Haruun Kal

[Mercury]

The wind swept through an unfamiliar and familiar pass. The sun shone high in the sky as his head rose, a furred paw rose as well to cover his eyes, save them from the harmful rays of the sun. He noted the sky was empty, peaceful and sighed. Returning his gaze to ahead of him, he took in his surroundings. The jagged steppes, dry as bone, the air, rich with the scent of his prey and their deaths to come. Beyond the ring of the steppes, he saw a vast, barren expanse of gold and knew them to be the savannahs. He felt longing as he gazed upon them, green and gold flecked eyes losing focus momentarily. Behind him he heard the slight padding of a intruder and turned over his shoulder to see a familiar face. Yet, at the same time, the Cathari felt foreign to him. As foreign as the place he now felt himself standing in. Even the air that kissed and jostled his coat felt odd. Still, he nodded at the Cathari warrior who returned the greeted in kind. The warrior’s gaze shifted then, and soon he followed it. Further down the pass, his keen eyes spotted movement.

 

Without realizing it, he let out a low, guttural growl as did the warrior at his back. The warrior was swifter to move than he and passed him within moments, placing a free hand on his shoulder as if to guide him. He followed, spear in hand and was surprised to find it so. Jedi weren’t know to use spears, although it was true enough that they could and did in the days of yore. He took several steps before pausing. This all felt off. A glance downward told him all he needed to know. In place of the Jedi garb he’d warn all his years of life were something alien. A cyan cloth slung around his torso and shoulder, loose and free. A kidney belt of leather fastened to his waist clasped the fabric to a padded skirt that bore metal balls of black on gold and cyan. At his collar he noted many necklaces interlocked of various valuable metals and gems. He glanced at his shoulders, feeling weight upon them and saw studded leather pauldrons. His gaze traveled downward and saw a deep jagged scar along his forearm, ancient and void of fur. His brow furled, but a cry in the distance took him from his bemusement. He gazed upward and saw his companion a great distance ahead of him.

 

Others were there suddenly, many other Cathari warriors all racing after the distant warrior. As they passed they called out to him, though he did not recognize the name. “Come Jaqen, come. Death and glory is at hand!

 

“Do not linger here. There are many things more deadly than we.” Their voices were foreign yet innately familiar. He felt as if he’d known them all his life, shared an intimate bond he’d not experienced yet in his own existence.

 

He now knew he was not there. Not truly. Some small part of him knew without knowing. This was not Kharjo Shavir he was seeing, but another. A Cathari just like him named Jaqen. A Cathari he’d never known. He drifted away then, but Jaqen remained. Soon Jaqen hurried after his companions, deftly maneuvering down the pass, hardly making a sound. He came upon then as they crept upon a cleft in the ridge which over looked the valley below. His dearest friend, the one who ran ahead was prone, squirming his way closer to the edge. The others hung back, tense and poised. Jaqen approached calm as a still lake and observed. Moments passed, yet felt like an eternity. The warrior wormed his away from the lip, his bushy tail wagged restlessly. He approached Jaqen and spoke in the Cathari tongue. A tongue Kharjo faintly recalled, yet struggled to remember. Jaqen listened carefully, intently and then nodded. Wordlessly, he pointed to some of the dozen warriors gathered and motioned to his right. A path down the ridge perilously appeared. The trio darted off at once, as silent and Jaqen had been, perhaps moreso. The others he divided into groups of three, each sending them in opposite directions down the ridge. When the last two remained, his dearest friend among them, he moved on. They fell in line, following the agile Cathari down the ridge, silent as ever.

 

Their journey was arduous, but nothing an experienced hunter like him and his companions could not handle. Every gust of wind threatened to throw them from their perch, yet never did. Eventually they made it to the valley’s floor. In the distance they could see their prey. Silhouettes, humanoid in appearance stood around a cookfire, its smoke gently billowing into the skies overhead. Jaqen knew there would be more. That this was only and advanced war party meant to scout out the region and probe at Jaqen’s defenses. Swiftly, silently, they approached. Spread out some distance from each other, Jaqen’s party moved deftly across the field, bounding from boulder to boulder and crawling across the graveled earth where none existed. Kharjo sensed that Jaqen would have preferred to have struck under the cover of night, but something urged him to press on now. Something Kharjo could not tell, but knew was dire. Jaqen froze suddenly, his head scanning his surroundings. He saw another party creep down the slopes closest to the camp. To his right, he noticed another group bounding between boulders. Some among them carried bows both large and small, arrows poised to be loosed. Jaqen gripped the shaft of his spear tightly and Kharjo sensed he held no love for stalking and slaying his kin.

 

He moved forward then, crawling faster, less cautiously then he had before. Somehow, time became of the essence where stealth and surprise had been moments before. Off in the distance both Kharjo and Jaqen heard the tell tale sound of an arrow loosed from its bow. And then another followed by another in quick succession. Jaqen rose and began sprinting across the field, arrows sailing overhead. He did not have to look behind to know that the others followed. The scouts at the cookfire turned at the noise. There were more than Jaqen had anticipated. He saw four from where he sprinted and knew there were closer by. A dark feeling coiled in his gut, but he pressed on. One among the watchman reached for a horn, made of bone, pressed it to his lips, yet no sound ushered forth. He fell limp to the ground, an arrow in his chest. Another began to move to his companion, but Jaqen was swifter. He gripped the shaft of his spear, arced back and pivoted launching the weapon at the height of its arc, leaping forward as he did so. He ran hard, watching as the spear sailed on its course. He watched the Cathari grow closer to the one with the horn, he was within reach, yet before he could kneel to pick it up the spear connected with his side. Knocking him off balance, the Cathari fell over with a shout and laid still.

 

The other warriors in Jaqen’s party were upon the rest of the camp then, moving swiftly with sword, spear, axe and claws. As Jaqen appeared another volley sailed overhead, finding its mark among his foes. They danced and swayed in time with the arrows, some ducking behind the cover of boiled leather shields. Others tried to bat the arrows out of the sky. Jaqen made for the nearest scout, a burly Cathari, fierce and unmovable as a mountain. He threw himself at the Cathari, sending them both toppling to the ground. Jaqen was upon him instantly, claws ripping at the man as Jaqen growled and hissed. Yet the massive Cathari threw Jaqen from him, rose bloody and withdrew a massive sword. Quickly, Jaqen recovered and rolled underneath the first pass of the massive one’s sword. He came up and drove a fist into his side, yet the massive Cathari merely roared and backhanded Jaqen, sending him stumbling backwards.

 

Another warrior among Jaqen’s party leapt forward, driving his sword deep into the massive Cathari’s back. The massive one roared and turned upon the surprised warrior. He raised his massive sword high overhead and brought it down upon the warrior’s shoulder. The warrior crumpled in a heap of blood and gore. Seizing his opportunity, Jaqen sprung forward, smashing all his weight into the sword imbedded into the large Cathari’s back. Another mighty roar, yet this one seemed more frenzied, slightly fearful. The warrior turned upon Jaqen eyes full of hate and anger, he raised his massive sword high overhead, Jaqen was paralyzed. It began to fall, but Jaqen noticed it fell the wrong way. Out of the massive warrior’s hands did the massive weapon fall as the giant Cathari slumped forward, his face forever twisted in hatred. His will returned to him, Jaqen sidestepped the massive Cathari and watched the creature fall to the hard earth with a sickening thud, the sword pushed up through his back.

 

Behind him, he heard a swift, angry sound, too swift to react to. Jaqen whirled to see another scout upon him hacking with twin axes. Jaqen dodged one, but the other found its mark in Jaqen’s arm. Gritting his jaw, Jaqen hissed at his attacker as he backed away from him. Frantically, he searched for a weapon, a rock, anything. Blood flowed from his arm and he knew instinctively it would be of little use. Spotting the massive sword, he seized it and raised his guard, but the weight of it was nearly unbearable. His attacker struck him furiously, battering his guard with swift and powerful strikes that Jaqen was barely able to parry. Eventually, he found his way through, smashing the large sword aside and out of his hands. Jaqen, empty handed once more raised his hands in defense. His attacker leapt upon him, swiping and slashing vehemently. Jaqen did his best to dodge the worst of the attacks, but he was growing weary from all the fighting and blood loss. This was folly, his mind cried. And now I die. He noticed how sharp his senses had become, his crisp the air smelled, how sharp everything became. He noticed the beauty in the madness of his attacker’s fury as he charged him. The attacker raised an axe high overhead, brought it down fiercely.

 

Kharjo awoke in a cold sweat, confused and bewildered. He found himself as erect as a wooden board, every muscle in his body tense. His green and gold-flecked eyes scanned the darkened chamber. Around him the other younglings of Clan Hawkbat slumbered peacefully. He found his hand instinctively moving to his right arm. It felt tender. What was that? He wondered. It seemed too powerful to be a simple dream, yet wrong to be a thing of the Force. He felt distraught. What happened to Jaqen and the other warriors? Who were they and were they alright? What did this all mean? Kharjo rose from his bed, moving silently to the shared bathroom where he splashed cool water upon his face. Hands upon the sink, he gazed into the mirror above, searching himself for the answer he did not have. The Jedi taught that all answers came in their own time and as the Force willed. Yet he was impatient and did not have an eternity to wait. He found himself restless and knew he needed to do something.

 

He returned to his bed where he sat and pondered what he should do. He was too restless to just sit there and did not feel like he could adequately meditate upon his dream. He rose in a burst, disquieted; he left the dormitory and moved down the halls. He passed very few Jedi as he went, most paid him no mind and went about his business. Kharjo did not know where he was going or what he would do when he got there. He walked for a time, aimlessly, until his feet led him to a quiet garden where Jedi went to contemplate without disturbance. Moving through the open space, feeling the touch of nature around him, sensing the bounty of life through the Force to the best of his ability, it seemed to quiet him. He felt more at ease here. Kharjo moved through the garden, passing benches and gazebos as he went. Eventually, he found himself before a babbling brook and took seat at the lip of the duracrete ledge. Sitting cross-legged, he placed himself in a comfortable position and closed his eyes. He did as he’d practiced so many times before and as his instructor’s advised and tried to empty his mind. For a time he was successful and just existed as the Force flowed through him. And yet, just as quickly as he had reached serenity, it vanished. His thoughts returned to Jaqen and its meaning and then shifted to the family he barely remembered. He thought of the home he’d never known, the birthplace of his species. He thought of the rolling steppes, the vast savannahs and the blazing sun high overhead.

 

Something primal stirred within him. He felt tendrils of fear grip him, yet resisted as he’d learned to do. He repeated the precepts of the Jedi teachings. There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no emotion; there is peace. Yet the more he repeated these sacred words, the less they seemed to comfort him. Again he tried to meditate, yet this time, his thoughts flitted from nothingness, to the Force itself, his current tribulations, the past and future and everything in between. He pondered for a long while on the state of the galaxy, the Jedi and himself. He found comfort in the Living Force and thought of it as a protective mother wrapping him in a shawl of love. A quagmire hit him: love was an emotion and therefore should be shunned by Jedi. He remonstrated himself for thinking of the Living Force in that regard, but then was overcome by a deep feeling of loneliness. This would not due. He was too distraught and need counsel. There was no way around it now. He’d tried to handle it on his own, but he wasn’t succeeding.

Edited April 16, 2012 by Guest

[Dashel Illioni]

After years of maintaining the discipline of Small at every waking moment of his life, Dashel found himself doing so subconsciously, even when walking around temples on world's like Harumn Kal. The extra stealth satisfied something primeval within him, probably a left over from some distant ancestor as they hunted for food on his homeworld.

 

This night Dashel found himself practicing yet again how to be invisible to force users. He was perched high in a tree as was his preference, within a garden of Harumn Kal's temple, watching anyone and everything that passed, from mouse droids to Jedi going about their various tasks. He had come here straight from Gala, mostly on a whim to see someplace he had never seen before. Kala had simply shook her head when he had announced his decision, then tried once again to assassinate him. The HRD's constant attacks served to keep Dashel on his toes.

 

One young Cathar caught his attention, not because of the remarkable knot of confusion formed among the force as walked pass. Padawan's always seemed to be a knot in the force, something causing them confusion that needed the guidance of a Knight or Master could provide. The incidents were usually small things that an older perspective could unravel quickly, but it was always best to let the Padawan figure it out for themselves.

 

What caught his attention with the Padawan was that he was the first feline Hopeful seen by Dashel in a long time. He grinned, looking forward to someone who might understand the instincts possessed by most species like the Triani.

 

Silently he dropped from the tree, using the Force to float gently to the ground behind Kharjo Shavir. He landed softly and focused his attention on the young Cathar before him. Cathar, Triani, and Catuman always knew that they were different from each other, even if they did not know why. The differences never spilled out into open conflicts, the three species just knew.

 

Most preferred their own kind, but exceptions occurred. Some of those exceptions produced children with some very interesting results in the offspring, including one massive warrior Dashel had worked with back on Trian that had resulted from a Cathar male and Triani female. That warrior topped better than 3.5 meters and wrestled and won against Wookies.

 

He decided that being alone with his thoughts tended to produce some odd moments, so he simply spoke at nearly a whisper to break the silence. ”œTrouble sleeping?”

[Mercury]

Kharjo fell back upon old habits. Habits he’d learned from his instructors here at the temple. He slowed his breath, focusing wholly on it and letting nothing get in his way. Slowly, all of his thoughts ebbed away until nothing was left but the sound of his own breathing. He felt as if peace would befall him. Finally, he felt as if he was making some progress. On the edges of his consciousness he heard the leaves rustle from a gentle caress of the wind, the steady babbling of the brook he sat before and something else. Ever so softly he heard the almost indistinguishable sound of footfalls upon grass. Suddenly, he felt his senses heighten, though he could not explain why. Consciously he knew nothing was there, but he felt compelled to be cautious. In all his life, Kharjo had never liked people sneaking up on him. Most rarely did due to his Cathar senses, but sometimes they did. Kharjo was a gentle spirit and did not like conflict.

 

A voice broke the silence and Kharjo flinched. His eyes burst open, pupils fell to slits. He felt the hairs on the back of his head stand on their ends. In a flash a primal sense grabbed him and before he could stifle it, he hissed. Turning, Kharjo saw a Jedi standing behind him. A feline, perhaps he was Cathar? No. Kharjo saw the lazy sway of his tail and knew him to be Trianii. Strange, Kharjo thought, I’ve lived in the temple all my life and only seen two other feline Jedi and never a Trianii. In ages past, he knew that many Cathar who felt the kiss of the Force became Jedi. As a cub, he was told the tales of Crado and his downfall, of Sylvar and he struggle for Justice. He recalled how the Cathar worshiped Sylvar as a hero. Kharjo shook his head, clearing it of his musings. He rose from his seat and bowed before the Jedi. Strangely, he noticed he felt no presence from him. As if the Force had abandoned him or he was somehow suppressing it. Idly he wondered if it were possible to suppress the Force.

 

“Yes, Master.” Kharjo said sheepishly. Curiosity gripped him and he felt compelled to ask, “But what about you? What brings you to these gardens so early in the morning?”

