Private Jedi Covenant // Jules of the Desert

[Wyatt Morga]

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Socorro Enclave
870 ABY

The freighter landed with some struggle. It wasn't the finest ship made, nor the fastest - but it was reliable as they came and Wyatt got it for a deal he couldn't help but appreciate. It's inside was spacious, its cargo full of food and supplies - and it'd serve him well for the rest of his trip around the galaxy. To create this new Order he had in mind - not so much of the many, but of the few; the Jedi Masters of the Masters, those who'd spent years perfecting their craft, that Jedi aspired to be like.​

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There was yet another of those chosen like on the planet of Socorro - The Viridian Jedi himself. A man often thought dead, the savior of Corellia more times than Corellia could care to admit - Wyatt sought none other than Julius Sedaire himself. They'd spoken, befriended one another years ago during his efforts to unify the Jedi - but with its failure, they had lost touch. He hoped, that despite the time that had passed between them, they could speak in that same comfort as they once had.​

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The desert winds were hot and quick - dry on his bearded face. His hood did what it could to stop the sand granules from scratching at him, but it's efforts were in vain the longer he walked. His destination was miles away - and the water pack that sloshed on his back felt heavier every time it moved. It'd be many hours before he'd make it to the Enclave; likely near sun down, if he were to make a guess. For now, however, it would simply be one foot in front of the other...​

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---​

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The Enclave broke into his line of sight, forcing a relieved smile on the Jedi Master. As he approached, he looked for signs of life - no doubt the sensors and people within actively aware of his presence already. He called out through the slowly darkening landscape to his hopeful respite -​

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"Julius?!", he called out.​

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"It's me, Wyatt Morga. I've come to speak with you - to ask for your help."​

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He'd stop before the doors of the Enclave, glancing around for an eyebot, or something to signify they had heard him.​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Music​

"Julius?! It's me, Wyatt Morga. I've come to speak with you - to ask for your help."

Julius had felt the other as soon as he landed on planet. For weeks, he had done little but meditate, train, and hone his senses. As Romi Jade had reawoken him to the disastrous state of the world, he had spent no little amount of time contemplating his role in the larger events of the Galaxy. Corellia was safe, healing. Healed, if he was honest. If his home ever needed him, he would come again with al the fury he could muster to once more break her chains and save her. For now, the Maw needed dealing with. As did the Sith. Too much bickering. Too much of politics, too little of serving and protecting those he had sworn to. But his current debate was just how to enter the fray, on whom's behalf, and to what end or theatre of battle should he commit?

For once in his life, he was dangerously close to being a proper Jedi now that he was nearing old age. Keira had always teased him he was more like her than those he taught or was taught by. And maybe she was right. Years with the Mando'ade, and decade and more married to one, had certainly changed the frame of his mind. But it was tempered by the time with the Aing-Tii, and with the Outback and Judges. Overall, as he sat after morning practice with a desert melon striped peach and tan, enjoying munching down to the rind with a canteen of water nearby for a drinnk. He hadn't given up drinking, but it certainly wasn't his breakfast drink of choice anymore. Biting a bit of bantha jerky from his pouch, he sighed as he stood and shrugged into the robes sitting nearby, a deep emerald.

Overall he looked like an eclectic take on a standard Jedi. Burnished beskar pauldron fitted to his left shoulder, hanging on a leather strap crossing his chest like a bandoleer, with his lightsaber clipped to it. At his waist hung a belt he clipped together, tightening a thigh holster which held a K-16 bryar pistol in a battered pouch-like sheath. Black boots, well cared for but battered, and his right arm was left bare from the shoulder down to showcase the alien Aing-Tii prosthetic of pearlescent carapace and softly glowing songtseel, sworls of the silvery-blue metal tracing it much like the markings on the Monks themselves. A warrior, for certain, and garbed in his own fashion rather than a uniformed codex.

It took a moment to feel where Wyatt was, and he smiled. He liked the man, even if they weren't as close as he had once hoped they'd become. If he had found him, and sought him out, there was likely a dire need though. They didn't exactly attend regular dinners at the others house every week. Standing, he closed his eyes, salt-n-pepper hair and beard somehow still impeccable despite a morning sparring session with the Enclave Typhojem droids and even the remotes too. Even at his age, with the new regimen, he might be as fast or faster than he was in his youth. And certainly more deadly. Wisdom made for much in a warrior. With a twisting of the air, Julius appeared behind Wyatt as he folded space to greet his visitor.

It was a flashy way to make his appearance. But the Green Jedi did quite enjoy making such a statement as he did. Smiling broadly, he leaned into a rock and heaved a sigh of amusement to hide the strain of the technique, though his piercing blue eyes might show just a hint of the strain.

"Why Wyatt, it has practically been an age. What ever can I do for you?" drawled the Battlemaster, eyes mischievous at the gentle chide of his compatriot and their both having an infamous habit of being presumed dead or falling out of contact at the regular drop of a hat. If you couldn't tease your friends, they were poor friends indeed. Or at the very least, not likely ones Julius would value to have bear such a title.

