Planet: Kashyyk
Location: Temple Garden, Silver Rest
The garden was lush, but the rich flora was carefully maintained, its manicured lines naturally enhancing the aesthetics of the flowering plants, instead of giving the appearance of restriction and containment. The design complemented the landscape of Kashyyk beyond the lake on one side and the massive trees and mountains that surrounded the Silver Temple on the other. The pleasant fragrances, the fresh breeze, it brought a caress of serenity to Pash's spirit.
He had found a circular open area that served as a junction between several stone paths. He could have easily performed the ritual at the training grounds, where room was ample for the sweeping arcs of the pole arm next to him. But the intent that day was not to hone combat prowess, but to amplify the Force within him. Though, as a Matukai, the two tasks were essentially one in the same.
The pressure he felt in his head had long ago been rendered irrelevant. His muscled arms quivered only slightly, the corded bundles holding Pash up as his body stood erect, upside down, resting on his hands. His unruly mane hung around his face, his eyes closed as he felt the pain of joint and limb. He was clad in loose fitting green pants, a sleeveless vest over his torso. A robe, similar to a Jedi's lay over a stone bench nearby.
Pash has stood thus for over an hour and a half, using the discomfort as a tool to focus his meager connection with the Force, allowing it to penetrate his tissue and bone, amplified by the single-minded concentration of the Matukai ritual.
Finally, Pash's legs began to fold slowly, without a measure of swaying, until his hips bent and his boots pressed to the stone beneath him. Equally paced, he stood up straight, only opening his eyes when his spine was again erect. Then, without so much as a glance downward, the tip of his boot tucked beneath the haft of the weapon laying beside him and launched it upward into his waiting hand.
Crisp air filled the man's lungs, exhaled with gratitude. Taking the wan shen in his hands, Pash stood stock still for a moment, the long, broad single-edged head of the weapon aimed skyward, as if poised to burst into motion. And then it did.
Pash's body became a blur of shifting feet and pumping arms, the wan shen whirling in a pattern that gave the appearance of a silver dome around the Matukai as the weapon was weilded with astonishing speed and precision.
[member="Epistor"]
Location: Temple Garden, Silver Rest
The garden was lush, but the rich flora was carefully maintained, its manicured lines naturally enhancing the aesthetics of the flowering plants, instead of giving the appearance of restriction and containment. The design complemented the landscape of Kashyyk beyond the lake on one side and the massive trees and mountains that surrounded the Silver Temple on the other. The pleasant fragrances, the fresh breeze, it brought a caress of serenity to Pash's spirit.
He had found a circular open area that served as a junction between several stone paths. He could have easily performed the ritual at the training grounds, where room was ample for the sweeping arcs of the pole arm next to him. But the intent that day was not to hone combat prowess, but to amplify the Force within him. Though, as a Matukai, the two tasks were essentially one in the same.
The pressure he felt in his head had long ago been rendered irrelevant. His muscled arms quivered only slightly, the corded bundles holding Pash up as his body stood erect, upside down, resting on his hands. His unruly mane hung around his face, his eyes closed as he felt the pain of joint and limb. He was clad in loose fitting green pants, a sleeveless vest over his torso. A robe, similar to a Jedi's lay over a stone bench nearby.
Pash has stood thus for over an hour and a half, using the discomfort as a tool to focus his meager connection with the Force, allowing it to penetrate his tissue and bone, amplified by the single-minded concentration of the Matukai ritual.
Finally, Pash's legs began to fold slowly, without a measure of swaying, until his hips bent and his boots pressed to the stone beneath him. Equally paced, he stood up straight, only opening his eyes when his spine was again erect. Then, without so much as a glance downward, the tip of his boot tucked beneath the haft of the weapon laying beside him and launched it upward into his waiting hand.
Crisp air filled the man's lungs, exhaled with gratitude. Taking the wan shen in his hands, Pash stood stock still for a moment, the long, broad single-edged head of the weapon aimed skyward, as if poised to burst into motion. And then it did.
Pash's body became a blur of shifting feet and pumping arms, the wan shen whirling in a pattern that gave the appearance of a silver dome around the Matukai as the weapon was weilded with astonishing speed and precision.
[member="Epistor"]