Jaidan Shatani

[DreadPirateMike]

Jaidan Shatani Full Name • Jaidan Shatani Nickname • Snowflake Race • Echani Birthplace • Kirshak Province, Eshan Age • 45 Gender • Male Sexuality • Heterosexual Faction • Jedi Concept • Jedi Master, Rank 3. Weapon Master, Watchman, surprisingly personable living weapon. Languages • Basic, Huttese, Mando'a (Know your enemy.) Assets • Having taken up his ancestral noble title to assist his post as his homeworld's Watchman, he has access to Clan Shatani's considerable wealth, though he's thus far made a point of not making excessive use of it for more than his basic needs. He does, however, have a small ship at his disposal should the need for travel offworld occur, and an eclectic arsenal of weaponry. Almost always to be found on his person, of course, are his dual lightfoils and a personal holo unit. Appearance Height & Weight • 5'11", 185 lbs Overall Looks • Standing at more or less average height, and possessed of a lean, athletic build that doesn't show too much off considering the loose and flowing garments he typically wears as a member of the Order, Jaidan does not necessarily have what you'd call a naturally imposing or dominating presence, but he does possess a certain mix of features occasionally known to merit a lingering appraisal. His most physically striking feature, at least when not in the presence of other Echani, would likely be his hair. Snow white and falling down well past his shoulder blades, it's kept scrupulously washed, brushed and then carefully separated out into two tied off braids beginning at about shoulder level. If he's too pressed for time to allow this preparation, he'll generally just tie most of it back in a pony tail, but even then he'll put a bit of a personalized flair on it by leaving a little bit loose at the sides to blow where it will. Rather unusual for an Echani is a very full, pointed goatee, the result of a bet with a spacer friend of his once whether Echani could even grow beards. He decided that look didn't quite suit him, but grew the goatee extra long to ensure his point was made; when it came time for one party or the other to pay up, both men consented to call it a draw. He's got two visible scars above the neckline, but given their age and the paleness of Echani skin, they're not easily spotted unless up close. This all contrasts sharply with his flint grey eyes, like a bit of mountain crag revealed beneath the snow. He has, on occasion, been accused of a certain vanity where his appearance is concerned; he simply prefers to think of it as putting the same thought and care into his presentation as he should into everything else he does. Between all this and a certain combination of relaxed confidence and composed dignity that he carries himself with, the end result could perhaps be fairly judged a handsome man, albeit one of somewhat aristocratic bearing. In fairness, he technically IS an aristocrat. But in spite of occasionally harboring a somewhat greater interest than your typical Jedi in the rewards that looks can help one attain (He reasons the important part is avoiding emotional entanglements, not the celibacy itself.), he doesn't make much of it. He carries himself as he does because it pleases him; he doesn't trouble himself overly with why. His attire can vary somewhat according to his purpose, but generally, he dresses much like any other Jedi. Only his colors are novel, and only for Coruscant; in honor of his old master, he has chosen a variant of the Corellian style, the knee length tabard, obi and under-tunic all in hunter green, the boots, pants and over-tunic in black. The Jedi utility belt he wears is also something of an oddity, stark white and modified with the addition of a left thigh holster. Combined with his outer robe of the traditional brown and the white of his hair, he was once told he somewhat resembled an evergreen forest in winter. An observation which, upon reflection, he found quite pleased him. And almost always, he completes the ensemble with a pair of black synthleather gloves, deliberately scuffed up a bit to ensure a better grip on his weapon. Seven years later, all the above still holds true for the most part. He trims the goatee a bit shorter these days, and exercises a bit more variety in how he wears his hair, his favorite style consisting of a simple half top knot that keeps it out of his face while still allowing a fair bit to flow freely. And though he still wears his Jedi robes when he goes anywhere in any official capacity, he's taken to wearing an array of ordinary civilian clothes in his day to day life. Well-tailored and representing a variety of color that would once have seemed alien to him, they all still replicate the loose and flowing fit of his Jedi attire. Personality Profile If asked to choose a single word to summarize his personality, Jaidan would like to think that "balanced" would be the most fitting. As for how this translates to his dealings with other people, he usually comes across as laid back, but reasonably animated. He's quick enough to a chuckle or a smile, but a full bore laugh or grin is rare. He enjoys conversation, with new people or old friends, but he doesn't crave it enough to seek it out in the absence of apparent interest from the other party. And when it occurs, he leaves it entirely up to the circumstances to dictate whether he should be verbose or laconic. In short, he is by nature comfortable with himself and (usually) his surroundings, and rarely motivated to shake things up. That said, he is certainly guilty of his passions, even if he doesn't tend to advertise them much. A Jedi, it is said, craves not excitement, nor adventure. In his case, even if it might make him in some ways a less than model Jedi, that statement is inaccurate. His days of true experimentation are, for the most part, behind him, yet he enjoys swoop races (Be it to watch, participate in a purely amateur fashion, or even to place the occasional wager on.), games of Pazaak, and a glass of Menkooro whiskey. And he doesn't necessarily turn a blind eye to company of the sort neither professional, nor platonic, provided he's not "on the clock". Compared against many Jedi, he supposes this makes him a borderline reckless hedonist, but that's not it at all. He simply believes that the best way to keep the mind clear of worldly distractions is simply by allotting them a time and place, by allowing himself little indulgences so as to dampen the draw of big ones. So far, this has always led him to a sort of tranquility. The fight, of course, must always be viewed as a thing unto itself, for it is arguably even more intrinsic to his nature than the Force. It is in battle that the Echani knight most readily finds his natural balance, an equilibrium that most Jedi seek in deep meditation. Indeed, for him, savagery and tranquility originate from the same place, and Jaidan Shatani is to be found somewhere in the middle, in part defined by the violence but never consumed by it. He is, when truly given to the fight and sporting that rare grin, a bit like the lightsaber a Jedi carries: terrible and deadly potential, not restrained so much as harnessed. But for all this, he is not remotely blood-thirsty, and that distinction is gradually leading him down more tempered and reflective paths than he sought or followed in his youth. His enjoyment of a good fight is spiritual, but to take a life is obscene, redeemable only by true necessity. And as war requires that he kill and kill again, he has turned to meditation upon his choices in hopes of never losing touch with the reasons why he fights, never allowing himself to take the necessity of death as a given. Background Father • Gen, Father; deceased Mother • Chaya, Mother; 72, sits on the Echani Command Council Siblings • Reyna and Te, Sisters; 51, Republic aligned mercenary commanders Other Important Connections • Arik Han, 60. Former master turned stepfather Satander Drix, 45, Jedi MedCorps. Friend. Runs a clinic in Coruscant's lower levels. Meira Valli, 31. Jedi Master and friend. Locke Nemsee, 35. Jedi Jackass and favorite drinking buddy. Levin Caelum, 54. Jedi Master, confidante, role model, friend. Still kinda scary, though. Nieraan Onin, 40(?). Sith Lord and rival...sort of. It's complicated. Jessoin Zarander, 37. Sith Lord. One of the few people in the galaxy he'd cut in half without a second thought. Ever. Overall History • (Time to start scrolling!) Jaidan Shatani first became known to the Jedi under wholly ordinary circumstances. The Echani may have retained a warrior tradition and culture all their own, but the Six Sisters embraced Republic membership all the same. And while this particular Echani may not technically have been born in a hospital - The family enjoyed wealth enough for a private physician, and his mother required the familiarity of home in a time of great distress. - a midichlorian test was still standard. The test yielded a result only moderately above average - for a Jedi. Hardly the stuff of prophesy, but still enough to warrant a visit from the Eshan sector's Watchman, and the usual request that the child be given over to the Order, that he might start down the path the Force had chosen for him. Deviation from the typical Jedi's path occurred only when that request was politely but emphatically refused. At first. Prologue: Shatani was an old name, and honored many times over, for over the past several centuries, they had contributed a number of talented artisans, shipwrights, and statesmen. But while this was largely the source of their financial and political clout, they had won their greatest prestige in pursuit of the Echani's signature endeavor. For generations, if the Echani went to war, then the warriors of Clan Shatani made a strong and honorable showing. And even in those relatively peaceful days in which Jaidan was born, they were not idle. The Treaty of Mandoa had effectively castrated the one fearsome Mandalorian war machine, and everyone knew it. Especially the Mandalorians themselves; it was precisely for that reason that a couple rogue clans were always defying its terms and trying to build a reputation that would ensure them the honor of leading their people back to glory. And more than one of these mostly delusional would-be conquerors saw their path to bloody credibility in a fight with their old rival, the "fey dancers". The Echani, for their part, had never seen the Mandalorian as anything more than a bunch of grotesquely armed thugs, never mind these sad cases scrabbling to reclaim their nostalgia. And they hardly needed to call on Republic aid to deal with some thugs raiding their holdings. In this as with anything else, Chaya and Gen Shatani stood together, partners in the fullest sense. When one tired, the other knew exactly where their guard would first weaken, and be there to shield them. If one had trouble punching through an enemy's own defense to deliver that devastating kick that could snap a neck right through that precious Beskar helmet, the other knew just where to be and how to help create the needed opening. Together, their courage was a thing to behold. And afterward, when the warriors could afford to be tender... well, even for Echani, fighting wasn't everything. In time, however, there came one of those things which biology dictated Chaya must do alone. It had happened once before, when their twin daughters were born. But things had been calmer when Reyna and Te arrived. No metal clad barbarians making trouble for the outer colonies, no need to consider the honor of the clan. Soon enough, Chaya came to wish they'd left that burden for others to shoulder, but after much deliberation, it was agreed that the husband would go and fight for them both. And once again, word came back that the enemy had been repulsed. But Gen never came home again. Much did she ponder over the years how it happened. He had been strong, and come away victorious on several occasions by suddenly meeting an assault with brute force when the foe expected only more lithe evasions. Had he failed to yield some bit of ground, instinctively expecting his wife to come in from behind before surprise wore off? Had he been too slow to rise after executing the flying scissor kick maneuver? Or had one of those jackals just flown away with their cowardly jetpack and rained heavy blaster fire before he was shot down? Regardless, the loss was the same; two had been reduced to less than one. So when the notion was presented to her not two months following that tragedy of giving up her son as well, the one good thing to come of it, it wasn't much of a choice for her. It wasn't long before she began to wonder in the back of her mind if she'd made the right choice, if she wasn't answering the devotion to duty that her husband had died for by shirking her own. But it would be another few months before she began to actually care. It wasn't the clan's honor or anything so prosaic she was worried about this time. She'd given enough and more on that account, to clan or the Republic or whoever else. Still, over the next few months the pain of her loss began not to fade - That sort of recovery would require years. - but to become familiar, and it became clear she'd simply have to pull herself out of bed, acknowledge the pain and then go on with her day in spite of it in order to be a mother to her children. It became sort of an everyday burden, like a heavy pack a soldier might carry, and she was able to start moving forward, to wonder if she'd done the right thing. Duty or not, things seemed...out of balance. She remained a skilled and formidable woman in her own right, but what she and her husband had been together, on the battlefield or off, had been something truly special. Irreplaceable. But with the Force behind him, her son had the potential to become something greater still. Most of all, that was the question that nagged at her. Was she cheating her son of what he could achieve one day just to hold onto him? Whatever path Jaidan one day chose, she could not imagine anyone truly achieving satisfaction with their life unless they knew they had done their best with the tools they were given. How was that possible when one simply didn't make use of the most potent tool in creation? Or worse, given that her son was force sensitive regardless of what he did with it, what if failure to train in it properly left him at a greater risk of becoming one of those horror stories of the Dark Side? It was harrowing to consider, but the answer was years off yet, and she determined that it would not be hers alone. She had until the boy turned six, and she would make the most of that time. Selfish or not, she would have a few years to enjoy her family, all of it. At the end of that time, whether he seemed suited for the Jedi or not, Jaidan would know who his father was, who his people were, and that he had a mother who loved him. Pre-Jedi (0-6): Those were good years, so far as Jaidan can remember them today. And much of it has stayed with him, even after 30 years. There were the skinned knees, the rashes from the wrong plants, the withheld sweets, and all the other usual childhood calamities, of course. But there was also the tree in the courtyard, beneath which he dozed off many a time, lulled to sleep by the sound of Reyna playing her flute. There was the cool wood by the stream a few miles from home where Chaya would take him, hand in hand when he outgrew the pack she once carried him in, an expanse of only about 12 acres that a child could easily fancy went on forever. And there was the shady porch on which he spent countless fascinated hours, watching as mother and sisters practiced the fighting forms. In time, there were others too; Chaya essentially retired from the battlefield to raise her family, yet word of her skill lived on, and she would sometimes consent to take on a pupil for advanced training. Even before he'd quite gotten the hang of walking, this was training of a sort. He didn't really grasp its significance at the