First Reply Soresu's Flame

[The Warden]

"Control."

Tag - OPEN



The air was clean in the way only Tython could be. Ancient. Unspoiled. Bracing.

Wind coiled through the high courtyard, whispering between the tall pylons that framed the meditative arena like sentinels of stone and memory. They were older than the Temple itself, the engravings upon them not all Jedi in origin—some more primal, geometric in their hard-edged minimalism. But all had been left untouched. Here, in the Windspire's outer circle, the Order permitted time and silence to carve its own architecture.

The Warden sat in the very center of the stone floor, a lone figure cross-legged atop the worn sigil of Soresu carved into the permacrete beneath her. The circle radiated outward with three concentric rings, forming the boundaries of the training space. An invisible boundary, like the calm inside a storm.

Her mask was smooth and golden, catching the sunlight in a pale halo as the clouds parted briefly above. Robes of bone-white and umber hung still about her body despite the breeze, weighted at the edges for ease in combat. Her pike-lightsaber—tall, double-gripped, mounted with a longer emitter staff than most—lay across her knees. Not ignited. Not threatening. Not yet.

She had not moved for some time.

Birds fluttered overhead. Dust danced in motes. A Padawan across the archway fidgeted, then quickly turned away when he thought she noticed.

She had.

She always did.

The Warden did not speak. Not here. Not until the ritual began.

This was her domain—not a classroom, nor a chamber for lectures—but a crucible of awareness. Every student who crossed her threshold was expected to abandon noise. Leave their brashness at the arch. Unlearn their fear, and worse, their arrogance.

So she waited.

Some came for mastery. Others, discipline. Most came thinking they'd impress her.

None succeeded.

Form III was patience weaponized. The philosophy of yielding, but never breaking. The quiet supremacy of the immovable wall. In war, it saved lives. In training, it broke spirits. Those who were aggressive found its tempo unbearable. Its endless defense, maddening. They would strike and strike and strike, and she would not so much as breathe heavier.

Because The Warden was not here to prove she was better than them.

She was here to watch them destroy themselves.

And then, quietly, she would correct them.

With brutal precision.

The wind shifted again. She opened her eyes behind the mask.

They had arrived.

 

[Gavin Restur]

And the first thing they would notice, is that the one approaching, was not one tuned into the Force.
​

After his first interaction with the Jedi, Gavin had started to open up his worldview to these new people who were likely to become part of his working life. It would seem that he had reached a "new level" of sort, opening up new possibilities of networking and connections that could form. And because of this, he decided to start leaning into the new opportunity in front of him.

While he hasn't particularly known any Jedi on a deep and personal level yet, he would start making it a point to try and strike up a conversation with those he comes across. They're not exactly hard people to miss, after all. Because of his own interest in fighting (it, quite literally, is his entire culture, that being Echani), the occasional Jedi he would speak to seemed to all tend to point in the direction of someone, when the conversation would shift to combat.

"The Warden". Scary, huh?

Well, it seems that way, since it would appear from those he's talked to, that no one's been able to beat them yet.

Now, he's not an arrogant moron who thinks he can beat someone who seems to be top of the line in combat. He was told about the impenetrable defense of hers, blow after blow and no opening. Pretty impressive, honestly.

But he isn't looking for victory. He's not interested in somehow, "getting one over" on the Jedi. He's looking for something more...personal, to him.

An exchanging of beliefs. How cultures react.

The pressing of boots along the floor would reveal the man in question. Coming to a halt right outside the the imaginary border of the training space.

"Greetings. My name is Gavin." His voice going through the winds that surrounded the space, that caused his coat to flow and his hat to tilt somewhat.

"I...understand, if my likeness is not one that you are particularly expecting. But, I come with a mission. A personal goal of mine, if you will." As he spoke, he gave gradual steps. Slowly circling where the area where the other was sitting, keeping distance as to not intrude in their area.

"I've come to notice that the Jedi are becoming part of my life, recently. I've seen how you folk move. I see the way you carry yourselves when it matters most. And I would like to experience the abilities of a Jedi, firsthand."

"If you wish not for this, I understand. But, I come with a simple question."

He had circled around the area once over, stopping right back where he came from. Dead ahead of the one sitting.

"Would you spare me the time of day?"

The Warden

 

[The Warden]

"Control."

Tag - Gavin Restur



The wind carried his voice to her like it carried all things on Tython—stripped of pretense, softened by distance, laid bare.

She did not answer at first.

Instead, the Warden simply breathed.

Slow. Steady. The way a mountain might breathe. The stillness she embodied was not passive—it was absolute. The kind that unsettled predators and calmed prey. She made no move to rise. The golden mask stared forward with no expression, no tension, no approval. Just... attention. Focus honed into something deeper than sight.

She heard his steps as he circled. Measured. Curious. Respectful, but unafraid. That, at least, placed him above most.

He was not a Jedi, that much was certain. Not from his voice, nor his intent. He came with purpose. He spoke with clarity. There was a kind of internal architecture to his thoughts—a discipline that didn't stem from the Code, but from something more intimate. Echani, perhaps. They often viewed combat as communion. Dialogue. Love, even.

She had known that well.

How strange that such philosophies had more in common with Jedi teachings than many within the Order would care to admit.

How ironic, that those who lived outside the Light often understood sacrifice better than those within it.

The Warden lifted her chin slightly. A shift that could barely be called motion.

