Post by lion on Jun 1, 2015 7:57:07 GMT -5
Name:
Fenn Soran
Race:
Bothan
Age:
22
Birthplace: Talus, Corellia System.
Allegiance: Jedi Order
Status: Jedi Padawan
Rank: Jedi Healer/Artisan
Height/Weight:
5'3", 135 lbs
Appearance:
(Art by the awesome Acaciathorn)
As a Bothan, Fenn's a fairly small man by human standard with a lean, almost athletic build free of all but a very thin layer of body fat, but likewise devoid of packed muscle, striking an odd balance between the two. He's covered head to toe in tan, almost golden fur, with thick dark brown hair adoring his head, jawline, his forearms and his calves, almost oily in appearance due to its subdued 'shine' under any light. He sports green eyes, bushy eyebrows, a canine jaw complete with snout, and two large, tapered ears adorn the top of his animalistic head, able to move independently of each other.
As with most Jedi learners, Fenn wears the Padawan braid, and as with all Bothan people, his fur ripples in reflection of emotional state; providing something of a 'tell' to those who can read the subtle shifts and understand what they mean. He almost exclusively wears Jedi robes; the uniform of an apprentice, unless his task requires him not to, and those are few and far between indeed, complete with his utility belt, undershirt and trousers and, more often than not, his lightsaber.
Despite the views of materialism the Jedi hold, however, Fenn's recent display of confidence has borne a rebellious diversion; a trio of green-tinged piercings to his right ear.
Being covered in fur as he is, Fenn is meticulous with his bathing and grooming, both as a means of general hygiene and for practicality's sake; tangled or mangy fur would be a problem with healing wounds, after all, and worse still if any stray strands met the business end of his lightsaber in practice.
To some few older Jedi aware of him, Fenn is the spitting image of Jedi Master Raek Orad'al, the boy's father; something of a reminder of the elder Jedi's rebellious nature potentially for some.
Personality:
Fenn's a confident young man, or at least seems to be at first glance, fully capable of expressing his thoughts and his opinions to all who will (and many more who won't) listen, with seemingly little sense of fear for the repercussions that such a mindset brings. He's got a sense of humour but it's a little dry and sarcastic for most tastes, often at the expense of himself or others rather than through wit or creative punchlines, and often brought out as an emotional salve than any real means of enjoyment, even if very rarely; the boy keeps it to himself for the most part.
It's not to say Fenn doesn't, or cannot, make friends; he knows many people in the Order and has made some lifelong friends but is slow to truly trust any of them, aside of one or two at most, as a confidant; he'd give his life for any of them and likely has tended to most of them as a healer, but the Bothan keeps his cards tight to his chest for the most part, preferring to take the focus away from himself.
You will find, however, few people as willing as Fenn to throw themselves into something with as much grit and determination, even if it means abject fear throughout, though by the same token few will put themselves under the same pressure Fenn places upon himself to do better, and few who will regard themselves so lowly for perceived failures.
For all the social confidence Fenn possesses and his approach to work ethics, he's not without his shortcomings; the Bothan is in insecure, stemming from what he views as a low connection to the Force compared to his peers, and deep down, he's a little bitter about it; he started strong and peaked early, whilst others have surpassed him with the passage of time. Whilst this is merely a lack of understanding, this fact sows seeds of doubt that erode the Bothan's otherwise fine self-image; the Bothan only finds himself increasingly frustrated and doubtful, even scared for what his future holds, in light of his seemingly plateaued abilities.
Due to this, Fenn is a little submissive toward more forceful-personality Jedi; the Bothan's a follower, not a leader, and whilst he can take action if he must, he prefers to take instruction over giving them. This can often get the young Bothan into trouble, too; as whilst he's smart, a forceful or confident personality could convince him to do things he'd otherwise not do.
Whilst Fenn has tried to make himself useful among the Order, learning the healing arts and the ways to construct and repair lightsabers like many great artisans before him, Fenn takes little pride in these achievements and often quietly ponders if these actions are sufficient to hold a place in the Order at all, with this doubt eroding his confidence tremendously. The Bothan is no coward, but he is still young and very aware of his mortality thanks to recent events; whilst his is prepared as many Jedi would be to eventually become one with the Force and can be courageous in times of need, he is far from the iron-willed, fearless Jedi of lore and myth; he can be rattled and does become scared in the face of overwhelming odds.
Despite this, however, Fenn is somewhat untapped potential among the Jedi Order; whilst Fenn is nowhere near as deeply attuned to the Force as his father, the boy has a nevertheless ample reservoir to draw from, with a strong future as a skilled Jedi Knight possibly ahead of him. With his own sense of self doubts and beliefs being the stopgap to applying this potential, however, the boy languishes; he will need to embark on a deep and soul-searching journey to clear this problem.
Despite being adherent to Jedi principles of restraint and self control, Fenn is a known sweet-tooth, too. He'll hardly stuff his face and certainly knows when enough is enough, but good luck keeping him from anything sugary for too long, especially when he's hungry; Trandoshani flatcakes with bluefruit syrup are a favourite.
Ships/Vehicles:
None
Equipment:
A single, orange bladed, variable-power design featuring a subtle palm-swell grip near the middle of the hilt, Fenn's personal lightsaber is a prime example of his potential ability as a craftsman; its simple and understated appearance belie its meticulous construction, and its fine balance allows it to be wielded with one or two hand grips with ease. Maintenance is simple; the palm swell features a removable access panel to power cell storage and charging ports, whilst the crystal chambers are accessible through quick dis-assembly.
Using a pair of smaller, deformed Adegan crystals as the focus, Fenn spent days refining, polishing, cutting and re-shaping the damaged stones to nigh flawless state in order to develop the weapon's qualities; producing a highly mobile blade of modest width to suit his needs as a Shien practitioner, favouring blast deflection, whilst its twin-gem structure provides highly defined blade shape, further improving weapon control for finesse-based attacks and precise blocks; another staple for Shien's demanding aimed-deflections.
Fenn often always carries a datapad with him, a first-aid satchel consisting of kolto packs, bandages and doctor's tools, a comm-link as common for the Jedi, as well as spare lightsaber parts and tools tucked away in a spare pouch of his pack; always ready to start tinkering and re-jigging half-complete projects as the time arises.
Stats: (Feeble, Below Average, Average, Above Average, Superior, Legendary)
Strength -Below Average
Agility -Average
Intelligence -Average
Charisma -Below Average
Force Stats: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Telekinetic-Apprentice
Telepathic- Novice
Body-Novice
Sense- Apprentice
Protection- Novice
Healing:– Adept
Destruction–Unskilled
Combat Training: Aside of a lightsaber, none. Fenn can swing punches, but he has no talent for unarmed combat, marksmanship, or non-lightsaber combat.
