RPlog:Markus and the Force

Markus A man in his late twenties, he appears to be a little bit more than six feet. He sports his silver white hair long, to about the shoulder. The large brown inquisitive eyes, along with his full black eyebrows, seem to be attentive all the time. His skin is tanned, along with the hard jaw line and well-defined nose and the prominent black and silver beard he currently sports, give this man a look between a gentleman and a scoundrel. His lips, almost constantly in an impish grin, along with the sparkle on his eyes project a very fiery personality. His body looks to be well maintained and built; strong, and definitely in shape. He is currently wearing a dark brown cloak that covers most of his body. Under it, sometimes a dark gray long sleeved shirt is visible. A white tunic over it, tied up at the waist by a black utility belt. The dark black pants, worn loosely and fitted to perfection, seem comfortable enough in him. Everything is complemented by a set of dark gray boots that definitely have seen better times.

The light of Yavin's sun pours diffuse through the canopy of trees near the ancient temple abandoned in the jungles of the large, lush moon. Crumble and decay are testaments of time and its merciless march. Stepping into the cool shadows of a nearly toppled section of the ancient structure, Simon Sezirok turns and angles his eyes, pale blue in this light, up toward the sun, shielding his eyes with the back of his left hand. He squints up at the light source, gauging mentally how long they had before night was upon them, and searching would become impractical.

"There are many places like this, Markus Lisardis," Simon says to his companion, turning to step further into the ruins. "But this place... even without the True Source, can you feel the pull? Coming here was like dancing to a distant tune, Brother. Could you hear it?"

"I'm not sure," Markus states, as Simon asks his question. Yavin was so full of different emotions and memories to the young man that things were slightly confusing. Taking a deep breath, he tries to clear his mind of those, putting them aside. Unlike the time when he was a Jedi though, his dark emotions, his anger is not dismissed it simply is redirected.

"I think I do," he finally answers, and in fact he believed he did. Yavin was also full of a lot of history, history that had left its mark on the moon for further generations to discover.

Fixing a measuring gaze upon Markus's face, Simon leans toward his Corellian companion a moment, saying, "The Jedi would teach you to fear your passions. Your passions are what will give you strength. They, like the soul that you were gifted by the True Source at birth, are not to be ashamed of or dismissed. Fear, anger, love, tranquility... the Jedi would ask you to deny some of these things to make you less."

"I feel... your discomfort," Simon continues, hesitantly. He turns his eyes away from Markus then, and steps further into the temple, the shadows wrapping themselves more tightly about him like a great beast drawing a morsel into its deep, cavernous maw. Simon continues speaking, his voice echoing through the halls before him, "Know your feelings, Brother. Be certain. There is something... strange... about this place. Disarming."

Markus nods his head, noting the words and moves to follow Simon. He had come to the same conclusion as what Simon was now sharing with him, however considering that he had been a Jedi for a while it wasn't as easy to let go of some of those teachings. No, it was a tedious process and one that he had them to thank for as well.

"What do you think it is?" Markus asks, somewhat tentative. He doesn't sound scared, though, it's more like enthralled with the concept of there being something strange about the place. He tries to extend his senses and as he does this, he tries to use the hatred for the Jedi to fuel the attempt.

"I do not know, Brother," Simon replies, his voice taking on tones of curiosity and mild wonder. He steps around what might have once been a statue, or perhaps simple a section of ceiling that had been decorated as some sort of strange, horned and winged beast. The stone remains had been a grand thing at one point in time, if the eyes of monster were any indication. One socket stares up toward the ceiling empty, hollow as a skull, while the other glitters rid, a single, multifaceted ruby still nested there. A single arm with a clawed hand stretches out from its stone body, lifeless and as cold as the rest of the temple. Simon steps over it and moves along, not giving the object more than a cursory glance.

