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Messages - Krystal Itzume

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Adley couldn’t help but wonder at exactly when Colwyn thought they would be going to this cave. Did he really intend for it to be so soon? Adley couldn’t imagine it for a year or more, unless Colwyn was some sort of prodigy with a single blade. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to go sooner, but he thought he might like to see how Colwyn performed, first.

“Oh, I don’t find it that curious,” Adley noted with a sly smile, “Then again, I did pick you for a reason,” he had time to put thought towards it. Time to consider what he wanted in a padawan, and time to know he needed someone different, as well. Even if he’d found someone exactly like himself, he suspected it would still be a challenge.

Yet, he wanted to see more experiences.

The question was, inevitably, turned on Kere. She gave an overly dramatic sigh, and a shrug, “I wasn’t that concerned about the one meant for me, the first time around,” she offered, “I planned to take the first kyber I found – and I did. Only, before I was able to leave the cave with it, it turned red and broke apart.”

It had startled her, the color more than anything, “So I opted to try sensing the one that was actually meant for me, rather than attempt to take a crystal meant for someone else.” She sighed, “I always thought it was a bit…well, exaggerated, when it came to the crystals and them choosing someone.”

Colwyn began his story in an enthusiastic tone that surprised both Kere and Adley. Adley, most of all, showed his confusion vividly as Colwyn seemed to note his bad traits. He seemed to recognize them as bad traits even in his telling, but he spoke with such zeal, such enthusiasm, it was hard to be certain, and Adley only looked more and more confused as the tale went on.

The abrupt change of pace was, in many ways, a relief to him.

He almost laughed at his foolishness and confusion as he realized that Colwyn was self-aware, and had been narrating from his previous point of view. He didn’t, though. He kept the laughter to himself, because he did not want Colwyn to feel bad after the way he had described it.

He had come to his senses, as everyone did. He realized he needed to trust, to take advice, and help, to get his kyber. “The cave always embarrasses us,” Adley said, “it teaches us lessons that we need to learn, before we are worthy of having a kyber. It will be the same, when you go back for another, if you try to.” Adley noted.

He didn’t know if it would put Colwyn off the thought, or not.

Still, he thought to share, “My own lesson was more the reverse of yours,” he said, “rather than being certain of myself, I was uncertain, and unable, to trust myself. I was presented with hundreds of crystals all at once, and I was unable for the longest time, to figure out which one was meant for me, if any of them were meant for me,” he could at least manage a rueful chuckle at his younger self’s inability to be certain, and how long he’d agonized over it.

“I did figure it out, in the end. The one for me had been in plain sight, right on a sort of icy altar that the cave had made, and yet I was so certain that one wasn’t it, it had to be in the pile on the ground.”

Colwyn shifted the topic easily enough. They had to wait to know more from the Tarkins themselves. While the contentious opinions of Kere and Adley were unlikely to be changed by that, decisive action could start to be taken at that point.

Knight Kenobi sighed at the mention of flying, “I never took to it. I’ve learned, and I’m adept, but I’m not going to be flying any Starfighters anytime soon.” He indicated to Colwyn. “I can get from place to place.”

Kere chuckled a bit, “I’m better.”

“I won’t even contest it, but I do wish you would stop spinning.” To Colwyn, “She’s not flying us to Eriadu.”

“Well of course not, we’re just getting on a hyperspace lane and arriving in short order. Boring.” But sensible. “We’re using one of the Order’s ships. We don’t have our own.” Some Jedi did. They were few in number. Most of the ships were property of the Order and in use for Order business. “But I think we all have that same story of finding kyber,” Kere noted, but gestured. “Why not tell it? It tends to reveal a bit about you.”

The challenge always catered itself to what the learner needed to learn. Some needed teamwork, others compassion. It was always interesting how the cave knew exactly what to do. 

Adley and Kere presented their orders following Colwyn, Adley opting for something notably traditional, while Kere went with something on the vegetarian side of things. As soon as she was gone, Adley thought to shift the subject, but it seemed his young padawan was eager for more on the subject.

“She’s rather frank with everyone,” perhaps Kere had tact, at times, or she wouldn’t be a counsellor, but with him it had always been blunt.

Their history aided that.

Despite their disagreements, they did remain friends.

Kere raised her brows in intrigue, and admittedly, a little amusement, at Colwyn asking how she would handle it. “I would allow the Sith the same privileges as the Jedi. The same of the Nightsisters, the Whills, and all others who practice a faith based on the Force. On that much, the Tarkin family and I agree.” 

“It’s wrong,” Adley said firmly. “The others who use the Force use it improperly.”

“So says you, who’s never practiced any other way.”

“The wise learn from observation.”

Adley noted the way Colwyn’s expression darkened. The suspicion he already held in his heart revealed itself, and Adley gently set a hand on his shoulder, “We do not know that for certain,” and in his opinion, it was a bad idea to go in with preconceptions of guilt.

