The Symbol

((OOC: Yes, I missed parts. Sorry!))

He had gone through the cargo bay and found an old work bench covered in a tarp and dust of unuse. He whipped it off, running a hand over the plasteel. His vision was still blurry and could not see fine detail, but he could still Feel it.


He sighed, continuing his small tour. Nearest to the engineering, he found some loose mechanical parts. With another sigh, he began to sift through the junk. He knew what he needed, for the saber itself was fine. The emitter needed roughly the same parts it originally had. Though these junk parts would be enough, he hoped. Often the plasma, even within the containment imposed by the emitter's secondary battery, melted inadequate parts.

Grav coupler? Nope.

Piece of steel piping about an centimeter and half long? ...Perhaps.

He sifted through the junk some more, idly pushing aside pieces here and pocketing there. When he felt he had enough to work, he stood and carefully went back to the unused workshop. He felt a wave of dizziness take him, making he swoon with a moan. He gripped a crate nearby to steady himself. Within a second, he regained his composure but turned his head to the side.

Did someone call out? he thought.


He felt along the crate to just near the first hinge of the back. Vol-Kur had a curious look upon his face as he touched the Spot.

Take it...!

Someone, a woman!

....Take it...!




The Moxla clansman gasped as the pain slashed up his back, grasping backwards before falling to his knees. He stared at the floor as he tried to control the gasps that sprung up his throat. There was no mistaking the sound of a lightsaber, nor the sound of flesh being caught in its fiery violence.

As he regained his legs again, Vol-Kur thought about what he felt. The voices were shouting, the second one a man. He couldn't tell who, but there was enough pain there that he could also sense... Determination. Fear. Loss. He looked to his disabled saber, putting it onto the workstation as he set to work.

A weapon of a more civilized age, a symbol of peace. Why has it been this very device that has caused so much death and war? he thought. He finished walking forward, remembering those days long ago now.

"It comes to no surprise that violence still exists. It may be for peace, it may be for righteousness. It will exist in all forms, for war and corruption, no matter how many times an order of opposite mind fights against it. It reminds us of the Force, in more ways than one. But it reminds us forever; now it is needed when all else fails," Master Itio Vikes had said.

The click of the pieces sliding into place as he blinked a bit more detail into view sharpened his thoughts. He raised it, setting still clean tools to the side. It floated from his hand, parts now raising slowly to the saber. He finally guided it, Touching his lightsaber and knowing its contour. He Felt it, knowing its weight and strength.

He Knew it all too well.

It came to the clansman's waiting hands. The ignition called the bright green light to even his deficient eyes.

"And it is the symbol that reminds us... Master," Vol-Kur said, lowering his brow towards the blade.

He was so focused, he never heard them come into the ship. Not until Ryder showed up with the woman he first attacked. Ryder stated at him before speaking.

"He's right in front of you." Ryder took a step back so the two could talk. "Don't take long, I don't know how long those outside will keep their attention. Though I think the cube has them more worried than anything. They're gonna get us killed. So... if you all think its gonna go down and they are, I offer you two a lift out of this. Take you far as you want, let you off you can start over."

"Thank you, captain," Moxla said to him with a gentle smile.

“Are you alright?” She asked and turned her head sideways. “What is it that noise” she said. She reached out with her right hand eventually finding Vol-Kur’s hand and his lightsaber. “What is that your holding and why is it makeing noise?” she asked.

He looked to her and deactivated the saber. The blade dissipated with its telltale, the padawan turning fully to her. His gentle smile stayed as he regarded her. There were so many thoughts as to what he could he say to her. Many truths as well. "It is a symbol," he said to her simply, truthfully.


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