Private Tempering

[Aaran Tafo]

He was tired. And the meditation was not helping.

Normally such things would give him some measure of calm. Situated in one of the training halls of the Coruscant temple. He attempted to find his calm. Floating a few inches off the ground, a series of hollow metal spheres slowly floating through the air around him. Circling his at various altitudes. The Jedi honing his mind by splitting his attention on each one while also attempting to calm his own heart.

It was not something he could afford to show in a visible way. But Ziost had taken its toll on him. The scars were fading, between the bacta treatment and the ministrations of the Jedi healers. It was made clear there was no hidden surprises left by the Sith. Nothing sinister hiding under his skin, waiting to leap out and attack someone. No hidden memetic viruses or triggers hidden in his mind.

He was fine. But others were not so lucky. Kisaku had come off worse for wear from his encounter with Carnifex. The normally boisterous Padawan now taking a more morose and sullen demeanour with everyone around him. Ryv, as usual found himself beaten to within an inch of his life. And Loske....

Crunch

The previously gentle pressure on the floating orbs suddenly increased by several magnitudes. The delicate metal spheres crumpling under the force as Aaran was reminded once again, that his oldest friend was still missing in action. All he knew was that she was alive, somewhere out there in the galaxy. And most likely in the clutches of the Sith. And with every moment he say here, she was no doubt suffering unimaginable horrors.

He needed to be out there. But due to the current political climate, he was restricted to Coruscant. His dual roles as Battlemaster of the Order and the Warden of Peace demanded that he remain here for now. All he could do was allow others to continue the search for their lost comrade. People better suited for such investigations than him. But knowing something intellectually meant nothing if his heart was still restless. Demanding that he hop in his ship and scour the starts until he found some sign of her.

How frustrating was it that he had made his promise to protect them. That he had worked so hard to become stronger, only to never find himself in a position where he could act as the shield for those he cared for.

Sighing, he allowed his form to drift back to the ground, not trusting his telekinetic powers now, he simply began to scoop up the crumpled metal spheres as he began to put them away. Making a note to ensure they were repaired later. He had other priorities, other responsibilities now. He could not allow himself to wallow in self-pity and instead focus on what he could do. Namely help others who required guidance and comfort after such trying times.

It was why he set up this training session. For too long he had held the secrets of the Vaapad close to his chest. Reluctant to teach others due to the inherent dangers of the style. But now, as it stood. He could not afford that luxury of hesitation. It was his duty to the Order to pass on what he knew, and that meant choosing someone to learn from him. Not a formal Padawan-Master relationship. He did not feel he was ready for that yet. But if he could teach someone else who struggled with their fury on how to best temper it. Perhaps he would be able to better quell his own troubles.

Mrurh'en'lase | Hel

 

[Mrurh'en'lase | Hel]

Robes: X | Lightsaber [Newly Constructed Until Previous Is Recovered]: X

​

Ziost had come and gone for the Galaxy. The Sith and Jedi finalizing just another chapter in their war immemorial. The dead named and buried and mourned. The memories hidden and purged under layers of drink, celebration, and meditation. And the new path set for the victors and the losers. Yet for the Hybrid, it remained in her mind like a midnight moon. The memories of it all clawed at each part of her brain with putrid spindly fingers connected to needle arms in the void.

Indeed, the events of that battle had been drilled into her thoughts and pressed into the forefront of remembrance for hours on end in the days following that terrible day. The images of the named dead. Of her skills being swatted aside like they were nothing by Laertia Io. Of the thing inside her mind that had refused to leave and in fact seemed to have engaged in some silent yet chaotic war with the thing of golden fire.

Still, she was not one to sit down and let herself fall into some self-absorbed nihilism or stagnation of growth. She had been born a fighter and had lived as a fighter for twenty years of her life. And Hel would not allow some measly trauma and internal conflict of Light and Dark keep her from her duties as a Jedi and most certainly not form her duties as a crusader of the Light Side. Meditation would become sustenance, and training with the blade would become her way of life. Studies of the Force and its limitless potential would become a recreational activity. She would travel to worlds to learn their secrets, fight on the front lines, and learn from the greatest Masters the Jedi Order could offer.

Even if the wounds of Ziost and her young naivety and egotism never left, even if she would never quell that...violence within her...that fight between Dark and Light, well she would still fight to live. And she would fight to do her part before returning to the dirt. Today was going to merely be a step towards that.

And so she found herself, again, on the twinkling world of Coruscant within her quarters inside the depths of the Jedi Temple. She had spent much of her time here before being summoned by the Battlemaster himself, Aaran Tafo , visiting the healers to mend what physical wounds she had endured from the battle. Namely the gashes across her legs and arms and back, which were healed enough to hide the physical scarring. And then the summons came and she answered with haste, intent on honing her skills to better herself and continue her path to becoming a Knight in due time.

What the Battlemaster had entirely planned for her this day was unknown, although a momentary flash - which left a painful throbbing headache behind her left brow - gave her a sliver of insight into a highly complicated maneuver that she was likely to perform. And fail at performing. Regardless, she marched through the halls and the lobbies and up the staircases with a stoicism only she could muster and entered the chambers where her trainer for the day awaited, cleaning up crushed metal spheres with a resigned expression on his face.