Force Training:
Detoxify Poison: Apprentice
Malacia: Learning (Below Novice)*
*: Fenn's training as a healer has opened up the possibility of applying that knowledge not only to heal, but to incapacitate. Learning how to treat conditions such as nausea (miscommunication between the eye and the brain) and dizziness (disturbing the equilibrium) brings on the potential to impart them, and through this, Fenn has begun the lengthy process of learning the obscure Malacia force-power. He can't apply it for long, but in the right circumstances, it's potent enough to be felt.
Other Training:
Field Medicine: Adept
General First Aid/Medicine: Adept
Lightsaber Repair/Construction: Adept
Jewellery Finishing: Apprentice
Electrician-ship: Apprentice
Lightsaber Training: (Untrained, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master, Specialist)
Shii-Cho-Apprentice.
Makashi: Novice.
Shien/Djem So- Adept.*
*: Fenn is a Shien purist; its wide strokes helping to mitigate the reach disadvantage imparted from his size, preferring Shien's precision in place of the raw strength required for Djem So. The Bothan's single-minded use of the form has made him fairly capable with it, and, taking its application of aimed deflection, aggressive-defence and emphasis on counter-attack to heart, even engages in lightsaber duels using the form.
As such, the Bothan is a proactive counter-fighter, seeking to force his opponent to make a mistake and capitalise on it, whilst himself maintaining a firm defence; able to advance and retreat as needed without leaving himself too far open. He rarely breaks from Shien, though, using what he knows of Shii-Cho and Makashi not as separate forms but instead nit-picking moves and tactics from them to bolster his classical Form V style.
Biography:
Roleplay Sample:
Damned lightsaber burns!
It wasn't just the pain that had the young man on edge, quietly gritting his teeth as the bandage fell away under the careful tug, revealing beneath the parted reams of golden-yellow fur the fleshy pink scald mark in all its nasty beauty, but it was certainly what made him draw breath in quiet hisses; even the air itself seemed to agitate the skin.
It was tempting to lean into the Force, to let its soothing energies flow and isolate the issue, to correct the wrong, but even trying seemed difficult; not merely from the physical pain and exhaustion clouding the Bothan's focus but from the sense of selfishness that seemed to rise from it.
No, the kolto will do. It will have to do.
Another long day and the feeling of fatigue seemed to be only ever stronger present in the young man's motions as Fenn exhaled, feeling his narrow shoulders sag and his head droop slightly, as if his neck could no longer stand the weight of his own skull. The Healing Halls were silent, free of the bustle of treatments and hurried attendants that carried through the daylight hours, allowing the cool chill of the night to bring rest.
Hours of work in keeping patients as comfortable as they could be, providing treatment and assistance, should have been enough for Fenn to have perhaps considered ducking out of his duties in assisting in the initiates lightsaber instruction, but pride had blinded the Bothan much in the same way that stubbornness had.
Instead, all that was left was the scald of a lightsaber across the arm, two more along the back, and a bitter sense of regret and shame. The assistance was hardly a chore; Fenn was a modest fencer and the practice was always welcome, but it was the small things that seemed to add up to the young Apprentice's mind that left him wondering. Why the instructor's lightsaber had been dialed in twice as strong as standard practice intensities, for example, had left Fenn wondering if the burns were perhaps a subtle hint to him.
Whatever it was, fatigue had certainly set in regardless; between healing and fighting, Fenn could feel himself drift ever closer to sleep, and yet, ever closer to falling down where he stood to get it, despite whatever connotations a shirtless, haphazardly-patched Apprentice in the Healing Halls would give.
Though, with a growl as the Bothan steadied his arm and felt the kolto patch press against the aggrieved flesh, bringing a fiery stinging sensation behind his eyes forward to the point of nearly making him cry out, it was hard not to wonder if there were perhaps any other motives going on. By the Force it hurt to even hold in place, but Fenn bit down all the same, gritting his teeth against his bottom lip for a second as his hands carefully guided the clips into place, binding the strap around his forearm to hold it flush to him.
It was harder not to swear under his breath; an aggressive little anesthetic to numb the pain was a comfort the Jedi wasn't about to spare himself...
"Next time I find that lightsaber higher than training I'm gonna shove it so far up...Hell, that stings...." Muttered Fenn under his breath, and leaning forward against the medical bench, felt his forehead press to the cool durasteel; ignoring the thin sheen of sweat in his fur. Oh, for a few moments of rest without everything either feeling as if it were on fire or about to fall off, would be nice...
Fenn Soran
Race:
Bothan
Age:
22
Birthplace: Talus, Corellia System.
Allegiance: Jedi Order
Status: Jedi Padawan
Rank: Jedi Healer/Artisan
Height/Weight:
5'3", 135 lbs
Appearance:
(Art by the awesome Acaciathorn)
As a Bothan, Fenn's a fairly small man by human standard with a lean, almost athletic build free of all but a very thin layer of body fat, but likewise devoid of packed muscle, striking an odd balance between the two. He's covered head to toe in tan, almost golden fur, with thick dark brown hair adoring his head, jawline, his forearms and his calves, almost oily in appearance due to its subdued 'shine' under any light. He sports green eyes, bushy eyebrows, a canine jaw complete with snout, and two large, tapered ears adorn the top of his animalistic head, able to move independently of each other.
As with most Jedi learners, Fenn wears the Padawan braid, and as with all Bothan people, his fur ripples in reflection of emotional state; providing something of a 'tell' to those who can read the subtle shifts and understand what they mean. He almost exclusively wears Jedi robes; the uniform of an apprentice, unless his task requires him not to, and those are few and far between indeed, complete with his utility belt, undershirt and trousers and, more often than not, his lightsaber.
Despite the views of materialism the Jedi hold, however, Fenn's recent display of confidence has borne a rebellious diversion; a trio of green-tinged piercings to his right ear.
Being covered in fur as he is, Fenn is meticulous with his bathing and grooming, both as a means of general hygiene and for practicality's sake; tangled or mangy fur would be a problem with healing wounds, after all, and worse still if any stray strands met the business end of his lightsaber in practice.
To some few older Jedi aware of him, Fenn is the spitting image of Jedi Master Raek Orad'al, the boy's father; something of a reminder of the elder Jedi's rebellious nature potentially for some.
Personality:
Fenn's a confident young man, or at least seems to be at first glance, fully capable of expressing his thoughts and his opinions to all who will (and many more who won't) listen, with seemingly little sense of fear for the repercussions that such a mindset brings. He's got a sense of humour but it's a little dry and sarcastic for most tastes, often at the expense of himself or others rather than through wit or creative punchlines, and often brought out as an emotional salve than any real means of enjoyment, even if very rarely; the boy keeps it to himself for the most part.
It's not to say Fenn doesn't, or cannot, make friends; he knows many people in the Order and has made some lifelong friends but is slow to truly trust any of them, aside of one or two at most, as a confidant; he'd give his life for any of them and likely has tended to most of them as a healer, but the Bothan keeps his cards tight to his chest for the most part, preferring to take the focus away from himself.