"Whatever it is, it's close," Simon continues. He turns his attention toward the wall on his right, raising his hand to touch the moss covered stone there gently. Dust falls away, revealing a faint outline of some drawing there. The paint was faded, and the dirt and grime made it all but unrecognizable, except for that one spot that Simon touched where there very clearly was a great eye, looking back at the Selas, unblinking. Simon turns away and moves on.

The Corellian pretty much just follows Simon, however where the other ignores Markus stares in fascination. He seems quite interested with the... decoration of the place, almost as if attracted to it for some reason. Simon's hand leaves that great eye, and Markus' own touches it for just a moment.

"This whole place... is amazing. So different from the blandness of some of the planets I've visited, or the ships I end up having to spend time in," he pauses. "Almost as if it had a life of its own."

A life of its own. In that moment that Markus's hand touched the eye painted on the wall, ancient and immovable, something terrible and wondrous happened. The change was subtle, at first. The shadows seemed to grow more solid, caressing exposed skin with a more firm touch. A slight breeze stirs through the halls, causing cobwebs to waive like some macabre banner.

The air chills, the temperature in the room dropping unmistakably. As the Corellian and the Telgossian breath, their exhales turn to misty fog in front of them. A sound like ice cracking echoes from deepest shadows in front of them. Or perhaps it was the sound of stone chipping, some part of the temple groaning as time chipped one more piece out of the ancient structure.

The sound is a perfect distraction, as the clawed statue hand, lain across the path, takes on a life of its own. The nearest leg was that of Markus Lisardis, and with an uncanny speed, the arm moves, the hand moving to grasp the Corellian's left ankle.

Turning sharply, Simon's eyes widen and he yells, "Brother! Move!"

The sound of Simon's hits him, almost as if a blaster shot had just taken him on the chest. With the Force, the True Source, Markus would have been able to easily evade this. But now, he can't touch the True Source, the Force. He wills his body to move, and his body does as much trying to follow the commands of its master.

The arm is too fast and before Markus has a chance to get out of the way, said arm would manage to grab the silver haired man's ankle. Markus twists his torso, turning to face his attacker. If he's going to go down, he will go down with a fight.

Fear seizes Simon's heart. He had lost Markus once already, when the Jedi somehow turned his heart and mind away, likely through their lies and cunning. Now, the very temple itself seemed bent on taking Markus away physically. It seemed that it meant to send Markus into the Last Embrace. Simon would be alone once more.

Reaching over his shoulder, Simon's right hand grasps the silver end of his lightstaff. He moves to take a step, to move to Markus's defense. Before he can as much draw his staff or take one step, a shaft of impossible black light lances out from the painted eye on the wall, catching Simon full in the chest. Like a fist it strikes, picking up the Selas and sending him sprawling on his back. The clatter of his lightstaff skittering along the stone ground resounds throughout the hall. A groan leaves Simon's lips, and he starts to push himself up.

At the same time, Markus had turned to face the strange enemy. The clawed hand, its grip wicked tight, holds firm. The arm connected to the hand, however, crumbles and shatters. The grip that had been like steel one moment is broken the next, and the statue is once more lifeless.

_FLEEEESSSSSHHH_

The voice is quiet, the sound of it like all the sighs of a cold wind through the weeds gathered together in a chorus of dread. A coldness like decay latches onto Markus's leg where the statue had touched him. Slowly it begins to creep up Markus's leg, numbing it, deadening it to Markus's control.

"No... Argh!" Markus exclaims just as feeling starts running away from his leg. When the arm had crumbled, Markus had thought himself free of whatever was attacking him. In fact, he even had thought Simon responsible for getting him out of the predicament. The lack of feeling, the coldness that he nows experience creeping over his leg is what informs him of the truth.

Not being able to feel that leg, Markus stumbles and falls down. He extends a hand towards Simon, his face locked in an expression of fear. His other hand claws at the ground, trying to carry himself forward.

As Markus falls, Simon scrambles to his feet once more. Reaching his left hand toward his lightstaff, resting several feet away from him, he draws upon the True Source to draw his weapon to him. He didn't know what he'd be able to do with it to help Markus now. Perhaps the true enemy would show itself, and Simon would be able to dispatch it before it was too late.

