Driftwood

[Julius Sedaire]

Julius wasn't right. Nothing felt right anymore, especially after the last few fights. The tighter he clung and harder he tried, the more things spun out of his control. The stronger he became, the faster, the smarter.... None of it seemed to matter. Friends died or drifted away. Things happened he never intended, and slowly the Green Jedi became a man he wouldn't have recognized. In none of the alternate timelines seared into his brain from the incident with Flow Walking did this happen... But the more he persisted, the further from the Light he drifted, each time with a justifiable excuse. Each time with a large step than the last.

He was in danger, truth be told, and nothing much was going to save him. Some level of him, some part of his rational mind still not clouded in doubt and fear, recognized that danger. So he had fled the Galaxy at large after Kal'Shebbol and his descent into butchery there, to hide from the reality of what he had become for a moment. To escape the beast lurking at the center of his heart that was more real than any fear or anger, and in part all the more real than those perhaps because of them. Empowered by them as it were.

Sitting in the carven alcove above the main gate, he rested his head in the shade of it as the mid-day sun of the black sand desert beat into his brow. Perspiration ran across the short sandy hair, and blue-grey eyes were closed in a pained expression in the heat. No weapons rested in the perch with him, just his faithful tailring Nilsavshelo, a dark scaled and furred little beast that had taken exception to him since the moment he had unearthed the old Guardian Academy. And he waited. For what, or when, or who he did not know... But he waited.

[member="Darron Wraith"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

Kal’Shebbol had been interesting for the Jedi Master, he wasn’t usually included in any type of diplomacy anymore. Well, I take that back. I just usually get called in for hostile situations that are ready to explode, and I’m asked to temper the explosion. The debriefing after with Mara and Jorus had been entertaining, just to speak to the pair of Wardens. Jorus had been the one to find him, and help get him back on his feat after the Death’s Hand incident, while Mara had been there while they had sieged Coruscant. Her coaching, whether she realized it or not, had finally allowed him to tap into Vaapad again and see that he still had some worth. It’s why he wasn’t moonlighting anymore, and had made an effort to get back out in the galaxy. Force Light burned away any trace of darkness, and he had ignited it with the intention of burning away the shattered vessel that Kryptus had turned him into.

Except, he was still around.

Desert heat beat down on his imposing frame, unrelenting against the black sand under his booted feet. Simple, khaki trousers and a loose fitting blue long sleeve hid the definition that years of training and war had granted him. Random reflection of light caught his eye from his prosthetic hand, and a light breeze pushed his long locks back while tickling the stubble on his face. Wraith moved like a man in his early to mid thirties, and he looked the part. If only I knew how old I was, his chuckle full of melancholy. By his best guess, he was over a hundred years old due to the time he has lost from carbonite freezing and the experiments that had been run on him. Such thoughts quickly left as they formed, it was what a Jedi did.

Jedi were taught to let go, so he did.

Which was why he stopped and looked up at the tree where a certain [member="Julius Sedaire"] sat, Mara had asked him to go help. Whatever that meant, the simply dressed Jedi Master didn’t know as he placed one hand over his eyes to get a better look at the man. Darron made sure to hide his presence in the Force, and he kept his lightsaber hidden on the back of his belt as well. No need in starting out on the wrong foot. “Julius? A mutual friend of ours sent me out here to talk to you, possibly see if I could do anything.” Leaving all titles aside as he took another step forward, he introduced himself plainly. “I’m Darron, and I have some experience in these things.”

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Laughter. That greeted the revered warrior who approached the warrior near the reborn gates of the Socorran Jedi Academy. A laughter that was once infectious. A laughter the would light up a room and cut the tension even in the midst of war sometimes. But there was something amiss in this particular sound. Too high pitched, a second too long, and the eyes gleamed almost sickly, the jaundiced tinge of a man sick, with something or from something. The plague during the invasion with the Alliance had done him no favors, even if a healer had mostly cured the disease. It had left marks, and left him open perhaps to the insidious voice of the Dark Side.

"Experience? Experience in having your mind ran through a wringer made of a Temporal Vortex and five other lives crammed into your skull? Well then friend, if you do, we should have a drink...But since you haven't, piss off, eh?"

And with that, the Corellian stood as if to jump down from the twisted tree he rested in, and then did, a moments hesitation for an unknown reason as he dropped to the black sand with a slight dust-kick of impact from his lithe frame. His clothes were the knee-high boots and vaguely Jedi-like tunic and pants he had favored in the Outback, and had grown accustomed to the fit of. Picking up a leather satchel at the base of the tree, his eyes seemed to grow distant for a moment, their usual mischievous gleam distant and sickly, almost as if maybe Julius were still feverish or unwell. In a way, he likely was. And Mara, being Mara, likely knew something was off with him after Coruscant. So she had sent this chap here. But no need to be rude to him, so he shook his head and grimaced apologetically, gesturing a bit widely.

"Look...I am guessing one of the Merrill's sent you... Though Jorus is probably too busy. No offense to you, you are apt to be a fine man. But... You can go back to them... I'm quite hale and stable for the moment, nothing any of them need to come down from the hyperlanes over obviously"

Bitterness. Resentment. Tinged with anger. He had lost every cause and battle or person he chose, except those others took the lead on. And always no matter how strong he became or how hard he tried. Corellia. The Empire. Seraphina. The Green Jedi. Keira. The Academy... Mara..Fight the sinking pit in his stomach as he may, he just could not put out the feeling that he wasn't, nor would he ever be, enough. That no matter what he became, always his would be a tale of a little too short and a little too late. A pity story wherein others would see waste potential and chance, instead of the heart and spirit that drove him to stand up again and again. The heart and spirit that still stirred, or tried to, in the gaze of this man, but did little more than fitfully flutter like a dying flame.