"Wow. Bad day?" she asked with a slight chuckle before she could reign in her attitude.

 

[Aaran Tafo]

He was grateful that she was at least punctual. Right on time she arrived through the door. It was only unfortunate that she caught him during a brief lapse in concentration. Not exactly the greatest of first impressions. But it was one his ego would recover from.

Letting out a faint sigh, he reached over to scoop up the remnants of the orbs, sweeping them onto a nearby shelf to be fixed at a later date. "Considering current events. A lot of people are having bad days." He said, making a vague gesture around him, referencing the state of the Alliance. Losses from Ziost, upcoming peace talks with the New Imperial Order. The situation was tense all around. And it hung in the air around the temple like morning fog. Thick and obscuring all else.

Stepping away from the shelves, he moved himself to the front of the room, leaning against the lectern typically used by instructors. He turned his gaze towards Hel. "Padawan Mrurh'en'lase" He said, enunciating the name slowly to make sure he was pronouncing it correctly. Not wanting to offend. The culture of the Chiss was beautiful in many ways. But their names did not exactly roll off the tongue.

"I've been getting a few reports of your activity on Ziost." He said, his tone placid, calm. But his intense stare never left her. "When everything went to Chaos you seemed to have a rather poor reaction. Issues with your anger." He said, nodding once. Not exactly out of the ordinary considering the artifact that was unleashed on Ziost. Many Jedi were still recovering from it. Some would have been too traumatised by the events to ever try to connect with the Force again.

"So I'm hoping I can ask you a few questions he said." He said, letting it hang in the air for a moment, the silence dragging on to the point where Hel might be convinced, she was about to be interrogated or condemned for her actions.

"How are you holding up? Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

Mrurh'en'lase | Hel

 

[Mrurh'en'lase | Hel]

Robes: X | Lightsaber [Newly Constructed Until Previous Is Recovered]: X

​

The young woman offered the clearly troubled man a small smile, although the sincerity behind it was questionable. And she only nodded with slight respect towards his gesture of "everything being bad right now." In that regard, she could feel sparse shiverings of tension from the gentleman, having locked away her Zeltron telepathy as best she could following Ziost, although it was - all around - pointless in the end. Still, it was nice to not feel the emotions of everyone around her for once.

She then offered him a more genuine smile as he said her name - her Chiss name that is - slowly to ensure he pronounced it right. It was true that such names were difficult to pronounce, hence her endless gratitude to the mates of the Liason some years back for simply shortening it to "Hel." Easier to say and had a lot more punch to it than Mrurh'en'lase which, in all respects, was a mouthful and lacked true impact to those that heard it.

"'Hel' will do just fine, Master Tafo," she replied to his efforts, chuckling lightly.

She fell silent again as he began the expected lecture on what occurred on Ziost. She fell to your anger, had a poor reaction to the stress of the situation, etcetera, etcetera. She had heard this many times before since coming home, more than she wanted to and especially so from the Healers, who acted more like stern and unhappy grandparents than anything else. He sounded like a concerned parent, even though he could not have been...a year or so older than her. That would likely make this session even more difficult than she expected. A boy, practically. She had become accustomed to taking orders and training from men and women in their forties, fifties, sixties. Elderly and experienced Jedi, not...children. But, if he was a child, what was she? Something she would not and could not admit in her arrogance. And then the questions began after a long silence that, truth be told, began to make her feel anxious and twitchy in the fingers, which were clasped behind her back as she stood at attention much like a soldier would before their commanding officer.

"How do I feel, sir?" she asked, repeating the question. At first, as she pondered it, she remained still but began pacing after a few moments of silent thought. Back and forth she went across the room, slowly at first and then quicker as she ramped herself up with the answer. "How do I feel? To be fair, Master Tafo, that is a loaded question, even with the most recent context taken into account. There's a lot that I feel, every day. Good, bad, love, fury, fear. Fear is very common throughout this city. This temple. But I suppose you know that."

She looked at him as she stopped pacing, red eyes searching for some form of understanding or beginnings of sympathy for her frantic tone. She received none that she could see behind that wall of calm. "I suppose I feel...furious," she continued with a frown and furrowed brows. "Frustrated. Antsy. How could I not? You read the files on what happened. I lost my cool on Ziost and chose to face an enemy even the most hardened of our Order would struggle to fight. I charged ahead when my strike team needed me. I threw blind attacks that were deflected with ease. I succumbed to whatever horrendous evil had been unleashed as my comrades were dying or dead. I was...tempted and tortured by this thing inside my head, this demon that crawled towards me only to be saved by some divine being of golden fire. I've thought about what they were, even though I know what they were. Darkness and Light. Devil and Angel type deals. But...more. They have to be more. That's how I feel, Master Tafo. Does that make sense?"

She finished her tangent by stopping directly in front of the man once again, looking for anything resembling an answer.

Aaran Tafo