Беда хороших фанфиков в том, что там невыносимые клиффхэнгеры.
Всего-то девять дней жду. Уже успел перечитать, написать коммент (хотя я не планировал комментить Оби-фики, совсем нет!), перечитать снова. Вот теперь дочитываю клиффхэнгеровую главу. %) Понятно, что хорошие вещи быстро не пишутся! Но бедный, бедный я. :вздохнул:
By early evening they still haven’t found any Adegan crystal. Maybe Xanatos was a little arrogant in thinking that it would be easily found, but…
They’ve also been rather distracted by the first Temple.by the first Temple.
It’s clear half-way through the day that they’ve started with the Praxeum first. It’s a place meant for sleep, training and study. The Eye of Ashlanae was the true headquarters of the Jedi High Council and served both as a memorial for fallen brethren and a holy place of meditation.
The Praxeum has five levels. From history lessons he sometimes wishes he can’t remember, he knows that each level symbolizes a part of the Jedi Code: peace, harmony and all that rot. But he has no idea which level represents what.
Some places are so dark that Olau must get out a small light to show the way. Xanatos would get out his lightsaber, but scarlet doesn’t exactly make for a good light source. Plus, he’s not keen on seeing this destruction cast in a bloody sheen.
The middle tier they landed on houses mainly dilapidated sleeping quarters. They’ve been extremely careful where they step since the structure has collapsed in some places and certainly threatens to collapse beneath any wrong step. Any cloth or bedding has long since rotted away. But beneath the creeping vines tucked away in tiny rooms with empty beds they’ve found small, long-forgotten things. A rusted medallion whose design they can no longer decipher. A cracked string of meditation beads, the leather cord long-disintegrated. A stray figurine, arms and legs barely movable but clearly meant for a child. A broken half of a Sith’s mask.
Olau lingers over the toy, running a gentle finger over the small, indistinguishable face. It seems with every step they take they slow. Ever since they stepped off their ship Olau’s presence has trembled with barely contained…something. Something that aches and throbs and threatens to boil over.
But whatever causes Olau’s distress wraps up neatly within their small body. Xanatos almost asks whether they should do this another day. Whether Olau needs to- to talk? To let out this odd mixture of old grief and bright-hot hurt, but…Olau doesn’t say a thing.
Not one word.
There are no bones.
It’s been so long that with the plant-life, wild animals and being exposed to the air, there’s nothing left to mourn. They have no idea how many people died here, whether they were Jedi or Sith or innocent bystander.