Edited April 16, 2012 by Guest

[Dashel Illioni]

Dashel took a long moment appraising the young hopeful before him knowing that the young Cathar also appraised him as well. To give the young man a reference point, Dashel lowered his guard and let the Force flow through him normally, something he associated with a feeling of peace and contentment.

 

What he saw before him and sensed through the Force looked promising and the way the young man reacted to his silent entrance show that though he retained his heritage he tempered the reactions provided by that heritage with greater knowledge and his Jedi training.

 

”œBefore coming to the Jedi, I was a soldier with the Triani Rangers. Late nights and early mornings came with the job and I find myself often compelled to by those experiences to awake before dawn or restless at night. The peace in Jedi gardens contrasts so differently with what I knew that I find myself visiting often just to let it flow through me as much as the Force does.”

[Mercury]

An awkwardness possessed Kharjo as he stood there awaiting the Jedi’s reply. He didn’t know his name or rank, but from his demeanor Kharjo assumed he was at least a Knight of longstanding service, if not a Master. This Trianii was so very different from the other Jedi Knights and Masters Kharjo had ever known. All Jedi were known to be introspective and observant, but there was something more to this one than the others. As if he were looking within him. At least it felt that way to Kharjo. He felt as if he were being penetrated by this Trianii Jedi, as if he could read Kharjo like a book. It wasn’t like the young hopeful had anything to hide, it was just slightly unnerving. Especially, when all Kharjo could sense from the Trianii was an absence of the Force. That was until it exploded from the Jedi out of nowhere, washing over the garden and bathing Kharjo in its warmth. Kharjo maw slacked and he stared at the other Jedi astonished. How did he do that? Kharjo found himself wondering. As if the other Jedi had picked up on some unspoken cue, he began to speak.

 

At first Kharjo had to try very hard to focus on the words that were spoken, so mesmerized was he by this Jedi’s aura. He must be a formidable Jedi. If he were to take on Kharjo as his Padawan, Kharjo would grow into a fine Jedi. One day he would be able to protect those he cared for and look after the meek. He felt giddy at the thought, but he tempered it with knowledge. There was a lesson in this Trianii’s words, Kharjo knew. It was his duty to listen. Kharjo blinked and shook his head slightly before he returned to a cross-legged position on the soft grass and listened.

 

A Trianii Ranger? They’re formidable warriors, known for their cunning and honor, right? I thought I came across a passage on them once. Or maybe it was something else? Kharjo blinked, he was drifting off again. He found it odd that someone could want to be anything other than Jedi. Then, he remembered his dream and the thought of longing he still felt when he awoke. It seemed to him that even Jedi weren’t always Jedi, at least not anymore. The archives spoke of a time when applicants were taken as babes and raised in the temple on Coruscant and the praxeums across the galaxy. No one was admitted past a certain age without the consent of the High Council. Most never knew any life other than Jedi. Kharjo seemed to be more like them than the Jedi next to him. He was taken as a child. He never experienced love, nor a crush. He never had a job, never graduated from elementary school. All the things his childhood friends would get to do were denied to him. Yet, he didn’t feel anger or misery. He was happy to be here. Happier than perhaps he’d ever felt. All his life he felt different, special. Somehow always feeling like he was meant to do something greater, be someone greater. Still, sometimes he wondered what his life would have been like.

 

He looked up to see the Trianii Jedi looking down on him. His eyes were impassive. Kharjo wondered if the Jedi knew he wasn’t paying the closest attention to what the Jedi was saying? Intently, Kharjo listened to the Jedi speak, keeping his wonderment at bay. Never in his life had he’d bothered to ask another Jedi of their time before the Jedi. It was amazing to think who these people were before they became what they are. His eyes widened when he saw the Jedi draw an ancient lightsaber and set it between them. It looked so vastly different from any other saber hilt Kharjo had ever seen, he felt compelled to pick it up and examine it closely. He did not, however, do that as the Trianii Jedi seemed to be getting to his point. Tearing his green-and-gold-flecked eyes from the lightsaber, Kharjo listened. Idly, his eyes twitched as they heard the distant flap of a bird land on a branch from the other side of the garden.

 

Blinking, Kharjo couldn’t think of anything to say in response. That wasn’t the response he was expecting and he found it only seemed to confuse him. Was this Trianii only reluctantly a Jedi? That didn’t make sense to the Cathar cub at all.

 

“Master, I don’t understand. We’re taught that the Force is a gift and that it’s a blessing to answer its Call, are we not? But, you seem to have reluctantly accepted your true role as a Jedi in the service to the.”

 

Kharjo blinked.

 

“Well, actually, I’m not sure who we service since the Empire and the Alliance became one. And with the Sith openly inhabiting our old home, it seems like we should not serve the Galactic Alliance.”

 

Again the Cathar blinked, confused.

 

“I…” he trailed off as he searched for the words. Green and gold eyes scouring the ground at his feet, an ant caught his attention for a moment. Kharjo watched it move between the tall blades of grass until it decided to climb up one. Curiously, Kharjo watched until a breeze shook him and he returned his gaze to the Jedi next to him.

 

“I dreamed tonight,” he began simply. “In it I was on a planet I’ve never visited. The sun shone high overhead and the sky was blue. The wind that swept through what looked like a valley in some steppe warmed me as it caught my fur. Everything seemed real, far too real to be a simple dream. Even the gravel beneath my bare feet felt right.

 

“In my dream I was not alone. There were others. Cathar like me. Perhaps it was a hunting party? They called me Jaqen. But, that’s not my name, its Kharjo. I – Jaqen seemed to be their leader and I – he commanded them to sneak upon a camp at the valley’s floor. He split up the party into four groups of three and sent them off in different directions.”

 

Kharjo scratched his head as he searched for the right words. His jaw flexed as he vividly remembered what happened next.

 

“When Jaqen came upon the camp, archers loosed arrows overhead, killing their enemies. I don’t know why and I’ve only ever read about archers or arrows, but it seemed to be used like covering fire. I’ve read about that too. Well, anyway, Jaqen sprinted toward one of the other men and threw his spear at him. It caught in the throat, I think. I’ve never seen anyone die before. There was so much blood. The Cathar – the one that died was trying to blow into some horn. Whatever would have happened had he done it must have been bad, because Jaqen killed another man who went for the horn. Everything was chaos after that. So many died…

 

“I awoke before Jaqen was slain. I don't know if he was killed. I hope not. He was wounded though. He’d been separated from his warriors in the chaos; one had come to his defense against a brute of a Cathar, but had died soon after. Another Cathar leapt upon him with axes and was overwhelming Jaqen. It all seemed hopeless. I could feel everything Jaqen felt. The pain. The fear. An overwhelming sense of failure. It felt like he failed to come back home and failed to protect his people from war.

 

“I don’t understand. What does it mean?” Kharjo frowned. “So, I got up and came here to meditate, hoping the answer would come to me. It hasn’t. All I’ve accomplished was having more questions and a growing sense of unease.”

Edited April 16, 2012 by Guest

[Dashel Illioni]

Dashel focused his entire being on what the young hopeful was saying, listening intently to the young cub's questions and his description of the dream which drove him to the garden the two now solely occupied save for a few insects, small animals, and the garden plants. He let the silence linger for a few moments after the hopeful had finished speaking, contemplating a single small night flyer flying among the garden's trees. He smiled and reached out with the force, sending out a feeling of peace and safety to the small creature and then began typing on the keyboard that was part of his bracer, careful to keep the screen at an angle the hopeful could not read. He sent a message to Kala, asking her to conduct a deep background on the hopeful.

 

While he waited for the files to arrive, he began addressing the question that Kharjo asked. ”œFirst,”

[Mercury]

Through all visible an internal avenues, Kharjo was surprised. He was surprised by the Master Jedi’s response. This Jedi’s response to Kharjo’s questions was not one the young Hopeful had expected to hear. To say he was caught off guard was an understatement in every sense of the word. He’d misjudged the Trianii Jedi, though he wasn’t filled with shame or any other derailing emotion. Instead, he only felt a slight twinge of embarrassment. Perhaps, if he’d been born a smooth-skinned humanoid, his cheeks might’ve reddened. In the absence of that Kharjo chuckled softly as he listened to the Jedi’s response. He thought his speech was about his reluctance and a sharing of pasts to perk up the young Hopeful, he would have never guessed it was about disappointment and acceptance. As the elder Jedi finished and searched Kharjo for answers, Kharjo gave more than perhaps he’d intended to. He was not trained in the ways to conceal one’s aura and so, his flashed and flickered like a strobe light. He found himself wanting to grin. He was filled with a morose sense of wan. It always seemed to come back to this. It always came back to his parents and his previous life. Was it so wrong to wish to see his family again? Perhaps even hear from them from time to time? He wasn’t like the other Jedi he’d known who’d answered their calling in their adulthood or twilight and he wasn’t like the younger generation who was the offspring of Jedi or taken as babes from their mother’s teats.

 

He felt his was a unique circumstance. He wondered why it couldn’t warrant unique treatment. It wasn’t like he was unhappy with his role in the Order. He longed for this and wanted to be nowhere else. Yet, at the same time, he felt caught between two worlds. Cathar were raised in close-knit clans and large families. Still, he remonstrated himself for the first time that day. He was a Jedi and needed to fully accept the fact that like all Jedi he needed to sever all contacts to his past. He was trying. Each night and day he set aside a bit of time to search himself and the Force for the solace he so greatly desired. Sometimes it came, but never stayed. Kharjo found himself wondering how often it always came back to this. Perhaps his instructors were right. Perhaps it was time to hang up his hopes of being a true Jedi and pick a posting in the service corps? Visibly Kharjo shook his head to clear his musings and gave an embarrassed grin. He was fully aware that the Trianii had sensed it and he wondered what the Jedi would think. However, whatever thoughts the Jedi had, he did not share.

 

That was when Kharjo noticed the little bird perched upon his shoulder. He was surprised that the animal had not flown from his roost, given how unsettled Kharjo was moments ago. Kharjo recalled the instructions the Jedi had given him and calmed himself. He found it rather easy to do so. Perhaps it was the gardens that surrounded him or the gentle and innocent creature perched upon his shoulder. Kharjo could not say. A small part of him felt that his sudden shift in serenity could have been caused by the Trianii Jedi who walked beside him. It seemed to Kharjo that the Jedi was truly interested in Kharjo, which the Cathar cub found refreshing. Too often, Kharjo got the impression that he was written off and not worth anyone’s time. It was a peculiar feeling. Idly, he mused at what it would mean to not have known the Forces touch yet still undergone all he’d went through. Kharjo wondered if he would have had the fortitude and serenity that guided him now or if he would have suffered. As they walked, Kharjo reached out to the small bird through the Force. With the creature upon his shoulder, he felt a sense of calm and felt happy. Gingerly, he reached out with his paw and went to pet the bird. For a moment it looked as if the flyer would flee, but it seemed to sense Kharjo’s pure intentions and so allowed the Cathar to pet it. Smiling, Kharjo returned to the Jedi’s musings.

 

They walked for a time in silence, with the older and wiser Jedi carefully focused upon the bracer he wore. Kharjo wondered what the older Jedi was doing, but made no mention of it. He figured that if the Jedi wanted him to know, he would tell him. As they wound their way around the paths, Kharjo admired the beauty and serenity here in the garden and that of the bird upon his shoulder. He turned to gaze upon the bird then, green and gold-flecked eyes alight with wonder as the creature seemed to happily tweet as it was lead throughout the garden. He wondered if it would be this easy once they left the tranquility of the gardens. Something told him that it wouldn’t be, for then the bird would be in an unknown environment and unsettled. Kharjo was interrupted from his admiration of the bird, life and the gardens surrounding him by a guttural growl from the Jedi. Turning, Kharjo looked perplexed, wondering why the Trianii’s ears were flat against his head. Kharjo tried reaching out with the Force to get a sense of what the Trianii was feeling, but couldn’t. It was becoming hard enough to focus on keeping the bird perched upon his shoulder. They were nearing the entrance to the garden and Kharjo could sense the flyer’s unease clearly. If not for the Force, Kharjo would have suspected the bird to have flown away. Still confused by the meaning of the Jedi’s sudden demeanor, he opened his mouth to ask, yet found that the instant had vanished and the Jedi was speaking again. The Jedi introduced himself as Dashel Illioni, a Jedi Master. Kharjo was surprised by that small revelation, but what Master Dashel said next took him completely by surprise.

 

If Kharjo had thought about introducing himself, all thoughts had fled at this revelation. Could Kharjo have had a Force vision? He’d heard of such things and read about them in the Archives, but hadn’t thought it was possible. Well, at least not now. In ages past, there were entire sub-Orders dedicated to Force Visions and the understanding of them. Could it be possible? Could I have had a Force Vision? His mind raced with possibilities. But, why then were the Cathar warriors using such archaic weapons? Are there still people in this Galaxy that use such ancient tools? Kharjo was about to reply when the Jedi Master spoke once more. Not only had he succeeded in blowing the cub’s mind and filling him with hope, but he’d also given him an assignment. Kharjo was giddy and it was reflected in the small bird perched upon his shoulder. It tweeted happily and flapped upon him, yet did not fly off. Gingerly did Kharjo take the ancient lightsaber from the Jedi Master, watching the shimmer of the blade and feeling the weight of the hilt in his paw. He was overwhelmed with joy. This was the first time he’d been filled with such hope in a long, long time. This was the first time he’d held an actual lightsaber in his hands. Training sabers were similar in weight, but they couldn’t compare to the actual symbol of the Order. It took all of Kharjo’s fortitude to not jump around like a babbling fool, thanking the Jedi profusely for this opportunity.

 

Without so much as a word, but a beaming, toothy smile, Kharjo raced off toward the Archives. He nearly forgot about the bird upon his shoulder. Sensing its growing unease, Kharjo reached out with the Force, letting it flow between him and the small creature that was now starting to fly off in the other direction. The joy he’d felt startled the flyer and Kharjo tried to reassure it. Suddenly, he stopped halfway down the hall and turned to look at the bird who was now returning to the garden. He reached out with the Force and with an outstretched arm to the creature. He wanted the bird to return to him, but he wanted to complete this task. As Kharjo sent the bird feelings of warmth, safety and compassion, he wondered if the flyer would return. He would not give up hope. The Cathar cub could not say how long he waited for the bird; it did not matter to him, not then. He waited as long as was needed for the bird to feel him. And soon, the bird was returning to Kharjo, who had to stifle his giddiness at the sight of the bird.

 

Once the bird was near Kharjo, Kharjo spoke to it, “Little one, we need to go to the Archives. I’ve an important task to complete and I’d like for you to accompany me.” A warm and loving smile washed over him then.

 

“Will you do me this honor?” He asked gently.

 

To his surprise the bird did not hesitate, but flew closer to the cub. Kharjo beamed as he spoke to it again, “Thank you, my friend! Let’s go!”

