Private Weight of the Blade

[Aaran Tafo]

Location: The Tribunal Enclave​

Situated in one of the meditation chambers in the Tribunal Station. The Warden of Peace attempted to find peace within himself. It was an uphill battle. For he had many things on his mind. And he was unwilling to properly deal with Thalia Senn until he was convinced that he had a cool head. It would not do that the young Padawan face the brunt of his frustrations. She needed to be disciplined yes, but he could not allow his own emotions to influence what he decided to do with her.

Ever since the incident on Jakku, his mind had been frayed. Tension had gone higher than before. Apparently, the visit of the New Jedi Order's main representative, his apprentices and the person in charge of training and disciplinary matters was considered an unannounced invasion of some kind by many. No attacks were had, the representatives from Coruscant were nothing but polite and simply wished to get the bottom of the matter.

And then one his best friends got punched in the face for having the gall to try and come clean with his actions. Not giving excuses, but instead explaining why things had gone the way they did. It was amazing that in a room full of empaths, half of the people there could not tell that Ryv's attempts at atonement and holding people accountable were sincere.

A smaller, more poisonous part of Aaran's mind whispered to him that they probably did know. They just did not care. To them Ryv was an easier and safer target to take their frustrations out on instead of the real enemy. If half the Jedi who decided to condemn his friend's actions dedicated even a fraction of that energy into combating the true threats of the Galaxy, we would have a utopia in a decade.

They were all hypocrites anyway. Have the Silver Jedi Concord brought Laertia Io to heel yet? Held her accountable for her murder of various members of the New Jedi Order? Doubtful. The closest thing he saw to true accountability was the trial of Nida Perl but was a one-off case. They performed one good deed, patted themselves on the back and went back to pretending nothing bad ever happened and that their hands were clean.

He remembered Quekko. That innocent Apokka who had been callously killed by one of their own so many years ago. Had that case ever seen the light of day again? He doubted it. He doubted that Corte Fletchador received so much as a slap on the wrist for his actions that day.

And what of Kyra Perl? She committed assault on neutral grounds. Emotionally charged assault for political reasons. Would she be expelled the same as Thalia? Doubtful. Nepotism ran deep in the Perl clan. The young adult who had a wide support network of family and friends, who was destroying her body with spice would be given a slap on the wrist. While a fifteen-year-old girl with no one would be thrown to the wolves.

Despite what she claimed. Romi Jade would only act as the impartial Headmistress of the Enclave when it suited her. Goodness forbids she does not engage in nepotism.

Intellectually, he knew he should not dwell on these thoughts. They were but a poison. Clouding his judgement and affecting the decisions he would make moving forward. He could not hold any spite or frustration in him if he were to make any attempt to shape the New Jedi Order into the best possible version of itself it could be. But he was stubborn He preferred to deal with his problems directly. Taking the moment to calm himself and consider other options was always difficult. His blood always ran hot. He did his best to contain it with discipline. Assaults on himself he could take. But it was his nature as someone who sought to protect others that got in the way. Attacks on his friends. Hypocrisy. Those things infuriated him.

He knew that he was probably flawed in his reasoning. Contained as he was to his own singular perspective. Much as he would like to be an unattached observer. He knew that his own stance on the matter was biased towards one end. But it was hard to reconcile that with his own emotions.

So, he was trying to distance himself from those feelings. Slowly breathing in and out as he meditated. Attempting to distance himself from his petty mortal concerns. His consciousness spreading outwards, attempting to connect with the greater universe and realise just how small and insignificant those feelings of anger were. Attempting to draw comfort from the stillness of space beyond the walls of the station.

Cotan Sar'andor

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

Given the state of things on the station—people always moving around, practicing, training, and the like—Cotan didn't bother to be quiet on his approach, in the same way that Aaran wasn't being particularly emotionally quiet, even if he was silent in his meditation. He punched in his administrative key code, ensuring that the door to the chamber that the Warden of Peace had chosen would open, even if he had locked it. Then, before the knight Tafo could even turn to him with a greeting, something clattered to the floor in front of the man as Cotan tossed it over.

A simple training saber.

"Emotion, yet peace," he bid the younger man, foregoing any semblance of a normal greeting. "I might not be as much of an empath as some of the others we know, but even I can feel some of what you've got bouncing around in that head of yours." Of course, it was probably a good thing he wasn't as much of one as the others, judging by what had so recently happened between Kyra Perl and Ryv Karis. Two empaths together, in one room, with strong feelings flying...it was a recipe for disaster.

