Dacon takes a trip...to Kessel
Part of an RP story line, but Dacon's all by his lonesome so I'm using Lj to fill in on what he's been up to.
It was a wonder what the body could become accustomed to. And for that matter what any species' body could become acclimated with. The light sensitive spice had to be mined in complete darkness, which never helped when faced with what *made* the spice. Sure, Dacon had tried it once in the academy (who hadn't?) but he hadn't known then that it came out of a spider's backside. An energy spider at that, one which could suck the life energy straight out of a full grown man in less than a few seconds flat. His eyes had become used to the dark but his ears would never get used to those screams.
Even with the Force as his ally Dacon had trouble fitting in with the work routine. Hours upon hours in a dirt filled tunnel pressed up against your nearest, and usually smelly, neighbor while fingers dug through grit and rock looking for thin tendrils. All the while the mind stayed alert, wary for the slightest movement or sound that could serve as a warning. It rarely ever made the difference. Luckily with his ability to sense his surroundings, Dacon had the advantage. It still didn't help sleep any better at night.
If this is what life had become he was sure he didn't want any more part in it. How long had it been anyway since he was caught flatfooted by that damn merc? A month? A year? Without a sun or any means of telling time it could have very well been years though he could still remember what the outside world looked like so it couldn't have been too long. Either way, he knew he didn't belong there and had been in long enough to know no one was going to come for him. And why should they? He had been the one to leave and he had known the consequences. Truth be told he thought he was above capture; that overconfidence was kicking him in the ass.
Nothing bit as hard as spice. After a foolhardy attempt at freedom Dacon had slipped and let his abilities show. If there was one thing the galaxy had a temerity toward it would be the Jedi. Some approached them with fear and hostility, others with fear but a begrudging respect. The slave drivers of Kessel fell into the former category. A Jedi was a liability in the caves. The first dose was a treat. A reprieve from sore back muscles and aching limbs. A vacation from blood chilling screams into brief but intense pleasure and awareness. It was as if the world opened up into limitless possibilities, but one by one those possibilities flickered out like dying pinpricks of stars out in the distance.
After his sixth treatment with the unrefined spice (the refining process was where all the money came into the cost of production and why waste good spice on a slave?) the pleasure was no longer appealing. Dacon never got the name of his sector's chief but if he knew it he'd spit it as a curse until the day he died. Spice intoxication was a slow process and the beginnings far more enjoyable than any man trying to teach a lesson could bear to watch. One by one he brought them in. Murderers, psychotic killers with a lust for bloodshed and a penchant for finding the most unimaginable ways of going about it. There was no control over the spice's influence, no filter and no direction to point the opened awareness in. Their minds were laid open, every thought and every sick pleasure they took became his thoughts and his sick pleasures. Except that they weren't, and some small part of his drugged mind knew it.
If time had been an elusive blur in the tunnels it was now a concept he couldn't grasp. It could have been eons that he spent in that hazy mist of swirling memories that weren't his own and thoughts he'd never think. Piecing his own life back together was a chore and every time they hauled him from his shift he knew he only had precious moments of instant clarity before it all went back to nothing comprehensible. One thought stuck out from all of the rest. One blazing and unforgettable image that almost pulsed in his mind with a life energy all its own. That one speck of recognition he clung to with everything he had. He could already feel the situation getting desperate as more and more of his sense of self crumbled under the weight of crushing disorientation brought on by the drug. This time he harnessed the drug's effects and remembered for a brief moment about the Force.
Perhaps that moment was truly that, just a fraction of a second in time, or perhaps it was a full minute or more. He'd never know. All of his focus and concentration went into that image and reached for that pulse of life somewhere far away from here. He reached out and called to her, miraculously remembering her name. Jovi! Jovi help me, please! Jovi he- Whatever clarity had been there quickly eroded away, and for today he was a butcher. He'd wake up in the morning in a fog, not remembering why his throat felt so raw; not remembering that he spent the previous night screaming.
It was a wonder what the body could become accustomed to. And for that matter what any species' body could become acclimated with. The light sensitive spice had to be mined in complete darkness, which never helped when faced with what *made* the spice. Sure, Dacon had tried it once in the academy (who hadn't?) but he hadn't known then that it came out of a spider's backside. An energy spider at that, one which could suck the life energy straight out of a full grown man in less than a few seconds flat. His eyes had become used to the dark but his ears would never get used to those screams.
Even with the Force as his ally Dacon had trouble fitting in with the work routine. Hours upon hours in a dirt filled tunnel pressed up against your nearest, and usually smelly, neighbor while fingers dug through grit and rock looking for thin tendrils. All the while the mind stayed alert, wary for the slightest movement or sound that could serve as a warning. It rarely ever made the difference. Luckily with his ability to sense his surroundings, Dacon had the advantage. It still didn't help sleep any better at night.
If this is what life had become he was sure he didn't want any more part in it. How long had it been anyway since he was caught flatfooted by that damn merc? A month? A year? Without a sun or any means of telling time it could have very well been years though he could still remember what the outside world looked like so it couldn't have been too long. Either way, he knew he didn't belong there and had been in long enough to know no one was going to come for him. And why should they? He had been the one to leave and he had known the consequences. Truth be told he thought he was above capture; that overconfidence was kicking him in the ass.
Nothing bit as hard as spice. After a foolhardy attempt at freedom Dacon had slipped and let his abilities show. If there was one thing the galaxy had a temerity toward it would be the Jedi. Some approached them with fear and hostility, others with fear but a begrudging respect. The slave drivers of Kessel fell into the former category. A Jedi was a liability in the caves. The first dose was a treat. A reprieve from sore back muscles and aching limbs. A vacation from blood chilling screams into brief but intense pleasure and awareness. It was as if the world opened up into limitless possibilities, but one by one those possibilities flickered out like dying pinpricks of stars out in the distance.
After his sixth treatment with the unrefined spice (the refining process was where all the money came into the cost of production and why waste good spice on a slave?) the pleasure was no longer appealing. Dacon never got the name of his sector's chief but if he knew it he'd spit it as a curse until the day he died. Spice intoxication was a slow process and the beginnings far more enjoyable than any man trying to teach a lesson could bear to watch. One by one he brought them in. Murderers, psychotic killers with a lust for bloodshed and a penchant for finding the most unimaginable ways of going about it. There was no control over the spice's influence, no filter and no direction to point the opened awareness in. Their minds were laid open, every thought and every sick pleasure they took became his thoughts and his sick pleasures. Except that they weren't, and some small part of his drugged mind knew it.
If time had been an elusive blur in the tunnels it was now a concept he couldn't grasp. It could have been eons that he spent in that hazy mist of swirling memories that weren't his own and thoughts he'd never think. Piecing his own life back together was a chore and every time they hauled him from his shift he knew he only had precious moments of instant clarity before it all went back to nothing comprehensible. One thought stuck out from all of the rest. One blazing and unforgettable image that almost pulsed in his mind with a life energy all its own. That one speck of recognition he clung to with everything he had. He could already feel the situation getting desperate as more and more of his sense of self crumbled under the weight of crushing disorientation brought on by the drug. This time he harnessed the drug's effects and remembered for a brief moment about the Force.
Perhaps that moment was truly that, just a fraction of a second in time, or perhaps it was a full minute or more. He'd never know. All of his focus and concentration went into that image and reached for that pulse of life somewhere far away from here. He reached out and called to her, miraculously remembering her name. Jovi! Jovi help me, please! Jovi he- Whatever clarity had been there quickly eroded away, and for today he was a butcher. He'd wake up in the morning in a fog, not remembering why his throat felt so raw; not remembering that he spent the previous night screaming.