Logged on: May 15, 2001    
    Logged by: Terrick
    Log Name: Awakening
    Participants: 
    Terrick Seth 
    Agran Darkwielder
         
    Galactic Museum 
    The Galactic Museum is home to a variety of art, relics, and 
    history. It's multiple levels, each offering a different theme of 
    objects, rises up several stories as if to disappear from view. It is 
    said that one person could spend an eternity within the museum looking 
    at all the objects stored here. Each object is highlighted with its own 
    display lighting, making them appear like a beacon within the ocean of 
    darkness.
     

    Descriptions:
    Darkwielder
    You see a young boy, no older than sixteen standard years old, before 
    you. His hair is thick and hangs over his shoulders with resilience. 
    Two long braids adorn each side as they protrude from behind his ears 
    and are tipped with what appears to be a silver skull. His eyes are 
    an earthy tone but sparkle with the curiosity and mysticism often 
    associated with youth. He wears a thick, black tunic and baggy black 
    pants with hard black knee-high boots that are polished to a shine. 
    His wrists sport silver arm grieves and his hands are covered in black 
    leather gloves. Strapped to his hip is a black holster containing a 
    blaster pistol. He wears it proudly and positions it so he can draw 
    it faster. Standing at 1.85 meters tall and weighing around 63 
    kilograms, Agran appears to be in shape, although there isn't a lot 
    of muscle mass. Agran's dimpled cheeks and fair complexion tell you 
    that he has spent more time smiling than fighting.
     
    Terrick
    A human male appears before you. His face seems matured, but with some 
    youthful intones scattered about it's rigid exterior. He stands close 
    to six feet tall, and his blue eyes seem to be a constant story of 
    determination and honor. His posture and steps are well calculated, 
    he carries himself well. His high cheekbones add a character to his 
    face that is high in prestige. His body and face carry no emotion to 
    one's eyes. He as if chiseled from the stone of the strongest nature. 
       His black hair is cut short, such as the traditional padawan, to the 
    back of is head is a pony tail cut short and to the bottom left of his head 
    begins a long braid that travels down to his lower back. If his hood is down 
    and he bows usually it comes over his arm to touch the ground. His complex 
    tan and his build rather lean and muscular. It is not true bulk, but rather 
    the build of a farmer, his body is covered in a copper tan of either blood 
    or a rich sum of manual labor.
     
        Terrick dresses darker than most of his kind. A pair of long black 
    leggings are worn and cleanly tucked into a pair of black leather boots. A 
    black silky tunic is worn properly tucked into his leggings topped off with 
    a black leather belt. On his belt a comlink. On his wrist are a pair of 
    interesting devices. Grieves are tied about the Jedi's forearms and underneath 
    these grieves an interesting design has taken shape tucked into these grieves 
    are a pair of lightsabers. The Lightsabers seem to be longer than the normal 
    breed covered in symbols, at their hilts are devices as if the sabers could 
    possible connect together. With the slip of his wrist the Battlemaster can 
    summon his arms to hand faster than the blink of an eye. He wears a pair 
    of black leather gloves and covering his body is a black cloak, it's heavy 
    hood sometimes seen draping down his back, or sometimes placed over his head 
    making it impossible to make out his facial features.
          
    Darkwielder is poring over various datapad entries in the Museum's collection.
    He is pale and there are dark rings under his eyes. It appears that he has been
    at it for some time. He looks up slowly. "Hmph... traitor." he says in a
    detestable tone. "You should not have come back." Darkwielder powers down the
    datapad screen that he is examining and stands from his sitting position.
     
    The cloaked figure of Terrick Seth freezes for a moment. His eyes hidden
    underneath his heavy hood. His lips remain flatly pressed as Agran echoes words
    in his direction. The Jedi pauses slightly spreading his legs into a combat
    position, but quickly erases the stance and moves forward. "Traitor?" The young
    man echoed back toward him his tone emotionless, "I am afraid I do not truly
    understand what you are speaking, perhaps you can elaborate?" his steps stop
    some two and a half meters from the youth, his hands cuffed under the long
    sleeves of his cloak.
     