The silver and black cylinder leaps from the ground, moving obediently at first toward its master. Then, at the last second, it turns. Something else was drawing upon the True Source. Something more sinister, more primal. The lightstaff whizzes past Simon's hand. Simon tries to catch it, but his fingers close on nothing but the cold, dry air.

A double snap-hiss, and then the hall is bathed in emerald light. Simon's weapon floats between the Selas and the fallen Corellian, held by invisible hands. Growling, Simon takes a step forward to try and help Markus, but green light cuts through his path, swinging to cleave Simon in half. Letting out a sharp breath, Simon leaps back out of the way of his own weapon, the green end sizzling smoothly through a portion of his earth tone robes.

Meanwhile, the deadly cold continues to creep up Markus's leg, cresting the Corellian's waist. A splinter of icy sensation lances into Markus's left shoulder, sliding quickly along the bones of his arm, chilling the flesh that covers it. Like Markus's leg, the arm becomes as if dead to the silver haired man.

Worse. The leg, cold and distant as if no longer part of Markus's body, begins to move of its own accord. The knee bends, Markus's foot is slid up closer to his body. And then the fingers of Markus's left hand begin to twitch.

_AAAAAAAhhhhhhh ssssSTROOONG issss thissssss FLEEESSSSSHHH_

It's unclear if the voice, the chilling, icy, merciless voice, is something external to Markus or something within. If Simon can hear it, he makes no sign as he continues to dodge out of the way of rogue lightstaff.

"Simoooon!" Markus manages to scream, sounding to be quite in pain. In reality, the pain comes from the frustration, desperation and fear that is assaulting the young man as he finds parts of his body that are no longer under his control. First his leg, now his arm. The Corellian manages to notice Simon's situation, his own weapon turning against the other. Fear arises again, but this time not for himself but for his Brother. He had almost lost him once, out of ignorance by allowing the Jedi to poison his mind. To turn him against Simon. The expression on Markus' face becomes one of... determination.

"Enough," Markus manages to mutter between pursed lips.

"You want me, come and get me!" he cries out and as he does this... he lets go. No more resistance against whatever was trying to take over him. No more resistance against the chilling sensation. He had to do something to save Simon. If it meant losing himself into whatever this was, so be it, at least his Brother would have a physical target. Something he can kill.

The whip and whorl of the light weapon cuts through the air, and Simon is pressed back, in spite of his best efforts to dodge forward. It was as if whatever entity this was that held Simon's weapon also knew his every thought. Remarkably, Simon isn't injured beyond a few welts and narrow cuts along his midsection and arms. Unfortunately, Simon is unable to get any closer to his partner, who is in obvious distress.

"I can't reach you!" Simon calls out. He reaches his hand to gesture toward Markus, to draw upon the True Source and do something from where he was. More quickly, he withdraws his hand and dives back and to his left, one green edge of his lightstaff cutting savagely through the space where his hand was.

As Markus lets go his resistance to the entity that fought to take control of his body, the iciness stretches out, solidifying fully throughout Markus's left side. Strangely, it doesn't seem to touch Markus's right side. It seemed that as long as Markus's spirit inhabited his body, the entity couldn't take full control of the flesh. Only share it.

_BLLLIIIIIIINNNNND. THE FLLLEEEEESSSH ISSS BLLLLLIIIIIND!!_

The windy voice shouts its dismay, and all at once, Markus's left hand moves toward Markus's face, the fingers curled like claws. Through the fusion of Markus to this thing, awareness came as well. Whatever it was that was in Markus, it intended to gouge out Markus's eyes to make room for something else.

"Deal with it," Markus responds to whatever is currently sharing his body. At first, Markus tries to block with his right hand, then he frowns and stops. And for some reason that we will probably never understand, or that will at least become apparent at some point one would guess... Markus actually lets the thing does whatever it wants with his eyes.

