Chapter 1
Part 1
( I may or may not just use this as a rough draft and completely rewrite what I have so far. We'll see how I like it in the morning. Either way, I would love critiques on what I've already written. If you would like to read the next part of Terava, chapter 1, please copy the link below and paste it in your search bar.
http://www.comicvine.com/forums/fan-fic-8/swgot-terava-chapter-1-part-2-1593819/
Thank you and enjoy!)
In all of my training, out of all the subtle techniques that have allowed me to dodge my death more times than I can remember, shadow walking is by far the most useful. Every breath and scrape of my metal boots against the floor, if close enough to be heard at all, could be mistaken for a stirring of wind or the drumming of a branch against the wall. I’ve heard of masters who could shadow walk on water or pass two feet before a man’s gaze in full daylight and not be seen. Right now, with not a being in the world knowing exactly where I am or what I’m doing, I could almost believe it. I am invisible, invincible, above those who sit in the light and send searching glances at the shade swarming by the door, unknown and yet feared by them.
I stop where I am for a moment as my hand comes up to the side of my helmet and adjusts the night vision. It is best to keep the brightness on my helmet just high enough to where I can see, no more. It wouldn’t do to be stunned by the first spark of light thrown out by guard with a candle or a target reading a book.
My armor hums gently against my skin, letting me know that it is active and performing the task. A few seconds later, the colors dull in front of me and shapes are all but lost in darkness. I start moving again.
It doesn’t take long before I spot a guard. I shadow walk towards him, going even more slowly and precisely. It doesn’t matter that he is turned away from me. It’s one thing to prowl around a hallway with no one looking for anything, another to sneak up on a guard.One mistake means the mission, if not my life.
As I come up to him, the guard grows in my vision. He is unusually thin for one trained to be a soldier and his movements are awkward and unsure. My guess is that this is a new guard and his seniors posted him closest to my target, knowing that it was the most important and stressful position. It was probably a joke. Poor kid.
Now i’m close enough that I could reach out and pat his shoulder. I am close enough to feel his warmth in the cool black air, to hear the drawing of his breath, to see the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders, the tapping of his foot on stone. The smallest details make him nearly visible to me in the black, even if my night equipment hadn’t been turned on. Not only visible. Familiar. That hitch in his breathing tells me a story of living life with weak lungs, gasping and light headed during his training as a soldier, breathing harder than those around him. Every time he shivers despite his warm uniform, I know he is just recovering from a cold. If he were to talk his voice would still probably be thick and scratchy. When I hear the slight wind as he suddenly darts his from side to side as if trying to catch rocks in the act of walking, it shows me he is new to his job. Very new. Most would either be asleep by now, bored out of their minds or brought a candle to see by. Most of them did. None of them would again.
My hand found the pouch at my left hip, pulling out a sliver of something dull and black between my fingers.
I remember when I was a kid, I could never stand the dark. Couldn’t stand to look at it. Not because I couldn’t see anything, but because of what I could see. Outlines crawling, lumbering, prowling, becoming more solid, more real with every movement. I could cover my eyes, I could think what i wanted to think, but my skin still crawled and sleep still wouldn’t come. Because if I opened my eyes I would see them nearly on top of me, inching closer, closer, their footsteps a rap or tap or nothing but a silent screech.
My hand looked like the head of some sort of comical beast as I made it into a fist, the needle standing out like a thin horn. My hand came up again and I changed the vision on my helmet, felt the familiar hum. Or is that just my heart?
Now the young guard is a flare of swarming colors, red, white and purple, surrounded by black. I look at the warmth pooling under his skin, make out organs through the varations in temperature, searching, looking for . . ..Found it. A little string of purple trickling into his head.
I tighten my fist and slide the poisoned needle into the back of his neck.
The reaction is immediate. Or maybe it just seems that way. He goes stiff and still. Even though he is turned away from me, I know that his face is a bruised shade of red. The venom swells the throat and cuts off the air supply, taking away a victim’s voice before it kills him.
I step up and cup the guard’s mouth. There is a chance he could get a scream out before the toxin fully kicked in. He tried, he tried hard, but it came out more of a gurgle and all he managed to do was spray something warm onto my palm. The young guard spasmed weakly, trying to splutter, to breath. His legs collapse underneath him, his weight falling into my arms. I lay him down slowly, gently as a lover. There isn’t so much as a thump.
I’ve heard many people insist that poisoned needles are best inserted to the eye or the head or even the abdomen. While needles can be inserted in a number of places to stun or temporarily incapacitate, for lethal effects this is all untrue. Even though the eyes are soft and appear penetrable, tears are a surprisingly effective defense. Mistakes like that will ensure a higher risk of the target screaming or having to apply a messier solution, either of which will get you killed. The neck on the other hand, is full of weak spots, veins and arteries that carry the poison most quickly to the brain. In my experience, it is the most effective way. Believe me. It’s my job to know where people will break.
I pluck the needle from him-no, it-and tuck the needle back into it’s pouch. I lower my eyes to the body despite myself. There’s no more color. No more light. It is now as black as everything else.
When I look into the night now, I don’t see shapes or outlines. I am one. I am the suspicion ingrained into the mind after generations of staring into the void, the unknown. Whatever I feel, that’s the truth. So I won’t let it be my weakness. I’ll make it my strength.
I click something on the side of my helmet and the world goes back to night vision.
My hand reaches out and finds a door knob. I twist and step inside to meet my target-
“Master Terava!”, Vequala’s voice breaks into my memories.
I turn, her sleek ebony face greeting me. The girl’s eyes are hard and narrowed and her lips are a tight line. I know what she wants to say.
“I apologize, Vequala. I shouldn’t have wandered away by myself”. Guilt begins to creep its way into my stomach, making a hard knot.”
Anyone else would have spoken over those words, listing all the things that could happen, all the people that could be hurt, everything that could be destroyed. Vequala did none of this. I suppose this is part of her gift. And her curse.
Vequala steps up beside me. She’s tall now, almost as tall as me. Muscle presses sharp outlines against her dark skin. The steely armor that grips her body is identical to mine, except for the lightsaber mounted on her hip. It amazes me how much she has grown.
Her gaze lays where mine had a second ago. A house, carefully crafted and polished, too large to be a commoner’s, too small for a nobile. Vequala turns to me and says, “What is this place to you?”
“I killed a target here a couple years ago, before I ever went after Bortamen. It’s not that big or anything, it just makes me think back. I guess no one else ever moved in, or if they did they left when the Jedi came.”
Vequala replied, “We should go back.”
I looked at the house again. “No. I like the look of this place. Let’s make this our new base. Send a message, Vequala. Tell everyone to come here.”
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