“It doesn’t seem so bad to me, though,” Kere noted, “Sith in the Senate. Sith anywhere.”


“You know my opinion, Adley,” Kere interrupted, “and I’m not going to mask it in front of your padawan, either.” There was a firmness to her tone, and though Adley knew to expect it, it did not mean he liked it.

“The Sith are evil, Kere.”

“From your point of view. And what do we know of the Sith from any Sith?”

“We have an entire history—”

“—of Sith forced into hiding and hunted like dogs.”

There were seconds of tense silence, “We know their story from the side of victors, only.” Kere said, before adopting a smile as the waitress returned for their orders.

Kere fought back a smile. A laugh. She picked up her toniray as she looked at Colwyn with something of a new light. She knew, once upon a time, she must have been as sheltered as he was. She had nearly forgotten those days. It wasn’t often she spoke with younglings about politics after all.

Adley considered a moment, then shook his head slowly, “Not exactly, young one,” he answered, reaching for his tea to sip and give himself a little more time to formulate an answer. “Governor Dedrich Tarkin has begun to gather proponents not to remove the Jedi Order, but to force the Senate to allow other groups a place…including the Sith.”

Kere smirked, but offered nothing to that. There was more to it than that, but she had her place in this, and Adley his. In this regard, Adley did not need to know what the Council was truly concerned with.

It wasn’t that there would be a place for a Sith. It was that the Sith was already out there. More than that, they also feared competing messages about the Force. Their arrogance told them only they had the right message. Others, like the Whills or the Nightsisters, should be silenced.

But Kere kept her attention on the menu.

Adley Kenobi gave a nod to the question, “Yes.”

“They’re the only ones to do business with on Eriadu, or within the entire Seswenna sector,” and beyond, but Kere wouldn’t yet acknowledge that. The Tarkin family still held immense sway in spite – or perhaps, because of – the crimes of the past, and present. Not that they would admit to any crimes. Stars forbid! They just exploited loopholes, something Kere could admire.

And resent.

It made things…difficult.

“No personal history,” Adley confirmed, “but the Jedi have a history of finding them…troublesome, even ignoring Wilhuff Tarkin,” the infamous one. “They are an opinionated family with great means, and they do not always understand what is around them.”

“He means they’re assholes with a lack of understanding of the Force, but a terrible amount of interest in hindering it,” Kere clarified, as if that needed a translation. Adley scowled, but didn’t say anything to counter as their drinks were brought. His demeanor shifted to pleasant quickly as he thanked the hostess for their drinks, and requested a bit more time with the menu – which Kere promptly took up to look into. 

Kere gave an agreeable sound to the design that Colwyn was considering. It was useful, and flexible. He could have two sabers in his hands, or he could have them connected together. He could even just use one, in theory, without the bulk of the second one on it. A good design, a practical one, too.

So long as he ended up being good at all the styles it entailed.

Kenobi took a seat besides his padawan, while Jinn occupied the other side. “Bantha chai, please,” Adley said, without so much as glancing over at the menu.

Kere simply knew what she wanted. “Toniray, please,” alcoholic, frowned upon by most in the Order, but Kere didn’t mind in the least. Toniray was also considered somewhat, well, offensive. It had been a drink known in Alderaan, but needless to say, the Tarkins had more or less made it into something of their own.

Whether or not it was akin to the toniray of Alderaan, no one knew.

No one would ever know.

That’s precisely how the Tarkins wanted it.

And Kenobi did give a small look of disapproval, but he wouldn’t say anything. It was hopeless to try and offer advice now. Still, he didn’t want his padawan to think he approved. The look was more for him than Kere – even if he would have done it, regardless.

He glanced to Colwyn to see he was rather preoccupied with the room, and looked to Kere, “How did you get the misfortune of a mission to see the Tarkins, anyways?”

“Because when the Grand Master can’t do something, she sends me.” Kere offered with a simple shrug. No matter the difficulties – Grand Master Billaba still trusted her. 

Kere did chuckle at the huffing and curiosity. “No, you won’t know unless you try,” although perhaps they could find a way for him to practice with the double-bladed lightsaber all the same. It wouldn’t do any harm for him to have another blade, regardless. “Although I am curious what designs you are looking over for it – some can be modified for one crystal.”

Depending on the matrixes and power converters within the hilt. Adley gave a nod – combat was one aspect, and in his opinion, not the best aspect to focus on, even if he was a knight. Still, he wanted to know more about what his padawan was looking at, so he could do his best to help him.

“We can go over the designs, if you like. I’m certain I can access them on my datapad,” he offered, “chatting about Eriadu will not likely take up our entire evening,” he’d be terribly surprised if it did, given they hadn’t yet begun there.

Soon enough, however, they had reached the location, the scent of meat heavy in the air as they stepped in, and the building notably warmer inside than it was outside in Gatalenta due to the flames that served both as decoration, and for cooking. While Eriadu had indeed joined the ranks of civilized worlds, there were certain cultural aspects that many would look upon as primitive.

