Log:Jedi: Night of the Shadowbeast Part 1
With help from the archaeologist Bryett Cordair, Lira'una reaches out to the Jedi Order for help locating the missing page from Luke's journal of Lothal and hopefully finding the missing Jedi temple before the eclipse passes...
OOC Date: September 12, 2024
Location: Lothal
Participants: Lira'una, Bryett Cordair, Qutha Buvu Pah, Ben Solo, Rey
Almost a year ago, on this very world, a similar contingent of Jedi -- Rey, Qutha, and Lira among them -- visited a primitive tribe and were given a journal kept by Luke Skywalker.
Lira'una, Qutha's padawan, had been entrusted with that journal (a decision which Qutha may or may not later be regretting). The young Twi'lek has been working on that tome ever since, in fits and stops. She had it with her when her ship crash-landed on Ilthara, a world she was too busy surviving and helping the refugees on to spend much time on archaeological research.
But the Force finds a way.
It's been days -- maybe little more than a week -- since Lira returned to Nar Shaddaa with a new ship, but as always seemed to be the case with the padawan, peace and stability weren't to be found for long. Stumbling across an alley in the Gearhead district, she intervened to keep Bryett Cordair from having a vibrodagger thrust into his gut, and when she brought him back to her ship for sanctuary, it was the very same book Lira had been given on Lothal that he found aboard -- Luke Skywalker's journal about Lothal.
Arguments could be made about whether or not it was the Force that brought them together or pure happenstance, but when Bryett claimed to be able to help Lira put the pieces together -- when he discovered that there was a page missing and that the eclipse the book referenced was happening in days -- Lira chose to believe the former. She brought him back to Lothal, to the village where it all started, and they spoke to the tribe once more.
"We have no extra pages, but the book was stolen for a time by a woman named Syla before it was returned to us by the elder of a village named Tel Vara," the leader of the tribe told them. "He may know more... but be careful. Syla was obsessed with the book and the villagers have no love for it."
Time is of the essence, and Lira communicated everything she learned back to Qutha and Rey, hoping that they would be able to join her on Lothal.
The Twilight Dancer descends through the clear midday sky, its thrusters kicking up a cloud of dust and scattered leaves as it lands gently in a small clearing just outside the village. The YT-2000's landing struts press into the soft ground, and the ship settles with a low hum as its systems power down. Nearby, a dense forest stretches out, the treeline about a thousand feet away, a natural barrier to the small, primitive village just ahead.
The village is modest but well-established, a collection of wooden structures built with care, their roofs thatched and walls sturdy. A high fence, made from sharpened stakes of slender trees, surrounds the entire settlement, angled outward to deter would-be intruders or animals. No guards patrol the perimeter, and the gate stands wide open, an inviting yet curious sight for a place so isolated.
Inside the fence, families mill about, going about their daily tasks under the bright Lothal sun. Men and women in simple, primitive clothing tend to small crops in neatly arranged plots, while children run through the streets laughing and playing. Others engage in their work, mending tools or preparing food over small fires. It's a place of simplicity and peace, yet the open gate and lack of guards give a sense of vulnerability.
As the boarding ramp of the Twilight Dancer lowers, the sound of servos and hydraulics signals the ship's only movement against the still backdrop of village life. Lira'una emerges, her dark cloak billowing lightly in the breeze. Her lavender skin catches the midday sun, and her sapphire eyes scan the village with a mix of curiosity and caution. Behind her, two droids follow -- her loyal, multi-colored BB-unit, Echo, rolls down the ramp with a soft series of inquisitive beeps, while the hulking form of Z-3, a police droid repurposed for more independent service, lumbers behind, its stun rifle slung across its back.
Lira pauses at the base of the ramp, her gaze sweeping over the village. The peaceful atmosphere feels at odds with the sharpened stakes of the fence, and the lack of guards raises questions in her mind. Still, the open gate and bustling villagers make it seem... welcoming?
Settled at one of the garden plots, hunkered down and tending to a cluster of juvenile plants, a figure in earthy greens and browns is working as if he was just another member of the village. Others moving about seemingly oblivious to his presence, or if not else; placated by it.