 

Kharjo wheeled and began racing through the halls, the bird at his back. He passed a few Jedi on the way to the Archives, some called for him to stop and walk, but Kharjo did not heed. He had little time to waste and too much excitement to walk. When he finally reached the Archives, he came to a stop and bent over huffing and puffing softly as he collected himself. Rising, he searched the Archives for the blonde girl Master Illioni had mentioned. With a final exhale, he set off toward the Third Hall, which contained information of geography. While, he’d never seen the grand temple on Coruscant, he’d been told that many praxeums were in some ways modeled after it and figured that perhaps Haruun Kal was no different. As he reached the Hall, he approached a droid with his inquiry; the droid led him to a section devoted to Cathar.

 

Without waiting for the droid to depart, Kharjo began searching for clues that might help his search. He picked up datacards on the famous beings in Cathari lore, on demographics, censuses and finally clan histories. It was a lot of information to sift through, but Force willing, Kharjo could do it. Quickly, finding the nearest terminal, Kharjo sat down and watched as the bird fluttered to perch upon the terminal. Kharjo inserted the first datacard he found, which happen to be census data from as far back as eras that predated the Republic and Cathar’s tragedy. Kharjo settled his mind and reached out with Force, both to the flyer and to the Force itself. To both he asked for strength and guidance. He sought to use the Force to accelerate his acuity and mental capacity. It was a trick Kharjo had used a few times when he was cramming for tests and exams. As he felt the Force wash over him, he set to his task and keyed in the search engine the name ‘Jaqen’. He watched as the terminal sifted through the collected data within the census. It took nearly ten minutes before the search completed with a list of eleven thousand four hundred and twenty-two names. Kharjo gasped in surprise.

 

He then rose from his terminal and walked down the row of terminals moving all of the empty chairs away from them. Returning to his seat, he smiled at the flyer who hopped back and forth, chirping softly. Then, he pushed off, sliding to his left to the next terminal and inserting the next datacard. This was an account on important historical figures, both myth and real in Cathari society. Once again, he keyed in the name Jaqen. He figured a general search of the name would lead to results. Once more he set off further to his left and inserted the datacard containing clan histories and again typed the name Jaqen. When he returned to the first terminal, he began skimming the long list of Jaqens starting at the beginning. Kharjo was going off his instincts and the Force. If he had a feeling or suspicion about the name and date of that particular Jaqen he paused and researched it closer. When he had found more than three promising Jaqens, Kharjo realized he was going to need to record their names, histories and such on a separate terminal and so slid to his right. He watched the screen; the glow reflected off his visage and opened up a simple writing program where he began keying in the names of those Jaqens he either felt were peculiar or promising. His fingers blistered across the keys as his eyes flashed from one end of the screen to the other. So far, so good, he thought to himself with a smile. Moving to the console further to his right, he opened up the files on the Jedi Code. The cub thought he was very familiar with the Code, but did not bother complaining. Perhaps, there was something he’d missed in it that would help him in this endeavor. As he began reading through the Code, cross-referencing the precepts with its tenants, guidelines and attributes, he knew he was too distracted to focus on that now.

 

So, he slid back to the terminal containing the histories of important figures and once again, slid back and forth between that console and the one where he was documenting names and dates. So far of those who he had initially listed as possibilities, thirty were showing promise. After about forty-five minutes, he began to feel fatigued. Normally, he only used the Force in this way in spurts and when needed. The constant strain of enduring this heightened level activity was very taxing to him physically and mentally. That coupled with trying to keep the bird calm was proving to be too much. Kharjo, however, refused to quit. He would continue until he found the Jaqen or Jaqens who were in his dream. Wiping his brow, which was now thick with sweat, Kharjo returned to his task, flying back and forth documenting this and that. The next time he realized what time it was an hour and fifteen minutes had flown by and his list of Jaqens had expanded to three hundred and thirty. He was running out of time. Even now, he could begin to hear the praxeum awaken. More Jedi Knights and Masters were streaming into the Archives. A few bright Hopefuls were up already, studying this or that for their lessons that day. Among them, Kharjo saw familiar faces, but did not pause to greet them. After another five minutes, he paused and stared at his terminal filled with names. He knew without knowing that within those names was the Jaqen from his dreams. He just had to find him.

 

And so he let go of the acceleration trick he was using and instead reached out to the Force once more, asking for Guidance. He read the list, checked the dates and the synopsis he’d written under each name. Of the three hundred and thirty he saw twelve possibilities. There was Jaqen Firth, who was a baker’s son and became a hero to his clan when he saved them during a natural crisis. There was Jaqen Guai, who was a powerful and renowned warrior during the bronze era of his peoples. There were the family duo Jaqen the Major and Jaqen the Minor, a father and son who were once only hunters, but saved the chieftain of Clan Awar, Myra Rhokyo Awar from assassins. Jaqen of the People was spiritual leader to three Clans during his lifetime in the late decades Iron Age and saved the three clans from war by administering peace. The small list continued like this, however, there was a name that called out to him and he found himself returning to it more than once: Jaqen the Reluctant. This Jaqen had been a warrior who’d served under a noble chieftain for most his life and was awarded the right to start a family and some land to farm. This Jaqen was a man of influence among the largest and smallest clans for his humble nature, kindness, charisma and leadership. He was named Chieftain after the death of his noble chieftain, Syrio Nanth at the hands of assassins sent by a larger, warring clan. Jaqen later was became known as ‘the Reluctant’ after twenty years of warfare saw him become disillusioned by the ideals of the Elder Council to whom he answered to. Seeking peace where they required the sword caused much derision between them.

 

As Kharjo rose to stretch, he noticed that the flyer had vanished. He quickly looked around for the bird, but did not find any trace of it. Sighing, he decided that his list of twelve and his suspicions on Jaqen the Reluctant would have to do. That was when he felt the ancient lightsaber on his hip and remembered one of his other tasks. Kharjo took two steps before he realized he needed to save his findings and return the datacards back where he found them. Swiveling around, Kharjo found the nearest droid and requested a datapad, he’d left his in his room. The droid gave him one and Kharjo returned to his terminals. He called upon the force to accelerate him once more, as he began by plugging in the datapad to his first terminal, downloading the original list of eleven plus thousand, then the three hundred and thirty, the twelve and finally all the accompanying data to back up his theories. Once the downloading had ceased, Kharjo removed the datacards, logged off, fastened the datapad and returned the cards to their original locations. He then began to search for the blonde girl Kala. It didn’t take him long.

 

As he approached the woman, he sensed something was amiss with her. She didn’t seem quite human. More peculiar, she seemed to be carrying multiple lightsabers and was dressed and carried herself like a Jedi. Kharjo mentally shrugged, he didn’t have the time to contemplate this curiosity. Looking up at the nearest clock, he saw he had fifteen minutes before breakfast began. Kharjo approached the strange woman, introducing himself and explaining his situation. He then produced Master Illioni’s lightsaber and handed it off to her. She thanked him and produced a matching pair of lightsabers once she’d fastened Master Illioni’s. To him, she handed them. While Kharjo gingerly held them in his hands, she told him what they were. Both, she assured him were authentic. One was a shoto, she commented, the perfect complement for the Niman sub discipline, Jar’Kai. Kharjo was awestruck as he listened to her. His eyes flashed from her to the symbols in his hands. He wanted nothing more than to ignite the blades and marvel at them and their construction, but he did not have the time for that. That would have to come later.

 

He thanked Kala profusely as he took his leave and raced from the Archives. He ran at a breakneck pace, darting through the growing crowd of the waking praxeum. By the time he reached the Dinner Hall, he had five minutes to spare and was fatigued far beyond what he had felt in recent memory. He had called upon the Force to aid in his flight, just as he had called upon it to aid in his research. It had been a while since he exerted this much control over the Force for such a prolonged time. He felt invigorated by the notion that he’d been able to do it, yet drained by the toll it took upon him. He was far from being ready for his Knighthood. With time and trust, he knew that he would get there. As Kharjo walked into the massive hall, he found it alive with many Jedi. The very air was thick with Ashla as Jedi young and old let their auras dance and intermingle. Kharjo wondered how he would find Master Illioni. Then, in a flash came a thought: if he could sense himself and remember what he’d felt the very first time he met the Jedi Master, perhaps he could find him again. And so he did. Standing there just beyond the entrance to the Dinner Hall, Kharjo closed his eyes, steadied his breathing and began trying to calm himself. When he’d reached a sense of peace, he began reaching out through the Force, feeling with unseen tendrils for an absence in the Force, for a void.

 

OOC Note: I have permission from Dashel to post the actions of his NPC Kala and the passing of lightsabers and such. Any questions or concerns should be directed toward him or I.

 

P.S.: I apologize if it seems rushed or is full of errors. My eyes are burning, I'm tired and this was a lot to have happened in a single post.

Edited April 16, 2012 by Guest

[Dashel Illioni]

Once Kharjo left the gardens, Dashel followed, albeit at a slower pace. He maintained a low level contact in the force with the Hopeful, enough to sense his general emotional state and any force abilities he might employ. Doing so amid the crowded temple required a great deal of effort for the first few moments, but once Dashel learned to recognize Kharjo's force sense fairly intimately, the task became easier even when Dashel became sidetracked by other tasks which demanded his attention.

 

He stopped at an information terminal just inside the entrance to the temple's garden and proceeded to conduct a search for several of the Jedi listed in Kharjo's file as having had fairly close contact with the hopeful on a consistent basis since the cub entered the temple. Of the fairly short list he had in hand, three still resided in various capacities at the temple. As he attempted to contact those still in residence his ears were in constant motion, tracking the sounds of the rapidly awakening temple. Those ears, as well as his sense of smell soon zeroed in on the sounds of the temple's kitchen as the various people serving there ramped that facility's activity up to meet the demands of the morning meal.

 

Dashel took a moment to collect his thoughts and deal with the distractions before actually connecting with the first of the three still in residence at the temple. When he connected with Inoure Vao, he came face to face with an attractive Twi-lek female still wearing very modest sleepwear and seemingly only half awake.

 

”œGood Morning, Jedi Vao. I am Master Dashel Illioni and I would like to speak to you about the hopeful known as Kharjo.”

[Mercury]

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.

Edited April 16, 2012 by Guest

[Dashel Illioni]

In a short two hours time, Dashel Illioni found himself examining the possibility of taking a Padawan and training that Padawan in the ways of the Force. Some Padawans stood out immediately to the Jedi whom took them as Padawans; others took longer to find a Master due to any number of reasons, from incompatibility of personality to a Jedi just not being available. For the Initiate-Cub known as Kharjo, that reason came down to the Padawan simply lacking the proper detachment from his former life to be a Jedi.

 

For that reason, the Initiate's future path had included a short trip to Tython, to tend a garden there or conduct archaeological research always under the careful eyes of a full Jedi until a young Padawan invoked the fateful name of Anakin Skywalker in the hearing of three Masters and stopped their argument of Kharjo's fate in its tracks. Her simple argument caused them to review their positions and give the young Initiate another chance to continue to become a Jedi.

 

Kharjo now needed to impress the Master known as Dashel Illlioni, a Triani Jedi Master determined to prevent another Anakin Skywalker and help the young Initiate become a proper Jedi and achieve the detachment necessary to a servant of the Force.

 

Dashel smiled at Master Vao, ”œI wonder what's more ferocious, the snarl of a hunting Krayt dragon, or the rumbling of an Initiate's empty stomach?”

[Mercury]

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.

 

Dear Mother and Father,

 

How are you? I am well. The Jedi are more than I could have hoped for. I have found a place here. I know it was not the life you wanted for me, but I am eternally grateful that you allowed me to pursue it. I am to be a Padawan if a Jedi Knight or Master will have me. It is a great honor. I think I may be one sooner than I had ever dared to imagine. There is a Trianii Jedi Master named Dashel Illioni who has taken interest in me. He is a good man and a lot like Father. I’ve never seen a Trianii before. They’re very similar to us, except they have tails! How amazing is that? I’m so excited I get to write you! I don’t know what to say! There’s so much I want to tell you. I miss you both greatly! I miss my sisters and brothers. I miss my family. I know I shouldn’t. It isn’t the Jedi way. I know Father would not want me to be so weak. We’re a family of Warriors and many of our kin have served the Jedi. However, the Jedi do not seem to understand how our clan works. I have two families now, though. I have you and the Jedi. Do I have to choose or can I have both?

 

Mother, are you well? Father, are you happy? Have you returned to Cathar for our clan reunions? Do you still live on Corellia? I long to hear from you. I miss you all so very much. One day, I will visit, but only when I’m a Jedi Knight. I want you to be proud of me. I’m so proud of you.

 

How is Elbim? And Hafsa? They should be out of school by now. Do they still wish to join CoreSec and police the Core systems? What of Elise and Marric? How is school going for them? They should be about fourteen by now. Do they still love to explore? Are they getting good grades in school? Do they miss their big brother? What of little Raja? I miss her most of all. She always used to follow me around. Does she still talk about me?

 

Mother, Father, you’ll never guess what is to happen to me! The Jedi wanted me to join the Service Corps! They say I have trouble detaching myself from you. But, Master Dashel has told me that that will no longer happen. I think he’s going to make me his Padawan if I prove to him I am worthy. I know I am. I know I will.

 

I had a dream last night. It might have been a vision. Do you know of anyone named Jaqen? I dreamed I was on Cathar, yet it was Cathar like it used to look. I was this Jaqen and I was leading a raiding party to prevent war. I awoke before Jaqen could be slain, yet the vision seemed to be a warning of some sort. What do you think it means?

 

Mother, Father, I love you so very much. Give my love to my siblings! Tell them I miss them and hope that they are well. If I am allowed, I will write you again. I hope to hear back from you. Please send pictures if that is possible. I’d love to see how you all have grown.

 

With love, your son,

Initiate Kharjo Shavir

 

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.

Edited April 16, 2012 by Guest

[Dashel Illioni]

Jedi temples never stilled, not even in the deepest hours of darkness. They did slow, and the resulting voids filled with the sounds of the flora and fauna of the night on whatever world the temple rested on. Dashel awakened before dawn and lay still to listen through his open window at the sounds of those nocturnal creatures stirring outside the temples.

 

He rose silently on bare feet and dressed quickly before exiting his room and sitting on the desk in the common area of the apartment. He turned on the desk lamp and terminal at the lowest setting, careful to keep the light at the lowest setting possible to avoid awakening the sleeping hopeful. He wanted and needed privacy for now.

 

A quick glance at the desk’s chrono told him that dawn remained an hour away. He calmed himself and began writing a list of activities Dashel wanted Kharjo to accomplish that day regardless of any other appointments or duties required of him.

 

Dashel knew that if Kharjo proved himself to him that then was the hour for the Hopeful to be subjected to a more militant training regimen. For now, though, Dashel let the boy cub and keep his own hours according to what the cub needed.

 

Thinking of that future training and what the boy needed to get to the beginning of that training reminded him of the next series of tasks he needed the boy to accomplish. He took up a datapad and stylus and began writing.

 

Hopeful Kharjo:

 

I know you have a full schedule today but there are a few tasks you need to accomplish before you rest. You will research the characteristics, uses, and limitations of the following types of weapons: light and heavy hand blasters, blaster rifle, blaster sniper-rifle, and blaster carbine and memorize the basic parts, i.e. sights, barrel, magazine, safety and the various attachments that can accompany each type. You will also memorize how they work and their care.