You will find, however, few people as willing as Fenn to throw themselves into something with as much grit and determination, even if it means abject fear throughout, though by the same token few will put themselves under the same pressure Fenn places upon himself to do better, and few who will regard themselves so lowly for perceived failures.
For all the social confidence Fenn possesses and his approach to work ethics, he's not without his shortcomings; the Bothan is in insecure, stemming from what he views as a low connection to the Force compared to his peers, and deep down, he's a little bitter about it; he started strong and peaked early, whilst others have surpassed him with the passage of time. Whilst this is merely a lack of understanding, this fact sows seeds of doubt that erode the Bothan's otherwise fine self-image; the Bothan only finds himself increasingly frustrated and doubtful, even scared for what his future holds, in light of his seemingly plateaued abilities.
Due to this, Fenn is a little submissive toward more forceful-personality Jedi; the Bothan's a follower, not a leader, and whilst he can take action if he must, he prefers to take instruction over giving them. This can often get the young Bothan into trouble, too; as whilst he's smart, a forceful or confident personality could convince him to do things he'd otherwise not do.
Whilst Fenn has tried to make himself useful among the Order, learning the healing arts and the ways to construct and repair lightsabers like many great artisans before him, Fenn takes little pride in these achievements and often quietly ponders if these actions are sufficient to hold a place in the Order at all, with this doubt eroding his confidence tremendously. The Bothan is no coward, but he is still young and very aware of his mortality thanks to recent events; whilst his is prepared as many Jedi would be to eventually become one with the Force and can be courageous in times of need, he is far from the iron-willed, fearless Jedi of lore and myth; he can be rattled and does become scared in the face of overwhelming odds.
Despite this, however, Fenn is somewhat untapped potential among the Jedi Order; whilst Fenn is nowhere near as deeply attuned to the Force as his father, the boy has a nevertheless ample reservoir to draw from, with a strong future as a skilled Jedi Knight possibly ahead of him. With his own sense of self doubts and beliefs being the stopgap to applying this potential, however, the boy languishes; he will need to embark on a deep and soul-searching journey to clear this problem.
Despite being adherent to Jedi principles of restraint and self control, Fenn is a known sweet-tooth, too. He'll hardly stuff his face and certainly knows when enough is enough, but good luck keeping him from anything sugary for too long, especially when he's hungry; Trandoshani flatcakes with bluefruit syrup are a favourite.
Ships/Vehicles:
None
Equipment:
A single, orange bladed, variable-power design featuring a subtle palm-swell grip near the middle of the hilt, Fenn's personal lightsaber is a prime example of his potential ability as a craftsman; its simple and understated appearance belie its meticulous construction, and its fine balance allows it to be wielded with one or two hand grips with ease. Maintenance is simple; the palm swell features a removable access panel to power cell storage and charging ports, whilst the crystal chambers are accessible through quick dis-assembly.
Using a pair of smaller, deformed Adegan crystals as the focus, Fenn spent days refining, polishing, cutting and re-shaping the damaged stones to nigh flawless state in order to develop the weapon's qualities; producing a highly mobile blade of modest width to suit his needs as a Shien practitioner, favouring blast deflection, whilst its twin-gem structure provides highly defined blade shape, further improving weapon control for finesse-based attacks and precise blocks; another staple for Shien's demanding aimed-deflections.
Fenn often always carries a datapad with him, a first-aid satchel consisting of kolto packs, bandages and doctor's tools, a comm-link as common for the Jedi, as well as spare lightsaber parts and tools tucked away in a spare pouch of his pack; always ready to start tinkering and re-jigging half-complete projects as the time arises.
Stats: (Feeble, Below Average, Average, Above Average, Superior, Legendary)
Strength -Below Average
Agility -Average
Intelligence -Average
Charisma -Below Average
Force Stats: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Telekinetic-Apprentice
Telepathic- Novice
Body-Novice
Sense- Apprentice
Protection- Novice
Healing:– Adept
Destruction–Unskilled
Combat Training: Aside of a lightsaber, none. Fenn can swing punches, but he has no talent for unarmed combat, marksmanship, or non-lightsaber combat.
Force Training:
Detoxify Poison: Apprentice
Malacia: Learning (Below Novice)*
*: Fenn's training as a healer has opened up the possibility of applying that knowledge not only to heal, but to incapacitate. Learning how to treat conditions such as nausea (miscommunication between the eye and the brain) and dizziness (disturbing the equilibrium) brings on the potential to impart them, and through this, Fenn has begun the lengthy process of learning the obscure Malacia force-power. He can't apply it for long, but in the right circumstances, it's potent enough to be felt.
Other Training:
Field Medicine: Adept
General First Aid/Medicine: Adept
Lightsaber Repair/Construction: Adept
Jewellery Finishing: Apprentice
Electrician-ship: Apprentice
Lightsaber Training: (Untrained, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master, Specialist)
Shii-Cho-Apprentice.
Makashi: Novice.
Shien/Djem So- Adept.*
*: Fenn is a Shien purist; its wide strokes helping to mitigate the reach disadvantage imparted from his size, preferring Shien's precision in place of the raw strength required for Djem So. The Bothan's single-minded use of the form has made him fairly capable with it, and, taking its application of aimed deflection, aggressive-defence and emphasis on counter-attack to heart, even engages in lightsaber duels using the form.
As such, the Bothan is a proactive counter-fighter, seeking to force his opponent to make a mistake and capitalise on it, whilst himself maintaining a firm defence; able to advance and retreat as needed without leaving himself too far open. He rarely breaks from Shien, though, using what he knows of Shii-Cho and Makashi not as separate forms but instead nit-picking moves and tactics from them to bolster his classical Form V style.
Biography:
Formative Years (1-5):
They say Jedi aren't supposed to have feelings of love or attachment, relationships strictly forbidden, but there come times where even the strictest of rules are tossed to the wayside. Fenn Soran is the result of one such incident; the son of Jedi Knight Raek Orad'al and his secret love, nerf-farmer Biree Soran'tul, Fenn Soran was born on Talus, in the Corellian system, in the year 3580 BBY.
The boy's birth, however welcome, was something of a curse; the boy's very existence was proof of Raek's betrayal of one of the Order's core values, and whilst the Bothan Jedi didn't regret the circumstances and events that had led to the child, certainly not regretting his affections for his lover, there was little he could do to raise the boy without leaving the Order itself. This was only made more painfully clear with the knowledge that the young boy, named Fenn after Biree's father, would more than likely become Force-Sensitive himself.
As such, Raek was not a part of Fenn's childhood life in any meaningful way; the boy was raised by Biree and her family on Talus until the time came that the young Bothan was found to indeed be above the threshold of Force-sensitivity, and offered to the Jedi for training. Whilst he doesn't remember life with his mother, Fenn was raised among a caring and loving home despite the lack of his father; Biree's extended family were more than enough to ensure the young boy was never left unsupervised, and with a family value strong among Bothans as a whole, Fenn hardly went without attention or affection during his short few years on the family farmstead.
