Eyes locking on the man who had been held up, the Zelosian can do nothing more than try to hold his gaze and gasp out one word,

"Run."

-- Xavier --

Xavier pulls out from his robe a metallic cylinder though... not a saber. One that Qutha would be quite familiar with: that of a stunsaber. Held in his right hand, Xavier emerges from the alleyway slowly, observing the shaken man with cold yet amused eyes. He doesn't attack again. Instead he steadies his stance with feet apart just beyond the mouth of the alley.

"What is your name? Friend." Again, that term lingers somewhere in the darkness it does not belong. Imprisoned somewhere down, down below.

In the alley, the short man finds his feet. Dizzy and disoriented, instincts are telling him to run. Qutha's suggestion is what brings it into action. Heavyset stomps carry him towards the only escape from the alleyway, though it feels like a nightmare. Where no matter how fast he runs, he gains no distance. And still there is that dark-haired man just beyond the way. Though his back is turned. Perhaps he can...

He almost slips by as his attacker is distracted, but the snaphiss pops through the air and a bright white stream of light is suddenly blocking the escapee's path.

Xavier stands with his arm extended back; blocking the man's way while keeping his eyes on Qutha. "Tell me your name, and I'll release him."

-- Qutha --

"My name is Qutha... so let him go. Please. This doesn't have to be this way." his hand still out, shifts to one side and turns to hold the wooden sheathed cylinder that shakes and then hurls itself into his grip. A screech of super heated air being forced aside with the rise of the bright blue blade that extends with a press of the sun-disk set into the intricately hand carved grip - casting an azure light across the Zelosian that plays off of the subtle green hues beneath his skin.

"Even now, we don't need to descend to this. I forgive you. There's darkness in you and you're using it. But in the end it will use you and cast you aside." wavering on his feet and slowly regaining his breath, a deep breath through his nose and a momentary closing of his eyes. Trusting his instincts and the guidance of The Force.

When he speaks again he's calm, accepting, "Please, friend. We don't need to do this. You shouldn't want to do this." another slow breath and he moves to take on a defensive pose, his saber held high and ready to swing where it must to try and interpose between aggressor and he. "We can talk and you can take a moment to look at what you're doing. Even if you feel it is the right way in the end, it should be assessed, for your own sake."

-- Xavier --

And the world waited.

For a painful few heartbeats, it is as though the wind itself is afraid to breathe. There is a stillness in the air the presses down upon them with a gravity it should not hold. A suffocation that stifles and chokes. Though light vibrates from the blade he holds, there is a darkness to Xavier's stare. Unfeeling and calculating.

Behind him the man cowers and shivers, also afraid to move for fear a twitch will see that frightening, unfamiliar blade fall upon him. The pure white light reflected in his wide, panicked eyes.

The moment passes. The blade lifts. When the man does not immediately run, Xavier barely turns his head to regard him bitingly over his shoulder: "Go." Apparently through with him now that something far greater has crossed his path. The bright blue of Qutha's blade grabbing his full attention now.

A yelp and the man finds surprising dexterity to tear down the street and round a corner. Maybe to hop the first flight off Tatooine and never look back.

"Qutha." Xavier's wrist rotates, bringing the soft hum of the saber to life. "It has already used me and cast me aside. Just as the Jedi did before them. This? Well, this is the result of those institutions, mmm? Your forgiveness is a century too late."

-- Qutha --

"Never, sir. S'never too late. There s'always another chance." moving slowly, blade lifted and moving so that he is between the fleeing man and Xavier. "I don't wanna fight you. I don't want none for harm to any. So that man is free, we can go our separate ways. You just leave 'em be. I'll letcha be in kind."

The blue setting gem like eyes glazing and Qutha begins taking a step back and another if unimpeded. "Y'got t'hurt som'n, n'I got that man a chance. So we both got sommat we wanted." an attempt to offer a smile, but the pain makes it a grimace at first. A cough shaking him and he proceeds, "So I forgive ya, no matter ifn' y'think tis early or late. Forgiveness h'ain' got no expiration date, sir." Swallowing hard and attempting one more step.

"So le's call it a day, eh?"

-- Xavier --

Every step Qutha makes, Xavier makes another in kind; mirroring his rival's movements with his own. A semi-circle formed as Qu shifts to put himself between the fleeing man and his would-be aggressor. A slide back for the Jedi is a pitch forward for the Sith. "Oh, I believe that you don't want to hurt anyone. But you do. Eventually. You and those of your Order. You find reasons to hurt. Forced into it, maybe. Self defense, perhaps. I might even be compelled to believe you, personally, detest violence."

Xavier's posture shifts into that of a ready stance with feet lined with the shoulders and saber to his side. A readiness that speaks of training yet lacking the finesse of practice and control. Raw power and memory winds up behind that poise. "But your Order as a whole: they're just as violent as the Sith. Just as controlling. Just as deceitful. Every Sith you will meet... were bore from the cruelty of the Jedi. Your forgiveness is neither needed nor wanted here. Your kind lost that battle long ago."

A hand gripping upon the cylinder is all the warning Qutha gets before Xavier is quickly closing in the distance, spurred on by the influence of vengeance that springs him to action to join the duel.