 

You may continue to carry the lightsabers given to you by Kala, but you will go to the armory and acquire a vibrosword and vibrodagger. The vibrosword and vibrodagger must both be double-edged but of any type you prefer. Know the basic parts of each: hilt, tang, blade, power cell, cross guard, and balance point of the weapons.

 

Research Form Zero and make a list of guidelines suitable for a hopeful bearing a lightsaber and a padawan bearing a lightsaber. Research two lightsaber forms, their strengths, their weaknesses, and the Jedi that figured prominently in developing and utilizing them.

 

While Master Erath will see that you know a fighter and it’s every part intimately, you will need to be familiar with many other types of craft as you move about the galaxy. My ship, the Grass Tiger currently lies in the docking bay. Find Kala where she may be within the temple and tell her that you will clean all the parts of the ship’s interior that you can safely clean. Everything must be done manually; no droids may help you with this task.

 

Kala can also show introduce you to the R3 and the R9 droids that lie within the ship. See that they receive oil baths, update their maintenance logs, and record whatever complaints they may have.

 

Ask Padawan Green on a date; be sure to secure her Master’s permission first.

 

Master Dashel Illioni

 

Using the Force, Dashel teleported the datapad to where the Kharjo’s lightsabers lay, making sure the object landed quietly as possible. After activating the desk’s privacy field, he then set about leaving a message for Kala letting her know of Kharjo’s coming and the parameters of what he intended for the Padawan to have to do, otherwise Kala might have the young man cleaning the ship with a toothbrush.

His call to Master Vao brought about a different result. His fellow Jedi Master answered his call, completely dressed, clearly in the process of readying herself for the day that lay ahead of them.

 

“Master Vao, is Padawan Green anywhere nearby?”

 

Dashel’s request caught her by surprise, but the Jedi Master’s composure never broke. She simply replied, “No, she had some tasks that needed accomplishing this morning and has already left our quarters.”

 

“Good,” said Dashel, “You see, I wanted to tell you that Kharjo’s going to try and ask Padawan Green on a date on my orders after asking your permission. I am having him ask you so that he gains some experience with negotiating, feel free to give him as much difficulty as you see fit.”

 

Dashel paused, trying to find the right words to describe why he needed Kharjo to ask Padawan Green out. He found his tongue temporarily tied, not used to making such requests on behalf of a Padawan. Most had some experience with the opposite sex by the time they found themselves being examined by perspective Masters.

 

Master Vao leaned into the viewer and smiled at Dashel. Something in the way she leaned forward, perhaps something about the slow, crooked curve of the smile that graced her features alerted Dashel that Master Vao planned to spring something on him.

 

“Padawan Green will undoubtedly tease Kharjo after she hears him out. Whether she accepts it because she wants to, because of the dinner being thrown by the Planetary Governor in three days, or refuses altogether is up to her. You, on the other hand, will be accompanying me.”

 

Dashel blinked, trying to figure out whether or not Vao seriously expected him to go with her.

 

She saved him the trouble. “Just say yes Dashel.”

 

“Good,” said Vao after Dashel answered her. “Its formal, so make sure Kharjo knows the proper etiquette should Green ask him.”

 

“Goodbye,” said Vao, signing off.

 

Dashel sat for a minute afterward, wondering when he had lost control of the conversation and realizing that somehow, the Twi’lek master had completely turned the tables on him. The Force sometimes seemed to have a sense of humor in how it taught humility to Jedi Masters when they needed it.

 

The chrono, and a general feeling, told him that dawn fast approached. He opened the window in the common area, sat in the middle of the meditation circle and waited for sunrise.

 

Afterward, he left for a breakfast and meeting with Master Erath concerning Kharjo that turned into a sparring match between the two Masters in temple’s exercise room. The actual conversation took place earlier. The two Masters just felt a need to stretch their respective limbs. They sparring match pitted Erath’s more straightforward, solid attacks against Dashel’s preference for utilizing hit and run attacks. Both Master’s utilized attacks from all seven styles; showing off their skills as much as practicing though neither would admit to it.

Once finished, Dashel parted from Master Erath’s company and headed to his appointment with Maevis, mulling over what was to come and what he and Erath had discussed before the sparring match. Erath’s voice echoed through his mind.

 

The discussion got interesting from the moment Dashel walked through Erath’s door. They had shared a light breakfast while discussing Kharjo and Maevis. Erath had concerns for the women’s next assignment and needed someone to help him find a way to approach her with those concerns. The revered Master knew his own limitations and when to look for ways to move past them.

 

Dashel simply ask the Master to see the briefing materials and told him he would handle the matter when he met Maevis later. They discussed his concerns and then Erath simply dived into his appraisal of Kharjo.

 

“Your Padawan’s flying is shaky,” said Erath. Dashel began to protest, but Erath held up his hand. “I have seen it,” said Erath, “the boy has a long way to go, but he will meet, even exceed the standards you intend to enforce.”

 

Dashel sipped at the tea provided with the breakfast and waited for Erath to continue. The Master’ revelation became something he knew would need to be meditated up that evening, but the Barabel had more to say. “His flying’s shaky, it shows a mind not focused on the moment and so his connection to the force is turbulent. He has not fully reconciled with being a part of the Jedi Order and the sacrifices that that entails.”

 

“I know,” said Dashel, nodding for Erath to continue.

 

“His emotions are still getting the best of him, especially when his friends or someone he has loyalty too is insulted.”

 

Dashel looked at Erath a moment before asking.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I insulted you and the decision you made in accepting Kharjo. The boy held his place and his temper, but the insult registered with him and caused him a great deal of pain.”

 

“As I expected,” said Dashel, “when I met him, I could not help but think of Master Skywalker’s admonitions concerning the way the old order failed his father and his thoughts on the necessary changes he intended in his order and on my own experiences before becoming a Jedi.”

 

Erath looked at Dashel a moment before asked Dashel to elaborate.

 

“Have I ever told you what happens when the Triani Rangers induct new recruits, what some human’s term Basic training?”

 

When Dashel had finished speaking, Erath had invited him for a little workout.

 

Considering the Master’s formidable reputation, Dashel had immediately accepted. Afterwards, on the walk to Maevis’ office in the healer’s quarters, he was glad he had taken the opportunity. The exercise cleared his mind and left him ready for the rest of the day.

 

Maevis answered the door promptly after Dashel rang the chime. At her invitation, he had followed her to the small table in her office which was set for a lunch for two. She laughed at Dashel’s obvious confusion before explaining.

 

“Word reached here about your little sparring match with Erath.”

 

Dashel laughed, understanding Maevis’ intent one moment after her announcement. “Always the consummate healer, aren’t you?”

 

Together, they spent the first few moments of the meal in near silence.

 

Maevis broke the silence first. “You had some questions concerning the Hopeful named Kharjo?”

 

“I do and I was also gifted with brining you a new assignment.”

 

“Oh,” said Maevis, “we should probably start with the hopeful first.”

 

They passed several hours speaking about Kharjo’s concern with his fellow clan-mates and the way that Padawan Green and Kharjo always seemed to work as a team in caring for their fellow clan-mates.

 

Dashel had stopped her at one point and used the Force to recall the details of Kharjo’s file before he let her continue. Somehow, the Master’s in charge of Kharjo’s training had let slip the very important detail concerning the Hopeful’s need to build and belong to a family.

 

The briefing on her next assignment had gone fairly smoothly. He was surprised by her calm acceptance of the assignment to assist the archeological team on Ossus, and had remarked on it. She had simply said that healers went wherever the sick needed healing.

 

Dashel left soon after that, heading towards the temple’s workshops. Master Erath’s pronouncement concerning Kharjo’s future status meant he needed to construct several small items. Reviewing some of his previous Padawans meant he had a pair of sensor nets, a bracer to create and one to update. He would be there for some time and sent one of the Padawans working there to gather a dinner for him.

 

Hours passed as he soldered connections, tested them and installed programming and tested that. While he worked, time passed, and the sun set outside the temple. Only Kala’s com message about Kharjo’s arrival interrupted his work. Luckily for him, the call came at the end of his work, otherwise the updates she sent him every 10 minutes or so about Kharjo’s efforts and her deliberate interference with that work. She also let him know how much she enjoyed the activity and thanked him for sending Kharjo to help with the cleaning of the ship.

[Mercury]

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.

[Dashel Illioni]

Dashel entered his quarters and noticed Kharjo asleep in the small room dedicated to Padawans. He shook his head at the cub’s resolve and accomplishments over the past two days. As far as Dashel knew, no complaint had passed Kharjo’s lips despite the volume, variety and sometimes difficult tasks that Dashel had found for him, even those that definitely shattered the shell the young cub partially existed within.

A fond smile curled Dashel lips towards his ears at that thought went through his mind. Suddenly restless despite feeling tired on the walk back to his quarters, Dashel found himself sitting at the small terminal that graced the common rooms desk. Making sure the terminal’s privacy settings were engaged, he checked to see if any messages needed attending to.

 

Many of the message contained mundane items, nothing needing immediate or long term attention. A few he immediately classified as spurious and noted who authored the message to him and why. Most of those flagged this way simply contained minutiae that some found amusing and that they felt needed sharing, some tracked holonet memes, especially those concerning Jedi. Most of the Jedi centered memes were harmless, but sometimes certain ones hid a more sinister intent and when possible, were investigated. Most of those investigations turned out to be a sentient with some bitterness towards the order, but a few Jedi tracking these things turned up Sith Lords or worse.

Three notices needed immediate attention: an appointment before Harumn Kal’s circle of teaching Masters, Kala’s full report on Kharjo, and mail from Kharjo’s family. Dashel opened the report on Kharjo first, feeling that the report needed to come first.

 

Once again he wondered at his good fortune at finding Kala. The HRD, with its highly complex personality matrix, served with enthusiasm and loyalty. He wondered how to reward that loyalty and immediately fired off a return message to her asking what she might desire. Even with his limited knowledge of her, Dashel knew that whatever she wanted would be a revelation into her personality and a challenge for him. After all, few Jedi programmed the droids into which their personalities would be transferred and had the foresight to integrate neural networks that allowed the droid to interpret the force even to the limited extent Kala did.

Dashel wondered if he should tell Kharjo anything about that for a moment before proceeding to the appointment with the Council of Padawans, the collection of Masters on Harumn Kal responsible for the teaching methods and processes of Initiates.

 

He looked at the appointment and immediately a frown crossed his face. The Council wanted him to review with him his plans concerning Kharjo, the methods he proposed to teaching the cub with, and whether or not Kharjo should be allowed to continue training at all. When he read the last part, Dashel felt anger cloud his judgment and immediately forced him to examine his feelings on the matter.

 

He immediately knew that his anger stemmed from their doubts about him, about Kharjo, and that he might use methods not approved by the Jedi Council. Examining that anger, he realized that his anger stemmed from the fact that he probably harbored many of the same doubts concerning Kharjo but because he knew the young man better over the last two days, could see past those doubts. As for his teaching methods and their doubt of him, Dashel vowed to work with them to help Kharjo become a Jedi without causing him more difficulty than that path already entailed.

 

Dashel moved from making his vow, to taking action. He gathered all the information from Kharjo’s research, Kala’s file and jotted down notes on his views on Kharjo, recorded them on a data crystal and then sat back to consider exactly what the report detailed. Kala, privy to Dashel’s description of Kharjo’s vision, had noted in the report a genetic link between Kharjo and the Cathar hero known as Jaqen. That link and genetic proof had been furnished just before the Trade Federation blockade of Naboo by a Cathar senator named Trenshas whom embroiled himself in an alliance with the Trade Federation in an attempt to get himself re-elected to the Senate.

 

The plot worked and in gratitude, the Senator built a museum dedicated to the study, preservation and display of cultural heritage of Cathar’s ancient heroes, including artifacts from Jaquen’s son, some of which bore sufficient genetic material to link the Senator, and thus Kharjo to one of Jaquen’s sons. The report noted that Jaquen’s final resting place remained a mystery to this day and that the Senator had left a huge amount of money to his nephew, Kharjo’s grandfather that remained unclaimed and waited for a direct mail heir to claim it. Dashel immediately noted that the nearest male heir was Kharjo’s father and wondered how an 11 digit fortune remained unclaimed. As for why, he had a pretty good idea but he thought that if they ever visited Kharjo’s parents, they, or a messenger sent by the council might ask.

 

Dashel felt a small stirring of the Force at that last part and wondered why before proceeding to the next and immediately wondered if the stirring of the Force had actually been a warning as to what he read next.

 

The Force ran strong in Jaqen’s bloodline, and Jedi research indicated that several families in this tree bore multiple siblings strong in the Force. It seemed as if Kharjo’s family proved the rule, having given up an older brother to the Jedi and another to the Sith, now known as Lord Feran. Feran, for a Sith, stayed self-contained, never overtly causing problems yet active enough to become a concern for the Jedi. Dashel, in reading the file, remembered a discussion concerning Feran and the feeling the force gave all Jedi meditating on the Sith that the order and Feran would someday cross paths yet that time remained stubbornly in the future.

 

Dashel thought he knew why now and decided to seal that portion of Kharjo’s records from all eyes below the rank of Master. The familial bond shared between the two brothers, unknowingly to both would eventually alert them to each other’s presence. Feran, being older and more experienced would come looking for Kharjo hoping to convert him to the Darkside. For now, the Sith Lord was noted to be on Tatooine, working with a minor smuggling group headed by another Cathar.

 

The Jedi report lacked the name of that Cathar but the force provided an intuitive leap and Dashel knew why the premonition had struck him and Master Vao at nearly the same time at breakfast concerning the planet. For a moment, he felt pity for the Sith Lord whose ignorance considering his brother would prove a disaster to him.

 

Now fully awake, Dashel deleted, encrypted, or sealed his mail as necessary, copying what he needed to the Data crystal he would present to the Council and one to his Padawan containing the contents of the letters sent to him by Kharjo’s parents. They had been overjoyed to hear from the boy, but concerned as to why he had been allowed to hear from him. They had written to Dashel on that concern, asking him to reassure them, which he had before signing off, and then asking permission to write to Kharjo and maybe someday see him. Dashel, in writing back, assured them that contact was now okay but subject to the demands of a Jedi’s duty and that they might see Kharjo in the future, Force willing, but cautioned that the demands of being a Jedi made visits home very very difficult to achieve and hard on both Jedi and their family.

 

Along with the letter from Kharjo’s parents came a letter from his youngest sister, Raja. She wrote to Dashel with the candidness of her age and all the hope and trust that came with it, wanting to make sure her big brother was doing okay and would become a Jedi. She had also dreamed about Kharjo, seeing him running across a plain with a spear trying to save his family, but the dream felt weird and she her parents did not understand. She explained she had known that the Dashel would be able to help her understand.

 

Kharjo visiting home suddenly veered a great deal closer. Dashel wanted to see if young Raja dream was the Force or an echo of sorts from Kharjo. Both possibilities seemed likely and Dashel knew that figuring out which one needed to be done. He decided to share the sentiments expressed by both and allow contact between Kharjo and his family

.

