Keepin Corellia Weird
Location: D'quar
Days had passed and turned and blurred into weeks and possibly longer. Julius had lost track of time, falling into the patterns and rhythm of the life of a Jedi. He may not now, or even ever, be an Orthodoxical sort, but he was certainly able to become more and more worthy of the name as friends like [member="Romi Jade"] and [member="Coren Starchaser"] showed him the way forward and out of a bottle. More oft than not he was clean shaven and seen in the training rooms from rising to sleep. Idle fat had begun to turn again to lean muscle, and students came to the Battlemaster once more.Many came seeking to know Vapaad, or some specific style or trick. Most left frustrated. A bare handful, a kernel or core of dedicated Guardians, stayed for his philosophy and mentality. Reflecting back to his Master when he was in the Republic Jedi Order, he taught as Marasun would have. Thought before form before function. Learning the why before the how and last the way. Form Zero, as Master Yoda called it all those centuries before, was an invaluable cornerstone he stressed. Do not hesitate to strike if need be - but be sure there is a need. A strange view to be espoused by the Corellian, for sure.
One such lesson had just wrapped up, and the young Padawans and their Masters, Knights from fresh to senior veterans, and even a few Jedi Masters filed out. Some were given calisthenics and cardio for conditioning. Others were asked to write essays, work on public speaking and oration, or even find a situation that made them angry and navigate it without a display of temper. These were old and rusty skills for them, and even him, but they were key to showing the remnants of the Alliance and indeed the Galaxy that the Jedi could be trusted. A pendulum could swing too far, but with the right push back it was a course designed to correct.
Stepping out from the shower, the middle-aged Corellian ran a towel over his hair and checked over the Cybernetic arm that replaced limb of flesh and blood and sinew. The Warrior Monks of the Aing-Tii had given him princely gifts on his last visit, with little explanation. And their address of him had changed. Usually hailed as 'Sword Father', this time they hailed him as 'Green Sword' and seemed almost uneasy around him. But he was given time and aid to craft the arm he bore, a suit of armor, and the gift of a lightsaber crystal from a holy place of relics to the Aing-Tii. As well as given time and training to further hone his mind and skills, and collect himself from a dark place.
The arm was dubbed fine and free from water damage (which was preposterous, but still, it was a calming ritual). Clothes were put on in a certain way, more care than usual taken even if he was wearing 'spacers casual' as it were. Robes were for formal appearances where he needed to project the Jedi image. This was a visit from one to another, at the recommendation of a friend. A dark brown bantha leather longcoat of Corellian make went over a plain white spacers shirt, blakc trousers with a First Class Bloodstripe in metallic red threading. Well cared for and polished black spacers leather boots up to the knee with the trousers bloused into them. A dual-legged drop holster, with one side holding a plain lightsaber and the other a hefty bryar pistol. Casual visit or no, duty or danger either one could call at any time. The Alliance's fall showed that plainly.
Last came a worn Jed-Cred tucked around his neck and let to hang free on a chain after being pressed to his lips in a ritual for 'luck'. With that, he strode out of the training barracks, nodding to students and friends as he walked down the halls lost in thought but inexorably towards his goal. Dreams from the times of his visit to the Aing-Tii onward plagued him, and their meaning escaped him. Worse, they were coming unbidden when awoken now, and he had need to understand them, though where the need came from he did not know.
[member="Arcanus Sunstrider"] was reputed to be a man who might be able to unravel the mystery, and so he wound up at his door, rapping on the room entry with a knock worthy of any CorSec raider, trying to calm his agitation as best as he could.