Faction The Art of the Unseen Stroke (THP)

[Krass Wyms]

The thrum created within the heart of the Ancilla. One of the works of the jedi within the galaxy was always welcoming. The concentration of energy collected by the massive panels was channeled into tens of thousands of forges that fashioned gear and equipment on a scale few others could see and as you traveled in deeper. Among the pulsars, the clusters of mini suns, ignited gas giants and strange rogue planets that had been pulled from their systems to the intense gravity here. The heart of it saw the Celestial Forge on display, a massive station positioned with micro precision to be perfectly balanced and placed in the heart of the stars. Being kept in place by their intense gravity all around so it didn't move. The no-space shielding at the top of it allowing the gleaming display of the forgemasters prize. The kyber anvil, designed to channel the hearts of stars around, the largest housing hearts of kyber and fonts of lightside energies.

She had invited the jedi of the Hidden Path here for a special class. The chance to learn, to take away and most importantly to create. The Forgemaster walking as she was often one of the smallest women in the room but she knew how to cast a large presence. Krass cut a figure of formidable, compact efficiency. Standing a solid four feet, she was a study in dense kinetic potential, her body an accumulation of muscle shaped by the resistance of cold steel and hot plasma. There was nothing delicate about the heavy fullness of her form; her shoulders and chest were a powerful mantle, built to withstand the recoil of the hammer and the heat of the core around her. She wore the marks of her trade with stoic pride. Her dark hair was swept back, though softened by the steam that constantly wreathed her.

Her flawless features were interrupted only by the intricate lacework of silver burn scars on her arms and cheeks fossilized sparks from a thousand forged suns. Her gaze was sharp, the eyes of a master appraiser: black pools scattered with shards of purple and white light, permanently crinkled at the corners from staring into the abyss of creation. In the crippling heat of her workshop, her attire was purely pragmatic. She wore no trousers, only a rugged harness of beskar and silk that acted as a holder for her tools. This left her mighty legs and thighs entirely bare, a necessary concession to keep her blood from boiling in the stifling air. A lone ornament rested at her throat: an embersteel choker clutching a raw Kaiburr crystal shard, pulsing with a sympathetic rhythm against her skin, glowing through the glaze of sweat and light that anointed her brow.

Her hammer was on her hip. The hammer of the forgemaster Jǫrmungandr Steði... and something rarely seen as her lightsaber was within the hilt of the hammer. The tetherrite and solarite metal bonding it to her alone. She had set an area of the forge aside, it was circulating cool air and a breeze in contrast to the normal heat and fire. Stations there for all of them while she crossed her arms over her chest and offered many of them the class here. "Welcome, this isn't going to be one of your more orthodox classes. I am here to teach you fine movement and precision control. Memory and cognitive enhancement skills which will allow you to remember and visualize the finest details... and most importantly it will allow you to stoke the fires of your own creativity." She said it while standing there in the center with a look at the ones assembled.

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

PERSONAL FLIGHT LOG – Entry #
Location: – Celestial Forge(whatever THAT is)
Assigned Craft: My X-wing
Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Curious
Background Noise: I can’t hear anything over the noise of this place.

Okay. This… place… is… HUGE!
“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: A big place, run by a little woman… If she were a guy she would have a sport speeder.]

Wow… That’s just… wow…

“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: I’m just sayin! I don’t mean it bad.]

I hope she didn’t understand you.

“Chrrp.” [Translation: I’ll blame you.]

Gee… Thanks… I actually want to do this. Don’t get me kicked out.

“Bwoo-Weeep.” [Translation: Not my fault if no one gets me....]

Anyway, I’m here at this… what IS this place? This is so awe inspiring! I’m here to paint? Crazy!

Hi Bos… Master…

Force of Habit.

– Michael A.
I’m the artist, not the smartest!

TAG: Krass Wyms

This is where he is speaking

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra had been standing quietly near one of the cooled stations, arms loosely folded as she let the scale of the Forge sink in, when the familiar voice cut through the reverent atmosphere. It took her a second to place it, not because it was unfamiliar, but because hearing it here felt so wildly out of context that her brain lagged behind her ears.

Then she turned.

Michael. Same cadence. Same energy. Same running commentary, now accompanied by a droid that apparently felt very comfortable sharing opinions in a place built around captive stars and ancient discipline.

For a moment, she just looked at him, blue eyes steady, and then the corner of her mouth curved despite herself. A quiet huff of laughter escaped her, the kind you don't plan, before she shook her head and exhaled.

