If Found, Please Return to Kashyyyk

[Epistor of Phasekion]

~ Location: Olmondo (rebuilt capital), Ruusan ~​

~Equipment: (in signature) ~ Tag: [member="Michael Sardun"] ~​

Ghost stories.

The kind of tale that dwelt on the tongues of the Ruusanians and the ghastly beings the allededely walked the grounds of yonder Valley were enough alone to make the Sargius Novians' skin crawl, not to mention how they affected her together. The superstition to be found here was in almost direct opposition to the myths of Sargus Novis: the latter was for the most part a beautiful and hopeful understanding of their world, the former a callous and horrifying rendition.

"The spirits of the Jedi who were trapped there, but freed and died elsewhere, were pulled back," one resident had told her when she asked about the Valley.

"I heard that if they find a live Jedi wandering around, they'll cut the Force out of you and leave you for dead in the surrounding desert," another had claimed.

She had heard a few more, directly and by way of whispers intercepted by Theran Force-listening. In any case, even if she hadn't, she certainly didn't want to visit the Force nexus here now. The idea for a trip had come out of a history class discussion about the place and Eustachya had decided the rest. But not she was regretting it. Her enthusiasm for Jedi history seemed curse-like.

As she walked down the alleyways of the shanty-town capital, she kept her hand atop the golden lightsaber at her belt, resting her palm over the interlocking snake heads. It made her feel a little better--the comfort of knowing her weapon was with her, even though she was far from the best bladeswoman.

But it failed to instill in her the confidence to go on, and that much she knew. In fact, she had stood at the approximate outskirt of the town, attempting to make the first onward step easier for herself. It wasn't though; somehow, it was even more impossible. An invisible wall stood before her, on the threshold, or maybe her feet grew tree roots. Either way, any attempt to progress was only one of retreat. Finally, the padawan desisted with a mighty sigh and reentered the capital.

Whatever to do now? she thought. To return to the Silver Rest and never speak of this seemed the best choice of action...except tell her classmate Bren if she asked, and maybe Pash, but be sure to swear them to utmost secrecy.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

By the time that [member="Eustachya"] entered the capital she'd feel something within the Force.

A tugging of sorts.

Power dragging her in. It didn't seem to specifically target her. Rather than ropes curling around and tugging in, it was more like the burning shine of the sun. Cyclically warm and scorching. Offering heat, a shelter against potential cold. It was the Lightside of the Force, but it was different than the calm of the Valley of the Jedi's presence. It was present. It was challenging and right now it seemed to possess a quality of fury. A low sort of anger, dimmed and pressed down, but there.

This seemed odd.

After all, the Lightside of the Force was peace and tranquility. The Darkside was passion and anger. So, what was this then?

If the Jedi followed along on the feeling, she'd eventually notice that others were experiencing it too. The furtive glances towards that singular direction. Some leaning towards it. Few if any followed though. Maybe it was cowardice, maybe it was intimidation, but they didn't find it within themselves to approach the center of that scorching sun. Eventually she'd reach a clearing. A marketplace that was busy and bustling. At the edge of it was a figure.

Clad in armored gold and just a single look underlined it- this was that sun.

He stood rigid and he observed.

There was a silence around him, as the people circled around him, assuming instinctively that this one was better left unbothered.

 

[Epistor of Phasekion]

~ Tag: [member="Michael Sardun"] ~​

Follow her instincts she did, to follow the perplexing warmth that was, but not to stare one she found the source. Or at least she tried her best not to. Staring was not considered rude on Sargus Novis, but Eustachya had since learned differently of many of her natural norms, including this. However, in this instance, she could barely help herself.

She pushed down her headscarf hood in preparation to move towards the golden man, but the padawan once again found her legs unresponsive to her will. She scrunched up her nose in annoyance; she had never been known to be as nervous as a discus-thrower as she knew she was as a Jedi-in-training. Actually, maybe that was it: the training part. Still somewhat in culture shock.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

It was as if a Pronedamna statue had shrunk down to the size of a human man and been gilded gold as they had been when Cymothoë sent them to Sargus.

