Paths of Peace and Passion

[Tydeus of Tion]

Rain pelted down onto the surface of a lake. The waters crashed about in a frenzy of waves, blown about by the storm overhead. Black skies lit up occasionally with a blinding web of flashing lightning. Wind howled. Thunder crashed. Nature visited a fury upon the planet of Tython.

In the middle of the lake rose a wooden pole. Atop the pole stood a figure. Water ran in streams down his exposed upper body, running over arms and chest webbed with unnatural, roping scars that stood out angrily against pale skin. Long hair so red that it seemed dipped in blood whipped about in the wind. Wet strands occasionally stuck to his face. The insistent roar of the wind occasionally revealed slightly pointed ears beneath the crimson locks. Sheer lines made up his knife-like features, hard and as unyielding as rock. Strange to see such hardness in the face of a youth who could not be more than twenty. A small scar ran just under his right eye, but did not seem to hinder his vision as he stared up into the black clouds.

Grey eyes searched for some meaning in the heavens with an iron determination as the youth sought to find purchase on the tope of a pole barely wide enough to fit both feet. The buffeting wind threatened to knock him off, but somehow he maintained balance. A thin braid just behind his ear marked him as a Jedi Padawan. The rage distorting his features resembled nothing of the famed Jedi calm. He opened his mouth and screamed against the storm, shouting words drowned out by imperial nature.

A sudden blast of wind tore him from his perch and tumbled down into the frenzied waters. He hit the waves at an awkward angle and disappeared beneath the surface for several long seconds, before he burst out of the waters and swam, face a mixture of desperation and resolve, toward the pole. He clung to it with arms that shivered from the cold, then he began to climb. Splinters from the pole’s rough wood tore into his palms, but the frigid waters and chill of the wind numbed his body to pain. He reached the top, where he stood once more for several minutes before the storm blew him off again. This cycle repeated itself twice more until at last his muscles seized up around the pole. He yelled angrily into the storm, voice raw.

“I am trying! I can’t find it! I can’t find peace in the storm!” His voice broke, but he continued to glare into the angry clouds overhead, squinting as the rain rebuked him with stinging droplets.

This is Ryan Korr. The product of a union between Vahla and Human. His true parentage is unknown to him. All he knows is that his father, his adoptive father, was taken from him, just like everything else was taken from him. He is at his core a collection of contradictions. A Jedi with a deep, unresolved hatred. A youth who bears the scars of a veteran soldier. A young man whose jaded stare comes at odds with his teenager years. A farmer who burns. A healer who kills. He is a man who hates slavers, nobles, the Senate, and the Jedi Council with an unquenchable fire, but he would hate himself if he stood by and watched them murdered. He is a man who cannot find peace in the storm, because the storm within is more powerful and terrible than that without.

The storm held no answer for Ryan; nothing but sheets of rain and blinding lightning. The Padawan stared back up at the top of the pole, then he forced himself to move. He drew upon the Force and let it guide his actions. Muscles screamed in protest as he wrenched himself upward and he screamed with them. Refusing to give in, he scrabbled, ignoring the pain as bits of wood chewed into his fingers. Again, Ryan Korr stood on top of the pole, body trembling, pants soaked. He breathed in deeply and imagined himself as part of the storm. Clarity shone through his mind like a stream of light behind the dark clouds. He heard the thunder and the waves and the wind, but they were all part of him as he was a part of them. He raised his fingers toward the sky, as if he could almost touch them. For a moment, he felt serenity.

Then lightning struck.

A bolt lanced out from the clouds and hit his outstretched hand. Ryan felt the tips of his fingers burn and smelled the charring of his own flesh, but immersed in the Force he reacted instinctively, without thinking. Ryan let the energy course through him and drew it into himself. His skin glowed - a beacon in the storm - with the sheer amount of power radiating from his body. So much energy brimmed within him he felt as though he would burst. He felt incredibly powerful for a fleeting moment. Powerful enough to save his friends? The serenity evaporated and along with it went all his confidence. Fear leapt through him. The amount of power he held... it would destroy him. He had to let it go! Images of his burnt home and dead companions flashed before his eyes. Dead. Like he would be. Even nature itself seemed intent on destroying him.

The rage returned.