Cooking by fire was one such aspect.

They were greeted by a human, attire reminiscent of the old Empire, even if it was now used as uniform for the restaurant – and as formal uniform of Eriadu itself, really. “Welcome to Rivoche’s – just three?”

“Yes,” Kere answered.

“Right this way,” a gesture, before the woman took the lead to a place where they could sit.

It seemed that Colwyn did know at least one thing he wanted: another kyber. “Oh, planning to take up dual wielding?” Kere was intrigued, given not many tried that. She didn’t think he could want to find kyber for any other purpose. “Have you practiced with two blades yet?”

The area around them became a bit busier as they walked into one of the business districts of Gatalenta. More traffic of speeders and the like zipped along overhead, but neither Kere or Adley stopped to hail such a vehicle.

“There won’t be time tomorrow,” Adley said, but added, “I will not forget, though – but maybe you should practice a bit, if you haven’t.” There were always practice sabers, and well, he saw no issue in letting Colwyn borrow his own.

It wouldn’t be a style he’d b suited to teach him.

He supposed they might have to call on Kere more often to help with that. Despite not being among the knights, she had taken to practicing with two sabers, and wielding two, over one.

Colwyn did not take the comments hard. He did not respond poorly. Kere was pleased by it, but did wonder if his glasses may be a little rosy. Well, what padawan’s weren’t? They had such grand ideals of what was out there, of what it meant to be a Jedi…he would learn. Kere hoped he would be strong through it all.

Not that she doubted it of anyone Adley picked.

Adley had a strength of character in himself that was hard not to learn from.

It seemed he knew of Eriadu, at least. Or he feigned knowledge. Adley decided to test the matter as Kere spun back around to more properly lead. “What do you know of Eriadu?” He asked, “Why do you think it would be so busy?”

It didn’t take much knowledge to assume that, of course. Just the infamous name ‘Tarkin’.

It was more and more apparent that Colwyn Junda did not hide his own nature – and that included his talkative, indecisive, nature, which drew another shared look between Kere and Adley.

Kere all but laughing at Adley’s future.

Adley looking both amused and exasperated at once. He had asked for this, after all.

Still, they listened. At least Colwyn was familiar with plenty of cuisine, and seemed not to be terribly picky, just terribly indecisive.

Kere put a hand on his head, “Padawan, you are going to ruin Adley, I hope you know that,” it was a tease, “but since I know neither of you can make decisions about simple things now – we’re going to go to a restaurant that specializes in food of the Seswenna sector!”

Adley pulled a face, “You don’t even like that.”

“I like some of it.”

“It’s mostly meat.” Adley had no problems with it, but he was very familiar with Kere’s problem with it. He didn’t mind the cuisine himself. It wasn’t his favorite, but it was all still edible enough.

“Mostly is the key word,” she trilled, taking the lead, and spinning around to walk backwards, ahead of them, “and since we’re going to Eriadu tomorrow, it seems like the best place to start!” 

Kere laughed. No, it was not big enough for saberwork. Not in her opinion, anyways. Not even if it was empty, but then again, for some, it might work. Technically speaking, her own style worked well in close quarters, but she didn’t prefer it.

She didn’t take offense, “I try not to hide my nature,” she did get in trouble with the Council, after all. No one could accuse her of terrible dishonesty, even if she was a bit sneaky at times, or omitted details.

They both watched as he got things sorted, both intrigued by the arrangement of jewelry he had. Neither said anything at first, but waited for him patiently enough, and stepped out as he finally agreed he was ready to go.

“What sort of cuisine do you prefer, padawan?” Adley asked, knowing he wasn’t soon to get used to this. And liking it.

This day would continue to be a good one, a special one, if he could help it.   

Colwyn’s thrill with his room was obvious in his wide smile, and the glint in his eyes. As his items began to fly into his room, Jinn and Kenobi shared a look of mild amusement. Of nostalgia. Neither were too many years separated from Colwyn’s position. They both recalled their own moments of getting their own space quite well.

Their eyes returned to Colwyn, as he began to answer Kere’s query.

She laughed as he spoke of the room and no useless junk, of all the space. “Oh, wait until you move up into Jedi quarters,” Kere said, “the rooms are even more spacious. So much more room, for nothing!” She laughed, and Adley sighed, but there was a familiar, warm smile on his lips, in spite of it.

“Unless it’s your room, of course,” which was cluttered by his definition, and most Jedi’s. “Well, Padawan Junda,” he began, “tomorrow you will formally claim that name, and then we will have our first mission.”

“You should get situated,” Kere advised, “Then we can go get something to eat, and brief you on tomorrow’s schedule.” She offered, thinking the excitement of details on that upcoming mission would push him to get ready with some haste.

Not that he had much to prepare. 