Quickly, Eustachya sidestepped, a movement that she gratefully realized was possible, and began walking counterclockwise about the marketplace. From stall to stall she went, pausing to browse wares and only actually buying a single piece of strange fruit.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Eustachya"]

He had felt her eyes on him.

Her approach towards him.

Then the Force shifted and she shifted. Instead of challenge or consideration, the Padawan (Sardun felt presence in the Force) began to... shop. It was good that the confused expression was hidden by the gilded mask. Otherwise it might have been at least mildly amusing. That stern presence just... blinking a few times. The gilded mask followed the trajectory of the padawan.

Back and forth.

An apple here, potato there.

"Are you afraid, Padawan?" The voice would burn, but not in the physical space. It slipped within her mind and settled itself there. Like the weight of the sun, pulling down at the core and demanding attention.

 

[Epistor of Phasekion]

~ Tag: [member="Michael Sardun"] ~​

She had almost gotten used to the uncomfortable aura hanging all around the place, until the metaphysical sunlight clinging to her skin suddenly burrowed its way into her head. It settled first directly behind her eyes, before splitting and seeping into her ears. She jumped in her skin, lurching forward and dropping her half-eaten fruit into the dirt.

It wasn't physical pain at all, no, but the grossly under-trained padawan could not yet tell the difference between her two selves: the flesh-and-blood and then the Force. What was felt by one was not necessarily felt by the other.

At first she was, she was scared, but then she closed her eyes in an attempt to ground herself, to recover, to adapt to the intrusion. Telepathy wasn't yet part of her slowly growing repertoire of powers, so she opted to keep her conscious thoughts quiet. But more than that alone, she was unsure what to say. She was caught between the truth, which would leave her even more vulnerable than she already was, or a lie. If she lied, at least to herself, maybe she could convince herself, and her fear would dissipate. It was less-than-ideal to bank on an assumption, a hope, but it was the best she could think of to do.

Slowly, she straightened and turned. Her gaze caught directly onto the gilded man before dropping to the ground.

No, that wouldn't do.

Eustachya clenched her fists at her side to instill some internal strength and rose he eyes to meet when she might assume the man's was. And then, slowly, she made her way to him.

"Meden agan," she replied in her native tongue before stopping before Sardun and finding similar words in Basic. "Not too much, sir."

Spoiler

Meden agan -- Nothing in excess

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Eustachya"]

There was nowhere to hide within the face of that burning light.

Strangely enough it did not judge.

It was too much to judge. Too all-encompassing, too large. To judge this would have been like a human judging an ant for building their hills. There was nothing to be gained within. It was the expression of the Lightside pure. Serenity, peace, cold frigid duty that could shatter mountains with its glance. There was nothing comforting about this light or the man that could be found at the center of it.

"Good. There is nothing to fear," A glance away from her - or at the very least the helmet shifted to watch the marketplace. "Unless one fears their society's descent into madness."

"How long since the Silver Jedi have erected this.... place next to the holy grounds?"

And so it became clear exactly what had drawn his ire in the first place.

 

[Epistor of Phasekion]

~ Tag: [member="Michael Sardun"] ~​

Her gaze shifted as the man's seemed to. She watched the people for a moment. Her first impulse was to apologize. It suddenly felt like Coruscant all over again, just with that one, last statement. She felt again like one of the mythological Thyreidians facing Iatrokles in his court--a bully facing their empowered, royal victim. The two certainly looked the parts: the man in his golden armor, and Eustachya is her comparative rags of robes.

She felt like she had done something wrong, inherited the guilt from her Silver predecessors. After only a short beat, she spoke. "I do not rightly know.

"Is it the Jedi's fault?" she asked slowly, shuffling her feet uncomfortably. It turned into a rhetorical question as she answered it on her own; when she thought about it, his insinuation was that it had been.

Even if she hadn't found the answer, it didn't matter. The past was, in any case, set in stone. The present, on the other hand, was unfolding and would shape the future. "Can anything be done for them?" Eustachya paused to glance back at the man. "Or does their grievance overwhelm?" Likely so. Doubtful that is was His work, but the many tricks of Saytros were exceedingly difficult to pry from the mind.

She knew that much personally.