He would not die out here, no matter what the Force wanted. Screaming raw, voice hoarse, he raised his other hand toward the sky and unleashed his bent up energy. Purple lightning crackled from his fingertips and shot defiantly into the heavens. He felt the darkness inside him and it terrified him. A wave of exhaustion hit him, his feet slipped, and he fell. The last thing he remembered was the waves reaching up to take him down to their depths. Then... nothing.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

A request... No, a challenge drew Marcello to Tython this day. Admittedly, he'd stepped foot in the ancient Jedi world perhaps two other times in his entire life. It was supposed to represent the longevity and heritage of the Jedi, guardians of peace and justice. Yet to Marcello it was just a rock with some fancy buildings. There was nothing symbolic about Tython...not anymore at least. Then again he had never really been one for...riddles. His own verbal agility was sorely out of practice and equally pointless. There was little point in peddling minutiae, so he didn't.

Marcello Matteo...no great friend of the Jedi Council or the current Order for that matter had come to, ultimately, do their bidding. That was not the interesting point to make, however. Was the person that had extended the challenge of more interest? Yes, without a shadow of a doubt, [member="Kiskla Grayson"] was currently the only person inside the Order he preferred to interact with on more than a superficial basis. Still...Marcello could tell even Kiskla, no. The deeper truth was that he stood on the shoreline of the tumultuous lake because his cold indifference to galactic politics was surpassed only by his unyielding need to be a servant of the galaxy.

How far would you go for your faith? Would you crash a massive capital ship into a highly populated civilian area, inflicting massive enemy casualties to keep the entire world from being converted to mindless slaves? To keep its resources from being used to power war machines of the enemy for decades to come? Marcello would. Marcello had. For this he was labeled a war criminal, chastised. Forever the enemy no one expected and the ally no one wanted. Until his service, no matter how grotesque and antagonistic to the whims of 'gentle people' was needed for survivsl. It was a role that Marcello was comfortable with in life. His was an existence of reserved intensity.

As a matter of fact, Marcello's inner existence was much like this storm. It teetered on the edge of losing control at a moment's notice despite his ever-present outer calm. Control...it was what he'd had to learn through years of training and practice with someone patient enough and experienced enough to understand him, to know him. The young man struggling to remain atop the pole in the middle of the lake reminded Marcello of himself...decades ago before Marcello had even known of his force sensitivity. The darkness that raged within [member="Ryan Korr"] was palpable. According to Kiskla, the man had only recently been permitted to return to the Order. Marcello hadn't asked for the details. They were unnecessary. The moment she said, "I bet you can't...", Marcello knew that he absolutely would. The Jedi Master trusted that his oldest friend knew him well enough to choose her words by just carefully but...purposefully around him.

When Ryan's impressive display of both strength and stubbornness had concluded, the large, rain-soaked Jedi Master folded his arms across his chest. Adorned, per usual, in a loose fitting long-sleeve gray shirt and a pair of black cargo pants, Marcello ignored the chill of the biting wind and the stinging sensation of the rain against his body. Long, golden locks fluttered wildly around his face as icy blue eyes gazed across the agitated surface of the lack at the screaming man.

It seems like no time at all before the man fell to the water's surface once more, disappearing beneath its angry motions for an extended period of time. Eventually, the boy's body floated to the surface, clearly unconscious. Smiling thinly, Marcello stepped onto the lake's surface, exuding an aura of extreme calm. Despite the appearance, Marcello worked extensively to keep himself from succumbing to the nearly unstoppable force of nature as he kept his body levitated - appearing to walk on the lake's surface.

After collecting the young man's body, Marcello carried him back to solid ground. The Jedi Master ceased his efforts to fight against the storm as he entered the relative safety of he treeline. Placing Ryan's body in the ground, Marcello raised his fist high into the air and brought it back down on the young man's chest.

Watching his body expelled the water that had been drawn into his lungs while unconscious, Marcello turned Ryan's body onto it's side before laying him flat once more. Coming to his feet, the Jedi Master watched the boy curiously. Tendrils of white energy crackled around his knuckles before Marcello released a brief pulse of Electric Judgment into the boy's body.

He just needed a jump-start. Marcello hoped he would rise quickly. It was time to eat.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

He swam in the darkness of the distant past and entered a bubble of light. A memory he treasured above all others. The cold depths disappeared, replaced by the Hall of a Thousand Fountains. Here the sound of water was not the terrifying torrent of the storm, but a calming, rhythmic noise that set the heart at ease. Ryan breathed deeply, smelling the rich scent of Temple-grown fauna. He remembered this place. This time. The only moment when he had ever known true peace.