Qutha Pah has a small collection of weeds, impeding stones and other detritus resting to one side of him - BD-0B helping by using one of its paddle like feet to help organize the pile, seeming intent to get it settled into categories of size. The zelosian certainly knows how to make things grow. Just not how to make it aesthetic.
Not that he seems to mind or care, humming to himself beneath his breath whilst he tends.
A pouch on his belt is dipped into, fingers pulling out what might be seeds, feed or perhaps both that he sprinkles around where he works - the pattern chaotic and incidental. Not a care in the world it seems, though he does seem to appear to be waiting for someone or something by his posture.
Fate? Destiny? The Force?
Look, Bryett is pretty open minded. He has a tremendous love for stories. For history. The existence of such things certainly would appear to be fairly well catalogued in the historical record. And certainly the dusty-haired man is pretty much all about history.
He just didn't really think that it would apply to him in any shape of the word. He had even pretty much given up any hope of making any sort of significant discovery, of helping to uncover a truly significant piece of the past. And while it might be debatable just how many people will ever see or know about this little piece of the past -- assuming that he can indeed help Lira and her friends find it and isn't just delusional -- it is still rather difficult to contain that new found enthusiasm.
And all because a couple of thugs jumped him in a grimey, Nar Shaddaan alleyway. He would have quite haippily written that off to his customary bad luck. But that turned around in a hurry. Luck and fate certainly seem like they would make for pretty cozy bedfellows.
Rregardless, Bryett finds himself a literal world away from where he expected to be just a couple of days ago. No longer on Nar Shaddaa at all, not sleeping over an overexuberant night of drink, not plotting out the next story he would tell to whatever rich -- or more likely morally questionable -- sponsor that he might be able to find for his latest 'opportunity'.
Instead he is walking down the ramp of that YT-2000 freighter, glancing around an unfamiliar world, those dying eyes open and alive with the promise of new possibilities once more.
He might never have been to Lothal before, might not have been to this particular village, but he has seen it's like. On a half-dozen other different worlds if not more. Seeking out stories, seeking out the buried past can take a guy to some pretty remote corners of some pretty remote planets and he eyes the nearby village encampment with a practiced eye, squinting a little against the actual light of day after so long cramped up onboard a ship and the sort of timelessness that seems to exist in space.
"Well, this seems hopeful," he says, a cheerful note in his voice. "Unless that's what they want us to think. There was this tribe on Setleck Three that liked to lure outsiders in to the center of their encampment. Then once they were there they would..." he says, either starting to recite some historical antecdote or tell one of his own adventures -- real or made up -- before breaking off with a quick look shot Lira's way.
"Maybe now's not the time."
When Lira had reached out to Rey, she had been on Tempes, awaiting some news from some of the Jedi Contacts within the smuggling sphere. Efforts had ramped up for the smuggling forces that were allied to the New Rebellion to feed information to the Jedi through shared intel contacts. It was... sensitive information, and had to be dealt with great care.
But, it also meant Rey was in a idle position, which allowed her to come to Lothal much more easily. She'd hitched a ride with Lira, choosing to always be a passenger on another's ship, should she be able to. The Millennium Falcon was not her ship, it was Chewie's, and it was Han's, and even all these years later she felt strange asking for Chewie to put it to risk to taxi her around.
During the trip, she had stayed in the crew area, lost in a book, or meditating on the flow of the Force all around them.
When they arrived, she was up on her feet swiftly, placing a satchel over her shoulders, and situating it on her hip, as she moved with the rest to leave the vessel. The sunlight, the atmosphere, the ambience of Lothal itself, it made her smile softly, especially when the rays of the system's sun touched the skin of her face. She drew in a breath, enjoying the taste of the world's quality oxygen, and her eyes cast to Lira, and then toward the village itself.
"I certainly wouldn't mind a life in a place like this." She said, even if taking the place for surface level idylic views.
"Are you _always_ so optimistic?"
Lira's hood has been pushed back so that the sunny afternoon shines on that lavender skin, her lekku resting against her back with just a slight curl at their tips. She was looking over and up at Bryett -- who stood easily a foot taller than the petite twi'lek girl -- with a small, amused curl to her dark purple lips.