At the age of four, however, Fenn's force-sensitivity was discovered, and whilst perhaps some in his extended family might have argued the boy should stay with those who raised him, the young child was offered up to the Jedi Order for training, setting the Bothan unknowingly on the first steps of a path his father had walked before him.
Second Generation Jedi (5-10):
Life among the Jedi is the furthest memory Fenn retains of his childhood, surrounded by many children around his own age of species he'd never seen before, learning the ways of the Force under the guidance of instructors who seemed both wise and worthy of emulation. For the young Bothan, it was a scary time but one he faced nonetheless; everyone was like him, a little shaky and uncertain of what to do, but with the wise words of his Jedi overseer, a Zabrak male named Stasoa, Fenn's fears would calm.
Similarity bred friendship, and among his youngling clan, Fenn found many friends to share his experiences with, and subtly compete with, along their paths; chief among them would be what would become a lifelong friend, the Mon Calamari male, Riko Haniath.
Riko and Fenn practically hit the ground running as friends upon meeting one another, each finding the other amusingly curious due to their physical differences, and furthered by their amiable personalities. It first started with playful taunts, 'fish' and 'woof' chief among them, but before long the two were as thick as thieves, and it was through Riko that Fenn met Silakth Tan; a jokeful Trandoshan female and one of the brighter (and bigger!) students of their youngling clan.
During this time of his development, Fenn honed what natural talent he had with the Force to a fine point, able to understand and comprehend the necessary focuses and gestures necessary to use the Force properly; to feel it rise through him and listen to it. It took some time, of course, and the boy's education was rife with mistakes and bad days, but Fenn managed nevertheless to be able to harness the abilities he had, demonstrating a modest capacity to understand and use the Force.
With a training lightsaber, however, he was far less capable to channel the Force through him and hear it; finding the weapon distracting and the bolts from the training remotes a little scary to face, fearing the pain that would come and, due to that fear, come it did. On numerous occasions, the young Bothan was subjected to the sting of a training remote and the embarrassment that came with them, the hopping and twisting dance that inevitably came with the biting sting of the energized bolts, and it wasn't until he was eight years old that the boy demonstrated that he was indeed capable of using both the Force and the lightsaber as one. By that time, however, the failures had driven Fenn on to work harder; an ethic that would stick with him right up to the present day, pushing the Bothan to learn more, practice more, and refine his technical prowess, giving him a strong fundamental base to work from in his future.
At the age of ten, Fenn participated in the Jedi Temple's Apprentice Tournament; an event held annually to provide Initiates a platform to demonstrate their learned knowledge, both with a lightsaber and the Force, in hopes of impressing one of the many Knights or Masters in attendance. Having prepared weeks in advance, spending hours with a training remote and countless datapads outlining the core concepts of various lightsaber forms, the young Bothan attempted to arm himself with some tricks; namely borrowing particular moves from the Makashi and Shien forms in hopes to surprise his fellow Initiates and gain an advantage.
It was partway successful; Fenn progressed from grueling fight to grueling fight into the penultimate round before being eliminated, defeating along the way three of his scheduled opponents using the techniques he had loosely picked up from the datapads, along with his modest knowledge of Shii-Cho. However, when it came time to face his opponent in the semi-final round, Fenn was a little surprised to find himself staring across the piste at Silakth Tan.
The Trandoshan trounced him.
The fight, if it could be called that, was hardly fair; the physical differences were almost absurd with the reptilian girl practically towering over the Bothan, who struggled to mount any successful offense through Silakth's longer reach and her adept defense; blocking any blows that actually threatened to hit her. Whilst gaining some attention in his own right for putting up a brave fight in the face of exhaustion, likewise did Fenn gain some embarrassment; Silakth managed to exact victory not by the requisite three touches of her training lightsaber, but through submission.
After four minutes of back and forth bladework, the larger reptilian simply disarmed her exhausted opponent, tackled him to the ground, and whilst pinning him, forewent joint locks and chokes and instead tickled her Bothan friend until he begged for a cessation at risk of suffocating himself from laughter. The laughter among the audience was, while deservedly amusing, enough to bring Fenn's confidence down several pegs for a few days. It was embarrassing, but the knowledge that Silakth would later defeat Riko in similarly dominant fashion during the finals brought the young Fenn a little bit of comfort.
Hope and Fear: (10-12)
At age twenty-two, Fenn is in the midst of the final moments of his apprenticeship to the Order, the Trials. His near death experience on Nar Shaddaa, despite the mission becoming a failure, was deemed suitable to serve as his Trial of Flesh, starting the Bothan on his first steps toward attaining Knighthood; a test that his Master deemed he was now prepared to face. This is where Fenn's focus has been devoted; resuming his training with renewed vigor, and his studies with great attention, though having come so close to losing his life, the specter of doubt rears its ugly head once again, threatening to take all that the Bothan has gained once more.In the two years that went by, Fenn continued his studies as an Initiate alongside his friend, growing a closer connection with Riko due to the departure of Silakth Tan; the Trandoshan's demonstration of skill in the tournament had been enough to net her an apprenticeship. The two young boys, both gleeful for their friend's success yet sorrowed by her leaving, sought each other for support, and whilst the playful jibes and jokes of Silakth were gone, Fenn and Riko certainly did their best to keep the other going.
Six months prior to his own apprenticeship, however, Fenn would suffer another loss; Riko was taken up for training and, much like Silakth a year and a half prior, left his friends behind. The young Bothan was once again ambivalent; he was happy for the Mon Cal's ascension yet couldn't deny he felt some grief over having now lost two friends, and whilst there were plenty of others Fenn got along with, there were none that he had fostered the same connection with than he had with Riko and Silakth.
Needless to say, between he departure of his two closest friends and the hormonal imbalances that came with natural transition from childhood to teen-hood, Fenn went through a rough time; seeking not only the calmness of mind the Jedi teachings had to offer, but the guidance of Stasoa himself, as well. Whilst not afraid, the prospect of facing reassignment to the Jedi Service Corps had Fenn a little on edge; all he knew was the Jedi, and the desire to serve the Republic as a Knight of the Order, and whilst his friends had managed to make their paths, his inability to do so stuck out like a splinter in the hand.
Every time he opened up to Stasoa, however, Fenn was met with the same advice; trust in the Force, to let go, to accept the here and now and trust in himself. Lofty concepts for a pubescent child to understand, but the young man did his best to try to comprehend what the Zabrak said and apply the wisdom of his elders, to try to calm the storm.
But despite the wise words, the seeds of uncertainty were planted nonetheless.