"Well, Battlemaster, want to come join me in the sparring room down the hall?" he asked, nodding with his head in the direction of the training area. "I think it might suit you better than sitting in here and meditating anyways, if you don't mind my saying such."

Aaran Tafo

 

[Aaran Tafo]

"There's a fair bit banging around to consider." His tone was dry, almost sardonic, before he bit his own tongue. Out of all the older generation of Jedi. Cotan was the least deserving of Aaran's ire. He had been an excellent force for balance amongst the current schism. His hand snatched out to grab the saber before it could clatter to the ground. Shaking it slightly and performing a few practice swings while still kneeling in order to test the weight.

He let out a small hum, head turning as his gaze finally met Cotan's. Outwardly, he was calm. No confrontation or frustration in him was aimed at the Je'daii. He was firmly still placed as one of the 'good ones' in his mind. Even as he intellectually knew how childish and foolish such labelling was. But emotions rarely made any form of sense. He simply felt so utterly betrayed by the older generation it was difficult to not be biased.

"I will trust in your wisdom then." He said, tone polite. Never anything but polite. Never giving those who would be happy to throw criticism at his friends more ammunition. Rising from his meditative position. He began the slow march towards the training room. Never sparing the Je'daii a glance as he kept walking to the sparring ring. "Forgive me if I see little point in adding more violence to my plate. Even if it is simply practice." A note of sarcasm, dry humour that seemed the only noticeable escape that his frustrations could flow freely through.

But he still followed, making his way into the ring. Standing opposite Cotan, saber flourishing upwards as he tilted his head in the Makashi salute. Showing respect to his opponent before the duel proper began. "First to three points?" He asked, wishing to establish the rules of contact first. "Or disarm or surrender?"

Cotan Sar'andor

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

"Until one of us drops."

Cotan returned the salute with his own, curved-hilted training weapon, flawless muscle memory delivering the challenge and following flourish without a hint of awkwardness. "Perhaps we'll be able to knock back out some of what you've got stuck up there, eh? Can't be healthy letting it bang around, it might break something." Needless to say, neither Aaran's comments nor his veneer of serenity went unnoticed by the master of the station. Cotan had long since proven too adept, too experienced, and too perceptive for such things to prove so easily hidden.

At least it meant that Aaran Tafo , too, would prove a prime target for Cotan's particular brand of instruction and counsel. He knew how long he could last against the most dangerous, adept duellists of the galaxy, and he knew well just how fatiguing it would prove to draw this out just as long—even if, as with so many of the other duels he'd engaged in, there ended up being no conclusive winner. Indeed, that was Cotan's entire goal.

Aaran, like so many others Cotan had met among the New Jedi Order, had built up barriers and boundaries around himself, and just like so many of the others, just like Cotan had once been himself, was a man too young for the role he'd been thrust into. Fatigue was a wonderful hammer with which to break those barriers down, allowing the builder to reshape themselves.

 

[Aaran Tafo]

"That seems utterly pointless. But very well." Some of the sarcasm came out it seemed. Why Cotan wanted to turn this into a battle of attrition, Aaran had no idea. Simply giving him an outlet for his aggression may not have been the wisest course of action. With his blood boiling as hot as it did right now. Physical activity would only agitate it. Exhaustion would only wear down his mental barriers and allow venom to escape that he was better leaving contained. There was nothing to let out in his mind. The frustrations he had would fade. The individuals he was frustrated with would simply become non-entities to him.

Just another face in the crowd, there would be no attachments to them and once again they would simply become simply other Jedi and citizens of the galaxy. Beings who it was his duty to care for and protect. Nothing more.

But it was Cotan's station. And the Je'daii had not wronged him yet. So he would acquiesce to the Judge's request for a duel.

As soon as the unseen signal was given for the duel to begin. He would move to engage. A quick step forward, followed by three rapid thrusts, Right shoulder, chest, left thigh. Merely testing Cotan's defence for now with a fairly textbook opening for Makashi. But one performed expertly. Of course, there was no true fire behind his eyes. No intent behind his blade. Simply clinical assessment. Measuring his opponent up before he considered the next few steps.

"There is nothing in my head worth letting out. It’s not like its anything you have not already heard." His tone was cold, calm and collected, if nothing else the focus in battle was helping him keep a tighter grip on his feelings. At least for now during the testing phase of the spar. Forcing himself to remain in control with the delicate, precise style of Makashi in order to remain in control of himself.

Cotan Sar'andor