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Mercury

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  1. Mercury

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    Aboard the Grasstiger en route to Haruun Kal Kharjo clutched his dear baby sister as she continued to cry into his shoulder. He was surprised by how tiny she was, how innocent. He wanted more than anything else to protect her. He wanted to shelter her from the horrors he’d witnessed and keep her safe from all the evil in the galaxy. He realized he could not and felt a twinge of sadness. Was this how his Master felt at that realization? Had they swapped places in that instant? It gave the cub a bit of perspective he did not expect and with it a bit of comfort. The hurricane about them began to quiet ever so slightly. Kharjo pulled away from his baby sister, clutching her still by the shoulders and looked upon her. Her big blue eyes were flecked with bits of grey and green and she looked upon him irreverently. He smiled at her, opened his mouth to say something and found himself at a loss for words. Indeed, she looked like a younger, feminine version of him. Yet, where he looked like an equal blend between snow leopard and lion, his baby sister was more leopard. Her childish features were rounder; her eyes were bigger than his. Her coat was lighter with spots of brown and black throughout her entire body. She was dressed in a nightgown of lilac with images of a blonde princess frolicking in a bed of roses. Finally, Kharjo withdrew from her and smiled once more. He relaxed his hold over her and she brought a tiny hand to her eyes to wipe away some of her tears. Relief was awash across her visage and Kharjo stayed her hands as he began drying her eyes. “Hush, little one,” he cooed sweetly. “I am here now. You aren’t alone anymore. Momma and Papa will see that too.” “Momma talks about you a lot, Kharjo,” his baby sister commented offhandedly. Kharjo blinked and smiled beside himself as he dried the last of her tears. His smile grew wide and became toothy and wolfish. He flashed her his pearly-white teeth in an impish fashion that caused her to giggle. “Momma and Papa miss you the most, Kharjo.” She added in a small voice. She dropped her gaze; somehow comprehending that what she was saying would wound him. And so it did. “How come you never write or holocall? Pieta does.” Kharjo blinked again, stung by her words. He opened his mouth to try to explain to her that he could not. That Master Erath and the other Council members forbade him from calling home. ‘A Jedi’s life is one led without attachment,’ Master Erath was fond of telling him. But, as he began to formulate what he would say, he realized that none of it would make sense to her. She was far too young to comprehend any of it. All she knew was that her older sister, who was also a Jedi stayed in contact with her family and that Kharjo did not. He realized how much this must have hurt his parents and dropped his head. Suddenly, the strain from his legs grew great and his thighs quaked massively before buckling as he sank into the sand. He rose his head and looked upon her with sad eyes. “I was not allowed to baby sister.” He stated simply, sadly, “I am so sorry.” “It’s ok, big brother!” She exclaimed with a broad, impish smile. “I knew big brother was busy being a hero!” Kharjo smiled beside himself and found his spirits lifted. The faith of small children was astonishing as was their willingness to forgive. He felt instantly a bit better and brought her close to him. He gave her a bear hug, filled with all the repressed emotions and longing he’d experienced throughout his service to the Jedi. As he released it upon her, she grabbed him and held him tightly. Her small hands pulled at the tattered remains of his robes. She began to giggle as he rocked her in his arms. “I love you with all my heart, baby sister.” He whispered into her ear. “I will always protect you.” Unbeknownst to him a presence entered the world of his creation and landed softly in the sand a few meters from him and his sister. She was the first to notice and her large blue eyes with flecks of grey and green went wide. She wiggled free of his hold and dashed across the sand, fresh tears stinging her eyes. She slammed into the figure full-force and buried her head into him. She began babbling, although Kharjo could not hear what she said. All he knew was that his baby sister was there in his arms one moment and then gone in the next. For half a heartbeat he thought it some cruel joke or trick played upon him by his mind and inner darkness. The hurricane about them intensified briefly. He looked up confused and followed her trail. His eyes steadily rose until he looked upon the form of his Jedi Master. Shock overcame confusion as he wondered how it was possible that his Master was here. Then he wondered if he were truly there at all. His mouth fell open and he felt himself shift to better look upon his Master. He was dressed stately in his Jedi robes and exuded a sense of peace and tranquility. He had a commanding presence about him. Even as he cradled the smallest Shavir in his arms, he looked upon Kharjo lovingly. Kharjo cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow. The tattered remains of his robes twisted in the winds that buffeted them. Kharjo rose and numbly, slowly began walking towards them. As he stood, his blouse slipped off him revealing his bare chest and the dinginess of his usually immaculate and shiny fur coat. His trousers were no longer that, but tattered shorts of misshapen and uneven length. His breath caught in his throat and felt himself moving faster toward his Master’s side. Suddenly something restrained him and he slowed as he watched Dashel comfort his baby sister. Dashel looked up and smiled warmly at Kharjo. “Hello, Padawan,” Dashel said softly. “I think it’s time you and I talked about everything that has happened throughout our time together, especially the events on Coruscant.” Kharjo blinked and opened and closed his mouth as he searched for words. In the end he returned his Master’s smile as he stepped to his side. He stood before his Master and waited. In the back his mind he wondered if now was really the best time for such a conversation, but then quickly realized that this was perhaps the only time to have such a conversation. Trepidation quickly took hold and the winds buffeted the trio violently. Kharjo had to wrestle with his emotions to keep his composure and reassure himself that what Dashel would say needed to be said. The older man would not be harsh without purpose. “From the onset of our meeting, I have known you were an emotional Jedi. You have fought and wrestled with abandonment all your life and have been until recently slow to trust. In spite of all this, you have grown to trust others in your life and you have begun down the path of a Jedi Knight. For that, I am proud of you, Padawan. “However, in order for you to move forward, you need to let that trust in others blossom. Not everyone in the galaxy is evil. Most are misguided. There are those around you that care about you. I see that you are realizing that, but Padawan, you need to believe that. Let go of all the negativity you hold in your heart. It is not the path of a proper Jedi and could lead to your Fall.” He paused then, one hand still upon the shoulder of Kharjo’s baby sister and let his words sink in. Kharjo stared up at him, reassured, but still confused. He opened his mouth to speak, but found that his Master raised a hand to wave him off. Dashel continued to talk at length about Kharjo’s emotional state. With each example he gave, he listed alternate ways in which Kharjo could have handled the situation. He never once said that Kharjo had poorly handled his emotions, just that he did not control them as a Jedi would. As Kharjo listened Dashel’s words it began to make sense to him and while he felt he had made considerable progress with the Jedi, he realized that he was still a great deal off from thinking as a Jedi should. He could not detach himself from a situation and think critically and only upon the facts presented before him. His emotions clouded his judgment and colored his reactions. Kharjo found himself nodding along to what Dashel was saying and knew that he would have to meditate on this later. Effortlessly, Dashel transitioned topics. “Padawan, you have taught me a great deal about myself and how I train Padawans. You have opened my eyes and I thank you. In the past there was always a barrier between myself and my Padawans. With you none exist. That is a good thing, however it also forces me to examine feelings I have not experienced before. I want to protect and shelter you from the horrors and harsh realities of the galaxy, as a father would his son. That is not the proper way of a Jedi. It is also impossible for me to do. This is something hard for me to accept, but the wisdom of my many years in the service to the Jedi and my time with the Trianii Rangers has offered me the solace to accept this truth. All I can do is teach you all I know and guide you when you seek guidance. “Do you understand?” Kharjo nodded, not knowing what else to do or say. So, it was true. Dashel did care for him in much the same way Kharjo did. Dashel had grown to be the closest thing to a proper father figure Kharjo had ever known and he was heartened to find that Dashel felt the same way. It was a similar feeling he experienced when he first met his baby sister. All he wanted to do was protect her and shelter her, but he could not, cannot. She would not grow that way and would be unprepared for the challenges ahead, much as Kharjo would if Dashel did that to him. He smiled as wisdom assailed him. “Now, Padawan, I fully expect you to teach others these unique abilities you seem to have. The ability to store and recall vast portions of information on a whim and with the guidance of the Force could be of great help to Jedi everywhere. So could this technique of yours to generate a safe harbor within your mind and the Force to shelter you. I do not expect you to do this now as I don’t expect you to have enough grasp over the Force. Someday – and that day will come, I will expect this of you.” Kharjo nodded solemnly and promised to himself that he would redouble his efforts to strengthen his understanding and comprehension of the Force. “Yes, Master. I will do this gladly when I can.” “Good.” Dashel paused then and moved the hand from Kharjo’s baby sister’s shoulder to muss with her hair. She had been watching the exchange between Master and Padawan with great interest and written upon her face were more questions than answer for them. Kharjo too looked upon his baby sister and smiled again. Each time he beheld her he felt a little bit better, a little bit stronger in his belief of others and what his mission would be. As he looked upon her, he smiled purposefully. Once the gravity of Dashel’s words had set in enough, he continued. “Now, Kharjo, this is where you talk and I listen.” He began politely and with a slight knowing smile. “Tell me, Padawan, what is on your mind?” Kharjo blinked. He hadn’t expected this. He had prepared himself for a lecture of sorts, one that was just as much a reflection on his life and the events that intertwined the two of them. Now that he stood before Master Dashel Illioni and had the floor to speak he didn’t rightly know what to say. Where should he begin? He blinked again, a nervous reflex of his he used to buy time. Eventually, and subtly his mind went blank and his mouth opened. Words tumbled out unfiltered. “Master, I don’t understand. What is so special about me? Why is my ancestor visiting me? What is my brother after? And what does he want with me? How am I here? For that matter how are you and my baby sister here? There’s so much I don’t understand.” Kharjo’s gaze fell from his Master’s eyes and he searched the sand beneath his padded feet. The gale about them continued to assault his body, but for whatever reason his baby sister seemed entirely unaffected. He felt slightly disheartened by how much he did not comprehend as he prided himself on being knowledgeable. In a small voice he repeated, “There’s so much I don’t understand.” Dashel smiled knowingly as he listened to his Padawan’s concerns. “First of all, trust in the Force. Always. Secondly, you are here because you needed to be here. I suspect that the mental toll of today’s events taxed your mind to its limits and it regressed to this safe place in order to protect itself. It is, as I said, some innate talent you have. Once you become more knowledgeable in Force application you’ll begin to be able to come here whenever you like and not just when your mind has reached its limits. As for why I am here, you called me here, Padawan. Did you not? Your ancestor Jaqen opened the door that allowed me to enter this sanctuary, but it was you who called me. “As for your baby sister, I feel it was a combination of need and suffering. I suspect your Sith brother was targeting her in her sleep and that she reached out for someone protective. And with you here with all your mental barriers down, unprotected by other Force Users of raw talent or skill, she was able to breach this place through your indefinable bond and bloodline. I suspect your brother might be able to do the same, should he discover this place. “Padawan, there are a great many people who care for you and that makes you special. However, your connection to Jaqen and the events that transpired throughout his life are what truly make you so. You are destined to uncover these mysteries and right some ancient wrong to prevent the cycle from continuing. Your brother is the antagonist in all of this. He wishes to repeat history, I suspect and will allow whatever calamity that happened to happen again. I suspect it involves some sort of weapon that was deployed on Cathar during your ancestor’s time, something that he tried to prevent, but could not. How or why he has chosen you as his avatar remains to be seen, but we will discover that as well. “More importantly, Padawan you are loved. And that love makes you special. You might not readily sense it, but I assure you it’s there and does exist. It is this love and the bond that it creates between you and others that makes you so special. Your innocence and naivety do you great credit, young one. You have not been tainted by the harsh realities of the galaxy. That is not a weakness, so you should never perceive it as one. However, you must find a way to open yourself to the belief that you are loved and return that love back in earnest. When you can you will begin to realize that these factors have placed you in an unique situation that will offer you incredible growth. But, be mindful, Padawan, that you do not let your pride interfere with that growth. You must always separate the two. Your love for others and the love you receive. If you do this, you will be able to prevent the inevitable loss you will experience throughout your life and prevent the Fall that might come from it. “Now, is there anything more you’d wish to discuss, Padawan?” Kharjo pondered all that had been said and slowly shook his head. It all made sense to him and so he was satisfied. “No, Master. I do not.” “Alright, then, let’s move on, then.” Dashel said evenly. “I want to explain why the Gala is so important to us. It is not only because of its significance to you, but its significance to our larger mission of uncovering your brother’s plans. By deciding to attend the Gala you bound a great many people to that event and it is always important to keep your promises. However, through as-of-yet unknown means your brother discovered your intentions and so plans on subverting them. If he is successful in showing you that he will go to any length to get you to join him, then he has won and he will have all the pieces he needs to reenact history. It is important that you understand that, Kharjo. I have no doubts that he will strike at the gala with the intent of upending your world. How or when this will happen remains to be seen. Whatever happens, Padawan, I have faith that you will overcome it and best your brother. “You have a lot of supporters now, Kharjo. You aren’t alone. You also made a promise to Alyssa Greene and it is important that you keep that promise. You need to explore your feelings toward her, admit them to not only yourself, but to her as well. Face them and see where they lead you. However, you must also remember that Jedi do not become overly attached as those very attachments can be used to harm and corrupt us. You must also be mindful of those feelings you develop for her. If they become too strong, if they begin to control you, selfishness will ensue and the path to the Darkside will truly have begun. A Jedi must be mindful of his emotions. As we are all living, breathing and beating creatures it is impossible for a Jedi to deny their emotions. You must learn to control them. You may feel whatever you want, but you must be mindful to not let those feeling consume you. “Do you understand, Kharjo?” He gave his Padawan an inquisitive look. Kharjo frowned, surprised by his Master’s honesty. He had not expected his burgeoning feelings for Alyssa to come up in discussion. He was not even sure what he truly felt her. Surely, infatuation was there, that was evident enough for both of them. They had too much history and that fact worried Kharjo. He didn’t want to ruin anything if they weren’t compatible. As he realized that, his expression slid toward astonishment. He had not realized he wanted a relationship from her until just then. It felt gratifying to admit it and Dashel saw this flash across Kharjo’s visage. Kharjo vowed to discuss his feelings with Alyssa, no matter how hard it would be. “No, Padawan, I need you to understand. You need to understand the gravity of this. I don’t want to scare you, but you need to understand the ramifications. Feel what you feel, but control it, moderate it. Be patient. If it does not work out, reconcile the differences between you two immediately and then move forward. If you do not it could spell disaster for either of you in the future. Be mindful of this when you talk to her. Be aware of what you say and how you say it, but never forget that it needs to be said. I have faith in you.” Kharjo scratched his head uncomfortably. Suddenly, Dashel had grown serious to the point it was unnerving the youth slightly. He could be very intimidating when he wanted to be. Kharjo did not doubt that it had something to do with his feline ancestry and the severe features of his face. Most notably his eyes would glow with surprising intensity when he grew adamant about a topic. Kharjo began to shift as he stood there, fidgeting followed. “Y-yes, Master. I understand. I will heed your warning and be mindful of all you have said. I’m still not sure I want to do this, but I get the feeling I have to and should in spite of what I want.” He sighed dejectedly to himself thereafter. “Silly, Kharjo!” His baby sister giggled when she became aware of his discomfort. Her childish exuberance and laughter made Kharjo lighten up considerably. Dashel nodded and said no more on the topic, swiftly moving onto the subject of the Ysalamiri. He described in detail and at length what the furry lizards did and were capable of and what it felt like to be within a Ysalamiri’s bubble. He also explained that many mercenaries, criminals, law enforcement agencies and in general non-Force Users employed the lizards because of their effect to level the playing field. In actuality Kharjo realized it gave non-Force Users an advantage over Force Users, since those that could feel the Force and bend it to their will relied upon that same connection to get by. He was startled that such a creature existed and was more off-put by meeting that Madanlorian teen, Terra. Once again, he felt like he should share that tidbit of information with his Master, but as before something stayed his tongue. He wondered if it was fear or something else. He hadsensed goodness in Terra, hadn’t he? If only for the briefest of moments it had existed. He was sure of it. In mean in her own backwards way she had ultimately saved his life twice. The second time she didn’t even directly harm anyone while doing it. Unconsciously, his hand fell to where the comlink device she’d given him was attached to his belt. When he did not feel it there, he had to remind himself that he was not actually present in his body. He sighed, feeling uncertain about what to do. However, Dashel was swiftly moving forward, it seemed to Kharjo he was sensing something else. It seemed to the cub as if Dashel was aware of an important event taking place unseen to Kharjo. That made the lad curious, but he listened to his Master’s counsel nonetheless. “Now, Padawan, I feel it’s time we discuss Miss Dax.” Kharjo frowned and the storm reflected his sudden tumultuous feelings. Dashel raised a hand and silenced the youth. It had the dual affect of calming him a bit. Dashel seemed unperturbed by the flare up in the storms violence. “I am very proud of you for forgiving her as you did Kharjo. That showed the mark of a true Jedi. You are well on the proper path. She has been healed of the dark damage your brother has done, but the mental torture she has experienced will take longer to recover from. I expect you to help her whenever you can and when required. More than that, I expect you to be nice to her and treat her as you would Kala or any other member of our group. She is no longer your enemy, but an ally and she deserves your support and defense.” Kharjo swallowed, but nodded all the same. Satisfied with his Padawan’s acceptance, he broached the subject of Kharjo’s sister. He informed the Cathari cub that his sister and Miss Dax sat vigil around his inert body. He informed Kharjo that they were exchanging their pasts and that Pieta held no malice towards Dax for her misdeeds. As he talked about the two women, Kharjo’s mind wandered to the distance memories of his older sister. The love and care she showed him. How protective she was of him. He found it hard for him to focus on the words of his Master. He longed to return to his body suddenly, if only to embrace his sister and speak with her at length. Dashel must have picked up on that because he waved the notion aside. A gesture meant to comfort and inform Kharjo that it will happen soon enough. As he spoke, Dashel did so with care and turned it into a lesson of sorts. Pieta had taken a different path to becoming a Jedi Knight. She had been shuffled off to the Service Corps where she bounced between Agricultural duty and Diplomacy, eventually settling in the latter. Yet, Pieta was undeterred by her assignment and took it upon herself as a challenge. She began teaching herself, first in secret and then blatantly. She wanted to become a proper Jedi Knight and so happened upon Master Erath who took her under his wing without officially naming her his Padawan. They trained together under his harsh and abrasive tutelage for several years before he sent her on a mission to an unknown and newly discovered planet. An accident befell the party she was with and marooned her and her crew and fellow Jedi. After several months of surviving in foreign and unfamiliar territory, the Jedi came to rescue her and the survivors. They found Pieta’s crash site and began their search. Master Erath was among those sent to find her and the other Jedi. It did not take them long as Pieta came stumbling out of the jungle, battered, but not beaten. She proudly walked up to Master Erath and proclaimed that she was indeed a Jedi. In a rare display of emotion, Master