Apprenticeship (12-20)
Whilst dark and vast, certainly scary for a young child to face alone, the caves Fenn trekked through did not claim him, and walking until he felt the sudden urge to stop, the Bothan felt as if weeks had gone by, rather than a mere three days. There before him, a cluster of hardened rocks almost ice-like nearly obscured by the snow and dirt, were what he had came for; the Force swirled about the nest of crystals like a cloud around a mountaintop, beckoning the Bothan to kneel and begin the extraction work. It was an arduous, careful process to cut the particular gemstones from their nest, and with an urge to take two, the Bothan took far longer than expected, coming up to the surface as the sun began to set and the chill of night began to set in, but warmed by the thrill of success and progress, the Bothan barely felt the need to call on the Force to steady himself.
It wasn't until he returned to the Temple that the Bothan learned the truth; the gems were damaged. Adegan crystals, commonly blue or green though known for variance, were certainly not supposed to appear the way that Fenn's had; cracked and bearing a faded orange shade, and on finding this out from his Master, the Bothan's mind began to bemoan the failure. Why would the Force trick him like that? It was so obviously calling to him to take the gemstones, even two of them, why would it tell him to take broken ones? It was said the Force would guide a jedi to a gem just right for them and them alone, why did it send him to the broken ones?
It was the first time Fenn's stubbornness in the face of adversity began to show; and whilst dejected and feeling slighted, the Bothan set to the task; if the Force had given him these stones, he would use them, but there was nothing saying he couldn't make them as best as they could be first. Under the supervision of his Master, and the Temple's resident artisan, Fenn would spend several days honing the gemstones; using a furnace and precision cutting tools to shim away the imperfections, smooth out the raw surfaces and edges, shape and reshape the crystals to smooth out the cracks and polish away the grit and dust.
They might not have been the best, flawless, rare stones, but the Force had declared them his.
It took nearly a week's worth of solid work, but the two gemstones would soon find their home among the Bothan's lightsaber; a modest hilt constructed with the needs of his personal combat style in mind and modeled after Master Torell's own hilt. Whilst uncertain of his wiring, and double-checking every step, Fenn was nevertheless relieved when the orange-hued blade flashed into existence when given the ignition; feeling for the first time the thrumm! of a full-powered lightsaber in his clawed hands.
It would be the first of several builds, mostly Kathracite-gemmed training lightsabers that would later be given back to the Temple, but Fenn would develop and refine his crafting abilities with continued practice throughout his apprenticeship, using what knowledge and insights he would find to improve his own weapon design.
At the age of twelve, some six months after one of the deepest lows Fenn could ever remember facing, he rose to elation; selection for apprenticeship was his. The young Bothan could still remember the day clearly; the feeling of sheer disbelief and utter surprise as he was led by Stasoa to the training halls, alone, to meet someone. "Why would someone want to see me, Master?" Fenn could remember asking, but nevertheless he followed the Zabrak Jedi as he always had, only receiving a wry little smile in answer.
The man waiting for him was a human male, the oldest Fenn had ever seen in his life by a distance. With weathered and wrinkled skin, with a mane of white, wispy hair upon his head and shoulders, the human appeared perhaps as old as the galaxy itself to the mind of the young child, but Fenn could only find himself feeling a sense of awe toward the older man; a commanding presence, but a calming one, quickly ceasing the uncertain fur-ruffling that threatened to turn the Bothan into a puff ball.
Introducing himself as Pax Torell, the old man explained that in his long time with the Jedi Order, he had trained three Padawans to the status of Knighthood, and having been impressed by Fenn's desire and dedication to hard work and self-improvement in the Jedi Arts above what was expected of the younglings, he wished to take up the young child's tutelage. Stunned, Fenn could hardly stop himself from asking if it were a dream.
Reality, however, made itself abundantly clear in short order; life as a Padawan promised to be the hardest task Fenn had ever faced, but as ever, the young child was willing to give it his all. A Jedi Consular, Master Torell's education focused in on the Force and its application; many hours of Fenn's apprenticeship were spent knee-deep in holotexts regarding meditative technique and notes from the Jedi of old regarding the nature of the Force, or in the meditation chambers with his Master, opening himself up to the mysteries the Force held.
Under Torell's guidance, Fenn descended deeper into the Force, strengthened his comprehension of it, despite his poor sensitivity to it. Rather than strike with the force of a hammer-fist, indiscriminate and strong, Fenn would learn to develop a lighter, more precise touch; wielding the Force like a rapier in the hands of a fencer, rather than a club in the hands of a warrior. Likewise, Fenn's lightsaber technique also improved; whilst it was not the prime focus of Torell's teachings, the Bothan would spend many hours dueling with fellow Padawans, his Master, and training remotes.
Once again turning to holotexts to further his knowledge beyond simply the practical, Fenn opted to study Form V, in particular the classical variation; Shien, finding its application of active defense struck a balance between attack and defense tidily. Curious studies in his youth came crashing back to the Bothan; the moves he had so terribly tried to copy were relearned, the foundation repaired and built upon properly, and in little time, Fenn began to show a working knowledge of the form.
Fenn's first few missions were simple matters that often involved little more than accompanying his master and, whilst remaining quiet, paying attention to what went on and how matters were dealt with. Negotiations on Manaan to ensure the continued supply of Kolto to the Jedi? Simpy a matter of remaining at his master's side and listening to how the senior man spoke with the envoy sent to meet with them, listening to the subtle guidance in Master Torell's words and phrases designed to shift the other being's mind to an amiable resolution.
Granted, the process seemed to take days, thanks to the Selkath stubbornness, but Fenn was hardly going to argue at the prospect of spending some time in Ahto City; the openness of the aquatic-dominated planet and a myriad of new faces and people to talk to was a breath of fresh air most welcome to the young Bothan, even if he couldn't go too far away from his Master. An archaeology mission to Telos IV was another standout mission for Fenn, now aged thirteen, as the Bothan would be met with a surprise he hadn't expected; the appearance of his long-time friend Riko Haniath, whose Twi'lek master Adon'shak had also been sent to assist in the excavation efforts.
Whilst the reunion was short-lived, as work was the primary focus for the long days spent cataloging various items of note and assisting the Archaeologists with their work, Fenn and Riko managed to find some time to exchange stories during the night. Returning to the Temple some weeks later, Fenn would find the next few years of his life moving in and out of missions in a blur, studying whatever Master Torell instructed the whole while.
It was during this time that the young Bothan began to develop a skill in the art of Force Healing, however modest, that was quickly capitalized on; much of his Temple-based 'downtime' was spent in the Healing Halls, learning from the Jedi and droids there the nature of the Force in relation to curative efforts, in relation to anatomy, and in relation to life.
The man waiting for him was a human male, the oldest Fenn had ever seen in his life by a distance. With weathered and wrinkled skin, with a mane of white, wispy hair upon his head and shoulders, the human appeared perhaps as old as the galaxy itself to the mind of the young child, but Fenn could only find himself feeling a sense of awe toward the older man; a commanding presence, but a calming one, quickly ceasing the uncertain fur-ruffling that threatened to turn the Bothan into a puff ball.