time, but even as he was learning to read words on a page, he was beginning to learn what someone looked like in a fight, what it looked like when they did everything right, and when they were making a mistake. And eventually, he did more than just watch. By age four, he could walk, run, or even hop on one foot with a favorable combination of effort and luck. The amazing melee skill his kind were known for took time to acquire, and more of it than they had, but that didn't mean Chaya couldn't show him some of the basics. If a boy could stand, he could be shown HOW to stand. Even if he'd only be punching air, she could demonstrate how to put his entire body into it, and time his breathing so as to always exhale on the strike. She even walked him through some basic swordsmanship, even if he was only using a stick against a wooden pole. This early instruction would prove its worth in a few years, when he surprised his teachers at the temple who expected him to lag behind other students who'd been at the temple virtually from birth. But most of all, it would stay with him. It would become hard to distinctly remember his mother cradling him in her arms, singing him to sleep. He would forget for a time what her soup tasted like. But the hours she spent teaching him? He would be reminded of that every time he trained, and as the loneliness and pain of separation threatened to overwhelm him, he would feel closer to her with every kick. And soon enough, that time was fast approaching. Jaidan was coming up on six months past his fifth birthday, and Chaya judged that she'd given her son all the useful instruction she'd be able to. His balance was good, he knew how to channel some power into a strike, and she'd even been able to bring her daughters in on occasion as light sparring partners, both of whom agreed their brother was as good as could reasonably be expected for a beginner still coming into the fullness of his own fine motor control. It was as solid a foundation in the ways of their people as she could offer, and now it was time for the moment she'd always told her son would come. She sent word to the Watchman, with a request of her own. Send TWO Jedi, a Knight and a Padawan, that she might evaluate what she thought of their training in progress before the finished product of that training made his determination of her son. As it happened, this request was easily accommodated, for just such a pair had recently arrived on Eshan. Gareth Shel of Dantooine and Arik Han of Corellia, Master and Padawan respectively, looking to supplement their Temple training with a study of the same venerable combat art. Such drive from one of the Jedi's more experienced was a respectable and encouraging sign, but all the same, her price for an audience with her son remained the same: Han must duel her empty-handed. He could bolster his prowess with any Force techniques he knew, so long as it was still his own body he employed as his weapon, and not telekinesis or some outlandish mental powers. Arik wasn't certain what this was supposed to accomplish, but Chaya assured him he would understand one day if he was ever able to really grasp the art, and so he honored her request to the letter, and gave it his best against his slower, weaker opponent. He got utterly dismantled, his every move predicted and countered as though he was still a Youngling being asked to help his Masters demonstrate a throw, but no matter. Though this too mystified him, he had evidently passed some test, and the Jedi were welcomed into the Shatani compound to meet this prospective Jedi. Shel had some misgivings of his own, as it turned out. Six years old may have been the absolute cutoff point, but that limit was seldom approached this closely with success, and for good reason. Living in harmony with the Force was, essentially, learning to let go of the physical reality in favor of something greater. It was a monumental task for anyone, but it would only become more and more daunting as a Jedi began the undertaking with more and more of the attachments to that reality that came with growing up in it. And for a people like the Echani, for whom the clash of bone and sinew were essentially synonymous with joy... Still, the Jedi philosophies were not necessarily estranged from the warrior's path. Why else would he and his Padawan have come to Eshan in search of this advanced training? And for a child, Jaidan's talent was evident. After some consideration of his surroundings, he had ascertained that by following Chaya's lead, and performing part of his evaluation with a pair of training dowels. Asking the boy to come at him, Shel immediately sensed his hesitation and trepidation, both of them understandable. Nothing a Jedi did was deliberately pointless; even a child could understand that. But a child could also understand that he had absolutely no chance of getting anything past the guard of a full grown man and trained swordsman. And he was right. Every sweep, hack and thrust was effortlessly rebuffed, and yet Shel was impressed. Jaidan's frustration was evident, and yet he displayed the fledgling foundations of a true warrior's focus, never crying out, refusing to succumb to exhaustion, just trying new angles of attack until he was told to stop. Obviously, this was the boy at his absolute best; Jaidan's mother was watching, and even as the child came at him, Gareth could sense both his fear of disappointing her, and his determination to make her proud. Even so, the performance did him credit. He wasn't sure this little Echani would ever be a Jedi Master, given the disadvantage visited upon him by his age,, but with instincts like this married to Jedi discipline and training, he could certainty one day be an impressive asset the the Order. As for Jaidan himself, the choice was ultimately his. There was no such thing as a Jedi draft, and honor or no, Chaya would not call herself a loving mother even as she mandated her son be made bereft of family and homeworld for a decade and more until he was allowed some say in where he went and why. And that was the price of putting on the brown robes, laid out in sympathetic but plain and unyielding terms. As such, it was a source of much consternation and anxiety. Ultimately, it was Arik Han the humbled Padawan who soon found the heart of the matter. One day, if he went to the Temple and trained diligently, he would have the strength to stand against any of the warriors to take the field that day. The decision was not easy, and Jaidan changed his mind back and forth at least twice, but with his mother's belief that this would ultimately be the best thing for him, the decision was made. A month later, a transport left for Coruscant with Jaidan aboard. Youngling (6-12): That first year at the temple was indeed a struggle, though not necessarily in the ways either he or his mother had expected. Expectations, Jaidan later came to realize, had been precisely the problem. The young Echani had feared being unable to find his way once thrust into a world in which everything was utterly alien to him. And to be sure, this was no trivial difficulty at first. There was no escaping that for a child who left his home, especially for a child old enough to fully grasp what that actually meant. But if grief, melancholy and uncertainty were formidable foes for a warrior facing his first battle, they were hardly impossible to conquer. He still had his mother's gift, and the solace it brought with it. And if mother, sisters, clan and all the rest were lost to him, at least for the foreseeable future, then over time he was able to take some comfort in the thought that he had traded his cherished little world for a universe, one crowded with such variety and possibilities as he could never have imagined. As he still couldn't imagine; imagination, too, was growing. He makes no claim that he was the model scholar, devouring any new bit of knowledge he could get his hands on. Math was boring. Languages were frustrating. He liked history, though. The Sith Lords of old, he particularly enjoyed reading about, somewhat to the chagrin of his teachers who were always quick to remind him that figures like Freedon Nadd and Naga Sadow were terrible history and a warning, not some cackling villains to populate children's adventure stories. And yet, terrible as they were, there had always been Jedi to oppose them, and had they not always been ultimately defeated? It seemed a rousing adventure to him, worthy of the one that Jaidan Shatani was living now. No, it was the one thing - And even as a child, he came to suspect that his masters appreciated this irony far more than he ever would. - he assumed he would excel at that seemed to give him the most trouble. Now, it was true that his training served him well in some respects. His was hardly the quasi-prescient prediction of an opponent's moves that warriors of his people possessed, but he had a better idea than most what sorts of things to watch for to give him an idea what sort of attack to expect, and soon enough it became known that even older and stronger sparring partners would pay for being sloppy and telegraphing a punch. Nor was his training entirely inapplicable to lightsaber training. Shii-Cho, he found, was not all that dissimilar from the basics of ordinary bladed combat he already possessed. But always, it nagged at him a little that there was no education in the art of his homeworld, the fabled perception and the ability to somehow to communicate complex ideas without words. He asked about it more than once, only to be told that he would need to master the basics of the Jedi first. As such, he committed himself as best he could. Sadly, the experience that his mother had worked so hard to instill in her son in the limited time they had was not always his ally. Ideal form velocities were all well and good for training children who'd been taken in before they'd even possessed the fine motor control to grab and swing a stick about footwork and target zones. But he'd done all this! He wanted to learn how to emulate the fluid, graceful swordplay of his masters, not this robotic up, down and to the sides! How many times did his instructors lecture him to slow down, swing only where they told him to, and then lecture him AGAIN on his distinctly un-Jedi like pride and impatience? Simply moving him to more advanced training groups wasn't practical either, for he had some practical deficiencies as well, bad habits picked up from a combat system that he was to find did not always translate. Balance was the main thing; he initially believed it was everything. He's not sure today how many times he charged forward, believing his opponent too off balance to threaten him significantly, only to lose the training match when he got tagged with some fumbling offhand flick, sometimes right before the victor fell flat on their back. He was a bit slow to truly understand that this was all it would take to take a limb or worse, that scoring a superficial hit actually required a good deal of skill with a weapon that cleaved flesh as easily as air. This frustration was ultimately valuable in that it fostered an early interest in the Makashi form as a more efficient use of such a weapon, but this benefit was bitterly hard to see at first. Without question, though, it was all the blind exercises that really made him look and feel like an idiot early on. Just about every Jedi possessed some degree of precognition, trained or otherwise, and he was no exception, but Gareth Shel was now proven wise in his fear that he might have some additional difficulty developing such things. The training he’d received before coming to the Temple had made him watchful for weaknesses in an opponent’s technique, but those were essentially conventional skills for a conventional opponent. In other words, they were entirely reliant on sight, and thus entirely useless with a blast shield over his face! By the end of his first month, he was probably well acquainted with every healer in the temple as he was sent in to have low powered plasma burns tended to. That “probably” was upgraded to a “definitely” after they added blind saber duels to the curriculum. Having agreed to come here in hopes of fulfilling some grand potential, it was definitely discouraging for awhile, being the clan under-achiever. But he was a warrior. A small, clumsy one, perhaps, but a warrior still. Even then, he had that to hold on to. So, he stuck with it. And eventually, his dedication paid off. Rather brilliantly, actually. It was in his second year, when one of his fellow younglings, a Zabrak by the name of Sarvan who shared his struggle against pride but not against blaster remotes, decided to have a little bit of fun at his expense. Thus, the course of a bolt was "accidentally" redirected toward Jaidan's leg. Maybe what happened next was some instinctual reaction he just hadn't unlocked until then, or maybe it was practice. He had been making SOME progress, after all. Almost certainly, plain old blind (heh) luck was a major contributor. Regardless, the result is what matters, and the blaster bolt did not strike the Echani's leg. Instead, it was frantically batted back, to strike Sarvan square on the right bicep, eliciting a distinctly un-Jedi like swear at impressive volume. Once it became clear what happened, decorum lasted about as long as can be expected in a room full of children, and the entire exercise dissolved into a fit of giggles. But order was restored, the blast shields went back on...and within the next five minutes, blaster bolts were everywhere. The instructors attempting to break up the horseplay were forced to activate their own sabers just to make their way through the plasma storm! Needless to say, the masters were less than pleased at their students using their blaster drones and training sabers as toys for such a juvenile game. But for Jaidan Shatani, something had clicked. He'd always been assured the skill would come in time. In the meantime, the comedy and the competition of the incident had blunted some of the frustration. Finally, he had a memory to attach to the training that actually made him smile. And so he managed to talk first one, then a couple more of his friends into discreetly playing around with the idea some more, with and without the blast shield. The training remote would fire at one Padawan, the bolt would be deflected at a second, and then it would be sent back and forth until one of them finally had to admit defeat and dive for cover. As they got better, multiple shots were fired, and multiple bolts batted back and forth simultaneously. So it was that he became credited as the inventor of a popular training game that he still plays enthusiastically, and these days with considerable skill. Blaster tennis was born. Padawan (12-22): Utterly unknown to him, one Jedi in particular had watched Jaidan's progress with a keener interest than the rest. Two years after that visit to the Shatani estate, Arik Han of Corellia passed his trials to attain full Knighthood, thus freeing him from every Padawan's virtual house arrest at the Jedi Temple, after which point he spent most of his time for the next few years on Eshan, continuing his study of the Echani art. He had one clear choice for an instructor, and was well pleased when she agreed to teach him: Chaya Shatani, the woman who had shown him how much he needed to learn. And under her tutelage, he learned much, not least of all how to go about winning a rematch with her. Not the FIRST rematch, of course, or even the twentieth. But over time, as she taught him how to look properly, he began to see that even she had some subtle weaknesses in her technique, like how she almost always ducked to her dominant side when trying to achieve the balance for a roundhouse kick. Against her, he learned to exploit her subtle slip ups ruthlessly, or paired with her against multiple opponents, he learned to instinctively come to her aid in just the way required. Jaidan was, he suspects, one of only a