Adley couldn’t help but pass a look to Kere, given the similarity of her name, to Junda’s first. Kere just rolled her eyes, but smiled, and Adley returned it, before focusing in on his padawan’s chatter. The young one certainly seemed inclined to talk a lot, which Adley had somewhat expected – but a part of him wondered if he was getting in over his head already.

He had a feeling every master of a padawan would tell him that he was.

As they reached the area where Colwyn’s room was, Adley shook his head at the query, and used the Force to open the door of one room. It was fairly barren, save the bare necessities, of course. Most rarely looked like much beyond that. The same was true of many of the quarters of the actual Jedi.

“This will be your space,” Adley told him, noting the excitement in the way the young one’s robes flared, but not commenting on it.

“So how does it feel to walk through this area as a padawan?” Kere asked, recalling his earlier, wondering statement as they moved through the barracks. “Everything you ever dreamed of?”

Kere chuckled at the logic that the young padawan applied, as a tired smile touched Adley’s lips. “By the logic you’re using, Sheev Palpatine had a hand in the restoration of the Jedi, young Colwyn,” Kere noted, “Through the influence he exerted.” It was teasing. “It was never the intent of Cal or the others to restore the Order, so they are not remembered for such. If you admire what they did, for what it was, then take their name – we acknowledge that every Jedi had a hand in how the Order got to where it’s at, and we acknowledge others, such as Leia Organa, having a role, and while they’re worthy of honor, that doesn’t mean they’re Jedi.”

Kenobi noted, “She would have been Tano if she had her way,” with a slight smirk, “so, the long story short is, no, you would not be allowed to take the name Jarrus, nor Dune, his actual Jedi name, simply because he happened to be a Force user on the right side of the conflict.” The smirk faded, as they came into the barracks main square, and Kenobi made a turn to the left, past the main Jedi barracks, and down to an area that was known for hosting the padawans, kept close to their masters, but not quite sharing in the same space.

“There have been many Jedi who have stood for peace, and all that you consider. Jarrus and Tano, among others, may be off limits to you for a name, but Kestis is not, nor plenty of others. If you admire Kestis for his ability to hold true to the will of the Force, then no one would deny you that name, or even Junda, if you prefer her perseverance in the face of the Empire, and her own willingness to trust Kestis.”

The padawan barracks were often quieter than most areas, as most padawans didn’t spend much time there, off with masters or otherwise occupied with a task. It was thus so that day, as they approached the rows of rooms, and the shared buildings which were domed, compared to the rooms themselves, which had flat roofs.

Kere Jinn wondered how many people Colwyn had talked into exasperation and worked around the point. ‘I never said that learning from observation wasn’t better.’ No, what she accused him of was far worse, and she did, in fact, still believe that he may go out of his way to either prove he never failed, or to hide his failure until he found a way to ‘fix’ it.

Time would tell if her suspicions were correct, but for the moment, she gave him an enigmatic smile and feigned being bought in by his supposedly clever work-around – though she gave no words, nor even a nod, to signify it.

She let him stray to the other topic, and enjoyed the look of confusion on Adley’s face.

“While those who survived may have done much good – I certainly cannot fault Caleb Dune – none of them attempted to restore the Jedi. I thought that was what you were asking about?” Had he misheard his padawan when he spoke of those others who tried to restore the Jedi? “Master Yoda and Master Kenobi may be accused of such, through the protection and upbringing of Luke Skywalker, but the others did not go about that task. There were others they were called to, as we know Kanan Jarrus and Cal Kestis went about aiding others in the fight against the Empire. Their legacy is notable and honorable – but not the same as the Skywalkers.”

They fought in turbulent times. They aided the weak. They did what a Jedi should do, and perhaps through defending others, they helped to make sure the Skywalkers could rise – but they did not start a new Jedi Order.

“No one truly works alone, and their legacies, along with the texts, may have informed Rey’s decisions – we only have her recordings and her own words to know for certain.”

He did chuckle a bit at his padawan’s posturing, as they moved under shaded trees, towards the more proper barracks for the Jedi themselves. “For that inquiry, I am afraid I cannot help you – I have not found issue with the teachings to such a degree. That is more Counsellor Jinn’s area, and she attempts to change the way things are every day,” he gave a long-suffering sigh. “I am content with things as they are.”

He was untroubled by much. He saw no reason to be troubled. He had chosen this path, and would continue on it. “What, in particular, troubles you now, that you would even ask that?”

Jinn could only laugh as the young padawan clutched at his stomach. Oh, if only he knew – but no one prepared padawans for the simple truth that learning how to fail was all a part of their training. Failure was inevitable, even if everything was done right. It was all in how one recovered from it.

That was the most important lesson that she had learned.

It wasn’t Adley’s lesson. No, they all came away with different ones, based so much on their Master, and who they chose as a patron, and Adley smiled as they walked on, and his own choice was assessed by his padawan. He arched a brow at the question of the Jedi who were never knighted, but shook his head, “Do you mean Luke Skywalker? Or Rey Skywalker?” Those were the only ones that came to mind for him.