Erath smiled at her and exclaimed that it was about time she realized such. All of this, Dashel told Kharjo happened three years ago and when Pieta was Knighted, she decided to stay in the Service Corp.’s diplomatic sub-branch because she felt she could do some considerable good there. Kharjo’s mouth fell open upon hearing his older sister’s tale and his baby sister was giddy as well. To her it sounded like one fantastic adventure story. Something she would see on the Holonet. He instinctively began looking for a way back, having so much he wanted to discuss with his big sister, but Master Dashel continued onward by stating that she would accompany them to Haruun Kal, but that he had no idea what the Force had in store for her or them. Kharjo’s excitement was too great and he barely registered what Master Dashel had said, but he felt as if he could begin his journey back. However, there was more to come. Dashel revealed his long-term plan for them and how they were to uncover something that Jaqen left behind for his descendant. That whatever the object or device was, was important to Kharjo and directly attached to him. He also enlightened the Padawan by saying that it was the very thing his brother was searching for and why he needed Kharjo to join him. Once the gala was over they were to journey to Cathar to uncover more of this mystery. Kharjo became momentarily overwhelmed by all he had learned, but as he searched the faces of his Master and his baby sister he took faith in them and knew that it would all work out. It would take some time to truly grasp everything that was just spoken upon. He would need to sort out the most relevant information first and focus on that. He would need to make a list of sorts. “She is quite the Jedi Knight, you know, despite having taken the longer road and having spent some time in the Service Corps.” Kharjo blinked as he tried to make the connection between who his Master was referring to and what he had just digested. It took him a moment, but when he did, he smiled broadly in his usual wolfish and impish manner. Suddenly, he felt the need to see her immediately and was seized by that thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself silenced. “Let me finish.” As Dashel spoke further on Kharjo sisters, Dax and their mutual connection to his Sith brother, Kharjo paid more attention to the change of his baby sister who was now apprehensively looking up at Dashel. He wanted to move closer to her and embrace her again, but he did not want to disturb his Master. Eventually, Dashel reiterated the need for Kharjo to teach them his memory trick and stopped abruptly. It seemed as if the elder man had finally noticed the full extent of their circumstances and marveled at the storm that raged around them. Kharjo cocked his head to the side, surprised it had taken his Master so long to truly notice their circumstances. In fact, his Master’s awe inspired Kharjo to take a second look and he quickly realized that the storm was a side effect of his tumultuous emotions and that if he wanted to end the storm, he would have to settle the one inside his heart. As he began wondering how, he felt a sudden shift in his Master and his baby sister. He tore himself from his musings and focused on the pair as Dashel let his head fall back and looked to the sky above. Kharjo followed his gaze and was surprised to find that sky would be their way home. That he would have to move them to the sky or bring the sky to them. He was not sure how he would do that, but he knew the first step would be to reign in the storm inside him. A sudden gust of wind buffeted Dashel, so fiercely that it surprised Kharjo. Some realization seemed to cross Dashel’s face and he smiled at Kharjo. Was it jealousy that Kharjo had momentarily experienced a second ago? Or was it a strong desire to protect his sister? He couldn’t rightly say, but he was sure the gust of wind had come from him. Sheepishly, Kharjo returned the smile and watched as Dashel knelt and spoke to his baby sister. The manner and topic pleased Kharjo who echoed the sentiment and moved forward to hold her. As Dashel spoke about the duties of a Jedi, Kharjo focused his being on comforting and calming his baby sister and within minutes she was smiling and perfectly comfortable standing there holding her big brother’s hand. Kharjo refocused his attention and listened to Dashel as Master Vao suddenly appeared before them, floating gently to the sand below her. She made several remarks to Dashel before smiling motherly to Kharjo. Kharjo sheepishly returned the smile, suddenly embarrassed that she had to see him in such a way. At Dashel’s remark, Kharjo wondered if he had subconsciously called out to her as well. At this point it would not surprise him. However, his musing and everything else he was going to do were cut short by a howl in the air and a shrill cry. Kharjo immediately glanced up as the cry seemed familiar and saw the figure of a human fall through the sky and slam into the sea with a loud crash. Kharjo became confused and worried at once and began to sprint to the person before he remembered he held his baby sister’s hand. Instead of running, he took several quick steps closer to the water’s edge before halting as his sister was pulling at his hand. He glanced down at her and relayed his suspicions on who it might be. She simply pointed for her reply and Kharjo followed her finger. What he saw made him blush a brighter shade than the cherry blossom she had tracing her body or when she realized what she was wearing. The bathing suit was so skimpy it left almost nothing to the imagination. Kharjo had never really seen a woman naked before, nor as much flesh as he was currently seeing. It excited him, but he felt awkward, uncomfortable and all sorts of inappropriate. Yet, he could not take his eyes off her. Not in the least. He watched her slack-jawed as she attempted to run toward him, all her jiggly bits bouncing as she flopped and splashed through the water. It was like a very wet dream. It took his baby sister screaming into his ear to get him to tear his gaze from the sight of his crush. She had wanted nothing more than to spare the teenage girl and let her keep what remained of her modesty as Kharjo was clearly ogling. As Kharjo looked down upon his baby sister, he was surprised and impressed by her wisdom. He had thought her too young to comprehend what he was going through or what Alyssa must be experiencing, but it seemed that his baby sister clearly caught on. Perhaps, it was just simple woman’s intuition? Or, he supposed, it could be simply that his baby sister was the wunderkind of his family. Kharjo continued to look at his baby sister with a sense of bemusement as Alyssa tromped closer to him and the growing group gathered about him. Alyssa composed herself rather quickly when she neared the group and overcame her initial embarrassment. She splashed through the water at full sprint, exclaiming in pain with every third step until she slammed into Kharjo and gave him a giant hug. She held him so tightly, he thought he would suffocate. And, yet he did not care. Tears bubbled in her eyes before she composed herself yet again and pulled away. Kharjo just limply stood there, unable to comprehend anything else. He was vaguely aware that he controlled the laws of this place, but then what did that say about him? Was he some sort of pervert who had been overly curious about what Alyssa looked like? Or was someone else pulling the strings? He looked upon the two Jedi Master’s uncertainly and incredulously for a moment before another guest in his sanctuary took his attention away. It seemed that Maevis Luo joined the party and, like Alyssa she was dressed in a bathing suit, except hers was far more reserve and tasteful. It left almost everything to the imagination. Kharjo felt himself grow disappointed internally, but disregarded the thought as he found himself stealing glances at Alyssa who stood next to him completely confident and secure in her micro bikini. He suddenly felt the overpowering urge to put his robe over her. As he kept fixating over the thought his blouse appeared at his feet, completely restored and pristine. He stooped to pick it up and draped it over Alyssa’s shoulders. She looked at him with wonder and gratefully took the blouse. As she finished slipping it on, she punched him in the shoulder and looked away, still blushing. Kharjo did the opposite and looked away sharply as he massaged his shoulder. Knight Luo had been talking to his Master, but the sudden mention of his name had thrust him back to the present and he found himself confusedly looking upon her before slowly comprehending what she’d said and nodding as his reply. Now that they were all present, they all waited for him to do something. Of course, what that was, he did not know. He felt all their eyes on him and the only thing he could think about was what Alyssa looked like beneath his blouse. Beyond them the storm became excited and chaotic. Kharjo was failing miserably at controlling his feelings. He chuckled uncomfortably. He felt ridiculous. He was a Jedi and his adolescent infatuation and curiosity was getting in the way of that. With a long and hard swallow, Kharjo settled his nerves and locked away the mental image of Alyssa’s micro bikini. The very next thing he did was seat himself upon the warmth of the pearly white sand. He sat cross-legged and placed his forearms upon the ridges of his knees. He didn’t have a conscious idea of what he was doing or what he would do. As he’d never consciously gotten himself out of this place, let alone a group of people, he figured he would meditate on it and see what would happen. Situated upon the warmth of the sand and facing the sea and the wall of wind created by the hurricane, Kharjo began the slow and agonizing process of clearing his mind. Distractions were abound everywhere, he only had to look upon Alyssa to lose focus entirely. As the seconds turned into minutes and minutes to what seemed like hours, Kharjo began to grow disheartened. Try as he might, he was having a difficult time in reconciling his feelings and emptying his mind. He looked about him for guidance and found his eyes met by his baby sister. She truly was one-of-a-kind. Even at her tender young age, she could sense his overwhelming sense of loss and sat down beside him. She did not mimic the fashion he had, as she did not know it yet, but she would soon enough. She looked to him and gave him a crooked smile that caused Kharjo to chuckle aloud. For reasons unknown he began to feel less stressed by what he perceived as his own limitations. Her next action was to scoot closer to him and rest upon his lap, staring up at him. He looked down and began stroking her mane, smiling broadly beside himself. This went on for a time and by the time Kharjo stopped, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. He was reminded by the words of his Master and looked to him with a knowing smile. Kharjo was not alone. He did not have to do this alone. They were here to help him and would remain here for as long as it took. That was the sacrifice they were willing to wait. Alyssa, during this loving exchange between brother and sister seated herself in front of Kharjo and slightly to his right. She did not want to obstruct his view of the churning sea before him, but she did want to provide him with an image of safety. The broiling and bubbling of a turbulent sea was not the most ideal of images to focus upon while centering oneself. Kharjo’s gaze fell upon her and he saw the comfort and calm reflected in her eyes. He saw deeper things there too, feelings of longing and love, once suppressed and now revealed. He smiled at her in a way that caused her to blush and sheepishly return his smile. A smirk followed his smile as he began focusing on all the times Alyssa had been there for him. He also focused on all the times Master Vao, Master Dashel and Knight Luo had been there, when they had given him their ears, their time and their hearts. He began to inhale and exhale slowly, carefully and with control. He focused on the love he now felt radiating outward from everyone and found that the wall of dangerous and terrifying wind began to slowly lessen. He redoubled his efforts as he focused on that love and what it would mean in future situations. Slowly, his mind began to empty until at long last there was no conscious thought. Only his subconscious remained supreme and it was there that his truest desires lurked. He did not control them or give them restraint. They flowed freely from him like too much water over a sieve. For a moment, they were chaotic. Flowing too fast to comprehend, but as more continued to pour out from him, so did they begin to disappear. He longed for a true sense of community and family, but all he had to do was look about him to find it. He longed to be loved and allow himself to love in return. He met Alyssa’s eyes and the desire vanished into thin air. Eventually, the only desire that remained was returning home. It was the strong and prevalent need to leave this sanctuary, this safe harbor. Naturally, that became the sole focus of his subconscious mind. It fixated upon that desire and began formulating ideas on how to accomplish that. He looked skyward, his expression serene and empty and wondered how he would managed to bring sky to them or earth to sky. Creative thought took hold as ideas ran rampant throughout the corridors of his mind. He envisioned mechanical vehicles, architectural structures of whimsical design. As he thought them, their afterimage began to become real in this place. Whimsical spaceships, towers and elevators shifted between realities before fizzling out. His mind emptied once again, yet this time, nothing remained. There were no ‘conscious’ thoughts, no logical revelations. There was no emotion. He cast his head back and stared into the heavens. The cumulus humilis clouds that lazily past high above the eye of the storm looked inviting, encouraging. He could not describe the sensation that followed as his eyes focused upon the clouds. He felt as if he could do the impossible and so he began. He began to imagine himself stretching out and up to reach the clouds. He wanted to touch them. He wanted to join with them and play. He imagined that he was cloud himself and that his guests were situated upon him. He would carry them up to safety. At first nothing happened as he envisioned these things, yet then, slowly as he focused his entire consciousness and being on these thoughts something wondrous began to happen. The sand beneath him and them all began to rock and bubble and churn. The air began to whip and slap their surroundings. All the while Kharjo continued to imagine that he was a cloud come to bring them all home. He was the first to rise mere inches from the ground. His baby sister was the next to follow, followed by Master Dashel Illioni, and the rest. Kharjo exerted his will over them and over this place. He exerted his love for them all and his desire to bring them home safely. He exerted his need to become a cloud and whisk them all away. They began to float higher. Sand formed beneath them like a gentle carpet and took the shape of the cumulus humilis clouds Kharjo fixated on. As the rose and rose, Kharjo found himself quickly becoming aware of what he was doing. He tried to repress his conscious thought out of fear of dropping them all back unto the sand far below. Try as he might the more he suppressed his euphoria and jubilance at accomplishing this feat, the harder it became to maintain and the more his focus faltered. The group was several hundreds of meters above the ground when Kharjo’s concentration completely faltered as he looked about him and laughing and whooping excitedly. The sand beneath them began to rock violently as it lost mass. Kharjo quickly became aware of this and summon the vestiges of his supreme focus back to him, but he found it more than difficult. His joy at accomplishing this feat was all he could think about, all he could focus upon. Then realization hit him and terror followed. If he did not recover they would fall and some would be harmed. Kharjo could not let that happen. He would not let that happen. He looked to his baby sister who seemed unperturbed by their diminishing sand cloud. Upon her visage was the same jubilant wonder that he was experiencing. He turned his gaze and looked upon Alyssa who sat beside him still, focusing her serene will upon him. She looked at him and he got the sense that she believed him completely. Kharjo sighed and attempted to find his center once again. The sand cloud continued to lose its mass and diameter rapidly as the cloud itself began its descent back to the ground below. Just when all seemed right, the sand beneath Alyssa gave way and she began to sink through the hole created beneath her. Kharjo cried out in surprise and fright as he leaned forward with lightning quick reflexes in an attempt to catch her. Her fingers slipped through his desperate grip and she began to tumble back to the ground below, yet this time there would be no water to soften her fall. An overwhelming sense and desire to protect and rescue took Kharjo over completely. He lost himself to it as he bellowed out his reply to her fall. Immediately she halted and hovered several meters beneath their sand cloud. Her surprise slid quickly to relief and she smiled lovingly up at Kharjo. His intensity and trying to rescue her shocked her internally, but she hid the feeling from her face. He seemed an entirely different man in that moment. His features hardened, he began rigid. His hand began motioning upward as he mimicked the motion of pulling her up. She began to rise and before she knew it rejoined the group upon their cloud of sand. Kharjo’s determination did not let up. He remained in the state of supreme concentration as he called more sand to them. Once the cloud had been completely reformed they continued their ascent. All the while, Kharjo had a frightening stern and determined expression upon his visage that made the contours of his face look sharp and menacing. Before long the group upon their cloud of sand overcame the funnel cloud they were in and were sailing towards the cumulus humilis clouds of Kharjo’s fixation. The young girls, Alyssa and Kharjo’s baby sister were in awe at the elaborate detail of their surroundings. For miles off in almost every direction the sea extended; there seemed to be no limit to it as it blended with the horizon line. Cumulus clouds of all types lazily drifted through the atmosphere, both high and low. At their back the island sat and spanned the length of several hundred miles. As they stared they wondered if it were not an actual archipelago. They realized that it was probably not an island at all and that the hurricane only inhabited a portion of the landmass. Kharjo did not notice. His entire being focused solely on the clouds high above them. As he continued to focus so supremely a hole opened in the cloud farthest up. And through that hole a door was born. In that door filled with shimmering lights of all the colors in the world shifted the image of the Grasstiger’s medbay where Pieta Shavir sat conversing with Dax. At once the group became aware that that was his true fixation. The severity of his expression did not lessen as the cloud picked up speed. The goal of Kharjo’s deepest desires was in sight and the cloud became reckless as the driver was consumed by it. It rocketed up through the atmosphere with such velocity and ferocity that the sandy ground beneath them became uneven. With every second, the occupants were threatened with being tossed off. Kharjo’s baby sister rolled unto her stomach and placed a hand on his forearm in an attempt to illicit a response from him. None was offered. Alyssa became worried that Kharjo’s desire was endangering everyone else and so, she moved forward until she stood directly over Kharjo. The sight of her filled his vision, but it made no difference. The lad was looking through her to the shimmering door. She frowned and bit her lip as she saw him. She needed to do something, but could not think of what. She stooped down until her face hovered inches before his and closed her eyes. With uncertainty and shyness, she pressed her lips to his and held them there. The severity of Kharjo’s features melted away and was replaced by softer ones. He blinked, but did comprehend what had just happened. Not fully. A part of him knew; a part of him that he locked away in order to maintain this level of focus. That part of him was stunned to stupidity. Alyssa broke the kiss and pulled away, relief immediately awash across her features as she saw Kharjo’s old childish innocence return. She clutched his face and kissed him again. Her cheeks blushed madly as did his and that voice that wanted to whoop and holler and cry for joy grew louder. It rattled and banged against its cage, but Kharjo the goaler would not let him out. The sand cloud gently slowed to a more comfortable pace as Alyssa held Kharjo’s head and stared deeply into his eyes. He still half-focused on the shimmering doorway in order to maintain his focus. Minutes passed and the doorway neared. When at last they were before the doorway, Kharjo gently rose and grabbed Alyssa and his baby sister’s hands. He walked forward, intent on passing through and did not pause to inspect the portal. He trusted in its intent and creation and knew that all would be well. As he passed through he heard the words of his ancestor echo throughout his head, “Well done, Kharjo, well done. You do me proud, young one. Never forget that.” The sensation he experienced when passing through the portal was indescribable. He felt every sensation as if his sense were afire. The rawness of it all shocked the youth as mind and soul rejoined with body. In an instant that felt like a blissful eternity he was reunited and his ears picked up the conversation going on between Pieta and Dax. He could hear his older sister’s rough and unique accent, but her words were muffled. He could hear the gentle chimes of the medical instruments he was hooked up to and could feel the intravenous needles stuck in his arms. He could feel the band wrapped around his bicep and the warm embrace of his older sister as she cradled him. And then his hearing began to buzz incessantly and his ears twitched madly. It felt as if an insect were flitting between his ears, inside them. He frowned and growled in annoyance. Pieta sucked in the recycled air of the room sharply as she glanced down at her brother. His arms began to move as his body stirred. She watched as he groggily opened his eyes and shut them tightly. The lights of the medbay were bright and disorienting. He hissed and tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes and found his strength sapped. His head hurt massively and he groaned. She smiled and began babbling some words he could not comprehend. Pieta embraced him so tight he could not breath, but he did not have the strength to fight her off. He succumbed to her hold as he heard Dax sigh in relief. Minutes later he opened his eyes much slower and awaited the blurriness of his vision to leave him. When it did, he saw the glowing visage of his older sister’s face hovering over him. He saw her grateful and loving smile and watched as she planted a warm kiss upon his forehead. “When did my little brother become so strong?” she asked aloud to no one in particular. He smiled weakly as he melted into her arms before slumping into her lap. Pieta began running her hand through his mane and could hear and feel him purr in content. Kharjo had returned home at long last.