handful left unsurprised when, two years after guiding him to his own Knighthood, Arik Han turned in his lightsaber and left the Order to ask his mother's hand. The Green Jedi, as that Corellian sect of the Order was called, did not actually forbid marriage, and he would consider falling back on that technicality. But then, most Green Jedi didn't take missions outside the Corellian sector either, and it wasn't Corellia where his heart was drawn. Besides, even after taking the green, he'd worked with the main body of the Order for the entirety of his career. Anything short of resignation just felt like a cop out, and so he ultimately settled on that as the only honest solution to this longing he had been grappling with for some time. In any case, Han did it with Jaidan's blessing. And though that minor scandal was 15 years off yet when Knight approached Youngling at the Temple, Han's dilemma was already firmly in place and inspiring him to bend the Order's rules. Accepting Jaidan for training had not actually been his decision, but as he explained to the Council, he had been an integral player in that sequence of events, and as such felt a certain responsibility to ensure the lad realized his own potential. Indeed, there seemed no Jedi in the Order at that time more qualified to undertake the task. Even his old master Gareth, though the man had built up a proficiency in the mechanics of the martial art called Echani over the course of a year's study, had not dedicated himself to truly understanding the culture behind it. And it was well known that the boy had for years been yearning to forge a greater connection with that culture. The case was deemed solid by the Council, and yet they were not ignorant of Arik's ongoing association with that family. After some consideration, his request to take the boy under his wing was approved, on the condition that nothing was done to re-establish contact with his family, and the renewed emotional attachment that would come with it. He could assure Jaidan that his mother and sisters were alive and healthy, but no messages were to be sent back and forth. And so they were not, at least in the usual sense. But he did task himself with ensuring the new Padawan's growth, as an Echani as well as a Jedi. And he knew full well that even if they never spoke of it, some part of the boy would sense his mother's hand in it. Jaidan remembered the Corellian - How could he forget that day which had changed his life so? - but the two of them had not interacted directly much that day, and he honestly wasn't sure what to expect from this Jedi he'd be effectively bound to for the next decade of his life. But he took a chance, and the offer. And from a child's perspective, a child who knew at least a little sliver of the universe outside the Temple's walls and had always remained just a little bit restless inside them, things got off to a promising start indeed. Freedom, a breath of fresh air, his first trip off of Coruscant since the day he first arrived! The others were so jealous. They tried not to show it, of course, little Jedi and all - but they totally were. Now their destination, at least to a Jedi, was nowhere particularly exotic - unless it was their first time there. For Jaidan Shatani, as he first glimpsed the icy expanse and towering glaciers of Ilum from the window of their shuttle, he may as well have been glimpsing a supernova in progress. Even the modest little spaceport they touched down into was a minor marvel, as he wondered how people built amidst these towering crags in an endless winter. After all, while Eshan had its cities, his home had been a greener sort of place, gently rolling hills, fields and streams. And Coruscant...well, that was nothing BUT city, so when Jaidan had first arrived there, he had been amazed, but had assumed that was just how things were supposed to look on this alien world; only gradually had it dawned on him that all of that had actually needed to be built. But even in his excitement, he appreciated that Han was no architect, and so he restrained his questions, and allowed his excitement and curiosity to balance out the cold that managed to seep through the quilted robes he'd been given. Well, almost balance. It WAS chilly on Ilum, and after twenty minutes or so, it started to get to him. And then, as they reached their destination, all that was forgotten. The cavern was huge, seeming to go on forever! And everywhere he looked, another explosion of color! Not quite every color of the rainbow, but even so, it was magnificent to behold. It made him feel pretty proud to be a Jedi, actually - Well, not technically a Jedi yet. But a Padawan! Well on his way! - if the Order maintained a place of such raw and unspoiled beauty. And that was BEFORE Han bid him seek out and select one of these crystals for himself. With some trepidation, he asked how he was supposed to make his selection. Except for the color, most of these crystals looked pretty much the same from where he stood, but with one of those mysteriously serene smiles that admirers and critics alike always associate with the Jedi, Han just told him he'd knew when he saw the one for him. Green, he decided after a moment as he moved deeper into the warmly bright expanse, the green of those stream banks now six years and who knew how many light years removed, but forever enshrined in memory. That hardly narrowed things down to anything practical, of course, so he just kept looking. Han seemed utterly unconcerned with how long he took, so he stayed at it for perhaps half an hour until he caught sight of it, nestled into a little nook near a spot where green started lighten in shade almost to yellow. At first, he thought it might be some trick of shading, but no. Even as most of the crystals around it gave up more and more of their blue shade, there was one odd crystal that remained stubbornly darker, like an emerald. He liked it, maybe even saw some parallels to his own situation, a part of the Jedi flock, but set apart by his few years of immersion in his native culture. More than that, though, something about this crystal just FELT untamed, maybe even a little bit rebellious. It took a few minutes, but he ultimately managed to pry it from the wall undamaged and present it to his new master, at which point he asked the obvious question on his mind. Was this for a lightsaber? Yes, yes it was. Did that mean it was time to BUILD a lightsaber? The answer was no, of course. That would come later, when his skill and attunement to the Force was sufficiently advanced. When the disappointed Padawan asked when that would be, Han replied that that part was for him to know when he saw it. In the meantime, Jaidan would have something concrete in his mind to aspire to. For all their focus on non-attachment to the physical universe, it turned out that plenty of Jedi worked much better with more specific goals than "enlightenment" or "serenity". The warriors among them were that way especially, and it was clear that Jaidan was meant for that path. So, one day the warrior would have his weapon. In the meantime, he would learn well the ways of the Jedi...as well as, with his new tutor's help, the ways of the Echani. Very quickly, a simple and effective training structure was established. He would, as he had requested for years, receive training in the martial art and the philosophy of his people. And rather than frown on it, Han encouraged his new charge to continue practicing this blaster tennis game he'd come up with, not just with his blessing, but often with his participation. Every third day, in fact, he would lead his Padawan in honing what skills he liked, in what manner he liked. No enslavement to basic forms, no blind folds, no ponderous lectures...beyond those in his morning classes, of course. All he had to do was earn it all the first two days of three by making adequate progress, as well as earnest and sincere effort in whatever lessons the Order dictated, be it guided meditation, helping to repair old diagnostic equipment, or sitting through mathematics lessons. In time, after a few years, as his Padawan matured in skill and discipline, the routine became every second day, and in time, the alternating days were put aside entirely. Getting there was tough, but it was the sort of challenge to be relished. Most of the time. His earliest challenge of those years proved his most enduring, as he attempted to prove Han's prediction all those years before prescient, and find some way to best his Master. Even Jaidan himself, of course, could not miss the somewhat unsettling Sith parallels implicit in that ambition, and his Master certainly expressed that it could be dangerous if they did not proceed in the right way. But all the same, the thrill of battle between two worthy opponents was natural for him, and the desire to win was an inextricable part of that, even if it might complicate the road to enlightenment somewhat. Really, it wasn't much different than it might have been if he'd been born a Togruta, by necessity a carnivore even though his sustenance would require that something else must die. In short, this was the path the Force had laid out for him, and they would explore it, albeit cautiously. Han presented him no hoops, and left him no excuses. The very next morning after their return from Ilum, Jaidan was led into the same wide open training area he had practiced in for six years, training saber in hand, by his similarly armed new Master. By then, acknowledged by his instructors as having achieved an advanced proficiency in Form I, he had for the past year been devoting much of his attention to a rudimentary study of Form II, and Han wished to see it. Jaidan complied, and was promptly educated in one of Makashi's more glaring potential weaknesses: Ataru. This, it seemed, was why Form II practitioners always warned of enslavement to form. As he would later explain it himself when he took his place among the instructors, the classical style made the most effective use of the weapon, but the least effective use of the warrior. And never was this demonstrated more effectively to him than on that day, as linear footwork offered no answer against a Jedi Knight who attacked with blinding speed, with virtually no restriction on angle and direction. Han was, to his credit, quick to place this lopsided and embarrassing defeat in its proper context; he’d not find it so easy, he promised, as the gap in physical ability continued to diminish, and Ataru was far from free of its own drawbacks. A Guardian was diligent in ensuring that his pupil was practiced in a variety of terrains, and their contests were even then much closer in tighter quarters. Yet even so, Jaidan wound up mastering Shii-cho earlier than most in large part because of all the times he frantically fell back on it to defend himself from his teacher. But he knew there had to be some way he could make his preferred style the equal of Han's, some way to win on his terms. If he could do that, then perhaps he would be well on his way to becoming the warrior that the important people in his life foresaw, the vision lying at the root of all this toil. Fortunately, Han had more to offer his willful and ambitious young pupil than mundane instruction and encouragement. He’d push the young Echani as hard as his potential warranted, and he saw considerable potential there, but if he had anything to say about it, anger and frustration would not be the boy’s fuel. He had long since learned from his own Master that there was more than one way to combat the inner darkness that such things sprung from, and sometimes the most effective way was simply by empowering its opposite. The technique known most commonly as Force Valor allowed a Jedi to look within himself, and connect with those traits he shared in common with the man he wanted to be: courage, decency, resolve. Giving power to these qualities could, in a sense, give life to that inner hero, who in turn would grant the strength necessary to overcome any obstacle, from momentary pain and despair to the slow decay of old age. And this boon was not just for the Jedi in question, but any ally he chose to share it with, and Han shared the gift with Jaidan until he learned to utilize the skill on his own. Ultimately, Jaidan found his way forward not in earnest contemplation, or even amidst the sweat and bruises of actual combat, but sitting in a chair, trying to get through a math lesson. Instead of the sword he wanted to be practicing with, all he had his hand around was a stylus, with which he halfheartedly re-traced a circle he'd drawn on his display screen; geometry was the concentration right then. But as he moved on to adding the center of the circle, and the radius connecting the two, then re-traced that radius, he was suddenly beset by the oddest sense of deja vu. Somehow, the action was very, very familiar to him, and yet he did geometry exercises no more often than the minimum he could get away with. What was it about this little radius? Back and forth, back and forth, back and- Of course this was familiar to him! He practiced this movement daily, not at a desk but on the training floor. The linear footwork of the Makashi fencer, advance and retreat. By rights, that answer should have meant the end to his sudden distraction, but it wasn't. Instead, something about the circle around the line drew his eye. Something new. He erased the radius, then re-drew it, still connecting the ring to the center, but from a completely different angle. He repeated the process a half dozen times, and then moved on to drawing an increasingly complex diagram in which new circles would be added, connected to the one preceding. Sometimes, the new circle would extend outward entirely. Sometimes it would intrude on the interior of the old. But always, for every new circle, a new center, and new radii. New paths of attack. And then, of course, he was chastised in front of the entire class for doodling in the middle of the lesson. But that joyless old tyrant could no more have dampened his mood then than he could have blown out a lightsaber. Master Yelsu would have his triumph later; Jaidan knew in that moment that he’d have to attack geometry much more diligently from now on. He'd just found his style, and it was a to be a cerebral, scholarly art. Yes, it took some time to properly translate his doodle into real application with a weapon. But with the concept firmly entrenched, everything else just seemed to naturally follow. Where traditional Form II was based on the line, his modified form would be based around the circle. Instead of fast, direct assaults, he would circle an opponent, avoiding a head on clash in favor of seeking more favorable, less predictable angles of attack. The footwork would need to be completely retooled, of course, perhaps incorporating elements of his earlier work with Shii-Cho and the more fluid movements required for engaging multiple opponents. For just as it was on that doodle, he would need to be ready to break off into a new direction at a moment's notice, a new ring for a new center. That part required a bit of trial and error, but his moment of inspiration had left him tireless as well as laser focused. With the help of Han and a handful of other training partners, he soon proved the idea's effectiveness. He even came up with a name for the sub-style: Form II-A, The Way of the Radius. Or, less pretentiously, simply Radial Makashi. He cared not whether the label ever caught on, but somehow enshrining it as such made the achievement that much more satisfying. By this point, Jaidan was nearly 16, and in light of his laudable and growing prowess with a blade, Han decreed that if he could invent his own style, he could probably be trusted not to kill himself with a real saber. Presented with this crystal at long last, the young Echani had had more than enough time to consider what sort of weapon to house it in. He considered the curved hilt favored by some Makashi fencers, but he'd already