"I should have known you'd end up here," she said, voice low but amused, recognition settling in easily. "Last time I saw you, you were bluffing with garbage cards and giving life advice that absolutely should not have worked."

Her gaze flicked briefly to the droid as it chimed in again, then back to Michael, one brow lifting just a touch.

"And yeah," she added, softer now, glancing toward the Forgemaster without turning fully away, "I'm operating on the assumption that she understands every word and is deciding whether it's endearing or grounds for incineration."

Not a warning exactly. More…friendly counsel.

She let her arms fall to her sides and shifted her stance, giving herself room to breathe again as the immensity of the place pressed in from all directions. The Celestial Forge hummed around them, patient and immense, like it had all the time in the galaxy to wait for them to catch up.

"It's a lot," Lyra continued, her tone smoothing out as she gestured vaguely at the stars, the anvil, the heat and light bound into purpose. "I thought I was here to draw too. Or paint. Or…something normal."

A faint, incredulous smile crossed her face.

"Turns out it's more about learning how to hold detail without getting lost in it. Memory. Structure. Seeing something enormous and still being able to focus on one line, one shape, one idea."

She looked back at Michael then, really looked at him, the way you do when you recognize a familiar face in a strange place, and it steadied her more than she expected.

"I'm Lyra," she said again, even though they'd already been introduced once, because here it felt different. "Pilot. Sketcher. Not the smartest either, so you're in good company."

Her eyes flicked once more toward the Forge, then back, calm settling in where awe had been.

"If you're here to learn," she finished, voice grounded and sincere, "I don't think there's a better place to be. Just…maybe don't let your droid heckle the woman holding a star."

The smile that followed was small, but genuine, and for the first time since arriving, the Forge felt less like it might swallow her whole and more like something she could stand inside without losing herself.

Michael Angellus Krass Wyms

 

[Jack Wright]

(Tags: Krass Wyms , Michael Angellus , Lyra Ventor , OPEN)

Jack was a writer.

Or, well, one in practicing, he waas humble enough to admit to anybody who'd ask. As such, he was appreciative of any lesson related to and learning in the finer details of one's craft, and this was was essentially as Jedi's variation to art class. The second he heard of this course, it was just a trap of ensnarement of his senses.

Arriving to the rather beautiful ship and immediately taking his own station, albeit in one of the furthest corners. Less noise and distraction, that way. Didn't hurt for their instructor to be, uh, to put it mildly... Quite a sight.

What the Hapans wish they could exude.

Resting both palms on the edge of his table, the Knight perked up with cheek, "Ready, teach!" His enthusiasm for the lesson at hand vibrant in both posture and the Force. Didn't hurt his right boot was tapping on the steel floor a little, Jack nodded to the others in mild greeting that were here for the lesson.

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

PERSONAL FLIGHT LOG – Entry #
Location: – Celestial Forge(whatever THAT is)
Assigned Craft: My X-wing
Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Curious
Background Noise: I can’t hear anything over the noise of this place.

“Chitter.” [Translation: HA! I like her! I remember that.]

Wow! RUDE!
“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: Oh, you’re just mad because she called you out and was right!.]

What about you?! She was calling you out like she understands droidspeak!

“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: It’s not like I’m insulting anyone.]

“ELL OH ELL”

“Chrrp.” [Translation: What in the Blue Mustafar is that?]

I’m laughing at you out loud.

“Bwoo-Weeep.” [Translation: Oh my word! You “LOL”’ed? That was … well I’ll be nice….]

… For once…

I’m not denying it.

– Michael A.
I’m the artist, not the smartest!

TAG: Krass Wyms , Lyra Ventor , Jack Wright
Text like this is in “recorder” and review of what happened.

This is where he is speaking

 

[Supisy Blen]

Objective: Fun with art
Location: Celestial Forge, Ancilla
Outfit: Casual
Tags: Krass Wyms | Michael Angellus | Lyra Ventor | Jack Wright

Supisy wasn't sure she actually belonged her. But that was never something that stopped her in the past. Maybe when she was old she would care about such things, but now she would expect to have fun unless someone told her otherwise. Everyone loved the young Twi'lek pilot as far as she was concerned anyways. Two of her squadmates had gotten the invitation to join the class, it wouldn't hurt that she tagged along. Not that she asked for permission.

Art had become quite intriguing to Supisy since she met Princess Junko. The fact that Supisy was one of many who had been immortalized in sculpture by the princess was only part of the reason why. The body of Junko's collection was, however, quite enticing. She allowed others to head into the class first. It was supposedly a "Jedi" class. But art wasn't just for the Force right? Just the same, Supisy decided to be a little mischievous and perhaps avoid notice. She stepped in just as the Forgemaster started speaking.

