Keepin Corellia Weird
Morning brought meditation. Quiet time in isolation out on one of the outlying mountain islands. Still in nothing much more official than how Morteg and others had found him wearing in the council chambers. His skill with telekinesis was, if anything, weaker now. But with focus he could assemble and disassemble his lightsaber with the Force alone. Something he had come to regard as an important ritual in his daily routine. The ancient saber he carried from the past was stashed in a foot locker. Best forgotten, for now. But his personal sabers underwent this process daily.Mid-day saw a grueling workout. Many ambitious padawans or knights, seeking tutelage he surmised, had begun to try and join him. From typical running and stretching as well as weight lifting, his routine had grown to include agility exercises that had Masters watching the younger ones try to duplicate and laugh. Though, after each exercise, it had become his habit to find the ones who showed promise (in his eyes) and give them pointers. Strange, to some, that those he helped weren't always the best performers of the task.
This day marked a solid month back at the Temple. He had so far done minimal in duties, trying to acclimate back to life n the Galaxy and get a grip on current affairs in the Core. As well, his old Rebel types were slowly being reconnected and reformed. One always needed such in his line of work. But today he had came to the sparring and combat areas, and taken up with a large open sand pit. Uneven height, width, material and even slant to the face pillars were at random throughout the space. Walls that rose and sunk to the sand only to rise again in undulation snaked through. At times they were taller than a wookie, at others lower than an ankle.
Today he stood, stripped bare except for his first-class trousers. Across his torso and limbs, up his neck and across the backs of his palms and tops of his feet danced the silver-blue almost metallic like whorls of tattooing he had taken on in the Rift as he studied with the Aing-Tii. What they meant no one but he knew. If he did. Several places on his torso had older tattoos, a Galactic Republic commando unit insignia. A Corellian gang marking. A Clan sigil or two from the Mandalorians. The sight of the markings, usually kept hidden, caused some stir as those gathered at practice took note of his arrival. A noted battlemaster come to train was something to take in.
A slim lightsaber hung at the belt around his waist. Four Tyee style remote training droids hovered up and out over the sand from a hover-chest. Three Zuguruk Tyro saber droids, and a singular Typhojem were set out. All told half that would have been enough for most. But, Julius had noticed a distinct lack of Guardians in the Temple. Many Shadows and Sentinels. But precious few for the frontlines. So he had decided to perhaps draw out interest.
Standing in the midst, droids circling, he took saber in hand and ignite the emerald blade, a slight silver hue filtering the edges. The whisper of the crystal within filled his mind like an old friend as the droids leapt into action and Julius let his mind subsume into the flows of his training. Action and reaction, always a step ahead in planning. Moving to one side to draw in one opponent to take the blow of another. It seemed almost a dance, but true to Vapaad it was too random and chaotic to be coherent to those unfamiliar with it. Slowly, a smile formed on his face.
This was his purpose as a Jedi. Battle. Protection of the weak. Seeking justice, and in some cases vengeance. Light and Dark were more nuanced to him. But battle was pure to his mind.
[member="Avoim Oeymo"]