And then she spoke.

Her voice was low, level, unmistakably female—but without ornament. Without seduction or song. It was as smooth as the mask, yet laced with a gravity that demanded attention by its mere presence.

"You are already within the lesson."

Silence stretched. Like a thread pulled taut between them.

"The question is not whether I will spare you the time," she continued. "It is whether you will survive what time asks of you."

Slowly—inevitably—she stood. Not fluid, not forceful, but precise. The long white robes shifted around her with the grace of drifting snowfall. Her pike-lightsaber did not activate. It remained in hand, angled toward the ground, an extension of her stillness rather than a threat.

She descended the slightest step from the center of the circle.

"Most who come here seek a victory of the body. Or a lesson they already believe they deserve. You ask... for communion. I will not deny it."

She tilted her head just enough to suggest she was seeing him, not merely observing.

"You wish to understand us. The Jedi."

There was a long pause.

"Then understand this."

She extended the pike slightly, letting the shaft ring once against the stone—a single, pure note.

"The Jedi do not fight for peace. We do not fight for hope. Not truly. These are illusions we offer to the galaxy. Comforts, so that others may sleep."

Another pause.

"We fight for defiance."

The wind blew through the pillars again, but her voice carved through it like obsidian through silk.

"The galaxy is dark by its very nature. Darkness is not corruption. It is not evil. It is the womb of stars. The breath of silence. The heat of entropy. Every world, every life, every light... is born into the dark. And to it, all must return."

"The Light is not natural. It is imposed."

She turned, walking slowly across the rings of the training circle, each step deliberate, marking time like a metronome of war and wisdom.

"To be Jedi is to suffer. To endure. To burn without being consumed. We are not righteous. We are not whole. We are fragments. Broken, re-shaped into tools that hold back the tide."

She paused again.

Then faced him.

"There is no balance in us. Only... tension."

The pike lifted and was set once more across her shoulders, resting there like a yoke.

"Soresu teaches this. Patience weaponized. To turn the blade of the enemy back on their own will. To use stillness as a prison. To defeat death by waiting for it to trip."

A tilt of her head, just slightly.

"This is not mercy."

A moment passed. Another gust of wind drew her robes out behind her like a banner.

"It is submission. Not yours to me. Mine to purpose. The Jedi—if we are to remain Jedi—must surrender everything. Attachment. Identity. Desire. Even our truths."

A silence fell again. But this time, it was not empty.

It was offered.

And then, softer—quieter, almost warm in its detachment:

"Would you still call that noble?"

She let the question hang.

 

[Gavin Restur]

Oh, she talks.

He had remained quiet as the other spoke. Quiet, and still. Keeping his hands resting low by his belt, his thumbs resting underneath it to keep his hands in place. Simply listening, watching as she moved. Keen eyes picking up on the subtlest of head tilts, to the precise motions of her standing up. How she moved her pike, how she walked. Everything.

And those keen eyes could most definitely be noticed by her.

["Would you still call that noble?"]

It took him a moment to mentally process everything she said, so the silence following the question was appreciated. Tilting his head down somewhat in thought, his wide-brimmed hat covering his eyes briefly. Eventually, letting out a small exhale.

"Assuming you wish for my truthfulness, I'd tell you that I'm not the right person to ask that question to. Such kind of talk is usually over my understanding."

His head tilted back up, revealing his eyes once more.

"But even if I can't tell you if it's noble or not, I can tell you what I personally feel. And I would call it, respectable."

Gradual steps lead him off to the side, as he continued speaking. "I couldn't imagine having such be my own reality. To give up everything that makes you who you are. It's quite...selfless." He had stepped off and away from the circle, as his gloved hands reached upwards. Gently removing his hat from his head, and setting it on the floor.

"From the understanding that I've gathered thus far, it would seem that to be considered a 'Jedi', you have to possess both the external ability and skills to become one of the best warriors in the galaxy, while having the internal resolve and willpower to not only accept all that you just talked about, but embrace it."

More shifting, as he now went ahead and removed the strapping of the holstered blasters that rested on both sides of his belt, setting the holstered weapons down beside his hat. Lastly, he removed his satchel, setting it down alongside the rest of his equipment.

"...seeing how you defined my goal as 'communion', I'll inform you on my own beliefs. I am of Echani beliefs, if you know who they are. While I am not of the Echani species, I was born within their community, and they are who raised me."

"And the primary aspect of what I believe in, is shown through combat."

He moved once more, stepping back to the same spot he was in before. Hands had returned to resting along his belt, as he returned back in front of where the woman was. Turning to face her, while still remaining outside of the outer-most circle.

"Which is why I come primarily with the ask to see your abilities. Your lecture and showcasing of knowledge through words is no doubt helpful in trying to assist in my understanding. However, if I am to truly, truly understand you, and by extension the Jedi, it would best be through means of combat."

"I see that you have one of them 'lightsabers', as what seems to be standard. I have my own weapon which, from what I can gather, is able to...'keep up', if you will." One of his hands shifted, pushing aside the long fabric of his coat, to reveal his collapsed Force Pike on his belt.

"So, what say you, Warden?" His words were not laced with any sort of disrespect or arrogance. He was simply a man wanting to learn. Learn firsthand who the Jedi were, and what they were capable of.

As the other had done before, he let the question hang in the air. His posture relaxed but controlled, his eyes keeping its sights on the other.

Waiting.

The Warden