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Character
The lightsaber felt heavy in his hands. His calloused fingers pawed nervously at the leather wrappings that had been bound to the ornate hilt. The weapon was one far older than anything he had ever carried on his person, and its value was immeasurable. To carry such a fabled tool was as much a burden as it was a gift, and Cedric was still growing used to the immense responsibility his ancestor had entrusted him with. He could not help but stare at the weapon, his gaze constantly returning to the symbol of the Jedi Order that had been emblazoned upon it.
It was a weapon of a bygone age; a relic of a dying breed. It was said that the Blade of Ruusan was only ever wielded during times of great crisis - that Vicarion had chosen to entrust him with the blade now spoke volumes about the state of the galaxy.
What was his place in this? Was he truly the right person to carry this weapon? His character was flawed; his father's darkness ever lingered in the corners of his heart. It had never taken hold of him as it had his progenitor, nor did he ever think it would, but it was there.
Watching. Waiting.
But not growing, not anymore. The trials had seen to that. His character had been proven to the Jedi of old, and he had been named a knight of a nearly extinct order. The youth had never felt a greater sense of purpose, and never a greater sense of dread.
It was a fear no one saw, but one that had to be assuaged. Thus he had taken his leave of the Graywall and the many daunting problems that accompanied it. Their operations had not yet begun, so there was no harm in leaving to attend to personal matters.
But they aren't personal. The Je'daii could be valuable allies.
"They're apolitical, are they not?" Vicarion's voice echoed in the back of Cedric's mind. The knight had grown accustomed to his ancestor's occasional mental visits - his spirits connection with the blade permitted him such contact. "I admire your spirit, but I don't think this will go any better than it did with the Mandalorians."
The knight's brow furrowed. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I know one of them. She and I helped refugees survive in the wastes when I was still a padawan. She'll hear what I have to say."
"But will she agree with you?" The spirit made a noise of derision. "I doubt it. You have great faith in people my son, but this is a lesson you've already learned."
"I know," were Cedric speaking with his lips rather than his mind, he might have sounded angry. "But I have to try. We need all the help we can get. Legendary lightsaber or not, I can't fight the entire Sith Empire by myself."
"No, you can't. But these ones won't fight alongside you either. You have your soldiers. Have faith in them; they have faith in you." Vicarion's tone had taken on the inflection of a father correcting his child's mistake.
Cedric scoffed. "I do have faith in them, but -"
"This isn't really about the alliance, is it?"
"I need to see what these people are before I commit to another war. I won't have much time for learning once the chaos starts. Besides, I need a break."
The specter made a noise like laughter. Cedric began to form the thoughts that would become words, but he felt the presence of his ancestor leaving before they could coalesce. Frustrated, the knight rose from his seat in the shuttle bay and knocked on the cockpit's door.
"How far out are we?"
"We just landed," the pilot sounded annoyed, "Dropping the loading ramp now."
The ramp creaked open, and the smell of natural oxygen flooded inward. Cedric drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and stepped down onto the planet's surface.
[member="Asha Hex"]
It was a weapon of a bygone age; a relic of a dying breed. It was said that the Blade of Ruusan was only ever wielded during times of great crisis - that Vicarion had chosen to entrust him with the blade now spoke volumes about the state of the galaxy.
What was his place in this? Was he truly the right person to carry this weapon? His character was flawed; his father's darkness ever lingered in the corners of his heart. It had never taken hold of him as it had his progenitor, nor did he ever think it would, but it was there.
Watching. Waiting.
But not growing, not anymore. The trials had seen to that. His character had been proven to the Jedi of old, and he had been named a knight of a nearly extinct order. The youth had never felt a greater sense of purpose, and never a greater sense of dread.
It was a fear no one saw, but one that had to be assuaged. Thus he had taken his leave of the Graywall and the many daunting problems that accompanied it. Their operations had not yet begun, so there was no harm in leaving to attend to personal matters.
But they aren't personal. The Je'daii could be valuable allies.
"They're apolitical, are they not?" Vicarion's voice echoed in the back of Cedric's mind. The knight had grown accustomed to his ancestor's occasional mental visits - his spirits connection with the blade permitted him such contact. "I admire your spirit, but I don't think this will go any better than it did with the Mandalorians."
The knight's brow furrowed. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I know one of them. She and I helped refugees survive in the wastes when I was still a padawan. She'll hear what I have to say."
"But will she agree with you?" The spirit made a noise of derision. "I doubt it. You have great faith in people my son, but this is a lesson you've already learned."
"I know," were Cedric speaking with his lips rather than his mind, he might have sounded angry. "But I have to try. We need all the help we can get. Legendary lightsaber or not, I can't fight the entire Sith Empire by myself."
"No, you can't. But these ones won't fight alongside you either. You have your soldiers. Have faith in them; they have faith in you." Vicarion's tone had taken on the inflection of a father correcting his child's mistake.
Cedric scoffed. "I do have faith in them, but -"
"This isn't really about the alliance, is it?"
"I need to see what these people are before I commit to another war. I won't have much time for learning once the chaos starts. Besides, I need a break."
The specter made a noise like laughter. Cedric began to form the thoughts that would become words, but he felt the presence of his ancestor leaving before they could coalesce. Frustrated, the knight rose from his seat in the shuttle bay and knocked on the cockpit's door.
"How far out are we?"
"We just landed," the pilot sounded annoyed, "Dropping the loading ramp now."
The ramp creaked open, and the smell of natural oxygen flooded inward. Cedric drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and stepped down onto the planet's surface.
[member="Asha Hex"]