Now far too restless to sleep and with a quick look at the chronometer all too aware that too few hours remained to get a proper night’s sleep before the next morning, Dashel entered the meditation circle and immediately entered a type of trance used by many Jedi when needing to stay alert for lengthy periods of time that allowed his body to be refreshed, but also allowed him to go very deep in the force at the same time and remain mentally conscious.

 

The trance occurred in three stages, the first to place the body at rest, the second to begin refreshing the mind, resting the body, and the third to detach the consciousness from being aware of the body and free it to float in the currents of the Force.

 

Upon entering the third stage, Dashel knew this particular session would go beyond his previous experiences with this technique, as he immediately found himself running beside a Cathari warrior whom he immediately knew was Jaquen and Kharjo simultaneously.

[Mercury]

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?”

[Dashel Illioni]

 Harumn Kal, Present Day 

Kala looked upon the unconscious bodies of Dashel and Kharjo and made preparations to support their physical selves while the Jedi Master and the young Padawan completed whatever task the force compelled them too in the realms beyond the physical one they occupied while awake.

 

The former Jedi knight, trapped in the near-human droid body, knew the signs of sleeping or meditating Jedi, and the two currently resided deep enough in the force that their physical bodies might waste away without them ever being aware of what occurred while they journeyed. Sighing at her companions’ foolishness, she walked to the terminal and contacted Maevis and outlined what she knew and what she suspected. Maevis nodded at Kala’s recitation of the Dashel and Kharjo’s condition, signed off, and headed to the quarters the Dashel currently occupied.

 

A quick physical and Force scan confirmed Kala initial diagnosis, and Maevis quickly ordered life support equipment brought to the chambers, but Kala noticed a notation on Dashel’s workbench and asked Maevis to send the equipment to the Grasstiger.

 

Maevis looked at her a moment, looked at the notation Kala pointed out, and nodded towards Kala.

 

“Okay,” said Maevis, “but I go with you to make sure they are okay.”

 

Kala started to react, but Maevis turned towards her and presented her with a flimsy that Kala took, scanned, and caused her to react in such a way, that had she been human would have had her lying flat on her back, passed out. As it was, she went absolutely still for a moment before quietly speaking to Maevis.

 

“What about the mission Dashel gave to you on behalf of Harumn Kal’s council?”

 

“Another will be assigned, of that you can be certain, until such time as I am able to get there. Now, she we take the Grasstiger to the coordinates we have been assigned so that when Dashel and Kharjo awake, Dashel can attend the Master’s conference?”

 

“Agreed.”

 

The two, along with help from a couple of passing Jedi, quickly took the inert forms of the two to Dashel’s ship and supervised the installation of the portable life sustaining units both required should they stay in their respective Force trances for any length of time. Both Kala and Maevis knew that the Force could and did offer unique advantages to Jedi, but the body required physical sustenance of some sort regardless of the level of Mastery held by the Jedi in question.

 

Once the preparations met the requirements of two considering the very short length of time they had to ready the two for transport, Grasstiger and its occupants shot from the planet to its destiny.

 

Cathar, Unknown

 

“Now that, Padawan, seems to be a question we both need to answer,” said Dashel. “The last thing I remember is entering a meditative sequence designed to refresh mind and body in lieu of sleep. I awoke and thought I found myself being targeted by a bow-wielding Cathar, but Instead the arrow passed through me and hit someone attempting to kill your ancestor.”

 

Dashel paused and examined what he knew and decided that he did not know enough, nor did they have enough to answer of the most basic questions of how or why in addition to the what they needed to accomplish here. The idea of not knowing, of not having the certainty of action he normally enjoyed actually thrilled him, not because of the implied adventure, but because of the opportunity to learn about the Force, about Kharjo’s ancestor, and possibly the opportunity for his Padawan to learn something about the Diplomacy necessary to deal with those older and with a perspective different while remaining patient and respectful. It would be a good lesson on dealing with a council of Jedi Masters.

 

He looked directly at Kharjo before speaking, “We need to know several things before we figure out what is going on. I strongly suspect you are here because of your blood tie, but neither of us can be sure exactly what part, if any, we can expect to play here. We should follow your ancestor and witness his dealings with the council of his elders. It should be very informative.”

 

What Dashel did not tell Kharjo concerned the presence of another, someone with maleficent intent witnessing both the near death of Kharjo’s ancestor and somehow aware of Kharjo’s and his presence in the force. Dashel found himself constantly pushing back that individual, interfering with whatever the other intended. The constant battle required him to be constantly alert, a distraction he knew could cause him to miss vital clues.

 

“Kharjo,” said Dashel, “You will stick close to your ancestor, learning everything you can of his people, his actions, and gather evidence, no matter how small to help we understand why we are here.”

 

Forestalling the inevitable question, he raised his hand to stop Kharjo and said, “You will know when something’s vital Initiate, trust your feelings and the Force. Shall we go?” asked Dashel before out the door left unsecured and blown open by a convenient breeze by Jaquan.

 

As they followed Kharjo’s ancestor, another thought present itself to Dashel’s mind, a thought that caused him to slam shields around it so fast he was afraid Kharjo might assume that Dashel was being attacked. In essence, the presence of the maleficent other could have had that affect, but that presence seemed to be only intermittently present, as if unable to control its length of observation and affected by Dashel’s rebuffing it.

 

The thought that caused Dashel to slam shield around his thoughts and school his face to complete stillness as they walked involved a stray fragment of an idea about how he found himself tangled in this place and time with Kharjo. The Force-bond enjoyed by some many Masters and their Padawans.

[Mercury]

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.

[Ary the Grey]

Evil, raw evil. It swam out of the nothingness as Ares' ship exited hyperspace, a new task presented before him, by the Dark Lord, no less. Then again, Ares could have gone to simply any planet, simply dragging any simpleton off a back alley, knowing they wouldn't be missed. Of course the person Ares now targeted wouldn't be missed either.

 

Through a veil of lies and deceit cleverly masked through a combination of Force trickery and outright deception, Ares had who he was looking for in a matter of hours, having easily tracked him down through the information stored aboard his ship. And of course, nobody would realize that he was a Sith, not with the Force Mask he wore 'for medical reasons', and anyone asked about who had visited would realize that it was a particular 'Aryian Darkfire', not even realizing that their minds had been twisted so as not to cause the name to trigger alarm as a wanted man in their conscious thoughts. In fact, Aryian Darkfire was a name of legend among the adepts at the small Jedi Enclave, and a few who weren't privy to the goings-on of the higher ups even greeted him warmly.

 

All of them had weak minds. There would be no trace left behind of anything amiss. Excuses would be made for the absence of the one among their number, one who also had a particular habit of running off on 'adventures' anyways, further adding to the ploy.

 

Succeeding in his mission, Ares left. It was high time he completed this task. The Blur shot into space, living up to its namesake.

[Dashel Illioni]

Dashel and Kharjo found themselves waiting in the anteroom of Master Vao’s apartment after a fairly easy transit from the Eternal Vigilance. During the journey, the members of the group got to know each other far better (then they had before.) (They also) trained, and planned for the road after the Governor’s Ball on Haruun Kal. Both Jedi felt nervous as they waited for the ladies to emerge from behind the door that led to Master Vao’s dressing room. Occasional sounds drifted past the Orowood door, ranging from girlish laughter to a feminine laugh shot through with power and grace. With each sound that made it through, Kharjo’s head jerked towards the door, the expression on his face telling Dashel that each delay worsened his Padawan’s nerves. Dashel watched with his eyes crinkled with the wisdom of an elder remembering his own experiences repeated by a young man.

 

Settling deeper into the leather upholstered chair he’d claimed upon entering the antechamber, Dashel reflected on the trip back to the temple as a way to calm his own nerves. He snorted with a wry surprise at the way his heart raced at the thought of Luo and the transformation their relationship underwent during the journey. It seemed that every moment not dedicated to something else found the two of them gathered at the main lounge, gazing through the overhead observation dome, holding hands or looking into each other’s eyes while their fingertips met between them. Their physical relationship mirrored their journey into the Force, as a bond developed between them, deeper, separate, and far different than the bond formed between Master and Padawan. By common consent, they moved slowly, exploring the new territory through which their emotions carried them. They both knew exactly what they felt, what it was named, but logic and training dictated a gentle and deliberate examination of the changes their lives were undergoing.

 

To provide them with some answers, the two did what all Jedi did when confronted with a problem that lay outside their areas of expertise or knowledge. The two began with Kala’s help gathering the journals of predecessors in the Order whom married or formed long-term partnerships regardless of how those relationships turned out. Both felt apprehensive about the depths of their feelings and the consequences of a relationship formed from their feelings. Dashel also knew he needed to understand his own relationship with Luo to help Kharjo through the relationship formed between the Padawan and Alyssa, something that seemed to begin taking a greater level of importance after their return from Kharjo’s emotional sanctum.

 

The depth of the relationship and its consequences became a constant concern for Inaure Vao and Dashel. Both watched their individual Padawans for any evidence that their emotions affected their training or mindset, but the two teens seemed to be mirroring the cautious way Luo and Dashel explored their relationship if for different reasons. The two Master’s made sure to leave the door open for their Padawans to talk to them about the emotions involved in their relationship, but neither teen seemed to need any guidance yet.

 

One subject concerning the relationship, the two Master’s made mandatory. During one planning session for operations after Haruun Kal, Knight Luo referenced the medical files on all the ship’s crew and noted that neither Kharjo nor Alyssa had yet been given their five year implant to both prevent pregnancy and guard against several common transmittable diseases, both of the intimate variety and the commonly contagious type. As soon as both Masters heard that piece of news, the two Padawans had been summoned individually to the med bay for testing, injection, explanation and a very stern lecture concerning the responsibilities of physical intimacy.

 

For the first time, Dashel laid down his absolute expectations to Kharjo concerning his behavior towards any intimate partners. He left little room for doubt about the responsibilities an individual carried towards themselves and their partner when being intimate and the emotional and physical consequences of bad choices as well as their treatment of the other partner. At the very least, anger and pain might play out, at worst, a bad choice might turn another down the Dark Path when those two emotions became straight hate. Of other choices, such as type of relationship, type or number of partners, Dashel left out. His journey’s across the galaxy left little doubt in his mind that different things set different hearts beating and that accepting people for whom they were dovetailed very nicely with the Jedi code. That he often gained important allies when he valued the whole person instead of one aspect did not get left out, but he knew that this lesson Kharjo probably needed to learn directly before its importance truly became understood.

 

 

Dashel knew that his Padawan witnessed the benefits and consequences of seeing such people during their briefing with the CorSec officer and his two companions. All parties left feeling satisfied with the outcome and knew that their meeting meant something and all knew the importance each treated the encounter with. From the encounter in Senate square, another example presented itself, but its import Kharjo clearly did not understand and while Dashel knew of its importance, the scope of that importance yet escaped his vision and seemed to not yet make itself known within his meditations.

 

 

Regardless, Miss Dax continued to surprise them all by trying to find a way to blend in with the Jedi and droids on board. A bond formed between her and Kala and resulted in the two of them being seen constantly aboard the ship together, with Kala escorting the young Zeltron into various corners of the craft. Dashel knew she took few people to these places and that he only knew of them because of his familiarity with the ship and explorations of every space undertaken during the long hours spent in hyperspace. He wondered about the bond and eventually found the time to speak with Kala about that bond between the two.

 

"Dax needs someone whose not a Jedi to talk to and I am the only one on board that fits that bill," said Kala.

 

Dashel stayed quiet waiting, knowing that Kala almost always acted for more than one reason.

 

"Plus, the girl's taste of freedom seems to have rooted in her heart a need to help others find their own. She needed a way to contribute so I began teaching her."

 

Kala nodded to herself as the console she was working on re-energized. She went utterly and impossibly still, a sign to Dashel that she had completely tuned herself to something internal to the ship. That she went through that much effort meant something and Dashel once again waited.

 

As he waited, Dashel heard bulkheads closing, isolating them in that section of the ship. Fans came on in the ship's ventilation system, providing a background noise that provided additional privacy. Dashel tensed, thinking one of Kala's instructional routines might have kicked in.

 

She chuckled at his raised awareness level.

 

"Maybe next time," she said. "Have you sat in on Dax's mental healing sessions with Luo?"

 

"Is there something I should be aware of? asked Dashel, well aware that she would not have asked unless she considered the reason important enough.

 

Kala looked aside as if considering the consequences of revealing what she knew. She looked back at Dashel and said, "You know physical Healing, expand your horizons into mental healing by training with Luo."

 

Dashel looked into Kala's eyes for a moment before replying, "Luo's going to love this."

 

If Kharjo ever noticed that his master suddenly seemed to be burdened with additional studies of his own or seemed to meet with Luo and Dax twice a week at the same time every time for the journey and during the run up to the ball he wisely remained silent save for a quiet look at the reading material every now and again.

 

Then again, if asked Kharjo might tell the questioner that his own work load increased at the same time. Dashel piled training upon him, from physical training, lightsaber forms, and meditation sessions and as well as lessons on both maintaining and piloting the GrassTiger. If Kharjo felt like he was being pushed and pushed hard, no blame would come his way. Dashel upped the tempo again and again, until their days stretched into the 20 hour range again and again. He was never harsh when the pace caused Kharjo to fall asleep during an activity.

 

After falling asleep himself a couple of times, Dashel gave him two days, except for the dance lessons the two started once they arrived at Haruun Kal. Dashel knew their instructor found the limited time frame between their arrival and the actual ball fairly frustrating and from the remarks she made ever so quietly a source of general frustration. He tried to make up for the lack of time by forcing himself to practice as he typically trained. The result was Dashel being scolded to relax, after all he was dancing, not going into combat. Dashel quietly snorted through his nose at that pronouncement, something the dancing instructor took notice of and on which she immediately commented.

 

"Poor Jedi, you only see the politics and danger inherent to the dance you’re going to."

 

 

She paused their instruction, looked both Dashel and Kharjo up and down and read them as well as any Jedi elder might. Her ability to read them despite being non-Force sensitive sparked a later conversation between Kharkov and Dashel.

 

"Both of you have partners for this dance," she said and then pointed at Dashel, as if to clarify about whom she was speaking. "Your mind, when your dancing, needs to be on your partner even if you want to be with someone else. What is it I have heard you Masters always telling other Jedi, keep your mind on the moment at hand?"

 

"And you, Padawan, I can tell your worried about yours. Betting she's the first girl you have seen as more than a female Jedi. Remember that dancing is a rhythm between two people, each respecting the other, giving complete trust in the other, and existing completely in the moment."

 

 

Dashel threw his head back at that pronouncement and laughed until he sat down with tears streaming down his face.

 

When he finally could breathe, he explained, "You understand something important to being a Jedi and our relationship with the Force, something that is fundamental to the Jedi way without which a Jedi can quickly succumb to the darkside or even become a member of the Sith.

 

The woman looked at him strangely than smiled and shared in his mirth. Still slightly laughing, she asked, “Does this mean you’ll be sending me Masters and Padawans to train?”

 

“No,” said Dashel, “it means you’re going to finish training this Master and Padawan and then train some younglings at the temple, once the Jedi discreetly check you out. Of course, some payment will be coming your way should we clear you for entry into the Temple.”

