Jedi Artisan 011

Arriving at the edge of the village, Zane heard the steady rhythmic sound of drum beats nearby. 

“You have been a most loyal steed, my fair Ti, but there appears to be a party on the horizon, and your services are no longer necessary.” Zane said, patting the red skinned Togruta on the back. 

“Should the hard candy truly be sassing his rescuer?” Shaak Ti bit back, tossing him onto a nearby branch. 

Zane shrugged his shoulders with a wry smile, and then peered down, curious to see what had these primitive people so worked up. 

A group of Coway were beating heavy drums carved from hollowed trunks, the rhythm was primal and thunderous. Torches hissed in the damp air, and their stone aged weapons glimmered in the firelight as dusk approached. The natives seemed like they were dressed to impress, and were covered in freshly applied paint. 

At the center of it all sat a colossal iron cauldron suspended over roaring flames. A black substance like oil was bubbling inside as it came to a roiling boil. 

Shaak Ti silently studied the scene from the tree line. Her blue-and-white lekku swayed as the Force rippled uneasily around them.

“This appears to be a ceremony of some sorts. Judging by the drums and the oil, I  suspect it is perhaps a feast.” She muttered her opinion, then looked to him as if to ask for his thoughts on the matter. 

Zane folded his arms within his robes, and rolled his eyes. 

“That much is obvious. Although you must've missed this in your studies. This setup, it's for a sacrifice. So I'd say you're half right~” Zane cheekily replied. 

Shaak Ti didn't rise to the bait, and continued to silently observe. Both tacitly agreed not to suddenly make an appearance. To show up now, out of the darkening swamp, what rational person would treat them with open arms? 

A few minutes later, the drumming intensified, reaching a crescendo. A chorus of guttural chants rose as several warriors emerged from one of the huts. Hauling two wriggling figures over their shoulders, they carried two bound people. 

Vines cinched tightly around their torsos and wrists. One was a mud streaked Human male, and the other one was a broad-shouldered Weequay male, his leathery skin glistening with sweat, his beady black eyes stared out into the forest with loss, as if he was resigned to his fate. 

Shaak Ti’s eyes narrowed. “Those two should be the survivors from the crashed ship the D'rok talked about.” 

“Well, it appears we know who the sacrifice is!” Zane grinned. 

“This is no time to joke around, Zane. They are our only lead. If they die here, negotiations will default to Damask Holdings.” Shaak Ti snapped back. 

The cauldron bubbled violently as a Coway shaman lifted a staff carved with bone charms, and dropped a bag of some foul smelling powders inside. The chanting grew to a fevered pitch, and death for those two poor souls seemed all but certain. 

Privately, Zane thought it was quite barbaric. As much as he despised unregulated mega corps, he didn't hold backwater people who sacrificed sentients to Gods in much high regard either. Boys and young men were sold on the idea of becoming a Jedi. Roaming the galaxy, saving princesses, and trading insults with Sith. In reality, here he was in some dank swamp watching a stone age tribe about to kill some dudes. Staring tiredly up at the rapidly darkening skies, he wished he was back home, dealing with know-it-all little shits like young Kenobi, instead of dealing with this nonsense. Ugh, who said he had to have a conscience? 

“We must intervene.” Shaak Ti said, and looked down at her lightsaber reluctantly, then stared at him with determination in her eyes. “We will set our lightsabers to training mode, that way, only a brief paralysis will take effect. After all, we are trying to save the locals, not kill them.” 

Zane did not answer immediately. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, watching the ritual unfold. A group of tribesmen lifted the Human first, hoisting him toward the platform. The man’s muffled protest was swallowed by the drums.

“Well, on the bright side, at least it isn’t another Acklay.” Zane nodded like a wise sage. 

She turned a look on him that could have flash-frozen lava.

“Zane.”

“Yes, yes, saving them is the Jedi way. And is both our moral duty as protectors of the realm, etc etc. I’m fully aware.” Zane yawned, boredly waving her off. 

The Weequay was hauled upward next.

Both of the captives were held in place, whilst the shaman was busy lecturing his people. 

Shaak Ti stepped forward, determined to act now, but Zane gently caught her sleeve.

“Wait.”

She shot him a warning glance. “We do not have the luxury for theatrics. Two lives are on the line, if we don't act fast, they'll drown in the boiling pot!” 

Facing forward, he gave her a shifty side eyed look. 

“I disagree. This situation calls for, nay, demands theatrics.”

“What do you propose?” She asked, clearly unimpressed.