"I trust in the Force..." she pauses just a few seconds, one eyebrow arching. "...that it wouldn't let me be roasted and served for dinner."
Bryett hadn't finished, so her mind obviously finished his thought with the worst thing she could imagine. It's in jest, though, her lips still curled into a wry smile.
But then, as if uncomfortable, she shifted her shoulders, reaching one hand inside her cloak to adjust the strap of a satchel she wears cross-body style. Against her hip, inside that satchel? Luke's journal.
"Really, Master? I... don't know if I could get used to the quiet. I feel like Qutha would like it here, though," says the girl who grew up in a traveling circus troupe. Her lullabies were cheering crowds, live music, and the noises of the outskirts of bustling cities. She also obviously hadn't spotted Qutha, yet. Then again, he was already within the city, and they still had yet to even approach the gate.
Speaking of which...
From the open gate of the village, three figures emerge, their steps slow and deliberate. They're a mix of ages, with the eldest looking weathered and strong, the middle-aged man next to him carrying what appears to be a long wooden staff, and a younger woman gripping a tool that looks like a crude spade. Each tool is functional, clearly designed for work, but in their hands, there's no mistaking that they could be used as weapons if necessary. Yet none of them raise their implements; their body language speaks more of caution than aggression.
They stop several dozen yards outside the gate, a safe but respectful distance, seemingly waiting for the new arrivals to make the next move. They share a few quiet words among themselves, their glances darting between the ship and the Zelosian orchardist in their midst that had obviously arrived some time before. The younger woman fidgets with her spade, tapping it lightly against the ground, while the older man stands tall, his face neutral but watchful.
Behind them, the village is slowly responding to the arrival of a ship. A few children are ushered indoors by their mothers, their curiosity barely contained behind peeking eyes. Others, bolder or more experienced with off-world visitors, hang back near the gate, observing. A pair of men, likely farmers, wipe their hands on their worn tunics and wander a little closer, stopping short of joining the trio. The usual hum of daily activity fades into the background as more and more of the villagers gather near the entrance to spectate.
A young boy, unconcerned with the ship's arrival but abandoned by whatever adult was tending him so that they could sate their own curiosity, wanders over to Qutha and looks up at him. "Can I plant some?"
Any world that didn't have a standard where sundown meant one got behind the barrier walls of the settlement, or behind the heavily reinforced doors and windows of less protected homes was one that appealed to him. A world with no night, like Hapes, was ideal.
But this was close enough.
Lothal wasn't devoid of its dangers, especially at night, but the local predatory fauna hadn't evolved to hunt the night blind Zelosians on this world. The child approaching is offered a handful of the kernels, feed and whatnot from Qutha's pouch with a nod, "Ayuh... Feel free."
The orchardist offers no instructions on what to do, seeming to trust the child to attempt as they wish even as emerald colored eyes turn towards the gate the trio approach to greet the outsiders. Pondering standing to join or remaining where he is just for now.
Heavy footfalls heralded the descent of Ben when he emerged from the ship and stepped onto the ground proper. Lacking traditional robes, Solo clung to simple spacer trousers, buckled boots, and a form-fitting top with a collar. He made no attempt to hide the blaster seated in a holster at his back, or the ornate lightsaber that swung subtly with each movement.
Like the others, he was gifted with a view open to interpretation. When the breeze spread over them gently, Ben turned his head slightly and closed his eyes. Like a lover's touch, it spread over his scarred visage and moved his dark, unkempt hair. For words, he had none for now; he seemed content to watch as they moved into their investigation.
Look, it's not like he said that walking into the village was definitely going to get them put in a cooking pot or anything. He was just sharing an interesting tidbit is all. Nothing wrong with that!
"What?" Bryett asks with an over-exaggerated air of innocence. "It never hurts to consider all the... possibilities," he is quick to add after just a moment's hesitation. The hesitation almost definitely coming because he was going to say something else and caught himself.