The Forgemaster gave a short introduction to the class. Fine movement. Precision. Memory. Doesn't sound very Forcy…Cognitive enhancement? Yeah…that sounds Jedi-like. Or this place is an old person's home in disguise… Supisy thought to herself. She noted that her flight leader, Micheal, was talking with the new pilot in their flight. Supisy smirked to herself noting how incredibly attractive Striker Squadron was. She made a mental note to invite them all to her estate to relax in the sauna one day.

The other student present was unfamiliar. Not exactly shocking, Supisy hadn't really made a point of putting herself amongst Jedi and this was supposed to be a Jedi class. The fact that she heard about it because two other pilots had Jedi potential was just lucky. She wondered if mingling would call more attention to herself. The crowd was sparse. Supisy wasn't very good at hiding her presence. For now she decided to take a seat at a nearby easel and peak at the instructor. If she was called to interact with the other folks she wouldn't argue.

 

[Krass Wyms]

Supisy Blen Michael Angellus Jack Wright Lyra Ventor

Krass looked at them and listened as she approached the droid for a moment and didn't say anything she just looked at it with a raised eyebrow. Her full stature being on display in some cases so she was smaller then everyone there but she looked towards a rising area in the center of where they would be working. The covering for it in place still but she turned her attention back to the ones who were here with a moments look. "Welcome." She went towards the center. "This won't be a traditional class, most of the other temples teach combaat and forrce user forr defending... but this is more to develop attention to details and finer motor movements. Which can translate if you are skilled to combat or force user, diplomacy and encountering dangers. Where the smallest detail or movement can mean life and death." The forgemaster said it while looking morre at them and providing a grin on her face that was wide and welcoming. "That is why I brought you here, the creative heart of the orderr where the jedi are able to make anything they can think of with the heart of a thousand stars. Respect my workshop." She said the last but let them all go into place with a nod. "When you are ready sit, get your supplies ready and prepare you are going to be painting and it is about detail, cutting out distractions from what is around us and being able to make the smallest adjustments." She pulled the covering back to reveal three other jedi masters as she was going into her own position there.

Sprawled across the lowest marble plinth in a mirrored, classical recline are the Masters of the Physical and the Spiritual, their bodies forming the heavy, grounded foundation of the scene. Syn dominates the left, his body propped up on one powerful, bronzed arm in a pose of casual but absolute dominance that makes him appear more like an ancient deity than a living man. His skin is a deep, sun-bronze that gleams like polished white marble under the high-noon sun, casting sharp shadows into every ridge and valley of his hyper-defined musculature. From the flaring width of his pectorals to the cobblestone abdomen tapering into low-slung gear, he is a study in raw, functional power. His long, muscular legs veins tracing bold paths across his thighs stretch out across the cool white stone, one knee bent high to support his right hand. That hand drapes loosely, almost dismissively, over his knee while his fingers maintain a grip on an lightsaber obsidian hilt planted vertically into the marble. His head is tilted back with a jaw set in a line of calm serenity, the long tails of his black sash whipping in the wind of the forge like war banners, yet most know that he can see the students through his sightless gaze.

Opposite him, reclining on her right side to complete the symmetrical base, is Vaata Ver Riya, providing a lush and vibrant contrast to Syn's jagged intensity. Her body is a harmonious blend of curves and subtle athletic grace, her deep amber-brown skin glowing with a warm, luminescent quality against the sterile, white-veined marble. Her vibrant pink-and-gold silks cling to her form like liquid jewels, the fabric spilling over the edge of the fountain in a waterfall of fuchsia and gold embroidery as her legs stretch out to perfectly mirror Syn's pose. Adorned in layered gold necklaces that cascade over her décolletage and a glowing ruby maang tikka, she holds a knowing, enigmatic half-smile that suggests a terrifying level of foresight. Her almond-shaped eyes, lined with heavy kohl, are locked directly on the students with an unsettling tranquility, while the bindi at her forehead pulses with a soft, ethereal light. While Syn represents the violent torrent of the physical storm, she sits as the deep, still waters of the force, her posture relaxed yet perfectly poised as she weighs the very souls and futures of the class standing before her.