A fourteen year old boy sat in front of the fountain. Tear tracks stained his face, but his lip wobbled. He refused to cry. He would not cry. Red hair hung over his ears and his grey eyes stared straight in front of him at a fountain. Those eyes were innocent. Back then they had not seen horror. They had not witnessed life ripped away from his friends. He sat perfectly still, muttering to himself.

“There is no emotion, there is only the Force. There is no emotion, there is only the Force.”

He repeated the portion Jedi creed over and over. A figure detached itself from the doorway and came toward him. A young girl who looked about his same age, with dark hair and green eyes. She knelt next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Ryan, I’m so sorry. He shouldn’t have said those things...”

The boy stopped muttering, pained grey eyes looking over to her. “But he did. I hate him, Eris. I hate him so much- I” He stopped, jaw working, a look of fear on his features. “Does that make me a bad Jedi?”

Compassion brought a hint of tears to Eris’s eyes. They shimmered, unspent. “Oh, Ryan,” she wrapped her arms around him and held him close. He felt stiff in her arms. Fearful. “Everyone feels. We just have to know how to forgive.”

Ryan pushed away from her. “How can you say that? He doesn’t deserve it!”

“Do any of us?”

The words stung.

“Let the Force in, Ryan. Here, I will help you.”

She held her hand out and he clasped it, their fingers intertwining. Korr opened himself to the Force and felt that incomprehensibly great river flow over him, through him. His mind joined Eris’s, linked like their hands. In that moment he knew love - not the passionate, fiery emotion, but the love of kindness, goodness, justice, and mercy; a love that looked at him and did not see his flaws; a love that could forgive.

Peace.

The memory began to fade, turning into a nightmare. He remembered holding Eri’s limp body in his hands on the battlefield of Ossus. The smell of her burnt flesh rose from the cauterized hole in her chest where a Sith blade had pierced her heart. Dead.

He awoke to pain.

His chest felt as though a Herglic sat atop it and he lurched onto his side, vomiting water out of his lungs. He gasped for breath, confused at how he was still alive. But no, the Jedi wouldn’t allow him to die so easily. Not unless it was in the name of Future Visions. Ryan blinked rapidly, vision hazy. A blonde giant stooped over him, he thought he caught sight of white sparks on the big man’s fingertips as they fizzled away.

Ryan groaned, lying back down in the grass that felt extraordinarily comfortable. His throat felt raw from all the water he’d sucked in. The pain of the splinters in his hands mingled with the biting chill he felt in his bones. The muscles in his body refused to move, utterly exhausted. His chest heaved, the pale skin purpling where the Jedi Master’s fist had initiated a rather unorthodox usage of resuscitation. Webs of roping scars around Ryan’s arms and chest seemed redder in the cold. Grey eyes glared up at [member="Marcello Matteo"].

“I should’ve known the Council wouldn’t just let me drown,” Ryan rasped. “You’re my new proctor, sent to make sure I’m not a Sith spy?”

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Splinters could be removed, wounds would heal. Marcello Matteo afforded no extra concern for the boy's feelings. Watching the red-haired Padawans as he began to stir, Marcello arched a curious eyebrow. In one swift, silent move the Jedi Master withdrew the worn cylindrical hilt of his lightsaber and pointed it directly at [member="Ryan Korr"].

After he'd depressed the activation stud, the dark blue beam sprang to life with a snap-hiss. The tip of the blade hovered motionless less than six inches from Ryan's face. "Are you a Sith?
Because that would make my job much easier." Silence immediately followed that comment for but half of a heartbeat and the blade extinguished. Clipping the hilt back to his belt, Marcello laughed softly. "Who am I kidding? You can't even prevail over a storm."

Icy blue eyes gazed with purpose into the grey of the Padawan. "Physical or metaphysical. I don't know what you are kid. Certainly neither Sith nor Jedi. Perhaps when you know whom you'd like to be, there will be hope. Until then...get up and follow me."

No further words were uttered as Marcello retreated deeper into the forest at a leisurely pace.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Ryan's body went completely rigid as the snap-hiss of the lightsaber sounded even over the howl of the storm. Droplets of rain hit the blade sizzled into steam. Korr stared at the tip, perilously close to his throat. He smelled ozone. Again, he thought. Betrayed again. He did not seem surprised. No, those grey eyes looked both fearful and challenging, defiant. Daring [member="Marcello Matteo"] to kill him.

