Silence Paints An Image

[Blue]

Neology | Ysmir Even in times of great upheaval, life went on. The galaxy never stopped spinning. Despite the various, numerous crises that afflicted the countless sentient beings inhabiting each world, things were always in motion. Falling, rising. Living, dying. The endless, pure cyclical pulse of everything. Moho could feel it when deep in meditation. That gentle thrumming sensation that vibrated through every atom of him. The quiet, steady heartbeat of all, beating in synchronisation with his own, as his mind emptied and that multitudinous stream filled his entire being. Four hundred and fifty years of life rescinded into nothing as his consciousness pulled away to witness the ever-stretching fields of eternity. Life went on. As did the Temple's curriculum. As such, Moho found himself in one of the larger classrooms, utilised commonly for training the more physical aspects of Jedi life, preparing to do that which he enjoyed the most: teach. It would be a somewhat different session of learning today, however; more than one teacher would be heading the class and combining their efforts to enlighten the young minds that would shape the future of the Order. The old Grand Master greatly looked forward to seeing what these younglings would one day accomplish in but a few decades. Moho was a little early to the room, so was, at the moment, alone. The sound of the quiet hum of his hoverchair filled the empty space as the old Jedi's bulky, seated form drifted towards the center. He floated there for a moment, the larger pair of arms terminating in large pincers folded comfortably in his lap as the smaller couple manipulated the controls of his mobility device to turn him towards the door. Warm, amber eyes swept across the room as a gentle smile slipped onto his broad face, observing the chairs and various pieces of training equipment that lay across the place. A moment later, the eyes closed. But the smile remained. As one, all of the items lifted from the ground and began slowly circling the Jedi Master, like a dozen moons orbiting a planet. Piece by piece, the training apparatus were stacked neatly away against the walls, opening up a nice wide area in anticipation of the approaching lesson.

[Ysmir]

Although never one to consider himself "complacent", Macen nonetheless appreciated the time he got to simply relax and be at peace more and more as he got older.

As per his vocation's demands, he was constantly on the move; whether it was diffusing sociopolitical strife on Corellia or putting down an armed, violent rebellion on Metellos, he very seldom found himself with free time to take a breather. Master Varn had always stressed the importance of mental and emotional rest to the idyllic Padawan, but even as he aged gracefully to his middle years, Macen remained stubborn. If he wasn't moving forward, he felt as though he would spiral, or sink into the ground where he stood. However, this was a special case. Amidst the toil and trouble smiting the Galaxy at large, he had been requested at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant for a very particular purpose while he remained there for the next few days. Often, it was easy to forget those needing instruction during days of duress and war. Master Moho was not so forgetful, as it so turned out. Macen was to be given the honor of assisting in an extended teaching session alongside the Grandmaster of the Order himself, as well as the Battlemaster, Master Vyshaan -- a person he very much looked up to.

Being the case as it was, Macen decided to extend his stay at the Temple and take this opportunity to instruct with and even learn from two of the oldest and most venerated members of the Order. Macen had carved quite the legacy out for himself in a relatively short time as a warrior and disciple of the Light, but in his mind, even his accomplishments paled when stacked up against these two icons. It almost excited him at the prospect of being able to see their philosophies and skills in person.

His strolls through the Temple were always enjoyable ones. He kept his hands folded between each other afore his waist, covered by the sleeves of his intricately woven Jedi robes. He greeted each individual he passed with a simple smile and a nod of his head. If he had something approaching a home, this was it; he hadn't been back to Ord Mantell since he left it at such a young age. Over three decades he had walked these halls, and he remembered fondly the times when he'd sit alone in the library late at night reading about the old Masters and the recorded origins of the Force. He had woefully neglected his mental pursuits in recent years, chalking it up to the sheer bulk of work he kept himself busy with. Silver linings in everything, though; Master Varn would certainly be pleased with how far his saber work had come. As he walked through the hallway leading to the larger classroom they'd be using today, Macen smiled to himself thinking of his old Master.

The automatic doors opened as he approached, and his hands dropped to his side as he observed the multitude of objects floating around a singular individual in the center of the room. Master Moho and his warm smile greeted Macen, as the man observed the Grandmaster clearing the area for their lesson.

Knowing he wouldn't even come close to breaking the Jedi's concentration, Macen spoke. "Good morning, Grandmaster." Macen walked further into the room when some of the chairs had been moved out of the way, offering Moho a smile and brief bow of his head, eyes closed. Macen looked around the empty room, his eyes eventually settling on the Prell. "I have to say, I'm quite excited for the lesson. It isn't often I get to pass on some knowledge to the Younglings. Thank you for giving me this opportunity."

Then, after a few beats of silence, he raised a brow and looked around the room. "Where's Master Vyshaan?"