[color=dcb246][center][h3]Death, Remembered[/h3][/center][/color]
[center][sub][i]"Death is not the opposite of life, it is the opposite of birth; life is something more, something eternal-"[/i][/sub][/center]

Quillow had awoken with a start- a rising heat had been gracing his eye-stalks, and a dull, throbbing pain thrummed in his ribs. Getting a bearing on his surroundings, he quickly realized he couldn't move. A large, rigid, and flat piece of durasteel pressed on his chest and legs, leaving only his head and most of his arms free. A growing flame ignited from sparks continued to fester to his right, begging attention. His breaths were short and labored. The piece of steel that trapped him was too heavy to move conventionally, protesting any amount of thrashing or struggling. With tired arms, Quillow centered himself- steadied his breathing. His mind took him to the banks of an autumnal river, while a wave of his four-fingered hand saw the hunk of metal gently raise itself, just enough to afford the Ithorian freedom. Quillow noted something felt off, but for now it was no matter. He stood and squirmed out of his dirtied tabard, pressing it to the flame until it was quenched. Awkwardly pulling the singed garment back over his head, Quillow took stock of himself- everything seemed to be where it should be, and save for some bruising on his ribs, there wasn't any lingering pain- at least, not physical.
	
His head snapped to attention as he thought of Master Welck. Quillow couldn't see him in the wreckage, and he hadn't come to his pupil's aid. The Ithorian shook his head at a dour assumption. Surely he was instead helping others, knowing Quillow was capable on his own right. But his vision of the force moments ago- the river was still. That's what had felt off. A knot of panic wound its way around Quillow's stomach and heart, tightening as the Ithorian lumbered through tarnished wreckage with trunk-like legs, finding naught a sign of Welck. Quillow was thankful his translator had survived the crash as he called for Welck. 

Quillow's eyes finally came to rest on a still figure; another survivor hovered above him- Varman, Quillow believed the Jedi's name was. They acknowledged each other, but Quillow didn't need to take another step forward to recognize the body. It was the mangled, lifeless Welck. Varman continued on searching for other survivors as Quillow approached his Master's remains. Fruitlessly prodding, he felt no pulse. A flood of emotions settled over him like a cloak. Bewilderment, anger, a tinge of acceptance- but the most prominent was loneliness. It was at this moment that Quillow realized that there had always been someone in his life- Welck, the other Initiates, a member of the research team on Felucia that he had briefly befriended; Quillow knew of Varman and could make out the movements of some other survivors, but he had never felt so alone. The emotion began to bubble over.

The sound of an Ithorian wailing is a wretched noise- like the moaning of some gnarled and twisted tree before its branches snap. In the remnants of the hull, it shook the metal and the earth, reverberating and amplifying until even Quillow's own ears rang. The knot of panic loosed itself and sank into Quillow's gut where it oozed into sorrow. The Ithorian wailed again as he gripped his Master's clammy shoulder. [i]"There is a light,"[/i] Welck would say, [i]"at the end of every bout of darkness,"[/i] but this one felt like it had no end. 

[i]"If I had been faster- if I had talked you out of coming here- if I had confronted you about the woman-"[/i] Quillow accused himself. The autumnal river began its flow once more as tears welled below his spherical black eyes. 

[i]"Death is nothing to us, for when we are here, it has not come- and when it does, we are no longer here."[/i] Quillow swore he could [i]hear[/i] Welck's words. A soothing kindling of wisdom ignited in his chest, assuaging his sorrow and regret as logic and rationale began to take root once more. The edges of his vision no longer seemed blurred, but Quillow had trouble taking his eyes off of Welck. A part of him wanted to believe he'd suddenly burst back to life, full of hope and answers. "Your fear of death comes not from knowledge of an inevitable, but in your belief that in death, there is awareness." Quillow muttered to himself, completing the thought from earlier. Quillow finally ripped his gaze away from his late Master- it fatefully came to rest on a faint blue shimmer buried amongst twisted metal. Welck's datapad. It was remarkably unharmed. Quillow plunged his hand into the detritus to retrieve it, dusting off the loose flecks of burnt material. The Ithorian stared at it a moment. Within were catalogued the memories Master Welck had taken from others, memories whose trinkets were now destroyed. This datapad would be all that remained of them. 

Quillow looked from the datapad to Welck's body once more. Lowering himself so their foreheads touched, Quillow repeated the mantra-

"I would take these memories from you, that you might find peace."

Slowly standing, Quillow took a deep breath before taking stock of his [i]own[/i] collected memories. Feeling around his belt, a few perhaps perished in the crash, but three remained: a string of tiny beads, a burnt scrap of another datapad- the rest was destroyed, and a section of black leather. Quillow tugged on their strings to make sure they were securely fastened, and walked amongst the wreckage, knowing there was nothing left for him there. 

[center]---[/center]

There were seven survivors. This planet was temperate- perhaps a little warm for Quillow's taste- but not unpleasant. The next few hours passed by Quillow almost autonomously; he was still in shock over what happened, and continuously harried by questions over what to do with Welck's datapad. A few times he found a finger hovering over the delete key, only to be unable to do so. On one hand, Quillow knew bearing the troubles of Welck would be a burden itself- however, he could not delete them or offer them as a token to someone to bear away, for the memories were not his to forget. On the other hand, Welck dedicated his life to their collection, and now that he was with the Force, no memory could haunt him- perhaps it was for the best that these, too, passed on with him. Would their mere presence hold him here, unable to pass forward? Wasn't the prevention of such the very thing Quillow and Welck sought?

This was what Quillow pondered as Varman and the other survivors gathered to meditate. The Ithorian wished not to burden the others with his conflict, so he sought no guidance from the others and spoke very little, only giving thanks for any condolences offered. To stamp the point, the Ithorian chose to doff his translator. Quillow's focus was only finally broken when a blaster bellowed. The Ithorian willingly gave his weapon when requested but retreated inward once more as he aided in carrying one of the injured Masters, spending the rest of the journey in thought. Quillow shared Varman's sentiment of wishing the bodies honored, but beyond this, his thoughts were all set on his future beyond this planet, which the Ithorian realized was fairly presumptive as squat wooden dwellings now rose around them. Now finally of a state of mind pertinent of a Jedi, Quillow thought it best he stay behind when Varman and Dr. Lamenk’srey traveled back to the bodies.

[i]“There’s a mineral called Sparstite—You’re familiar with it, Master Quillow?-"[/i] He nodded. He had seen it throughout the village, and almost thought it kyber, but it felt different. Reclusive, almost. Frayed and wispy. Quillow listened intently as he plead his peoples' case. Quillow engaged in a brief inner debate once more, spawned from his earlier conflict. For a moment he weighed the importance of letting memories pass on as the elder continued his allegory, but quickly decided against it. They wouldn't be passed on, but destroyed outright. Plus, after the wizened one explained further, Quillow realized that this sparstite was even somewhat alike the bafforr trees on Ithor, though he had yet to explore sparstite's proclivity for telepathy, or more complex sentience. If the latter bore fruit, it was beholden to the Law of Life, and for each one taken, two would need to replace it. To Quillow, omnipresent laws, such as the Force, trumped those dictated by any nation, the Republic not withstanding. 

Now on the metal tower, Quillow set aside his sorrows for the time being, it was time to be a Jedi. Welck was always so [i]sure[/i] of his answers and wisdom, and Quillow hoped he could emulate. He donned his translator, pulling his green hood over his head.

"I believe that first and foremost we should gauge where we stand. I would aid Thuda in stopping the mining, but would also hear what others have to say."