Then the blonde giant laughed and deactivated the blade.

The russet-haired padawan let loose a breath he did not know he'd been holding. Jaw working, Ryan stood, limbs screaming in protest, and followed after the flippant Jedi Master. Grey eyes narrowed on the man's back.

Ryan came up, closing the distance as best he could. He was tall, but the Jedi Master was taller and his strides were longer.

"If I was a Sith you would be dead." Korr stated coldly.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello could sense [member="Ryan Korr"]'s pain. In fact, Marcello could have alleviated the boy's pain, healed his injuries. However, he scarcely believed in such things, and he was woefully out of practice anyways. Reliance on the Force for mundane, everyday activities could dull the senses. Without their innate senses, a sentient was useless. One could not be fully immersed in the Force at all times - not whilst being alive. Marcello was sure hat some were arrogant enough to think differently.

As they walked through the storm, Marcello heard the young Padawan's statement. Exhaling heavily, Marcello rolled his eyes. "Do you find yor threats intimidate your enemies or merely inflate your own misplaced confidence? I am genuinely curious as it seems to be a growing trend amongst your generation."

Turning ninety degrees to the left, Marcello stepped onto a worn path that would take them out of the treeline and back towards the temporary quarters they'd be spending the night in. Screw going inside some Temple.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

"Not a threat. A lightsaber in the back is an easy way to die," the words were blunt and matter of fact. "I would know," he added to himself. Accusing a Jedi Master of murder had already gotten him kicked out of the Order once. He knew what kind of 'justice' the Council offered in such matters. In any case, if it had been him sending a Sith spy he would have sent someone who knew how to hide his presence, make himself weaker than he seemed, then when others underestimated him and let their guard down he would strike from behind. No warning. Just death. Yes, he'd given the matter much thought. Too much, most might say.

The coniferous pines around the lake grew tall. Their weathered trunks bore the storm easily. The ancient trees leaned inward, blocking out what little light there was among the dark clouds overhead. At least they provided shelter from the rain. Ryan's bare feet splashed through puddles of water and mud. He didn't know where they were going, but it definitely didn't seem like the path back to the Temple.

[member="Marcello Matteo"]

 

[Marcello Matteo]

"Younglings know that to be a fact. Whatever your reasons, it was a pointless comment." Glancing back at [member="Ryan Korr"], Marcello's gaze hardened. The boy reminded him of a particularly troubled young man from his past. "If your words offer nothing to a situation, keep them to yourself. Being an unknown quality has its uses."

As they reached a particularly dense section of the forest containing a single tent, Marcello motioned to the soggy forest bed. Taking a seat on a large log, the Jedi Master tented his hands in his lap and looked at Ryan. "The Jedi Council thinks you to be a lost caused, Ryan."

Marcello allowed a long pause to hang in the air before he continued. "The Jedi Council also has a tendency to be a meeting ground for fools and those that have been studying the Force for all of five seconds. Whatever your differences with them, forget them. They are not here, they are not training you, and they do not control your destiny."

Exhaling softly, Marcello pointed his right index finger at a clump of grass no more than two feet away from him. In an instant, a small fire erected and quickly grew to a medium-sized fire. Tenting his hands in his lap once more, Marcello posed a question to the boy. "Tell me the most upsetting moment in your life. Lying, I assure you, will only negatively effect yourself."

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Scowling at the Jedi Master's comments, Ryan looked around for a moderately dry place to sit. There wasn't one. Marcello sat on the only log in the vicinity. Well, Ryan was already wet. And his muscles burned like the nine hells. Ryan's jaw writhed, but he plopped down onto the wet grass, seating himself cross-legged. The Jedi's advice about shutting up made sense, which only made Ryan more irritable. He listened reluctantly as the Jedi went on, thankful that the soaking wet grass wouldn't be seeping through his already sopping pants.

He couldn't say he disagreed with [member="Marcello Matteo"] about the Council. In fact, Korr felt a flicker of betraying approval for the man's words. Damnation, but he was right. They did not control Ryan's destiny, try as they might. Laden tried. He had tried so very hard. Ryan's ground his teeth as the memories came welling up in response to Marcello's question, no, his demand. Upsetting moment? It was enough to make Ryan laugh. Not that he really laughed anymore. The only flickers of amusement that came from him were ghosts of black humor, like the terrible bark of laughter he gave now. Devoid of joy. Hollow. Empty. No, it wished it was empty. Pain filled it. Pain just beneath the surface.