Positioned on the higher tier behind the reclining pair, the two remaining two Masters provide the vertical spine of the monument, looking down with the weight of law and creation. Krass Wyms , the Forgemaster, looms directly behind Syn like a lord of the forge given flesh. She sits with a regal, grounded authority, her legs planted wide on the upper step to accommodate her short but statuesque physique a masterpiece of dense muscle, broad flaring lats, and thighs like carved stone. Her corded arms are bare, revealing the vascular strength of a warrior who has spent lifetimes at the anvil, while her heavy hide apron, cinched brutally tight at her narrow waist, shimmers with embossed nebulae that seem to swirl with actual starlight in the shifting shadows. Her expression is one of absolute, unyielding certainty as she rests the head of her hammer upon her shoulder, its purple light reflecting in her amethyst eyes which burn with a steady, living flame. Her voice comes out for them to hear her as she takes her place. "I wanted to give you all something with high levels of detail and skill."

Flanking her at the top is the form of Arona Kae, providing the ethereal and aristocratic balance to Krass's industrial heat. She sits with a tall, statuesque grace, one leg tucked beneath her and the other planted firmly on the edge of the plinth, her weight shifted forward to emphasize a sense of looming, aristocratic lethality. Her pale porcelain skin and platinum-blonde hair catch the light like spun starlight, framed by a heavy cream-and-gold fur-lined cloak that drapes over her shoulders and spills down toward the lower tier like fresh snow over a mountain peak. Her piercing ice-blue eyes scan the horizon with a cold, patrician intensity, her straight nose and unsmiling rose lips speaking of a lifetime of noble vigilance. One hand rests delicately yet purposefully near the reinforced white corset that cinches her lean core, her fingers hovering near the hilt of the lightbringer blade that remains half-hidden by her robes. She is the grandmaster of the jedi fortress worlds. Mythos calling her the broken queen but she was someone Krass knew to be powerful.

"I would never ask one to do something I am not willing to do myself." She said it while in position and looked out from the tableau of the masters and stonework. "Begin when you are."

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

PERSONAL FLIGHT LOG – Entry #
Location: – Celestial Forge(whatever THAT is)
Assigned Craft: My X-wing
Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Curious
Background Noise: I can’t hear anything over the noise of this place.

“Chitter.” [Translation: HA! You have to paint a naked man!]

Dude! Not happening! I mean, I don’t care if people are that way, but I’m not!
“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: Oh, you’re just worried about what your “bros” are gonna think.]

DUDE! I’m not like that! I’m not playing this game!

“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: So, just draw the chicks.]

You mean “lllaaaadiessss”?

“Chrrp.” [Translation: Do you realize how creepy you are when you say that?]

Say what?

“Bwoo-Weeep.” [Translation: Nothing, nevermind. I need an oil bath.]

Alright, fine. I’ll just soldier through… heh though I’m a pilot. This is weird…

Mine doesn’t look right.

– Michael A.
I’m the artist, not the smartest!

TAG: Krass Wyms , Lyra Ventor , Jack Wright
Text like this is in “recorder” and review of what happened.

This is where he is speaking

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra had been in the middle of arranging her supplies, carefully aligning her stylus and pad with the same quiet precision she used in a cockpit, when the reveal happened and the world very nearly tilted sideways.

She looked up. Maker help her.

For the span of a single, traitorous heartbeat, every mental exercise she had been practicing threatened to unravel, not because of the Force, but because of memory. Heat. Weight. Gravity. Four stolen days that had bent her sense of time and proximity around one very specific man who was now very inconveniently posed like a living monument. Syn was not simply present; he was enshrined, carved into marble and light as though the galaxy itself had decided to test her composure with deliberate malice.

Her breath caught before she could stop it, and her jaw tightened just enough to remind herself she was still in control. Then, slowly and deliberately, she recovered. Barely.

Lyra lowered her gaze with the kind of discipline she usually reserved for violent evasive maneuvers, fixing her attention on her easel as though it were the most important object in the universe. Her fingers adjusted her stylus with almost excessive care, grounding herself in motion and familiarity. She absolutely did not stare. She absolutely did not let her thoughts wander to the remembered warmth of his hands, the steady power of his presence, or the way those four days had felt like stepping outside the galaxy's rules.

Maker above, this was deeply unfair.

"Of course," she murmured under her breath, the words pitched low and edged with dry disbelief. "Of course, this is the day the Order decides to put him on a pedestal."

She drew in a slow, steady breath and anchored herself the way he had taught her, through memory rather than mysticism. The Starling's hull. The familiar pattern of weld seams. The gentle, trustworthy hum of engines that never asked her questions or judged the choices that led her here.