  2. The breeze that rolled off the sea was heaven-sent. It kissed and caressed Kharjo’s fur and toyed with his robes playfully. The Cathari cub imagined that some wistful dance was happening before his eyes and that the players were himself and Alyssa. They danced to the rhythm of the sea and the beat of the trees at his distant back. He smiled wistfully as he watched his imagination take shape. A sigh escaped him and he felt himself lowering his gaze. Curiosity was overpowering his sense of tranquility, mostly due to the fact that he felt an overabundance of peace suddenly. It was as if Alyssa was right there beside him. He could not resist the urge to look to his right and left. When he did so all he saw was the cove around him, where sea rose to meet beach for a mile in both directions and beach met rainforest further in. Exotic birds of some sort could be seen flying high above the canopies of equally exotic and foreign trees. A twinge of disappointment rose then, in that moment, as he realized he was somehow both alone and not. He couldn’t explain how this could be, but readily accepted it. Certain truths he would have found hard to accept before seemed to naturally be released and take hold in his being. He found himself wondering what this place was. True, he’d been here before, but only thrice and each time he had the same curiosity. Though, he never explored far. He was fearful that he would get lost in the jungle or on the beach. Always, he roamed near the palm tree he sat beneath, searching the white sand and the tree line behind him. Was this time different? What brought him here? The other times, he’d failed his Padawan trials, been told he could not contact his family during a difficult moment in his life and been told that the Jedi Service Corps. was going to be his best and only option at serving the Jedi. That he would never become a Jedi and that a true Jedi would accept that truth and do what they could in service of a power greater than themselves. He smiled as he remembered that last part. He had defied the Councils expectations. He had become a Jedi’s Padawan. He had left Haruun Kal. He had grown closer to Alyssa then he’d ever dreamed of. He’d grown closer to Inaure Vao, Meave and had a Jedi Master for a mentor, instructor and father. His world was new and shiny, so why was he here? Suddenly, and momentarily, he felt that otherworldly presence disappear beside him. He felt alone again. He frowned to himself and lost himself in thought as he returned himself to the sea before him. He watched as waves formed off in the distance and rolled unto the shore. He watched the twin suns drift in the sky in a slow helix pattern. He watched a flock of gulls lazily fly across the mid-afternoon sky and found his mind slipping from the important questions. He had to concentrate in order to remember the questions and then had to force himself to remember why he was here. He was barely aware how he even got here. Never could he explain how, just what it was to be in this place, this sanctuary. The sublime and total sense of peace that washed over his being rejuvenated him and gave him the strength to continue when he thought he could not. However, now that he was forcing himself to focus on things that were not of peace, he noticed the sky begin to darken. Storm clouds took shape and formed off in the distance. The sea began to churn and the birds began to cry in fright before they took flight. Whatever was happening, it would not be good. For a fleeting moment, he contemplated dropping his concentration. Perhaps, the sudden change in the weather was his doing. It was possible, after all, that he had created this place within himself and the Force and that his emotions impacted it. He shook his head. Even now, the peace remained and gave him the strength to weather this storm – whatever it would be. As he concentrated memories began to return. He remembered his apprehension at the onset of that day. He remembered his awkwardness when approaching a female Jedi Knight that now he realized must have been his sister. The Force works in mysterious ways, he thought briefly. In the distance the storm clouds grew with frightening quickness and the once calm sea began to churn. The waves that lapped upon the shore grew higher and more menacing. Yet, still he pressed on. He remembered his approach with the group of beings that changed everything. He remembered the overly aggressive Zabrak, Andurs. He remembered the kind and motherly nature of Meera Kanlo, whom now he thought was being manipulative. He then remembered Dax and the rain began to pour over the sea, the clouds raced to the shoreline and the sea threatened to reach higher and higher. The old man, who had seemed to be the glue that held the group together, he recalled as well, but not the man’s name. Then, he remembered the violence that followed their strained and tense conversation. Memories of the suffering of the many and the small, the deaths that these people caused, and that were caused by the Mandalorian teenager Terra, memories of all that he had witnessed returned to him at once. He screamed aloud, tears freely streaming down his cheeks. He clutched his head as the memories became all too vivid. With knees raised to his chest he began to rock to and fro, sobbing hysterically. He did not want to see this. He did not want to remember this. The storm’s intensity reached a climax and a funnel cloud appeared over the sea. Waves began to crash upon the shore and the once-gentle breeze was finally replaced with hurricane-force gales. His world, his sanctuary was being taken over by the darkness. And through it all, the poor child rocked and sobbed, babbled like a babe screaming for his mother. The peace he had once felt, the peace that had been suffocating and overpowering was now a sliver of its strength. His world became madness. Through his tears and cries of anguish, Kharjo witnessed the approaching hurricane and was helpless to do anything about it. It did not lessen the sorrow he felt or dwindle his misery. In fact, it was almost comforting to see the hurricane racing toward him. It was if he was inviting his own demise. The pristine and picturesque sand that lay blissfully upon the beach was being picked up and whipped about. Trees behind him were being tossed around like ragdolls. Kharjo could hear trunks snapping as entire trees were uprooted or broke in twain. His Jedi robes were being eroded as well. The rips and tears and missing portions were growing larger by the minute. He would be entirely naked soon. And still the storm raged. As he rocked and cried and sobbed, the images of the dead, the burning, the mutilated and falling bodies continued to traipse across his mind’s eye. They became a morbid slideshow he could not escape. He saw the police officer being shot in the head by the Mandalorian teen. He saw his partner be struck with a sense of immediate horror as she tried of vain to wrestle control from the fat, dead cop. He watched her scream as their cruiser crashed into a bus filled with children. He watched as the happy faces of the children turned to white-hot terror in an instant and then died there. He watched burning bodies plummet from the wreckage only to cause more harm as they slammed into passing vehicles and the floors below indiscriminately. Over all this carnage he heard the words of Terra: ‘They died so that you may live, Jedi. A life for a life.’ Those words were repeated over and over unto the point of utter madness. And through it all the storm raged. When he thought he could take no more, the face of an innocent child swam before his eyes. He looked up, his tears cresting and falling as he huffed for breath. The hurricane was a fourth of a mile out and larger than the cove he resided in. It would encompass his world entirely, but that was not what he focused on. Before him floated the image of a young girl, no older than four or five and limply hung in her hand was a ragged and beloved teddy bear. Her expression was forlorn; her cute, innocent face was covered in blood. A head wound, perhaps. Her icy blue eyes looked at him as if to ask ‘why?’ “Why did I have to die, mister?” she mouthed at him. His mouth fell open as he shuddered to himself. That sense of peace diminished further. It was like a fire had once burned brightly and now was quite quickly being snuffed out. Only a flicker of a tiny, weakening flame remained. Once gone there would be no more. Kharjo rocked and said nothing. The little girl looked at him as if to implore him to speak. He did not. He could not. What would he say? He stared at her, his eyes begging for forgiveness, for understanding. The girl would have none of it. “Why did I have to die, mister?” she implored. This is not real. The girl cocked her head to the side; in her right hand he gripped the bear tighter. She looked at him with confusion and sorrow and then looked up. Kharjo watched as flaming debris fell upon her and crushed her. As she died, she asked why once again. Kharjo could not contain the scream that eschewed from his mouth or how it echoed in this place. What remaining birds took flight for their lives with a cacophony of cries and shrill shrieks. Kharjo rocked anew and with frightening vigor. He stared at his impending doom and began to repeat four words to himself. “This is not real, this is not real, this is not real, this is not real, this is not real, this is not real, this is not real. THIS IS NOT REAL!” The hurricane crashed ashore and whipped about the beach. It slammed into Kharjo and threatened to uplift him. In that moment an albatross flew in from some unseen vantage and hovered before Kharjo as the hurricane bashed through him. The bird did nothing but watch the frightened cub rock back and forth. And soon the hurricane passed and Kharjo found himself in the eye of the storm. His head fell back, all color having drained from his face, his eyes appeared glazed over. Like a zombie he stared into the heavens, seeing the crystal blue sky and clouds lazily float past high above. It was a silver lining, a flicker of hope to this madness. He dropped his head and stared at the albatross and through it at once. His mouth fell open and his lips began to tremble. He watched as the bird drifted to the sand beneath it and squawk. It did not have the desired effect, so it squawked again and again until Kharjo’s eyes focused upon it inquisitively. From high above, Kharjo dully heard more squawking and craned his neck skyward. A flock of albatross appeared and descend rapidly in a neat formation. When they were mere feet from the ground they flew closer and closer together until they were indistinguishable and exploded with such force that it sent a shockwave out from the center. Kharjo had to lift an arm to hide his face from the brunt of the blast. When he pulled it away, there stood in the epicenter a figure far too familiar to Kharjo; a middle aged Cathari man with familial resemblance to him. The Cathari looked upon Kharjo with much sadness and sympathy. Kharjo became confused and interested at once. Kharjo took the elder Cathari in. He stood there in a half robe similar to a toga. The carmine robe of fine fabric hung delicately off his right shoulder and draped down his body. He was built and in shape for a man of his venerable years. Many beaded necklaces of ranging colors and length hung from his neck. Twin and intertwining armbands clasped across his biceps. An embroidered leather kidney belt rested upon his waist, with a gold sash going through the loops in the belt. Bracelets and bangles hung from his wrists. His visage was old, wizened, and serene. His eyes were olive with bits of golden flecks scattered about. He appeared more lion than jaguar. His golden mane was long and shaggy. His ears were less pointed and more rounded, and black spots crested upon the tops of them. The fur around his maw was white and his nose pink. Kharjo blinked. Who was this man? He knew him from somewhere. The man simply stared at Kharjo as the youth came to his conclusion. As Kharjo’s eyes widened, the man simply nodded. “Yes, I am your ancestor Jaqen the Reluctant and the Wise.” Kharjo sputtered, stammered, blinked. He was stupefied. He wanted to ask how that was possible. How had his ancestor crossed the expanse of time and space to be here now incorporeally? Jaqen simply waved him off, a gesture meant to silence him. He half smiled in a fashion that was telling. As if he were trying to say that all things would be revealed in time. Kharjo simply stared, not knowing what else to do. “I have brought someone near and dear to you, my cub,” as he spoke, he motioned to the albatross that was now standing before Kharjo. Kharjo moved his gave upon the mighty bird and watched as it, too, exploded in a magical fashion and transformed into a young Cathari girl with strong resemblance to Kharjo. She, too, was no older than the human child he’d seen before. She stood there so filled with hope, sadness and trepidation that Kharjo was at a loss for words. He knew instantly that this was his baby sister standing before him, but not how any of this was possible. “Kharjo, please stop. Make the bad dreams go away. I don’t wanna dream about the evil Cathar anymore. He scares me! Please, big brother, make them stop! She cried aloud as big, shiny tears bubbled and streamed down her cheeks. Kharjo was overwhelmed. All thoughts of his own anguish set aside in an instant. He rose with a swiftness he’d never known and rushed over to his sister’s side. He’d never met her, but that did not matter. He embraced her as she cried and held her firmly. “Shush, baby sister,” he began trying to comfort, “you’re alright now. I won’t let the bad man get you.” His gaze rose and he looked to Jaqen for guidance. He felt lost and his ancestor seemed content to just simply stand there waiting for something to happen. Kharjo’s sense of madness began to fade as did his anguish. Had his brother begun targeting their baby sister? Everything he’d experienced today was a cruel lesson, he realized. The galaxy was a harsh place. He could not accept that at the moment, but at least he acknowledged it. Right now, his baby sister was all that mattered to him. The spark was reborn. Unconsciously, he reached out to his Master and beckoned his aid. He needed help with this. He could not do it alone. But, how would his Master get to him when he did not even know where he was? In that moment the wizened smile upon Jaqen’s visage brightened and he flashed a row of white teeth to his descendant. “I believe I can help with that, young one. Don’t worry, you’re Master will be here shortly.” With that he momentarily vanished and Kharjo was left alone with his frightened and sobbing sister. He comforted her the best he could as he awaited help. He did not bother attempting to comprehend how any of this was possible. As far as he was concerned it just was. He would learn in time, he was sure.