Grey eyes like storm clouds bored into the Jedi Master's threatening glaciers. He spoke without meaning to, "The time when I was betrayed by Jedi Master Laden, who abandoned me and my class on Ossus. I watched all my friends, friends who I had sworn to protect and lead, slaughtered like animals by the Sith. I can still smell their flesh burning. That, I think, was the most upsetting time in my life. Or maybe it was when I was exiled from the Order, then beaten by Tapani Nobles and sold to Vong slavers. Have you ever experienced the Embrace of Pain? If you had I'm sure you would consider it upsetting."

Ryan found he was breathing heavily, hands balled into fists. Had he really just called out Master Laden, again? Fierfek. He'd be kicked out of the Order again. Didn't he ever learn? Nothing for it now. Ryan glared defiantly at Marcello.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello's expressionless mask gazed back at Ryan as he recounted a time from his past. Truthfully, Marcello did not know the Jedi that Ryan spoke of. Officially, he'd only come to the Order relatively recently. The Naboo native's training had occurred almost completely outside the auspices of any form of Jedi Order. It was Marcello's lack of involvement with the unfortunately politically charged movements of some Jedi that probably allowed him to remain grounded and realistic in both thought and action. It also made him plenty of enemies...particularly amongst those so clearly incapable of making the difficult decisions at a moment's notice without looking back.

When [member="Ryan Korr"] was finished speaking, the Jedi Master actually smiled. "No, I've certainly never had those experiences. Though I'm sure if I'd been kicked out of the Order, I wouldn't have been so weak as to allow myself to be beaten by or sold to anyone. At least half of what upsets you occurred because you allowed your anger, your emotions to control you." Pausing, Marcello lightly stroked his beard before continuing. "I'm sure you've been told the typical party line. Emotions are bad. They lead to anger and darkness and galactic destruction. Blah, blah. That's a bunch of crap. Emotions are simply that, emotions. Every sentient in this galaxy is susceptible to them, but we all handle them differently. You, for instance, allow yours to work you into a frenzy and act without thinking. This is unacceptable not because it will lead you to the dark side or even get you killed. It is unacceptable to me because it makes you nigh on impossible to train...and thus a waste of my time."

Coming to his feet, Marcello motioned to the tent. "It is dry inside. Get some rest. I will return when it is time to begin." Without giving the boy an opportunity to say much of anything, Marcello turned and retreated swiftly into the darkness. He did not sleep, so he would go somewhere to connect with the Force, draw it into himself, and meditate in peace.

--------

No more than three hours had passed when Marcello returned to where he'd left Ryan. The Jedi Master's movements were silent as if he'd been a sentient creature of Tython's forest his entire life. He hadn't, of course, but learning the finer points of being a predator was the first part of his combat training with his late master. It had, initially, been difficult given his size and build. "We are leaving," came the brusque, loud command, shattering the tranquil rhythm of the forest.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

A towering rage stormed inside Ryan. The man had the gall to sit there stonefaced and then smile. Weak? It wasn't about being weak. It was about one teenager going up against an entire caste of some of the galaxy's most powerful and influential. Ryan's gut twisted. How could this man, this 'Jedi', think that he could possibly win? [member="Marcello Matteo"]'s next words were ones Ryan had heard before. Control your emotions. How could he possibly do that? With everything he'd been through they didn't understand. Half of the Jedi had been raised in the Temple since birth. They didn't understand what it was like to go outside of it and truly suffer, without help from anyone. Without support from friends... the death of his fellow padawans had crushed Korr. He still felt that weight upon his shoulders, an impossible burden. It was his fault they had died.

A grey-eyed glare followed the Jedi Master as he stomped off. Good riddance, Korr thought. He didn't even know why he was still here. No, he knew. He had to endure the Council. Endure this man. And once he had passed them and passed the trials he would have a greater measure of freedom. He could actually do some good in the galaxy. He refused to believe that the Jedi were wholly tainted by the Council's ineptitude and wrongful sense of pragmatism.

Korr made his way to the tent, muscles trembling as he walked. He collapsed as soon as he reached dry ground, body giving out. Despite the anger seething inside him, trying to keep him awake, the weary pull of the flesh was stronger and Ryan fell to dreams.

It seemed not more than five minutes had passed before a loud voice woke Ryan from his slumber. He reluctantly awoke from a nightmareless sleep - those were so few that he treasured them as precious. Korr rolled up, body groaning in protest.