Those were the ones who fought hard to restart the Order.

“Luke was knighted,” Kere reminded.

“Right,” Adley chuckled.

Others, well, he didn’t know of others who tried to restart the Order. Kenobi had contributed to it by training Luke, much like Yoda, but no one else truly had. “The Skywalkers, sans Anakin, did a wonderful job – they are why we’re here now, and even why we have the tradition of taking on patrons as we do.” It was Rey who started it, and the others went on to continue it.

They both took note of Colwyn’s overdramatic talk of obstacle courses, and Kere laughed outright, “Padawan, you will soon learn that life doesn’t have rules. You can do everything right. You can do everything sensible. And you will still fail. If shame is your greatest fear, then you are thinking incorrectly.”

“Kere….” Adley cautioned.

“His priority shouldn’t be avoidance of personal shame. That’s not very compassionate. Imagine if he had to choose between admitting a wrong or saving face, Adley. Imagine how that could spiral into a worse situation. You’ve seen it.”

He sighed.

He had. Plenty of times. Usually not from Jedi, but from outsiders afraid of the consequences and damage to reputations.

Anger was not the Jedi way – but Kere was glad to see it on Colwyn’s face anyways, and to feel it through the Force. The Jedi too often forgot they were, in fact, emoting, living, beings. That it hadn’t been taught out of Colwyn yet was some small relief. There might yet be hope for the future of the Jedi, something beyond their current, tepid state.

The vial floated back to her hand as Colwyn spoke, and she gave a small, begrudging smile, “You will fail publicly many more times, now that you are a padawan, and among those who don’t understand the Force to begin with. I suggest learning how to improvise, or admit failure with grace. Whichever suits,” she tucked the vial back into her pocket, and followed as they left the room.

Adley wouldn’t comment to that mention of failure, though he certainly recalled that first year as a padawan with trepidation and anxiety. His own master had been terribly strict and no-nonsense. It instilled in him a certain level of discipline he may have otherwise failed to grasp, but it also made him second-guess his every move for a while.

He didn’t want to do that to Colwyn.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi always symbolized to me what a Jedi ought to be,” Adley answered carefully. Obviously, that was true of anyone who chose their patron. Jinn symbolized, to Kere, what a Jedi should be. “He wasn’t the most powerful, he wasn’t even the smartest, or an inventor of anything, but he was steadfast. He lost his own Master before he became a knight, he took on an apprentice right after ascending, and that padawan betrayed him. He fought Sith Lords. He protected loved ones – and he loved without possession.”

A rarity, not just among Jedi, but people.

“He gave his life wholly to protecting the galaxy, and he never once turned from the Light, even after he lost the Jedi Council.” He cast his eyes down to the stone walkway as they passed outside, “To me, that’s more important than power in the Force, lightsaber skills, philosophical thought, or anything else. He was steadfast and true, and he restored the Jedi Order when it was nearly gone, through teaching Luke Skywalker.”

The rush of panic that stole over Colwyn was unexpected, but it did not inspire mercy from Master Jinn. She simply waited for him to gather his wits, and Kenobi did little to interrupt or to pressure Colwyn either way. The young padawan didn’t take long to regroup, and to try to start finding each individual grain around him, as well as lift it.

It was an admirable effort – his focus, his talent, was clear, but this was a skill that Master Kenobi could not pull off.

It was thus no surprise to him, or to Master Jinn, when he faltered when presented with such a daunting task.

Jinn lifted her arm and effortlessly, the sand gathered, as if drawn up by a magnet. In front of Colwyn’s eyes, it organized itself by color, and poured back into the vial, layers of colors sorted evenly. “Careful of your boasting, young padawan,” Kere said in a mock-serious tone, “you are no longer among peers who cannot grasp where you are at, but among Jedi. If you claim you can do something – you must.”

Kenobi sighed, added, “There’s no shame in admitting where you need help. Some situations are life and death, and you need to be prepared. It’s my job to prepare you,” he smiled, albeit it was a bit wane. “We don’t expect you to be capable of everything – and I assure you, Jinn is more likely to call you on it than I am.”

Kenobi would simply try to find a way to weave it into a lesson that was not so…direct. 

“If you have everything, let me show you to your new quarters.” Adley said, gesturing out in hopes of leaving this faux pas behind.

‘Oh no.’

Adley didn’t say it, but he knew as soon as his foolish young padawan said he could do the sand trick, they were doomed. It didn’t help that he went on to insinuate that the current standing of Kere was negative – which it was – but he hardly knew why. He hardly knew much at all about Kere, which would not play to his advantage.

Hopefully, he would remain a quick learner.

Adley had already given her the go-ahead to challenge his padawan.

“I hope you have an open enough mind to take lessons from all that you meet, Colwyn,” was how Adley responded, diplomatically, to the statement, “whether those lessons simply be not to follow in their footsteps.” Or when to keep his mouth closed.

