The Lost Heir

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The Lost Heir

Post by coronhorn » Sat Dec 26, 2009 10:28 am

The stars shined, thousands upon untold thousands, there were more than any one person could ever count but that never really stopped him from trying on occasions. The highest he'd ever gotten was 3062 and that was on a night that there hadn't been any distractions, such as the one that was currently caressing the inside of his left thigh or the other one nibbling at his ear. The Dare sisters were enough to drive any man to distraction so it was a small miracle that the sky still held his gaze,

"I don't think he likes us." Illana Dare whispered across him to her sister.

"I beg to differ sister." Katrina Dare replied, "Quinn is just easily distracted by the stars, aren't you?"

He smiled and closed his eyes bringing his focus back down, "My apologies ladies, I am easily distracted but I promise I'll make it up to you."

That illicited a rather aroused giggle from Katrina as he turned his head and met Illana's pouty lips...


Morning had come early the next morning as it was want to do in the opening months of the harvest season on Pell, and he was expected in the fields outside of town to do his part in getting the crop in, the tall Stavian wheat stalks that were waving in the field at the foot of the hill in front of him were both the primary food source and the major export of Pell so every able bodied man woman and child were expected to help out during harvest season and at almost eighteen standard cycles he was now an old hand with the scythe having been helping out since he was just shy of seven. He'd heard stories of other worlds where they had massive automated machines that did the harvest work it took forty men to in a day every hour and he like every young man on Pell had questioned after hearing these stories from the ship captains that visited their world why they didn't have such machines. The elders always smiled and gave them an explanation that their ancestors had chosen to settle on this world for that very reason. Pell it seems had some peculiar traits that made most modern technology used in the galaxy nearly worthless, the first colonists to arrive had of course tried to keep their machines running but had quickly given up and those unable to live without the comforts that their technology had provided had left leaving those who could to stay and build a way of life devoid of those things. Over the years others had come some seeking a peace and solace away from the galaxy others relishing in the life devoid of the trappings of a "civilized" life. There was he'd heard even a religious cult of sorts that had taken up in the hills north of Pell's main star port Cidade das Estrelas. Someone had once told him the name literally meant city of the stars, it was an appropriate name he reasoned if that was in fact what the name meant. It was through Cidade das Estrelas that most of the traffic on and off world happened, there of course were stories of vessels coming down other places for clandestine reasons or simply due to pilot error, but Cidade was by far the safest place to land as technology seemed to work better there than anywhere else. This was something that he'd as of late begun to wonder at the origins of but he'd been strongly discouraged in his studies by the professors at the university. Shaking his head he cleared his mind of those thoughts and began to huma tune his mother had taught him as a child, she said it was a song from his father's home world, a planet called Corellia. One day he promised himself that he would visit there...

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Re: The Lost Heir

Post by coronhorn » Sat Dec 26, 2009 9:34 pm

Quinn stood at the edge of his assigned field that day, his shirt peeled back and tied out of the way around his waist, and mopped the copious rivulets of sweat from his brow and then planted the blade heavy end of his scythe in the earth and lent heavily on it. Harvesting work might be mindless he mused but it wasn't easy by any stretch of the imagination. Glancing down the line of workers he smiled as he spotted someone working their way down the line of tired sweating workmen, most of whom were stripped to their waists like he himself was, Sarah Goldleaf was as easy on the eyes as any of the young women he'd spent the better part of his adolescence romancing, perhaps even more so, but she unlike most had yet to succumb to any of his many charms. He'd figured out at a young age that he'd been blessed with above average looks to go with his devilish charm and the "good head" on his shoulders. He'd leveraged each of those throughout his childhood bed most of the eligible young ladies and to fend off more than a few angry suitors along the way but Sarah had never allowed herself to to be caught, she was that elusive bull elk with the rack so massive that no one believed you when you came back from the woods. His smile broadened just a smige more when he realized the play on words he'd just considered as Sarah deposited her bucket of fresh cool spring water in front of him, her ample cleavage heaving ever so temptingly from the exertion,

"You know you need only ask me to and I'd carry that bucket for you all day?" he smirked adding just a bit of the locale lilt to his speech. She looked at him with her larger that average green doe eyes, batted her lashes with a carefully polite smile and dipped him a large cup of water.

"I'm perfectly capable of doing my job completely unassited Mr. Brewer, besides which no self respecting lady would be seen out in public with a man of your reputation."