 

Silence reigned between the three and throughout the small studio until a rather discreet tapping dispelled the silence.

 

When Dashel looked up, Alyssa Green stood in the doorway from the changing area looking shyly at the three of them. Once she looked over both Dashel and the female instructor, she locked eyes with Kharjo and smiled at him. Dashel knew without looking that his Padawan's heart momentarily skipped several beats.

 

"Padawan Green," said Dashel, "it’s good to see you. Will your Master be joining you today?"

 

It took her several moments to reply and Dashel realized the young woman and Kharjo seemed to have taken a brief leave of the senses.

 

He nearly scolded her when a voice filled with feminine allure while projecting majesty and power filled the room from the direction of the dressing rooms.

 

"Padawan, when one is addressed by a member of the Jedi council, its considered highly rude to keep them waiting or refuse to answer," said Inoure Vao as she stepped out onto the dance floor. Dressed in a one piece body suit Dashel recognized as being from a suit of stormtrooper armor. Vao covered everything but the curves accentuated by the close fit of the garment. Despite the stunning figure thus displayed, Dashel looked her straight in the eyes and smiled. He still did not know what occurred on Coruscant to unravel a once strict personality, but he certainly approved of the changes he saw and other Jedi noted. An almost entirely new person seemed to be emerging, one that combined a traditional Jedi’s calm reserve with feminine allure and power.

 

"Sorry, Master Dashel," said Alyssa. "Um, Yes I am with Master Vao today. We accompanied the governor’s daughters today for their lessons.”

 

Once the Padawan finished, Dashel let the silence linger while he thought through the implications of letting Kharjo stay watch over the girl’s lessons. He like the though, and by the time he turned to Kharjo a grin of heroic proportions graced his feline features. The grin contained nothing bad for his Padawan, but that Dashel now indulged his mischievous became clear to everyone in the room when he spoke after bowing to the dancing instructor.

 

“Would you mind if my Padawan stayed for some additional instruction? A few turns with each of the ladies present will do him so good.”

 

Dashel swore he heard Kharjo’s jaw drop. He saw Alyssa’s. Behind them all the two girls being guarded began whispering to each other in a hushed tone, giggling in between significant looks at Kharjo. Watching them, Dashel knew that they found the young man attractive and that seem to be enough of the two young ladies to begin primping themselves in preparation for dancing with the young man. His eyes met Vao’s and an understanding passed between them. His fellow master understood his motives to be far beyond the simply toying with the young couple and even approved of the two of them dancing together and swapping partners.

 

The dancing master considered Dashel’s request for a moment before replying.in the affirmative.

 

As he went to leave, Vao pulled him aside and said, “The two of the dancing together is good idea. I will bring Kharjo back to the temple. Why don’t you go help Master Erath out with Padawan Kharjo’s sister.”

 

Dashel looked at her a moment before responding, “Whatever would you be talking about?” His voice and the twinkle in his eyes told her he knew exactly what sort of trouble Kharjo’s sister presented to Master Erath. If the smile worn earlier by Dashel when he assigned Kharjo to dance with Alyssa faded earlier, the smile returned in force. His entire sense through the Force told her that Jedi Master Dashel Illioni bore at least a partial responsibility for Master Erath’s current predicament.

 

“I might have let slip to her that Erath approved her sister’s knighting and helped motivate Kharjo into becoming a Padawan,” he said quietly, careful to keep his voice pitched so that only someone paying close attention to their Master might overhear and understand. “So you might see where a young girl might get the idea that for some reason a certain Master might be the one to guide her towards becoming a Jedi Knight,” he said as he finally turned around and walked towards the men’s dressing room.

 

The Dancing Master, well aware of the currents in the room if not in full possession of the facts turned towards the four teens in the room and hustled them into a series of stretches to warm up their legs, or in Kharjo’s case, stretches to help in refreshing his legs. When Vao joined them, the lady turned to the twi’lek Jedi Master and with a curious lilt in her voice spoke quietly so that the four teens stretching in the corner heard little or to further conceal what she said spoke in Twi’lek, “That one needs no lessons in dancing does he?”

 

Inoure Vao replied back to the instructor in the same dialect of Twi’lek, “And yet there is one whom will Master him.”

 

The two women shared a look before the dancing instructor spoke again. She might not have the Force, but a lifetime of experience in reading people’s body language and her intuition prompted a reply that spoke volumes only to those with the same experience, “He knows her, knows what she is too him and is finding ways to encourage her isn’t he?

 

Before they joined the four teens, Vao finished the conversation, “When Dashel and his lady opened up to each other, he sealed a future with her. He knew, accepted and embraced that future despite that future meaning the end of the way of life he has known since joining the Order. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t easy for him, but he went willingly.”

 

The instructor looked at Vao for moment before addressing the group, “Now, last week we went through some of the waltzes you will be dancing as debutantes. Let’s see if you practiced at all.”

 

After Dashel left the dancing hall, he hailed a taxi. The driver took one look at his robes and said, “Temple?”

 

“No,” said Dashel, “Burksed’s landing.”

 

The cabby said little while he merged into the small bit of traffic Haruun Kal sported. After entering the traffic stream, the cabby began speaking through the partition, “Looking for a ship are you? Burksed’s a good place for that. It’s even said he has a soft spot for Jedi and is willing to cut them a deal provided they spend some time speaking to him about the goings on in the galaxy. He certainly has done a lot business since opening his dealership here, my company deals exclusively with his shop for all of our repairs. Whomever or whatever Burked is, he hires the best and what they repair stays fixed. More than a few shops gone out of business trying to compete or Burksed absorbed them and rather generously at that.”

 

Dashel listened to the cabby’s prattle throughout the trip to the Landing. Once there, he paid the fare in full and heavily tipped the cabbie, something the cabby found rare among Jedi. He debated pulling away but instead shouted to Dashel, “Hey Jedi, you want me to wait until you come out?”

 

Looking over his shoulder, Dashel said, “No, I am meeting some people here. I don’t really know where I will be going from and there really is no sense in you waiting around. Thanks though.”

 

As soon as he finished speaking, the cabby pulled away from the curb melding into traffic the way Jedi threaded Starfighters into battle while Dashel walked into the building. Inside, he met Maevis Luo, whom openly and joyfully embraced him in her usually reserved manner. Or was it, he wondered , his joy at seeing her that colored his interpretation of the greeting. He gave up wondering about that thought after a few moments in her arms and just concentrated on enjoying the presence of the woman in his arms.

 

They separated at a discrete cough from Burksed’s wife with whom Luo and had been speaking when Dashel walked in. The stout woman said nothing, just looked at Dashel and smiled .Her entire being radiated a satisfaction her husband took notice of but wisely refrained from asking her about till long after the three Jedi departed. Her only reply to him involved a simple smile that he knew very well.

 

“So what did your Jedi friends want?”

 

“Knight Luo decided to build a ship and asked Dashel to help her pick out the type, features, and additions she needed.”

 

“I see,” said his wife.

 

Years of marriage, children, and working together through the worst of times meant that he knew his wife very well. Burksed looked at her and said, “What exactly do you see?”

 

She turned to Burksed and patiently explained, “Knight Luo invited Dashel along to see to a ship for both of them.”

 

Burksed stared at his wife incrediously for a moment, trying to understand his wife’s reasoning and reached a conclusion. Knowing his wife, he simply asked, “How do you figure that?”

 

“You saw the difference in him. He’s more open than before, more aware of another person than any other time in his life and Luo saw a future with him and him alone in it. Well, as much as two Jedi will be alone so long as they have the Force.”

 

Once again, Burksed knew his wife held secrets from her past. He accepted her reluctance to talk about certain aspects of her past, but whatever she experienced occasionally came out at odd moments. Those odd moments always reminded him that the woman he loved seemingly forever came to him from somewhere else, somewhere that always colored and enhanced her understanding of people yet occasionally caused her a dark pain that only seemed to lesson when he held her.

 

Now was not one of those times, but he decided to move on to the other Jedi present with Dashel and Luo. “Now Knight Sivar knew exactly what she wanted, and paid for the work up front, or rather, Dashel paid for the work upfront.”

 

“Generous of him, did he say why?”

 

“No, but I got the sense he was sending her somewhere dangerous and she needed a tough little ship capable of being repaired easily in the field.”

 

“You will be adding a few small things of course.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Going to Burksed’s Landing came about for the three Jedi because of a meeting earlier when the group could get together. Everyone met inside the GrassTiger the only place Dashel felt the discussion might be held in relative security. Once the entire group consisting of Dashel, Kharjo, Vao, Green, Dax, Kala, and Pieta gathered, the meeting began with Dashel simply asking Kharjo and Pieta how their family members other than their youngest sister fared with the transition to Haruun Kal.

 

Pieta attempted to speak first. Her voice caught as she spoke unfamiliar words and everyone waited as she attempted to work her mind around the unfamiliar concept of being able to acknowledge them as parents. She finally found her voice after Kharjo gently placed his hand over hers, giving her the comfort and understanding she needed to proceed with her presentation.

 

She cleared her throat and though she barely spoke above a whisper. “My, our family is settling in at Burksed’s Landing as you proposed Master Dashel. Dad is probably driving Mr. Burksed crazy right now with his attempts to organize and streamline the shop to make everything as efficient as possible.”

 

“Burksed’s wife, of course, is backing him entirely,” said Dashel, smiling fondly at that formidable woman’s complaints concerning her husband’s regrettable lack of organization everywhere but in the shop.

 

“Yes, Master Illioni,” said Pieta, “Mom, as you know, has begun attending classes at the local university on your recommendation and the funds you provided. I believe she intends to major in pre-Med and Psychology, with a concentration in Force Users. She seems of the opinion that someone needs a better understanding of how the Force affects a mind, especially from the viewpoint of a non-Sensitive. She also desperately wants to understand the changes she sees in Kharjo and myself.”

 

Kharjo continued from there, “Both of them seem happy despite the suddenness of the change in their lifestyles. They also still want to meet you and discuss, well, everything.”

 

He paused a moment, and Alyssa walked up and placed her hand upon his in the same manner as Kharjo did for his sister moments before. To Dashel, it seemed he wanted to share something that he thought his Master and Master Vao might find unnecessary or even forbidden to a Jedi. Dashel smiled encouragingly, knowing that his Padawan wanted to tell them something that made the boy feel unsure yet something that the boy knew to be correct in every corner of his soul.

 

“When I can, I have been getting to know our parents again. Pieta has been joining me. It seems so strange, my memories of them are one thing and yet I see them differently now.”

 

Inoure Vao spoke at the point, “Dashel and I both concur that you should get to know them. The practice of isolating Jedi from their parents should have been phased out when Master Skywalker ordered it, yet some Jedi prefer the older practice.”

 

Dashel continued from there, wanting to get the meeting to its main point, “I have ordered that the separation of a child and its parents to only be used in extreme conditions, such as the child of a Sith Lord or Master or that of an orphan. The other members of the main Jedi council signed off on the formal change to policy without comment.”

 

He paused and pressed a few controls on a newly installed holo-table in the central lounge of his ship. Kala’s idea, the table existed for the sole purpose of this mission, with every bite of research, thought, or data concerning their current mission contained there and on a backup within the Jedi temple.

 

The table quietly hummed to life while the group waited a few moments and soon two images appeared just above the surface of the table. On the left appeared the image of a statue. Everyone present recognized Kharjo’s and Pieta’s ancestor. A quick glance by those present who did not know showed that the image came from New Alderaan, the refuge of the remnant of Alderaan’s population that survived the destruction of their planet by the first Deathstar.

 

Dashel knew that several pairs of eyes now focused on him and spoke, “Kala found a reference to this statue in the temple’s library. The dedication for this statue might surprise many of you.”

 

He pressed another key and the image refocused on the base of the statue where in both Aurabesh and Cathar they all could read, “We give this statue of Jaquan the wise to the survivors of Alderaan, to inspire them in their efforts to rebuild and remember their old world on their new, to build a civilization in the face of savagery and ignorance.”

 

Several pairs of now puzzled pair of eyes looked over at Dashel. Smiling at the curiosity he saw and letting them wait a moment.

 

“That statue, according to its provenance, began its existence sometime around a decade after the death of Kharjo’s ancestor.”

 

“Speculation among Jedi archeologists from the Old Republic who went to Cathar to study the statue indicate that the force flows around the statue in such a way that that the artist whom carved it also imbued it with the Force,” said Dashel.

 

Pieta spoke, “Wait, are you telling me that there were Force-Users on Cathar sophisticated enough to imbue in-animate objects that far back?”

 

“Both Kharjo’s visions and some scraps in the archive indicate the Cathar race, like so many others, once had its own tradition of Force-Users before contact with the New Republic or Sith,” contributed Kala.

 

Inoure and Dashel looked at each other, realizing that Pieta, though completely briefed in, was not completely up to speed on so many of the implications of their discoveries. Both shook their head and knew that putting off their mission till after the governor’s ball actually benefitted the group’s individual members both for training and for knowledge of everything.

 

“Considering the age of my people’s civilization, why do no records exist of these Force Users, their traditions, or ruins exists that are strong in the Force?”

 

The image of Jaqen flickered and soon became replaced by an image of Cathar. Dashel looked over at Kala who came around the table to point at several broad swathes of deserts on the globe’s surface. “An analysis of modern scans of the planet’s surface indicates the highlighted areas simply contain desert or scrub lands without interest to anyone, yet no images exists of these areas from satellite, aircraft, or even amateur imaging amateurs. That could be overlooked, yet in at least one case a Jedi expedition went into these two areas. “

 

The two areas she pointed out immediately chained to another color as Kala continued to speak,” Records from that expedition were lost during the sacking of the Jedi Temple three centuries after Revan’s war.”

 

She pointed to one of the two newly colored areas. “Analysis of the mineralogical composition of the satellite indicate the statue came from this area. Records indicate an area of scrubland crisscrossed by numerous canyons and small but rugged mountain ranges.”

 

Dashel looked around the table, making a decision to assist their mission and help further Kharjo’s training as a Jedi. “Kharjo, you will be accompanied by Kala, Dax, and Knight Luo to New Alderaan and visit the statue of Jaquan. Gather as much information from every source, from the Force to local gossip. You, Padawan Kharjo Sivao are in charge of this mission. You have until after the ball to give me your plans for the group. Ask for help if you need it during any stage of the mission and do not forget to continue training.”

 

He turned to the remainder of the group. “Master Vao, Padawan Green, and I search the area Kala indicated for us. Considering the area we will need to search, Kharjo and his group should be able to join us once their examination of the statue is complete.”

 

“Knight Sivao will be undertaking a different mission for me, one unrelated to this mission. An archeological mission to on Ossus recently became the recipient of a Svelte class shuttle and a YT-2400.. A note carved into the shuttles airlock by a lightsaber indicated the group should contact the Jedi temple and donate the Svelte class shuttle and keep the YT-2400 for themselves. The group, once sponsored by a Sith apprentice, is now ours as indicated by the same note.”

 

“Any questions?”