Angles. Consider all the angles. It makes sense, given how he has mostly made a living the past few years. The fact that he has gotten by selling the promise of ancient riches and treasures to the underbelly of the galaxy. Big on show, big on presentation and very big on promises that he really didn't have any intention of keeping.
And that's the last sort of reminder that he wants to leave here, especially now. His past, how he came to being pummelled in that alleyway in Nar Shaddaa is something that has been -- for the most part -- politely ignored. And while his unlikely travelling companion might be willing to chalk up his involvement to the will of the Force for now, it is also clear that neither she, nor her mentor, is necessarily completely sold on the idea.
He might be willing to buy into the whole destiny thing too. To find the journal, written by Luke Skywalker, just laying around in a locker on a ship he had been invited to only minutes before? To someone with his training, his hopes and dreams -- and burdened with his recent past? That sure as heck sounds like fate to him.
But that doesn't mean that he wants to give his new companions any reason to start second guessing their judgement now. This, this opportunity, this chance means a lot to him. Maybe more then he can explain.
"From now on I'll do my best to only share optomistic antecdotes," Bryett adds glibly, turning his gaze back towards the village gates and the trio that are stepping out to meet them, eyes squinting once more against the light as he steps out from beneath the shade offered by the freighter's shadow cast across the ground.
"Well, looks like the welcoming party is here. Shall we go see just what it is that they want?" he asks, glancing at the others still outside the confines of the village proper.
Keeping in mind his promise to be more optomistic, he adds -- maybe with just a hint of a smile, "I'm confident it will be to voluntarily give us all the answers that we're looking for and a warm welcome."
Visualize and actualize. Yup.
"If you think this is quiet, you should experience where I grew up." Rey shot back to Lira, showing her a warm smile as the sun bathed her face. Her eyes were drawn to the movement coming from the town, and with a glance back toward Lira- and her companion in Bryett- Rey drew in a breath. "Ships sometimes put places like this on edge, as they should. Pirates, and looters often fly in, and boldly set down near a town like this. Hopefully they can see we're neither."
When Ben joins them outside, Rey looks toward him, showing him a soft smile as well, even if he may not notice it. Who better to bring along on a mission regarding Luke Skywalker, than the last living person to spend years upon years with the former Jedi Grand Master. Nobody alive today knew him better than Ben.
"WE should go make friends." Rey announced, as she started toward those who had come to greet them, her loose fit exterior robe flowing around her form as she walked, with her good hand coming up to offer a wave in greeting.
"I believe a friend of ours is already here." Rey called out ahead of their approach.
Two years ago, if you'd asked Lira'una if she'd be hosting two of the most notorious figures in the GALAXY that were still alive aboard her own ship -- all while, herself, training to be a Jedi under one of the wisest and most patient men she'd ever known -- she...
...well, she wouldn't even have understood most of it. To her, the Jedi were nothing more than stories told in the same way the rest of the 'big fish' or 'spooky campfire' stories were told around the circus. Knights with magic that save the princess. Or the city. Or the planet. Or the galaxy. Or the universe!! ... Depending on the story.
She never really knew the First Order. She was born the same year as the Battle of Starkiller Base, and she'd never been given a proper, formal education. By the time she was old enough to know anything about what was happening in the galaxy at large, the Sith Empire had already risen to power. It was the only galactic government she really knew -- not that even the Sith really mattered on most of the back-water worlds they traveled.
But now? Well, she makes a valiant attempt at not seeming as intimidated as she feels -- to remind herself that she 'belongs' here, doing this, even if she is, along those gathered, the absolutely least qualified to offer anything of substance: the acrobat and dancer surrounded by some of the most well-respected members of the Jedi Order.
At least Bryett's a doctor of history and archaeology or anthropology or something. Plus, he patched up her side, even though he's not _that_ kind of doctor!
"Oh, no, please feel free to continue pitching in. Being eaten might not even have occurred to me, otherwise," Lira muses, blue eyes casting sidelong at Bryett before sweeping back to Ben and then Rey.
She was about to say something when Rey pointed out the problem with ships and villages like this, and she nods faintly. "Maybe I... should have set us down a little further away," she murmurs. Chalk it up to padawan impatience. The closer they park, the sooner they can get to the village, the sooner they can ask about Syla and her interest in the journal, the missing page, and just maybe, the sooner they can get to the temple before the eclipse...