"What?" he hissed.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello's blue eyes probed the darkness of the forest floor in the pre-dawn hours at the sound of [member="Ryan Korr"]'s voice. The boy's attitude was of surprising little concern to Marcello in that instance. He knew what it was like to have a life one perceived to be tough, unfair, or complicated. The Jedi Master's respect for his former master increased with each passing second Marcello was in his new Padawan's presence. "As I said, we are leaving. Collapse and stow the tent. You're carrying it." Pausing briefly, Marcello began walking away from Ryan. "Five minutes."

Silently, Marcello removed his still-rain-soaked shirt and wrung it out several times. For the time being, he draped the shirt over his shoulder. His body was, of course, still damp, and he knew enough about survival to know that wet clothing had a tendency to create...problems. The light forest wind felt chilling against the Jedi Master's exposed skin. He looked forward to changing rather shortly on the shuttle that would carry them away from this place.

The moment five minutes had elapsed, Marcello began walking towards a clearing that was roughly ten kilometers from their present location. The sun would be warming the forest floor by the time they arrived. As a point of curiosity and instruction, Marcello posed a question to Ryan. "If you hate the Council so much, why not leave? There are no shortage of organizations within the galaxy willing to train force users - including one ostensibly administered by former Council members dissatisfied with the decisions of their peers."

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Grinding his teeth, Ryan began unpegging the tent before lugging it over his shoulder and stomping after [member="Marcello Matteo"]. The damp pants he wore, the voluminous, still chaffed horribly at his legs. Ryan grimaced. Despite being inside the tent he hadn't exactly been able to dry out. Wincing with every movement of his sore, cut, chaffing body, Ryan padded after Marcello. The tent on his shoulder felt like an immense weight, threatening to crush him. Korr shifted his arm a bit. It didn't make the tent rest any comfier on his bony shoulder.

As he walked alongside the Jedi Master, Matteo asked a question. It caught Ryan off guard. He continued walking for several seconds, gathering his thoughts. When he spoke, he spoke with passion and conviction, an intensity that could not be enumerated. "There might be other places, other orders, but the Jedi Order is the only home I have now. I might disagree with the Council, I might even hate them, but I'm not going to give up on the whole Order just because of the Neo Pius Dea Crusaders in charge of it all. Leaving will just let them win." Grey eyes like steel looked unwaveringly at Marcello. "I'll die before I let that happen."

He held the stare for a moment, then spoke. "You don't seem to have a high regard for the Council either. Why stick around?"

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello listened to the boy's comments as they continued their less-than-comfortable walk towards the transportation that would carry them away from Tython with utmost haste. [member="Ryan Korr"]'s comments made sense and indicated a level of wisdom potentially beyond his years. It was the serious nature of his last comment and subsequent question that truly pulled the Jedi Master's attention.

Managing a thin smile, he delivered a dispassionate reply. "I believe in the real role of the Jedi. I may not have respect for the Council, but they are not the Order...despite their own beliefs. The real change, the real work is done at a much, much lower level. I stay to influence them, the future generations." Offering Ryan a brief look, he concluded. "You."

They walked perhaps another few hundred meters before Marcello asked another question. "Is that tent beginning to dig into your body yet? We have probably another nine kilometers or so to go." The question, like any of his actions, had purpose.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

The response took Ryan a few moments to process. It was the first time he had heard something from his master other than a derisive put down or a command. And despite the man's apathetic tone, Ryan could feel something rippling from him in the Force. Those were emotions hiding beneath that granite veneer. Somewhere. Korr found himself starting to like the man, which bothered him. Given the history of betrayal, his faith in Jedi Masters was thin, if even existent.

As Ryan sloshed through occasional patches of mud and tracked dirt across the leaf-strewn path, Marcello asked a question that caused Ryan to scowl. Soggy pants continued to chafe at his thighs and up, bruises caused his whole body to ache, and splinters were still embedded in his fingers and arms. He was wet, he was cold, and he was exhausted. And yes, the tent dug into his body. It ground against his shoulder terribly and every minute he held it the thing felt about two pounds heavier. But he wouldn't show the man that it affected him. He wouldn't verbalize his pain.

"I'm fine," he rasped, hoarsely.

[member="Marcello Matteo"]

 

[Marcello Matteo]

((OOC: Sorry bro!))

