The Hair Knight
Objective: 2 - The Shatoon Monastery
Equipment: Gravity Hurts, Lightsaber, Vi'Dreya Crystal
Allies: [member="Jorah zos Darnus"]
Together.
The way the youngling said the word made Jerek consider him more carefully. As if he hadn't really seen Jorah before. A sense of bewilderment came over him, and an amused expression crept onto the padawan's face. Then memory flashed before his eyes, witnessing the faces of masters and guardians with the same expression, and Jerek let it pass from his face. He nodded an affirmation, then resumed his focus on the cutting board on the counter and the vegetables he had been tasked to prepare for the monastery's evening meal.
A menial task was often a good backdrop for Jerek’s thoughts, setting the tone for contemplation or problem solving or even studying. Today, the padawan turned chopping vegetables into a time for meditation. Even with the unspoken tension in the air, the monastery was a soothing place, radiating calm much like the Jedi Temple. Or a library. The kitchen may have been a haven for noise, amidst the clattering of cutting boards, the tapping of utensils against earthenware bowls, the shouting of instructions, but the calm was deeper than the surface. It resided within the very bones of the place, and even the din of dinner prep could not dispel it.
Meditating within that calm made Jerek’s response lethargic as the bells chimed once more. A lucid thought surfaced within him, another call for dinnertime? The boy had thought the monastery already assembled, but perhaps there were more here than he knew. Yet, something was different now. The clanging of the bells continued, and the strokes of Jerek’s knife began to falter, responding already to something he wasn’t yet sure of. The padawan could feel something different, something wrong.
He had a bad feeling about this.
As he surfaced from his deeper commune, Jerek found the boiling noise of the kitchen reduced to a simmering murmur. Work still continued, but at a more careful pace, with wild glances at the head cook or the doorway as if something was about to appear there. A few of the Ithorians paced by, moving as quickly as the ungainly beings could move, their sense of urgency only adding to the quiet gossip of the kitchen. Jerek couldn’t understand the large aliens’ native speech, but he could feel their fear and uncertainty as plain as if it had been said aloud.
Jerek was just about to put down his knife, and had turned to look at Jorah to see if he held a similar level of concern, when one of the monks ducked his large head into the room and spoke in clear basic with the aid of his translator, "Brothers Jedi, you are needed."
The padawan didn’t need any more prompting. The knife clattered to the board, and the vegetables were left unattended as he flew to the side of the Ithorian gofer, checking only once to see if the Zabraki boy was following. His mind pitched itself beyond him, needing only the tiniest of nudges to re-establish his connection to the Force again so soon after his meditation, and it sought out the origin of the monastery’s alert. The hallways and stairs passed by his body, moving automatically as Jerek accompanied the monk on the winding maze into the structure’s main opening, and then into the open air of the monastery grounds.
Jerek no longer needed the Force to find the origin, for perched unsteadily on a fence bordering the monastery gardens, revealed for his eyes to clearly see, was a Ruping.
The Onderonian bird flapped its leathery wings at the appearance of two, new strangers, and Jerek could see instantly that it was injured. One of the wings barely extended, not bound by any obstacles in its way, but by the consequence of the large gash directly under the Ruping’s shoulder, exposed as it clumsily tried to exercise its range of motion. Several ascetics had already gathered close by the Ruping, arranged in a half-circle beyond the range of the creature’s wingspan and looking uncertain if they should make any further motions. They were unarmed, but their posture was defensive, giving the padawan no doubts they would defend the monastery with their very bodies if necessary.
It didn’t take much of an investigation to determine that the Ruping was not a thread. Its skin bore a mottled yellow-and-brown coat, and not the maroon attacker the Silver Jedi had been briefed on. Instead, this was one of Onderon’s normal Rupings, one who had suffered an attack by its maroon cousin, or other inhabitants who had mistaken it for one. A pang shot through his heart as the boy considered the creature and looked about, wondering how he could help. He was no healer, and as much as his first master had tried to instill woodsman skills in him, nothing had really stuck well.
He was about to ask Jorah for ideas when the monk who had led the way spoke up, and Jerek realized for the first time that he was carrying a bundle of cloth in his free hand. “I can help her, Brother Jedi, but she needs to know we mean no harm. We guard this monastery, and all peaceable life within it.”
The padawan nodded at the Ithorian brother, hoping he grasped the monk’s meaning. "I don’t think she’s going to hurt us," Jerek said to the arranged monks. A couple of them looked his way. "This Ruping isn’t the one you’ve heard about, she’s the wrong color, and she’s not attacking. The Ruping came because she knew she could seek refuge here."