Quinn smiled politely back, "Well Ms. Goldleaf, no one need see us in public if you wish to keep up appearances for the lingering eyes. I am renowned for my discretion."

A brief fierce blush darkened her face before she managed to regain her composure, though the red lingered in her bountiful cleavage, "Well I never!"

Quinn drained the cup and then dropped it back into the bucket which Sarah promptly heaved into the air and moved down the line, "Famous last words Ms. Goldleaf." he replied, she turned back and glared what would have no doubt been a hole through his skull had her eyes been plasma cutters,

"Will you never learn Quinn? You know you cause far more flies with honey." The voice was a deep baritone and it belonged to one of Quinn's oldest friends, Jackson Dare, he like Quinn was stripped to the waist but unlike Quinn's honey brown skin his was a dark ebony that seemed to absorb the sunlight,

"Ah Jack the chase is half the fun, ask your sisters, I'm sure they can confirm it." The slightly larger man scowled at him and then hefted his own scythe to his shoulder.

"If you were any other man I'd cleave you in half for just the insinuation."

"And believe me I appreciate the consideration."

Quinn heaved his own blade to his shoulder as the work foreman blew his whistle ending the break and the two men chuckled and began the long trudge back across the field to the rows that they had stopped work on earlier,

"But it wasn't me pursuing the them Jack."

The bigger man stopped and his back muscles tensed for just second before the heavy scrythe came spinning around, had Quinn's reflexes been slower the blade would have cleaved him off at the knee as it was it tore cleanly through the knees of his pants, as he stared down at those now gapping holes he felt the sudden need to move and without looking rolled to his left seconds before the scythe came crashing down in an overhead stroke into the soft tilled soil,

"You fracking mynock!"

He glanced up just in time to see the big man swing at him but he was already ducking out of the way without even thinking, his friend came at him hurling obscenities but the whole thing seemed to be happening in slow motion. Jackson Dare whom he's seen fight a thousand times growing up and who he knew should have been able to take him apart with only a couple of blows seemed for all the world to be moving in slow motion almost telegraphing his moves in a way he'd never seen him do, in a way the murderous intent in those eyes screamed he wasn't trying to do now, and then just as suddenly everything snapped back into full speed as several of the other workmen managed to tackle Jackson and hold him to the ground. Quinn scrambled backwards falling into the soft dirt staring at his friend and trying to figure out what had just happened,

"I dunno what you said to the man but you best get the hades out out of here son!" that was Joe Whetherbie the work foreman, "Consider yourself relieved for the day!"

Quinn scrambled to his feet and booked it for the edge of the field, he vaulted the fence almost without thinking and didn't stop till he'd almost reached shire that his family and nearly a thousand others called home, Dun Holland, as his sprint slowed to a tired lope he noticed that some of the townfolk were staring at him and he noticed the now cool breeze on his sweat slicked skin. It only took a few seconds to pull his shirt back up and he flashed anyone still looking a smile. It didn't take long for his feet to find thier way home he rapped the sign that hung outside the Lonely Stallion tavern as he crossed it's dark threshold...

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Re: The Lost Heir

Post by coronhorn » Fri Jan 08, 2010 9:18 pm

"Well, well, look who's home early!" came his mother's beautiful voice from the darker interior of the room as his eyes adjusted to the much dimmer light in the large mostly windowless tap room that was the heart of the Lonely Stallion, her mother once had told him that she'd initially called the place the Lonely Mare but for some reason that hadn't gone over so well. He'd jested in return that perhaps the men folk just didn't like being reminded of what most of them had waiting at home. She'd scolded him for that but had laughed as well,

"Aye just how did such a strapping young lad manage to wrangle his way out of harvest work?" the nasally twang of that voice belonged to Oliver Brewer, the Stallion's barkeep and master brewer, he was a stand up sort for the most part though he had a hell of a mean streak in him that only came out when he was good and plastered but he'd been kind to his mom when she'd first arrived on Pell flat broke with almost nothing to her name and six months pregnant with him.

Quinn felt his face fall slightly at the question, it wasn't something he really cared to discuss, especially not in front of his mum, "You know me Ollie, silver tongued devil I am I managed to talk my way out of it."

That drew a hearty laugh from both the barkeep and several of the regulars that were saddled up around the massive wroshyr wood bar, "I think it far more likely that tougne of yours bought you more trouble than old man Whetherbie was willing to tolerate so he sent you packing. Regardless since you're here why don't you make yourself useful and go fetch a new keg from the cellar fer me. Ole Wyatt here is darn near finished this one off."