"Echo, Zee... wait with the ship for now. I'll comlink if we need you," the girl says, gathering her cloak a bit before moving forward with Rey.
"Ah! Is he one of yours?" the older man in the front of the trio calls back to Rey, a friendly sort of smile on his lips. "Was going to ask you what business you had, but Kwatha's been helping us tend some of our crops... he's been here most of the day. Since this morning, at least. Just came walkin' in."
The man thumbs over his shoulder, and the two with him seem to relax some, spreading out a little and leaning on their tools.
"Don't suppose you four are here to pitch in, too? We sure could use the help, if you're as good as your friend with a garden."
Ben was not aware of Rey's smile, but the chances were slim he'd return it. He wasn't in a sour mood, not even somber, just distant. The notion of following his Uncle's footsteps stirred up old feelings and memories that once drove him to a darker mindset. He did not hate Luke; not anymore, but Ben never found much solace in the past.
As they were approached and addressed, he answered curtly, initially. "No," and after a pregnant silence, he added, "Other circumstance have brought us here." He managed an expression other than dour, shrugging like his father was apt to do when he made a situation awkward. Ben's dark gaze shifted as if saying, without saying, 'someone else talk.'
It is certainly not bad advice, though it is always tough to know exactly how accustomed some of these remote villages truly are to technology. Still, the latest of Lira's acquaintances that Bryett has met makes a pretty compelling argument. One that he could have certainly have made based on his travels.
The problem, of course, is that there are exceptions to every rule. There are plenty of enclaves out there where it i not so much that people are unfamiliar with technology, as that they have deliberately turned their back on it. For others it is not that they're wary, it's completely unknown. A little research ahead of time can narrow down the possibilities, it can reduce the odds of getting wrong.
But it is a big damn galaxy out there. And it is filled with infinite possibility -- right along with infinite wonder and infinite terror in equal measure too. Well... maybe not quite equal, depending on one's circumstances.
Still, Bryett finds himself nodding along to Rey's advice before giving a little shrug. "I mean it makes sense. But honestly this is a luxury for me. I'm usually hoofing it from wherever I find someone willing to drop me off. Occasionally I have a speeder at my disposal, but yeah, I tend to park it a good distance away. Somewhere it can be hid,: he admits. Not so much because he might alarm anyone that he might run into. Moreso that it doesn't end up stolen from him while he has to either try to slip off world without replacing it or point the owner in the direction of someone they can go after and hope they get so caught up with that they forget all about him.
All in all, having a ship at one's disposal seems the way to go. Though Bryett stands ready to revise his opinion if any of the greeting party decides to brain him with one of those shovels.
He's relatively confident though. Being an optomist now, and all that.
The corners of his mouth twitch, though he otherwise manages to keep his face in a fairly neutral expression. Again, local customs can vary greatly between worlds and what might be a friendly smile to one, might be the worst of threats to another. "Stick with me and I'll introduce you to a whole new world of possible ways that things can go horribly wrong. Trust me, I know almost all of them," he asserts quietly.
It would appear that Qutha's presence amongst them has already bought them at least a little good will. That's good!
It has also apparently made them perspective farmers. That's bad! At least in Bryett's eyes. "I mean, I can probably help dig some decent holes," he says, just a hint of dubiousness in his voice.
Look, he's a historian. An archaeologist. He mostly deals in things from centuries ago. His thumb is less green then kinda... brownish. Maybe not dead, but not the healthiest outlook for living organisms either.
Rey paid a look to her companions, before she put her eyes upon their greeters, once they were close enough for casual conversation. She afforded a look to Ben, who got a smirk, for his actions and words, before she regarded the farmers once more. Rey's eyes were squinting just a little, as the sun shun down upon her on the right side of her face. "If you're in need of extra hands, I am sure we can provide. Especially if it helps your people in the long run..." She tells them, as she gives a look toward Lira, and to Bryett. "We're also, however, Explorers, and we were told there were potential sites worth delving in to. We supply our findings to a number of different universities, from Naboo to others closer to the Core. We're peaceful explorers, humble, and not really after personal profit, beyond knowledge. If there is any such sites, that you feel could hold historical value... well, that would really offer us a boon too."