The way that Colwyn walked radiated with confidence, which was good, but that stubborn superiority was not so much. This, however, Adley had expected. Colwyn was powerful, and talented, for his age. He’d been walking around like that, and owning every room he went into, for a while now.

He hardly knew the animosity he was inspiring. It was not the Jedi way.

But he would learn.


They came to the quarters that Colwyn shared, and he pretended not to notice the rainbow-colored sand vial that was lifted from a pocket, as Colwyn began to pack his things. Nor did he acknowledge as it floated over to the area where he was packing.

It wasn’t hard. He was rather interested in the jewelry, and intended to ask of it later.

“You’re almost done packing,” Kere said agreeably, before all the rainbow sand fell from the hovering vial, and scattered spectacularly around the room – not, in fact, just Colwyn’s side. “If you can gather up all of that on your own, I’ll even let you keep it. You would be surprised at how useful sand is.”

" has come in handy more than once." Kenobi was trying not to laugh.

Here was lesson two of the day for Colwyn.

Adley would follow, walking close, but allowing Colwyn to lead and wondering at what Jedi he admired. What name he might take. It so often said much about them.

Jinn, for example.

Who smiled at the seemingly innocent question, “Grand Master Ashla’s former padawan,” she offered, the warmth and familiarity with which she spoke the Grand Master’s personal name quite genuine.

No matter how much trouble she got into, she held great admiration for her former master. It was a point of pride, even if such things shouldn’t matter among Jedi, “Though I think I’ve earned my place for being capable of calming krayt dragons, as well as my manipulation of sand, if you want things people would have spoken of besides that. Any Jedi can lift a boulder – not many can lift and manipulate thousands of bits of sand at once, and hold the focus to manipulate them each individually.” Sand, water, tiny particles – she had excelled at breaking things down smaller and smaller.

“Resident pain in the side of the Council,” Adley decided to add, “if you’ve been hearing increased arguments about what the dark side is, it’s thanks to her.” He gave her a rueful look, “I do hope you’ll behave yourself.”

“By that do you mean don’t teach him—”

“Yes.” Adley hissed before she finished with whatever thing she might suggest. “You have gotten enough trouble for a good, long while, I believe.” Then, with a sigh, he spoke to Colwyn, “She’s currently on probation and so any mission she has, I have to go on, and vice-versa, for a little while, at least.”

Although Kenobi was pleased with the enthusiasm, and even the excitement, his own reactions were muted in comparison. A small smile touched his lips, but it was genuine, touching his silver eyes as the young padawan insisted on how he would be a good choice. “I have full faith in you, Colwyn,” he agreed readily enough.

He wondered if he’d been so eager when he was chosen. He could remember the nerves, clear as day, but he had taken the time to think on it even then, overly concerned about a mistake being made. Overly cautious, Jinn had told him.

“Then you two are dismissed,” the Grand Master said, and Jinn peeled herself from the wall as she continued, “I shall see you two, and Counsellor Jinn, in the morning,” Kenobi and Jinn were already aware of the mission for the next day.

Not an easy one, necessarily, but not one that Billaba thought would become anything detrimental or dangerous to the padawan.

“Thank you, Grand Master,” Adley inclined his head to Billaba, and turned to his padawan. “You’ll have to show me the way to your quarters so we can begin clearing it out,” he indicated, gesturing the young one ahead. “Kere, are you going to help?”

“I’ve nothing better to do,” she agreed readily enough, “And I’m going to have to get used to your padawan sooner than later. Might as well figure out what problems we’re going to have tomorrow.” 

The excitement that Colwyn felt was more intense than any of them had expected, although of them only Jinn seemed unsurprised as the boy lost control for a moment. She had lifted her hand, but there was no need for her to work with the Force at all – Colwyn reeled it back in, and Jinn ‘tsk’ed. “Repairing that floor is going to be expensive,” she noted.

Billaba gave her a patient look. They both knew it wouldn’t be. It would be healed, for it was alive, in a sense.

Jinn said no more, of course – her attempt was only to fluster the padawan a little more as he agreed so readily to be taken in by a young knight. One would have thought Billaba herself had asked!

Billaba did reiterate, “You will still have a day to consider your patron, Padawan,” she addressed him. All Jedi took patrons, from Jedi of the past, to center themselves to a history and a legacy, to an ideal to follow.

Their own names – their personal names – could later be used by future Jedi.

“Knight Kenobi will assist you in moving your things into the padawan barracks, where you will have your own quarters,” no more need to share space, as he would begin more projects independently or with Kenobi from now on. “And you will have time to get to know each other before a mission is undertaken tomorrow.” 

Colwyn did not talk back, or even justify his actions, as Billaba concluded her informative criticism. In fact, he seemed to realize almost immediately, and for that, Kenobi felt his heart swell. The youngling’s heart had been in the right place, for him to realize so quickly that he had acted in a way that could hinder growth. He saw now that, however well-meaning he was to get them on to other training, he had in fact messed up training they were undergoing already.