He considered trying to talk his way out of the chore for just a minute and then thought better of it as his mom brushed by slightly behind him, "Have it up in a jiff I will." spoke smiling as he sauntered over to the door near the end of the bar that lead down into the tavern's dark basement, he plucked the flickering lamp that hung directly by the door as he passed descending the steps cautiously as he went, as much alcohol as there was in the stallion's basement if his torch were to somehow light any of it the whole place would go up before anything could be done,

"Amber or Dark Ollie?"

The question reverberated slightly within the stone walls of the buildings foundation,

"Amber." came the reply after what he was sure was some shrewed calculations. Quinn ran his fingers along the various large wooden kegs till he found the one he'd need and then retieved the cart from the end of the line, hanging the lantern on a nearby hook he slowly worked the keg from it's stand onto the cart, this too he was an old hand at though he'd not been doing it nearly as long as harvesting, though that was mostly because he'd not had the muscle to do it. Once the keg was secured on teh cart he wheeled it down to the small hand cranked lift that would deliver it to the main floor of the tap room just behind the bar,

"coming up!" he shouted as he started cranking on the old metal sprocket, it wasn't easy work especially since his muscles were already tired from a morning of scythe work but it was done soon enough,

"thank you son!" came the shouted reply through the floor above, Quinn's lips tightened at the use of the last word, he knew Ollie wasn't his real father and while he'd done as good of a job as he could their relationship had never really blossomed. His mother had of course tried to encourage him to pick up the family business and while he'd found he had some talent for brewing his passion had always been for the stars. That of course had brought it's own tensions between he and his mother, while she'd never openly discouraged his fascination she never encourage it and would always preach him the virtues of their life here on Pell. Plucking the lantern from it's hook he made his way back upstairs depositing the rounded light back on it's hook by the door, when he stepped back into the tap room it seemed much brighter as he was about to announce he was heading for the university he stopped as all two and half meters of Jackson Dare was standing in front of the doorway mashing his knuckles together,

"Hello Quinn." the man smiled but there wasn't a drop of mirth in it, just malice.

"Hello Jack, I see the old man let you off too."

"Had to, I was worthless after that business earlier. Told me to go on and get it out of my system."

Quinn couldn't help but notice that the tap room had gone dead quiet, most of the dunn knew that he and Jackson Dare had been almost inseparable since primary school and the tension now arching through the air between them was almost palpable,

"Let's take this outside Jack."

"Nah," the larger man spoke shaking his head, "I think the people here need to hear what kind of man you really are Quinn."

Quinn's eyes narrowed and hardened at the words of his friend, there was no hiding a reputation like his from a barmaid like his mom but he'd managed to keep most of his dalliances from his mother's tender ears and now his best friend meant to spill all of his laundry right in front of her,

"Not here Jack, not now..."

"Maybe you should have throught about that before you..."

He couldn't let the man finish that sentence and with a speed and strength that seemed to surprise even Jack his fist lanced out connecting with the slightly taller man's jaw, he could just barely make out Ollie shouting something about no fighting in the tavern as he and Jack traded fists and knees and elbows back and forth as the rolled around on the sawdust covered floor. He wasn't sure how but eventually one or the other had gotten tossed out through the door into the rough dusty street. He distinctly remembered the naying of one of Pell's native six legged horses as they did and then the shrill wale of a constables' whistle and then the world went dark...

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Re: The Lost Heir

Post by coronhorn » Sun Apr 25, 2010 7:55 pm

The first thing Quinn was aware of was the throbbing that started at the base of his skull and arched around the crown of his skull till it was throbbing behind his eyes, a throb that jumped to a stabbing pain when he carefully opened his eyes, it wasn't much light but what little there was hurt, it was as bad or worse than any hangover he'd ever managed to give himself and when he tried to move an involuntary groan racked him,

"I wouldn't try to move if I were you." that was Jack's voice, "I don't know what you did to piss them off but the bobbies gave you one hell of a beating."

"No clue about that eh?" Quinn replied trying to smirk but finding his face too swollen to pull it off.

"Not a one."

Quinn closed his eyes again and just laid back on the cold stone floor of the small jail cell,

"You still want to tan my hide?"

"Never really wanted to to tan it, more like stretch and tenderize a little." Jackson replied with a bit of a laugh followed by the grunt of a wince.

"Sounds like the bobbies tenderized you some too."