experimented with the design in training, and while it was true that he enjoyed the subtle intricacies of its use as well as the simple feel of it in hand, he also knew it made blast deflection somewhat more awkward. Not torturous or anything, but there was a slight impediment there all the same, and even at the height of the Jedi Civil War, a blaster had been a far more commonly faced peril than another lightsaber. There seemed little sense in introducing a handicap, even a minor one. Besides, in his studies of saber fencing thus far, Jaidan had come to realize that sometimes, victory belonged not to the stronger, or even the faster, but the first one to do something unexpected. Even before the sabers actually met, surprise might be everything; uncertainty as to just what you were facing could make your movements hesitant, slow. It was subtle, but it was real, and in the event he ever actually had to face a saber armed darksider, he'd take any edge he could get, psychological or otherwise. A unique fighting style was a very good start, but he reckoned he could begin attacking a theoretical opponent's confidence even before he thumbed the ignition switch. A different sort of weapon in front of you might mean different rules. Maybe rules you didn't know. And while a curved hilt might be in the minority, there were too many Form II practitioners in the Order for him to call it exotic. But eventually, after a whole lot of research, he hit upon a design that seemed to satisfy all these needs. The lightfoil was an obscure enough design to begin with, and he could be confident that nobody would ever expect to see it in a Jedi's hand, mostly because it was traditionally associated with the Sith. Specifically, the Mecrosa Cult in the Tapani Sector. And yes, yes. Sith. But it didn't look as though anything about the basic design was actually steeped in the Dark Side, and if that danger was absent, then he preferred a pragmatic look at these things. A good idea didn't cease to be a good idea just because it had originated with their enemy. Too many Jedi had perished at their hands to believe that. What's more, since the Cleansing of the Nine Houses, the design had proven balanced and user friendly enough that even Tapani nobles with no force sensitivity at all could wield the things with some efficacy. And that was just the low quality knockoff version! Easier to control than an ordinary lightsaber, and reunited with the quality that had made these weapons a rival to the Jedi arsenal to begin with, this would be the perfect weapon for the elegant, lightning fast blade work he meant to specialize in. Moving this masterwork out of the realm of his imagination and into his hand, of course, was no simple matter. Even with the assistance of several experienced and talented artisans, it took him just over three months before he was truly satisfied. Countless schematics were fussed over, component after component almost compulsively tuned and re-tuned. But the effort was not wasted, for the finished work was a thing of grace and beauty, and when he finally activated the weapon, he found its balance perfect, the effort required to fight the plasma's gyroscopic effect minimal. That was, of course, a moment of sheer exultation, but as he set about training with the weapon, something still seemed just a little bit lacking. It was a weapon worthy of the duelist he aspired to be, and would surely leave him wanting for nothing against any single opponent. And yet, he envisioned this new style of his as an answer to multiple opponents, or a style so mobile as to offer the equivalent, and a single blade could not be everywhere at once. The most comprehensive possible defensive coverage would require a study of Jar’Kai as well. That would, of course, be pointless without a second blade in hand, and so Jaidan requested that he and his Master might might return to Ilum for the second crystal required. But Han, who'd now been sounding out his friend and pupil's quirks and his potential these past four years, considered the request and then then denied it. A second crystal was required. That was a wholly reasonable quest, and yet Ilum was too safe. There would be no challenge in it, and real growth required real challenges; that was true of Jedi or anyone else, and Han believed that Jaidan was ready to put his skills to the test. They would make not for Ilum, but Tatooine, the harsh deserts a natural forge, and also home to a wealth of crystals suitable to their purpose. Specifically, they'd look for a Krayt Dragon pearl. Acquiring one of those was something of a local test of skill and courage, and Han thought the parallels fitting. Jaidan's own enthusiasm was initially somewhat lacking, despite the prospect of such wildly new experience, as he inquired whether he was being asked to hunt and slay a Krayt Dragon. The young Echani had read of these beasts, and while he could certainly see how the task might be DIFFICULT, even with his new lightfoil in hand, he failed to see much honor in big game hunting, particularly just so he could retrieve a single object the size of a marble and leave the rest to rot. But Han assured him this would not be necessary; he knew of a great Krayt Dragon graveyard he and Shel had happened upon years before. Yet even so, he promised his Padawan, there would be some hard and valuable lessons to be learned out on the Dune Sea. Tatooine (16): A week later, their shuttle landed in the Anchorhead spaceport, and Han determined that this test laid out before his Padawan should continue to follow the tradition of the three days. Jaidan Shatani would set out by speeder, provisioned and armed with a map detailing the general location of the dragon bones his master had found four years previously. Three days later, Han would set out after him, and until they met again, it was up to the pupil to navigate the desert's hazards on his own. Jaidan was, naturally, unafraid. Han was right not to take that as a good sign. The first day passed without incident. Day two was significantly more interesting, when his uplink with navigational satellites in orbit showed he was passing within a few miles of a charted oasis, and he stopped off to refill his water stores. Wiping his brow in relief at the shade offered by a rocky outcropping, he bent down by the pool to retrieve a handful of refreshment, and caught sight of the harnessed bantha across the water just in time, raising his guard and rolling out of the way as an armed Tusken dropped down onto the spot he'd been crouched just a moment before. His attacker had brought friends, however, and he soon found himself being circled by a group of four. But in spite of a warning his master had given not to underestimate those desert tribes, Jaidan was not overly concerned, nor did he feel that igniting his lightsaber was likely to produce anything other than a needless loss of life. First, he attempted to demonstrate his peaceful intentions with two upraised, open palms. Predictably, this did not assuage them, but he kept trying, responding to the first furious swipes of their Gaffi sticks only by sidesteps and ducking, in this way adeptly removing himself from the circle. Attempting to keep his back to the rock face, he set about redirecting rather than answering their attacks, dexterously re-positioning himself and using the Tuskens themselves as obstacles to prevent himself from being swarmed. For close to a full minute he managed this passive defense before he concluded they cared not one whit whether the fight was of his choosing, and even a Jedi's patience could hardly be limitless. And so, abruptly, he took a firm hold of one of the crude weapons that had just passed within a few inches of his head, and swept its wielder's legs from under him with a kick. Now fully in control of said weapon, he used it to parry an attempt at goring him with the pointy end, then responded with an elbow that shattered the goggles over the second attacker's right eye. Honestly, it was all quite thrilling; he'd been training at this all his life, and with great intensity in the years since he'd entered into his Master's tutelage, but this was the very first time he'd been in actual, imminent danger of losing his life. Well, moderate danger at best, but even so, he'd have rather enjoyed drawing it out, battering these savages into submission with his hands and feet. And that, even with the adrenaline flowing, seemed an excellent reason not to. So, he reluctantly took the gloves off, and moved to end it. An outward thrust of his open palm in the direction of the third raider sent the armed nomad hurtling backward into the water, and when the last Tusken on his feet moved to attack him in spite of his shock, he discovered his Gaffi stick sliced neatly in two, and the tip of an emerald shaft of super-heated plasma barely more than an inch from his face. That, at last, seemed to make his point. Staggering out of the water, the third Tusken began bellowing...well, Jaidan hadn't the foggiest idea what he was saying, but he presumed he heard the Sand People word for "retreat" somewhere in there, because all four of them picked themselves up and ran or shambled their way back toward the banthas. Jaidan, for his part, did nothing to obstruct their flight, only waiting until they'd retreated a goodly distance before extinguishing his blade and proceeding to fill his canteens. That done, he even decided to remain awhile longer for an early lunch, reasoning that even if the Sand People did return any time soon, it would be in numbers such that he could easily spot them coming and outrun them on his speeder. In short, he was rather well pleased with how he'd handled that. The test, it seemed, was going swimmingly. He'd soon discover that the test hadn't started yet. Three hours later, his most direct route wound through a winding canyon, in which he was occasionally required to reduce his speed just a bit for steering. Still fast enough to get a very nice breeze in his face, of course! That was where his hard lessons would begin, for while he'd become quite adept at reading the movements of any humanoid opponent, he hadn't had much practice at appraising terrain tactically. The Sand People, unfortunately, were quite good at it, for it was just as he was coming upon an open stretch and beginning to accelerate that his speeder came under fire. At first, he wasn't even sure what was happening, this being his very first encounter with slug throwers and all, but expertly aimed and firing a bullet at sufficiently high velocity, a few direct hits proved able to make a damned mess of Jaidan's control over the vehicle. A sudden lurch downward and to the right had his speeder crashing nose first into a rock, and its pilot hurled a good twenty feet forward. That likely would have been the end for anyone other than a force user, but in that moment, Jaidan would have prefered being a droid with a neutronium chassis. He managed to gain some control over his sudden flight, landing in a roll instead of head first, but by the time he struggled to his feet, his head was swimming, a sharp pain was emanating from his rib cage, and in spite of all that, he was all too keenly aware of the Tusken war cry sounding out, and being answered from more directions than he cared to dwell on. Some of them sounded rather close, though. They were close! Sand People popping out from behind rocks, some even throwing off tan colored sheets, erupting from the sand itself! He had to think, had to...the snipers up on the ridges were the main problem. He needed to find cover. He had a chance in close, even injured. Shutting his eyes tight, he thrust his open palm downward, the best force push he could manage throwing up a great cloud of sand as he jogged off, fast as his dizziness would permit. He managed to find a cul de sac in which to make his stand, but he had only moments to catch his breath before he was being swarmed. He was still dazed, but luckily, finesse was less of an issue when his opponents had no way of parrying his blade. He left his first attacker without a right arm, the second without a head, and the third stumbling back with a fatal gash burned into his chest, but that was when the momentum of the fight abruptly shifted away from him. There was a loud crack, a burning pain in his shoulder, and his lightfoil made a sudden pool of glass where it fell to the sand. One of the Tuskens, it seemed, had tempered his wrath enough to hang back with a rifle, but seeing their prey now unarmed, a fresh wave rushed forward. Two of them were knocked back on their asses by telekinesis, but it was plain to see that he was weakening, and the desert raiders knew no fear. First, it was a brutal jab to the stomach that knocked the wind out of him, soon followed by an upward thrust to the chin that had him staring upward at the planet's pitiless twin suns. He refused to be undone that easily! A sudden spark of durasteel hard determination flared up in him, and he lashed out with his legs, bringing the Tusken down to his level before silencing him with a brutal kick to the side of the head. Scrambling to his feet, slowly by rising all the same, he was downed once more by another crack, this one caused by a hard thrust to the side of his ribs. And then, as he fell to the sand and became aware of the sudden coppery taste in his mouth, was when he saw it. The Raider who'd just broken one or more of his ribs. Staring down at him. With goggles, broken over the right eye. He'd let that savage go! An unprovoked attack, pursued with relentless malice even in spite of every reasonable effort to try for peace, and he'd shown mercy! And that was justification for this brutality? Fine! Sudden reserves of strength came up from he knew not where (Later on, of course, he was left with one obvious and unpleasant guess.), and with a snarl, he sent the monster hurtling back into the canyon wall with a crack to rival the rifle shot that had disarmed him, leaving a great bloody smear on the rock as the creature fell to the sand like a broken toy. He had little time to dwell on the satisfaction that gave him before the club end of yet another Gaffi stick connected with the side of his skull, and everything went black. He remembers only brief fragments of what came between that, and the time when Arik Han finally found him. Endless sand, those same pitiless suns, the feeling of his pale skin burning, and the ropes binding him to the stake they'd left him on to die. And the need to hold on. This was not what mother had envisioned. Not what his master had envisioned. He was prepared to die violently, but if that was his fate, then it would be a weapon that ended him! Not the damned desert! When he could focus at all, it would be on that. Concentrate. Gather what strength he had left. Survive. He awoke in a kolto tank back in Anchorhead. Even in this, the three day tradition seemed to hold, for that was how long the best medical care available, aided by Han's very modest skill in Force healing had required to bring him around after his injuries. All told, a broken arm, four broken ribs, a fractured skull, numerous lacerations and contusions, second AND third degree burns from the sun, and severe dehydration. All of which would heal far more easily than Han's self-recrimination at having allowed his charge to wander into such danger alone. It had been too much at once. It was damned irresponsible! Han's gloomy outlook was somewhat improved, however, when Jaidan's first words upon awakening were to ask when they could resume the search for the pearl. Of course, bravado said one thing, and reality another; that quest would have to wait. Two days later, he was deemed medically fit to be moved, but only to spend the following month in recovery at a better equipped facility on Rodia. But in time, his patience was rewarded, and Han declared they would, in fact, be returning to Tatooine, this time by via chartered shuttle directly to their destination. Jaidan Shatani had been challenged more