Zane surveyed the clearing again, gaze lingering on some ancient nearby towering-yet crumbling-statues. Then he took in the flickering shadows, the dense canopy overhead, and the ever pervasive fog. 

Then his grin widened, and was full of mischief. 

“I have an idea.”

Shaak Ti did not like that tone.

“What idea?”

Zane reached into his robe, fingers brushing the small cylindrical device at his belt—not his lightsaber, but something far more subtle. He glanced at the statues again, then up toward the heavy vines drooping between the trees.

“We've snuck out enough times, and I know you're good at singing, and making your voice sound like it's coming from somewhere else~” Zane said, then glanced at a statue that was behind the cauldron. 

Her brows knit slightly into a small frown after hearing that. 

“You are not suggesting-” Shaak Ti began, only to be swiftly interrupted. 

“Oh. Oh, I absolutely am.” Zane licked his lips, and grinned from ear to ear. 

During this brief chat, the shaman began chanting louder, preparing the final invocation.

“If they wish to hear from their gods…who are we to deny them divine guidance?” Zane said, a sparkle in his eyes glimmered such that it would do Master Oogway proud. 

Shaak Ti stared at him for a heartbeat.

Then, despite herself, the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“You are insufferable.”

He inclined his head graciously, and bowed like a magician after performing a trick. “And yet, remarkably effective. I mean, the alternative is bum rushing a bunch of jumped up shirtless dudes. So uncivilized.” Zane tutted, pretending to wipe dust off the hem of his robes. 

“I'm in.” She whispered, feeling once more like an initiate playing hide and seek whilst Master Yoda was nearby. 

“On my signal.” He said, holding up one finger after another. Then upon holding out five fingers, he clenched it into a fist. 

The Force stirred around them like gathering stormclouds, and before the Human & Weequay could be fed into the cauldron, the statue behind the shaman ‘came to life.’ 

As a Jedi Artisan, one of the most fundamental skills is being able to manipulate materials with the Force. By concentrating like a potter forming a mold of clay, Zane worked his hands. At the same time, the statue’s face-which was weather beaten, and almost formless-began to take shape. Looking like an Olmec stone face, the statue was a giant head about the size of a UPS truck. 

The ground trembled, and the flames beneath the cauldron flickered towards the vines covering the statue, burning them away. 

Several tribesmen looked up, and a few pointed or screamed. With a deep, resonant crack, the statue’s head tilted forward.

A collective gasp rippled through the clearing, and the shaman almost stumbled into the pot in shock. 

Zane extended one hand subtly from the treeline, fingers curling, making the statue’s stone jaw move, as if it was speaking. 

And then, in a voice that rolled like distant thunder came onto the scene. 

“ENOUGH.”

The word boomed across the clearing, sending the nearby fog scattering into the air. 

Shaak Ti stood beside him, eyes half-lidded in concentration. Each one of her words was projected over the entire village, and carried the weight of an ancient colossus.  

The Coway fell flat to the mud in unison, bowing in fearful supplication. Meanwhile, the shaman froze mid-chant, bone staff trembling in his grip.

Adding on to the special effects, Zane had the statue's eyes gleam a ruby red. Although this put some strain on him, adding color to an object was one of the very first things he learned when studying to become an Artisan. 

“I AM…DISPLEASED.”

“G-Great One! We offer these outsiders to honor your hunger!” The shaman stammered, prostrating himself.

“HUNGER? DO I APPEAR…MALNOURISHED?” The statue thundered. 

A few Coway dared to glance upward, beneath this massive stone head was a thick neck, and broad shoulders buried deeply under the soil. The statue was enormous. If anything, it looked very well-fed.

Shaak Ti’s shoulders trembled ever so slightly, and she barely repressed a giggle. Zane made sure she could only see the back of his head. If she saw the smirk on his face, it would be over! Their cover would surely be blown if the deeply masculine statue suddenly burst out into peeles of feminine laughter! 

“N-No, Great Devourer of Skies!” The shaman swallowed hard at these words, and barely responded. 

“CORRECT! YOU ARE UNWORTHY.”

Several tribesmen nodded vigorously in agreement, sending the shaman lethal glances. The shaman shivered in place, looking as though he might faint.

Zane shifted his stance, and one of the statue’s stone arms lifted out of the ground. Cracks formed on the ancient stone, and for a moment, he almost lost his composure as many spiderweb cracks formed along the old thing. Finally, a long arm was lifted out of the sucking muddy soil, and knocked the cauldron over, spilling its contents at the shaman’s feet. 