Introducing himself as Pax Torell, the old man explained that in his long time with the Jedi Order, he had trained three Padawans to the status of Knighthood, and having been impressed by Fenn's desire and dedication to hard work and self-improvement in the Jedi Arts above what was expected of the younglings, he wished to take up the young child's tutelage. Stunned, Fenn could hardly stop himself from asking if it were a dream.
Reality, however, made itself abundantly clear in short order; life as a Padawan promised to be the hardest task Fenn had ever faced, but as ever, the young child was willing to give it his all. A Jedi Consular, Master Torell's education focused in on the Force and its application; many hours of Fenn's apprenticeship were spent knee-deep in holotexts regarding meditative technique and notes from the Jedi of old regarding the nature of the Force, or in the meditation chambers with his Master, opening himself up to the mysteries the Force held.
Under Torell's guidance, Fenn descended deeper into the Force, strengthened his comprehension of it, despite his poor sensitivity to it. Rather than strike with the force of a hammer-fist, indiscriminate and strong, Fenn would learn to develop a lighter, more precise touch; wielding the Force like a rapier in the hands of a fencer, rather than a club in the hands of a warrior. Likewise, Fenn's lightsaber technique also improved; whilst it was not the prime focus of Torell's teachings, the Bothan would spend many hours dueling with fellow Padawans, his Master, and training remotes.
Once again turning to holotexts to further his knowledge beyond simply the practical, Fenn opted to study Form V, in particular the classical variation; Shien, finding its application of active defense struck a balance between attack and defense tidily. Curious studies in his youth came crashing back to the Bothan; the moves he had so terribly tried to copy were relearned, the foundation repaired and built upon properly, and in little time, Fenn began to show a working knowledge of the form.
Fenn's first few missions were simple matters that often involved little more than accompanying his master and, whilst remaining quiet, paying attention to what went on and how matters were dealt with. Negotiations on Manaan to ensure the continued supply of Kolto to the Jedi? Simpy a matter of remaining at his master's side and listening to how the senior man spoke with the envoy sent to meet with them, listening to the subtle guidance in Master Torell's words and phrases designed to shift the other being's mind to an amiable resolution.
Granted, the process seemed to take days, thanks to the Selkath stubbornness, but Fenn was hardly going to argue at the prospect of spending some time in Ahto City; the openness of the aquatic-dominated planet and a myriad of new faces and people to talk to was a breath of fresh air most welcome to the young Bothan, even if he couldn't go too far away from his Master. An archaeology mission to Telos IV was another standout mission for Fenn, now aged thirteen, as the Bothan would be met with a surprise he hadn't expected; the appearance of his long-time friend Riko Haniath, whose Twi'lek master Adon'shak had also been sent to assist in the excavation efforts.
Whilst the reunion was short-lived, as work was the primary focus for the long days spent cataloging various items of note and assisting the Archaeologists with their work, Fenn and Riko managed to find some time to exchange stories during the night. Returning to the Temple some weeks later, Fenn would find the next few years of his life moving in and out of missions in a blur, studying whatever Master Torell instructed the whole while.
It was during this time that the young Bothan began to develop a skill in the art of Force Healing, however modest, that was quickly capitalized on; much of his Temple-based 'downtime' was spent in the Healing Halls, learning from the Jedi and droids there the nature of the Force in relation to curative efforts, in relation to anatomy, and in relation to life.
Creating a Lightsaber (14)
The trek was hard; between wild Kath Hounds, Kinrath and various other beasts lurking about the planet's lush plains and systemic caverns, with only his training lightsaber to serve as his means of defense and light, having to resort to calling on the Force at night to keep his core temperature warm enough to stave off the shivering and shuddering that would numb his fingers and toes. But healing wasn't the only skill Fenn began to show some capability with, for at the age of fourteen, the young man expressed interest in the path of Jedi artisanship; using the Force to create works of art usually manifesting itself in the creation of a lightsaber. Having shown skill enough with the Shien form to warrant the removal of his training lightsaber, Fenn spent some time studying the process of constructing a lightsaber at the behest of his Master, learning just how the weapon worked and the requisite components involved, how to wire the circuitry and what each style favored.
Not long past his fourteenth birthday, Fenn accompanied Master Torell to the remote world of Dantooine; it was time to find the focusing gem that would serve the Bothan in his lightsaber. A highly personal mission, Fenn was told, his Master would only guide him so far; the rest would come down to the Bothan's own choices and knowledge, and the Force. A little nervous at the prospect of what was essentially his first solo mission, the young Bothan nevertheless persevered; delving into one of the many caves dotting the surface of the otherwise peaceful, even calm, planet.
Whilst dark and vast, certainly scary for a young child to face alone, the caves Fenn trekked through did not claim him, and walking until he felt the sudden urge to stop, the Bothan felt as if weeks had gone by, rather than a mere three days. There before him, a cluster of hardened rocks almost ice-like nearly obscured by the snow and dirt, were what he had came for; the Force swirled about the nest of crystals like a cloud around a mountaintop, beckoning the Bothan to kneel and begin the extraction work. It was an arduous, careful process to cut the particular gemstones from their nest, and with an urge to take two, the Bothan took far longer than expected, coming up to the surface as the sun began to set and the chill of night began to set in, but warmed by the thrill of success and progress, the Bothan barely felt the need to call on the Force to steady himself.
It wasn't until he returned to the Temple that the Bothan learned the truth; the gems were damaged. Adegan crystals, commonly blue or green though known for variance, were certainly not supposed to appear the way that Fenn's had; cracked and bearing a faded orange shade, and on finding this out from his Master, the Bothan's mind began to bemoan the failure. Why would the Force trick him like that? It was so obviously calling to him to take the gemstones, even two of them, why would it tell him to take broken ones? It was said the Force would guide a jedi to a gem just right for them and them alone, why did it send him to the broken ones?
It was the first time Fenn's stubbornness in the face of adversity began to show; and whilst dejected and feeling slighted, the Bothan set to the task; if the Force had given him these stones, he would use them, but there was nothing saying he couldn't make them as best as they could be first. Under the supervision of his Master, and the Temple's resident artisan, Fenn would spend several days honing the gemstones; using a furnace and precision cutting tools to shim away the imperfections, smooth out the raw surfaces and edges, shape and reshape the crystals to smooth out the cracks and polish away the grit and dust.
They might not have been the best, flawless, rare stones, but the Force had declared them his.
It took nearly a week's worth of solid work, but the two gemstones would soon find their home among the Bothan's lightsaber; a modest hilt constructed with the needs of his personal combat style in mind and modeled after Master Torell's own hilt. Whilst uncertain of his wiring, and double-checking every step, Fenn was nevertheless relieved when the orange-hued blade flashed into existence when given the ignition; feeling for the first time the thrumm! of a full-powered lightsaber in his clawed hands.
