[fic] The Tools of the Hunter

[Darth InSidious]

A/N: Something I found on my hard drive. I was going to write this into something much longer, to try and take a different approach to the Sith, but I never got round to it, so here it is, more or less unedited.

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From down here, you can see it all.

 

The bone and the blood are the tools of the hunter.

 

Not just the planet, of course. The stories upon stories of buildings, the space-scrapers fighting to touch the outer limits of the atmosphere, the hovercars and the smaller spacecraft at war with gravity, the stink of pollution and human decay, the filth and the faeces and the corpses screaming in the crematoria. The people and the plastics and the disposable this-that-and-the-other. The grimy merchants and the greasy streets, the glorious sunsets and the ghastly darknesses, the Great Men Above, and the unseen, unheard masses below, the devious criminality and the murky politics of a hundred-thousand worlds’ corruptions brought to bear on one spot.

 

The bone and the blood are the tools of the hunter.

 

All of this is hidden from here, far below the bustle and fuss of the daylight City, where dishonest men commit the slow, balletic crimes of government.

 

The bone and the blood are the tools.

 

You can't see any of that. Why would you want to?

 

No, from down here, you can see it all.

 

The confusion, the despair, the hundred-billion voices crying out, screaming into eternity the desperate paean of their daily struggle against oblivion. Give us this day our daily deaths. From down here, you can see it all.

 

People think the Sith are an institution or an organisation, like a company. Or else a religion, a belief, a system of tenets. Yeah, right. As if anything so mundane connected Marka Ragnos with Palpatine. The Sith, our squatting, delirious ritualist knows, are a reaction. They need no justification, no reason, no rule. The Sith are a politics of inversion set against the Jedi.

 

the bone and the blood, the bone and the blood.

 

He reaches out for the knife, through the narcotic mists of the incense, toward the fire, ignoring the burning as he grasps its handle. They are the other, the eternal scream, echoing from the dark places

 

theboneandtheboodtheboneandthebloodtheboneandtheblood.

 

In one movement he jabs it into his left arm, beginning a frenzy of stabbing, hacking, slicing, cutting.

 

boneandbloodboneandbloodboneandbloodbonebloodbonebloodboneblood.

 

At last, the final tendrils of flesh give way and the discarded arm is cast on the fire.

 

Yellow eyes open, and he smiles. A thousand miles above in the Temple, every Jedi screams.

 

The cycle begins again, and the hunt is afoot.

[The_Catto]

My main lust for SW fics are the Sith. I nearly always write and focus on them. In a rather twisted and somewhat cliche way I guess, I relate more to the dark side way of thinking than the light side; it's more interesting and diverse.

 

I like the beginning. Especially the 'boneandbloodboneandblood...". It really gave the impression of the depth of the dark thoughts, and when he took the knife to his arm, it really accentuated the removal. It made my arm tingle, haha.

 

More, please!

[christos200]

Nice story. You should continue it.

[machievelli]

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