Papa Bear and the Levantine

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Valeria Aetani"]

Ossus

The old Sith Empire was, ironically enough, a hub for the fight against the new, burgeoning one on the other end of the galaxy. This particular Jedi Temple, built on the initiative of good ol' Apparine, was a stopover for most of the Silver Jedi and Levantines who felt the need to assist the Order in combating the new Sith threat.

After all, much like mynocks, you were never fully going to get rid of them, no matter how hard you tried.

It was aggravating for a man like Sarge, who was used to neutralizing threats. But he was here to collect a few old belongings he'd left behind and not had a chance to collect. None of it was particularly special or dear, but it was better than getting freshly made robes designed to fit his bulky frame and armor.

Casting his gaze around the main hall as he sat, sifting through his pack, the man in the Mandalorian armor stood out as distinct among the Jedi. From the deep red of his beskar to the silver of his lightsaber, he was, so far as he'd seen, unique among the Order.

Thankfully, after the Mandalorians had appeared above Coruscant, none had sought to question his commitment to the Order based upon his armor. But as he sat here, pack set between his legs while he sat on the bench, broad shouldered form leaning forward so he could dig through it to double check everything was there... he couldn't help but be distracted by the coming and going of the Silver Jedi and Levantines who were staying here for a few days before transport could be arranged elsewhere.

He wasn't too sure of the relationship between Orders anymore, but if they could at least be civil, that was a win for him, and the Order as a whole. Even if they were a bunch of separate entities, not unlike the Sith before their fall.

That thought gave him pause, and he pushed back the left side of his robe to grasp the hilt of his saber, pulling it from it's holding loop and bouncing it in his hand. He'd not killed a single soul with it. Not yet. He prayed he wouldn't have to. He'd had enough of killing.

 

[Valiens Nantaris]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]
The young Jedi wasn’t entirely sure what the fruit she was eating was called, but it was tasty. The taste was odd, slightly bitter, slightly sweet. Somehow they cancelled each other out.
There were many Jedi around, some from the Levantines, some from other groups like the Silver Jedi or the original Jedi Order.
As she walked along she saw a most unusual sight. It was a man in Mandalorian armour holding a lightsabre. She could feel the Force about him, and his robe indicated he was a Jedi. Overall, he was a most fascinating, and unusual subject.

Valeria didn’t realise she was staring. He seemed vaguely familiar, perhaps she’d seen him before some time?

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Valeria Aetani"]

It was an innate sixth sense that most folk had, knowing when they were being watched. Sarge was no exception to that particular ability. It wasn't so much that you knew where they were watching from or why, but you just... knew; almost like the mind processed information that wasn't consciously noticed and prodded you.

Crushgaunt covered fingers constricted around the simple yet functional saber, a design he often fancied was not unlike himself. Not flashy on the outside, but intricate and deadly within. Lifting his head, he tracked his attention until he found the source of his discomfort.

A young woman, dark hair, dress not familiar with the Order. "Can I help you, miss?" He asks, low tenor of a voice muffled by his helmet.

 

[Valiens Nantaris]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]
Valeria coloured slightly. “Oh, no, sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, Master!” she said quickly.
She made as if to leave, but then turned back.
“Are you the one they call Preacher? My former Master spoke highly of you,” she said. Her former Master, an unfortunate NPC named Cyrus Achaemus, had been a Jedi for many years and presumably come across Sarge at some stage.
Still, Valeria had that unfortunate trait common to some teenagers, she didn’t know when to stop prodding.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Valeria Aetani"]

There was a long, long pause as the emotionless visor lingered on her and armored fingers drummed an erratic beat across the metal of his chosen weapon. "S'fine." He said finally, turning his attention back to his pack which he began to zip up before she spoke again.

"That would be me, Padawan." He sounded vaguely surprised that she knew of him, but stranger things had occurred. Most likely whoever her former Master was had been on Coruscant during that dreadful Mandalorian debacle. "Can I help you?" He repeats, clearly curious as to what exactly she was looking for.

 

[Valiens Nantaris]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]
“Well, I know you’re busy, but did you have any time to teach me something whilst you’re on Ossus?”
Like any good little Jedi, Valeria tried to learn all she could from everyone she came across, as well as her Master naturally.
But facing that imposing helmet she began to feel very small.
“I’m sorry, I’m just bothering you I’m sure,” she said, embarrassed. Jedi Masters had better things to do than talk to random padawans.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Valeria Aetani"]

"I'm afraid my tolerance for teaching is quite low." He remarks gruffly, shaking his head a bit as he tucks his saber back to his belt. "However..." There was a pause as he sighed and moved the pack off to his right, propping it against the side of the bench as he leaned forward and clasped his hands together.

"Have a seat." He tilts his head to the spot next to him. She was young, eager to learn. Learning came in all shapes and sizes, from those who need be hands on to those who need only listen.

"Is there anything in particular you wish to learn? I'm hard pressed to simply roll with 'teach you something' as I doubt you're interested in how the rifling on a slugthrower helps improve it's accuracy." He snorted and chuckled at the thought of her asking something like that.

 

[Valiens Nantaris]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]
Wondering why she'd got herself into, Valeria obediently sat beside him. "Well...lightsabres. I'm learning Form V and I've learned a bit of Form III. Can you teach me those?" she asked eagerly.
Nothing could possibly go wrong. At least Sarge was wearing Beskar armour.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"I could, yes, but I would prefer not to fight. I've fought so much that unless it's a life or death situation I've little stomach for it." He sighed, realizing just how true that was. There had just been too much fighting in his life, and there was only really himself to blame. He had all but asked for it.

Now? Now he couldn't be bothered to physically train young Padawans. But, he could at least impart what wisdom he did have. "Personally, I'm not a large fan of forms. I feel like they're fancy names for what comes naturally to us. If your opponent is overly aggressive, you become defensive to compensate - no need to train someone to do that, it's instinctive. At that point it's a matter of blade skill rather than 'did you learn your forms.'"

There came a pause as he thought. "But I've been told of all the forms, those are the two I 'favor.'" He gave a curt nod of his head. "For me, the blade has always been a defensive tool, something with which to protect. If I want to attack, there are far better options than a sword - made of plasma though it may be."

He smiled beneath that helmet. "So my question to you is why those Forms? Is it what you thought best suited to you, or was it simply what you were taught? Or, perhaps, you've another reason."

[member="Valeria Aetani"]