Marcello shrugged his shoulders. "Do draw some level of personal satisfaction or pleasure from punishing yourself unnecessarily?" The Jedi Master affixed the young man with a curious gaze. From the display on the lake to the shouldering of obvious discomfort now, [member="Ryan Korr"] seemed a man constantly in search of...something. Was it acceptance by those that had previously abandoned and outright denied him? Perhaps he was punishing himself for...past inabilities or inadequacies. The tall Jedi supposed it didn't matter as he could relate to most any of those situations in one way or another.

The real question was... How could Marcello expect Ryan to accept and openly admit to that which even Marcello refused to fully acknowledge? Perhaps this relationship would have a growing effect on them both. If anything, the situation only increased Marcello's desire to see the young man succeed. Otherwise...what hope was there for himself?

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Chest heaving slightly with exertion, Ryan's grey eyes narrowed on the ground. He didn't look at [member="Marcello Matteo"] when he spoke. "You told me to carry the tent. I'm carrying the tent. You didn't ask if I wanted someone else to carry it, or if I wanted to carry it in the first place, you just asked me if it hurt and I said I'm fine. I'm fine."

Ryan assumed this was a test of his abilities. His master probably wanted to know how far Ryan could go before he dropped. Ryan had decided he wouldn't drop. He would take everything Marcello had to throw at him and he'd keep fighting, no matter what it cost him. The nightmares of his days as a Vong slave were only a year old. He knew he had endured more than this and so he pushed himself.

The hardened youth didn't press ahead through the pain for himself or to satisfy some masochistic sense of guilt. He did it because he knew it would make him stronger. He did it because this was the only way he knew how to help that which needed him most: the Order. Since he was only six years old he had devoted his life in service to the Jedi and the Galaxy. Now the Order looked to be crumbling from the top down. He would not let so many honest Jedi be ruined by the actions of a corrupt few. This was why he pressed forward. This was why he refused to acknowledge his pain.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello smiled at the Padawan's response, but he did not turn that smile in [member="Ryan Korr"]'s direction. No further conversation was shared between the two Jedi until they nearly reached their destination. As they were approaching the edge of the forest, the canopy had thinned out considerably, allowing more rays from the now fully risen sun to warm the forest bed. While the terrain was mostly flat, they had been forced to push through thick foliage and contend with all manner of creatures and debris across the ground from the previous evening's raging storm.

Was it time for another question? Yes. Then Ryan's journey could continue...for real.

"If you are faced with a terrible decision, one that could cost a handful of innocent lives, to save the greater population, will you hesitate to act?"

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

The sun's rays were welcoming to Ryan's weary bones. Several times during the trek terrible cramps had assailed his limbs, but each time he had been able to successfully wash them away by immersing himself in the Force. He feared leaning on it too heavily. True, for a time he could endure what would cause others to crumble, but that did not mean his body simply got better. At the end of this trek, when he was spent, he would feel all his injuries. There would be no escape then. He feared it, but he pressed on.

His thighs had been rubbed raw by his wet pants, which were now, thank the Force, finally dry. The pain caused him to wince with every step. A simple nine kilometer walk had become an arduous lesson in physical endurance.

Stern grey eyes glanced over to [member="Marcello Matteo"]. "I would find another way," he growled in between labored breaths. "The lie... is that we have only two choices. To act, or not to. There is always another. I will not reduce people's lives to mere numbers."

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello's stone gaze held [member="Ryan Korr"]'s as he offered a rather definitive response. The young man's perception appeared to be that life was shades of gray as opposed to solid black and white. This was, of course, the correct perception. However, even a shade of gray could appear quite black to those without the perceptive ability to differentiate. "I see..."

Thus far, Marcello had given no visual indication of his view on Ryan's response. Several more moments of silence passed between the two Jedi before Marcello eventually dipped his head in a shallow nod. "Unless you are completely worthless in a combat situation, I fail to understand the Council's views on you, Ryan." Then again, Marcello not understanding something the Council said or did was hardly a new experience. "Your perceptions of duty and morality exceed that of even many Masters within the Order. In fact...the only thing I sense holding you back is yourself. Your own demons. I should know. I have plenty of my own." Exhaling softly, Marcello fell silent. Those words were the last he uttered until they were within sight of their destination, the shuttle which would carry them away from this terrible planet.

As they approached the vessel, Marcello asked an innocuous question. "How are your piloting abilities?"