"Lets see what it is that you want," Markus mutters. Simon is there, Markus is aware of it, but the Corellian finds himself drawn to it and disgusted by it. Whatever this was, Markus had to gain control or destroy it before it managed to kill Simon. Between both of them, Simon was the most able to ensure the defeat and destruction of the Jedi. These thoughts run freely through the part of Markus's mind that he controls.

Markus's left hand meets resistance as Markus's survival instincts take over, bringing his right hand up to block. Only a few inches from Markus's face, the fingers of Markus's left hand stretch out, trying to reach their target. Frustration and a burning need permeates the connection between Markus and the thing within him. The entity felt blind, and for whatever reason, believed it would be restored through the destruction of Markus's eyes.

"NO!" Simon shouts. He was aware of the struggle going on. Ever since Markus and Simon had been reunited, a bond had forged between them that was subtle, allowing thoughts and feelings to occasionally slip unwarranted between them. The manifestation of the force that threatened Markus now sent waives of thoughts and fury through that bond, and Simon's despair was crescendoing. Yet he was held back, held at bay by a weapon forged by his own hand. How could he help his Brother if he were cut down trying to get to him? Fury and frustration permeated Simon's being.

It has been written that eyes are the windows to the soul. Perhaps it is so. With Markus's relinquishing to the entity's will, overriding his sense of self preservation, Markus's left hand is allowed to attack those windows. Fingers mercilessly dig into the softer flesh of Markus's eyes. Then there is pain and a sickening strangeness, and the dim light wafting into the temple is snuffed out, like the silencing of a candle's flame.

The destruction of Markus's eyes brings little satisfaction to the entity, or so it would seem. A cry of frustration fells the area where it resides. Drawing the bloodied fingers away from Markus's cheeks, Markus's left hand reaches toward the ceiling, reaching for something that seems just beyond his reach.

_EYESSSSS FOR EEEYYYEEEEESSSSS!!!_

Like a flash of lightning, like the sudden, rapid drawing of a deep breath, Markus Lisardis is filled. The Force, the True Source, that enigmatic living energy that is born from all living thins, fills Markus Lisardis, filling him so completely that it would seem it should run from his very pores. It is there in every part of him. He is, once more, connected to every living thing, and an awareness that had left him is his once more. Completely.

Pain. Excruciating pain is felt as suddenly darkness envelops him. He screams, and then screams some more. He falls to one knee, almost shivering. Regardless of the decision he had made before, the pain was real... and the lack of sight was not real too.

Then there was the voice, the sickening voice that threatened to drive Markus' mad. Before he has a chance to respond to that voice's strage words something hits him. Very suddenly it hits him. The moment the Force is his again, Markus extends his right hand towards where he senses Simon's weapon is. It is not an easy task, as the pain is still there. But said pain is simply redirected as Markus does something that whatever remains of the Jedi in him realizes is the step that will never let him return.

He calls on the Dark Side. He will prevail. He will use his fear, his anger, his hatred to control the beast that now lies inside of him. He will use the Force, no, the True Source to save his Brother now. And for a moment Markus' hand closes, his fist growing white at how fiercely it is clenched, then it suddenly opens and trying to use the Dark Side he tries to reclaim Simon's weapon once more.

Simon had been pressed back, step after agonizing step. He'd been forced to relinquish ground that he couldn't afford to relinquish, more and more distance put between he and his Brother. He was not separated so far that he couldn't hear the screams, however. He could feel a shadow of the Corellian's pain like a white hot needle in his brain. No, not his brain. His eyes. Markus's voice echoes through the halls, reverberating and bouncing off the stone walls. Simon is too shocked to add his own voice in harmony, though the desire to cry out is there.

Simon's back strikes the farthest wall. He'd been pressed back to the point where there was no more room. He could not go forward, he could not move backward. The lightstaff, cunning and fierce, moves in for the kill. Simon steels himself so as to meet his fate with as much courage as Markus had met his.