When Lyra finally allowed herself to look up again, it was brief and measured, her expression carefully neutral as pilot calm settled into place like a well-worn flight jacket. To anyone watching, she might have seemed merely attentive, perhaps impressed by the artistry of the tableau. No one would see the private history humming just beneath her skin, or the careful restraint holding it in check.

"Focus," she whispered to herself, a faint, wry curve touching her lips despite everything. "You're here to paint, not to relive questionable life decisions."

She leaned into her work, letting the discipline of observation take over. The interplay of light and shadow on stone. The balance of form and tension. The illusion of stillness over coiled motion. If Syn noticed her among the students, she gave no outward sign, only a quiet steadiness in her posture, an acknowledgment carried without words.

Not today. Today, she was just another student. Even if the Maker was laughing very clearly.

Michael Angellus Krass Wyms Supisy Blen Jack Wright

 

[Jack Wright]

(Tags: Krass Wyms , Michael Angellus , Lyra Ventor , Supisy Blen )

...

Okay, yeah.

Jack was convinced.

This was all some big scam for these rapscallions to pose and be immortalized with Jedi-worked art, it was a losing battle that said Jedi worked not to grin like a fool, shaking his head at the sheer absurdity presented. By the Force, he had assumed it was up to the individual to envision an art and express it through the brush.

Not imitating posing Jedi.

Welp, we're not beating the allegations we see ourselves as Gods, anytime soon...

Shaking his head for about the tenth time, Jack raised the brush and begun to work on his 'craft,' even if the low snorts of incredulity exhaled from his nostrils every few seconds or so, peeking up to the display with a grin so wide it hurt his facial hair. Jack's low coughs a poor concealment behind his mirth.

But sound carried for the rest who'd hear a man attempting not to die in ridicule.

 

[Syn]

Jack Wright Lyra Ventor Michael Angellus Supisy Blen

The request when it had come in for the jedi master do help with a class had been... different. He only agreed for one reason... you didn't upset the quartermaster. Even the most seasoned and skilled jedi knew never to upset the ones who made the food or the ones who made sure your equipment was functioning. So when she said pose for a class to teach more precision skills the jedi master had accepted it... when she told him to wear a togo he had accepted it. Even pose opposite the life bearer, her reputation in the order one of sadness but he had seen much of herr species. They were able to give one the vitality of a twenty year old at the age of eighty or ninety... and everyone accepted that they would pass on in a few years. Herr species so full of life it would physically harm them if they didn't release it. That Lyra was here was a surprise but he didn't make an indication he saw her or seek to disturb the forgemasters goal. If she wanted to see him she knew and would be able to come and see him as he caught her surprise as well as the others in the group of students.

 

[Supisy Blen]

Objective: Fun with art
Location: Celestial Forge, Ancilla
Outfit: Casual
Tags: Krass Wyms | Michael Angellus | Lyra Ventor | Jack Wright

The muscled, yet diminutive Jedi leading the class spoke again. She stated that this was not the normal class. That it would not be focused on combat. Supisy almost giggled imagining a combat art class. If anyone could pull that off though it would be a Jedi. Learning art however would aid in other tasks that needed to be done. Supisy could see that as being true. Respect was requested, and with the exceptions of probably some lapses of seriousness Supisy knew she would be able to comply. Even if she was not Jedi.

Supisy was not sure what supplies she would need. Even when it was stated the art they were going to learn was painting. She grabbed a few brushes, some paints and made her way to an open easel closer to the front of the class before taking a seat. As she and the other students found seats their subjects revealed themselves. They were going to paint the form of Jedi Masters. A smirk formed on Supisy's lips. The fact that Jedi could look so utterly tempting was not a shock. Supisy's first brush with art was with the stunning Princess Junko, who was a Jedi.

All four of the Masters posing had an air of greatness about them. Not just their physical forms, but how they carried themselves. Supisy may not have been able to "commune" with the Force, but she could still sense the wisdom of the quartet. Supisy wasn't sure that capturing wisdom and a general greatness on canvas was possible. But she knew that other features would be. That being the case, her eyes were focused mostly on the left side of the display of Masters. Syn and Krass grabbed her attention first.

As she tried to decide how to get things started, Supisy heard whispers from Lyra's station. She couldn't make out the words. The young Twi'lek looked over to see her blonde flight-mate was focusing on her work. Supisy wondered if the words being whispered were helping to apply objects to the art. Supisy shook her head and looked at her own easel. How the other students were going about the task was not important. Supisy needed to learn her own way. She just hoped that these Force-sensitive folks weren't too naturally gifted to put her work to shame.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra had braced herself for heat, for noise, for the quiet intensity that seemed to cling to anything even adjacent to Jedi instruction. She had expected seriousness, discipline, maybe a little ceremonial weight. What she had not expected—what she was profoundly unprepared for—was the moment the display was revealed and her eyes betrayed her before her common sense could intervene.