  3. When they entered the room Kharjo’s shame evaporated like the spit in his mouth. Whatever he had expected from these people when he would first meet them, this was not it. They rose as one with reverence, all their eyes shined upon them. It did not sit well with him. He could not explain why. He felt sickened by it, like he had committed murder. This felt wrong. Yet, he held his tongue. The right words did not come forth, just shock. He watched them standing there, waiting for the Jedi to make a move of some sort. Perhaps they thought that Master and Padawan would bow and demand adoration. This was not so. Nothing happened. Kharjo tore his gaze from them, shrunk from it and look upon the profile of his Master. What would the older man do? Before he would get his answer, the near-human, the giant of a man, more muscle than any person had right to have rose from his seat and approached the pair of Jedi. Kharjo froze. He didn’t know what to do. For the faintest of moments he felt fear and his hand unconsciously drifted to the hilt of his lightsaber. He steeled himself for the unknown and waited. However, what happened next stupefied him. Quite literally, stupefied him; his eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. He recovered quick enough with his expression sliding towards puzzlement. Sue Barnes had fallen to one knee and raised his weapon above his head in a sign of fealty. Just like the knight’s of yore and lore way back when. This was not what he had expected from the big and powerful man. This was the farthest thing from it. Kharjo fidgeted where he stood. He cleared his throat and began searching the room for something to stare at besides Sue Barnes. His Master was quicker and more prepared than Kharjo. An authoritative and warning snarl exited his mouth, his eyes went hard and his ears pulled back sharply. Again, Kharjo was surprised by this response. He felt a bit of kindness would have been better, a gentle easing of the truth of things. Politely tell the giant that Jedi do not take servants and worshipers. Whatever caused Dashel to respond the way he had had the desired effect. When he spoke, all listened. The tension that had silently been building in the lounge before this point seemed to recede slightly with Dashel’s declaration. The effect seemed negligible to Kharjo. Being so close to Sue Barnes, Kharjo took him in. The near-human was truly a giant. He was far taller than anyone had a right to be in Kharjo’s opinion, but he had gentle eyes and smelled womanly. At a distance, Sue was as imposing as he was intimidating. But, up close? There was a gentleness about him that Kharjo found disarming. He wanted to move closer to Sue and slap him on the arm or ask to climb up the big man. He couldn’t explain why. He felt silly all of a sudden for being so terrified of such a gentle soul. What transpired next made absolutely no sense to Kharjo and if it did to anyone else in the room, Kharjo could not say. He was perplexed to say the least. Both men grew exponentially tenser and his Master drew his ‘saber. They then locked hands with the other’s weapon all the while never breaking their gaze. Dashel had to stretch comically far to do so, but even still, it did nothing to ease the tension that now permeated the lounge. When they finally pulled away, Dashel had Sue’s weapon and Sue had his. Kharjo wanted to ask what this signified as Officer Pol gingerly walked up and took the weapon from the Jedi Master, but he held his tongue. Events were continuing to move forward and Kharjo had to pay attention. Sue Barnes seemed to still be confused as to what the Jedi were and did as he uttered “I serve.” Again, Kharjo restrained himself from speaking out of turn. He could have said something, perhaps as sternly as his Master had done earlier, but he chose not to. Whatever was going on, this was his Master’s show, not his. His Master’s response further confused him. Why would he accept this man’s service? Why would he send him to Lehon? What was even on Lehon? Kharjo had to fight to hide his frown and only succeeded to the point where it became a twitch of his brow. Kharjo watched as Dashel motioned for Sue, the Officer and the others to take their seat. As Sue Barnes made his way back to one of the acceleration couches, Kharjo unconsciously sighed. He did not understand what had just happened and it seemed to be a pointless venture to ask currently. Once Sue was seated, Kharjo noticed the drop in tension within the room. Whatever happened, it did wonders. Kharjo followed his Master closely as they moved toward the couches. His Master asked Pol if they could question Dax, which seemed beyond a moot point. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Kharjo turned upon Dax, not knowing what he would feel. He’d seen her only once before, but she had bewitched him and tried to kidnap him. Now he was within spitting distance of her and felt only sadness. Looking upon her, with the smug, but timid expression filled him with great sadness. He could not explain it, but he felt as if he could see past the guise she wore to her true self. He saw a frightened and scared little girl stare back at him and felt pity. He sighed and released the last vestiges of whatever anger he held towards her. Kharjo watched as she focused upon his Master and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Whatever ran through her mind, she weighed it carefully. After a lot more shifting, her Master seemed to catch on to her plight and waved his hands. The next thing Kharjo knew the manacles that bound Dax were released and floated back to Pol, who looked entirely surprised. Having been freed, Dax relaxed considerably and seemed to Kharjo to be genuinely grateful. He watched her move and massage the feeling back into her limbs, eager to hear what she had to say. Yet, still she did not speak. A spark of irritation bloomed inside him as he waited. Silently, he repeated a line from the code to himself. Once she had finally gotten as comfortable as she was likely to get, his Master began the questioning. He watched her intently, reading her reaction to everything Dashel Illioni had to say. When his Master finished she took a moment to ponder his intentions before consenting to his terms. From there, Kharjo expected Dashel to begin immediately, but instead he asked her if he could make her more comfortable. For a moment, Kharjo was taken aback, but then he recalled the original intent for him coming to Coruscant and had to smile to himself knowingly. He turned to his Master and saw the surprise flash across his face. Even if Dashel did not immediately recognize that he was being diplomatic, Kharjo did. It worked and she began telling her sad tale to the group. Kharjo listened carefully. What transpired was a touching tale that gripped at his heart strings and held him hostage. In her early years she’d lived the kind of life Kharjo had once dreamed of, free from the restriction of society, free to do as he pleased, free to push himself, to be wild and dangerous. A small part of him envied that freedom, but he wouldn’t change the course of his life for anything. He felt he had the opportunity to impact the galaxy and make a real difference. Then disaster struck her and his heart sank. He wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder, to console her and tell her everything was OK now. The bad men would never hurt her again. He didn’t have time to think of the implications of his insidious brother or the harm that followed him and everyone he cared about. It didn’t concern him. Ultimately, Kharjo restrained himself and allowed her to speak. He reached out to the Force the best he could and attempted to send her feelings of calm and soothe her wounded soul, but did not know if it had any affect. He’d never attempted such a thing before. When his brother entered into her tale, he felt a tinge of anger coil around his stomach and begin to choke him. He wanted to vomit. He never knew his brother, as he was nearly fifteen years older than he, but he remembered asking about him frequently. He remembered how proud his parents were of him. They always told him that his brother was a kind and gentle soul. What happened to you? He thought. What changed you, brother? When she finished, he didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t know where to place what emotions he understood. He couldn’t understand how anyone could be so malicious. Without realizing why, he turned to his Master an emphatic look in his eye. He did not have the proper words to help Dax, but he wanted to. Dashel must have come to a similar conclusion as he turned to his Padawan moments after Kharjo had looked to him for guidance. He spoke with urgency, but kindness as well. “Padawan, we need to find her family and provide them with protection – if they want it or at least offer them a warning. We will also be sending someone to do the same for your family in case your brother decides that taking one of them will result in your cooperation.” Kharjo’s empathy slid toward confusion and horror. Would his brother do that? Would he harm his own family just to get to his little brother? Kharjo hoped not and prayed that just wasn’t the case. He did not know his brother, never had, but he hoped he was still the same kind soul from the stories his parents told him. Slowly, numbly, Kharjo nodded as his Master continued. “She can be cured, Padawan. Knight Luo has the ability to do so and Miss Dax, here, will receive such aid. Now, do you have any questions before the ladies join us and the gentlemen here leave for their various destinations?” Kharjo turned his olive and gold-flecked gaze from Dashel to Dax and frowned. This was his moment. He’d had so much he’d wanted to say, so much to get out, but now that it had come time to he was unsure. He no longer felt anger towards her and so a lot of what he’d wanted to say he felt he could not. It would be too mean, too hurtful. He had questions about her family, but he wondered how important those really were. Questions about how his brother operated, how they contacted one another and what his plans were for him swirled about, but in mixed company, Kharjo was once again unsure if he should ask them. He didn’t know any of these strange men. True, he sensed no evil in them, but he hadn’t sensed it in Meera Kanlo either. His frown grew more intense and he bit his lips. Looking away, he cast his eyes down upon his bare feet. Idly, he wiggled his toes on his right foot as he bought time. Master Vao and Padawan Greene would be here soon and they would be happy and smiling. Kharjo had to prepare for that. He did not know how much they knew about what had recently transpired. Even if they didn’t know, they would know something was wrong. They would sense it rolling off of him. Finally, he raised his eyes and looked upon Dax, hesitation and sorrow in his gaze. “No, Master. There is nothing I want to ask her right now.” With that he turned away to flex his jaw and blink away the feelings he had been battling with for so long. Anger towards her was gone, but that was it. Everything else remained. After a moment, he began walking off toward the entry ramp. Once he’d left the lounge without so much as a word to anyone present, he stopped and put a hand on the wall closest to him to support his weight as his knees buckled. Suddenly, it struck him. He had been within striking distance of one of the few who had tried to end his life, which had consequently caused the deaths of so many people thereafter and he had forgiven her. His breathing became ragged and he wanted to laugh and cry at once. It took him but a moment to collect himself and continue onward, but it was enough time for his Master to undoubtedly sense the gulf of emotion emanating from his Padawan. As he passed the hallway that led to his quarters he paused again. With a lingering glance, he looked down in the direction of his room and felt the urge to walk off to it and crawl into bed, place his pillow over his head and just lay there. It took considerable effort on his part not to do just that, instead he stayed true to his original intentions and walked toward the entry ramp, entered the passcode and watched the ramp lower to the hangar bay of the EV. Kharjo did not wait for the ramp to lower itself unto the bay floor; he began descending it as it was lowering. Before it hit the ground, Kharjo leapt off it and landed softly on the floor before the ramp and his ship. He scanned the massive bay again and was hit by a sense of completion or something similar to Déjà vu. With a heavy sigh, he stared out into the magnetic screen that kept the bay pressurized, kept the oxygen in and kept the occupants safe from the vacuum of space and looked forlorn. He ripped his gaze from the screen and turned to face the Grasstiger. His eyes roamed the hull of ship for something and eventually settled upon a rear landing skid. He began walking towards it and seated himself next to it and under the ship, his back resting on the skid. With his knees pressed into his chest and his arms encircling his knees, Kharjo closed his eyes and began drifting away. He drifted from the here, the now and went to a place where he could be alone. It was tranquil and serene there. Nothing bad happened there, nothing harmful could touch him. He found himself on a beach. The sand beneath his padded feet was a pearly milk-white. The water that lapped upon the shore was a pristine clear blue, with quiet and rolling white foam upon its surface. Upon the winds was a gentle breeze that carried with it the scent of a rainforest at Kharjo’s back and the sea before him. Seagulls sung in the mid-afternoon sky. And the twin suns of this place lightly kissed the day, like a lover would their love. Kharjo looked about and sighed. He was still dressed in his finest Jedi robes, but they were no longer fine. They showed the signs of his mental anguish and were ripped and tattered and in some places whole bits of fabric were missing and gave way to the cool and inviting breeze. He spotted a nearby palm tree further up the beach and made his way to it. The cool water from the sea rolled in to kiss his feet while the breeze played with his robes. He sighed as he began to relax and sat beneath the shade of the palm tree and just stared off into the distance, content. True to her word, a shuttle from Courscant arrived and docked with the Eternal Vigilance. As the passengers began to disembark, Alyssa Greene turned to her Master, friend and surrogate mother, Inuare Vao and smiled softly. She couldn’t contain her excitement. She felt giddy. She wanted to share her happiness with all those she saw and it rolled off her like a calming wave. Master Vao felt it and could not stop herself from chuckling aloud. She, too, felt the same way. It had been far too long since she’d gone out into the galaxy, far too long since she’d attended a gala and interacted with the people of the worlds. It felt good to get out. For the latter portion of her life, she’d devoted it to bringing up and caring for the next generation of Jedi. In her youth she had traveled and fought against oppression. She’d righted wrongs and helped the innocent and the weak. She’d returned hope to those who had lost it. A fleeting thought came to her, Perhaps it’s time I did again? Held in her hand was a bag and within that a fine and elegant dress, one that she was sure was going to impress Dashel. She felt young again. The pair made their way across the hangar bay to where they knew the Grasstiger waited. They talked amongst themselves about the gala that was to come and about Kharjo and Dashel. Both were curious as to how Kharjo’s mission was going. Inaure was sure Kharjo would do well. The lad had it in him to be more than he was and greater than he could ever imagine. He had to only believe in himself. Dashel’s assignment was the right step to get him there. She believed this to the core of her being. They did not dress as Jedi. Inaure did not want to return to Coruscant as Jedi, but as a woman. It was not that she was ashamed of being a Jedi; it was just that it had been far too long since she dressed like a woman. She longed for it more than she had known. And Alyssa had never dressed in anything but Jedi robes. For her Padawan, she knew going to Coruscant in street clothes would be a far greater reward. Inaure dressed in black turtleneck sweater that hugged her torso. She wore a pair of white slacks and black, stylish boots that went up to her knee. They had a three inch heel in the back of them. A trendy belt rested upon her hips, where her lightsaber hung. Over all of this, she wore a lightweight white jacket that fell to the small of her back. When she stretched in any direction, her sweater pulled up, revealing her toned stomach and the rich azure of her skin. Alyssa dressed differently. Inaure had to help her and the teen had decided to wear a tanktop of magenta, the straps of her black bra teasing the eye. For pants she wore a pair of rich, stylish and shiny skinny jeans, with a belt to match her Masters. Her lightsaber hung from the opposite hip. Upon her feet she wore a pair of open-toed stilettos. A matching leather jacket, a pair of bracelets, a beautiful necklace and a pair of earrings rounded out her outfit. She far outshined her Master and she enjoyed the attention she’d garnered from the men and boys she’d past as they walked the Commerce District of Coruscant. Even the woman in the trendy shopping outlets praised Alyssa on her clothing, her simple, yet elegant bun and light application of her makeup. As they neared Dashel’s ship, they spotted Kharjo sitting beneath it. They both smiled and exchanged relieved glances. Kharjo had finished quicker than they’d expected. Inaure was the first to sense trouble and frowned immediately thereafter. She tried reaching out to the young cub, but could not did not get a response. Her frown deepened and worry set in. Alyssa looked up at her Master for a heartbeat before she took off and ran to Kharjo’s side. She said no words, but sat down next to him, wrapped him in her arms and brought him close to her and held him there. She ran a hand through his mane and stared off into the distance. Tears struggled to break through her guise of calm as worry took hold. She knew what Kharjo was doing. He only ever retreated within himself like this when something terrible had happened. It happened the first time he’d failed his Padawan trials and again when he went before the Council of Haruun Kal and was suggested that the Jedi Service Corps. might be his next and only option. She turned to him and looked upon him for a long while, bit her lip as the first tear crested her eye and ran down her cheek. She watched his ears twitch and knew that he was aware of her presence. She could feel him begin to purr and smiled beside herself. Fear and worry did not let up as she held him and the smile fell away. Inaure’s frown deepened and she looked upon her Padawan and Kharjo for a moment longer before she steeled herself and walked up the ramp of the Grasstiger. Her bags of clothes and accessories, the gifts she’d bought for Kala, Kharjo and Dashel forgotten. She needed to speak with Dashel. She needed to figure out what had happened to her child. She did not bother correcting herself at that thought; she did not bother citing the Jedi’s views on attachment. She was furious and beside herself. What could have went so horribly wrong as to cause Kharjo to withdraw so much? She’d only ever gotten him to explain once where he went when he withdrew so far into himself. It was as much a manifestation of the Force as it was his own imagination. It did not take her long to find Dashel, but he was not alone. Four others were with him. Surprise flashed across her visage, but purpose quickly returned. She ignored their eyes as she walked over to Dashel. “We need to talk,” she said sternly in a voice that brooked no argument.
  4. Entry 2: Day 31 Dimly the holo-recorder’s eye begins to adjust to the partially lit room. In the background the engine of a starship gently thrums and hums. Sitting squarely in the center of the holo-recorder’s large ubiquitous glass eye is the frame of a Cathari boy in his late teens. Kharjo sits in front of the recorder, slumped in his chair and coughing softly. The exuberance he had in his eyes the last time he recorded his thoughts seems diminished slightly, perhaps by the cold he seems to have. He sneezes violently before speaking, “Ungh. Well, where do I begin? I wish I could do this when I was healthy! That would make for a better video to show to my family.” He pauses momentarily, “wait, am I showing my family these videos?” Kharjo trailed off, quietly pondering the possibilities that such an action gave and the consequences of it. On the one hand, he knew it would give his family an inside look into how he was doing, into his well-being and the rigorous training he was going through. However, on the other hand, if anyone were to see these videos, they would become intimate with him and could use them to their advantage. That thought unsettled him slightly as he pictured tentacle-like monsters manhandling him in an unpleasant manner. Why he had pictured tentacle-like monsters and not, say, humans, or any other sentient race he couldn’t say. Perhaps he was still slightly delirious with fever? Finally, after what was probably the passage of several minutes he blinked at the recorder and chuckled embarrassedly. “Heh, maybe I’ll just hold off on showing these to anyone…” Bringing his paw to his mouth he coughed quietly before speaking again, “Where was I? Oh yeah! So, I’m now officially a ‘Padawan’! My master named me so a couple of weeks ago, but I’ve been too busy (and tired) to make one of these videos again. I’ve been doing so much! There’s flight lessons in the morning with Master Erath, of course that’s after I take about an hour or so for personal training and meditation. Then, my Master sends me out on ridiculous missions. Like, just the other day I had to go to Master Vao to ask out her Padawan, Alyssa Green. “My Master thinks I have a crush on her, I think.” Kharjo visibly blushes at the thought (or whatever the equivalent gesture would be for a furred, sentient mammal). He looks away quickly and attempts to clear his throat. “I don’t, because that’s against the Jedi Code… and stuff,” he stammers out too quickly. “A-anyway, after that some other stuff happened, but I can’t remember it all. My days seem to blend together sometimes and me being sick makes it hard for me to remember everything… I know. I know. Some recording of my thoughts, huh? Maybe I should do this when I’m not sick and can remember better?” Kharjo paused again momentarily lost by some thought or another. “But, what else am I supposed to do aboard this ship?!” he whines into the recorder. “Knight Luo says I’m too sick to train and there is only so much studying I can do during the day. Luo said that I should strain myself by trying to go into a healing trance. She says I’m not skilled enough. Master Vao only comes around to check on me and tease me. And Alyssa… Alyssa makes my head foggy. Master Illioni visits me often, but mostly to run metal exercises or question me on our last Force trance. Well, really, I do the questioning, but still! Sometimes he asks questions.” Kharjo made a face as he finished his latest thought. Suddenly he is hit by a realization as something dawns on him. His entire visage lights up and the youthful exuberance returns to his eyes. “My ancestor survived! I mean, Jaqen survived. I mean he’s my ancestor! Somehow, I had another vision again recently. Only it wasn’t a vision, but some kind of trance or something. I overheard my Master mention something about genetic memory. That’s way over my head. Anyways, I found myself back on Cathar and I was following my ancestor back to his city. Through him I saw his life, his wife and the council he reported too. “Apparently, he was some kind of leader to his people, except he cautioned against war where they raged for it. They called him ‘the Reluctant’ as if it were an insult. He was meeting with the elder council, but it wasn’t going so well. I think he might have won some of them over in the end tho’. “There was this strange feeling I got in that place between places when I was there before I left, tho’. It was like a dark presence was looming over my shoulder. I felt claustrophobic, even tho’ I’m not. It was strange. I told haven’t told my master. I probably should.” With that he yawned and stretched. As he looked around he noticed the time and realized how very tired he was. He’d been sleeping for most of the previous day and would do nothing else today. At the very least he could sleep and dream. Sleepy eyed, he returned his attention to the recorder and yawned. He wondered if anyone heard his sleepy yawn as it sounded a bit like a low roar to him. “I guess I’ll call it a night, then. I’m really sleepy and bored. Time to dream! Goodnight.” He reached over and powered down the device, left his seat and climbed back into the modestly comfortable bed of the Grasstiger’s crew cabin.
