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Souls Out of Time [Je'gan]

Fabula Caromed

Belle of the Brawl
Writer
Jedi Temple grounds, Tython

The training expedition to Tython had given Fabula two very important opportunities. Obviously, the one she immediately appreciated was the chance to learn from (apparently revered) Master @[member="Je'gan Olra'en"] and a host of other Jedi. Her knowledge of the four lightsaber forms that were not her precious Ataru was severely lacking, and the shot to patch it up a bit was something she was quite grateful for. She'd spent days upon days learning the ins and outs of the lightsaber, her mind and body marinating in glorious combat and the purity of her own resolve to improve.

What she hadn't immediately understood, however, was that Tython's similarities to Dathomir would assist her in overcoming a long-standing problem seated deep within her spirit. The world was dangerous, beautiful, and above all very natural. She felt she could meditate for years with nothing more than the Force - primal and vivacious - to sustain her. While the other Jedi spent their time with each other, discussing philosophy and meditating as a group, Fabula sought isolation in the verdant tapestry of life around the Temple.

Every once in a while, she would be visited by a Jedi, usually polite and normally interested in what she was doing. Few of them could sense her Dark soul, hidden beneath so many layers of redundant self-loathing and control. Fewer still thought to ask her if she was actually a Jedi. They were occupied with less physical questions. Why was she out here alone? Why not spend time with the others? Didn't she understand that isolation built weakness?

Despite the probing, Fabula found herself at peace on Tython. The Jedi Temple on Coruscant was relaxing, especially in Boolon Murr's garden, but nothing Coruscant could muster would ever compare to the pure harmony of life she found in Tython's forests. Here, she was at rest. Here, she found serenity unlike anywhere else in the galaxy. Here, she could forget, and more important yet, she could forgive.

Fabula was masked in self-contemplation and meditation, her senses turned inward and her eyes long shut. It was a trick she'd taught herself to help ignore how unnatural the synthetic orange crystals in her lightsabers felt in the lush, arboreal paradise she was centered in. As such, she was barely even aware of danger, let alone a harmless presence moving up behind her.
 

Ashin Varanin

Professional Enabler
Writer
There were days when Je'gan hated the Jedi Order. And as a man who'd served them for, oh, five centuries, those days piled up. Today he was heartily sick of DragonsFlame's constant, insipid, self-righteous nerve; Synlidwirh's incessant smirk and dubious life choices; Ordo's black-and-white, kill-them-all mentality -- and more. How fortunate, then, that today he got to mess around with someone who was refreshingly not a Jedi.

"Good afternoon," he said, emerging from the woods. Now was not a time for trickery and he was not a man for playing around. "I've, uh, been named Battlemaster, in charge of standardizing lightsabre instruction, here on Tython and on the the Shepherd, the new city ship. You did a fabulous job as our head Ataru instructor in that sabre boot camp, and part of my standardization process - one of the most enjoyable parts, really - is to see how our instructors function at higher levels. Simply put, I'm here to see how you measure up. I hope you don't mind that I'm disturbing your meditations -- but then, knowing you, you're always up for a fight."

A sky-blue lightsabre flared to life. Curved hilt, battered electrum -- the weapon of a former and current Council member.
 
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