"That one was you, nasty bit of work that right of yours is."

Quinn couldn't help but laugh at that but immediately regretted it as the spasm triggered pain in places he didn't even realize he had nerve endings,

"Told you not to move brother."

Quinn rolled over, in spite of the pain, towards the sound of his friend's voice, "Brother? Does that mean you forgive me?"

"No," he laughed, "but we're a little more even."

Down the hallway from the cells came the sound of metal clanging on metal and then heavy booted footsteps then the loud ringing of a billyclub on the bars made Quinn wince,

"Has sleeping beauty woken up yet?" the deep baritone voice belonged to the Dunn's chief constable, Ronald Lightwind,

"No." Quinn growled, the older man laughed with a rich baritone,

"Sorry about the thumping Quinn but you were a madman, you broke Ricky's arm in two places. You were like a man possessed, I ain't never seen anything like it. We had to just keep beating on you till you couldn't move."

"Thank you, I think." Quinn grumbled.

"Don't thank me yet son, the council is clamoring for a punishment, I think they wanna make an example out of you."

"Right,"Jackson scoffed, "What's the worse they could do, slap him on the wrist and tell him not to fight."

The constable's face got hard and shook his head, "Quinn's of age now Jack and he's made more than his fair share of enemies with his exploits over the years. I've heard all kinds of talk, but most of it centers around exile, bit extreme you ask me but not many doing that."

Quinn's heart about stopped at the mention of Exile, it was a punishment so draconian that it had never been used; lashings, stockades, even pubic whippings but exile was the closest thing to a death penalty that Pell recognized. A person branded an exile wasn't welcome in any right standing dunn that was associated with the Grand Assembly, which was pretty much all of them. Exiles were granted no aide by travelers and no status or protection under the law, it was a punishment so horrid that it had only been used twice in the history of the world, Lucian Greybeard and Grot'al the Vile, they had lead an insurrection against the Assembly two years after it's founding, a week after their branding Grot'al was found hung and it was rumored Lucian had managed to sneak off-world on one of the occasional freighter that made supply runs to the colony at the time.

"There's no way they'll do it, not for a fight."

"By the Force the boy broke one of my men's arms in three places with his bear hands, already there are tales spreading that he's some kinda warlock or deamon, people are scared and scared people do stupid things especially when they're being led around by the nose by people who your friend has managed to make enemies of."

Jackson shook his head as the old jailor stuck his key in the door and turned it, the old mechanical lock making a ka-thunk as it opened, "They told me to send you home Jack, come on out of there."

Quinn looked up and met his friend's eyes and then looked at the open door, "Go."

"But..."

"Go," Quinn smirked, "you have a better chance of doing something about it out there."

The slightly younger man hesitated for a moment and then haltingly slipped past the constable, "Don't think this changes things between us you sprocking wanker."

Quinn nodded with a smile, "On the bright side, if they do it you can kill me anytime you want."

A dark look crossed his friend's face, "Not if they get to you first."

Quinn smirked, "That'll be the day."

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Re: The Lost Heir

Post by coronhorn » Wed May 26, 2010 4:51 pm

Quinn woke at the tale tale sound of heavy boot on stone but didn't move, in the moonlight streaming through the small barred windows cast a series of moving shadows, there was three maybe four guards and none of them was the constable,

"That him?" came a whisper from one of the men, too low to make out who it was, the answer was apparently an inaudible nod, "good, come on boys."

The metallic sound of a key slipping into the mechanical lock was followed by the ker-thunk of the lock opening, the door swung open with a low whining screech and three shadowy figures rushed into the cell, he managed to avoid the first guy and smirked as he crashed head-long into the stone floor but he couldn't avoid the second of his mystery attackers,

"Hold him!" one of them gave a muted shout, a few seconds later he felt a fist slam into the side of his head and the world went dark...


The next thing that registered for Quinn was an intensely sharp pain shooting up his right arm, he tried to pull away from it but found he was firmly strapped to a chair of some kind, as his head cleared he began to hear the muffled sounds of a crowd,

"Where am I you cowards!" he shouted, the world around him was still stone black and he quickly realized he'd been hooded while he was out, "Let me out of this chair and I'll give you a right good thumping!"