She paused, and looked toward the form of Qutha, raising her good hand to offer him a wave.
"But yes, we are not currently in a rush, and if a few more hands help the harvest, well... we're quite capable, I assure you." She states, her voice casual, friendly even.
"How appealing," Lira mutters in response to Bryett's mention of knowing all the things that can go wrong. "You know, when we're done with all this, you should probably talk to someone about that..." Someone professional she means, said as she walks along with a small, amused smile.
She falls quietly in with the others, apparently more than pleased to let Rey speak for them as a whole, especially since she seems somewhat distracted by leaning around the trio to look into the village and try to find Qutha.
What it the FORCE was he doing here already?! How had he gotten here so fast?!
Chalk it up to being Qutha, she supposed...
The villagers exchange glances, the older man in the front offering a slow, considering nod as he listens to Rey. His weathered face shows little emotion at first, though there's a subtle shift in his posture as she mentions exploration. The younger woman fidgets slightly, her grip tightening on the spade she holds, while the middle-aged man next to her taps the butt of his staff lightly against the ground, clearly thinking.
"Well, we appreciate the offer of help," the elder finally says, his voice rough but kind. "Hands are always welcome in Tel Vara, especially with the harvest coming up. But as for ancient sites..." He pauses, casting a quick glance back at the village. "We're just simple folk. Most of us haven't wandered too far from here, and we've lived off the land for generations."
The younger woman speaks up, her voice more uncertain. "There are... old camps, ruins, out in the forests. Some settlements we've seen in passing when we've traded with the tribes further in. But nothing of much value to us." She looks to the elder as if for confirmation, and he gives a slight nod.
The middle-aged man scratches his chin, adding, "The tribes know more about those places than we do. We don't travel far. Just enough to trade." His gaze flickers to Bryett, catching his subtle humor about digging holes. "We don't mind a little exploration if that's what you're after. But... some places are better left alone, if you get my drift."
Lira looks a little anxious, though, when her gaze shifts back from Qutha to the greeting party and then back to Rey, however.
Not in a rush?! But the eclipse is only DAYS away, and they don't even know if these people KNOW anything about the journal and.. and.. and...
Breathe.
Lekku still twitching in mild agitation, Lira takes a breath. Her behavior reflected on Qutha. She wouldn't have an outburst over this, even if she felt like they were on more of a time crunch than Rey alluded to.
Trust in the Force. Everything is as the Force wills it to be.
"I'm sure we can find ways to help," the girl agrees warmly, having settled her lekku, though her eyes shifted briefly to Bryett -- probably because of his digging remark -- and then at Ben and Rey. "May we go in and see our friend?"
"Help yerselves," the older man says, taking a moment to step aside. "I'm Bennar, the elder of this village. I've lived here all my life, same as my father before me. We take care of each other here, and we've learned to respect the land and its secrets."
The middle-aged man with the staff offers a brief nod, stepping up beside Bennar. His face is worn, but his eyes are sharp. "Threnn," he says simply, his voice carrying a calm authority. "I handle most of the trading with the tribes when we need supplies or news. Not much gets by without me hearing about it."
The younger woman, still fidgeting with her spade, looks a little more hesitant, but she forces a small smile and a nod. "And I'm Rinna. I... help with the crops and whatever else needs doing." Her voice is soft, with a hint of nervousness, but she adds quickly, "We're a small village, but we do our part."
"Get settled. There's food and drink to be had if you need it," says Bennar, the elder. "When you're ready, we'll find places you can help."
Meanwhile, the boy with Qutha has happily taken the pouch from the curious man with the lightly green-hued skin, and rather than just tossing them all out, he has decided to take just one seed at a time and shove it as deep as he can into the soil with his finger... over and over.. caking his hand with dirt, but putting a huge smile on his face.
A nod to the child, "Not too deep, less they ain' gonna grow f'bein' t'far down, yeah?"