  5. Four days from Haruun Kal, approximately two weeks earlier Kharjo flinched reflexively at the hand upon his shoulder, even if he knew it was his master’s. He looked to Dashel for guidance, an explanation as to why he had vanished from the yurt; instead he got a different answer. The cub furrowed his brow and pouted, he didn’t want to leave. He realized in that moment he wanted to stay. This was exciting! He felt like he was learning so much about his past and himself, why would he ever want to halt such revelations? However, it seemed he had no say in the matter. He felt disheartened and disappointed all at once. It was like he’d been given a glimpse of an important truth – perhaps the most important of truths and had it yanked away from his grasp and wanting gaze. Dashel tried consoling the young Padawan, but there was only so much one could do. Kharjo sighed deeply. He didn’t know when he would have these visions next; he didn’t have control over them. They just happened upon him. He chuckled softly to himself then, a thought had come to him and it made him smile. Perhaps that’s part of the thrill of it? The discovery will be random and rewarding. He looked about then, glancing at the wondrous landscape of a home he’d never known, spying a people that no longer existed and sighed. He felt the wind caress his bare fur, felt it tickle his whiskers and tug at his robes. He watched as dust twirled and danced like tiny tornadoes inches above the dirt. His gaze lifted and he stared at sky so foreign and familiar to him it made him want to cry. He would yearn for this place in the days to come. He knew it. He would want to return. Master Illioni was right, however, he shouldn’t attempt it alone. There was failure and worse in such a venture. He could be trapped in this place between worlds – between times forever. Would that be so bad? Kharjo could not answer that question. He grimaced and tore his gaze from the sky. When he looked about he did not spy his Master. Had he simply walked off again or returned to the world of the waking? He tried calling out to him, but quickly realized how futile it was. If Master Illioni was not here, there was no point. But, how do I get back? He had never actually thought of that until then. He’d had no control over the duration of his visits here. They came and went of their own accord. He thought back, trying to recall the last trigger. He recalled a pitched battle and the near-death of his ancestor. Was that it? Was stress the trigger? How was he going to trigger a stressful event? Everything was so peaceful. Panic began to set in and that dark feeling began to return. The tendrils he’d felt on the edges of his consciousness grew stronger and more vile. He couldn’t tell what was causing it, but he felt as if he knew without knowing that it was a Force User. How that was possible was beyond him. He quickly steeled himself, realizing there was little else he could do in this instance. Panicking would not help anything. And so, he began walking. He had no direction in mind, he just walked. For a time, he focused solely on rebuffing the dark feeling that fell upon him like sound at the edge of hearing. When he happened upon a clearing on the outskirts of the village, he sat down and began to meditate. He could not think of what else to do. As he sat there mediating a sense of serenity washed over him and the ‘here’ began to fade from the ‘there’. He could not describe the feeling as he felt himself shift. When he awoke he was greeted by a blinding light that caused his head to pound. He could hear people speaking in hushed tones and feel a gentle hand upon his forearm, but could make sense of nothing. He tried to sit up, but found his body heavy, deadened. Kharjo fell back into the bed with flush of color and then tried to roll over onto his side. He did not move fast enough and before he could stop it, bile was spilling from his puffed-out cheeks and falling onto the bed sheet. It took all the effort he could muster to simply roll far enough onto his side to allow him to vomit over the edge of his bed. By the time he finished tears had blurred his vision and were freely flowing down his cheeks. A voice floated to him then, “Kharjo take it easy, you were out for a very long time.” Kharjo blinked in-between gasping fits. He knew that voice. When he’d gained enough composure, he took a paw and wiped the spittle from his mouth. He attempted to sit up again, only to fail and need the help of the stranger at his bedside. That same stranger took soft hands and wiped away the rogue tears that clouded his vision. After he blinked away the confusion he realized it was Alyssa staring back at him. There was concern and something else in her beautiful eyes and it made Kharjo blush instantly. He sharply averted his gaze and coughed. As he looked around the room, he realized that it was not brightly lit and that he must be in a ship’s medbay. How or when he’d gotten there he could not say. “Glad to see you’re awake, Kharjo. We were beginning to worry about you.” Knight Maevis Luo said sweetly as she moved to his side to check his vitals. Kharjo furrowed his brow inquisitively as he watched Knight Luo work before something tore at his attention and made him look around the room again. He saw Master Illioni sitting at the edge of the bed, saw Master Vao moving over to his and Alyssa’s side and noticed Kala vigilantly standing between him and Master Illioni. So much did not make sense and needed to. Once Maevis had finished, she and everyone present took turns filling him in on all that transpired. The attack on Gala, the strike on the Sith Temple on Coruscant, the Council Meeting that was to take place aboard the Eternal Vigilance. By the time they had finished, Kharjo was awed. So much had happened while he was away and yet it had only seemed like mere minutes had passed while he was in that place between places. How intriguing it all was! When he felt his strength return more he swung himself over the edge of his bed as a glass was presented to him. As he drank deeply from it, he sighed divinely. Eternal Vigilance, earlier Kharjo walked down the boarding ramp of the Grasstiger. He still felt a bit uneasy. It’d been two long, but fun weeks in space, traveling aboard of spaceship with limited space. He’d learned a lot, grown as a person, but had yet to best this illness that had befallen him. It seemed that his master had the higher fortitude as he seemed fine. Kharjo grumbled as he followed after his master. They stopped abruptly and Kharjo nearly toppled over when he bumped into him. As he stumbled backwards, he looked around and gasped. This was the Eternal Vigilance? This was impressive. It was massive, the hangar bay. He dropped his head as far back as it would go and could just make out the ceiling. It was so spacious and empty. He felt in awe and saddened all at once. A ship this massive, this impressive must have had an impressive purpose. To see it in such disuse filled him with sorrow. Kharjo felt something pressing against his chest and looked down. A datapad waited for him to take and so he did, turning it over before powering it up. Master Illioni had begun speaking in the manner he so often did. It was as if he knew Kharjo was listening even when it was evident that he wasn’t. He also gave off the distinct impression that he was not going to repeat himself if Kharjo missed something. It somewhat irritated Kharjo, but there were far worse qualities in a person than this. As his master spoke, Kharjo made himself listen as he passively scanned over the datapad. Indeed there were detailed duplicate instructions of his task. Once he had finished he quickly departed answering a holocall as he walked off. Kharjo was left to stand there a tumultuous rush of emotions. He was excited to visit Coruscant; he’d thought he’d have to accompany his master to the meeting. That would have been enough. I have to talk to strangers, tho’? Man… The thought of introducing himself to diplomats and their attendants was a little more than intimidating. He’d had few dealings with politicians. For that matter he’d dealt with very few people who weren't Jedi or affiliated with the Order in some way or another. He could do it though, he was a Jedi. He was Master Illioni’s Padawan. Before his feelings overwhelmed him, he turned around and walked back up the ramp and to his quarters. He was already dressed as a Jedi, but figured that he should put on one of his better sets of robes and fatigues. If he was going to do this he might as well make a good impression. Kharjo sought out Kala to help him with the sensory strand and his braid. He could tie a braid – he’d practiced at it long enough. It was the weaving of the sensory instrument strand into it that caused him a measure of difficulty. When she finished he asked her how he looked and she smiled as her reply. Sighing nervously, he clipped his lightsabers to his utility belt and went to find a shuttle to Coruscant. He didn’t have to explore for very long as he had Kala’s help in navigating the ship. Minutes later the shuttle was racing towards the nearby capitol planet with Kharjo staring in awe out of a portside viewscreen.
  6. So much had happened so quickly that Kharjo was at a loss for words. It was more than a little jarring to find yourself asleep in your bed on Haruun Kal, resting for yet another day of intense flying lessons, haphazard courting attempts and lessons within lessons within lessons. It was something vastly different to find yourself awake on a different plane incorporeal, unable to affect anything and only able to observe. All of that paled in comparison to what Master Illioni had said when he spoke. Nothing else had mattered so much to Kharjo. Not in that moment, probably not in the moments to come or those that had been. Dashel had called Kharjo his ‘Padawan.’ He had officially given Kharjo a chance. The euphoria he felt from that single word, that single title sent a cascading wave of benevolent Force energy rippling through this place between worlds, between times. The young Cathar smiled broadly, wolfishly and for a moment was ignorant to all else Dashel had said. However, in the following moment, when Kharjo had calmed himself and checked his emotions he began to feel something upon him. It was a dark sensation, like slimy, gelatinous tentacles slowly invading from the darkest recesses of his mind. It took Kharjo a fair amount of time to notice the odd and uncomfortable feeling, yet he realized that every time his mind drifted back to what Dashel had said, the feeling lessened. Sometimes it disappeared completely. Kharjo did not know what to make of it and so he said nothing. Kharjo opened his mouth to protest on knowing the impossible, but Dashel was intuitive. He silenced the young Padawan instantly and rid him of whatever doubts the cub might’ve had. With that Kharjo took off after his ancestor – another fact that had caught him completely off guard. It would appear that not only was he somehow deep in the force, deep in the past, but possibly somehow deep within the genetic memories of his ancestor Jaqen the Reluctant. If Kharjo had even the slightest iota of doubt in Master Illioni this would have been far, far too much to handle. He did not, however, doubt his Master. Instead, he took strength from him. As he walked in the shadows of the footsteps left behind by his ancestor, he looked over his shoulder at his master. He would watch him from time to time, trying to read his expressions and better understand what the man was thinking. He got the sense that they were not alone in this incorporeal place, but he had not the slightest of ideas how that was possible. Jaqen sighed and walked heavily. He’d almost died today in defense of his nation. He’d almost died for his clan, strangers and enemies alike, for peace and growth. He knew it would not matter to the Elders. They cared nothing for innovation or change. Too steeped in traditions, too set in their ways were they to see the trials ahead of them. It was a constant dilemma for Jaqen. Most nights it kept him awake and out of the comfort and warmth of his wife’s bed and arms. Most nights he wanted to curse those Elders on the Council, throw his hand up in the air and gathering his possessions and family and leave his clan to their inevitable death. He could not though. Perhaps he was a masochist. He growled at the thought before chuckling and rubbing his temple with his paw. His green-and-gold flecked eyes scanned his surroundings. He saw the young milling about in places around the village. Yurts, huts and a scant few wooden structures were haphazardly scattered around the promenade. This was their only village that remained constant. Others were malleable, adaptable. His were a nomadic people; they never lingered in one place for too long. Their villages never left wounds on the land as some of the other tribes did. They always shifted. He stopped then and looked around. This was Vaes Tal’vir. The City of the Moon. This was his home, his forbearers’ home, his progeny’s home. He sighed heavily then, his eyes falling on a group of children that were chasing each other around a bonfire, their parents jubilantly laughing and talking amongst each other. He’d made up his mind once again. He would convince those old fools that there was a better way. For the future of his race, for the future of his family, he had to. The wind picked up then, sending dirt, grass, ash and leaves to spiral and twirl as they rose with the rising and fast-moving air currents. He watched wistfully for a moment before he forced himself to move forward. He could not keep stalling. As he moved through Vaes Tal’vir, he nodded to those who saw him, greeted those that greeted him and played briefly with the little ones that ran about his legs. It was obvious he was well loved and respected. Upon his arrival at the Councils’ massive and regal yurt, he stood before the door flap, flanked by two broad and strong Cathari, vigilant guards and protectors of the old. He spoke to one and both at the same time and made his purpose known. They grimaced when he finished and one remarked that he did not wish to be Jaqen, while the other wished him good luck. As they let him in, they announced him for all the Council to hear. Jaqen’s eyes quickly adjusted to the reduced lighting and had to stifle a growl when he saw what lay before him. Twelve of the wisest, bravest and best leaders his clan had to offer (all in their day) were joined by, young, nubile Cathari women who were pleasuring them as they drank from cups. All were merry. All were ignorant. Jaqen’s paw clenched into a fist; he was furious. He’d gone out scouting, discovered a small raiding party, routed them, and endangered himself and his men all for what? So some close-minded could fornicate and be merry? He could not contain his rage. It poured out of him with every gesture, every step. As he walked down the foyer and made his way to the Elders, decorative objects that lined the makeshift walls and sat upon furnishings began to shake and wobble violently. At first Jaqen did not seem to notice it, but slowly he did and once he did it stopped. His heart raced in his chest and he felt foolish. He remonstrated himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. This was not the first time the Council had acted in this way. There must be a good reason for these usually solemn and wise, if not stubborn men to act this way. Jaqen had to find it before greeting them. And so, he began to calm himself, allowing the anger and frustration he felt ebb slowly away as he thought. It was most likely some sort of holiday or celebration. But what? As he approached closer one of the Councilors noticed his arrival and greeted him merrily. Jaqen flinched as he was lost in thought, yet returned the greeting in kind and greeted each of the eleven in turn. One of the younger Elders pushed aside the gyrating Cathari girl that sat upon him and sneered at Jaqen. His face was flush and Jaqen knew he was going to make things difficult for him in some way or another. “Ah… Jaqen the Reluctant. So kind of you to grace us with your presence. You’re just in time for the Carneia.” At first Jaqen gnashed his teeth together within his mouth, but when he realized what holiday they were celebrating, Jaqen was overjoyed. The Carneia to any other Chieftain would have been a death knell, but to Jaqen it was a merciful sign from the Gods. He would have twelve days to convince these men that War was not the answer. Twelve glorious days of Celebration and feasting! Jaqen nodded his reply and turned to address the Councilors and their concubines as one. “Wise elders and spiritual leaders of my people, I come before you humbly and with a message. A war is coming to visit us soon. A war that will mean the destruction of our way of life and our people or theirs. I need not say who our enemy is. You are all well aware. “We are not prepared. With your permission I will muster the garrisons and prepare the provisions. “While we prepare for war, I ask that you give me permission to entreat with the enemy leaders. I seek to come to some common ground in order to avoid war.” Jaqen stood there uncomfortably for a long while as he watched the shifting expressions of the Elders and their concubines. It was one Jaqen was less familiar with that spoke first. “Chieftain Shavir, this is your three-hundredth and thirty-sixth attempt to dissuade us from war. Why would this time be any different? We named your Chieftain all those years ago because we saw the makings of a great man in you; a powerful Chieftain that would conquer the lesser clans, absorbing them into our own and a Warchief without equal. You have proven to us that you are capable of all that and yet… “You have become Reluctant in your middling years.” Jaqen grimaced, but otherwise made no other outward indication. There was a scattering of stifled laughter, some from the concubines, but most from the Elders. Jaqen could tell that most agreed with what this Elder had to say. Jaqen did not speak, but instead studied the man. He was advanced in age with sagging brow, mottled fur, heavy bags and the beginnings of jowls. His eyes were like ice and in them was a fire and measure of cunning. He dressed lavishly like a man befitting his station should. Yet, the years of inactivity and age had softened his once powerful body. Faintly, Jaqen recalled a name for that face, but it would not come to bear. “You are correct, I concede it. In my youth I was all you wanted. I conquered, I killed, I pillaged and all for the glory of our clan and my ancestors. I did it because I thought it would make me better – make us better. It has not. “I now realize it has made us weaker. All we know is war. Where the other clans were able to coexist peacefully and learn to cultivate the land and take care of it, we have remained nomadic. Our farms are few and less than impressive. Education is not a focus for our cubs. As soon as our young can walk, they learn to carry bow, sword and spear. By ten they are successful trackers and hunters; most have killed at least once. “I do not deny our military prowess. Few can surpass us on the battlefield. We can fight conventionally as well as unconventionally. We are good at both, but better at the latter. Our skills as hunters allow us to track our enemies’ movements for days, weeks without being detected.” The Councilors all began to clamor in agreement, each confused by where he was going, each one of them thinking he had finally come around and was going to lead them to their victory. He was not, however, going to do that. “And yet, with all the tribes and clans we have absorbed, with all the territory we have claimed, we have learned nothing from the people who lived on it. We could have learned so much from the I’aishii, from their farmers, herbalists and shamans, but instead we put all but the youngest to the sword on your orders. From the Qaath we could have taught our children the histories of our people and not just our clan. We could have taught them all the languages and not our own. Instead, only a quarter of the Qaath remain alive and they work as slaves of slaves.” One of the Elders had grown sour and impatient, his mighty voice boomed over Jaqen’s, “Enough! What is your point?” “My point is this. I made us the strongest military force in the world, when I should have made us the wisest, most well-versed and diplomatic people in the world. I can conquer a people with might, I can slaughter the old, the infirmed and keep the young and indoctrinate them, but I cannot make them us. All those we have conquered are not truly a part of this clan. As soon as we are gone from this world, their clans will return. They have not forgotten. I was the sword when I should have been the quill. “However, it is not too late. Allow me to make the necessary preparations for war – as is my duty as Chieftain. I, then, will name a Warchief in my stead, to lead in my absence and act only when the enemy is at our borders. In the meantime, I will journey to the enemy’s capitol and try to convince them that war is not the proper course.” He spoke with fervor, his hands danced and swept across the main chamber of the yurt. Kharjo stood back in awe. He had no idea how brutal and violent ancient Cathari had been. Sure, he felt the desire to hunt and kill from time to time. He was assured, however, that that was a biological thing. He did not realize until then, how necessary it had once been to his people. He knew he would not have been able to so eloquently articulate his words and yet, he saw they were having no effect. The Elders were not in any mood to hear Jaqen’s pleas of avoiding war. Yet, Kharjo saw the beginnings of division on several faces of the twelve. Perhaps, it was not completely lost, but a small victory for Jaqen. Perhaps it was a great victory for his ancestor and Kharjo could not yet grasp why. In that moment, as the Elders s began mumbling amongst themselves, Kharjo turned around to look at Dashel, but found him absent. Worried, Kharjo began to walk off, before he felt something pull at him and he stopped to turn around.
  7. War. War is a terrible thing. Wars are fought for unjust reasons and causes. Men in power make excuses to slaughter friend and neighbor alike for personal gain. War is natural and all corrupting. The more a person tries to fight it, the more it consumes them. War is inevitable, unavoidable. So long as men have ambition there will always be war and there will always be those that suffer. I have fought my wars and others. I have witnessed good men die and for what? A title? For irreconcilable indifferences? For nothing, I say. Good, honest, brave men all and they died for nothing. The lives of those they left behind were not made better by their noble sacrifice. In fact, just the opposite can be said. Nothing good comes from war, yet it is inevitable, unavoidable. And so I lay here, slowly bleeding out, contemplating things beyond my grasp. What else does a man do on his way out? This is to be my last battle. As foolish as it is, I hope I made a difference. I hope my sacrifice was not in vain. I hope my wife and daughter are safer now. May they know a purer, nobler world than mine. May the Clans unite and end this burgeoning tyranny. With that final thought Jaqen closed his eyes, prepared for the deathblow that awaited him. Yet as the moments passed and his resolve began to fade, it never came. When Jaqen opened his eyes he saw the lithe Cathari warrior still standing over him, hate and malice and something else intermixing in his gaze. Jaqen was puzzled. The answer revealed itself when the lithe warrior dropped both of his axes and gaze. Jaqen’s followed the warrior and they both saw the arrow protruding from his sternum. Jaqen’s senses flooded him with questions and desire. He bolted upright, realizing that he’d been granted a second chance. The lithe warrior dropped to his knees, clutching the shaft of the arrow that had slain him. As Jaqen rose upon shaky feet, he looked down at the man with pity and sorrow. My brother… I’m sorry it came to this. May you find peace with the Goddess above. May we all. For a moment longer Jaqen watched as the life drained from the Cathari. Neither were related beyond the extent that they were the same species and people. All came from the Goddess and all were equal. In Jaqen’s eyes this stranger and aggressor was his brother – as all men were and women were his sisters. He took no joy in killing, held no love for combat. With a heavy sigh, Jaqen knelt to retrieve the axes. When he rose, he set out for the nearest Cathari intruder and ended his life swiftly. If killing was forced upon him, he would not make them suffer. After that, everything moved swiftly and in his favor. When all the dust had settled, only two from his party were slain and a handful more injured. Jaqen returned to the Cathari who had tried to rouse the alarm, hoping to find something on his person. There was nothing to find, this Cathari was smarter than that. Jaqen was not that lucky. “My brother, my Chief, it is done.” The voice came from behind Jaqen. That voice made him smile. So you have survived, my friend? Good. Turning, Jaqen faced his older friend and nodded, a rueful smile lit his features. “Then let us return home. There will be other intruders. It seems war is inevitable.” The words hung in the air like a pall and suffocated Jaqen. The journey back was quiet. Even the land seemed to cry for Jaqen, as the rains began to pour. Jaqen growled bitterly as the rain washed over him, doing nothing to improve his mood. His companions were all smiles and laughs, each one celebrating their victory today. Only Jaqen mourned. He mourned for those who were slain and those who had lost their lives. Both deserved that much. A pause in the rains came late in the evening as their village appeared over the horizon. Kharjo blinked. What was going on? Again, he smelt things he’d never smelled before, tasted the warm, wet kiss of the evening breeze and felt the gravel and grass beneath his padded feet. It all felt familiar, yet Kharjo knew that to be a mistake. He’d never been to this village, never set foot upon this planet. His mind gave him the answer. The person he inhabited was not himself, but Jaqen. This was not Haruun Kal, but Cathar. Kharjo was not in the present, but far in the past. How that was possible he could not even begin to explain. Everything seemed far too real to be a mere dream. Jaqen walked into his hut, pushing aside the heavy flap of animal hide. Kharjo’s eyes widened as he saw a simple, yet elegant room. Earthen objects inhabited every corner; walls broke up the large hut. Father in the back, Kharjo knew were the living quarters. In the center of the main room was a large fire with a stone kettle boiling over it. The smell of herbs and vegetables kissed his nostrils and made him salivate. Jaqen moved silently and quickly. He skirted the carved toys, legs of chairs and tables and ends of rugs as he made his way towards the back. When he arrived, he found his wife leaning over a crib. Silently Jaqen approached her and placed his hands around her small waist. When their bodies met he could hear and feel her purring. “My husband has returned home. Does he bring victory or defeat with him?” Jaqen kissed her softly behind her ear before answering, “He brings neither. Only a warning: war is coming to our clans and it is unavoidable. The reports are becoming more frequent. The scouting parties larger. Rhorrel won’t be probing for too much longer.” His wife spun in his grasp and faced him. Her eyes met his and searched them. “Then you must tell the council. They have to listen to you!” Jaqen frowned and Kharjo knew the answer before Jaqen spoke it. “I have and they have not. They are old and stuck in their traditions. They will welcome this war, use it to strengthen or destroy us. They are men and men are ambitious. They will not listen to reason.” He said heavily. “Then you must make them, Jaqen! Or do you forever want to be known as ‘The Reluctant’?” Jaqen growled at the title. It was an insult given to him by the last chieftain when he was the last to fight. Then as now, no one cared about his principles or his reasons for not fighting. No one, but his wife and closest friends saw the bigger picture. They all missed the forest for the trees. Looking away from his wife he muttered that he did not want that. He’d never wanted that. He pulled away then, kissing his wife gently and telling her that he was going to pay a visit to the council chambers and try once again to make them understand. He was sullen as he left his home, yet when he crossed the threshold, Kharjo did not follow. Somehow, someway Kharjo had separated himself from Jaqen as he’d done before. Yet, where he floated above Jaqen last time, Kharjo was grounded and fixed to the earth. He looked around trying to make sense of everything, but came to no conclusion that settled with him. There was a reason why Kharjo was here; perhaps he was supposed to follow Jaqen? And so he did. Crossing the threshold incorporeally he stood outside and gazed to the sky. Jaqen stood in front of him doing the same thing. Suddenly Kharjo realized something. He was not alone here. Someone was with him. Someone had been with him since Jaqen’s battle earlier that day. Ripping his gaze from the heaven’s Kharjo looked around him. The presence was close and familiar, filling Kharjo with a sense of comfort. He turned around and found Master Dashel Illioni standing there. “Master Illioni?” Kharjo said perplexed. “What are you doing here? What am I doing here?”
