The Sorcerer's Apprentice (Cliché Title, I Know)

[Darth Metus]

The Templar Sanctum, Ryloth​

The world known as Ryloth had become the subject of much change during its time as apart of the Confederacy. Originally, the planet was the preying ground for pirates, rogues, and slavers alike; all prowling across the lands in search of a Twi'lek to torment...but following its liberation, a drastic series of fundamental differences began to occur. Most notably, the sordid practice of slavery was outlawed; a fact which nearly collapsed the planet's economy. However, new practices were put into place that afforded the local population the opportunity to earn an honest living; as opposed to being sold and shipped across the stars. From starship construction to sales, businesses began to open and thrive on the dusty planet...and from that moment until the present, things were excellent. In fact, the world's complete turnaround was so great that it grasped the attention of the Templar Order. With such a colored history, the Order deemed it fitting to erect a Sanctum so that the local population would always have an immediate defense against a resurgence of the former rogues...and so it was that the Ryloth Sanctum was born.

Located just outside of the capital's limits, the Sanctum towered over the surrounding wastes; casting a rather imposing shadow over the sands. Aesthetically, its form was a stark contrast to the Temple located on Roon, which was much more in line with the citadels spoken of in bedtime stories and other such tales. However, despite the uniqueness of its appearance, the Sanctum was cut from the same cloth as its Roon counterpart in a single, fundamental regard: its doors were always open. 'Twas this fact which led to the journey undertaken by the Mandalorian known as Isley Verd, for the influx of sensitives needing tutelage had suddenly increased over the months. When word reached Roon of the sudden spike in Force Sensitives seeking a home and training, their response was to send a cadre of skilled knights and masters, led by the Grand Council member himself, to bestow their knowledge upon the newest generation of Templars. As such, having made the trip out to the desert sanctum, Isley began the long process of settling in.

Having left the unpacking of his personal effects to labor droids, the Mandalorian decided that it was time for some much-needed..creation. He had been out, about, and busy for weeks; and had allowed his training regimen to suffer because of it. As such, Isley cleared out for himself a single training room and made certain that the door was closed. This particular space was dedicated to an art that he was quite fond of: Alchemy, and provided a Forge and shelves of ingredients to work with. While the overall "aura" of the training forge was not the same magnitude of the one he was so used to working with, Isley was more than happy to settle. So, he stepped over to the rack of supplies and began to browse, ultimately coming upon his metal of choice: Desh-Terenthium. Apparently they knew he was coming and had decided to stock up accordingly! This fact tickled the Mandalorian so much that he allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips before plucking a single bar into his hands. He turned it over and inspected it thoroughly, thereby allowing himself time to contemplate what to make today.

But little did he know that his training routine would bring him into contact with someone new...someone who was just as uncultivated as the bar of metal in his hands and in desperate need of a master's molding hands.

[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

Matsu had found herself on Ryloth rather by accident, and at the Templar Sanctum in an even more inadvertent manner. Varesk had seen fit to guide her along to the fortress. She hoped she never forgot the vision her mind conjured as they flew across the sands, giving over to her dreamer’s nature easily to pass the time.

In the moments before awakening, all was as it should have been. She walked the halls of her palace with a grace borne of custom, the beads of her dress reflecting off hundreds of lanterns. It was eclectic and jarring, this house of hers - a monument to the woman who owned and inhabited it. One room did not match the other though a common thread of low lighting and earth tones made it whole. She is alone save for the clicking of her heels on the wooden floor and the rush of the wind on the sands outside. (Was it she who had stood out in the wind and let the grains rip her to shreds, or was that some half-remembered dream? She can't recall but it hardly seems to matter.) She sits at the head of her great table, her long, delicate fingers curling around the end of the arms.

A servant comes to her side, waiting for the slight tilt of her head that indicates permission.
It is coming.

She nods, leaving her seat demurely. Her hand trails the banister as she spirals upwards, square upon connecting square of staircase elevating her to the very top of the great, empty place she calls home. She sits in the window seat, her hands folded across her lap as the ocean crashes against the sea wall.

It is coming.

And it comes, though it does not instill the fear which it most certainly should have. She has seen too many “gods” rise and fall to believe the one that shows its face now, sand pouring from its gaping mouth, is much better than the others. In truth, she is rather disappointed and annoyed that it would call her back. Instead she looks around her home one more time - a place she may return to only in dreams now, though for her that is as good as real - before the wind comes crashing through the window and breaks her against the wall.

She wakes.