Syn.

The brush paused midair, suspended between intent and execution, as if her body itself needed a second to catch up with reality. Her gaze had snapped left without permission, drawn by something deeper than habit or curiosity, and the sight of him there—posed, composed, infuriatingly present—sent a slow, unwelcome warmth blooming through her chest. Memory followed close behind, vivid and unhelpful: four stolen days, the hum of the Starling, the gravity of his attention when there had been no audience and no restraint required. She inhaled carefully, steady and controlled, refusing to let the hitch in her breath become visible.

Maker above… focus.

She lowered her eyes to the canvas before anyone could catch the lapse, forcing her hand to move again, the first strokes light but intentional as she grounded herself in what she could control. Lines. Angles. Balance. The way weight settled into stone and presence shaped space. Her wrist loosened, muscle memory asserting itself the same way it did when her hands found the yoke of a fighter—calm through familiarity, precision through repetition.

"Okay… just lines," she murmured under her breath, the words barely audible even to herself as she worked. "Just light and shadow. Nothing else."

It helped, at least enough to keep her from staring again. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Supisy glancing over, curiosity flickering there, and Lyra resisted the urge to laugh or groan. If anyone here picked up on the very specific tension she was trying—and failing—to fully suppress, she'd never hear the end of it.

She leaned closer to the canvas, braid slipping forward over her shoulder as she adjusted her angle, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her own ears.

"Of course you'd be here," she added quietly, fondness and exasperation threading together despite her best efforts. "And of course you'd look like that."

The brush moved more confidently now, translating memory into motion. She didn't paint him as a god, no matter how the scene tried to suggest it. She painted presence instead—the contained power, the certainty she knew beneath the surface, the stillness that felt like an anchor rather than a threat. It was familiar in a way no one else in the room could possibly understand.

And as the image took shape beneath her hand, Lyra made a clear, deliberate note to herself, filed away with the same certainty she used to mark a jump point or a landing vector.

After class. When no one's watching. I am absolutely hunting you down.

Not out of obligation. Not even out of curiosity.

But because unfinished things had a way of pulling at her, and Syn—by every measure that mattered—was anything but forgettable.

Her lips curved faintly as she added another stroke, focus settling fully into place at last.

For now, the Maker could wait.

Michael Angellus Supisy Blen Krass Wyms Syn Jack Wright

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

PERSONAL FLIGHT LOG – Entry #
Location: – Celestial Forge(whatever THAT is)
Assigned Craft: My X-wing
Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Curious
Background Noise: I can’t hear anything over the noise of this place.

“Chitter.” [Translation: HA! You’re painting a dude!]

Come on! This is serious!
“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: You’re so gay!]

DUDE! I’m tanking this lesson! Pick on me later!

“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: Alright. Alright. What did she tell you.]

It’s about creativity…

“Chrrp.” [Translation: Sigh … and?]

It’s unorthodox…

“ChrRRP.” [Translation: Sigh … AND?!]

Something about “movement” and “precision”?

“Bwoo-Weeep.” [Translation: So, approach this like you’re in a cockpit.]

Dude! Why do you have to make that sound weird.

“AWOOOOP.” [Translation: Oh my word! Paint like you fly! You Horny Dingus!]

Alright, fine. I’ll just soldier through… heh though I’m a pilot. This is weird…

How’s this? … wait?

– Michael A.
I’m the artist, not the smartest!

TAG: Krass Wyms , Lyra Ventor , Jack Wright
Text like this is in “recorder” and review of what happened.

This is where he is speaking

 

[Krass Wyms]

Michael Angellus Lyra Ventor Supisy Blen Jack Wright

Krass watched them from her seat at the top and took in the scene of the pilots which had initially surprised her and the jedi but she had to admit... pilots would benefit from small movement controls just as much. She was going to have to look at her lessons and see what might be more inclusive in some cases then. She had a few more ideas but would keep this going... then she saw Michael with his droid and she spoke. "You should not have the attitude that you will fail pilot. This is something you are all going to have a different view on. If it helps we can get one of the masters to pose for your alone away from distraction. Master Syn is experienced in prolonged meditation and if I ask he'll stay so you can finish."