  8. Kharjo awoke a quarter past dawn gripped by a sense of restless unease. He’d slept peacefully, dreaming of his new life and family as well of his old. More than once the image of Alyssa Green flitted into his slumbering mind, her soft smile, her caramel skin and womanly curves. As he sat up a broad and idiotic smile split his visage. Grinning madly, he turned around in his room to look upon it again. How this had happened, he couldn’t rightly explain. It seemed so unreal. A couple of days ago he would have awoken to other slumbering younglings and those waking early to begin their day with extracurricular training. His vision lapsed into an old memory and he saw Alyssa sitting on his small bed, smiling in the way only she could, as if he were the only one in the room. She’d sat there waiting for Kharjo to feel her presence and wake naturally. He’d done so confused and his expression had caused her to giggle softly. She teased him then and he returned in kind. He’d tickled her before she’d shoved him and ran off. Kharjo responded by rising in a rush, still in his smallclothes to give chase. She’d led him to the garden – the very same garden that Master Illioni had found him two nights ago. There they’d meditated together and practiced with the Force. A handful of hours had passed, but to Kharjo it’d felt like a blissful lifetime. That was also the last day she slept with Clan Hawkbat. That night she’d visited him to share her good news: she’d been chosen by Master Vao to be her Padawan. Kharjo had been genuinely happy for her then, just as he was now, but he could not hide the pain he felt with losing her as his closest friend along with being overlooked. As ever she’d sensed his despondence and had attempted to cheer him up. When she departed, for what Kharjo had assumed would be the last time, she’d kissed him on his furry cheek, an act that had caught him completely off-guard. Lost for words the cub sat there as she pulled away made her goodbyes and left. As his eyes refocused around him, he knew things were different now. Everything had changed. Now he was on the path to become a Padawan learner and proper Jedi. He’d sent a message to his family on Corellia and was taking flying lessons from one of the premiere Jedi Master’s the Order had to offer. Kharjo rose from his bed with a mighty yawn that sounded more like a low roar and stretched as he scratched his belly. As he dressed for the day, he casually used the Force to straighten his room. He was no master of the telekinetic arts, but he was competent enough to properly make his bed and properly put his belongings away. Once finished he moved to the set of lightsaber’s gifted to him by Master Illioni that hung neatly from the weapon’s rack near his door. There he spotted the datapad and picked it up. As his eyes moved across the virtual words, his heart stirred. Dashel had given him a bevy of tasks to complete before the last hour of the night, all of which would have taken him most of the day to complete individually. In that moment he knew that Dashel would be a slave driver, but so long as he impressed the Triani Jedi Master Kharjo would receive the best training imaginable. It wasn’t until he reached one of the last lines in the message that his heart skipped a beat. I’m to ask Alyssa on a date? He was shocked and stared at that passage for what seemed like an eternity, dumbfounded. How in the worlds was he going to do that? How was he to convince Master Vao to allow him to do such a thing? And how was he going to approach Alyssa? The mere thought made his palms sweat. Suddenly his mind raced with possibilities and outcomes. What if they both said yes? Where would they go? What would they do? What if it went well? Would he be allowed to date her? Could they even date? It was true he felt something more than kinship and friendship for her, but what of her feelings for him? She’d always teased him when it had gotten awkward between them, but he knew she loved him too. More like a brother than anything more, I think. This is ridiculous! I don’t even know what to say! He paused to chuckle softly to himself. Was this some game Master Illioni was playing at or was he serious? Half a heartbeat later he knew the answer. Dashel Illioni was serious. There was some lesson buried within this task, as there was within everything the Jedi Master asked him to do. Kharjo shook his head as his mind raced, imagining what he would say to either of them. Good morning, Master Vao. Is Alyssa around? I wish to talk to her about a matter of importance. Well, you see, Master Vao, I want to ask Alyssa on a date. Why? I, uh – what was he supposed to tell her? His potential Master told him to? Yeah, cuz that’ll go over well. It might be the truth, but it sounded ludicrous. No, truth or no, he would have to come up with the answer all on his own. He would have to face whatever feelings he felt for her. Kharjo frowned. Why couldn’t he do this on his own time and when he felt ready? Perhaps years from now when they were both Knights of the Order or maybe never? That seemed good to him. He’d never asked anyone out on a date. He had never considered it. He was training to be a Jedi for Ashla’s sake. True the Order had relaxed its belief on intermarrying among Jedi, but still… Hell, it’s also true that most of the Padawan learners are over twenty or happened upon their latent Force sensitivity. Younglings were most often those found by Jedi Recruiters or children of Jedi as Alyssa is. Besides us younglings most of the people here have already been on dates, lost their virginity and been in love. He scoffed to himself and began to pace. I might as well belong to a genuine monastic order! Still frowning, Kharjo knew he had to do something to take his mind off of this. He would, of course, do as he was asked, but not now. He returned to the datapad and finished the message before rereading it. He could easily begin scouring Master Illioni’s ship and that would serve as a large enough distraction, but that could wait. That was probably the most physically demanding and most relaxing task among those given. His time would be better spent seeking out Force training, practicing shii-cho, researching small and large arms and lightsaber forms. He could visit the armory and requisition the vibrosword and dagger as he was requested, but that could wait. In that moment he knew what he would do. Kharjo walked out of his room purposefully and as he entered the living room he saw Master Dashel Illioni leaving. For a moment, Kharjo thought to ask him about his tasks and any deadlines, but thought against it. He had more than enough to do today; he didn’t need to know of any deadline. With any luck his deadline would be when his head touched the pillow tonight. Alone in the living room, Kharjo descended the steps to the meditation circle in the center of the room and began to relax. As his thoughts began to slip away and he began to feel limber, he called the Force to him as best he could. It washed over him and peace fell upon him. When his eyes flashed open he drew his lightsaber and ignited the blade. He watched as the vibrant blue of the blade shimmered, listened to the thrum of the elegant weapon and felt the subtle vibrations of its mechanics in his left hand. He’d only held a live lightsaber a handful of times before, as all younglings had. Each time he’d gripped the real thing, he’d felt a rush and was gripped by a moment of fear. This was the real thing. It could cut an appendage off as easily as Kharjo drew breath. But that was why he was trained in its uses with practice blades. His training with training sabers were in preparation for the genuine article. He continued to stare at his blade for a while longer, until he felt comfortable within its grasp. He’d demonstrated his skill in shii-cho with a real lightsaber during his trials and would continue to hone his skill and confidence with one now. With an exhale he eased himself into the proper stance and began the first set of velocities. With a sense of fluidity and confidence, he moved between the six positions of shii-cho, snapping the lightsaber as he’d been instructed to. The proper mechanics had been drilled into his head his entire life and his body reacted without thought. He moved around the circle in the center of the meditation ring for an hour or so, never pausing. Back and forth he practiced with his lightsaber. He imagined an invisible target before him, attacking each zone as he’d been taught. At first he attacked in the order he’d been instructed and then he began to change it up, becoming unpredictable. His instructor always cautioned that combat, real combat was fluid and unpredictable. If his students were to attack in the way they’d been instructed here they were fall. To know a form, his cadences and velocities and use it as one would practice was folly. And so Kharjo practiced being unpredictable. It caused him to misstep here and there, but the more he stuck with it, the more confidence he gathered. He attacked his phantom with random marks of contacts, disarming his foe, striking at the wrists, chest, knees, waist, elbows, hands and even its shoulders. And while, he struck out at the phantom’s head, he did not do this often. It was forbidden for Jedi to kill unless there were no other alternatives. By the time he was done, he was covered in sheens of sweat, his fur matted against his lithe body in certain areas. The training had been vigorous and relaxing. When he finished, he returned to the opening stance and bowed before an imaginary audience and his phantom opponent. With a snap-hiss he watched the blue-blade disappear into the hilt of the lightsaber and clipped the weapon to his belt. As he climbed up the stairs he thought about what he would do from here. His stomach growled, but he would pass on breakfast. Instead, he went to the refresher and showered before changing into a fresh set of robes. When he was finished, he could hear that they temple had finally awoken fully. A glance at the crono on the wall told him it was well past eight; time for him to begin his day in earnest. He departed the room and aimlessly walked for a time before he found himself in the Library. He approached one of the droids and inquired on where he could find the terminals for small arms. The droid pointed him in the right direction and gave him a list of materials to read to get a better understanding on their uses. Kharjo was slightly familiar with them. His father had owned several and he vaguely remembered the lessons his father imparted on him. It’d been so long and that had been a different life. Where once Kharjo would have felt a hollowness and sense of longing in thinking of his parents and family, instead he felt wistful at the memory and smiled. Calling on the Force he wrapped himself in it. He would have to accelerate his base reactions and reflexes to finish this task within any reasonable time. Plus, it would give him more practice with the Force; grant him better control in it. Before he began to used his comlink to page one of his friends, he asked him for breakfast and told him why he was missing it. A short time later Syrio arrived with a tray of steaming food and broad smile. Kharjo looked at his friend and big brother and thanked him. For a moment Syrio lingered, obviously wondering what Kharjo was up to. After a short conversation where Kharjo filled him in, Syrio congratulated him before departing. After that, Kharjo spent several hours researching small arms: heavy blasters and regular blasters, blaster rifles, carbines and sniper rifles and scatterguns. He made a list of all their uses, the appropriate situations in which to use them, their limitations and components. While each classification had thousands of variants and models, they all more or less shared commonalities and he jotted each down on a datapad he’d acquired from his apartment before he’d departed. He tried his best to commit it all to memory, but knew that without constant research and familiarization with them, most of it would not stick. After all without practical application it was all just theory. Once he was finished, he took a small break to allow the Force to refresh him and take a break from accelerating his natural limitations. His head throbbed slightly as it always did when he used this technique, but he noticed it throbbed less than usual and benefits came more naturally to him. After his break, he moved to another terminal and called up ‘saber forms. Kharjo had in mind the one he wished to learn and master first. Form III, soresu. As a defensive art, Kharjo felt it would suit him perfectly as it symbolized the essence of the Jedi to him. He spent some time researching the nuances of the form and its notable practitioners and limitations. Master Kenobi had been a notable practitioner of the form, yet Kharjo knew that Master Darkfire surpassed even Master Kenobi. Among the Jedi, Master Darkfire was the Weaponmaster. Everyone knew of him, his deeds and accomplishments. Master Darkfire’s adaption of soresu was pure poetry or so he’d heard it been said. Once he’d felt suitably confident with its research in soresu, Kharjo spent his time looking over the other forms. He could see himself practicing makashi, yet it didn’t quite feel right to him. He knew that the fencing style would benefit him if he ever came across Dark or Fallen Jedi or the Sith and yet, he did not believe he could master it just yet. Out of all the forms he looked at, Form VI, niman and jar’kai seemed to fit his personality best. Kharjo was a pacifist and the adaptation of Force use in a lightsaber form excited Kharjo. Since Kharjo wished to master two ‘sabers at once as well as the double blade, Form VI and its sub-style seemed his best bet to accomplish this. He found an interesting fact in his research: Form VI was named after the trinity of gods that the Kashi people worshiped long ago. And along with its alternate style, jar’kai the form made a double trinity. Kharjo was also surprised to see that Master Kenobi was a notable practitioner of the style along with the Jedi-turned-Sith Exar Kun. Once he’d finished jotting down its strengths, weakness and limitations, he rose and glanced at the time. It was nearly noon and he had an appointment with Master Erath to keep. Another glance made his stomach growl as he stared at his now cold breakfast. Not wanting to waste the food his friend had brought him he quickly ate, chocking twice at the speed and veracity which he tore into his meal. Once finished he powered down the terminal and returned everything back where it was supposed to be, pocketed the datapad and raced back to the cafeteria where he returned the tray with few words before racing to the hangar bay. When he arrived he found Master Erath waiting near the very same Starswords they’d flown yesterday. Kharjo apologized for his tardiness and expected to be remonstrated, but instead found Master Erath surprisingly amiable. Slightly unsettled and confused, Kharjo shrugged and put the ‘why’ out of mind. Few words were exchanged as they went over their starfighters and preflight checklists. Once both were in the cockpits, Master Erath gave Kharjo the same task as yesterday. As they took off Erath cautioned Kharjo to remain in control of his feelings. There was no edge in his voice when he spoke. Hours later when they returned to the hangar bay, Master Erath gave Kharjo counsel and tips on how to improve his flying. Before they parted, Erath remonstrated Kharjo on his sloppy flying before complimenting him on his improvement. They then parted, though Kharjo was to meet the Barabel back there tomorrow at the same time. Confused Kharjo left the hangar elated by the praise Master Erath had given him. It was then that he decided to find Master Vao and Alyssa. He felt mighty after his lesson and felt as if he could do anything. What better time to ask for permission and ask Alyssa out then now? He walked to their domicile silently, gathering all his courage and steeling himself for what would come. He found Master Vao in their quarters and as she opened the door realized he had interrupted her. When she saw who it was she beamed and invited him in. After a half hour Kharjo left her quarters confused by excited. Master Vao had made it difficult for him, teasing him and hinting that she knew his purpose throughout their entire meeting, but ultimately giving him her consent when he finally had gathered up enough courage to ask for permission. She also told him that her Padawan was in the armory. Kharjo’s trek to the armory was in a daze, he was not completely aware of where he was walking or who he passed. His mind recalled the details of the meeting with Master Vao and the sinking suspicion that she knew his purpose before he’d arrived. It seemed to him she’d gotten too much amusement over his difficulty in asking for her permission. He’d felt as if he’d had to ask her out as well. The very thought made him blush. She was exceptionally attractive, at least to him. He couldn’t help but notice her curves and playful nature, and yet, she was like a mother to him, which made his attraction to her twisted. At least he felt that way. He knew she was not his mother and that seemed to spurn his desire and yet it felt wrong. At least with Alyssa there was a distinct separation. There was a line where he knew the friendship feelings ended and romantic feelings began. He stopped suddenly, blinking. Wait? I love Alyssa as a sister, right? Before he could say anything else the answer came to him in an instant. No. Not completely. You are attracted to her. You want to kiss her. Kharjo blinked, mortified. He tried to deny the accusation, but his wits left him. In the deepest recesses of his mind he knew it was foolish and yet he was genuinely arguing with himself within his head. Torn between friendship and duty and love, he didn’t rightly know what to do. He could almost feel the courage slip from him. Screwing his face into an expression of forced determination he made himself walk on. It was too late now. He’d come too far. For better or worse he had to ask Alyssa out on a date. He refused to lose this momentum. He refused to let this stop him. As he entered the armory he was greeted by an acquaintance and returned the greeting in kind. His green-and-gold flecked scanned the immediate area yet he saw no sign of Alyssa. Sighing both with disappointment and gratitude that he missed her he approached the quartermaster and requested the items Master Illioni had asked of him. As the quartermaster began filing his order, Kharjo stood there awkwardly lost in thought. He was not even aware of the absurdity of asking for traditional blades when a lightsaber and shoto were equipped to his belt. The quartermaster had momentarily looked at Kharjo funny, but once he noticed that Kharjo was not paying attention to him he gave a shrug and moved to complete the order. Minutes later when the quartermaster had completed the form he showed Kharjo all their vibroswords and daggers he currently had in stock. They were as varied as small arms Kharjo had researched that morning. Kharjo saw mighty two handed swords as long as he was tall. He saw swords of normal length with wide blades and an extended hilt. He saw shorter swords with broad blades. He saw curved blades of every length and slim blades. By their look he knew that each served a different purpose. Some were meant for slashing and cutting others were meant for piercing and others still for deflecting and catching enemy swords. He stared at the selection for a long while waiting for one of them to call out to him. In that moment he felt hands wrap around his waist and a bodily weight press against his back. He jumped slightly, but could not go anywhere for the grip the stranger held him by. The person did not say anything, instead resting its head upon his shoulder, close to his neck. Kharjo tried to calm himself and think who would and could sneak up on him. As he ran through the very short list he began to feel oddities pressing against his back. He felt what could only be breasts and knew that whoever it was was female. When he tried to turn his head to see who it was, the woman squeezed him tighter and buried her chin into his collarbone, but he’d gotten a good enough look to see that the person was human. He saw auburn hair cropped in a stylish bob, freckles upon a beautiful cheek and vibrant blue eyes and knew who it was immediately. Grabbing her hands he pulled away from her and turned around blinking in dismay. “Alyssa you startled me,” he said at once as she chuckled and gave that smile that made his heart skip a beat. “Well, you looked lonely just standing there. What’re you doing anyway? Why’re you looking a vibroblades when you have lightsabers equipped at you belt?” Kharjo blinked as he tried to form the words he wanted to say, but found his wits fled. He couldn’t even respond to her question as he once would have. He stood there awkwardly his expression shifting from a blank one to one contorted as if he were constipated. “Uh,” he managed to stammer out. “What? Cat got your tongue?” she giggled again. “Heh, yeah, something like that,” he heard himself say. “Master Illioni wants me to carry vibroblades for the time being. I guess he thinks I’m not read to wield ‘sabers.” Alyssa looked confused. “So why did he have Kala give you lightsabers in the first place?” Kharjo shrugged and said, “I don’t know – wait you know Kala?” “Of course I do. I met her when I met Master Illioni. He, Kala, myself and Master Vao had a meeting about you a couple of days ago.” When she saw the expression on his face a pang of worry gripped her. “Wait, didn’t Master Illioni tell you?” Kharjo blinked. “No.” “Well, it doesn’t matter I only spoke good of you.” She said beaming. “C’mon, let’s find you a sword.” With that she grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. Both found the quartermaster slightly irritated by her disruption. Alyssa smiled politely and apologized for them; the quartermaster seemed to accept her apology and returned to pointing out his selection. At Alyssa’s suggestion Kharjo began pointing out blades he wished to hold. At first it seemed as if Alyssa was toying with him by telling him to pick up the largest and most absorbed blades. Eventually, she began to pick out blades she thought he might actually be able to use. She stood so close to Kharjo and had her arm wrapped in his the entire time that Kharjo had a difficult time paying attention to anything but her. He could smell her and she smelled lovely. Were she or anyone present to pay attention to his aura they would definitely know what was up. He suddenly realized that was the only downside to living among Jedi: everyone knew what you felt even if you didn’t wish them to. When they had finished Kharjo had chosen a longsword with a slight taper and curve at its point. At Master Illioni’s suggestion Kharjo had made sure that the blade itself was double-edged and that the crossguard was functional as well as practical. The hilt was wrapped in leather and there was a ball at the end of the hilt that acted as a bit of a counterbalance. He’d taken several practice swings with the blade, feeling the weight and balance of it. He noted that the hilt was also long enough to be used with two hands. Everything felt right about the sword, more so that Alyssa had helped choose it for him. When it came to the dagger, the choice was simpler. Kharjo wanted something he could use for defense and chose a dagger that was longer than normal with a wide blade that tapered at the point and a hilt that crossguard that was long enough to protect his hand. He also asked the quartermaster for the kukri as well. As soon as he saw it, he’d fancied the blade, but could foresee no actual use for it. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to practice with it. When he was done, he grabbed the scabbards, signed the form and fastened the blades on his person. The sword he slung across his back, the dagger he fastened to his belt and the kukri he fastened to the small of his back, on his belt with the help of the Force and Alyssa. As he walked with her from the armory, he noted the comfortable silence that fell between them. It was then that he knew he needed to ask her. He grabbed her hand, his heart fluttering as he led her to through the halls to the gardens. He glanced and saw her surprise, but she said nothing. When he’d found a quiet and secluded place in the gardens he let go and turned to face her. She was confused and hand finally sensed the disturbance in his aura. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head and silenced her. “Alyssa, look, I – I don’t know how to say this.” He began stammering and tripping over his words. “I like you a lot –” “I like you too, Kharjo. What’s this about?” “Hold on, Alyssa. This is hard for me.” “What is?” “This.” And suddenly he was seized by madness. The likes he’d never felt before. His body felt afire, everything burned and yearned for her. He needed to touch her, to feel her. His heart beat so fast and loudly within his chest he thought it might explode. Yet, it held on and somehow he grabbed her by the hands and leaned in closer. So slowly he thought she might pull away or he might pass out. He could hear nothing but the thumping of his heart beat. He was close enough to smell her and it made him dizzy. Finally, when he was close enough, he kissed her. Not as a friend would do or family, but as lovers. He kissed her hard and he kissed her long. For a moment he was terrified that she would refuse him and pull away, yet as he continued to hold the kiss he began to feel her kiss him back in return. For a long while he held her and that kiss before she began to turn her head and open her mouth. Instinct took over and Kharjo followed. They kissed for a long time and when they pulled away both were flush in the face. “Will you go out with me?” He said after he’d caught his breath. He was naked before her, naked in every sense of the word save for physically. She stared at him for a long while, her eyes searching his. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she responded, “I – I don’t know Kharjo. I want to, but what about my Master? And you’ve just begun your Padawan training.” Kharjo was crushed. He felt devastated, rejected. This was why he wanted to take his time. This was why he didn’t want to rush. She was right, he knew. There were too many unknowns and factors to consider. It was true, for all intents and purposes Dashel Illioni had chosen him to be his Padawan learner, even if he didn’t name him as such. Their paths would diverge eventually and it would not work out. He tried to think rationally. He tried to be understanding. He resolved that he would try again later when he was a Knight. No. Suddenly and irrevocably he was seized by that same desperate madness. He could sense she wanted this and this confusion was only brought about by his poor phrasing. He would not give up so easily. Suddenly he was fiercely determined. “Will you accompany me to the Governor’s Gala? I’m sure our Master’s will be there and we’ll have to go any way. At least this way we can spend some time together before our paths diverge. We can be more than Jedi. We can be ourselves.” His smile was brave and confident and he felt as much. Perhaps, it wasn’t true madness that gripped him. Just youthful desperation and a sense of going all in and of giving it everything he had. That was what he thought it must be. He heard the words of Syrio echo in his head, ‘go balls deep or go home.’ And while Kharjo didn’t fully understand the meaning of that saying, he took it to mean be courageous. Alyssa stared at him, eyes full of desire and uncertainty. Finally, she responded in a small voice, “Yes. Ok. We can do that. We can try.” She gave him a shy smile, a smile that filled him with the urge to kiss her again and so he did. When they left the gardens everything had changed. He felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He felt freer than he thought possible. He wished the gala were tomorrow so that they could go and he wished for that night to last forever. They walked together for a time blissfully talking amongst each other, ignorant of those around them. When they parted, Kharjo hugged her tightly and she kissed his cheek. He walked toward the docking bay in a dream. When he found the Grass Tiger and boarded he greeted Kala warmly and informed her of the tasks he’d been given. She gave him the tour of the ship and told him where everything was. He asked her to cover the basics of cleaning a ship like this and afterward was introduced to the astromechs that Dashel owned. Once Kharjo felt as if he understood the tasks, he went to work. He worked with diligence and care for hours and hours. Long after the sun fell and the moon rose, Kharjo scoured the ship under the careful eye and guidance of Kala. When he needed help, he sought it. By the time he’d finished, he’d lost track of time, was covered in grime and oil, but had done everything that was asked of him. As he made his way back to his apartment, he wondered if he would find Master Illioni there. Kharjo arrived at their domicile and entered; he called out and found he was alone. He went to his room neatly put away his arms and returned to the living room where he went to the terminal and ordered up food. A quarter to the next hour his food arrived and he ate in blissful silence reflecting on all he’d done today. When he’d finished eating everything on his plate, he set it aside and went to the meditation ring in the center of the living room, got comfortable and began to meditate. He practiced levitating the silverware he ate with, taking full advantage of how amazing he felt.
  9. Hmm, that's a really good point! Mind if I steal it (the month names)?
  10. Yup, Kharjo's my RP charry. I've been toying with the idea of doing this and I think this turned out really well. I intend to continue this and have a way to sort of have a timeline on how Kharjo develops and changes from sheltered child to traveled Jedi Knight. The hardest part at the moment is how to date them. Since the RP isn't date related, from what I understand; its hard to show his time as a padawan accurately, I think. I plan on having him age over the course of his apprentenciship and sort of reflect it that way. What do you think?
  11. Entry I: Day I Upon a table a recorder peacefully rests. Kharjo Shavir sits in a chair positioned in front of the table and the lens of the recorder. For a moment he remains motionless and silent, his eyes restlessly scanning his quarters within Master Illioni apartments there on Haruun Kal. In his eyes shine a marvelous and wondrous light, a reflection of his thoughts. It’s late in the evening, perhaps early in the morning. Kharjo had slept peacefully and uninterrupted for many hours after his final meditation of that day. He was not bothered by a dream-vision of this Jaqen, though as he reflects upon this, he is remised by that notion. To the young Cathari cub, to be visited by another dream-vision of this mysterious Cathar would have been wondrous. More proof of Kharjo’s worth to the Order and to Dashel Illioni. One can discredit a dream or a vision as fallacy, but two within such a short time? It could not be disputed and Kharjo knew this. Still, to have slept uninterrupted was a blessing. It meant that he would have more energy and strength to deal with Master Erath later in the day and be more able to complete whatever task or assignment Master Illioni gave him. His thoughts transitioned to the recorder then and his eyes shown with a clear focus. He called upon the Force suddenly, wasting no opportunity to strengthen his connection and balance within it. Through the Force he imagined tendrils, extensions of his own body being projected outwardly toward the recorder. It required a fair amount of concentration for the cub, but that was a sacrifice he was more than glad to make. He envisioned the tendrils like an extra set of arms and with the hands sliding up alongside the top of the recorder and flicking the power on. When it worked, he recalled those tendrils and withdrew a bit from the Force, calling upon the restorative arts of curato salva. He was no healer, nor very skilled. Some might disagree, but for the most part, Kharjo was only competent enough to refresh his body, mind and soul after a taxing event; most of the time that was enough. As the recorder flickered to life, Kharjo exhaled deeply, slowly. Once the device had warmed up fully, Kharjo looked deep into it, ready to pour out his thoughts and reflect upon his most recent events. Emerald and gold-flecked eyes penetrated the lens with purpose and conviction as he began to speak, “Today marks hopefully the first day down the path of me becoming a proper Jedi. So much has happened to me in such a short time, it’s no surprise I need a record to make sense of it all. “To think that yesterday I was an initiate slated for Tython to tend the gardens or the infirmed. My fate had been decided by the wise Masters of the Order and by the Living Force, itself. I was ready to surrender myself in the service of my beliefs. That all changed thanks to a dream-vision I had about a being known as Jaqen. I don’t quite know what to make of it. It was too real to have been a dream, yet the technology he and others were using was wrong. Spears, swords, bows and arrows, leather and animal hide armor. Those are not tools found in today’s society… are they? “It’s been said the Force works in mysterious ways. From the moment I first heard that, I knew it to be true. Yet, every once in a while I am surprised me. I never would have imagined I would meet a Jedi Master in the tranquil gardens of Haruun Kal, let alone another feline. I never imagined that that same Jedi Master would send me on a three-fold task, choose me over so many more acceptable pupils. Nor would I have imagined that I would see Masters Vao and Erath, one who was like a mother to me and one who was like a frightening military general. And Alyssa… I didn’t think I would see her either.” Kharjo chuckles dryly at her name and lowers his head to shake. It’s clear there are feelings there for the girl that he has not yet faced, feelings that confuse him and feelings that should not be. For a moment when his head rises to face the lens he looks like a love-struck puppy, but a quick shake of his head and the expression vanishes behind a veneer of composure and purpose. “I took flight lessons today from Master Erath. That statement alone should make anyone who comes across this gasp in amazement. Never in my short, cloistered life have I met more of an abrasive or hard man as that wizened old Jedi Master. Some say he should sit on the High Council and I don’t doubt he agrees with them. All agree, though, that he is a premiere starfighter pilot. Few are his equal in the skies. “However, a lesson from Master Erath is more like an exercise in endurance and fortitude. Where others might teach theories and lecture on procedure and practice before taking to the air, Master Erath tossed me into a cockpit and gave me simple instructions: catch me and get a missile lock. I’ve had basic flight instruction before, every youngling does. It’s part of the curriculum. But, this was something else. There were tasks and objectives layered beneath his simple assignment. Without the Forces aid, I would have crashed into a fiery ball of flames upon the hangardeck before I even started. I needed to draw the Force to me and let it guide my every action. And I did as best I could. “I flew this way and that way; I chased him all over the skies of Haruun Kal and nearly got a missile lock on him once. A few more seconds and I would have had him, but he did some maneuver and before I knew what was going on, he was behind me and I had to try and shake him off.” Kharjo’s eyes light up as he retells the events. His hands take up the dance of his words acting like two starfighters chasing each other across the space in front of him and the lens of the recorder. “After that, I came back to Master Illioni and recanted the events for that day and then got supper for the two of us. I still can’t believe this is happening. A part of me wants someone to pinch me so that I might awake from this dream. I mean, just look—” He suddenly grabs the recorder and brings it to his chest and levels it out, slowly turning in a circle to let the recorder survey his room. It was sparse as all Jedi accommodations are, more utilitarian than anything else. There was a single-sized bed positioned in the far wall, a medium sized desk placed on the other side of an end table that sat next to the head of the bed. On the opposite wall as the bed a dresser sat and directly below the bed was a bookcase filled with all manner of things a Padawan might need to know. “It’s a Padawan’s room! I don’t want to say it aloud in case I jinx myself, but can you believe this?! I’m standing in a Padawan’s room. Alone. There aren’t any snoring younglings and initiates resting in a dormitory. Just me. It’s so quiet and peaceful!” With that he slowly returns to his seat and replaces the recorder on the small table in front of him, all the while fussing over it so it is situated just right. Once it is, he adds, “Well, I think I’m going to try and go back to sleep. It’s got to be about two or three in the morning and I don’t know how early Master Illioni wakes up. Once he does, I will have to as well and then my day will begin. There will be nonstop action and movement and learning!” A child-like exuberance beams from his countenance as he smiles brightly before he leans forward and shuts off the device and lights and crawls back into bed. Edit: reposted cuz the net ate some of my writing in the transfer. lol
  12. With his growling stomach growing louder and louder, Kharjo continued to reddened. It wasn’t until Master Dashel had told him that he could eat that his stomach seemed to be silenced. Kharjo was far too hungry to care of his breakfast were cold or hot. If he were to eat dry, powdered foods, he would not have minded. Every time he called on the Force to heighten his dexterity, mental and physical acuity, it always left him with a monstrous appetite. To that end, he attacked his food with ravenous passion causing his dear friend Alyssa to chuckle and Master Inuare to smile softly. Others who had joined in to laugh at Master Dashel’s jest had also smiled or laughed some more upon seeing Kharjo attack his plate. Within moments his first serving was gone, his plate wiped clean. He was aware of the conversation going on between the two Masters and his dear friend, but Kharjo did not care. Not at that moment. Kharjo had learned that his meals often came few and far between. Especially when he was under the tutelage of Jedi Master Erath, that Jedi Master liked to push and push Kharjo. Idly as he filled his plate for seconds, he wondered if it was because Master Erath was trying to get Kharjo to overcome his shortcomings or to push him into a failing he could not rise from. It wasn’t until Master Dashel spoke up reflecting on the task he’d given Kharjo that the Cub began to eat slower and pay more attention to what was being said. In the short time with the Trianii Jedi, Kharjo had come to understand a sense of urgency and authority about him. Perhaps, it was his feline roots that seemed to allow Kharjo a measure of comfort and security he hadn’t experienced since joining the Jedi or perhaps it was the elder Jedi’s life experience? Whatever the reason, whenever Master Illioni spoke, Kharjo listened. And so he did. The praise that passed from the elder Jedi’s lips warmed Kharjo more than he could say. Kharjo had known he’d neglected to find any information concerning Master Kitt’s works or his true reasons for being in the library. But, to hear the elder Jedi not rebuke him for it was more warming to the young cub than words could describe. Pausing as a spoon hung from his closed mouth, Kharjo wondered where the flyer was and if the avian was alright. He found himself missing the small creature and told himself that if time allowed, he would go pay his new friend a visit. When Master Vao passed a look between the four of them and then silently consented, Kharjo felt himself wondering what he’d missed. As Alyssa spoke, detailing her opinion on why Kharjo was sent to the library and given his tasks, a light bulb lit in his mind and the shock of it lit his face. The spoon fell from his mouth and clattered on to his plate. Somewhere in the depths of his mind he knew what Alyssa had said was absolutely right and had been aware of it the entire time. Yet, where Kharjo was more passion and focused on the moment and the task at hand, Alyssa was always more detached, able to see the bigger picture. Most always commented that Kharjo missed the forest for the trees, whereas Alyssa occasions missed the trees for the forest. That had always made the pair laugh. The thought of that jest made Kharjo laugh then and he sent a mental image of the jest to Alyssa through the Force. Soon they were both chuckling softly. Throwing a paw behind his head to scratch at his right ear, Kharjo began to control his breathing to silence his laughter as he felt the mood shift suddenly. Whatever it was that passed between Master Vao and Master Illioni, Kharjo instinctively knew it was not good. Not by the way Master Illioni’s aura was knotted up. It made Kharjo uneasy, but he intuitively sensed that his breakfast was coming to an end. Instead of complaining or jesting more, he picked up his silverware and quaffed down as much of his meal as possible. Once, chocking on bits of egg, bread and meat and needing to wash it down with a cold glass of milk. As his glass touched the table, he felt Master Dashel rise and felt him tugging at Kharjo through the Force. With a final gulp to clear his throat and a gentle cough, he rose himself and was bowing to the two remaining Jedi as Master Dashel ordered him to come along. The way he spoke and the urgency behind his words made Kharjo anxious, but he dared not dawdle. With a warm smile, he turned and jogged to catch up to the Trianii Jedi. Dashel Illioni’s pace quickened as they left the hall, his long strides fluid as they were fast. He was much taller than the cub so it forced Kharjo to jog to keep up, but he did not mind. Whatever urgency the Jedi was paramount enough to make Kharjo obey and that was enough. Within no time at all they had reached Dashel’s domicile and Kharjo was directed to sit. He did so, looking around the modest main room in wonderment. He wondered why he was here, but stifled that thought, knowing he’d learn soon enough. When Dashel did speak, his words were complimented by a grave expression. The words he spoke stunned and stung Kharjo more than he realized. He supported Master Erath’s claim to send me to the Corps? His emotions flared as sense of hopelessness washed over him. He opened his mouth to protest, to beg to say something to dissuade the senior