Wyatt Morga

 

[Wyatt Morga]

Wyatt could feel the echo's of the ability through the Force even before he had done it - but that didn't make it any less impressive. He turned his head with a smile of his own, beaming at The Veridian - who's age, despite being so old, still paled to the Morellian's own. Still - Sedaire had made much more of a name for himself in the parts of the galaxy that mattered to him, and Wyatt had heard of those exploits. He respected the Battlemaster, enjoyed his company - but most of all, looked up to him in many ways he would not yet admit.​

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"Julius.", he mused back as he dropped the heavy travel pack from his shoulder and strode towards him. A hand outreached, gripping at Julius's own forearm in a heavy shake - a pat on the back for reassurance.​

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"The desert has treated you fairly, I can see. Better than myself."​

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He suddenly became aware of the sand in his beard, the dust on his face. A dirty glove wiped what he could, but it was a futile effort - and so he simply accepted his impressions for what it was. Glancing Julius over, he smiled again;​

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"Never a dull blade, I see. I myself have only recently recovered from my uh..."​

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He paused, adjusting his weight with some subtle shame.​

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'... own missions. It matters not now, I suppose, but I'm glad you're still here."​

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Julius Sedaire​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

'... own missions..."

Wyatt's voice rose and fell as the embrace of old compatriots parted. Julius met the offered hand with his cybernetic, the feeling oddly warm, if not biological in nature. One day, he mused, he would need to figure out just what the Monks had done to make this arm. It was all some of his contacts in the Underground and on Corellia could do to repair it. Replacing it wholly, or upgrading it with new parts, was beyond any of them so far. Gesturing behind the visitor, he nodded, Certainly Julius had been distracted by his own personal hell and pain, and for a moment at those words, his eyes looked hollowed and haunted as a stern face with a smile hidden in the eyes flashed in his memory. Pain laced his aura, and he shook his head to rid himself of the unwanted and unbidden memory of his departed wife.

"We all have our own affairs. It's the curse of many Orders and Jedi to lose the self over the whole. All about balance, as I tech the young Guardians who come here, if I'm allowed to soapbox a bit."

Taking a drink from his canteen, he gestured towards what looked like a simple rock arch against the canyon wall, his meager telekinetic abilities triggering the door hidden within to open and slide within the canyon walls.

"We best go inside before the evening storms come. And as we do, you can tell me what brings the legendary Wyatt Morga to my humble Enclave. You're arrival has been on the flows and currents for days, but shrouded in uncertainty in everything except import. What troubles you so, my brother? Woman? Money? Drink? I can fix the last one, at least. And it often fixes the second."

The smile that burst forth at the thought of him and Wyatt drinking and bemoaning women together was genuine, but the humor in his eyes was matched with a certain set of the brow and jaw that spoke of determination and resolve. Whatever it was that bothered him, in Julius would Wyatt find at the very least sound advice and likely a willing set of hands to help fix the issue.

Wyatt Morga

 

[Wyatt Morga]

"If only it were so simple.", he bemused with his compatriot.​

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Following him, he let the doors close behind just as the sun began to creep on the edge of the far mountains. In only a matter of minutes, it will have gone down - and the brutally hot desert would become unbearably cold. For his days of travel, it was all he could do to meditate and stay warm despite it. The thought of sleeping in the warmth of the convent was welcoming, to say the least.​

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Removing his outer robe, he patted what sand and dust he could near the entry way - where the grime on the floor implied others had done so as well. The robe was left on a hook, and the Jedi Master continued following the Veridian; and smiled as he was eventually offered a drink. Once, he wouldn't have done so - the thought of purity in all things was high on his priorities; but he had changed now.​

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Without an Order, without Padawans looking up to him - he was simply another man. A good drink could help settle the nerves, and create compansionship with others - something he could not afford to miss with what he hoped to ask. The taste of the alcohol was harsh - the burn mixed with bitters and orange. Amidst it all was the woody stock it was likely kept in - but it felt good despite the burn.​

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"I hate to come here and ask of you something so bold, but it is concerning the Sith...", he said as the drink was set down.​

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"The New Jedi Order, I believe, may be the future should the Alliance stand tall - but I do not believe they are ready for war despite their victories and defeats against the Sith Empire. They're unaccustomed to it, beating their heads against durasteel bulkheads that will never open - and in doing so, they harm their image, harm the chances of their survival. The Silver Jedi are not far from the same - but they at least have the power of peace on their side."​

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"What I came to ask you, Julius, is to go to war. With me, with a few select others - to serve as a galactic symbol. To show that armies will not turn back the dark, but a few bright lights amidst it all. We only need a handful of us Masters to do it - and I believe it could end the threat the Sith serve, for years to come."​

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Julius Sedaire​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Music Theme
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"...To go to war..."