Upon reaching the Sanctum and disembarking she’d been rather enthralled. The vision she’d made for herself had lodged in her brain, the purple bruise of a sky that surrounded the place speaking to her sensibilities. She’d “accidentally” gotten separated from her Bothan friend somewhere along the way and was traipsing her way around the Sanctum by then, her face a serene mask despite the fact that, per usual, she was doing something she almost certainly shouldn’t have been.

She poked her head in many doorways, delicate fingers curling around frames as she hung in to find one thing or another. Many rooms were empty and by the time she found herself in a long hallway of what appeared to be training areas for various disciplines she was starting to think her visions – alone, the mistress of her own sandcastle under dark skies – were true.

It was only when she palmed open a door, watching it shoot up only to reveal that one of the rooms (finally) was occupied that she remembered that she was in a place she wasn’t necessarily supposed to be traveling. “Sorry,” she said quietly, her honey-rasp of a voice trailing off as she saw his work. But it was clear she wasn’t sorry at all – the broad-shouldered stranger already had her attention and she made no move to leave.

[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

Before the Mandalorian could so much as begin the first step in manipulating the Desh-Terenthium which resided within his palms, there was an interruption...and a rather pretty one at that. Heralded by the symphony of light footfalls upon marble floors, the young woman made her uninvited entrance into the training room with a single word. However, unlike most who would notice that a room was occupied...her apology did not signal the beginning of a prompt exit. No, there were no quick footsteps of escape...a fact which prompted Isley to lower the bar and turn about. There, his eyes were greeted by the sight of [member="Matsu Xiangu"]. She was young, of this there was no doubt, but there was also...an air about her that distinguished her from the common rabble he had seen throughout the years. An air as if she were...somehow "better". This was not to say that the woman was conceited or any such thing, but it was a simple observation based on posture, clothing, and other such features. Raising an eyebrow, what first intrigued Isley about the woman was the fact that she stuck around...so he decided to approach.

"Are you lost?" he inquired, posing one of the most simple of questions. Long, confident strides bore the beskar-clad warrior across the space between them until he was but two or so steps away from invading her personal space. From there, he came to a prompt halt and leaned upon the Desh-Terenthium lightly; as if it were a makeshift cane. "My name is Isley, by the way. Isley Verd. I am one of the Masters floating about these halls...who might you be?" There was not much left that he could say aside from that, so he then motioned for the young woman to occupy the only seat in the room; the one adjacent to his Forge. From there, he could make conversation and continue to work on his craft. He was not exactly...making the "request" declinable, as he then turned on his heel and returned to the Forge, inhaling a deep breath before resuming the brainstorming process. Of course, a rather ambitious concept wormed its way into his mind, spurning a grin from behind a helm of beskar...

Spoiler

[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

Matsu had been to quite a few planets in the galaxy in space belonging to multiple factions. She’d met many species, heard many tongues, and been in enough situations that threatened her life to stop being able to count on two hands. But one of her defining characteristics was a lack of fear. She saw few things for what they really were, blending fact in to fiction, in to something like a holovid might show her.

Sickness.
Gore.
Violence.
Those were the things she liked, just because.

So when the man lifted himself from his work and began towards her, Matsu was surprised – and absolutely elated – to feel a hint of trepidation. If she were a creature with any sense, if she were normal, she might have been terrified. There was an intensity in the way he carried his shoulders, a menace in the shadows that pooled in the parts of his face obscured by beskar, that would have weakened her. But instead she just felt herself drawn closer. Any one that could make her feel even a hint of worry was fascinating.

“I’m not lost,” she replied, smiling slightly. “You’re not lost until you let yourself get scared. Though…I seem to have misplaced Varesk,” she said, suppressing a giggle at the thought of the Bothan tearing his hair out and wondering what trouble she could be getting herself in to. Her ears perked at his title of Master – that explained the raw power she felt rolling off him. “I’m Matsu Xiangu. I don’t belong here. Yet,” she answered. She was confident in her answer. Varesk had explained the basic idea of the Confederacy and it seemed to suit her. Although she was decidedly sitting on some dark power and had absolutely no morals to speak of, she had no particular qualms with anyone. A middle path seemed to make sense.

She was karked up, sue her.

Matsu moved to take the seat he indicated, her eyes on the metal in his hands. He seemed to hold it with familiarity, as if he could do what he was preparing for in his sleep. “What did I interrupt?” she asked, not sounding like she was sorry for that at all.

Spoiler

[member="Isley Verd"]