than adequately upon the Dune Sea. And so, as the young Echani declared with a smile once the coveted pearl was in his possession, Tatooine had been a rousing and unqualified success after all. Not only could he proceed with building his second weapon, but some day, when it came time to tally such things, he was pretty sure he had the Trial of Flesh well in hand. Obviously, they both knew his ordeal had shaken him a good deal more than that, and that he’d need to come to terms with it sooner or later. And given the nature of that ordeal, sooner was preferable; they were in agreement that he had, in fact, touched the Dark Side as he fought for his life, drawing strength from his rage and hate. There was no shame in it. No Jedi was completely safe from that struggle when pressed so hard, but all the same, it required reflection. And Mustafar, home to the nearest Jedi temple, would be just the place for it. Han’s student needed a place of safety and serenity to foster his healing, but maybe not the comfort of Coruscant, and the opportunity it provided to simply slip back into old patterns. No, a trial like that was a milestone, and should be treated as such; perhaps new surroundings would foster new thinking. And it was on Mustafar, accompanied by gizka in search of food and soothed by the sound of the great river, that the two of them would live out the next two years. It was there that, as a bit of light work to aid his rehabilitation, Jaidan assembled the companion to his original lightfoil, thankfully found and retrieved from the sands during his master’s search for him. It was actually a bit of a refinement of the original design, a dual stage model. The color, he found on ignition, was a bit lighter than the first, a bit like polished jade, but he was well pleased with it. But just as Arik had hoped, the change of locale offered more extensive opportunities for growth. As Jaidan reflected and Han offered his insights on it, the matter of his inner darkness actually proved the easiest to resolve. Or, more accurately, they soon concluded the matter would HAVE no definitive resolution; not then, and in truth not ever. That he’d deliberately taken lives troubled him, but that, Han assured him, was a very good sign, and Jaidan came to terms with it soon enough. He’d made a good faith attempt to avoid bloodshed, but even the most spiritually minded Jedi Master would not have simply sat placidly and allowed himself to be butchered. Even the anger and desperation he’d drawn on didn’t truly trouble him much as he thought on it. Every warrior was driven by some inner fire, and he was a warrior by birthright. Moreover, the Jedi held that every life was of great value, even their own; the day would come, of course, when he must surrender that life, but in the meantime, it seemed only right that he do everything in his power to preserve it. The ability to do so without embracing those aspects of himself he ordinarily held at bay would hopefully come with more training and experience. But the satisfaction he’d felt, the feeling that he’d meted out what his attacker deserved…that WAS concerning. A Jedi, Han warned, might often find himself in a situation where the Jedi ideals of decency and respect for life were not shared, but those were the occasions when those ideals mattered the most, and must be held most dear. Jaidan had stumbled. But a failure did not mean the end of a Jedi’s path any more than a triumph, so long as he kept trying to better himself. But he also reflected on why he had failed to protect himself. The life of a Jedi Knight held many dangers, and this new found, nagging sense of vulnerability, the fear that he could not prepare himself for that next danger? That could be dangerous itself if not addressed. So, as his thoughts turned somewhat morbid, he began to do a little research, and soon concluded that his primary weakness on Tatooine had in fact been overly limited thinking. He’d directed all his energy on learning to perform like a fully trained Jedi, by studying the same familiar combat arts, when he should have also been trying to understand those role models from another perspective. How did their enemies go about KILLING Jedi? As it turned out, their enemies could get rather shockingly creative. The dangers he’d trained against, the better duelist or the hailstorm of blaster bolts, were only the beginning, and a weaker opponent could be at least as dangerous as a stronger one, provided they were employing the right tools. Sabotaged transportation, pre-placed explosives, patience combined with attrition tactics…the list went on. Poison seemed a common favorite. He didn’t even need any extra reading to come up with the addition of superior knowledge and use of terrain. So, he came up with more questions, more sobering still. How was a lightsaber, no matter how masterfully wielded, supposed to stop all that? And if the path of a swordsman was so deficient, then was it ultimately anything more than a hobby coupled with delusions of utility? Once again, Arik Han stepped in, offering his Corellian sensibilities to calm his pupil’s concerns before they grew out of control. Yes, a swordsman needed to use his brain as well, and yes, it was the more valuable tool in the vast majority of cases. And no, there was no way of preparing for EVERYTHING you might encounter out among the galaxy, thank the almighty Force. But that same cosmic vastness was also a Jedi’s greatest protection: in time of peace, stumbling into that sort of danger without some warning was unlikely indeed. Warning. That was where the next phase of Jaidan’s training would focus. He’d grown talented at listening to the Force in the midst of battle, but he’d never quite grasped the larger point of all those damned blind blast deflection exercises. The Force was ALWAYS trying to tell him something, and it might well have alerted him to the dangers of that winding canyon, had he known how to listen properly. But by the time they departed Mustafar, Han promised, the Echani would leave with confidence that he had learned, for there, across the river, lay the great Labyrinth which had confounded Jedi for millennia. If he could free his mind from the mundane and allow the Force to guide him through those innumerable and ever-changing twists and turns, then he could anticipate the danger of a lurking sniper. In some ways, that time on Mustafar felt like a return to his earliest Youngling days, his pride broken down by the anguish of repeated failure, his patience ground to almost nothing by the slow pace of his progress, and his will stiffened by having to so frequently find and maintain resolve to try and try again. It took months of recovery and then reconditioning to even make it across the river. Overcoming the Labyrinth itself was a longer, harder process still. But, bit by bit, he was making progress. The problem, Han believed, lay at least partly in his impassioned study of the Echani fighting arts. He’d taken naturally to it, and that meant instinctively seeking out visual cues that would reveal an opponent’s next move. In other words, while he'd overcome the difficulty insofar as the Youngling exercises went, he still relied too much on his eyes to easily focus on his other senses. He reacted to this observation with all the temperance of a teenager with newly wounded pride. He defiantly cut a strip from the bottom of his outer robe to fashion a blindfold, and declared he would go without the use of his eyes. Han patiently warned that if his padawan chose to undertake such training, it would be his duty to ensure he stuck with it, and bade him spend the next day thinking on his decision. Only when they failed to dissuade the young Echani did his time of darkness begin. It was difficult for them both in some ways. Han knew the young man’s braggadocio which had driven him into this task would never sustain him through the actual execution, and when Jaidan gave up, as he tried to more than once, it was his painful duty to put his foot down and inform his student that he’d not be allowed to duck out of the commitment. And to be sure, it put a strain on their relationship, for a time. By the end of week two, it felt to Jaidan like he’d made a terrible mistake at the height of his distress, and was spitefully being forced to keep paying for it even after the lesson about hubris was well-learned. But Han would only shake his head and point out that as useful as that lesson might be, if it really did truly sink in, it was not the one Jaidan had hoped to learn. And so, save for a few specifically approved exceptions, such as working on his lightsaber of attempting a river crossing, the trial continued. The constant stumbling without someone to guide him was, at least, was a frustration remedied (For the most part.) in relatively short order by the simple addition of a long walking stick to test the way and steady himself, but on the whole, it still felt like he’d been demoted back to those frustrating Youngling days and left there his every waking hour. Though he’d not bothered with the exercise in some years, he did find that he could still manage the blinded blast deflection, and with repetition, even manage some sophistication with it. Saber practice was another matter entirely. He may have managed adequately against other children years before, but once they'd moved past the basic Form I velocities, the Force’s guidance fell well behind the speed and ferocity of a fully trained opponent. His other, mundane senses, were of no more help. Yes, he could hear the tell-tale hum, but he could pick up no discernible difference in intensity before the training blade’s burn. And more than anything, given the skill with a blade he’d so prided himself on, that hurt. But in time, once pride and bravado had been scraped away long enough, he at last hit a more solid layer of determination, a refusal to quit. So, although it had never been his strong suit, he sat, and he began to truly concentrate on the information of his senses. The Force initially declined to tell him anything new, but as he counted out to himself the things he could hear, that list did slowly grow, and since Han did not hint at any urgency in leaving Mustafar, he had the time. Even over the footsteps and conversations in the hall, he could occasionally make out the chattering of the gizka in the distance, the river beating against the banks, and so on. And although it was crude guesswork at first, he started getting better at identifying the differences in those footsteps. Then came the nose. That one he found more difficult, but as he kept trying, he at last concluded that yes, even men and women of good hygiene DID, in fact have a scent. And so he began to catalog those as well. It was the sense of touch that surprised him most of all, however. And that provided one of the true high points of his time on Mustafar, because it led to completion of an older goal: a solid win over his Master at sparring. As he got better at anticipating and intercepting Han’s strikes in practice, he began to notice a pattern where the blades met. Pressure was applied by an opponent pressed against his guard, and receded when the blade was withdrawn. By noting the direction, and considering how best he’d try to gain the advantage in the opponent’s place, he could make a reasonable guess as to their next move, especially if he knew their style. As his competence grew, the heat of the blade, the sound, and even the smell of the plasma as it cleaved the air could all help him fact check that guess on the fly until eventually, it was hardly guess work at all anymore. The same principles applied even when no weapons were in play, but it was in a saber duel that he first successfully put all those skills to work. He was on the defensive that morning, as always. This time, however, Arik was scolding him for letting his mind wander. In response, Jaidan concentrated harder – on not smiling, and thus giving away his stratagem. It was the sound of the clashing training saber blades that demanded some of his attention. Every sharp electric crack eventually reverberated off of the chamber’s walls, revealing their proximity. It took him awhile, given his master’s insistence on pressing him rapidly from every possible direction, but after a few minutes, he managed to give ground in just the right way without making himself obvious. His back was to a corner, and his master pressed the attack, still confident of his advantage even as his Ataru had been largely defanged. For a moment, the older Corellian’s confidence seemed justified, as his student tried in vain to keep a strong overhead chop at bay. The next moment, he found himself confused and stumbling backward as Jaidan kicked off from the wall and twisted around his blade to launch a strong shoulder check against his chest. The moment after that, a somewhat abashed, but nevertheless very proud laugh escaped him as the Echani’s own training saber came to rest just shy of his throat before he could get his back in position. Perhaps it was a consequence of being a born Guardian, his feet planted more solidly in the physical world than some, but it was only after he’d solidly built a habit of paying proper attention to all his conventional senses that his progress began to accelerate in sensing out his surroundings with the Force. And technically, he never did actually achieve that milestone of being able to literally “see” in such a way, as the Miraluka did, until more than a year after he’d left Mustafar. But even so, he was learning to hone and trust his instincts, and at the same time, he began practicing another skill as well, in fact learning right alongside his master this time. The revelation that poison was a common tool for assassinating Jedi continued to plague him, until Han informed him he’d heard of a Force technique that could counter the threat. He knew of no way to make oneself outright immune to poison, but if the Jedi in question could maintain his composure and concentrate, the Force was theoretically capable of essentially burning the invasive substance out of his system before it killed him. They both began to practice this technique with the approval of and under the close supervision of the temple healers. They began with mild sedatives, then moved on to Jaidan’s first experience with some rather potent and gut churning alcoholic beverages. Only after both Knight and Padawan had learned to identify the foreign chemical and track its progress through the Force, then obliterate it by sheer force of will were they allowed to move on to true poisons. Typically, this would be the venom of various dangerous animals across the galaxy, always something for which the healers had an antidote immediately on hand if things went wrong. And finally, to build some versatility once they’d mastered the basic technique, they completed the training with various, relatively mild lab stored disease samples ranging from measles to Dantari flu. Just like the blindfold, Jaidan at least had his moments of regretting his decision to expose himself to all of this, but they both agreed it was well worth it. Finally, the much awaited day came. After an exhausting river crossing, unaided by the Force to ensure himself he was back in peak physical conditioning, a half hour of catching his breath, and finally six hours of fighting off the lingering doubt that he was just wandering in circles, he tore off his blindfold. And there, stretching out behind him, was the famed Mustafar labyrinth. And this time, as an agreed upon reward, the blindfold stayed off. It would remain a much used training tool for him, but it was finally time to start using ALL his senses again. Arik and Jaidan remained on Mustafar for another month or so while the Echani got used to just that. It was a beautiful world, after all, and it would be a shame not to enjoy it after all his hard work. But at last, it was time for both of them to rejoin themselves to the affairs of the galaxy at large. Back In The