 

[Supisy Blen]

Objective: Fun with art
Location: Celestial Forge, Ancilla
Outfit: Casual
Tags: Krass Wyms | Michael Angellus | Lyra Ventor | Jack Wright

As others in the class continued to undertake the assignment with a need to include how the Force affected their movements, Supisy was glad just to have to paint. She knew that fluid concise hand movements would be helpful in piloting. And being able to adequately see and interpret was another helpful trait for a fighter pilot especially. The added pressure of how to entwine the Force was not something Supisy figured she needed.

Michael continued to seem to struggle. Enough that the Master reprimanded him for expecting to fail. Supisy wondered silently how her flight leader could be so fearless while in the cockpit, but so timid when asked to paint some mostly dressed Jedi Masters. Knowing a little bit of what the Jedi stood for, Supisy didn't think that such intimidation was something the Masters meant to have instilled. "Come on Turtle. Visualize and put it on your own canvas. I doubt perfection is what the Masters expect. You'll only fail is if you make yourself," added to what Master Wyms said. "If it helps pretend that Syn is one of your boyfriends from the squad…" Supisy giggled and looked over at Lyra. She hoped the laugh was boisterous enough for the newest member of Striker Squad and her flight to know that she was teasing. Though if one of the boys were to favor boys romantically that would be no issue for Supisy. The Twi'lek had no place to judge remaining quite open to any "romance" that might come her way.

Lyra seemed to be struggling as well. Though the blonde's struggle seemed to be with something other than confidence. Michael seemed to be the butt of quite a few jokes in the squad. Lyra was new. So not knowing the source of her struggles and how far joking could be pushed Supisy decided against even trying to come with a comical quip to ease the tension. She instead decided on straight encouragement. "If you're good enough to fly with Striker Squad Lyra putting a few shapes on a canvas won't be hard. You got this." The words were accompanied by a confident nod and a wink.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra let out a quiet breath through her nose, something between a laugh and a steadying exhale, as the corner of the room dissolved into its usual chaos of droid commentary and Michael very loudly struggling through the concept of art not being a dogfight. She kept her brush moving, even when her attention wavered, because stopping entirely felt like surrender.

Supisy's voice cut through it in a way that actually helped.

Lyra glanced sideways, just briefly, enough to catch the confident nod and the wink, and some of the tension in her shoulders eased. Not gone. Just… manageable.

"Thanks," she said quietly, sincerely, before turning her eyes back to the canvas. "I keep telling myself it's just shapes and light. In the same way, flying is just vectors and timing."

Her hand hesitated for half a heartbeat as she dragged a line too slowly, the brush catching more pigment than she meant. She corrected it with a gentler stroke, adjusting pressure the way she would ease off a thruster that was a touch too eager.

And then she made the mistake of looking up again.

Syn hadn't moved, not really, but somehow that made it worse. The stillness. The way he occupied space without effort. The memory of how very different he was when there hadn't been witnesses or marble plinths or an entire room full of Jedi pretending this was normal.

Maker help me.

She looked back down immediately, jaw tightening just a fraction.

"I swear," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else, "I've stared down a targeting reticle with my shields screaming and my hands didn't shake like this."

She added another line, this one more confident, translating presence instead of anatomy. Weight instead of detail. The way a figure felt rather than how it looked. That helped. A little.

"Guess that means I'm learning something," she added, quieter now, lips curving faintly as she worked. "Even if it's not what I expected."

She risked another glance up, shorter this time, then deliberately leaned closer to the canvas, braid slipping forward as she focused hard on the motion of her wrist.

"If I crash and burn," she said softly to Supisy, half-joking, half-honest, "I'm blaming the subject, not the brush."

The brush moved again, steadier now, even as her awareness kept tugging inexorably toward the silent, godlike distraction across the room.

She didn't stop painting.

But she absolutely stopped pretending she wasn't distracted.

Supisy Blen Krass Wyms Michael Angellus Jack Wright

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

PERSONAL FLIGHT LOG – Entry #
Location: – Celestial Forge(whatever THAT is)
Assigned Craft: My X-wing
Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Curious
Background Noise: I can’t hear anything over the noise of this place.

“Chitter.” [Translation: HA! BROMANCE!]

Oh! For the LOVE OF PETE!

“Wooo-beeep.” [Translation: Oh M… wait who’s “Pete”?!]

I don’t know, it’s a phrase, ask the writer!

“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: Okay, next question. If you have an issue with people calling you “gay”... well… interesting
choice of words…]

I don’t see a question there, but you’re right… crap.

“Chrrp.” [Translation: I don’t know why you care.]

I’m not gay!