 

The session immediately became lively as the group discussed the upcoming expeditions. As soon as Dashel felt that all the concerns immediately apparent to the group had been asked and answered, he ended the session and let everyone go. As Dashel went to leave, Inoure Vao pulled him aside.

 

“A moment, Dashel.”

 

Dashel stopped and joined her as the other’s filed past. Once they passed, Vao asked him, “How do you seal this compartment against those you do not want others to overhear?”

 

Dashel said nothing, just pressed a series of controls on the rooms control panel. Immediately the room underwent the same transformation experienced earlier with Kala.

 

“Only Kala can overhear us now and unless this conversation concerns her, my trust in her remains complete.”

 

Vao looked at him a moment, then continued, “I know you have been watching Green and Sivao and their relationship. Do you think that we need to confront them over it?”

 

Dashel thought about the question for a moment before replying. “Have you seen something?” Concern came through his voice at the mention of the burgeoning relationship between the two Padawans. To the best of his knowledge or Kala’s awareness, nothing overtly physical occurred between the two and since coming to Haruun Kal Dashel had endeavored to keep the young man too busy training and planning to allow the two more than a greeting in passing.

 

“You and Luo spent years laboring to be Jedi according the code, absorbing and exploring the meanings of many of its tenants, absorbing the wisdom and maturing before you began a deep and mature relationship. Even now, the two of you measure yourselves closely according to the code while seeking to understand what exactly exists between the two of you. Kharjo and Alyssa do not.”

 

“Agreed,” said Dashel, “but not enough to warrant the amount of concern your feeling.”

 

Inoure Vao sat in a convenient chair while Dashel did the same. She looked at Dashel as he finished getting comfortable and then replied, “What do you know about what brought me to the Temple?”

 

Dashel furrowed his brows as he searched his memory. “Little really. You and I achieved our status as Master’s in the Order long before we met and even then our contact mostly occurs during rare meetings in council chambers or in the temple hallways.”

 

The Twi-lek Jedi Master looked at him a moment before saying anything further, “Like you, my Force sensitivity became known to the Jedi Order later in life, although not nearly as late as yours. I was closer to Alyssa’s age when I came to the temple.”

 

Dashel listened and watched. He recognized the Jedi Master’s vulnerability at this moment. Someone or something haunted her from that time and its influence shattered the Master’s normal demeanor when she spoke.

 

“My first years at the temple proved difficult. My life before coming to the temple did not prepare me for life here and my master did not understand or try to sympathize other than to tell me to find wisdom in the code, or at least that’s what I told myself then.”

 

She turned, looked away but continued to speak. As she spoke, Dashel watched her reflection in the blank face of a monitor as tears formed in her eyes but failed to fall even as he filled himself with the force and extended his senses in her direction.

 

“After two years as a Padawan, my Master allowed me to attend a social function with her. She met a young man there who charmed her and was halfway to winning her heart.”

 

Dashel felt the blast of pain that came from her heart in the Force and heard the sound of it in her voice. His own heart hurt for her and he felt an instinctive need to reach out and to touch and comfort. He held back for no reason he understood. The reluctance did not stem from the Force or inhibition but existed and he trusted that his feeling in this matter mattered.

 

“My Master eventually left the order to follow the young man whom eventually turned her to the Darkside and the teachings of the Sith, eventually taking her as an apprentice and lover.”

 

One thought occurred to Dashel about what should be the fate for any Sith that played another in such a manner. Dashel let his emotions bleed into the Force even as Vao continued. As she did so, he realized Vao read the intent of his thoughts if not the actual thought.

 

“Exactly. Meanwhile, I had been reassigned to another Master, one more sympathetic to a former courtesan who helped me adjust to life in the order. Eventually, I got to the point where my Master actually discussed my undergoing the trials.”

 

A deep breath steadied Dashel as he listened. Many people knew might assume that they knew the course of this story, but a Jedi did not have that luxury. He waited patiently, knowing that an insight into the often enigmatic woman seemed to be near.

 

“During a visit to Dantooine to meet with an artifact smuggler there whom contacted the order because he had obtained what he thought was a Sith holocron. We met as arranged. I examined the artifact and found it to be a Jedi holocron from an unknown Jedi Master named J’Kal al’Melli’i, or so the guardian claimed when I spoke with her.”

 

Insight surged through Dashel even as he saw Vao close her eyes against what was coming. He held his question back but wrote the question down to avoid its loss.

 

“On the way back to my ship with the Holocron, I turned a corner and ran directly into my first Master’s lover. With little warning, he attacked me in the streets of Dantooine in front of a dozen witnesses. I was a Padawan facing a Sith Lord whom I thought might hold information as to the location of my first Master.”

 

She turned to face Dashel. Her eyes opened and now the tears flowed down her face as if talking about the pain somehow released what she long held back. Dashel knew that if the memory had not been already dealt with in an appropriate manner, than Inoure Vao would never have granted the rank of Master.

 

Yet she sat in front of him with tears streaming down her face as she continued her tale.

 

“I lost Dashel. He took the time and effort to thoroughly beat me, not even attempting to turn me. He just broke my body until every breath became torture and I honestly wanted to die. He never even drew his lightsaber. When he was done, he reached inside my robe and physically took the holocron from me. As I watched him walk away during what I thought was the last thing my eyes might see when I saw my former Master join him. With what strength I still I had I reached out through the Force and tried to get her to look my way.”

 

As Dashel watched, Inoure Vao take a deep breath and steady herself against the pain of her memory.

 

“She looked my way Dashel, and the despair on her face managed to break my spirit where that Sith’s beating failed. The beating he gave me broke her heart, broke her spirit in a way that his use of her love never could. Yet, even to my rapidly fading senses, she somehow clung to the light.”

 

She paused and Dashel needed to know. Gently, he asked, “What happened Inoure?”

 

“The gatekeeper of that holocron somehow projected herself in my mind and point blank asked me if I wanted to win or live. Something told me that living and thriving would be the far greater victory so I told her my choice. Dashel, she guided me to levels of the Force I have only seen a few Masters come close to and at rate faster than my body failed during its last breaths. Strength filled my body and as I stood up from the ground every wound healed near at the same instance or at least well enough that I knew I was no longer dying. The Sith turned around unable to fanthom how a Padawan suddenly obtained that level of Mastery in the Force and attempted to attack me a second time. Before he could, I shattered him. A single hard thrust with the Force simply caused him to turn to dust and blow away in the wind. I know what I did that Dashel yet I do not know how I did it.”

 

His chair creaked as Dashel sat back contemplating Vao. He now understood her concern and reluctance about the relationship between Kharjo and Alyssa and thought he might have gained a clue concerning the history of the HRD he sometimes mistakenly thought of as a living person.

 

“I remember falling back to the ground and someone caring for me,” said Vao When I awoke I was back on Gala, being cared for by a team of Jedi and non-Jedi healers around the clock. Only later would I learn that my second Master stayed near me the entire time, or at least as near as the healers would allow her to be. Through the Force, much Bacta, and months of rehabilitation I managed to walk into the Council chambers to stand before the assembled Council and officially become a Jedi Knight at the hand of my first master.”

 

Inoure paused and Dashel waited. In his mind, he contemplated the irreverent and untimely thought of how many men spent their lives waiting on women.

 

“She died soon after, the despair of losing he r only love and her failure to intervene to stripping her of her will to live and some say of the Force itself.”

 

Looking into her now dry eyes, Dashel said simply, “Luo and I have had more than a couple discussion about the dangers our love poses to us as Jedi. We are taking this thing very slowly for a reason, so slow it actually strains my patience to a degree.”

 

He paused, searching for the right words, “Yet, as you say, our Padawans have little of the same experience or caution to guide them and so we must try and do what is right for them. Not a position I would ever have thought to find myself in and not one I would recommend to anyone.”

 

Now she waited, her mien returned to its normal set betrayed only by the tracks of dried tears.

 

“Denying them the relationship will not work. We both know that forcibly separating them would elevate the love to something untouchable and noble and give them cause to defy us. Our only real choice is to allow this relationship to run its course and do our best to help through whatever aftermath lies in the future whether that is a broken heart or true love.”

 

He paused, listening to the echo of his own words and then adding to them. “Kala told me just recently that for the first time that Kharjo’s vulnerability and youth elevated him from being a Padawan to me to something of a son. I suddenly find myself being a parent in some ways as well as being a Master to a Padawan.”

 

Leaning forward he kept eye contact with her while saying, “And now you are too. Like me, you are finding it difficult that being a Master means acknowledging how little you really know.”

 

Inoure Vao’s personality reasserted itself after his last words and the self-possessed and powerfully feminine woman he knew came back, the moment of vulnerability gone but never forgotten as she reached a decision.

 

“So we wait, we guide, and we let them find their own strength. Dashel, I can’t figure out if your being an ass or you actually know what you are talking about.”

 

Lowering her eyes, she asked, “Now tell me what did you find so import that you wrote it down there. It had to be something important else you would never have been that rude.”

 

He held up the pad where he had written “J’Kal al’Melli’I” and written the name separating out the relevant symbols in the way of a Chiss core name, “J - Kal a-- l al’Melli’I” and afterward, “Kala”.

 

Inoure Vao looked at him, opened her mouth and closed it before speaking again.

 

“Dashel, if that’s true…” she trailed off as they shared the same thought.

 

“Yeah.”

 

So lost in his contemplations of the past was Dashel, that when the door to Inoure Vao’s sanctum finally opened, it took him a moment to realize his Padawan had stood and with awe written completely across his face approached her with the box containing the corsage he had shopped extensively for and just picked up earlier that day. Every line in the boy’s body radiated a combination of that awe, a mixture of fear, and a complete loss of any sense of where he was, so absorbed was he in the transformation Padawan Green achieved in the formal gown she picked with the help of Inoure Vao.

 

Vao followed next, looking sternly at Alyssa and Kharjo before favoring Dashel with a grin that both dazzled and worried him. She might be worried about the relationship, but he she found enjoyment in this moment. What, exactly, she found so enjoyable he only understood far later.

 

Even as he registered the grin, he rose from his seat to greet Maevis Luo and like his Padwan, wore a complete look of stunned disbelief. Maevis Luo stood before him, wearing an off the shoulder dress that discreetly clung to her curves while leaving her room to move and breath. The silver dress somehow managed to shimmer and darken with her every breath, yet he ignored all that, losing himself in her eyes and the smile that only added to the beauty of the woman he saw revealed before him.

 

Dashel found himself standing still, the corsage and very old and very expensive circlet in its velvet case forgotten as he drank in the sight of her. It was Padawan Green asking Kharjo if the corsage he held in his hands was for her that helped him remember what the two boxes were for and had him crossing the floor to her.

 

He heard the young man stutter out, “I..I got this for you. I hope it’s okay.” The boy’s voice trailed off and Dashel knew the Padawan wore a grin a kilometer wide as Alyssa Green thanked him. He heard and felt Inoure Vao move forward and offer to pin the flower to her Padawan’s dress rather than trust Kharjo to do so without drawing blood or Green who he felt to be as nervous as her date.

 

As for himself, he managed to get the corsage out of its box without damaging the delicate flowers and very gently pin the thing to her dress without drawing blood. She laughed a little as she adjusted the flower saying simply that it was a little crooked.

 

Then she held out her hands and received the second box as he offered it to her wordlessly, not trusting his voice at this moment. Some part of him thought himself to be acting very foolishly for a Jedi Master, yet he silenced the voice knowing that behaving as a Jedi Master did not a Jedi Master make.

 

Kharjo, Alyssa Green, and Inoure Vao joined Dashel in watching Maevis Luo opening the obviously expensive box whose contents Dashel had kept them ignorant of. The circlet inside, made of woven Aurodium and Orichalum with a single blue pontite crystal in the center that seemed to gently radiate with the Force, looked to be ancient and she looked to Dashel in stunned disbelief completely missing the matching and far more modern ear rings in the same box.

 

“Its been in my family for nearly 22 generations. Would you wear it tonight?”

 

Once all four recovered themselves, they made their way out passed more than a few stunned and disbelieving Jedi to the ground transportation waiting outside.

[saberforce]

The Orar blasted out of hyperspace above the planet Haruun Kal. Tros sat quietly for a long moment and just stared down at the planet below him. His contact had informed him that a trail he could follow would be on the planet below. He also mentioned there could be jetiise ties to the lead. It was the reason behind his long moment. It wasn't that he was afraid of jetiise, but rather, jetiise opted a can of worms that could never be closed once opened. It was that very can of worms that Tros just wasn't sure was worth the risk of finding a lead to go on. He had worked so hard to keep his true identity out of the publics view. But now might be a good time to expose himself, as it might draw out his tal'din. And something told him within his gut that the oyu'baat was about to get a whole lot smaller around him.

 

As a cue, he slowly took his vessel in towards the planet below, but away from any major cities and landing strips, as he was not in the mood to be spotted by anyone just yet. No, he would have to wait to see what the planet held ins tore for him before he openly started to move around.

[Adenna Alluyen]

Adenna stared down at the hazy sphere below her and frowned. She knew little of this place, but she knew enough. It was not a place for the unwary to tread, especially not with a host of dangerous bacteria, fungi, and gases covering it. They didn't have full bio suits and even if they did, she wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to don them as they were restrictive. Their first stop would be the location of the Jedi Enclave to see if they could link up with those who were supposed to be there. Face masks would have to suffice until they could go into a larger city and get proper treatments against the plethora of infections that could be caught. It would be a good opportunity to see her nanites fared against a real world challenge or if her Padawan was able to address such invasions within his body.

 

Their viewports fogged over as they traveled through the upper atmosphere and into the swirling mass of clouds covering much of this planet. They stayed within the upper atmosphere where most life existed and she hoped that they wouldn't have to venture down into the soupy mixture on their mission.

 

They neared the location where the Enclave should be, but were not able to get any response to hails. Her frown deepened at this, but that didn't mean too much. It could simply be that the electronics had been corroded out by the metal eating fungus. She was glad that most of her own lightsaber was enameled wood, but she would still have to keep an eye on it for any corrosion of the metal parts near the emitter.

 

It wasn't long before their ship touched down a hundred yards from the Enclave. They didn't even need to exit to see that something was wrong. Blast marks, pieces of armor and weapons, and a complete lack of welcoming committee were not good signs at all. "Be cautious," Adenna said as she handed a face mask to Adrian. "I don't sense other Jedi, but there is a lot of life around that is clouding things. There could be individuals or non-human species unfamiliar to me around waiting in ambush. Stay behind me and you should be okay while we check for danger. If anything goes wrong, head back to the shuttle. Do not hesitate to leave without me if I am not able to make it."

 

Just before she lowered the ramp, she pulled out her lightsaber and gave him a grim smile, "At least this time we won't be facing a horde of Sith. That didn't work out too well for me personally." As soon as the ramp was down, she emerged and began looking around with both her eyes and the Force.

[Adrian Makaryk]

Adrian knew, even before the shuttle landed, that he would soon receive lots of practice in identifying the intentions of various life-forms and assessing their threat potential. Here, on Haruun Kal, he would learn the very lesson Adenna had tried, and failed, to instill in her new padawan during the hyperspace journey here--a journey nearly utterly devoid of anything that might have intentions or feelings to sense at all.