Saddle (18-23): Arik did, however, suggest upon their return that it might be wise to take a little time, and become accustomed to the rhythms of the Temple back on Coruscant before they started seeking missions on the other side of the galaxy again. That suited Jaidan just fine, for he soon learned they’d timed their return quite well. Registration was still open, provided they had their master’s sponsorship, for Padawans wishing to compete in an upcoming tournament held to determine placement in the Temple’s security detail. In truth, he was largely ambivalent about the actual appointment, as one of the five Padawans who would guard the northern public entrance by day. But it would be a job, something concrete to help him settle back in, and also a prestigious feather in his cap that might well inspire the Council to trust them in the future with more interesting missions than otherwise. Most important of all, however, the fact that the post was prestigious meant the competition would be stiff, and that was what really interested him. The past two years had been unquestionably valuable. He’d broken down down some of his ego, and new skills had allowed him to lay a more solid foundation in its place. But all the same, he was theoretically training to be a Guardian, and while he hadn’t stopped his saber practice on Mustafar, the intensity of the training had suffered. Despite his success in successfully utilizing his bit of trickery against his master, it had been just one priority among several, pursued initially at a remedial level until he got used to that blindfold. But here was a chance to determine whether the skill he’d been so proud of before had indeed deteriorated, or if he was indeed “back”. Once Arik had agreed that a few months on guard duty sounded agreeable enough -He had a fair few friends to catch up with on Coruscant, after all. - Jaidan actually found the competition itself more encouraging than he expected. He’d anticipated a more or less grownup version of the Padawan Trials, in which he’d placed quite well years before, though he’d been eliminated in the third round after an over-ambitious attempt to utilize his then clumsy application of Makashi. But he’d never been so driven back then, secure as he’d been in the confidence that failure to attract a master’s attention would mean only a return to the life he’d only just barely made the decision to leave behind in the first place. And his fencing was no longer clumsy; as with his defense against blasters, or with no weapon at all, his training on Mustafar had, if anything, helped him. He may not have moved on to more advanced techniques as fast as he’d like, but the knowledge he did possess had become much surer, more instinctive. He didn’t quite crush the competition, but he still managed to solidly clinch first place. The next six months before his term ended and he decided to move on was, as he had suspected, not the most exciting time of his life. But even so, it was a time of great contentment. He wasn’t a Knight just yet, but that may have been the first time he really felt like a true Jedi. Luckily, it would not be the last time he got to feel that way before his Padawan days came to a close. As he’d hoped, a seasoned Knight and a Padawan of noted ability were regarded as a potent team, capable of tackling real challenges. And while it was true that Jedi weren’t supposed to crave adventure, Han pointed out on one occasion with an impish Corellian grin, Jaidan wasn’t technically a Jedi yet. Training was all well and good, and Jaidan was throwing himself back into it with renewed vigor as he made up for lost time, but he might as well get some excitement in while it was still sanctioned by those who sat on high. And the next 5 years were an exciting time. Technically, the reputation of the Jedi order, the common reaction to the site of those simple robes went a lot further than their martial skill. While they had to resort to the threat of it on a handful of occasions, only twice in all that time were the lightsabers ever actually ignited. The first time, when a riot spilled over into the hospital where a detachment of Jedi healers and their guardians were assisting victims of an earthquake on Trian, the sight of those fabled weapons caused their assailants to flee without contest as they’d hoped. The second occasion, a year later on Ammuud, did not go quite so smoothly. The Tikeris, one of that world's seven ruling clans, had made an agreement with a group of unscrupulous offworld smugglers for an advantage in the constant warfare with the other six. Captives taken in their raids would be delivered as slaves in exchange for advanced weaponry. At last, an undercover Jedi Knight who had infiltrated the smugglers called in backup to bust up one of these meeting, Han and Shatani included. Sadly, the sight of lightsabers in that case only panicked the criminals into wild shooting. Though the operation was ultimately a success, the loss of three Jedi in that raid was a sobering learning experience. Though the Ammuud raid was overall the most visceral event of his late teen years, there were certainly other missions he’d remember for many years to come. Security for high level negotiations, assisting various police operations…he even got to try his hand at the undercover bit on a fair few occasions. Many of their missions were simple reconnaissance, looking to get the lay of the land on worlds in social or political turmoil, and it was virtually impossible to get unfiltered information when Jedi robes made you the center of attention. As such, given that Jaidan was essentially an adult at this point, it was a regular practice for the two of them to split up, and go cantina crawling in less conspicuous garb. Though the lightsaber never came out in such cases, local tensions did explode into full scale brawls on a few occasions without his input, thus ensuring he got some valuable field experience to keep his unarmed skills sharp. Arik DID fall into some mixture of exasperation and resignation on occasion when his pupil couldn’t manage a better job of at least PRETENDING he didn’t enjoy the fighting. But he never forgot his restraint, and in general, he was slowly developing into a capable, even respectable Jedi. And finally, a month or so into Jaidan’s 21st year, they both became aware of an ExploreCorps voyage being planned. Due to launch later that year, the Jedi ship would embark on a two year mission of exploration into Wild Space. And they were recruiting guardians for the journey. A Jedi might, over the course of his life, wear many hats, but an explorer…well, Jaidan wasn’t sure the path of a Guardian would allow him to simply forget about the galaxy’s problems for that long, simply for the purpose of seeing what else was out there. And that was one adventure he wouldn’t mind having before duty assumed its central place in his life. And as for Arik, he was Corellian. A chance to follow in the footsteps of his ancestors was a rare opportunity for him as well. Neither of them ever actually brought up the timing. Signing up for this mission meant Jaidan’s 22nd birthday would come and go with the Order still far away. His knighthood would have to be delayed. And their time together would last a little longer. Neither of them needed to say that was agreeable to them. Trials (23): But time moves inexorably along. At last, their ship returned, and after a brief talk, it was agreed. The young Echani had learned enough, worked for it enough. It was time to begin the Trials. He seemed off to a very promising start; in addition to the obvious Trial of Flesh he'd endured on Tatooine, the Trial of Skill was also judged long since complete, many times over in fact. Starting even before his apprenticeship, with the surprisingly useful training game he'd devised as a Youngling, and continuing through all his accomplishments to that point, his talent was acknowledged. That left only the Trial of Spirit, the only test that he'd ever had any doubts about one day passing. To face the mirror, it was commonly known, often meant taking a good look at something about yourself you wouldn't like. Jaidan had, in a way, been pretty sheltered from the spiritual perils of a Jedi; the secrets of swordsmanship were in the arms, the feet, and the mind. Sublime, yet mundane. He hardly needed to risk corruption in some old tomb to pursue his ambition, whatever stories people told of Tulak Hord. That assessment held generally true even after his time on Mustafar. Yet he'd heard of Jedi seeming to fall to the dark side after spilling their stimcaf, and he'd never quite forgotten that moment of satisfaction as the Tusken's bones shattered. So, even as he closed his eyes and began slowing his breath, he was already pushing aside visions of a black clad Echani, grinning as he stood over a pile of fresh corpses. What he experienced when he finally slipped into his trance did not quite line up with his fears. But it wasn't quite a relief. What he perceived as he opened his...eyes? Mind's eyes? Anyway, he wasn't looking at Tatooine as he rose. At first, he wasn't sure what he was looking at, though it seemed familiar to him somehow. Of course it did, he amended a moment later. It had been 17 years since he'd last glimpsed this place, but this was home. Eshan. The Shatani estate was perhaps 2 miles west if he followed this stream. It was just obscured by a copse of trees atop that gentle hillock. If he followed the brook a mile further east, it would meet up with the Kaldru River. He considered taking that journey westward, but decided that - actually, never mind that. It was his vision, wasn't it? So west it was, for a half mile or so before it became clear hadn't brought himself here just to see the old homestead. There, sitting cross-legged on a large rock in the stream he remembered failing to jump to a few times, was himself. This, in and of itself, wasn't really a surprise. No Jedi was ever too eager to speak of their ordeal on this trial, so very personal as it was, but he knew lots of them saw some mirror image of themselves. They didn't call it facing the mirror just to sound poetic. But at a glance, it was hard to tell just what anxiety his doppelganger was supposed to represent. He looked pretty good, considering this Jaidan seemed to have a good thirty years on him, and nothing seemed all that evil about him. Same brown robes he'd seen on every Jedi Master he ever met, eyes closed, just... mediating amidst nature. Model Jedi, basically. But since when had an Echani judged anyone with eyes alone? Well, he may have been guilty of that occasionally in a few of those cantinas he'd visited, but that was different. So, as aged Jaidan rose and regarded him with one of those sagely serene smiles, real Jaidan assumed a fighting stance, one hand forward, fingers pointed in invitation. At first, to his minor irritation and confusion, his older self just looked at that hand with minor... amusement, perhaps? It was hard to spot much on that face. Regardless, he made no move to accept, and so Jaidan frowned, and thrust his hand forward once more for emphasis. The serene smile widened almost imperceptibly, suggesting amusement had been the right guess, but in any case, it seemed understood that refusal was unacceptable, and a slightly wrinkled version of his hand came forward, copying his stance. Their flesh met, back of wrist to back of wrist, as the form dictated, and a moment later, Jaidan opened with a straightforward right jab. This was evaded with a simple tilt of the head, as was expected. Trying to follow that up with a quick elbow strike produced similar results. So, he apparently didn't fear his skills deteriorating with age, at least. But something was wrong. He wasn't getting anything back. He tried stepping back and executing a jumping spin kick, a jab to set up a low sweep, and so on, yet this wise old Jedi made no move to strike back. Only dodges and parries...much like what he'd tried to do back at that oasis on Tatooine, actually. But that had been in combat with people who knew nothing of their ways. This was the duel. If there was a core to the spiritual life of the Echani, this was it. It was sacred. It was joy! Yet there was nothing on this stranger's face. On his face. Not even boredom. What had happened to that fire, the one he had guarded so faithfully throughout 16 years of Jedi life? The spark he had promised, if wordlessly, to preserve? Maybe he anticipated his skills growing in the future, to the point that fighting an opponent of his level provided no real challenge, and therefore no thrill? He hadn't felt especially outclassed so far, but all the same, he poured it on to test the theory, redoubling his efforts and launching into a rapid, fluid barrage of fists and feet. Sadly, that only made it worse. For a moment, it seemed as though youthful physique was winning out, and his older self had to give ground, but after that, his offensive ground to a halt. It wasn't greater skill that stalled him, at least not in the Echani art, but the fact that his double switched to Force techniques. Every punch, every kick, met with an open palm, and stopped an inch from making contact with flesh by an invisible wall of telekinesis. And through it all, no indication on the face that any of this was worth getting excited about. Just calm, and a look of subdued pity for him. The fire...the fire had just gone out of him! All the hopes and labors of his mother, of his Master, just wasted. Betrayed! The honor, the pride, the millennia of accumulated culture, just abandoned. And for what? Some lingering, calm half-trance? He may as well have been sparring with some artfully made droid! Was this the pinnacle of achievement that the Order had in mind for him? No, this was not him. He would not let this be him. He'd wake something up in this automaton, or else make it bleed! He just had to breach that damned wall around it first, stagger the serene double for a moment. He could make certain afterward that it never managed the concentration to re-assemble its defenses. So, after another few punches connecting with nothing, he drew back his arm to try another, and instead unleashed everything he had into one massive, point blank force push! Countered. Gah! His move, once again, anticipated as if he'd verbally warned of it, and the snarl of exertion as he tried to overpower his opponent was countered with...of course. Not much of anything. But he HAD elicited some reaction at last, it seemed, for with a soft sigh, old Shatani then decided this had gone on long enough, and with an extra push, pushed past real Shatani's counter and sent him hurtling back into the stream. Not over yet! Pushing himself up with a frustrated scream, he drew his foils, and judged them still operational. And so, pushing off the rock where he'd found this damned machine, he executed a force leap, igniting both blades as he came slashing down on his target. Ha! Finally, a challenge the old man felt he had to take seriously! Still calm so far, but they'd see how long that lasted, as the initial assault was evaded with a sideward leap, and a mirror image of his own swords ignited into emerald luminescent brilliance. Without even allowing time for the traditional Makashi flourishes, by now seeing that sportsmanship meant nothing here, Jaidan lunged forward again, and the duel was on! And for a time, it seemed like another virtual stalemate was developing, but at last he could discern some change. He knew not how long it took. Hours? Days? Did such measurements even mean anything here? But all the same, bolstered by the Force or not, calmly accepting or not, his aged counterpart was tiring. He would not! Emboldened by this revelation, he pressed his onslaught all the harder, and soon enough, he'd done it! Beating aside the sage's foil, Jaidan stepped inside his guard faster than his enemy could get his main hand blade back into position, blocked a strike from the off-hand shoto with his own, and delivered