Resident Astray

[Epistor of Phasekion]

~ Location: Silver Rest, Academic Wing {leaving history class} ~​

~ Wearing: Tunic, braids ~ Tags: [member="Pash Tafo"], [member="Rhane Varless"] ~​

Master Treboh, one of the Rest's lorekeepers, had finished her lesson for the day. Before powering off her datapad and packing it away with her stylus, holoprojector, and focus crystal into her messenger bag, Eustachya took a moment to add to her typed notes. At the bottom of them, she wrote and underlined her assigned topic: Meetra Surik.

The project, a recorded presentation meant to simulate those preserved in holocrons, was due by the end of term. Still a few months off, it may have seemed like an exorbitant amount of time to most padawans, but the instincts of a competitive athlete bore Eustachya to begin as soon as possible. Not only was research involved, but so was meditation--in fact, it was paramount. Any Coruscanti soul can recount our history, given the time to prepare, the Pantoran master had claimed a few minutes prior. But only a reflective Jedi can truly learn its many lessons.

When done, Eustachya loaded her bag and stood. As she went to push in her chair, the master's actual voice called out to her, making use of the learner's self-bestowed patronymic, her father's name: "Padawan Myrian?" From the corner of her eye, Eustacha saw her friend and table neighbor, Bren Pritchitt, barely concealing a grin. Still, Master Treboh didn't seem to notice, or care, for she continued, "Your master called ahead saying he has to talk to you. I told him you'd wait in the hall."

"Of course, Master," she replied with a slight bow of her head. The classmates had barely filed into the main isle and turned away from the master when Bren elbowed Stach playfully. "Ooooh~" she chided in singsong. "You're in trouble~" Scoffing and rolling her eyes in preparation to reply, Eustachya found she didn't have to when Treboh called after the girls to add to their little lighthearted game, "Yes, I'm sure she is."

Eustachya barely contained herself with a hand clamped over her mouth as she turned out of the classroom and into the hallway. When she had collected herself, she shot back, "Just who is in trouble now?" Bren returned the giggle, before reigning herself in as well. "​We should meditate together once we finish in the Archives," she suggested before waving her hand defensively. "Not to converse--" "Of course not." "--just to, y'know, spot each other."

There was no rule against it on the master's rubric, as long as not cheating was involved. And it seemed like quite a good idea to be sure, for prolonged meditation was known to cause debilitating headaches and faintness in novices. "A sound plan. I will let you know when I am prepared." Bren smiled at that. "Nice. Want to come by later to see my Binary notes if you get held up?" "Please." Giving a nod, Bren began to head down the hall. "I'll ping ya," she promised, for the halted-Eustachya to reply, "Pray, only don't fall asleep."

"Beep beep boop," Bren said with a wink. As she turned to face the direction she was walking, she sidestepped to avoid a group of students walking to their daily history lesson, about her own age but significantly less than the Sargus Novian's. Likewise, Eustachya pressed herself up to the nearest wall to allow them to pass, but otherwise remained stationary, waiting for Master Varless to make his appearance.

~ . . . EARLIER THAT DAY . . . ~​

Dawn had just broken, spilling rosy tinges of dimmed sunlight over the steps leading up to the temple, when a single native appeared from the surrounding forest. She climbed the steps, easily overstepping one with each of her long slides, and quickly reached the top. The leader of the Jedi on first watch approached her, switching on the Babel unit sewn into his leather gauntlet to translate between Basic and Shyriiwook, Thykaraan, or Xaczik, whichever she spoke. He did not get to greet her before she barked, voice low and sorrowful, "The Jedi are our friends. I require your help."

"We are at your service, Wookiee," he told her before leading her into the Great Hall for reception. They sat near the entrance, at a table meant for waiting visitors. The Knight took his commlink to page any available Jedi to come relieve him, that he might resume his vigil. As they waited, the Wookiee told him that her name was Ffanchay and she lived with her family in Awrathakka. "My husband didn't want me to come. Too prideful. Our son, Uwwiitock, left the village to hunt a week ago and has not returned. I fear the worst."

 

[Pash Tafo]

His hand splayed against the concrete pad, a single arm holding him aloft, corded with muscle. His other held the Wan-shen, the shaft parallel to the ground. The Matukai's body extended upward, the soles of his boots skyward, legs somewhat relaxed, knees slightly bent. A silver necklace dangled from his neck, a krayt dragon charm at its end. Eyes closed, Pash ignored the cold breeze buffeting his skin. He simply held himself still, without a quiver of sinew or sway of limb.

The Lothalian felt the Force course through him, rendering him unfazed by the cold, or the extreme exertion placed upon his frame. It was, in fact, the strenuous nature of the physical that allowed the Force to move through the Adept. The strain drew his focus tight, so that he became like an antenna, attuned to the Force. It was the meditation of the Matukai, it was why Pash had to keep himself in peak physical condition, for his body was a conduit for the Force itself. And in doing so, it gave power to the use of his body.

A gust of wind ruffled the hair fallen around his face. It wasn't so much the light tickle of a strand of hair against his cheek that brought his mind from the nether of meditation, but an uncanny sensation of being watched. With unnatural grace, the pillar of Pash's arm bent slightly and pushed him into the air, allowing him to land softly on his feet. With a series of hushed clicks, the wan-shen's shaft collapsed into a haft of about 55 centimeters long, just a bit longer than the curious edged head of the weapon.

Jade eyes fell to a cloak cast over a stone bench, and Pash reached for it as he spake. "How long have you been there?" The Matukai asked, his gaze lifting to the bystander.

"Not long, you weren't doing anything terribly interesting." The young Nautolan padawan exclaimed with indifference, her slight shoulders shrugging a bit.

"Then why are you standing there in the cold, Feela?" Pash asked cheekily, a grin appearing on his face.

"Master Varless wishes to see you, in the Academic Wing." The juvenile jedi answered, her large, dark eyes unreadable. "And you still owe me the story of that tattoo on your face. Goodbye."

"OK, Ok, next time we get a cup of caf, I will tell you." Pash laughed lightly, before the humorless youngling turned and left.

Garbed in his Matukai robes, the wan-shen across his back, Pash made his way through the temple. While he was an Adept in the Matukai discipline, the equivalent of a Knight, Pash held no rank among the Jedi. He was their guest, and offered deference and respect to members of the order of every rank. He did his part, offering some teachings on physical fitness and a unique perspective on the connection of the Force with the body. He had also fought by the Silvers on Dagobah.

Turning down a hall of classrooms, Pash saw Eustachya, apparently waiting. He knew his friend was under the tutelage of Master Varless, and wondered if she too where there to meet him.

"Hello, did you get me into some kind of trouble?" He teased the Sargus Novian.

Tag: [member="Eustachya"], [member="Rhane Varless"]