The sounds of the crowd rose and suddenly the hood was jerked off of his head, he found himself sitting inside of the transpari-steel holding cell that he recognized as the one in the center of court of justice, around him int he bleachers was seated the majority of the dunn, his friend Jack was seated on the front row to his right along with his sisters, they all wore a look disgust. That was when he noticed the smell of burnt flesh he looked but couldn't find the source, looking up he noticed one of the constable's holding a red hot brand, his masked grin missing at least two teeth, the brand holding the shape of an "E". The font was a rounded almost circular shape, suddenly a voice boomed into his ears piped into the glass box from above,

"Quinn'lan Vos of Dunn Holland the Grand Assembly of Pell has granted the Petition of Exile against you, for your crimes from this day forth you will not know a day of peace or protection for the rest of your actual life, nor will you be given any consideration or standing under the law from this day forward you are Exile!"

He glanced in a panic from his right where his friends were to his left where he found his mother sobbing next to his step-father who sat still like his had a steel pylon in his back holding him upright his face an passive mask. The masked man's grin turned up at the corners and stabbed the red-hot brand into his chest, the pain shot through his body and triggered something, broke open a gate somewhere deep inside him, his vision blurred red as the rage and pain blocked out everything else, blue prickles of electricity surged across his skin and then suddenly all of that power just burst forth...


Jackson Dare's eyes went wide and his fists clenched at the masked constable stabbed the glowing red brand into his lifelong friend's chest, the scream that the act elicited from his friend caused both his sisters to bury their heads in his chest but something else was happening. Tiny bolts of blue electricity suddenly began to dance across his friend's skin and the masked constable who'd been so confident moments before suddenly dropped the brand and in a panic began to fumble with his keys. Jack felt the hairs on on the back of his own neck suddenly stand on end, he spun and covered his sisters as something behind him detonated, the shock wave struck peppering his back with hundreds of tiny shards of broken transpara-steel before throwing him head first into the bleachers and plunging him into the pitch black of unconsciousness that he'd become all to familiar with the last few days, when he woke it was to the sharp pain from his mauled back and the soft feel of his sister's hands on his face,

"Jack!" She was patting his cheek and he reached up to grab her wrist,

"What happened?" his own eyes scanned the carnage that was now the chamber of justice till they came to rest on the center where Quinn was still sitting strapped to the chair,

"Quinn... exploded..." his sister stammered in what he could tell was a lack of belief in her own words, "I mean is that even possible?"

Jack noticed he wasn't the only one finally starting to shake off his disorientation, on the dais that dominated the northern end of the room the members of the Grand Assembly were starting to regain their own composure and while he couldn't make out the words thanks to the ringing in his own ears the murderous intent on the Chairman's face as he gestured madly towards the center of the room to a pair of constables that had just entered was clear, he exploded from the stands with a guttural roar and caught the first of the two men squarely in the temple with his fist crumpling him to the ground as he turned to face the other man he barely managed to duck a wild swing from his billy club. He followed it with a left hook of his own into the man's gut that sent him to the ground as well gasping for air. Turning to his friend he found him staring wide eyed at the scene, as he moved to unbuckle his friend from the chair he heard his sisters shouting to his left as he turned his head he caught a glimpse of third constable but he was too late as the man's club caught him on the back of his head...


Quinn stared in shock for moment as the constable savagely laid into his friend before he realized that his right hand was free it's restraints, it was but the work of seconds for him to free himself from the chair and cover the distance, ripping the man, who was twice his size. off his feet from behind he savagely tossed him into the Assembly's dais. Jackson was still breathing, inside he felt the rage building again as he heard the members of the Assembly continuing to shout, "KILL THEM!", but this time it was directed focused, now it was his turn to shout. It wasn't anything intelligible, just a primal roar, this time instead of it just exploding out of him in every direction broke in waves towards the focus of his anger shattering the Assembly dais and hurling everything in it's path into the well constructed dura-crete wall behind it, the force of it even fracturing that. Drained he felt his muscles collapse under his own weight, though he never hit the floor, someone had caught him...

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Re: The Lost Heir

Post by coronhorn » Wed Apr 20, 2011 2:04 pm

His dreams, if you could call them dreams, barely boardered on believeable there had been monsters of a kind he'd never read of even in the darkest of fairytales but there had also been men and women not unlike himself there to combat those walking visions of horror. Men and women who weilded blades of pure fire and could do things that no mortal human he had ever seen could do. They were like the wizards and witches of the stories he'd heard so many times around the fire light of his youth but they also seemed to be very like the stories his mother had often told him of his father, his real father, but all of the dreams faded as real life began to intrude once again upon his waking mind in the form of a tremendous pounding like the beating of some massive drum and the painful stabs of light at eyes too long hidden behind the veil of sleep,

"Hey he's waking up!" he heard a voice, high and beautiful, filter in through the pounding of the drum that was his skull.