a pommel strike to the face that knocked teeth loose and sent the old bastard sprawling! And when the downed old Jedi brought his foil back up in a feeble attempt to defend himself, Jaidan cleaved weapon and hand in two! Victory! There was no strength in denying his heritage after all! And as for the old betrayer? Well, he just closed his eyes, the pain of amputation and cauterization evident but controlled on his features, calm to the last as he awaited his end. Fair enough! Jaidan brought his foil up for one last slash, and...and... Something wasn't right. This wasn't right. Kill the lie! A warrior, now and for all time until he should die well, with a weapon in hand! Helpless. The opponent was helpless. Where was the honor in this? The Jedi way- The Jedi way led to this lifeless husk! A warrior warred! War required this ending! No! His eyes shot wide open, and he sprang to his feet, only to find his legs shaking too badly to support him, and collapse back to the floor. The Temple. He was in the Temple. The Trial. Yes. It took several seconds for him to become aware of Arik Han's hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him down. It was a full minute at least until he was able to heed his Master's urging, and breathe more slowly. Five minutes after that, he tried standing again, and with a little help, was able to get back to his bed, at which point he was given the rest of the day to rest, recover, and reflect on what had happened before he met with the Council the next day. This time, he did not protest. He'd come away from the Trial shaken, but intact, and that was already more than anyone could guarantee. But what more than that? The Council was similarly curious, and though they did not demand a moment by moment account of what his vision had been, they needed some sense of what he had experienced, and what, if anything, he took away from it. They would be able to sense whatever else they needed from that. He was grateful for the permission to be vague about it, but he did his best to be truthful within that criteria. He had glimpsed one possible path his life might take. One he didn't much like. And in the process, though he had been unable to recognize it at the time, he had been exposed to his own potential for the dark side as never before. He wasn't sure if a Jedi could truly fall in a waking dream, but the prospect frightened him all the same. In any case, he had pulled himself back from it at the last possible moment...barely. But he was left with some difficult questions about what it truly meant to be a Jedi. What it should mean. Important questions indeed to answer. But he had earned the right to seek his answers in his own way, in his own time. In the meantime, the Council had a task for Arik Han: ignite his lightsaber, and shear off the Echani's braid. For he would go forth from that chamber not as a Padawan any longer, but as Jaidan Shatani, Knight of the Republic. Knight of the Republic: That night, at least, was far less troubled. Cornered by his now erstwhile master, Jaidan was pleased and surprised to find that Han was not alone, but had in fact rounded up a few of Jaidan's old friends from the Youngling days whom he had not seen much in years. These friends had fallen short of progressing to full Jedi status, and had instead sought out fulfillment and satisfaction in the Service Corps; as such, all of this company were relatively free of immediate supervision as they presented him with a congratulatory gift, and one with some kick no less: a small bottle of good Corellian whiskey. When Jaidan pointed out, half-heartedly and with a smile but dutifully all the same, that Jedi were not permitted personal possessions other than their swords, Han just grinned, popped off the cork, and replied that he knew of a loophole. Jaidan had to call on the Force just to get out of bed the next morning, his head pounding as badly as any time he remembered since it had lost that fight with a gaffi stick. And yet, he felt better. Arik Han had, not for the first time, taken a rather liberal interpretation of the rules in throwing that little party, but the man knew him better than any other soul in the galaxy, and had once again sensed just what he needed. Getting irresponsibly drunk hadn't banished his lingering concerns, of course, but it HAD served to relieve a good deal of stress at a time when the very last thing he wanted to do was meditate. And that, as the saying went, was food for thought. In any case, it was as the Council had said. His answers were his to seek, where and how he may. He'd make for Eshan, of course. Seeing his old home outside the context of that troublesome vision seemed as sure a way as any to resolve some of his anguish, and besides, that homecoming had been a decade and a half in the making. But perhaps it could wait just a little longer. The beating heart of galactic civilization lay all around him, and that might be a more effective place to begin trying to resolve a question that had occurred to him. The more Jaidan considered it, the further his private ruminations seemed from producing any sort of resolution to this damnable Dark Side business. And perhaps inevitably, his thoughts started turning to the trillions upon trillions of sentients throughout the cosmos who lived with none of the many trying Jedi restrictions aimed at fostering tranquility and control, yet were apparently spared the Jedi perils that supposedly made all those restrictions necessary. At first, he felt mainly frustration and jealousy at this. But then, mindful that it was precisely feelings like that which the masters warned against most strongly, he forcibly tried to turn his thoughts in a more useful direction. Alright...so the Jedi, it was said, were different. The Force suffused all of creation, and all those creatures swelling within it, but a Force Sensitive was more receptive to it, and thus to the Dark Side. Well, it seemed Jaidan could attest to that, but it also seemed that a decade and a half of Temple training had not sufficed to shield him from that entirely, any more than Jedi living had shielded Karness Muir, Freedon Nadd, Exar Kun...really, he could take his pick. And while those famous names were extreme examples, the basic notion seemed to apply. The pull toward anger and savagery was there. Now, if he shut himself up in the Temple for the rest of his life, then he supposed the result would quite possibly be a life so dull and without disruption that none of those dangers would ever apply. But that wasn't the Jedi's calling, and it sure as hell wasn't what he'd spent the majority of his life working toward. So, why not try out the opposite approach? Go out there, actually experience just a little bit of life with all its tumult and chaos like the rest of the galaxy did, and determine if the effortless stability these people enjoyed was truly just some quirk of fate? Maybe, just maybe, they knew something he didn't, even without KNOWING they knew it. He'd heard the Dark Side compared to a poison often enough; maybe, like some poisons, an immunity could be built by small, controlled doses. So, he drank water and waited a day for the hangover to pass, and then he sought out Satander Drix, one of those friends from the impromptu graduation ceremony, a member of the MedCorps, and in Jaidan's opinion, probably the most impressive of that group. The man hadn't, strictly speaking, FAILED at anything. Five years before, he'd simply gone to his Master, and shared his conclusion that neither the lightsaber, nor the deeper mysteries of the Force were the path for him. Instead, he'd joined up with MedCorps to hone his already more than respectable skill in the healing arts, then taken up semi-permanent residence in the bowels of the city planet, seeking out and ministering to those in need and forgotten, plenty of whom did in fact exist even on the jewel of the Core. And to that point, Jaidan didn't think he'd ever met anyone who seemed happier. Still, even the most devoted needed some down time, right? And Satander knew Coruscant, or at least a chunk of it. So what did someone do for FUN there when they didn't have anyone sending stern and disapproving looks over their shoulder anymore? The next evening, Jaidan had temporarily exchanged his robes for less eye catching apparel, and the two of them made their way a kilometer or so downward for the nightly swoop races. The subtlety was simply in order that he might be sure of merely viewing the spectacle, rather than being part of it; he'd been assured there was nothing legally questionable about the event. But it WAS just a little below the radar, as it were, and Jaidan had to admit he was of one mind with Satander on this: amateur racing was the most fun to watch. The engines were lovingly tended to, but the bikes around them were often ugly, beat up old junkers. Some of the riders, as he understood it, even made a custom of trading bikes after each event, just to ensure skill remained the deciding factor, rather than who'd sunk the most credits into their ride. Therefore, as compared to the professional circuits, a spectator would see less concern over marring a multi-million credit chassis, and more boldness and enthusiasm from up and comers trying to get noticed. Now, Jaidan had heard of this sport, even seen some pre-recorded races before, but seeing it in person really WAS something else entirely, and for someone having fun simply for the sake of having fun, for the first time in almost twenty years...well, he must have cheered louder than any of the regulars as he saw that dented old swoop bike scream across the finish line as his friend looked on in quiet amusement. Afterwards, Satander made himself useful yet again, directing them toward a neighborhood cantina he knew to be popular with that crowd for informal after parties. All told, it really did feel like quite an education. No, it was not his first cantina, not his first technical exposure to the chaos and the bustle of such places. But he'd always been on the JOB before. Always watching for something of grave importance, never partaking of the energy of the place unless it actually sought them out in some way, always being forced to evaluate whether he'd acted properly even then. Suddenly...all of that was just turned off. All these people just seemed so vibrant, so alive, and as some of them took an interest in the new face, he could, by degrees, feel himself coming a little alive with them. He didn't have the credits to go TOO nuts, and he was too lacking in the everyday minutia of swoop racing or otherwise to get into too many in depth conversations - He'd already decided he wouldn't lie about being a Jedi, but he'd avoid the topic if he could, and that limited his options somewhat. - but even so! He helped himself to two rounds of juma juice, and made himself proficient in the basics of pazaak that night. Honestly, the last time he remembered this heady combination of freedom and discovery was before the Jedi, playing around outside the family estate with Reyna and Te. But the women here weren't kin, they didn't dress like Jedi, and the proportions had gotten a lot more interesting. That was actually, at once, the most unnerving and the most exhilarating part of the evening. He'd been engaged in conversation - This was a sporting crowd, and he'd realized the martial arts were sports of a kind, which he could speak on with some authority. There was an advantage to white hair being immediately associated with such things. - with a rather striking young woman in a sleeveless jacket that exposed the head of what appeared to be a star dragon tattoo on her upper right bicep. Between his inexperience and the effort he was expending trying not to imagine where and how far the rest of the tattoo went, he realized only too late that she'd been hitting on him. Just as well, perhaps. He wasn't yet sure if he was prepared to go quite THAT far with his exploration. That wouldn't be the last swoop race he attended though, and over the next few years, he'd push the boundaries of the Jedi code with considerably more confidence. But the evening seemed otherwise a success! He'd had the time of his life, and no temptation to decapitate even a single baby! But it was time to return home, and determine if, after so long away, it could still be a home to him. And as the hired speeder dropped him off at the foot path leading up to the compound, he was certainly content that no great change to the place itself would prevent that. It had been lovingly tended, and remained just as he remembered it. But the greater test lay ahead, as he emerged into that courtyard where so much of his early childhood had unfolded, bringing nothing nothing but his robes, swords and uncertainty. And he found Chaya standing there, awaiting him. She was different, but for a span of 20 years, only subtly so. The white and unchanging hair gave most Echani a somewhat ageless look, but more than that, her eyes were bright, her posture unbowed, and her face...difficult to read beyond the obvious spark of recognition as she studied him. He wasn't sure WHAT played across his face, until he glimpsed a reminder of his Trial, as his mother crossed to the center of the courtyard, shifted into a fighting stance, and extended her knifed hand toward him in both invitation and challenge. And the REAL Jaidan Shatani managed a subtle smile as he answered, adopting the same stance as he linked the back of his wrist to the back of hers. It was tentative, even a little awkward at first, technically more than proficient, but...it was complicated. On the one hand, he knew it was a failure of his Jedi training that his emotional attachment to this woman made him any more or less hesitant to give his best against her than to any other sparring partner. On the other, it angered him that after all this time working to hold on to the memory of his origin and honor it, that he was letting those teachings dictate things here. And most of all, it irritated him that 18 years had apparently only left him stuck somewhere between the two! But as the match proceeded, it became clear that somehow, his mother just seemed to understand all this as though he'd spoken it aloud. He could tell she was holding back a little bit herself at first, but she decidedly took the offensive in the opening minutes to coax him out of his hesitation. Then, so seamlessly he almost missed it, she just eased off and switched her focus to defense as her son began to expend some of that frustrated energy, and then...at some point, their paces and maneuvers just seemed to sync up. They were STILL attacking with enough force to break bones on a clean hit, yet there was no dread to it at all. Even as he threw a knife hand jab out at a nerve cluster on her neck, he knew not only that she would duck to the right, but how she would counter, how he needed to drop to avoid that, how he needed to be ready to roll out of the way if his leg sweep failed...and so on, all playing out as if they had choreographed and rehearsed it all. This was the first time he'd ever sparred in this way with another Echani. He wasn't sure he COULD talk in this way with anyone save Arik. And yet, after 15 minutes, he was soaked with sweat, and a little sore, but he was grinning. Somehow, he felt as if he'd not simply made use of a formidable talent, but made his hopes and fears clear. He still didn't know just what direction his life was taking, or should take, but he was definitely Echani. And Jedi. However he one day chose to balance those two, whether or not he could ultimately resolve the conflict without choosing one or the other, he had not let anyone down. He could still be all that he hoped one day to be. In the meantime, his smiling mother welcomed him home with a hug, and bid him seek out the showers while she readied him a bowl of soup. In addition to reuniting with his sisters as well, it was on that visit that he became fixed on his ultimate path as a Jedi Weapon Master. After he'd