Jerek couldn’t tell at first if he had gotten through, but slowly one, then another of the monks relaxed and dropped back. As the others followed, the boy released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. But sentients were the easy part, and as he turned to face the Ruping, who waddled slightly on the bowing board of the fence, the Jedi youth considered his next approach.
He stepped into the Force once more, calling it to him and letting it flow around him. The Force moved in all things, within sentients, and within the Ruping. He could feel the Ruping there just as much as he saw her, a being of turmoil. He could feel the pain and confusion roiling within the creature, but something else there, too. A lighter sense, it seemed to bubble to the top out of sheer buoyancy as the monks moved away, coalescing into something the padawan could identify. Small as it was, he was certain about what it was. Hope.
That was enough.
Jerek stepped toward the Ruping, reaching out with the Force as he reached down and out with his arms, his palms facing flat away from him. He spoke in a low, measured voice, "We’re not going to hurt you."
His actions were slow and deliberate, nudging the creature’s hope through the Force as he approached, making it clear to the giant bird that he was not a threat. He could feel the Ruping’s considering him through one eye, its animal sense on high alert for treachery or danger. Jerek gave it no cause to suspect either as he crept closer. "We’d like to help you," he said, trying to convey that same thought with the Force. Whether or not the Ruping could understand it, the padawan wasn’t exactly sure. The briefing had only covered the creature’s native habitats and the characteristics of the spotted attacker, not the species’ intelligence or their Force sensitivity. "I think that’s what you came here for, safety and healing. Let us give it to you."
The Ruping let out a noise like a squawk, a descending tone, with a softer warble that followed it. She shifted her weight on the fence board, but made no other moves toward Jerek, or away from him. So she wasn’t going to run, good. He was still a few steps away from the range of her wingspan, and he had no intention of stopping. Even if he had not been wearing his armor, the boy would have entered that space and made contact with the Ruping’s body. Crossing that threshold was simply a matter of doing now.
Her body fluttered as he made contact, using it to instill a sense of calm within the creature. He added a second hand to his first, careful to avoid the area under the Ruping’s wing, feeling her respond with slower breathing and a barely-audible chitter. "That’s it," the boy said, "I’m a friend. We all are, and we’re going to help you."
Jerek looked back at the healer monk and Jorah, beckoning them forward as he added one more word. "Tyra."
Together.
Equipment: Gravity Hurts, Lightsaber, Vi'Dreya Crystal
Allies: [member="Jorah zos Darnus"]
The way the youngling said the word made Jerek consider him more carefully. As if he hadn't really seen Jorah before. A sense of bewilderment came over him, and an amused expression crept onto the padawan's face. Then memory flashed before his eyes, witnessing the faces of masters and guardians with the same expression, and Jerek let it pass from his face. He nodded an affirmation, then resumed his focus on the cutting board on the counter and the vegetables he had been tasked to prepare for the monastery's evening meal.
A menial task was often a good backdrop for Jerek’s thoughts, setting the tone for contemplation or problem solving or even studying. Today, the padawan turned chopping vegetables into a time for meditation. Even with the unspoken tension in the air, the monastery was a soothing place, radiating calm much like the Jedi Temple. Or a library. The kitchen may have been a haven for noise, amidst the clattering of cutting boards, the tapping of utensils against earthenware bowls, the shouting of instructions, but the calm was deeper than the surface. It resided within the very bones of the place, and even the din of dinner prep could not dispel it.
Meditating within that calm made Jerek’s response lethargic as the bells chimed once more. A lucid thought surfaced within him, another call for dinnertime? The boy had thought the monastery already assembled, but perhaps there were more here than he knew. Yet, something was different now. The clanging of the bells continued, and the strokes of Jerek’s knife began to falter, responding already to something he wasn’t yet sure of. The padawan could feel something different, something wrong.
He had a bad feeling about this.
As he surfaced from his deeper commune, Jerek found the boiling noise of the kitchen reduced to a simmering murmur. Work still continued, but at a more careful pace, with wild glances at the head cook or the doorway as if something was about to appear there. A few of the Ithorians paced by, moving as quickly as the ungainly beings could move, their sense of urgency only adding to the quiet gossip of the kitchen. Jerek couldn’t understand the large aliens’ native speech, but he could feel their fear and uncertainty as plain as if it had been said aloud.
Jerek was just about to put down his knife, and had turned to look at Jorah to see if he held a similar level of concern, when one of the monks ducked his large head into the room and spoke in clear basic with the aid of his translator, "Brothers Jedi, you are needed."