The green blades stop. Quivering in the air, the lightstaff is held as Markus's will fights the force that meant to slaughter Simon. The balance seemed precarious for a moment, but slowly, Markus's will prevails, and for the first time, the lightstaff retreats back, moving reluctantly toward Markus's outstretched hand.

The Dark Side. The Jedi would say that the Dark Side was not stronger than the Light Side of the Force, yet what was more powerful than the permanent nature of the destruction that the Dark Side wrought? It was swift as a thought and more cunning than the most merciless assassin. It was, in fact, the very nature of what fought Markus and Lisardis in this place that was saturated with the Dark Side.

It was a manifestation of the Dark Side that had taken hold of Markus. As Markus draws upon the Force, acknowledging and embracing the base emotions within him and summoning the Dark Side that the Jedi had warned him of, the entity made up of the Dark Side is dispersed. Filling half of Markus's body already, it seeps into his bones and flesh. It enters his blood stream, and the cold chill that had crept up his leg flows throughout his body. It flows through him, controlling him, controlled by him. It links him to the lightstaff he sought to wrest control of.

There was no longer an enemy to fight, for it had been consumed. Like a reed in a savage wind, Markus Lisardis had weathered the storm. But now the storm was gone.

As the weapon touches Markus' hands, his fingers wrap around the cylinder and Markus goes to both knees now. He shivers once, as a reaction to the bonding that just ocurred. He sees nothing, yet he sees everything. He's blind, yet he's not blind anymore. Reaching with his left hand, he rips a piece of his cloak and uses both hands to wrap it around his eyes.

Then, slowly he stands up, he extends his mind into the Force, the True Source feeling his way around him. The sightless man looks at Simon, studying him, feeling him. The bond between both men is there, he can feel it. "I'm alright," at least that is what Markus tries to say, for his voice sounds more like a croak. He stumbles forward, shaking his head. "It's back... The True Source..." he adds. Slowly he moves towards Simon. Slowly, he extends his right hand offering the other his weapon back.

Stunned silence is all Simon can offer initially. He had watched the weapon retreat from its deadly course, dragged by the will that Markus wielded. He could hardly believe what he saw, yet it was undeniable.

Numbly, Simon accepts the offered weapon as Markus hands it to him. It was an automatic reaction. His attention was fully fixed on the strip of cloth now covering Markus's eyes. He could feel Markus more strongly now, as well. It was true. The True Source was with his Brother, once again.

"How... how is this possible?" Simon stammers. "What has happened?"

"I do not know. But I do not question," Markus states, slightly frowning. "Something.... something is with me now too. But if this gives us another weapon against the Jedi, then I welcome it. Better for me to be sacrificed to whatever this is, and ensure the destruction of the Jedi," he pauses, his demeanor is somewhat cold, in general not directed at Simon.

"And I feel, this is only the beginning," he stops now, obviously exhausted. "I suggest we find a place to rest. Brother," the blind man says, reverting in tone to the old Markus. "This was quite an ordeal and I need to regain my strength," his right hand raises to touch around where his eyes were, he winces. "You will have to lead the way, I need to get used to seeing through the True Source."

The waning of the adrenaline rush and shock of the recent battle, if it could be called a battle, had Simon's senses addled and numbed. Blinking, still trying to wrap his conscious mind around what had just happened, Simon takes Markus's hand and puts it on his shoulder. He could lead the way. Markus had lost his eyes. Markus was reunited with the True Source. One thought at a time, one idea to realize at a time.

"I will lead you, Brother," Simon says, turning and moving to lead them both back out the way they'd come. "We'll sleep under the trees, away from this place. This... changes everything. Everything."

"I'm not as powerful as I once was. But perhaps, over time...." Markus words trail off. He at least was able to touch the True Source. "I guess I may have to relearn some of the things," he adds, faintly smiling. "Perhaps you will be willing to teach me," tentative.

As Simon offers to lead him, Markus accepts. "Thank you, Brother." So many things, happening in so little time. "I'll need a weapon too. My lightsaber... was destroyed," he adds as an afterthought.