"Hold him down!" another one deep and resonant replied, "He's going to be disoriented and probably irritated."

"But what if he does that thing again!" the high voice, no a different voice pleaded.

"He won't."

As he blinked his eyes open against the harsh sunlight he realized he was seeing it flicker at him from beneath the cover of a wagon,

"Where am i?" he tried to get out but the words came out slurred and almost unrecognisable.

"Just lay still Quinn," one of the high voices spoke, "You did quite a number on yourself back there... not to mention what the constables did to ye before that."

"Jack?" he nearly whispered.

"Right here next to ye," came the second beautifully high voice, "Now be still!"

Dropping his efforts to move he simply allowed himself to relax back into the warm hay he could now feel himself laid out on and stared at the gently buffeting hemp covering of the wagon, judging by the tatters it was either quite old or extremely well used. Letting his eyes droop closed he quickly drifted off to sleep again but this time his dreams were filled with those two sweet high voices...


When he once again clawed his way back to consciousness he found himself laid out on a well made but plain bunk on a mattress stuffed with what felt like cotton but felt much warmer to the touch than it should have, relieved he found that his head was now clear as was his vision sitting up he glanced around the room he found himself in taking in the various bit and pieces. There were shelves scattered about that held all manner of things that he knew came from off-world, technology that was good only as a paperweight on Pell though mixed in with those items were occasional planetary items like the polished skull of a Zevva tiger or the talon of a plains raptor, things he'd only seen on display in the natural history museums of Cidade das Estrelas. Who ever owned this place was either very wealthy or had been on Pell for a very very long time,

"I hope that you're feeling better?"

Quinn's eyes were immediately drawn to the source of the deep voice, the one he remembered from his initial bout with consciousness in the wagon, he was a stout man perhaps just a shade under two meters in height with the well muscled build of a long-time field laborer or a constable. His hair was a dark black streaked through with white but he couldn't tell if it was in the process of changing from light to dark or dark to light. Quinn nodded and some small manner of relief seeped into the man's stern features,

"I had worried that those ignorant buffoons had done you permanent damage."

"Where's Jackson?"

The man smiled, or atleast that's what the shape his beard took on lead him to believe he was doing, "He still hasn't woken up yet but he's through the worst of it I believe. He took quite the shot to the head from that last paddy before you made a thorough mess of the place. His sisters are in the other room looking after him. They'll be glad to know you up again."

Quinn smiled at that and then tentatively swung his feet out of the bed and onto the solid stone like floor, it wasn't as cold on his bear feet as he thought it would be, the other man started to move towards himself as Quinn stood shakily onto them but quickly checked himself,

"Good to see ye have enough balance to stand but you should still take things easy the next couple of days."

Quinn smirked and then settled back onto the not-cotton bed, "You don't have to worry about that. I know enough to know when I'm good and well knackered, though I am a slight bit thirsty."

"I imagine you are," the older man said his beard making the smiling shape again, "I'll go get you a cold drought from the well."

As the other man vanished Quinn set his eyes back to studying the room, there was something off about it but he just couldn't put his finger on it yet...

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Re: The Lost Heir

Post by coronhorn » Wed Apr 27, 2011 2:50 pm

The days seemed to pass quicker where ever they Quinn knew that much and when the fire in the stove dimmed the temprature in the room dropped quite a bit as well the combination of which told him that where ever they were it was quite a bit north of Dunn Holland which meant they were over a week away from the Starport and his only means of getting off of the planet. Lifting his shirt he studied the circled E that was branded into his chest now,

"You're lucky that didn't get infected on the trip here." the deep voice resonanted from one of the room's darker corners, "but it's healing up nicely now."

Quinn's eyes fond the man in the dimmly lit room standing just beside one of the brighter pools of light from one of the brighter lamps,

"Why?"

"Why is the wound healing? Because you're a strong young man in the prime of his life." the man paused and then chuckled, "No, you want to know why I'm helping you don't you? Why would someone whom you've never met rescue you from certain death at the hands of those ignorants."

The man stepped out of the shadows and made his way to one of the chairs stationed near the bed he was lying on, he was tall and at first glance appeared almost to be painfully thin for a human, his long flowing robes were dark and well laundered, "It is an intriguing question, one I have asked myself several times while nursing you back to health. The best I can come up with is because the Force willed it."