Billaba leaned back, giving a silent nod of acceptance, of understanding, as Colwyn saw things. “I will not ask you to apologize to them, but I would like you to speak with them and pass on the lesson I have given, so they may learn that you have learned.” If he chose to also apologize, then that would be more sincere than one forced, or directed.

He came around to the matter of Kenobi.

And as his heart seemed to swell, Jinn covered her lips as a titter of laughter escaped. Master Tiin gave her a harsh look for it, but said nothing as the Counsellor collected herself, though the wry grin didn’t quite leave her face.

Billaba spoke on as if there had been on interruption, “Knight Kenobi has recognized you through the initiate trials, and through your behavior here at the Temple. He has requested that you become his padawan, Colwyn.” The Grand Master explained. “There is no trial period to this,” she reminded gently, “So you may have a day to consider it if you like, to be certain that Master Kenobi will provide you with the growth and direction to advance yourself with us, as well as to consider what patron you wish to take.”

Adley nodded, “I have had time to consider you from afar, I will understand if you wish to take this into further consideration, Colwyn,” he finally spoke. 

Master Billaba let out a short hum as she heard the conclusion of Colwyn’s story, and his defense of his actions. She disagreed with it, of course, and it was clear that Colwyn knew she would disagree with it based on how defensive he was acting. Yet, no one had accused him of it. No one had even brought it up. “Yet this action weighs on your mind, Youngling,” she noted.

“A part of growing is to learn from errors. You deprived one of those individuals the opportunity to learn from errors by witnessing a loss,” she explained, that patience she’d mastered obvious in her voice, “You may be correct in that the game was soon to be over, but you nonetheless deprived one from realizing how they could improve by seeing it to a conclusion. Do you understand that?”

It was gentle, “There are some who learn better from experience. You must not hinder their growth in such a fashion.” It was still a bit of a lecture, though.

All the while, Kenobi remained silent, likely adding more questions as to why he was there, and why he had been mentioned earlier by the Grand Master. In fact, plenty of the High Council was silent through this conversation. 

Billaba’s gaze held some amusement as Colwyn seemed to think himself in trouble. It was a subtle look, one that most would not catch, but her own padawan knew it well. It had taken a while to learn it, for Billaba’s humor certainly caused no ripple in the Force.

Rather than answer the youngling’s query in a straightforward fashion, the Grand Master brought her hands into her lap, “Why, what occurred with Silos and Kang that would cause you to earn a lecture, Colwyn?”

He had damned himself in thinking something amiss, and Billaba would hardly let such a thing go.

The Knight would not interrupt her, either, but allow this to pass, as a moment through which he could learn a little more about the young one he was intending to take as his padawan. He certainly wanted to hope that whatever this mess with two other younglings was, his padawan did have good intentions, and nothing terrible.

Plenty had good intentions and misplaced actions. It was a part of growing up, after all. 

“Honestly, a padawan, now?” the lightly teasing voice came from a young woman as she walked alongside a man with black hair.

Their appearance could not have been any different, and yet throughout Gatalenta, they were known to be nearly inseparable, even when they had taken to different Master’s, they had kept in constant communication. The woman stood tall and languid, with platinum blonde hair, a side of pulled into a long, thin braid that was beaded with kyber and resembled a padawan’s braid. Her attire was far from the earthy tones the Jedi preferred, but a flowing robe of sunset hues. Her amber eyes always seemed sparked with mischief.

Her companion, of stockier build and black skin, though only a little shorter, had a look of long-suffering patience on his face that was likely to suit someone about to embark on this sort of adventure. His own eyes, light gray, never seemed flinty or cold, but warm – always warm – and far from being imposing, his dark blue robes promised warmth, rather than being overbearing or too bright. His hair was cropped short, no longer wearing the braid he’d been accustomed to only two years before.

“Are you so bored that you need a child to entertain you?”

“Kere, you know it isn’t that,” he answered, “I have been observing him for a while now. I think I can truly learn from him and bring him into his own. I think he can learn much from me, just as well,” he said, before adding with a chiding smile, “Given your own enthusiasm for teaching, you ought to consider it.”

“Oh please,” Kere shook her head, “the Council would never approve it, even if I wanted one. They still barely tolerate me.”

“Maybe if you followed the rules….”

“Maybe if they didn’t block off knowledge in the library….”

“Oh is that why you’re in trouble this time?”

“Yes,” she nodded, folding her arms over her chest, “There happened to be a Sith Holocron I wanted to see and they said it was only Masters who could see it, so….”

“So you broke into the library,” he finished with a sigh, “Kere….”

“Forbidding knowledge is what ruins us all, Adley.” Kere answered staunchly, before he could get into another lecture. He offered a wane smile, but wouldn’t add his own opinion or suggest another way to look at it in the moment. They had crossed into the Jedi Temple, though the large glass windows almost made it seem as if they’d never left the outside. The wood-and-glass structures always felt as natural, lacking only the breeze.