Walking towards where the new arrivals are being greeted, Qutha's hands move to fold behind his back as he walks - heavy boots squirting up dust about their sides and the long cloak wiping the track of him away in its trailing passage. Letting his pace meander, seeming to always pass just after another figure might have run into him as their paths would have crossed or around obstacles moments before they might tumble in his way - be it an animal relieving itself on the trot or detritus falling from an overbalanced pile.
"Yuh..." Said just loud enough to carry, "I done reckon... we let things pass we'll find ah'selfs in the right moment we're a'huntin'..." Corners of his mouth tucking back in the ghost of a grin that is wiped from his features when his head turns to listen to something he himself hears or perhaps a mote invisible to all but the emerald glitter of his eyes.
"Y'unt need press matters... till we get the hankerin' they done need be pressed."
And as a small barrow, it's use finished for the moment, is settled by the farmer whom had been putting it to task the Zelosian sets down on the edge of it with the aplomb that something would have been there to catch him when he sat.
Ben was not a trusting individual. Betrayal had a way of staining in a way that would not come clean. It was for this reason he watched the interaction with the locals quietly, studying them, his jaw tensing slightly as the moments ticked on. He did not need to speak aloud to Rey for her to understand what he was doing. Others just as attuned could feel the way Ben's presence began to ripple.
He used the force to subtly invade their conscience. When the villagers spoke, he was listening in a different way. In the past he would have needed to raise his hand, using the Force to tear through their mind, feeding his own passion for the truth to hack through the images in their head.
Now? He was subtle. Undetectable, to them, and determining if they spoke truthfully or were deceiving the Jedi. Ben had no intention of confronting them, but he wanted to know. Power resonated from his frame, sweeping outward in an unseen wave. If any had doubted his lineage or the power harbored in his blood prior to this moment, that doubt would be cast out now.
On the plus side, he hasn't been bashed over the top of his head with the spade of a shovel. Yet. The day is still relatively early of course, so it's not impossible that could change before everything is sai and done. Still, Bryett is willing to consider that the good news.
On the minus side, all of that optomism, all that visualizing and actualizing doesn't seem to have brought them a whole lot closer to finding the information that they are seeking. And there is that hint of a time crunch too.
After spending the past few years conning galactic scumbags out of whatever he could manage to just try and keep afloat, to keep his travels going and finding some hint of a real, legitimately important find and then to get this close... and find themselves stonewalled by the need to do chores?
Yeah, the dusty-haired archaeologist might be feeling a little bit of that imaptience burning inside of him as well.
The fact that there are going to be chores involved doesn't exactly land in the 'plus' side of the ledger either. It's not like he isn't already used to working with his hands. And he is hardly adverse to legitimate work when he can get it. He's done more then a few teaching jobs over the past several years, turning towards more morally questionable activities only when even those aren't available.
But farming? That's part of the reason he left home. So he didn't end up with his own farm or some sort of similar life. Not when he dreamed about the stars and the history that he might find amongst them.
This deal is definitely getting worse all the time.
But the chance to live and breath history. The chance to find something that makes a difference, to take all thsoe skills he spent years learning, refining, honing and putting them to good use. That's worth an awful lot.
And he owes a debt. No matter what certain parties might say.
So Bryett shoots a sidelong look at Lira, at her companions. He even knuckles his forehead respectfully at Qutha -- the... not quite threat, not quite warning he was given perhaps still very much at the forefront of his mind. then he simply sighs.
Any impulse he might feel to quiz the villagers further about mysterious temples and missing journal pages, about upcoming celestial convergances and anything else that might -- even if just tangentially connected to their search dies unspoken on his lips.
Still, while the locals might be spared both his furious barrage of questions and any complaints or wisecracks, that doesn't mean others will bne quite so fortuante. "You didn't tell me that there was going to be farming involved in this," he mutters to Lira as he hefts up that seemingly ever present duffle and slings it over his shoulder, starting towards the open gate of the village.
He's not dumb. He's pretty brilliant, in his own sphere. He has to have some idea of just what he has fallen in with, by now. After what he's seen, after spending hours pouring through that journal.