    Darkwielder puts his finger upon his chin, contemplatively. "I'll tell you." he
    replies. "I'll tell you everything.", he pauses slightly and then steps forward
    revealing a heavy blaster on his hip. "The Darkwielders and the Seths were one
    in the same. We were a family, bound by honor. You and your kind were spawned
    from the weaker half, as I am the heir to the REAL power that is my destiny.
    Yet you... YOU and YOU'RE people went out of your way to erase what memories I
    had of home... my home... and YOUR home, on FONDOR!!!" The youth flavors his
    dialogue with varying degrees of visceral contempt. He ends his short speech 
	with one hand pointing a finger at you and the other reaching for his blaster.
     
    The Jedi's hood fell off of his head, to reveal a pale face. It sickened his
    heart to hear the truth, or did it? Did he know all along that his roots were
    false and what he lived was a lie? No time to ponder Terrick is mind tugged
    that kid is going for his blasted gun. The Jedi's eyes widened broadly as his
    left hand raised briskly and his wrist flicked as a cylinder came to rest in
    his hand. The design was of one of his uncles. The symbols, he hadn't truly
    examined them before copied off the text on Fondor. Could it be? That these
    symbols matched what he saw upon Teta? He froze, "Enough!" he shouts out in
    distress. His mind was young to these things his heart and mind boiled for
    answers, "There is no need for violence youth..." he said pointing his cylinder
    that was his lightsaber toward the Darkwielder, "We can discuss this more
    peacefully...."
     
        By then several people had noticed the small conflict building in the
    area. The wiser of the group found it best to discover the fastest ways to the
    exit. While the others looked on in a frozen awe. The lightsaber prompted
    security to, instead of moving in to stop it, to hold back the crowd forming
    around the pair.
     
    Darkwielder eyes tear up, and his expression grows cold. "Discussion? Peaceful?
    THESE are the reasons YOU are weak! It is my DESTINY to destroy you... the last
    of your kind. The weakest link..." Darkwielder begins to pull his blaster from
    it's holster but pauses briefly. "But not now... not here. You will get what's
    coming to you. But you will receive it in due time." The blaster is re-holstered
    and Darkwielder turns his back to the battle-ready Jedi. He begins walking back
    to his studies after turning around to stare directly into the Jedi's eyes. "If
    you knew about this then blast you for leading me on... and if not... may there
    be mercy on your soul for what is to come."
  
     
    Terrick quirked a brow as the youth's actions unfolded, was the youth correct?
    Was it evident in his recent actions? The Jedi stood silently watching the boy
    with particular interest. It seems the youth remembers his past or one was
    fabricated for him. Either way the silence remained the crowd followed suit. No
    words were uttered, the silence became very uncomfortable. Why was his stomach
    swimming, why was his head foggy? Questions echoed through his head, words of
    Hadin Prine, words of his father. The most recent memory echoed the Darth Bane
    of Sith marking him for failure and weakness after his defeat. While he laid
    in the street a hole in his right shoulder and gasping for air. He remembered
    his fear, his anger, and his frustration in that matter. His ice blue eyes
    stood blankly, "Agran.." he finally said, "Where have you learned these lies, I
    have never heard these words in my life..." he did know one thing, his parents
    were dead, and one of his two brothers. Something was to be told as he himself
    admitted he did not know much of his family history.
    
     
    Darkwielder sighed in frustration. "Even the most powerful Jedi are unable to
    derail another's destiny... my memory has returned. I have yet to uncover it's
    origin but in time I will discover all of the truths that were stolen from me.
    And you will find that these truths are not beautiful..." Darkwielder coldly
    ends the conversation and returns to his studies, confident that the Jedi will
    not harm him in any way right now. Agran knows that Terrick is as vexed by the
    current situation as he is... if not more.
     
    A cold shiver ran down the Battlemaster's spine. His mouth open in some shock,
    this young man speaks with the wisdom that never touched him at such an age.
    Could it be true? Could these very words answer the sleepless nights he had
    endured before his trip to Teta. A cold tingle struck the back of his mind
    beckoning him to act upon the boy with a wraith unmatched in his time. The Jedi
    shuddered for a moment and collapsed to his knees. His eyes glazed and frozen
    in a time long ago. His mind halting thought, his breath fell short, as he
    crumpled to the floor.
          
    Several security guards and crowd members rush forward lurching with some
    speed. The flashing of holo-cammeras could be seen in the background. The
    security guards collect the fallen body up and cart him to a room secluded in
    the back to try to revive him one calls out , "Call for medical support I don't
    think he is breathing.." another nods and rushes in an opposite direction. The
    orchestrated handy work of darkness looms over the building like a clinched
    fist for a true sign of victory.