Jedi from that path, but said nothing. If this was the will of the Force, he had no choice but to accept it. That was when he remembered Dashel’s final comment. Alyssa spoke in my defense. Does that mean I’m to be given a second chance? His emotions flared again as he dared to hope. It took a moment for him to calm himself and a glance at the Trianii Jedi to understand what would come next. Kharjo was still a Jedi, no matter the path he followed. That was his life’s wish, his only desire. Whatever the outcome, he would find his solace and make his peace. However, Dashel spoke in his favor. The gravity of his words and the unspoken fate that would accompany Kharjo if he failed to impress the Trianii Jedi was more than enough inspiration for the Cathari Cub. He’d overcome so much to get to where he was and would overcome much and more to fulfill his heart’s desire. He was about to make his peace with the loss of his family before Dashel informed him that he would write them. Kharjo’s face went blank. His jaw slacked revealing a row of sharp teeth as he sat there in his seat. “I’m to write them?” He stammered. “R-re-really? Thank you, Master Illioni!” [Edited in from the Old Site on 4/15/2012] The joy he felt at being able to converse with his family was more than he realized. Perhaps that was all he needed from them. He needed to know if his sisters were well, if his brother had joined CoreSec. Were his parents well? His aunts and uncles? His cousins? He had so much to say, so many thoughts swirled at once that he was not deterred by the thought of taking further lessons from Master Erath. When his tasks were given to him and Master Illioni walked off, Kharjo sat stunned wondering where to begin. He rose in a fog of euphoria as he made his way to the console in the far corner of the room. Seating himself, he logged on and began to organize his thoughts. Momentarily, he wondered where to begin, but he called on the Force for guidance and before he realized it the words flowed from him as natural as the air he breathed. As he finished his letter, he rose from his desk and stretched a low growl eschewed from his lips. He had much he needed to do today and so many hours in the day to do it. Before he began, however, he needed to center himself. And so Kharjo walked over to the meditation ring in the center of the room and sat down. He crossed his legs and placed his paws on his knees. With closed eyes, he began to steady his breathing as he emptied his mind of all thoughts and called upon the Force. Unlike this morning’s venture, his mind did not interfere with his meditation and he drifted away to a place of happy serenity. When he rose from his meditation some time later he felt a profound sense of peace wash over him. He felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders and heart. Everything seemed crisper and sharper as he looked around them room. The colors popped more than they had when he’d first entered and seemed more vibrant. He stretched once more before he went off in search of Master Illioni. It did not take him long to find him and when he had he found him deep in the research Kharjo could only assume came from him. He informed the Jedi Master of all he had done up until that point and all he would do today. When he got a response from the Trianii, he departed and made a call to Master Erath on his comlink. “Master Erath, this is Initiate Kharjo,” he began calmly. “I am calling on you to ask if you would instruct me in greater depth on the intricacies of flying.” There was a long pause before he heard the Barabel Jedi’s brusque response. As always, Master Erath was curt and to the point, informing Kharjo that he had little time to instruct him with flying and that Kharjo should seek out another. Undaunted Kharjo tried tact and cited that there was no other in the Temple as swift or able to teach Kharjo as Master Erath was and that any bit of instruction the Jedi Master could teach him would benefit Kharjo greatly. A short silence fell over the air as Kharjo waited with abated breath for Master Erath’s response. When the Jedi Master responded favorably, Kharjo grinned broadly. Their conversation over, Master Erath told him to report to the hangar within ten minutes before he ended the call. Jumping a bit, Kharjo returned to Master Illioni to inform him of all that had happened. Kharjo would have a five hour block today on flight instruction and if he impressed Master Erath, he would consider teaching him more on a regular basis. With that, Kharjo took his leave and left the domicile. He walked briskly from there to the hangar, his thoughts focused on his training at hand than the trepidation he would face with being alone with Jedi Master Erath. There was nothing to fear now, there were no regrets. His letter would be sent to his family and they would reply in turn. Kharjo had turned over a new leaf today, another chapter written in the story of his life, a new sun had risen and brought with it a wonderful dawn. He was prepared for whatever challenges Master Erath was going to throw his way. When he reached the hangar bay, he found Master Erath standing in its center, tapping his foot impatiently. Though, Kharjo had time to spare, he knew Master Erath felt he’d dallied too long. “Greetings Master,” Kharjo began warmly and with a smile. “I hope I have not kept you waiting.” “Yes, you have Initiate. Enough talk. You wish training? Then we waste time with this useless chatter.” Master Erath replied curtly as he uncrossed his arms. “I am deeply sorry to have kept you waiting, Master.” “Save your apologies and prove to me that you are worthy of my instruction.” Master Erath began in a tone that brooked no argument. “Know that you did well in the general flight class, however you seek advanced tutelage. Instruction only reserved for Padawans. This must be that fool Trianii’s doing.” Anger flared at that statement, but was quickly checked. It was widely known and accepted that Master Erath was a hard man to get along with and held a very high opinion of himself and a few others. He did not look kindly on unfamiliar faces or on being challenged. Master Illioni was and had done both and Kharjo reminded himself of that and took comfort from it. His serenity returned he ignored the slight and waited for Master Erath to continue. There was a long silence between then and when it became evident that Kharjo would not strike back, Master Erath became visibly surprised, perhaps even caught completely off-guard. “Right, today’s lesson will be in the Starsword.” With that the aging Jedi Master walked off in the direction of the nearest Starsword giving Kharjo no opportunity to acknowledge, nor complain. He could only follow and think that it was very much like Master Erath to give Kharjo an impossible task for their first lesson. It wasn’t the first time Master Erath had done this. Kharjo used to think it was because he wanted to see Kharjo succeed, but now he doubted that and wondered if he wasn’t trying to provoke failure or an outburst that would prove him right. Kharjo would not let that happen. He quickly followed after Master Erath and hopped into the adjacent Starsword as Master Erath’s. Donned his helmet and placed the breathing apparatus over his mouth. He knew it would feed him oxygen. Over the internal comlink he heard Master Erath give Kharjo a brief instruction on where all the controls were. Most of it was refresher for the Cathari Cub who had had an in-depth class on the Starsword when he was a youngling. Yet, younglings never flew these beasts, not even in simulators. Kharjo knew he would be flying one within moments and that knowledge both excited and filled him with a bit of dread. However, he took solace in his newfound faith in himself and Master Illioni and knew that everything would work out. As Master Erath walked him through the pre-flight checklist, Kharjo followed closely, in some cases double checking to make sure that everything was working perfectly. When the checklist was complete, Master Erath powered up the ion engines and disengaged the landlock once the engines were fully powered. Kharjo did the same and watched as Master Erath slammed his Starsword and accelerated from the hangar bay, expertly and gracefully weaving through the obstacles that blocked his path. Kharjo followed, but was not as graceful. His nerves were on edge despite the comfort he’d felt and he heard Master Erath reprimanding him for being slow. Once Kharjo had navigated his way out of the hangar, he saw Master Erath’s craft up ahead and heard his voice telling him to catch him. With a heavy sigh intended to calm him, he stretched out to the Force and slammed the throttle forward. Milliseconds later, Kharjo was thrown back into his seat as his small craft zipped after Master Erath. With help from the Force, Kharjo was able to fight against the intense Gs he felt until he became comfortable and could look around at his instruments and his surroundings. When he did so he’d lost track of Master Erath and frantically began to look for him. Before he understood why, he looked up and saw Master Erath right above him flying in perfect unison upside down and pointing at Kharjo. Kharjo looked down at his instruments and saw that he was dropping altitude and so instantly corrected, pulling back on the yoke. Master Erath broke off and barrel rolled to Kharjo’s right. With the briefest of instructions, Kharjo was tasked with trying to get a missile lock on Master Erath. That was all he had to do. It was a seemingly simple task that would prove surprisingly difficult. Master Erath engaged his ‘slams’ and rocketed ahead without warning, Kharjo followed, doing the same, allowing himself to sink deeper into the Force to fight the Gs and follow Master Erath. For hours and hours he chased Master Erath. All over Haruun Kal they seemed to fly, high and low. Once they flew just above the canopy, so close to the tops of trees that Kharjo’s Starsword brushed their tips. When it was all over and they were returning to the hangar bay, Kharjo’s Starsword had chipped paint and Kharjo himself had felt so pumped by the adrenaline that coursed through his body that he was twitching. He’d only managed to engage Master Erath for about five seconds. It wasn’t long enough to confirm a missile lock, but it was an impressive feat in and of itself. When they touched down, shut off their Starswords and did a post-flight checklist while visibly inspecting their craft, Master Erath seemed mildly impressed with Kharjo’s success. He instructed the Initiate to return to his domicile and meditate on the lessons learned today and report back on the morrow at noon for another lesson. Without any more words or guidance, the Barabel swept from the hangar, leaving a giddy Kharjo to jump for joy. Quickly, the Cathari returned to his quarters and went straight into a deep mediation to calm his nerves and think on all he’d learned and done today. By the time he’d roused from his mediation, night had fallen and a cool breeze was wafting throughout the main room. He went to find Master Illioni and report about today’s ventures and when he did, found him much as he’d left him, lost in his research. When Kharjo finished, he went to the console and ordered up food for the both of them. He then went to the refresher to shower and change into his sleepwear. He then retraced his steps to his new quarters and found all his belongings within, marveled at how large it was and at his newfound privacy before a knock at the front door returned him to the living room. Opening the door, he thanked the Jedi and took the food, called over Master Illioni and began to eat. Once he’d finished, he cleaned his plate, and sent them down to the kitchens. When he returned, he found Master Illioni sleeping and so returned to his room and did the same. Today had been a good day and tomorrow looked like it would be even better.
  13. Kharjo swam in the force, as best as any Padawan-to-be could. As his body stood there and his soul floated elsewhere, time was irrelevant. Jedi passed him by, some who were more familiar with him smiled as they past, others reached out with the Force to greet him. Their thoughts echoed in the sea that was the Force, barely recognizable as he began to lose himself in its gentle currents. His mind ran heavy with thoughts of the future, of Jaqen and suddenly, of something more earthly and familiar. For a brief moment his hackles stood on ends and his ears went flat against his scalp. As his green-gold eyes cracked open, he sensed a familiar aura. Master Erath, his thoughts hissed momentarily. It was such a terrible thought, that he felt embarrassed almost immediately. How long had he known the Barabel Jedi Master? All his life, the young cub wagered and in that time, their relationship was rocky to say the least. Kharjo knew that the Master Jedi did not like him. Yet, even so, it was not the Jedi way to act as he did. He remonstrated himself silently as he began to walk toward the signature. Within moments, he came face to face with the ancient Jedi Master and his friend, Alyssa Green. Kharjo’s eyes met those of the Master’s. Green flecked with gold swam in violet and were overwhelmed. Kharjo felt transparent in the presence of the Jedi Master. He always had, ever since their first meeting many years ago. The Barabel Jedi Master greeted him brusquely, Kharjo returned the greeting warmly. “Forgive me, Master Erath,” Kharjo began uneasily, “your presence startled me.” “As so much else does, Hopeful.”The way the Jedi Master said the title it almost seemed a curse. Kharjo winced at it as he stepped aside to let him pass. “I’m sure you know by now that there is talk of you becoming a Padawan. I’m sure you know where I stand on the matter. Were it up to me alone, you would be in the Corps under heavy monitor. You may not be Anakin Skywalker reborn, but there were others.” Erath’s words were blunt and harsh as ever and his tone brooked no argument. “Now, go to Master Illioni, Master Vao is waiting as well.” With that he walked passed, his grand robe swirled up behind him as he stalked from the hall. Other Jedi stepped aside the let him past. Kharjo said nothing; instead he bowed deeply, acquiescing to the Jedi Master’s will. There was nothing else could do. He felt uneasy around Master Erath. If ever he was fearful, it was around the Jedi Master. The harshness of his words along with his judgments had always felt like an overbearing father who Kharjo consistently failed. Suddenly, Kharjo remembered that his dear friend was standing there and his mind refocused on her. He read her expression and gave an embarrassed chuckle. Words formed in his mind, but none escaped his lips. He tried to send her a message through the Force, but she beat him to it. Her smile was soft as ever as she stood there. Kharjo felt a stirring, though he could not quite say what it meant. He looked upon his dear friend. She was human, two years older than him and all woman. Beneath her Padawan robes was a woman’s figure. Her hair was auburn and cut into the fashion of a bob. She was very comely, he knew. All who visited the temple, from guest to Jedi, all acknowledged it. Yet, Jedi held no attachments. Kharjo knew of some Jedi in times past who fell in love with other Jedi and knew that Alyssa came from such a union, yet he could not bring himself to acknowledge his stirrings. Alyssa blinked as she watched Kharjo behold her and soon began to blush a bit. Kharjo thought that her shyness made her look even more attractive, he meant to say something, but before he could, Alyssa leaned forward and socked him in the arm. “Silly! What’re you doing? You know you’re an open book as ever,” she was saying, “now c’mon! Master Illioni is waiting for you.” Kharjo made an attempt to protest, but he was silenced when Alyssa grabbed his arm and yanked him off in the direction of the two Masters. He half walked and was half drug to the table. His mind swam with all he’d done and seen recently. It was strange how things played out. Never in his wildest imagination would he have thought that when he awoke this morning he would be breaking his fast with two Master Jedi, one unfamiliar to him and one very familiar. His heart swam with joy, yet his mind abandoned him. Some small part of him knew that half the temple was aware of his dilemma and was more aware of his flush of emotion, not once, but twice within minutes of each other. He knew that not many at the temple were fond of Master Erath, yet they listened to his counsel all the same. He was a man of his word and had trained many Padawans to knighthood in his tenure with the order. What he said carried more weight than most and all sought his counsel at one time or another. Nearer to the table, Kharjo pulled free from Alyssa, he could not say why he did so, just that he felt he must. She turned on him surprised and he smiled back at her. “Alyssa, I am sorry.” “For what?”She asked blankly, confused. “For putting you through all that I have. For befriending one as unworthy as I,” as he spoke his words held within them a certain fervent passion he rarely experienced. He seemed solemn then. “I know you risked a lot speaking of me to Master Illioni and Master Erath. I thank you, Lys, but I am not worthy.” He gave a weak smile, his left ear idly twitched. Alyssa blinked and made a face before she socked him in the arm again. “Be quiet, Kharjo! Silly, we’re friends. I would do anything for you.” Kharjo blushed beneath his mane, yet he said naught. Instead, he smiled his infamous toothy smile and nudged her shoulder. He thanked her through the Force as he moved passed her. She followed behind him closely. It wasn’t long before he spotted the Trianii Jedi Master and Master Vao talking quietly over a meal Kharjo knew must be getting cold. When he approached the table, he bowed deeply in a flourish and asked if he could be seated. “Good morning, Master Vao!” Kharjo roared jubilantly, a toothy grin lighting his face and a sparkle in his eye. Master Vao giggled and reached over to muss with his mane, but otherwise said nothing. Kharjo turned to Master Illioni, whom he had sat next to and smiled formally. “Master Illioni, I have done what you asked, with varying success. I have found several entries of Jaqens throughout the galaxy and time. Most of those I have found lived millennia ago, though there were two who live now, in our time. One is on Tatooine. He seems to be some sort of outlaw with connections to Jaqens’ past. Another Jaqen lives on Nar Shadda in exile. The rest...” Kharjo trailed off as he looked up to see the quizzical and inquisitive looks upon both Master Vao and Padawan Green’s visages. Kharjo scratched behind his ear and looked to Master Illioni for guidance. He had assumed the Jedi Master had informed them of his dream or vision or whatever it was, but it did not seem so. He wondered if it were up to him to inform them or if the Jedi Master would do it for him. As he gazed into the Trianii’s face, he wondered what the other Jedi was thinking. He was so hard to read. Idly, he fidgeted with the datapad he held limply in his hands. Suddenly, he realized that he held the datapad between his paws and passed it to Master Illioni wordlessly, knowing that the Jedi Master would find his findings within the datapad. As he sat there waiting for someone to speak up or something to happen, his own stomach took up the call and broke the silence. It growled like a guttural roar issued some dangerous predator on the prowl. Kharjo blinked absentmindedly and seemed not to notice it at first. It growled again, this time more dangerous than before. Again, Kharjo blinked unknowingly. He was lost in his thoughts, lost in the auras and signatures of the temple around him. He swam in the Force and felt revitalized for it. He was still aware of his surroundings, but ignorant to his body. The queer expression upon Master Vao’s visage brought him back from his frolicking and the stifled giggle from his dear friend made him blushed. He blinked again, an unasked question, but the growl of his belly answered it before anyone else could. Embarrassed, Kharjo threw a hand behind his head, scratching as he chuckled.
  14. Lightsaber Forms Beginner/ In Training Form I: Shii-cho Intermediate N/A Advanced N/A Mastery N/A Back to the Top [!top]
  15. Force Powers; Skills and Abilities Force Powers Beginning/ In Training Tutamininis (Energy Absorption)* Curato salva* Altus sopor* Acuity Acceleration Intermediate N/A Advanced N/A Mastery N/A Meditations Empty Meditation* (Beginner) Moving Mediation* (Beginner) Rising Meditation* (Beginner) *Please note that those I have asterisked would be standard curriculum for canonical younglings. Force Power Descriptions Note: All three definitions (as well as all of the asteriked information) for the three core abilities of Control (and the meditations) were taken from the book I own. Those definitions are in quotations. the book is called The Jedi Path: A Manual for Students of the Force. Copyrighted 2010, 2011 by Lucasfilm Ltd. and produced by becker & mayer. Skills and Abilities If and when Kharjo learns to effectively wield traditional (non-Jedi) weapons and firearms they'll go here. Also, when his piloting skill improves over the bare basic knowledge he has that will go here as well. As well as small unit tactics and anything of that sort that is actually worthwhile to mention versus me explaining that he can cook, read and write. Back to the Top [!top]
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