“ChrRRP.” [Translation: So what if you were?]

I’m not though!

“Bwoo-Weeep.” [Translation: Says the guy who painted his instructor to look like a man.]

Dude!

“AWOOOOP.” [Translation: Just paint you horndog!]

Ask the writer.

Should I paint some puffy white clouds or happy little trees?

– Michael A.
WHO IS THIS “WRITER”?!

TAG: Krass Wyms , Lyra Ventor , Jack Wright
Text like this is in “recorder” and review of what happened.

This is where he is speaking

 

[Junko Ike]

Phase II

Junko stood at the edge of the class, obscured from most while she was checking on it but she offered a small smile on her face. They were doing well and the Atrisian princess looked at the large tiger who was there with her. Quiet and predatory in many cases but he was able to do what was needed. The dome's crystalline curve magnified the starlight, scattering it in soft gradients of violet, rose, and pale gold across the polished floor. Every student felt the change in atmosphere; brushes stilled, breaths quieted, and the hush deepened into something reverent. Xifang entered first. Junko had come to thank many of the Hidden path and jedi, soldiers who aided her and Atrisia.

The massive tiger moved like a glacier given life silent, immense, and impossibly graceful for his size. His ivory fur caught the forges glow and fractured it into subtle opalescent hues, each ripple of muscle beneath his coat shifting the colors like moonlight on water. His blue eyes swept the room with calm intelligence, and the jeweled collar around his neck cast tiny constellations of reflected light across the floor. He came to rest at the center of the platform, lowering himself with a slow exhale that stirred the air like a warm breeze. Then Junko approached. Her bells announced her before her footsteps did a soft, crystalline chiming that echoed faintly in the vast chamber.

The double‑helix of her hair, woven into a living garment, shimmered with each movement. The oils worked into the strands responded to her calm focus, shifting the color from deep obsidian to warm chestnut as she crossed into the brightest wash of starlight. The helix began at the crown of her head, two thick braids spiraling around one another with the deliberate geometry of a cosmic phenomenon. Force beads glimmered within the coils, some dangling near her face like ceremonial bangs, others embedded deeper, pulsing faintly with her breath. The spirals descended over her shoulders, crossing and uncrossing in a continuous, elegant rotation that framed her torso in dark, sculptural lines.

Her skin light gold with a natural warmth absorbed the nebular hues and returned them softened, diffused, as though she were lit from within. The jade rings around her eyes caught the starlight, and the tiny crystals placed with ritual precision along her temples glittered like fragments of a constellation. Her expression was serene, composed, but there was a quiet intensity in her gaze that made the students straighten unconsciously. When she reached Xifang's side, the tiger shifted just enough to accommodate her. She moved with fluid, practiced grace as she climbed onto his back and then she reclined. The pose was unmistakable.

Her body stretched diagonally along the tiger's spine, echoing the iconic lounge composition known across the galaxy. One arm bent behind her head, elbow angled in a soft arc that framed her face. The other draped across her torso, fingers resting lightly against the spiraling bands of her hair‑garment. Her legs extended in a long, elegant line, ankles crossing with effortless poise. The helix of her hair traced her silhouette in dark, deliberate lines while showing plenty of the princesses form. The contrast was stunning: her golden skin against Xifang's pale fur, the dark spirals of her hair against the luminous backdrop of drifting stars.

The bells woven into the helix chimed softly whenever the tiger's breathing shifted, creating a faint, rhythmic music that blended with the low hum of the observatory's energy field. Junko looked out at them as the scene across from her was of the four jedi masters and it allowed herr to speak with a grin. "The Commonwealth of Atrrisia thanks the brave who defended it and we love our beautiful artwork so a gift to take with you. One of Atrisia's beauties in a famous pose from across the galaxy and all for your training." She said it with a smile as she looked at Supisy and smiled. "I already see one of my courts ladies has been practicing."

 

[Krass Wyms]

Michael Angellus Lyra Ventor Supisy Blen Jack Wright

Krass looked at the painters as she spoke from her position sitting as the princess entered. "You are doing well so phase two can be gin for those who finish their first image. something both easier and more complicated. For it the princess of Atrisia herself a galaxy known art collector and sculptor who makes many of the temple statues has agreed to pose for you all." She said it and remained there seated as she looked over the ones who were painting. "If there is anything too distracting let us know, this is meant to inspire you more then just a bowl of fruit but we have that should you need it." The forgemaaster was taking in all of them with a look as her hammer was on her shoulder for the scene. "ANd for inspiration those who want it we can develop you equipment and pieces here."