And who knows. Maybe doing something for these people just because they're here, they can help might be a nice change.
Even if it's, *ugh*, farming.
Rey could sense Ben's presence to her left, feeling his unease about all of this. He would feel her left hand reach over to his elbow, her left hand being the metal prosthetic. She gently touched his arm, trying to channel her own peace in to him... even if just a little, and not through the Force.
"Ben here, and our new friend Bryett..." Rey motioned to the two men. "They are very anxious to get on the studies, but Lira..." She motioned to the young Twi'lek. "And I? We're more than happy to get right on with helping you with your crops. My name is Blue, by the way..." Rey utilizing her alias, not out of distrust for these people, but out of fear for them potentially using her name toward the wrong people, and those wrong people taking it out on them for Rey not being here.. should they ever come look in the future.
"Honestly, if Ben and Bryett could be given a chance to talk to your most knowledgeable on the topic of those old settlements, or anything else, should you have a Historian on hand? Anything like that would be truly wonderful."
She showed a warm smile, before she motioned toward the village, and in the direction of Qutha. "I better go see how Qutha is. He tends to get rooted in places like this, and sometimes needs to be reminded he cannot stay permanently."
Did Rey just make a plant man joke?
Maybe.
"Qutha," Lira murmurs, smiling when the plant-man trundles his way closer through the village traffic, weaving through it with the same graceful efficiency that she and Bryett had navigated Gearhead just the other day... thanks to some hastily imparted instructions from the plant-man himself. At least they didn't end up getting squashed by a falling shipping container. That could _really_ have ruined their day.
You didn't tell me that there was going to be farming involved in this.
"It's not my fault," Lira mumbles through tight lips, shooting a look at Bryett and speaking barely loud enough for him to hear. Some of the others were surely attuned enough to their surroundings to pick it out, though. Maybe even the villagers themselves.
Ben's sense of the villagers' truths is crystal clear -- what they're saying is the absolute truth... as is what they're _not_ saying. There's a distinct sense of things they just don't talk about. Maybe in mixed company, but maybe at all. And if there's a general sense of unease as Bennar moves from describing that they don't travel far to warning them that there are places better left alone, that unease is lifted as soon as they've moved past it. He's not lying to conceal a place he knows about. It's the places he doesn't know about that haunt him.
But then Rey's speaking again, and while Ben and Bryett are perhaps SAVED from farm-related chores, _she_ isn't. And there's the very vivid sense that she wanted to stick her tongue out at someone. Maybe Bryett, just out of pure petulance. Maybe at Rey... though she wouldn't dare.
"Well, I guess that'd be me and Threnn, for the most part," Bennar answers, setting a hand on the shoulder of the man beside him. "Threnn and I have been through most of the land nearby at one time or another. We'd be happy to talk, but we've got some chores to finish ourselves before we lose the light. Why don't you introduce yourselves around, pitch in where you feel you can, and we can have a chat after dinner?"
And while Rey is moving after Qutha, Lira takes a couple of quick steps to catch up with Bryett, her hand reaching out to touch his arm and draw him to a stop.
"Here..."
She reaches inside her cloak and unsnaps the satchel that was resting heavily against one hip. The satchel that had the journal inside it. She holds it out to him, glancing briefly back to Ben as she does it -- something kind of like guilt passing across her eyes -- then pushing it towards Bryett with more confidence.
"I... guess the two of you are working together on this. So... keep it safe, okay?"
The 'please' is there in her eyes, too, along with a hopeful little smile. She'd kept that journal safe for almost a year, and now she was just handing it over to a relative stranger who wasn't even in the Order.
It's not that she didn't know who Ben was. She might not have been alive when Kylo Ren was doing his best Darth Vader impersonation around the galaxy, but especially since joining the Jedi Order, Lira wasn't living under nearly as large and heavy rock as she used to be. Ben had turned. He'd come back to the light. But, she didn't _know_ him, either.
And maybe Rey's warmth towards Ben should be enough, but she knew at least a little more about Bryett. And she trusted that the Force had brought them together for a reason. She just... hoped her instincts were right.
