Private In the Midnight Hour | Des & Nyla

[Desbre Gensan]

Tag: Nyla Sallaros​

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The time it took to journey back from the Unknown Regions into the Deep Core left Des with much to ponder. She’d had a message waiting in her buffer when she re-established contact with the holonet to dump her astrogation survey data to the company she’d taken up temporary work with.

But more than that, she had the urge to head back in. The time with Anse was lovely, but his moon wasn’t somewhere she could stay forever. Wild and untamed as it was, and as much as she enjoyed it there. It was somewhere to hide. Not to do what she wanted to do.

The message came as a surprise. A request for all Jedi to check in. At first, she thought it might be a trap. She checked the news nets. Nothing seemed particularly out of place. She shot a brief message back and moved on, thinking nothing of it. A periodic status check wasn’t really anything worthy of note.

She sensed her walkabout was coming to a close, for now. Over the next few weeks and months, she made her way home. ‘Home’ such as it was anyway. Her ship was more home than anywhere else. But in some ways returning to the temple felt like coming home. At least to the kind of home she knew.

But she made some new contacts along the way, taking the scenic route. New opportunities came. A few friendships made along the way. Some of them quite surprising. A twi’lek queen of one of the most popular planets in the galaxy. A wheelchair-bound Jedi who was more than she seemed. Learning to manipulate heat.

Now the mottled blue-white sky of hyperspace streaked past, and the timer counted down. As it reached zero, the sky shattered into long streaks of light that resolved into pinpoints of light. The city-planet rushed up to greet her, screeching to a halt just before impact. The glowing lights, lines, and rings of the planet were as familiar as ever and unchanged. Space traffic was choked with ships and skyhooks.

Taking the controls she tucked into one of the lines of ships headed for the planet. ATC eventually worked through the queue and contacted her. She flashed her Jedi ident and credentials. One of the small perks of being part of the Order. And of course, having her own ship. She didn’t have diplomatic grade credentials, but she at least wouldn’t be hassled and could take priority.

Soon she slipped through the planetary defensive shield grid and found herself flying toward the temple area. Another tentative request came in from the temple control, but spotted her ‘colors’ and simply directed her to land in one of the free pads. There she sat down the ancient ship and shut it down.

Service techs and droids made their way over to the vessel by the time she stepped out, resplendent in a Jedi uniform in whites, sky blues, and light to medium grays. As they asked a few questions she told them about the damage from the crash she’d undergone and … would they please give it a once-over?

Making her way in deeper one of the temple guardian Jedi intercepted her. Recognizing her the other woman gave a small smile. “Welcome back. you’ve been gone for quite a while.”

”Thank you, Neela. It’s good to be back,” Des replied. She was uncertain if it actually was good to be back. But it didn’t hurt to be polite. “Is everything alright?”

Neela was a togruta with sharp instincts. Guarding the temple, especially in these times, was a particularly solemn and honored position. But also required the vigilance of a predator. She was an ideal choice. “One of the Masters asked to pass this along,” she said as she fished out a datapad and transferred a file onto her own. A small chime went off, as her message buffer updated. An automated welcome back from the temple computer. Random updates and official information releases. Junk. Spam. Junk. A lot of junk. But there were a couple interesting messages. One was a message for padawans of a certain age and skill level. They would begin looking to assign teachers and students together. She was notified she was on the list, and fairly high up on the candidacy. There was a link to her information as well.

That was new and different. And welcome. Thanking Neela, Des took her leave and notified the quartermaster of her return. If worse came to worst, she could rack ops on her ship. But no, her old room was still available. Good. She would deal with it later.

The temple halls were still familiar as ever. Bling. Another update. Grumbling, she pulled it out of her pocket. One of the Masters wanted to have a word with her. The timestamp was dated a week ago. Master Nyla. Screwing her features up, she queried the temple’s computer and com devices. Access restricted. Someone didn’t want to be disturbed. Location?

The system thought about it for a moment, considered who was making the request, then spat out the location proper. Des cast her gaze toward the upper levels of the temple as though she could see through the tons of duracrete. Expanding her awareness out in the Force, she began taking a census of every padawan, knight, and master. Nothing more than the faint caress of light like lidar mapping everything out. The entire temple lay outlined in the glow of insects and bacteria, painting it all in ghostly to bright glowing gold. Each Jedi stood out as bright blue, and the more powerful, the brighter they were.

Sure enough, someone was in one of the rooms reserved for the Masters. Feminine. The odds were good it was Nyla. Tentatively she brushed consciousnesses with Nyla. If it could be translated to words, it would have been I’ve returned. Did you want to speak?

 

[Nyla Sallaros]

Decades could not be compared to centuries.

Perhaps that would have been the ideological perspective of most, looking at the past in the perspective of one's own life time, but it was hardly her preference. It was simpler to recollect every aspect of the past and present when one was accustomed to enduring the lengths of time, and it's ebbs and flows, even when it was difficult to convey to the common individual.