It was almost all he had ever known. For the Republic. For his family. For the Alliance. For the Outback, and even sometimes just because. But mostly for Corellia. When he spoke next, the learned accent of the Core was stripped away and melted off his words. Gone was the educated refinement and tenor. It was a slow bari drawl with a hesitation. A habit of his he had picked up during his years leading the Green Jedi, where reputation often confused them with the rigors and strictness of CorSec and the Corellian government. The accent of his birth, it showed people he was not just some government big wig or puppet of authority. And it was, to a larger theme and import than fitting in, who he was and where he came from. Truth to such founding were important to a man as he aged, or at least were becoming so to Julius.

But the question was a moment in answering, as he debated the answer that came to his lips almost instantly. It was a quality he had learned raising his children (when he could be around to do so). A quality his life had drilled the opposite into him, but his wife had taught him. Tempering his temper, as he jokingly called it to those who called him on it. The mixed drink was set aside, and a dusty emerald bottle was pulled from the under shelf of the bar cabinet in his quarters. A large Aurek was on the label, and he smiled. Not many knew he owned Whyren's reserve, or at least a large stake. They kept him supplied with the finest batches of the legendary whiskey. The cork came out easily, a reserve batch with a cast bronzium Corellian stopper to it, and he set it aside as the shooter glasses slapped down on the table between the two veterans. Pouring a shot for himself, and one for Wyatt, he nodded as the glass slid to his companion. It was an old tradition that he very much did doubt Wyatt wouldn't notice the significance of to a military type like himself.

"Whyren's Reserve, Batch Number NN821. Damned near the match of that 182 that Han Solo favored, so go the stories. Aged thirty years, and smooth as silk on the waters back home. I always drink it when sealing an oath, iffin I can. And I think you're thinking aright, and the guilt seeing those kids struggle while I was sidelined has eaten at my heart. We should have never left them to face the front alone. And it's high past time we pay back their sacrifice and courage with our own. "

A grin, and a dangerous one at that. He was quite ready to walk up to the biggest man at the bar and slug him straight in the eye and let whatever may come next to be what it would be.

"Wyatt, let's go pick a fight..."

Wyatt Morga

 

[Wyatt Morga]

"Wyatt, let's go pick a fight..."​

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Wyatt felt a warm security wash unto him - the small waves of that joy spreading to a smile on his face. Julius was one of the more militant jedi he new - not in his effort to crusade, but in his skill and focus on battle. Were there anyone he would want on his side in a fight against a Dark Lord such as the Worm or Darth Carnifex - it would be a man like Sedaire. Wyatt rose from his seat and slapped a hand on the man's shoulder - comforted by the fact that his team of one was now two.​

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"Then we shall, Julius."​

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He reached over, grabbed a shot of the vintage laid before him, and took it in time with the Battlemaster. It was smooth, but Wyatt still shook his head back and forth to clear the burn from his mouth - but the after taste was immaculate. Let it never be said that Han (or Sedaire) had bad taste in whiskey.​

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"There are others I must still speak to - Allyson Locke , Coren Starchaser , Valery Noble , and Romi Jade . Despite the fall of the Sith Empire, I fear they remain active in the darkness - such as their raid on Wayland some months back. The Maw may be the Alliance's concern - but I fear this Empire-In-Exile isn't being taken seriously enough. I'd like us to hunt down what remains of them, assist the Alliance against the threat of the Maw in time, and help reestablish the Jedi as the leaders of our galactic morale compass."​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Nodding, Julius put cork back on the bottle and slid it over to Wyatt, smiling.

"I know you're ain't a drinker, but go on take it. When we're done, we'll finish 'er off. I'll get my ship ready, she's been drydocked a while yet. You're welcome to stay here a few days and rest, and I can take you by shortcut back to your freighter. Or we can use my ship if needed. I'm more than ready.."

Short but sweet, and to the point. As he spoke, he was punching in a sequence to a datapad and collecting bits from around the room. It had been his tomb and his sanctuary both in the last few years. But now that it came to it, he was eager to put it behind him and be of use to the Galaxy again. He had seen the Alliance born, stumble, and rise... Now he would do his part to help it's Order grow into what it truly could be, since his failings had forced them to step up before their time and take on responsibilities they were not yet ready for in any shape. Admirable though their results and efforts were, it was time for others to step in and help the younger regroup to cement their Order and learn the last few things people like Julius and Wyatt had to teach.

Wyatt Morga

 

[Wyatt Morga]

"When we're done, we'll finish 'er off."​

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Wyatt picked the emerald bottle from the table and glanced it over - a fine bottle from a fine time. The corners of his lips turned up at it, and he set it down near his elbow - turning back to Julius to speak again.​

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"Let us rest for a bit - and then we can be off. I believe our first target should be Ashin Cardé Varanin - she's escaped Jedi Justice for far too long. Add on, she may have information necessary to finding other's from the Sith Empire days; Sith who leave the old regime often keep contacts within them. I don't expect her to sell them all out - but if we can do something of the sort, then all the better for us."​

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"As well, there are some others we need to visit. Valery Noble , Allyson Locke , Romi Jade , and Coren Starchaser . Pilots, mechanics, splicers - any other contacts would be of great benefit to us. If you know of any, let me know and we'll seek them out. Who you trust, I shall trust as well."​

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Julius Sedaire​