Forward into the past...

[Julius Sedaire]

Injuries still pained him, burning lines of sensation and agony from his fight with the murder tooth. Perhaps it had been fool-hardy, or perhaps it had been just the right thing. Regardless, most of those on the medical frigate had treated him like some man possessed. Always he had commanded respect from warriors, not because of his Force prowess of because of his kills, though if they knew it was a new sort of respect. Most often they showed respect for a skill whispered as a rumor for the one once known as the Wolf of Concord Dawn. Where once quiet and sometimes grudging respect was present, it was replaced with sheer awe. Now there was a legend about him, and some doubted it, whilst others regarded him as story made flesh.

Either way, as he walked to the space Draco had made available to him, he found he cared not. Today was not bout his past, but future.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Hefting the box from his first visit to Draco, he sat the thing on a low table of veshok wood and knelt, casually draw out the now long-knife that was once his sword. A blade he had perhaps all to aptly named the jada blade. The blade of the wanderer was it's basic translation, and with his actions in the Clan Council chambers, Ijaat had become just that in truth. Quietly the blade and scabbard rattled to a rest on the table, and he drew back the rough cloth covering that had covered the case containing the object within. Phrik bound digits touched the metal of it, and he drew back his new limb, eyeing it in a trance almost as he turned it this way and that, considering. What did it mean to be unwhole in this way? Was he truly still a warrior, now? Unsteady in his footing in the forms, slow to move as he became used to an entirely new range of motion, strength and agility from the prosthetic from Akure that Dracos' friend had provided...

Useless questions... He was a wanderer, adrift on the galactic tides... And his true answers lay within the case his hand had struck ringingly.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Reaching a hand forward to the locks, he pushed the lid back and open, fully this time. Good remaining eye widened in surprise and anticipation, whilst the muscles of the healing socket on the side of his face covered in rapidly assimilating synth-flesh widened in reception, a plain patch of black tusken sand silk covering whatever grotesqueness was beneath it's form. Nestled inside the case were twenty pieces of crystal and unknown metal, glowing, blinding in their presence in the Force. Their Aura was almost frightening, and right away he surmised the case must have been coated in some sort of dulling resin or the like, like he had encountered from various products of the more bespoke variety. Even in their varied, and unbeknownst to him at the time, broken state the shards before him radiated history, prestige, power, and the sort of immortal whisper a man might feel in the halls of his Ancestors, a hackle and goose-bump raising impetus of pride and duty.

Regardless of the backlash that might await and heedless of [member="Draco Vereen"]'s warning, Ijaat pulled his senses into himself and then poured them over the shards, questing...

 

[Julius Sedaire]

As his mind and spirit poured over the pieces, he began to sense connections between them, but in a tangled and snarled mess. Whilst each glowed dimly, and suffused the small meditation chamber of his own spartan insistence, he surmised it was not all readily apparent to eyes of the body. Force Sight showed him a soft humming light pouring from the objects, visions dancing in the air around them like ephemeral smoke of the other planes. Ancient voices clattered in the back of his mind for his attention, half-husks of wisdom and majesty, but yet he did nothing, riveted to observing the pieces, delving still deeper. Each thought was a burdened step forward through the choir of chaotic clammerings, which were in all honestly less anxiety inducing than they were pity inducing. Something wrong had happened here, and the object had suffered a breaking, and not for the first time. Old wounds, old Shatterpoints once healed, bled in the force before his eyes. He would heal it, if he could... But he would need to know his answers and its' true form first before anything.

Affixed in his mind was the name of Tython, a planet, and the symbol he had shown Draco. And he presented it to the disjointed collective in his mind. And waited.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

As the question was posed, the voices suddenly quieted at the mental spoken words of 'Tython' and the suggested image he held in his minds eye. None spoke, and the silence stretched on and on unbearably. Seconds ticked by like slow moving golden drops of time made into honey on the winters of Mandalore, up north where only the stoutest of Clans called home. But the pride in his adoptive birth culture raised no stirrings this time. They were no longer the warriors he had been told they were, and many claimed the heritage of a people broken. Ijaat was apart, and in that paused moment of introspection he felt a shift in himself, and his very being. The gatekeeper of the holocron he possessed from Ke'Dem had told him the Force would change him in unknowable ways, and he began to finally see his place, the destiny and identity he had once sought to run from. An identity at once simpler and infinitely more complex than the one he had wove to replace it. And suddenly, with that acceptance, a mental burst of power from the case came, all voices crying out at once, sending an image along with it. An image and a singular wood that sent a shiver down his spine.