[member="Darron Wraith"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

If he had access to his sensory abilities, Wraith would have reached out with his sphere of responsibility and tried to understand this man. Facial expressions, and small movements of his hands told a story, one that his posture only further solved to highlight. Being a warrior his entire adult life had given him the ability to spot truths of the body, and use them to measure against lies of the voice. Those were small excerpts, with the Force he could see the whole story if he permitted himself to, but he chose not to. Instead, he drew in a deep breath and stood at a military rest with his arms behind his back. Slightly hunched, he was eye to eye, never letting his piercing blue eyes leave the pale green he was looking into. Merrill was right, the man is torturing himself.

Over what, Darron didn’t know.

Any words he had for the “piss off” comment he let them go, attributing that to the man’s inner pain. No, he wouldn’t let this situation escalate, darkness was there in the man. “You’re not well friend, not well at all.” His words weren’t the kindest, but this wasn’t a healer coming to help him. No, Darron had been this man before. Kind words didn’t help balm these wounds, and caring souls could only do so much. “The water is boiling all around you, are you going to be the egg or the potato?” Every word he wanted to say, every event he wanted to describe to show this man he wasn’t alone would do no good presently. You can only help the willing, remember that.

Turning towards academy, he opened his hand of flesh and pointed at hit. “Why don’t you give me a tour of this.” Wraith walked ahead, towards the door, while idly throwing some food from a pouch on his belt to the little animal that kept up with Julius. His back to the man, Darron knew the gold and electrum plated lightsaber was quite visible, but he carried on. “Every Corellian, I have ever met,” he stopped as he looked back while continuing towards the gate. “Don’t try to tell me you aren’t, you’re a very hardy and hardworking people.” Darron took a bit from the food in the pouch. “So, you seem lost, but you’re still up and standing. Everytime that happened to me, and I felt lost. I tended to find myself in other endeavors.” Finishing with the food, he put the pouch back in the belt and then opened the door.

“That’s why your friends sent me,” he carried on while securing the gate. “I know how you feel, as strange as that sounds. Sitting under a damn tree and pouting over it won’t do it.” Blue eyes looked at the lightsaber on his belt before going inside. “You’re a Warden, they are skilled at finding everything and anything.” His voice now echoing he walked towards the center of the grand entrance and put his hands on his hips. “So, talk to me and let’s find Julius...or you can tell me to piss off and I’ll leave you be.”

[member="Julius Sedaire"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The man had stones, and patience, of that much the Warden-Jedi-Corellian conflict was sure. But he also was kinder in some regards than Julius deserved, and though he sensed nothing from him, he gathered from the lightsaber that the man held a path similar to his. And so the lithe Green walked up to the gate and nodded, gesturing in. Within were a handful of elite, but dormant, lightsaber droids of all makes and models. From float-drones to droids capable of pressuring a Jedi Blademaster in combat, they stood around an uneven pit of sand strewn with various tiles and terrain. Chipped, tilted, tossed and turned. It was chaos. It was, simply put, a battlefield.

Pausing, he drank it in, taking a deep, rattling breath into his chest and smiling contentedly. The place was as close to home a he had ever felt, even Corellia considered. Especially now-a-days, the place echoed a certain broken part of his warrior spirit. And Darron had touched on something else he allowed himself to admit, just slightly. It also echoed a stubborn determination and tenacity. A refusal to die, surrender or be subsumed. Plus, the black sand caught people off guard often enough that some were amused by it. And others were flat out infuriated by it on a matter of principal it seemed.

Sweeping back the blue sleeveless robe he had taken up, he dropped it onto a standing table outside the ring and circled it as he began to talk and explain the Academy. Eyes seemed less disturbed and darkened, the hollow circles filling with eagerness. So too did the sadness pass, and a fierce intellect replace it. A change even came to his voice, and overall the man moved differently, more with a certain grace and ease that his closer friends associate with the cocky Corellian. Though his usual quips were reserved or non-existent, but it was clear this place meant something to him on an intrinsic level.

"This is a former Academy for Jedi Guardians of the Old Republic, before the Empire and Palpatine. In its' heyday, it produced the finest of warriors known, or helped to shape them. None who bore the title but that did not at least step foot on these sands. There is not much left but foundations and some subterranean meditation gardens and crystal caves now, but the stones remember. And they rejoice for the dance of sabers to be on the surface again, or so I fancy."

Reaching don, he knelt, taking a handful of black sand between his palm, and pouring it into the other and dusting his hands off like a gladiator of old.

"I found it looking for Corellian Colonies to make bolt-holes for my people... Which failed utterly. This world was the home of Lando Calrissian, and favored refuge of Crix Sunburris. Palpatine attacked it for the risk it posed to him in enabling the Guardians to grow and stay steadfast. And I had the dream to become its' new master, and train the next generation... Regardless of Order or Nation.... To teach all those who would reach a hand to hold anothers' firm in the coming darkness. But I am not so sure I am worthy of doing more than discovering it. I thought it was a part of my destiny once... But none of them hold it."

[member="Darron Wraith"]