It would be the first of several builds, mostly Kathracite-gemmed training lightsabers that would later be given back to the Temple, but Fenn would develop and refine his crafting abilities with continued practice throughout his apprenticeship, using what knowledge and insights he would find to improve his own weapon design.
Art of Healing (14-Current)
(Rikkavi added with Dreadpiratemike's permission. Verity Vyshaan added with Neo's okay and Jho'zol'Fura added with Dutch's all clear. Thanks dudes!)
(Rikkavi added with Dreadpiratemike's permission. Verity Vyshaan added with Neo's okay and Jho'zol'Fura added with Dutch's all clear. Thanks dudes!)
Aside from learning and eventually crafting his own lightsaber, Fenn's development under Master Torell's guidance would lead him to the Healing Halls of the Jedi temple; demonstrating a natural, if small, comprehension of the powers necessary to heal wounds through the Force after self-treating a burn injury during a sparring session with his master. Spending time among the healers among the Temple, under their tutelage when in downtime or when Master Torell was sent on missions too dangerous, Fenn would learn the various anatomical intricacies of the myriad species of the galaxy, and how to use the Force in relation to injuries.
At first, as with all matters of the Force, the young Bothan found the task difficult, doubting himself at every corner, until results began to show. Skin and flesh could, with the correct application, be encouraged to re-knit cuts and wounds, blood could be cleansed of poisons, infections could be purged just by gently nudging the Force into action, encouraging the body's natural processes along their path.
It took some time to have competency with the Force Healing arts, however, but once the young man knew how to bring himself to the state of focus and clarity necessary, it seemed to become easier each time, results came faster. Before long, the young Bothan found himself actively assisting the medical droids and healers in the Temple; at first tending to the simple injuries that beset the younger generation of Jedi in their training. Broken bones, cuts, burns and sprains were Fenn's trials, his tests, to pass, and whilst he was hardly the fastest or most complete healer available, the Bothan did what he could.
One of the standout memories of his time in the healing halls, sixteen years old at the time, was tending to the burns and bruises of a young Selonian jedi, Rikkavi. One of two padawans brought into the healing halls after a training session gone horribly wrong, the Selonian was given to Fenn's care; his injuries were second to the more serious wounds inflicted upon a Devaronian boy of the same age, drawing the attention of the senior healers, leaving the student to tend to Rikkavi's wounds.
Whilst curiosity brought the question of just what had happened to the very tip of Fenn's tongue, the Bothan bit it as long as he could, instead drawing his concentration to the task of cooling and healing the burns as he worked, using both the Force and mundane medical methods to try to assist the boy four years his younger through the pain.
The Selonian was in far, far too stunned a state to talk, as if there had been any reaction to Fenn's assurances or his warnings about placing swabs of kolto to burned flesh, or asking the boy to move his head to allow Fenn to wipe his bloodied jawline and throat, the Bothan couldn't remember hearing any. Just blank stares off into the distance and mumbling incoherently. Despite his efforts to tell the young Selonian that he'd be okay, that everything would be alright, Fenn could only find his words falling on deaf ears, instead hoping that what he said would sink in deep enough to give the child at least some sense of reassurance in the short time it took for his Master to arrive.
The scene that had unfolded upon the arrival of Jedi Master Verity Vyshaan, however, was one of oddness even to one outside of the Master/Padawan relationship the two obviously had. Whilst tidying up the small pile of bloodied swabs that he'd used to tidy the boy's cuts and scrapes, Fenn remained respectfully quiet as the awkward moment played out; Master attempting to comfort student in a way likely alien to them both.
Even un-involved, Fenn could hardly fight off the ruffling of fur that betrayed his modest sense of unease, though sympathetic to the Selonian, the feeling was quickly replaced by that of relief; out-of-place as it must have felt, at least there was something of a comfort in a rough time. Offering only a quiet bow of the head to the senior Jedi as she arrived, moreso out of respect than anything else, Fenn silently assisted in moving the weary child from the medical bench, quietly wondering just how bad the other student got it.
Surprisingly, the answer wasn't far off; the next morning, Fenn was instructed to once again return to the healing halls; this time not for the tending of bloody wounds and seeping burns but, instead, to monitor the lifesigns of a Devaronian boy, beaten and marred with scratches and bites not unlike what one would expect to see on a kath hound's chew toy. The task was simple enough, one for an initiate healer to manage, and so every day until the boy's recovery, a child named Jho'zol'Fura, Fenn would regularly check in; sometimes alone, sometimes with one of the senior healers in tow to double-check everything was alright.
It was, if nothing else, educational to see just what power kolto held; it felt almost alive when probing it with the Force, and certainly its healing potential was not lost on Fenn; the proof was literally on the Devaronian boy floating in the tank, his wounds knitting themselves back to wholeness. Whilst the healers encouraged using the Force, there was certainly little wrong in studying the more mundane aspects of treatments, pairing the two forms of care together certainly helped the two injured padawans in their own way.
At first, as with all matters of the Force, the young Bothan found the task difficult, doubting himself at every corner, until results began to show. Skin and flesh could, with the correct application, be encouraged to re-knit cuts and wounds, blood could be cleansed of poisons, infections could be purged just by gently nudging the Force into action, encouraging the body's natural processes along their path.
It took some time to have competency with the Force Healing arts, however, but once the young man knew how to bring himself to the state of focus and clarity necessary, it seemed to become easier each time, results came faster. Before long, the young Bothan found himself actively assisting the medical droids and healers in the Temple; at first tending to the simple injuries that beset the younger generation of Jedi in their training. Broken bones, cuts, burns and sprains were Fenn's trials, his tests, to pass, and whilst he was hardly the fastest or most complete healer available, the Bothan did what he could.
One of the standout memories of his time in the healing halls, sixteen years old at the time, was tending to the burns and bruises of a young Selonian jedi, Rikkavi. One of two padawans brought into the healing halls after a training session gone horribly wrong, the Selonian was given to Fenn's care; his injuries were second to the more serious wounds inflicted upon a Devaronian boy of the same age, drawing the attention of the senior healers, leaving the student to tend to Rikkavi's wounds.
Whilst curiosity brought the question of just what had happened to the very tip of Fenn's tongue, the Bothan bit it as long as he could, instead drawing his concentration to the task of cooling and healing the burns as he worked, using both the Force and mundane medical methods to try to assist the boy four years his younger through the pain.
The Selonian was in far, far too stunned a state to talk, as if there had been any reaction to Fenn's assurances or his warnings about placing swabs of kolto to burned flesh, or asking the boy to move his head to allow Fenn to wipe his bloodied jawline and throat, the Bothan couldn't remember hearing any. Just blank stares off into the distance and mumbling incoherently. Despite his efforts to tell the young Selonian that he'd be okay, that everything would be alright, Fenn could only find his words falling on deaf ears, instead hoping that what he said would sink in deep enough to give the child at least some sense of reassurance in the short time it took for his Master to arrive.