"The Force?" he asked sitting up some on his bed of not-cotton and leaning against the cool stone wall of the alcove that it sat in.

The man smiled, it was a rueful smile one that belied much, "I still am amazed by the sheer levels of ignorance this planet harbors sometimes, as long as I've been here you would think that I'd have gotten used to it."

Settling himself the man's demeanor shifted subtly as did the cant of his voice, "The Force is what binds the matter, both organic and inorganic, together. It's an enertgy field that's generated by life itself or so the traditions tell us, I've had alot of time to think about it and I rather think it only binds living breathing beings but such things are discussions for the ages."

"So the Force is like... the One?"

The man scowled and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his left thumb and fore-finger, his black finger nails the first real hint that he might not be completely human, "Please tell me you don't believe that useless drivel the local mystics preach?"

Quinn chuckled though it caused his head to throb, "No, though my knuckles hate me for it. My mum isn't a native, I grew up on her stories of the worlds beyond, though good luck trying to convice Jackson that the One isn't real."

"What kind of stories did your mother teach you?"

"Well most of them center around this bar she used to work at, I can never remmeber the name, she says it's because it's not in basic whatever that means..."

"Galactic Basic, it's the language that we're speaking now, go on"

"Huh, well like I said most of the stories revolve around the bar; fights, guns, smuggling whatever that is, and my dad."

At this the older man's eyebrows perked up somewhat, "So the man your mother's married to?"

"Ain't my pa, no, mum talks about him like he was some kind of bleeding hero of old. That he had this sword that could cut through anything and could move things around without touching them real fairytale stuff and I was a kid and things were always so miserable growing up that I just ate it up."

"I see, so you don't believe the stories now?"

Quinn glared crossly at the other man, "They're fairytales, no one can do the kinds of things my mum says my da could do."

The man leant back in his chair and chuckled, it was a long low rolling laugh that gratted on his frayed last nerve,

"So is this fairytale magic boy?" he finally asked and then extended his hand towards the far wall, a slim cylindrical device there jumped from it's place on one of the shelves leaving a trail of dust in the candle lit air before it smacked his outstretched palm, he thumbed an activation switch on the cylinder and the air split in a snap-hiss as a blade of light sprang from the cylinder. It made a low humming sound as the man moved it through the air before thumbing the switch again, this time a swooshing sound accompanied it's disappearance. The man held the object, the weapon he now knew it to be, out to him,

"Take it."

He carefully took the object and made special note not to touch the activation stud he'd seen the man use,

"That is a lightsabre, the traditional weapon of a Jedi, the magical sword your mother told you stories of your father using."

Quinn's mind swirled at this information, his entire world-view shaken to the core by this sudden revelation that everything his mother had ever told about her life before Pell had been true, "Does that mean my father was one of you? A Jedi?"

At this question the man's demeanor darkened somewhat and he motioned for him to return the weapon, "Perhaps, but there are other possibilities as well, there are... were others who like the Jedi could wield the Force. The Sith. The Jedi and the Sith would often clash in the galaxy since while the Jedi believed themselves protectors of the Force and therefor life the Sith believed that they were masters of the Force and so life itself existed to serve them. It has been an enteral struggle..."

Quinn studied the old man for a bit a question playing at the tip of his togune,

"Out with it, your question bubbles within you, ask it before you burst."

"So which are you?"

The old man smiled as he stood and blithely crossed the room and placed the lightsabre back on the shelf, pausing there for a minute then awnsering without turning to face him, "I am neither."

With that he started for the door, but Quinn still had one more question,

"Which am I?"

The old man stopped at the door and glanced back, "That will be up to you."

Then he was gone through the door it quietly swinging shut behind him to leave Quin'lann Vos to ponder his new reality, he spent the remaining hours till dawn trying in vain to duplicate the feat the old man had performed so casually. As the sun was rising so did Quinn, he pulled on the slippers that had till then sat idly beside his bed along the shirt that hung form a hook and started for the door himself...

