Not Ordo
Just under the upper hand.
Stillness of dark surrounded him like a lover's embrace as he sat upon a granite stone of the long forgotten temple of the jal shay. Millenniums of experience rested in that old grey sack that rested at his gnarled root like feet. It had been 10 years since he had left the forest of Ithor with it's jungles and rainbow sunsets. How had he come so far from his home? Wind swept through his willow like hair as he contemplated his course. He could see the lay lines of fate through the force but all led him to this place, this time, but to what end he knew not. The force had called and he had come to this uninhabited moon with no name on the far reaches of space. His grey and olive drab robes rested on his broad shoulders in the dark as the distant stars twinkled their myriad tales in the expanse of sky above him.
Thousands of years of life weighed upon him in that moment and he felt perhaps it was time, time to share his burden of knowledge. He could give his holocrons to a new knowledge bearer. Yes, it was time to give his histories to another and then perhaps he could rest. His eyes closed and his mind drifted across the solar winds of the infinite black and he began to feel for the next generation to carry the weight of the Jal Shay and his experience.
Thousands of years of life weighed upon him in that moment and he felt perhaps it was time, time to share his burden of knowledge. He could give his holocrons to a new knowledge bearer. Yes, it was time to give his histories to another and then perhaps he could rest. His eyes closed and his mind drifted across the solar winds of the infinite black and he began to feel for the next generation to carry the weight of the Jal Shay and his experience.