“THIS IS AN EXCESSIVE AMOUNT OF OIL.”

The Coway scrambled back in terror, and began to pray for forgiveness. 

“I DO NOT REQUIRE DEEP-FRIED OFFERINGS.”

“Forgive us! We sought only to honor your boundless appetite!” The shaman cried out, pressing his forehead into the mud.

No words were spoken, but the giant head's mouth opened up, and a blinding white light shot out, forcing everyone present to shut their eyes tight. Zane then clapped his hands together, making a sound like vicious thunder. 

A vine snapped dramatically from one of the statue’s shoulders and whipped downward, coiling around the shaman’s staff and yanking it from his hands.

“I HAVE SPOKEN CLEARLY IN THE PAST ABOUT READING THE SIGNS.”

The statue’s stone head leaned down, its large man-sized eyes were staring deeply at the shaman. 

“YET YOU CONTINUE TO IGNORE THEM.”

“I-I saw no signs, Great One! I am unworthy, unworthy.” The shaman cried.

The statue went very still.

Shaak Ti’s composure nearly fractured, and Zane's eyes went wide. He couldn't believe it, this little bantha shit was talking back! 

“I AM MERCIFUL, BUT MY PATIENCE IS FINITE.” The statue ominously declared. 

“What is your wish, Mighty One?” The shaman asked. 

“THESE TWO ARE NOT TO BE HARMED.”

The ropes binding the Human and Weequay suddenly unraveled, flopping to the ground like wet pool noodles. The captives dropped to the dais, stunned but unharmed.

“TONIGHT THEY SHALL SLEEP IN YOUR HUT. TOMORROW THEY WILL LEAVE AND NEVER COME BACK.” As the statue spoke, a suggestion via [Mind Trick] was implanted in the tribesmen, making this seem like the most agreeable option. 

The Human stared upward. “I always believed this planet was cursed with ancient Gods.” He whispered 

The Weequay shot him a disbelieving look, as if to say ‘bitch please.’ 

“You absolutely did not.”

The statue’s glowing gaze shifted back to the shaman.

“YOU WILL CEASE THESE…UNNECESSARY CULINARY SACRIFICES.”

“Yes, Great One! We shall fast! We shall meditate! We shall-”

“YOU SHALL BE SILENT! YOU SHALL APOLOGIZE!” 

The shaman blinked, and stood in place, his mouth was squeezed shut, looking like someone who had taken a bite out of a particularly sour lemon. 

“…Apologize? To these mud people?” The shaman questioned, glancing at the pair of ‘free’ captives with disgust. 

“WITH FEELING.” The statue declared, a hint of schadenfreude entering its voice. 

The shaman scrambled to his feet and hurried toward the captives, bowing repeatedly. “Forgive us! The Great One’s will was misinterpreted! Misinterpreted!”

The other tribesmen joined in, begging for forgiveness. Within moments, the fervor had melted away, and the captives were shoved into the swamp. 

Zane slowly lowered his hand, and the statue's well defined face once more took on a weatherbeaten appearance. 

Shaak Ti exhaled, and wiped away a thin layer of sweat from her forehead. 

“Well, you have now officially blasphemed on at least three worlds.” She sighed. “And now I'm an accomplice.” 

“Blasphemy? Why my dear Shaak Ti, every day is a blasphemy with you staring at my hard candy~” Zane said without looking over his shoulder. 

“How did you kno-no, wait, that's not important, we have to take the survivors statements.” Shaak Ti began to speak in a surprised tone, like a kid who got caught stealing from the cookie jar. However, she was quick to change the subject to avoid any awkwardness. 

Zane turned to look at her, and knowing smiled. 

“You enjoyed that far too much.” She huffed, rolling her eyes. 

Zane’s grin returned, boyish and unrepentant.

“Divine intervention is all about delivery.” Zane bowed once more, then grabbed her by the shoulder for a mutual bow. “Besides, I couldn't have done it without my beautiful assistant.” 

She shook her head, but there was the unmistakable glint of amusement in her eyes.

“Let's go.” Shaak Ti said. 

“Why, because you don't want them to turn into Acklay chow?” Zane joked. 

“No, because this branch can't sustain the weight of your hard candies. Eat less in the canteen next time.” Shaak Ti said, poking a small piece of flab forming on Zane's stomach before she nimbly hopped down. 

“Oi!” Zane called out, only to feel the branch shudder, then snap. 

‘Shaaaak Tiiiii!!!’