Hi... I was just wondering if there'll be any updates to Hung and Broken Ashes. Maybe an excerpt? Thanks, friend!
I actually do have Chapter 2 of "Broken Ashes" mostly drafted, although admittedly it's a bit rough. But just for you, my friend, here's an excerpt :) As always, caveat lector, as this draft will likely change in the final product.
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Acknowledge, you must, Obi-wan, the traps, the slips, the small stutters of your path, Yoda had instructed. And he had done so immaculately, contriving a perfect narrative of his doubts and fears, of his difficulties during his years under Qui-gon's erratic tutelage, the grief and anger he felt after the events on Naboo, his trepidation at taking on a Padawan so soon after his own unconventional knighting.
Each word, each frown, each quiver of his voice had been perfectly placed, the stories, the emotions so familiar he almost began to believe them for his true history. They had praised Obi-wan for his ability to acknowledge his emotions, to hold them in his palm, to know them - contours and shadows alike - before releasing them into the Force.
It was not a conscious manipulation, at least not wholly. He knew his own story, had convinced himself he was so much at peace with his inner turmoil that his recitations became rote, then solid, then stale like a piece of Stygian bread left in the sun.
No one noticed the cracks, least of all Obi-wan himself.
A gentle chime sounded, indicating his arrival at the Council Chamber level. Obi-wan closed his eyes, drawing on the forbidden knowledge gleaned from the text he had copied weeks ago, one accessed on the recommendation of a man who was by all reckoning a mortal enemy, the instigator of a now-existential threat to the continuation of the Republic and, by extension, the Jedi Order.
It could have been a ruse, a distraction, the meditation nothing but an empty exercise, a way to divert the attention of a High General of the Grand Army of the Republic (when had he even agreed to that title?) The cracks in the foundations of his self-awareness perhaps were not seeping with the long-molten edges of resentment, but rather inundated, like an unwatched kettle boiling over, brought on by self-doubt and the stresses of a long and seemingly interminable conflict.
A play, an act - amounting to nothing.
(Nothing, excepting the trail of blood and bodies you are leaving in your wake, Obi-wan Kenobi.)
"Master Kenobi?" a familiar voice intruded into his thoughts, the flames of Obi-wan's indignation flaring in panic, then abating, cowering behind well-fortified barricades of enforced durasteel and permacrete.
Obi-wan's gaze came into focus.
"Ahsoka?"
"Hi," she replied with a shy wave, keen eyes registering the genuine surprise written all over Obi-wan's features. "You were, uh, just kind of standing there, staring at the Council doors," she said as explanation, her Force presence gently poking at Obi-wan's own in question.