In those brief moments of silence, the topic shifted easily, “Are you certain of him?”

“I am,” Adley answered with a firm nod. “I do not know what I will learn, what he will learn, or how it will go, but I am certain of this.”

“Very well,” Kere sighed, “Then I support you, as always.”

On that, Adley knew, too, and he smiled, “I appreciate it, Kere. And I will encourage your challenging him, as you have always challenged me.”

The pair would enter the council room together, only a little before the youngling would himself arrive. The round room looked more like it belonged within a tree – and, in fact, was built within a tree, carved out of a large tree that had died and put to new use. The glass windows encircled and bend, giving the room a truly bowl-like quality. The floor was still the rings of that great tree, undecorated, and the tree’s limbs had become the chairs within the Council Room.

“Knight Kenobi, Counsellor Jinn…you were not invited,” a frown touched the lips of Master of Caelius, the Cerean Master.

“She isn’t harming anything, Master Tiin,” her former master, the Grand Master Billaba, a female togruta, interrupted. “You may observe, Jinn.”

Kere Jinn tipped her head respectfully towards the Grand Master, and stepped back along the wall, to listen as the High Council went over the new responsibility that Adley Kenobi was soon to be bringing upon himself – and making sure there was no doubt in his heart or mind in this matter.

There wasn’t.

And so, when Colwyn would enter the room, he would find Adley standing central in the room, many of the seats filled by members of the High Command, and Jinn in the shadows – obtrusive only due to her colorful attire and the way the sun glinted off the kyber woven into her hair.

“Youngling Colwyn,” Billaba greeted in a friendly tone. As one of the main instructors for the younglings now, she was familiar enough with him, even if she had only resumed that duty after Jinn had graduated into being a Counsellor, and so only three years ago. “Come forward, if you would please,” she extended a blue hand and curled the fingers forward to draw him to the center of the room, as well, her yellow eyes warm upon him. “Are you familiar with Knight Adley Kenobi, Colwyn?”

Adley observed the young man quietly, hands tucked into the voluminous sleeves of his robe as he did so.

Fan-Based Roleplay / Re: An Era of Theatrics [Closed]
« on: September 23, 2019, 08:06:01 pm »
Devlin grinned at that, “He would have made a good ventrue,” he noted, almost sadly, as he was not a ventrue. While it was possible for mekhet to be power-hungry, he knew this was still going to throw a wrench in things, given they were known more for being shades, out of sight, and out of mind, “But the Invictus is definitely the clan for him.” That much they could agree on.

In either case, he was apparently done. It was figured out in his head. “Good, now try not to let Maya kill you, or anyone else,” Angelus said, as more of a joke. He didn’t think Donovan would be killed on his first night. He also hoped Maya would keep her own character low-profile, but he knew that might be too much to hope for.

“Don’t worry, I’ll look out for him! We Invictus gotta stick together, right?”
Devlin said, and Maya just rolled her eyes, but her lips remained curved in a slight grin. “But I haven’t heard enough about your character yet, Kyle. Don’t hold out on us!”

“He’s going to be a hero, isn’t he?” Maya said, “I’m sure he doesn’t want to start revealing his secrets to a host of villains.”

“I’m not a villain…I think you and Donny are the only villains here.”
Apparently being a power hungry, Varys inspired, mekhet meant he was a villain. Not that it would stand in the way of Invictus loyalty, of course.

Fan-Based Roleplay / Re: An Era of Theatrics [Closed]
« on: September 20, 2019, 08:06:26 pm »
“It is a character,” Devlin reminded Kyle, amused at his wariness about the sort of character that Donovan was crafting, “I’m sure Maya isn’t really a soul-sucking succubus who made a deal with the devil, though I’ve occasionally had doubts.”

Maya smirked a bit, “No, I’m just the devil.”

“See! We’re all good here.” Devlin laughed, as Angelus rolled his eyes. He was tempted to say Maya was hardly that, share a story or two to prove she was far too nice, but he opted not to. They all knew it was a joke. “But I like that idea – that he was stolen goods from another vampire, or something, that was eying him. It definitely makes that relationship much less straightforward if the sire still tried to cultivate his skills as a further middle finger to the other – to show off using him against their foe.”

“And gives him more reason to be want to be separated from him, too,” Angelus agreed. The character was coming together. “Now the question is, if he’s already killed his sire and separated himself from him, likely assuming power where he was before – why is he traveling to this area? Did someone find out what he’d done? Is he avoiding the rival of his sire?”

On the run, avoidance, or just a change of pace could certainly all play into it.

“Perhaps he’s determined there is a way to bring down that rival in this town, as well,” Maya offered, “If he’s seeking information…it could be a sidequest of sorts, if you want to consider building up the rival to the sire that originally wanted your character for their own.”

“The storytellers are generally pretty willing to work on character sideplots, and possibly work it into larger things, too.”
Devlin noted.

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