That had become the custom for Nyla, however, as she spent most of her days, since returning to the temple, meditating in the privacy of the masters meditation rooms. Fairly free from the vibrations that were given from the youth but not far flung from the reverberations that provided the stimulation of youthful energy that often stimulated her aged mind.

If one had asked her why she had neglected to take an apprentice in the many decades since her invested involvement with the present Jedi collective she would have distantly recollected her burdens extragalactic. Though they were difficult to understand, many were swift in the uptake that times referred were best left unexplored.

One particular individual that she had taken to rather well was that of Wyatt Morga. Though he was young, by standard comparison to her own long life, he was wise beyond the years that would have denoted his presence in the galaxy. While he was only the Grandmaster in title, and pseudo-formal acknowledgment, she was more apt to accept his position in light of his achievements and limitless patience and understanding.

He was perhaps one of the few that reminded her of her days on Tython centuries ago.

Letting her meditative state drift from thoughts of particular individuals, and into the drift of the Force, the feeling of another mind brushing against her own was far from a shock. Unexpected and unannounced, though it was, it was hardly an unwelcome sensation that would have been met with reproach.

I've returned. Did you want to speak?

They came not as words but rather as a sensation translated into notions reflecting the relative intent. Intent that quickly stimulated the master's memory as her own mind drifted to brush against that of whom had contact her. Young, distant and uncertain but bristling with a mild sense of expectation; though she could not quite decipher which emotion on which it was based.

A welcome return, and one much anticipated, she returned to the young woman's mind with the a graceful courtesy for the expected defenses against excessive impression. You do not know me, but I would much like if you would allow me the chance. While I did not inquire too heavily I learned enough to know I wished to meet you.

In some ways she was more comfortable with telepathy than speech, in correlation with keeping a distance from those that might seek her harm having been a common reality within the past few centuries, and as such had granted her a level of refinement that she did not often see in others; though she was apt to acknowledge that it was a trait of some species she'd sparsely encountered.

I've made arrangement for you to be directed to my meditation room when you arrived. If you need to settle in first feel no need to rush.

~

Desbre Gensan

 

[Desbre Gensan]

Tag: Nyla Sallaros​

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The contact that came back was strong, powerful, but not invasive. But what would one expect from a Master? This felt like contacting an ocean of power by comparison to herself. Even so, it was placid and calm. She was placid and calm. Whatever this was, it didn’t feel like trouble. Some of her anxiety eased a notch at that.

No, there is no trouble. Trust.

That voice again. She’d been hearing it for some time. Well, it was as close to a voice as she could experience. There was no sound. It was a feeling. There was no gender that she could discern. It was sourceless but came from all around and inside. It was unnerving, in how reassuring it was. Every time she followed it’s directive things … became easier. Better. Smoother. Things worked out in her favor. Which was, once more, unnerving as all hell. When would the other shoe drop?

Clearing her throat, she began making her way to the upper levels. ~I will be along presently if that’s alright,~ she replied, strengthening the connection. She wasn’t louder so much as clearer. it seemed to take little effort, now that she was more attuned. This time it wasn’t just concepts, but almost the sound of a voice. Airy, light, but by no means meek. It had a rougher quality, like slightly crusted snow versus fresh powder. By no means unpleasant, but simply showed the wear of its use.

As she stepped out of the lifts, one of the support staff greeted her and moved to escort her. Though she seemed to know exactly where she was going and precisely how to get there.

These levels were quieter, not just in sound but in the mental noise. The chatter of the younglings faded away and the outbursts in mind and emotion that came with. The same was true for teenagers. Sometimes with much more strength. It seemed like a lifetime ago since she had been fifteen or sixteen, though it was a little under a decade. Even then, she’d never been so angsty. She’d been forced to grow up fast with a dashed childhood.

Within a few minutes, they had reached the doors to Nyla’s particular chamber. Padawans weren’t strictly off-limits, of course. But this was a place you only went when it was important. Younglings of course never came up here. But she was far from a youngling. She was an adult and one who trained obsessively.

She took the time to feel out the area around her in greater detail, but focused on Nyla, waiting until she seemed to be ready or accepting of her presence and entry, then simply keyed the door and stepped into the darker interior.

Inside she seemed to shine like a jewel with her pale skin, hair, eyes, and uniform. The light rolling off her in the Force did nothing to diminish the optical illusion. Des cast her gaze about, thankful for the dimmer interior, but nothing was ever truly dark to an Arkanian. She picked up the ambient heat in the room as red glows, including Nyla (unless she matched the ambient temperature or could obscure her thermal radiation).

”Master Sallaros,” she inquired aloud. The voice matched pretty close to her mental voice. Months ago she might have been more timid. But some of her recent adventures while on walkabout had returned at least some of her confidence in herself and her abilities. Or rather that she was capable with what she’d been learning from the Jedi. Her piloting skills were never in question.