Mitth'ras'safis - Blog Posts

We didn’t get to see Thrawn’s reaction to Thrass’ death, but I think he has a lot to process and may be struggling with survivor’s guilt? So here’s a somewhat broken Thrawn when reality hits him.

Also the fact that he chooses to eat his last meal in the Ascendancy at their restaurant

And some emotional damage on top ｡･:*˚:✧｡

The afterlife is very sacred to the Chiss. They live their entire lives in service to the Acendancy with the hope that they will be returned to the snow and ice that made them and return to watch over those who they set on the same path. Their students and prodigies.

Thrawn wouldn't pretend to have believed in the idea that after his death his spirit would be magically transported to land where everyone he had ever loved was, where he could watch his people grow, and be at peace. But he also wouldn't deny that he felt a need to protect the Acendancy and that he felt a deep connection to the cold snowy worlds. If he was a spiritual man he would say his soul longed for them. But Thrawn was never a spiritual man, instead he focused his days on protecting his people, his friends; teaching others so that they could do the same; and bettering himself. And in the final days he focused on making sure that his death wasn't in vain. That it meant something. And that final note didn't fall flat.

Thrawn didn't know what would come of him. An eternity burning as some humans believed, would certainly be torture for the Chiss. Wondering forever and ever on planes of ice alone with his thoughts, he couldn't say he would particularly enjoy that. He hoped for eternal darkness, the kind of rest you only get when you enter a deep dreamless sleep. He didn't expect the stories to be true.

He didn't expect to open his eyes and be greeted by soft white light.

Thrawn sat up, his arms coming to rest beside him, none of the sluggishness he had expected was there. There were no burn marks, no shrapnel, none of the telltale signs of the explosion that had taken his life. Or was it the assassin? The purrgil? He couldn't differentiate one moment of the past from another, it all slammed into one jumbled ball. Compared to the stark calm around him, it felt like a blizzard was tearing through his skull.

He held his head in his hands, rocking back and forth, muttering to himself in his mother's tongue, trying to calm himself with the luxury he so rarely allowed. The blizzard was getting stronger. Where am I? Where was I? Who was I? Who am I? What am I? The storm continued to grow and twist and turn. Wrapping him in it's embrace as he slowly began to sink into the soft snow beneath him. A hand reached out and touched his shoulder, and it all came to a stop. The wind was frozen. And his head was empty, for what seemed the first time ever. Looking up at the one who saved him, the face of a Chiss woman stood above. Some 50 odd years younger than she should have been, her bluish black hair slicked back, and an uncharacteristically soft expression on her face stood Ar'alani.

"Mitth'raw'nuruodo..." she whispered, stroking his shoulder. "Come," she held out her hand for him to take.

And he did.

Rising to his feet with her help, he could feel the years sliding off of him, the age, the horrors, until nothing was left except the man he had been years before. With no worries except for the safety of his family. As he rose, he began to see them around him.

The laughing figure of a woman ran past, followed by a gaggle of young girls.

"Vurika!" She passed by.

Ar'alani pulled him forward, to the feet of a middle aged Chiss. He had crinkles around his eyes, but a smile on his face.

"My boy."

"General Ba'kif," Thrawn whispered, hardly recognizing this version of his commander. The older man smiled and slipped an arm around Thrawn's shoulders.

"No status here, simply Ba'kif," Thrawn smiled, a sense of warmth blossoming in his chest. He began to look around, counting off the faces he recognized. Rik'ardok, Mak'ro, In'daro, Ali'astov, even Urf'ianico. There were non-Chiss there as well, though none that he could make out. He saw a man with brown hair and a crooked smile and began his way, before Ba'kif's hand pulled him back with a small bittersweet smile on his face.

"Wha..."

Ar'alani stepped forward "He's not here yet Raw," She explained before once again taking him in her arms and pulling him forward.

"Where are you taking me?" The two Chiss stayed silent, smiles on the both of their faces as they traveled through the comforting cold, surrounded by the voices of the dead. Then standing before them a stadium, an exact replica of the chamber where so many times he was called to explain his actions to the Aristocra, they stopped. He looked around with confusion, wondering what this was. Before the images began. Eli, Faro, Che'ri, every living prodigy of his sprung to live before them. Living out their dreams, and fulfilling their duties to protect their Acendancy. A smile on his lips, the young Raw turned from the spools of colour only to find another man in front of him, a wry smile on his lips. A grin broke out on his own usually stoic face.

"Hello Thrass."