Shakrin
Member
It is said that all things must come to an end. This is not true. The end is only the beginning of the real journey. The Force does not end.
The walls of the library on Coruscant were full of book shelves. Most of what was stored here was really data archived, but there were still a few books left. It was these, actually written words, that always held his intrigue in libraries. He found that the truest of words were the ones written by hand and not scrolling across a screen. One had to put more thought into things when writing on paper, lest it get screwed up, and be stuck there forever. Virtual works could easily be edited, which was another reason he didn't trust them. Who was to say who had edited something he read?
Shakrin had been in the neighborhood, so to speak, when the thought occurred to him that he had never once visited the home of the Jedi who'd died on his homeworld years before. This was the person who had most shaped his life, and he hadn't bothered to seek out the mans next of kin if there was any. There wasn't any that he could find, but that didn't mean that the records were correct. Even Jedi were corrupted, after all. Most of them, anyway. On rare occasion did he meet one that wasn't so far gone as to be saved. Sometimes he met ones like the one who'd given him purpose, but that was even more rare. Still, he tried to focus on what he was reading and less on what was going on around him.
He had Force skill, though his powers had turned largely into that of an Empath. There was only a twinge of darkside taint upon him, enough that people were wary, but no one threw him out. He supposed that was because they figured that if he wasn't hiding it, perhaps he wasn't there as a threat. It didn't really matter. He had no intention of doing anything other than reading at the moment. No jobs had crawled his way recently, so he had all the time in the galaxy to do whatever he wished.
@[member="Leori Sheltrak"]
The walls of the library on Coruscant were full of book shelves. Most of what was stored here was really data archived, but there were still a few books left. It was these, actually written words, that always held his intrigue in libraries. He found that the truest of words were the ones written by hand and not scrolling across a screen. One had to put more thought into things when writing on paper, lest it get screwed up, and be stuck there forever. Virtual works could easily be edited, which was another reason he didn't trust them. Who was to say who had edited something he read?
Shakrin had been in the neighborhood, so to speak, when the thought occurred to him that he had never once visited the home of the Jedi who'd died on his homeworld years before. This was the person who had most shaped his life, and he hadn't bothered to seek out the mans next of kin if there was any. There wasn't any that he could find, but that didn't mean that the records were correct. Even Jedi were corrupted, after all. Most of them, anyway. On rare occasion did he meet one that wasn't so far gone as to be saved. Sometimes he met ones like the one who'd given him purpose, but that was even more rare. Still, he tried to focus on what he was reading and less on what was going on around him.
He had Force skill, though his powers had turned largely into that of an Empath. There was only a twinge of darkside taint upon him, enough that people were wary, but no one threw him out. He supposed that was because they figured that if he wasn't hiding it, perhaps he wasn't there as a threat. It didn't really matter. He had no intention of doing anything other than reading at the moment. No jobs had crawled his way recently, so he had all the time in the galaxy to do whatever he wished.
@[member="Leori Sheltrak"]