-- Qutha --

The azure blade only comes around in an attempt to block that leaves one arm numb and hanging while Qutha continues to backpedal. Hissing in a breath and skittering backwards, he gives a pained look to Xavier before he resumes the defensive stance, "Forgiveness s'needed most at times like now... When sommat are feelin' as y've said, sir."

Still moving slowly, backing away, a genuine look of regret stealing across his expression and genuine sadness radiating through the force from the zelosian. "We could handle this like civ'lized folk. You have an ale, I'll have'a fizzpop... But w'd need 'extinguish these blades, sir. We could both b'better'n we're bein' right now." watching Xavier's eyes. Never taking his gaze from the others as he makes his case.

"If'n you don' have a hankerin' for such, we just take our sep'rate ways... Lik'n I said, you got t'hurt someone... an n'I saved another. I h'ain' askin for no appol'gese, but I'm sorry we had t'come to this."

-- Xavier --

The time for words to sway him has long-since passed. That turmoil Qutha had gotten a glimpse upon runs deep through him. The corrosion of time eaten away by the torment that turned him from the Order. The decades spent relishing in a drive for power and Order. Then... then....

"I didn't come all the way just to /hurt/ someone, you fool." Another tremor radiates from Xavier, the pinch of his eyes narrowing creasing his face. Contorting it to a visage of distaste. Distrust. Words cannot reach him. Nothing can touch him beyond the screaming he now hears in his head once more. That ever present cacophony.

Qutha takes a step back and Xavier answers with another viper-like snap of his arm outwards. Fingers splayed out then curl like painful claws, grabbing at a two-wheeled cart parked in front of one of the homes. It rattles under the invisible power, the wood groaning and splinted before it flies from it's place and topples over with a loud crash to block Qutha's escape. Or at least make it more difficult to utilize the route.

It also made a bit of noise.

"Stand and face what your kind have created. What they perpetuate, Jedi. Reap what your predecessors have sown."

-- Qutha --

The crash jolts Qutha and he finds himself backing against the wreckage, swallowing and finally lowering his arm, extinguishing his saber with a buzzing hiss. Letting it rest with the point towards the ground now.

"M'not gonna be w'tever is you hate. I h'ain' them. I'm sorry you were hurt. But I'm jus'a orchardist n'I don't wannna hurt anyone. I don't wanna take anything. You kin call me a fool, n'I wish y'could fin' 'nother way t'fin' that thing you wan' so bad y'd do as'n you've done t'git it. You're the one who won' accept a kindness, n'I'm sorry I cain' git past whatever anger or pain s'in there. I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

A side step to try and get around the obstacle results in his feet getting tangled and Qutha goes down to smash his face into the street with a spurt of green spraying from a split lip and what may be a broken nose. Struggling to get to his hands and knees, to crawl away until he can get his boots back under him. Stopping for a breath, eyes closed and letting go. Calm seeping into him and his shaky rise brings him back to stand with a wheeze in his throat and pain lancing through him from the cracked ribs in his chest. The large knot on the back of his head where he struck. Scrapes beneath his clothes staining them green. But it's without fear. At peace and acceptance of the Will of The Living Force. "If'n you strike me down, you prove me right... 'bout the both've us, sir. Ifn' you don', you prove me right, that ther'n some good in there, that the Darkness can't fully eclipse it all." running the back of his hand beneath his nose and smearing chlorophyll across a cheek.

"F'I die f'it, I die honest. Violence t'ain' gonna come fr'm me. Th's for you t'choose sir." hanging his lightsaber and turning to limp with his back towards the other, "Strike or stan'... but ifn' you strike, I forgive you, whether y'accept it or not." dragging the foot with the twisted ankle in his calmed retreat, pulling his hood up and tucking his numbed arm into his shirt to form an impromptu sling until the burning tingle stops.

-- Xavier --

The focus of all his deep-seeded hatred and loathing stumbles in the cart's wreckage as Xavier's approach remains slow, methodical. Unhurried but not savouring the moment. No, there is no mad glee to be found here. No grandiose merriment or sadistic amusement. The tip of the stunsaber draaaaaaaags against the ground, sparking little grains of sand but not glassing them as a true saber would. They pop and sizzle like the embers of a sparkler, flying in small arcs then extinguishing just as quickly.

"In due time, the others will join you," Xavier promises him, low voice almost musical as it gets that much louder with every step that shrinks the distance between them. "How you choose to die is of no consequence."

But the blow does not come. Xavier stops, watching the man limping away. A rush of air pushes through the street, hitting Xavier in the back as if trying to push him forward. To pursue. To finish what he has started. But it is met with resistance that instead billows his dark, earthen-toned robes and musses up his hair. Bearded jaw tight, lips pressed into a line.

In the houses around them, people are stirring. The crash of the wagon has brought wary, prying eyes to their windows. Sensing the shift Xavier extinguishes the blade in his hand, tucks the hilt away, and draws up the large slate blue scarf up over his head. One more pulse trails after Qutha; a shiver on the web-like threads of the Force.

"You can't save them all, Qutha. But I encourage you to try. So that you may suffer before we meet again."

Quickly, he turns and moves briskly in the opposite direction. His work on Tatooine concluded for now.