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coronhorn
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Re: The Lost Heir

Post by coronhorn » Tue Jun 28, 2011 8:59 am

Quin huffed as he pushed through the last one hundred meters of his morning run, it had been nearly three weeks (assuming that the day and night cycles were still relatively the same) since he'd woken in the dimly lit room of his rescuer. That first week he hadn't gotten out of bed much and when he had he'd not ventured outside but since the older man's little display he'd forced himself out of bed and slowly gotten back into a rhythm of rising early to go for runs and push his muscles. He wasn't entirely sure how long he'd lain unconscious in the bed but he'd found most of his physical strength had fled those first few days and he'd vowed to himself to get it back, rebuild it, and so he now rose and ran an ever lengthening circuit around his temporary home. As he muscled up the last stretch back to small compound's entrance an involuntary grin spread across his lips at the sight of his friend Jackson and his two sisters waiting near the entry. Jack was still draped in the same kind of gown he'd awoken to find hanging next to his bed, as he dropped his pace down to a walk Illana Dare the older of Jackson's two twin sisters smiled and held out a bottle of water, the surface of which was cool to his touch when he took it,

"Azreal said you might appreciate this." she spoke with a knowing grin.

Quin laughed and popped open the valve on the container and turned it up enjoying the cool feel of the water down his now parched throat he gave a low grunt of appreciation and then emptied the remaining water onto his head giving his hair a good hand scrubbing in the process to hopefully get rid of any built-up dirt,

"Good to see you up." he finally smiled at his life-long friend, "You were starting to make me worry I'd never get the pleasure of beating your tail again in Jonto."

Jackson forced a weak smile but Quin could tell he was only just out of his bed and still a good ways from being his old self, "Couldn't leave my sisters alone with too much longer with a scoundrel like you about."

Quin smiled and gave his friend a solid hug, "Nothing to worry about there brother, the old man has been keeping me busy as a plains stalker in the wet season."

The other man gave him a weak smile and turned to head back inside with Katrina the younger of the twins helping him along,

"How is he doing, really?"

"Azreal doesn't seem to think there's any permanence to the damage but he's having trouble moving still, more trouble grasping things, the old man says it's normal for the kind of injury he sustained but that it should improve over time as long as he keeps working at it."

"Then you make sure he does and when he's ready I'll pick up the pace with him."

she nodded and let her hand drift down his arm affectionately as she left to follow them, "The old man said to meet him out back when you got back, he was digging around in one of his trunks in the storage rooms."

Quinn sighed and then shook his head, that meant he was going to face something new this morning, a week earlier Azreal had started requesting Quinn join him behind the main building of the small compound where there was a large circle carved into the rocky earth. At first it had just been for philosophical talks centering around the Force or Quinn's own life experiences, a couple days earlier Azreal had begun walking him through the basics of a new form of martial arts, he'd always had an affinity for Junto which was the local form of hand-to-hand that most of the men on Pell practiced and he'd rapidly absorbed the lessons for this new form of fighting that Azreal called Enchani. When he walked around the edge of the dome that made up the central portion of the compound he saw the old man standing in the holding a pair of what looked like sticks, each about three or four feet long,

"Morning Quin'lann," he spoke softly and gave him a shallow bow, Quinn stopped at the edge of the ring and returned the gesture with a deeper motion before stepping inside it, "this morning we're going to add weapons to the mix."

hr tossed one of the two rods through the air to him and Quinn easily plucked it out of the air, it was light, the whole thing not weighing much more than the hilt of the light saber that Azeral had shown him weeks ago, it was unlike the swords he'd learned to use in conjunction with Junto in that the majority of the weight was towards the hilt with it's balance centered there,

"These as I suspect you've already guessed are practice swords designed to simulate as reasonably as possible the feel of a lightsaber. I like to think I did an excellent job but I suppose you'll have to be the judge of that eventually. These blades when activated will only shock or burn not cut. We wouldn't want either of us to loose a limb out here in the middle of no where, we'd be very unlikely to survive the experience."

Quinn smirked and studied the hilt of the weapon finding what hie was looking for and then activating it with his thumb, the blade hummed to life and made a very similar sound to Azeral's lightsaber as it moved through the air, he moved to touch the blade with his hand and heard a strangled sound of surprise come from the older man but that was drowned out by the blinding pain of the shock the blade gave him, his whole forearm going numb in the wake of it and a curse tearing from his lips,

"What the frell!" he growled and as he glared at the other man.

"I told you, shock and then burn."

Looking down at his left hand he could see a slight whelp rising up across the palm of his hand,

"Push through it, we'll put some salve on it once you've mastered the first Velocity of Shii-Cho to my satisfaction."

Azreal took up a position with both hands on the hilt of the practice sword and waited till Quinn matched him and then they began...

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