The padawan didn’t need any more prompting. The knife clattered to the board, and the vegetables were left unattended as he flew to the side of the Ithorian gofer, checking only once to see if the Zabraki boy was following. His mind pitched itself beyond him, needing only the tiniest of nudges to re-establish his connection to the Force again so soon after his meditation, and it sought out the origin of the monastery’s alert. The hallways and stairs passed by his body, moving automatically as Jerek accompanied the monk on the winding maze into the structure’s main opening, and then into the open air of the monastery grounds.
Jerek no longer needed the Force to find the origin, for perched unsteadily on a fence bordering the monastery gardens, revealed for his eyes to clearly see, was a Ruping.
The Onderonian bird flapped its leathery wings at the appearance of two, new strangers, and Jerek could see instantly that it was injured. One of the wings barely extended, not bound by any obstacles in its way, but by the consequence of the large gash directly under the Ruping’s shoulder, exposed as it clumsily tried to exercise its range of motion. Several ascetics had already gathered close by the Ruping, arranged in a half-circle beyond the range of the creature’s wingspan and looking uncertain if they should make any further motions. They were unarmed, but their posture was defensive, giving the padawan no doubts they would defend the monastery with their very bodies if necessary.
It didn’t take much of an investigation to determine that the Ruping was not a thread. Its skin bore a mottled yellow-and-brown coat, and not the maroon attacker the Silver Jedi had been briefed on. Instead, this was one of Onderon’s normal Rupings, one who had suffered an attack by its maroon cousin, or other inhabitants who had mistaken it for one. A pang shot through his heart as the boy considered the creature and looked about, wondering how he could help. He was no healer, and as much as his first master had tried to instill woodsman skills in him, nothing had really stuck well.
He was about to ask Jorah for ideas when the monk who had led the way spoke up, and Jerek realized for the first time that he was carrying a bundle of cloth in his free hand. “I can help her, Brother Jedi, but she needs to know we mean no harm. We guard this monastery, and all peaceable life within it.”
The padawan nodded at the Ithorian brother, hoping he grasped the monk’s meaning. "I don’t think she’s going to hurt us," Jerek said to the arranged monks. A couple of them looked his way. "This Ruping isn’t the one you’ve heard about, she’s the wrong color, and she’s not attacking. The Ruping came because she knew she could seek refuge here."
Jerek couldn’t tell at first if he had gotten through, but slowly one, then another of the monks relaxed and dropped back. As the others followed, the boy released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. But sentients were the easy part, and as he turned to face the Ruping, who waddled slightly on the bowing board of the fence, the Jedi youth considered his next approach.
He stepped into the Force once more, calling it to him and letting it flow around him. The Force moved in all things, within sentients, and within the Ruping. He could feel the Ruping there just as much as he saw her, a being of turmoil. He could feel the pain and confusion roiling within the creature, but something else there, too. A lighter sense, it seemed to bubble to the top out of sheer buoyancy as the monks moved away, coalescing into something the padawan could identify. Small as it was, he was certain about what it was. Hope.
That was enough.
Jerek stepped toward the Ruping, reaching out with the Force as he reached down and out with his arms, his palms facing flat away from him. He spoke in a low, measured voice, "We’re not going to hurt you."
His actions were slow and deliberate, nudging the creature’s hope through the Force as he approached, making it clear to the giant bird that he was not a threat. He could feel the Ruping’s considering him through one eye, its animal sense on high alert for treachery or danger. Jerek gave it no cause to suspect either as he crept closer. "We’d like to help you," he said, trying to convey that same thought with the Force. Whether or not the Ruping could understand it, the padawan wasn’t exactly sure. The briefing had only covered the creature’s native habitats and the characteristics of the spotted attacker, not the species’ intelligence or their Force sensitivity. "I think that’s what you came here for, safety and healing. Let us give it to you."
The Ruping let out a noise like a squawk, a descending tone, with a softer warble that followed it. She shifted her weight on the fence board, but made no other moves toward Jerek, or away from him. So she wasn’t going to run, good. He was still a few steps away from the range of her wingspan, and he had no intention of stopping. Even if he had not been wearing his armor, the boy would have entered that space and made contact with the Ruping’s body. Crossing that threshold was simply a matter of doing now.
Her body fluttered as he made contact, using it to instill a sense of calm within the creature. He added a second hand to his first, careful to avoid the area under the Ruping’s wing, feeling her respond with slower breathing and a barely-audible chitter. "That’s it," the boy said, "I’m a friend. We all are, and we’re going to help you."
Jerek looked back at the healer monk and Jorah, beckoning them forward as he added one more word. "Tyra."
Together.