 

But the padawan that Adenna brought in tow would probably not learn that lesson quite as she expected.

 

To Adrian Makaryk, Adenna seemed almost too consumed in her search for threats. She sought evidence, whatever it might be, of some ambush waiting to attack the both of them, or perhaps an attack from some native predator. Maybe even an attack from Sith, though her words seemed to discount that possibility. But the environment seemed almost to smother the Force here--unlike the desolation of hyperspace, there was so much life here that even trained Jedi might well need a moment to filter out the background and sense humanoids at all.

 

Adrian's nose immediately informed him that donning one of the breath masks from the ship was probably a very prudent idea. A full environment suit would have been better, but Adrian didn't have one. He did carry an ultra-lightweight compressor-ventilator within his mobile surgical kit--it was designed to filter pure oxygen from highly compressed air from the atmosphere, which could then be administered to patients who required a ventilator in a field hospital setting. This was lighter (and safer) than carrying canisters of oxygen around for such contingencies. But the exceptionally thick atmosphere here would clog its filters within thirty minutes or so; therefore its use was out of the question.

 

After the relative desolation of hyperspace, it took the padawan's senses several moments to adjust to the oversaturation of Haruun Kal. However, quickly the padawan determined that the "lot of life around that is clouding things" represented a type of threat that Adenna seemed to overlook.

 

"I do believe that trying to filter non-sentient life out of your senses might be a mistake, Adenna," Adrian suggested. "I know, it is overwhelming, and much of it is harmless, but the resident biofilms here represent a much greater threat than exists anywhere I have ever set foot. You might dismiss that because I've only set foot on two planets, but the likelihood of illness seems several orders of magnitude higher here."

 

Indeed, Adrian wryly thought to himself, he would get his practice in Adenna's lesson by determining which microbes intended to cause various parasitic infections, and which were harmless.

 

Adrian followed his nose to a pile of metal debris that Adenna had seemed to overlook. A pile of metal debris covered in bumpy white hyphae and webbed with mycelia drew the doctor's attention; he looked nearly straight down at a fungal colony intently ripping apart and digesting what once had been armor of some sort. That species, which like many others present, hadn't existed on Onderon, leaving Adrian's immune system with no exposure to them. Adrian didn't touch, of course. Yet, beneath that fungal food, Adrian could sense something else. More food, in a way--but something that might be of interest to the one who would protect him from any threat--or, at least, any non-microbial threat. But his immune system would be under great stress here.

 

"Look here," Adrian called out. "There is a decomposing body under here, I think."

 

Adrian had no training in psychometry whatsoever, but as a doctor, he could have some use as a medical examiner...even if his previous experience had left him too busy trying to triage the needs of the living to care about the dead.

[Adenna Alluyen]

Keeping her senses sharp, Adenna made a quick sweep of the perimeter while her Padawan conducted his own investigations. So far, nothing had decided to try to shoot at them, so that was a good thing. Her senses could pick up a great deal out there in the ever encroaching jungle that could be threatening, but nothing specifically aimed at either of them or the shuttle.

 

Her left foot kicked something hard that shifted slightly but was heavy enough to remain where it was. When she looked down, she frowned at the sight of a slightly decomposed blaster rifle. She cast her gaze around her and noticed a few other bits of ruined metallic and stone debris and even some evidence of a recent fight. This discovery caused the corners of her mouth to curve downward and her brow to furrow. She poked at the weapon with her toe and briefly wondered if it was still operational, but the pitting on all metal surfaces and especially around the sensitive emitter cast doubt upon that idea.

 

Adrian called out to her, so she turned her attention to what he had found. He was pointing to a small pile of something that felt wrong. She wasn't sure how he had spotted it, but he clearly had and that was the first sign that perhaps Master Kirlocca had been right to send him here with her. With a wave of her hand, the debris floated off of the small mound and off to the side.

 

In her time as a Jedi, she had seen many unpleasant things. She had seen bodies blown to pieces in battle, people turned into little more than a dark red mist, and even her own severed hand lying on the ground. This easily topped those things from a purely repulsive standpoint, even if her still detached mind didn't react to it. It was a curiosity, one that she was sure could tell her a great many things if she were to study it with the proper equipment.

 

"Fascinating," she commented. "The armor seems somehow familiar, but I cannot quite place it. He was definitely a soldier of some type, so I doubt that he was a local. I have no knowledge of Jedi regularly employing men in such heavy armor, so I do not believe he was part of the Enclave."

 

She pointed in the general direction of the weapons she found. "There are remnants of blasters and bits of combat armor over there, though no bodies. It seems reasonable to assume this place was subjected to an attack by something more than simply the native wildlife. This does not bode well for the who were Jedi inside."

 

They needed more answers and there was only one place that likely would offer them. If they found nothing there, they could always return and scour this area. "We need to get into the Enclave. I don't sense the presence of Jedi, so it has either been abandoned or all of its members have been killed. I wish to know which it was and if there are any internal records to be collected."

 

She turned her senses directly onto the Enclave as she approached it and didn't detect any distinct threats. When she arrived at its damaged doors, she thought she caught a flicker of something within. Her eyes narrowed and she mentally replayed what she had sensed, trying to figure out what it was in this overwhelmingly foreign and life filled environment. After a few times searching her memories, she felt confident that there was some other sentient nearby. She crouched slightly and lowered her center of gravity. With a look back to Adrian, she put a single finger over the mask that was covering her face in the universal sign to be silent. With her lightsaber at the ready but not lit, she entered the Enclave and began searching out what she had sensed.

[saberforce]

Tros had spent a lot of time within the very outskirts of the city, just simply watching traffic to see if there would be any sign his lenedat. But there was a small point of interest for him, a single movement of a man who seemed to be curious in the general direction of the old ruined jetiise Temple not far from the city. It was enough for him as a beroya to jump and investigate the ruins. Maybe he might even spot or run into one of his own vod, or rather, dar'vod. Carefully finding his way around the outskirts of the ruins, Tros found his way into the ruins without any detection. It was a very upright notice that he could see the bodies of other Mando now dead from creating their own entry ways into the ruins. But he was grateful for their entry, as it was a sign that others had come this way, as well as creating a path for him to follow without becoming harmed by possible falling debris. As he found his way out, it became evident that Kyr'tsad was the bodies he was finding throughout the ruins.

 

Carefully climbing up high, as to avoid being seen by any security cameras, or possible Kyr'tsad or jetiise that could be lingering behind. As he stood up high, allowing for a single Jacuna to scurry past him. Kneeling down from his perch far above, he became suddenly greatly interested in the doorway, which had a few living guest now entering the ruins with him.

[Adrian Makaryk]

In some ways, Adrian wanted to thank Adenna for her desire to quickly move on. The need to move quickly superseded the requirement for an autopsy on the rapidly-decomposing body. While the doctor-cum-padawan believed the Force would render such an autopsy easier (not to mention safer--as it would reduce the need to physically handle the corpse), the body had already decomposed enough to render the cause of death less than immediately obvious. Adrian hoped there would be no need to come back here, though if Adenna had any interest in his thoughts at all, she might be inclined to tell her padawan to be careful what he wished for.

 

Ever happy to leave the rotting fungal food behind, Adrian followed closely behind Adenna, but not too close, for he wanted her to take the lead. Perhaps it was a bit cowardly on his part, but one of the group members knew what to do, and it wasn't him. Though Adrian hadn't wanted to perform that autopsy, as he followed Adenna, he realized he would probably be more at home doing that grotesque task than clearing the Enclave of whatever might haunt it.

 

The padawan noticed Adenna thumbing her lightsaber. Haunted the Enclave was.

 

The doctor strained his senses to try to discern anything that might cause Adenna to reach for her weapon, but whatever it was, the dense biomass of the place camouflaged it well. Though most of that biomass seemed preoccupied with general subsistence, Adrian, having only the barest of training in discerning much of anything, and that in the deep void of hyperspace where there existed pretty much nothing, wouldn't be predicting any specific ambushes though Force precognition any time soon. He let his own hand drop near his blaster, though he didn't unholster it, though he did that more because his mentor thumbed her own weapon than any notion of imminent threat.

 

However, something gnawed at the back of his mind. What horrible fate had befallen that soldier? Was that threat still present? Had it ever had any reason to leave?

 

Though he could not yet detect anything specific, Adrian found himself wondering if the two of them were really alone.

[Adenna Alluyen]

Adenna frowned at the condition of the Enclave. Judging on the amount of rubble and blast damage the covered the place, there had clearly been a fight here. There weren't any more bodies or even really signs of them, but in a place like this, that didn't mean much. There were bits of broken machinery laying about, but nothing that would give them many answers.

 

She didn't know who had attacked, but she kept having the nagging feeling that she knew who the rotting soldier had once been. She had seen material like that before, but she couldn't place where. Maybe if she saw the armor in its original condition, it could come to her, but for now, her brain needed visual or some other tangible reference point in order to properly recall memories.

 

They made their way through the entrance room and then through a hall that contained small classrooms without incident. There was nothing present that gave any clues about what happened beyond the obvious battle damage and general disrepair of abandonment. After the first hall, they came to a much larger room that had plenty of damage throughout.

 

Her eye caught sight of a large computer terminal through the clear glass of the breather mask she wore. The terminal was sitting behind a desk and she thought it might have served as the library records in this outpost. She didn't sense any threats, but there was something still out there, she was sure of it. Motioning for Adrian to follow, she crept along the outer edge of the room, trying to catch a better look. What she saw wasn't encouraging in the least. The terminal had a large black gash through its center and it didn't take a genius to figure out what had made such a mark. Not only was the gash likely to have ruined the system, but without the normal protections offered by the fully powered base, there were bits of strange colored rust like growths all over various parts of the terminal.

 

She stood there silently for many long moments while considering their next move. Her senses kept telling her something or someone was out there. That alone was annoying and disconcerting enough for her to decide to head it off straight on. She had never been one to play games and preferred a straightforward approach even if it wasn't elegant.

 

"Stay here," she told Adrian as she walked into the center of the room.

 

A quick glance behind the desk showed that there was nothing but ruins. Someone had tossed a grenade around on the other side of the terminal and left nothing but a mass of splinters and char. With a sigh, she turned her attention outward once more. With a flourish of her hand, she ignited her orange lightsaber and held it angled toward the ground on her right side. Better to take this potential threat head on and get it over with instead of dancing around. Just in case the individual was one of the Jedi survivors that had stayed behind to monitor the outpost or wait for help, she announced herself in the Force by drawing upon it and displaying its power within her like a beacon of light that no Sith could ever properly maintain. On the chance that this wasn't a Force sensitive, she called out in a loud voice that echoed throughout the Enclave, "I am Jedi Knight Adenna Alluyen, sent by the authority of the Grandmaster. This is Jedi property, make yourself known and declare your intent." Of course, if what she was sensing was some sort of animal, then it would likely be attracted to the main room where she could deal with it once and for all.

[saberforce]

Tros watched the two for a few minutes, trying to make sure he knew what their purpose was doing at the old ruins. It had once been uncommon to find jetiise at the ruins, but over time, they stopped showing up. Now that there were two jetiise before him, he wondered if perhaps maybe there might be something more going on here than what he suspected. But after time had passed, it seemed so clear to him that they were only here for old junk that might work. Plus, the more he stuided the two, the more he felt like as if he should know the woman jetii. It was after she introduced herself that the memories of whom she was and where he saw her came to his mind. Carefully deciding on his move, his own brashness might be meet head on by Adenna.

 

"It has been sometime since the jetiise expressed interest in these ruins. But maybe that could be for the better."

 

Tros made sure his voice was loud, and it echoed throughout the ruins. His voice was also filtered by his buy'ce, so that Adenna would not pick up on the familiarity of his own voice. Jumping down now, slightly behind her, he continued to speak.

 

"No need to raise your weapon, I am not here to kill. At least not jetiise."

[Adenna Alluyen]

Adenna did not turn when she heard something drop behind her. She remained standing there with her lightsaber lit in her hand and a slight smile on her lips. She could sense no hostility from the man behind her. While that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous or treacherous, it meant that he wasn't going to attack immediately. If he was, then he would have done it while concealed, not after responding to her call and dropping down in the open.

 

Keeping her eyes on Adrian, she responded to the new arrival. "It appears that either you or I are mistaken," she said calmly. "I was under the impression that this had been a functioning Jedi Enclave until a few weeks ago, yet you seem to think Jedi have been away from here for a good deal of time."

 

Keeping the smile on her face, she slowly turned around to look at the armored man and took him in. The Force told her that they read as human, or close enough. By the lack of curves, the individual was either an unendowed female or a male, and from her experience most soldiers were men, so she placed him as one. He was armored as much as a heavy infantryman which was wise in a place such as this, though the metal wasn't the best of choices with the fungi.

 

"So, soldier, which is it?" she asked. The smile vanished from her face. "And, more to the point, what are you doing here so ready to kill non-Jedi?"

[saberforce]

Tros was a bit upset with the way Adenna addressed him. It was insulting, even from someone who knew nothing of his background or his culture. But even more so past such knowledge, it was clear that she seemed to be on a bit of paguur. It was a paguur that he could pick up on within her. Adenna did not want to be here. Had he not had his buy'ce on, the smile on Tros face would have given away what the Mando was thinking. He almost felt like pushing her within her mind, but he did not have enough knowledge of her ruyot to do such a thing.

 

"You are the one mistaken. This ruin hasn't had a jetii within it for years. There may have been a few that resided within the ruins, but this place has not be functioning for a good time. Whoever gave you such information is wrong."

 

The beroya almost felt like giving a direct response to the jetii as to why he was here, but decided against it. There was no telling what she was here for either. Even more so as to why she had someone with her when she clearly didn't want to be present.

 

"And my purpose in being here is as mysterious as yours. And I never once said I was here to kill anyone. It was you who assumed I was here for such a cause. Which almost tells me you were expecting a fight by coming here...."

 

Granted, Tros was here on a geroya of sorts. He was looking for a lead as to who set him up at his place, and why his buir was seen associating with Kyr'tsad. But such information was completely irrelevant to Adenna and her companion. He would provide them with that information if they gave him enough reason as to why they were here as well.

[Adenna Alluyen]

"I have learned to always expect fighting, especially in the forgotten places of the Galaxy that are still covered in the scars of battle," replied Adenna. "You are the one who mentioned killing, not ; and you were the one stalking us."

 

She did have to consider the information she had been sent with. Or, truthfully, the lack of information. The Grandmaster had not given her much to go on, but that may not have been his fault. This planet was pretty far in the middle of nowhere, so it was entirely possible that he had not known anything to give to her. If that was true, she needed to gather all the information possible so that the Jedi may expand their intelligence information. This soldier seemed to know something, so she could start here.

 

She turned off her lightsaber, but didn't clip it to her belt. "It is entirely possible that my information was incorrect," she admitted. "This is a remote planet and the Jedi have not had contact with it for some time. Notice that I did not claim your information was incorrect, merely that I had been told differently. You seem to know more about this place than I, so would you be willing to enlighten us?" She considered applying the Force to make him more malleable, but decided against that at this point. It was best to see how far she could get without resorting to such methods.