Je'daii....?

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The image shown was the shards before him, their hues identical, but arranged in a specific pattern. A shape coalesced and adhered in a specific setting to him, a roughly globed shaped device of 20 faces, spinning and pulsing with a blinding prismatic light. It moved freely, floating in his mind and turning slowly, ever so slowly, as the senses of the Force-Smith poured into the objects before him, which unbeknownst to him had begun to float up one at a time above there resting alcoves on the smooth velvet lining. As the vision began to fade, it was easily recalled with a simple closing of his eyes, and there spun the whole made up of the pieces in front of him. Reaching out a hand, he grasped one, wincing ever so slightly at the spike of wrongness in his soul at touching it. Almost a shadow of pain and regret, as if the piece itself were saddened. But the only objects that ever had even faint emotions to him were holocrons, and this was like no holocron he had ever seen.

Feeling the jagged edges, both in life and in the Force, on the piece, he selected another, seemingly at random, and the other floated to his free hand.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

As the second piece touched his hand, the feelings of pain and regret spiked for a moment, and then seemed to lessen as he brought them together. Spinning and adjusting, he angled them just so, and then poured the Force into the cracks between the objects. It was the same way he strengthened his weapons, by removing their Shatterpoints, or strengthening what he could not remove. Into these disparate pieces he poured his thought, his power, and his newly found abilities. No heat, for this was crystal, so that was minimal. The pieces seemed to want to reform into this shape, and with barely any encouragement his phrik-and-ivory limb met flesh as the two pieces flared in light. Voices seemed to at once quiet in multitude but grow in volume, as if he were hearing less distortion, but still unable to make out many words beyond the previous ones he had heard and noted in his minds memory.

Turning his focus outward in a wave of perception, he sought the third piece with patience in his eyes.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Centered in his being, meditation carried him deeper and deeper inside his own self, to the core of his being. Pieces of the object turned and moved of their own accord around him as he sought peace. Lifetimes of war had burned into his brain and twisted him from his youth, taken a quiet mind and fierce pride and exaggerated the flaws and minimized the benefits. Could he ever step out of his own shadow that such decisions had cast? Or would he, as he had on Myrkr, slipped back into the guise of the old grizzled war vet. Slip back to the man who sought death as a man in the desert sought water. Laying himself bare to the Force came more naturally and easier now, and as pieces slowly clicked and fused together in flashes of light, he tried for the first time to seek internally.

And what he found, was a voice he hadn't known he had lost..

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Everyone has a direction in life, if not a purpose and exact path. Ijaat had long lost his to fulfill the duties of his father. Ever devoted, his one act of rebellion had been to marry his wife and father children. And to come back to Mandalorian space to raise his family. But what was it he was now? Who was he. This life had but one caveat: Strike at the One Sith, and all like them. It had been the request of the shadowy figure there at his rebirth, one he suspected was Ashin, or one of her disciples or similar. But need it always be through war and grief that one oppose another? Certainly he could never put down the sword. It had become a part of his soul and heart. But maybe... Maybe just possibly this new lease on life could see a better balance in the two facets of his life...

Pieces clicked, the number together far outnumbering the free floating ones, and a near blinding light coming from the object now..

 

[Julius Sedaire]

As his journey began to wind into his very core, self-awareness became narrowed and focused, and he found something. If not the purpose he wanted, at least he had found a place to discover it from. A voice spoke in his mind, or maybe he heard it. This deep in thought it was hard to tell. Regardless, the voice spoke to him of balance and continuity. Of not only creating and maintaining life, a building desire in his heart, but of battle and war and of taking it. That to veer too far to one side or the other was dishonesty to their self in restricting actions for some sort of inner vanity compared to others. It is better to be violent, with violence in your heart, than to lie about it and cower under a guise of non violence. It showed him places, things, people. Over and over the same image flashed and burned into his mind, knowledge burned alongside it as the final piece had clicked into the shape. But without context, the visions and the words the voice spoke were impossible to fully comprehend, and eventually after what seemed like hours, his eyes snapped open, and he sat staring at the object in the crate, a twenty sided device of surpassing beauty and, in the Force, damn near perfect to his senses.

It had spoken to him of a person, a Madog, though whether that was title or name he did not know. Regardless, he needed to speak to Draco. Quite soon.