had a few days to settle in, Chaya approached him in the courtyard with a curious weapon in hand. He recognized it after a moment; it had returned to the estate before he was born, but without its owner. The polehammer had been his father's, and now that he was strong enough, she wondered if he would bear it as well. Taking it tentatively from her, he gave the weapon a few experimental thrusts and swings, and found its construction made it surprisingly lightweight but still rather unwieldy. It was only after actually activating the weapon that the artistry worthy of an Echani weapon smith became evident, and a suite of internal sensors helped direct the output of the dual ultrasonic generators housed in the haft, effectively balancing out the weight at either end until the wielder had committed to a swing. This was a weapon specifically designed to kill a foe clad in lightsaber proof Beskar armor while maintaining as much speed and agility as possible, and he was impressed, but he regretfully informed her that it wouldn't be practical for him to carry the weapon around, even if the Council had no objection...which seemed unlikely, given the emotional connection attached to it. But perhaps he could honor his father's legacy in a different way. While the polehammer was sadly unsuitable, and his favored weapon other than the lightsaber would frankly always be no weapon at all, it would please him greatly to learn and take up a true Echani weapon like this. Well pleased with that response, Chaya opened up the family armory, and bade him take his pick. The selection was a bit daunting, at first. Shatani warriors had, in times past, mastered daggers, blasters, shock gauntlets, swords of both the single and double-bladed variety, and on the list went. They even had some high quality Echani made versions of offworld designs, like the San-Ni staff. Eventually, however, his eye was drawn to a simple, unassuming wooden quarterstaff, not unlike the stick that had guided him in his time of self-imposed blindness. Some day, when he felt himself ready to do it justice, his mother promised they would visit Haskaton, the clan's greatest living smith, and craft its likeness, a formidable and elegant symbol of his heritage. He just needed to learn. And that was the task that would define the next decade and more of his life. He learned. And he taught. He never took a Padawan, owing to his relentless drive to improve his own skills and feeling his narrow focus would be an insufficient foundation for a Jedi learner, but he did take up his place among the advanced combat instructors, specializing in Makashi fencing and unarmed combat. Splitting his time between Eshan and Coruscant to further his own studies in the latter category was a bit of a juggling act at first, but he soon made it work quite smoothly. In order that he not have to halt his saber practice while on Eshan, he tutored some of the local warriors in what he had learned with the weapon. His main reason for doing so initially was simply so that he could have some decent sparring partners for any style on either world, but he soon realized that the act would have larger implications. Setting up a two-way flow of knowledge allowed him to act as a cultural ambassador of sorts, particularly after he received permission to start bringing small groups of Jedi along with him to Eshan. In this way, a sort of unofficial Praxeum formed on Eshan, and some of the Republic's most effective warriors in the dark times to come would be produced from that cooperation. Throughout his Knighthood, of course, he made it known that he was at the Council's disposal for any specific missions they may require, heeding the conventional wisdom that true expertise at anything was best forged by real experience. They took him up on the offer from time to time; in fact, it was a mission not unlike the one on Ammuun, assisting a sting operation, that introduced him to Locke Nemsee, a man far less subtle than himself with his deviation from the image of a picture perfect Jedi. Despite a ten year age gap, the two became fast friends. Unlike some of his peers, however, it was not his fate to cross blades with a Dark Jedi on any of these forays. Still, he was always beset by some lingering feeling that he would one day be so tested, and he made sure he was well-prepared. The Temple instructors held regular exhibition tournaments, both for their own benefit and for that of the trainees still undecided about what style might suit them best. These exhibition matches were always fought with training weapons, of course, but all the same, they were very competitive, and open to any Jedi who cared to test themselves. Even as Jaidan perfected his signature Radial Makashi style, he faced and devised strategies to counter every single saber style, even the fabled Juyo. By the time he was 30, a recognized Weapon Master, it was only a small list remaining of the Order's finest duelists that he could not consistently defeat. And, lastly, he made certain that he still had a life beyond his training. Occasionally, he would return to Mustafar, or perhaps it would be Rhen Var or Seraphim for a meditative retreat, always by the least quick and direct route he could find. In this way, he could take some time and actually enjoy the local flavor along the way. Closer to home, he'd sometimes visit the theaters when his day's tasks were complete to see the latest thriller, or go out and and take in a game of Zone Ball. He remains an avid swoop racing fan to this day, of course. Admittedly, some of his more "mature" adventurous leanings became a good deal more tempered after a drunken one-night stand with another Knight freshly quit from the Order, Anushka Faddei, left him with a whole lot of unresolved questions and feelings. But he remained, and remains, a good deal Greyer and more worldly than most of his contemporaries. And of course he would seek out Satander on any number of occasions, and for more than social coaching, even though Drix remains to this day one of his dearest friends. Living his life as fully as he could only reinforced the Jedi belief in him that every life was to be guarded and cherished. As such, while he may have been a warrior first and foremost, he yearned to develop capabilities beyond violence or forbearance. So, whenever he was on Coruscant with some time and energy to spare, he'd roll up his sleeves, and help out at Satander's clinic any way he could. He turned out to be a surer hand with a med kit than Force Healing, and neither skillset would ever come remotely close to his skill with a lightsaber, but it still felt good to try. And so try he did, as regularly as he could, until a crisis arose that he knew only his lightfoil could answer. War: (To Present) Sadly, the galaxy seemed to become a more dangerous place with every passing year. Tensions with the Sith Empire had been growing all his life, and while that wasn't terribly surprising given that the other party had actually chosen to take up the name of an ancient order of genocidal maniacs, the trouble was inexorably building up to something that could no longer be ignored. He'd only just recently been paired with his own master when word reached him of the Master and Padawan slain on Keldabe. He was knighted at a time when suspicion was falling on other Knights who'd disappeared in Imperial Space. And then came Dantooine. Granted, he was nowhere near the Outer Rim, much less the planet itself when the Sith invasion force landed, but it was personally chilling all the same to think of it. He'd walked those enclave halls, now in ruins. He'd sat with his back against a tree, and been calmed by the tall grass swaying rhythmically with the wind. Now...now that same view would include tanks. Coupled with the ever-multiplying rumors of Dark Jedi and new rumblings from Korriban, it didn't take a sage to see the Dark Side at work in this. And sages DID see the Dark Side at work. So, when the debates began as to what the Jedi should do about the situation, particularly when they started to build in intensity, Jaidan listened, but did not deign to weigh in on any of them himself. This seemed like exactly the sort of thing his people had in mind when they described talk as a lesser form of communication. The other side clearly had a very impassioned and ingrained idea of what their duty was, and they were welcome to it; he just didn't share it. As for him, he was well aware of the parallels being drawn to Revan and the Mandalorian Wars, but frankly, he didn't see what difference it would make even if the Sith - The REAL Sith - had nothing to do with it. Whoever was ultimately responsible, the Republic found itself outmatched in the Outer Rim, and it was costing many innocent lives. If there was some hidden complexity which rendered that NOT the concern of a Jedi Knight, then it was complex beyond his understanding. The one bit of talking he DID undertake was with the Battlemaster, when he respectfully thanked the man for the confidence placed him over the years, and announced that he would have to step down from his position. And when Vreem Took led the Blades to war, Jaidan went with them. Initially, however, it was his experience as an instructor rather than his prowess as a fighter that they called upon. It was vividly confirmed after Rhen Var that soldiers of the Republic must prepare to face true Sith Knights, armed with lightsabers and the Force. Most Jedi weren't truly prepared for a fight like that; for the ordinary Republic infantryman, it was a virtual suicide mission. So, Jaidan was stationed at the great fortress on Seraphim, given command of a company of greener Jedi in need of some training themselves, and put in charge of designing a comprehensive training course designed to instill the skills and tactics that would give their soldiers the best possible chance of survival. It was hard for him, staying behind and listening to one dire report after another while his friends went out into harm's way, but he endured. He used the time as effectively as he could, receiving basic training from Republic personnel on the pistol range and flight simulators. He hardly mastered either skill, but he was confident that both would be valuable to have in reserve when the time came. And eventually, once he'd trained people who could replace him, he was given leave to go assist directly. And whatever it said about him, he has thrived in war. At first, having missed Thila and the other major early engagements of the campaign, his involvement was limited to skirmishes and delaying actions, small scale engagements intended to buy time and breathing room for civilian evacuations. Then, happenstance (Being the only Jedi in range when they suddenly found themselves in need of an operative.) led to a partnership with the Strategic Information Service, and more missions. The first such mission, venturing into the slums of Nar Shadaa to infiltrate a criminal stronghold and stop a Sith plan to smuggle a bioweapon into the Core, nearly ended in disaster. In his inexperience, he hoped that a change of clothes would be enough to help him blend in, so long as he didn't do anything overtly "space wizard". He did well at first, but was soon sniffed out by nothing less than a Sith Lord. Outmatched, he was able to turn the tide only thanks to an unexpected reunion and the timely assistance of his one-time paramour, Anushka. Still, the mission was a success, and he went on to strategically serve the Republic's interests on many more occasions...after he spent some time consulting with Locke Nemsee, who graciously gave him some coaching in how a real operative worked. The time they had before both had to return to the front was obviously insufficient to pass along years of hard-earned skill and instinct, but the Investigator was able to teach him one invaluable trick. That radiance which made every Force Sensitive shine out like a beacon could be pulled in and hidden, rendering the practitioner essentially invisible in the Force. It took great concentration to maintain, and obviously a Jedi's other powers could not be used at the same time, but that only made Jaidan wish he'd learned the ability years earlier. A handicap like that made for a wonderful training tool. In any case, while the anxiety continued to mount despite his best efforts, while he could never quite convince himself that he was doing all he could to halt the Sith advance without placing himself directly in its path, all these various skirmishes and sub rosa deployments definitely added up. By the time the Sith moved in force on Taris, he was well past worrying about lack of experience in life or death saber duels, having been engaged by Sith knights on 19 separate occasions which left 23 fallen, four captured and one twice spared in his wake. By the end of that bloody day on the ruined city world, that first figure had roughly doubled. One development of many that day which he found little cause to celebrate. Taris was not, as they'd all hoped, the turning point where the Sith offensive finally ground to a halt. Rather, it was where the dam broke, and the violence flooded in from the Outer Rim. But he made it out of that hell alive, long enough to learn that the tragedy had finally been enough to sway the Order at large, and that WAS something to celebrate. And in a sense, Taris finally allowed him to let himself off the hook. He'd given it his all, right where the fight was at its worst. It wasn't enough - then. And that was alright, as long as he continued to do his part, by refusing to abandon his hope that the Sith CAN be stopped, and the Republic saved. And so, knowing the chance to show his resolve will come again much too soon, he's busy doing the same thing the rest of the Republic's doing. Catching his breath, and making his preparations. Following Taris, Jaidan stepped away from the front lines for a time.  Initially, this was so that he could assist with the re-training of his friend Meira Valli, who had been grievously injured in the battle, but he also stepped back into his old role as a combat instructor.  He also assisted in the Republic's investigations into Sith infiltration of the Core Systems.  But the war continued, and over the next few years, it began to take its toll. It wasn't the fighting itself.  No matter how hard or how brutal, it always felt natural to him.  But his duties as a general, helping direct the overall strategy of the war, reduced the carnage to simple objectives and cost.  He was beginning to regard the wholesale death of their enemy not with savage glee, but a sort of workman's satisfaction in a job well done.  Bit by bit, life was becoming cheap, and so long as the barbarians remained at the gates, there seemed no easy solution.  But he DID lead from the front as often as he could, allowing others to set the strategies while he stuck to implementing them.  It was enough, he believes, to hold on to himself.  But when the Sith were at last fought to a draw and a strained truce put into effect, Jaidan was content not to look for any more fights until they inevitably found him.  As such, he happily took up a position as Jedi Watchman of the Six Sisters, working diligently to ensure his home and his people were ready when chaos spilled free once again.

[DreadPirateMike]

Jaidan Shatani, Jedi Master (Rank 3)

(4 attribute points traded for skills and Force Affinity. 5 skill points traded for 2 attribute points.)

Attributes

Mental	7-1	Physical	8+1	Social	6-2
Intelligence	3	Strength	3	Presence	2
Wits	2	Dexterity	5	Manipulation	1
Resolve	4	Stamina	3	Composure	4

Mental Disciplines - 13 (15-2)

Physical Disciplines - 22 (18+4)

[/i]

Athletics: 5
Pilot: 2
Survival: 1
Stealth: 2
Larceny:
Lightsaber Combat: 5
Specialty: Makashi, classical and personally modified

[/ul]

Social Disciplines - 10 (12-3+1)

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Force Affinity: 4x5=20


Force Disciplines

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[/ul]

[Neology]