The scene that had unfolded upon the arrival of Jedi Master Verity Vyshaan, however, was one of oddness even to one outside of the Master/Padawan relationship the two obviously had. Whilst tidying up the small pile of bloodied swabs that he'd used to tidy the boy's cuts and scrapes, Fenn remained respectfully quiet as the awkward moment played out; Master attempting to comfort student in a way likely alien to them both.
Even un-involved, Fenn could hardly fight off the ruffling of fur that betrayed his modest sense of unease, though sympathetic to the Selonian, the feeling was quickly replaced by that of relief; out-of-place as it must have felt, at least there was something of a comfort in a rough time. Offering only a quiet bow of the head to the senior Jedi as she arrived, moreso out of respect than anything else, Fenn silently assisted in moving the weary child from the medical bench, quietly wondering just how bad the other student got it.
Surprisingly, the answer wasn't far off; the next morning, Fenn was instructed to once again return to the healing halls; this time not for the tending of bloody wounds and seeping burns but, instead, to monitor the lifesigns of a Devaronian boy, beaten and marred with scratches and bites not unlike what one would expect to see on a kath hound's chew toy. The task was simple enough, one for an initiate healer to manage, and so every day until the boy's recovery, a child named Jho'zol'Fura, Fenn would regularly check in; sometimes alone, sometimes with one of the senior healers in tow to double-check everything was alright.
It was, if nothing else, educational to see just what power kolto held; it felt almost alive when probing it with the Force, and certainly its healing potential was not lost on Fenn; the proof was literally on the Devaronian boy floating in the tank, his wounds knitting themselves back to wholeness. Whilst the healers encouraged using the Force, there was certainly little wrong in studying the more mundane aspects of treatments, pairing the two forms of care together certainly helped the two injured padawans in their own way.
War (18)
Four more years went by with little real event aside of the semi-regular missions outside of the Temple for Fenn; study with Master Torell resumed at its meticulous but quick pace; there was always something to learn right then, right there, that the Bothan felt some days were just working against him. If it wasn't drills with the lightsaber, it was medical texts, holocrons detailing the historical understandings of the Force, meditation, or practice with his burgeoning Force powers. Physical and mental exhaustion was almost permanent, the taxing strains on the Bothan were high, but he did his best to rise to the challenge.
And up until the re-emergence of the Sith, it seemed even the boy's self-doubt had begun to fall away in the face of his advancing abilities since his promotion to Padawan. For those six years from twelve to eighteen, Fenn for perhaps the first time found himself convinced he could perhaps stand up to the tribulations that beset the life of a Jedi; how hard could it be, if he had made it this far?
When the Sith reared their head back into the galactic notice, along with the Mandalorians, it was an unprecedented shock for the Bothan, immediately finding himself anxious about what decisions the Jedi Order would make. War in his lifetime on such a scale had been a thought that had never crossed Fenn's mind; so soon after the last great war some fifty years prior, the Sith were back, the Mandalorians in tow, hammering down the outer reaches of the Republic. News came in of the fall of Dantooine, of Mon Calamari, and Mygeeto, and almost immediately Fenn could hear the words in his head of the High Council declaring their intent to join in the fight; he could already hear the order to go and fight.
There was indecision among the Order in the coming days that followed the news; many Jedi Fenn had come to know either through conversation or name defied the open order from the High Council not to join in the conflict, chief among them his friend Silakth Tan, whose headstrong action-over-deliberation style of conflict resolution would have left little alternative in her scaled head about the righteousness of her cause.
Whilst Fenn had felt he could at least try to approach Silakth on a verbal level and try to dissuade her, remind her of her responsibilities to the Jedi Order and convince her the Council knew what they were doing, but it all came to a head in a sparring match. It had been a while since the two friends had met one another on the piste, not since their bout some years ago as initiates, and happy to demonstrate his advancing skills with the lightsaber, Fenn was happy to oblige the challenge from the towering reptilian woman.
Whilst a friendly bout, Fenn's single bladed Shien style facing down the Trandoshan's saber-staff, tension began to mount in the air, bursts of verbal conversation between sequences of blows and defensive blocks swiftly went from assessment of form to the political standoff in the outer rim. Once again, the Bothan attempted to persuade his friend to see sense as he dodged her azure blades, but much like Silakth's bladework, there was little that got past her outer defenses.
Tension continued to mount until it ignited; spurned on by the physical contest, tempers flared and the combat intensified. Working tighter bursts of offense, the tall Trandoshan woman began to beat the Bothan down bit by bit, beginning to crack the furred man's defenses until, during a saber lock, she pushed forward and bashed the elongated hilt of her weapon into his face, breaking her friend's nose. Blood pouring from the injured orifices, eyes watering from the sheer force of impact, Fenn dropped, and with blood dribbling between his fingers as he tried to massage his nose back into place, the Bothan yielded on both fronts.
It was the last time Fenn saw her; there were no goodbyes, and as far as he could remember before hearing of Silakth's departure for the Outer Rim among the war-supporting Jedi, no apologies either. It was hurtful to say the least; Fenn had never really thought Silakth was wrong for making the decision she thought was best, merely he had hoped she would reflect further upon those choices, but as ever, there had been only one way the Trandoshan would have ever gone, even with a century's worth of pondering.
But as her friend, it had been Fenn's task to try, at the very least.
And up until the re-emergence of the Sith, it seemed even the boy's self-doubt had begun to fall away in the face of his advancing abilities since his promotion to Padawan. For those six years from twelve to eighteen, Fenn for perhaps the first time found himself convinced he could perhaps stand up to the tribulations that beset the life of a Jedi; how hard could it be, if he had made it this far?
When the Sith reared their head back into the galactic notice, along with the Mandalorians, it was an unprecedented shock for the Bothan, immediately finding himself anxious about what decisions the Jedi Order would make. War in his lifetime on such a scale had been a thought that had never crossed Fenn's mind; so soon after the last great war some fifty years prior, the Sith were back, the Mandalorians in tow, hammering down the outer reaches of the Republic. News came in of the fall of Dantooine, of Mon Calamari, and Mygeeto, and almost immediately Fenn could hear the words in his head of the High Council declaring their intent to join in the fight; he could already hear the order to go and fight.
There was indecision among the Order in the coming days that followed the news; many Jedi Fenn had come to know either through conversation or name defied the open order from the High Council not to join in the conflict, chief among them his friend Silakth Tan, whose headstrong action-over-deliberation style of conflict resolution would have left little alternative in her scaled head about the righteousness of her cause.
Whilst Fenn had felt he could at least try to approach Silakth on a verbal level and try to dissuade her, remind her of her responsibilities to the Jedi Order and convince her the Council knew what they were doing, but it all came to a head in a sparring match. It had been a while since the two friends had met one another on the piste, not since their bout some years ago as initiates, and happy to demonstrate his advancing skills with the lightsaber, Fenn was happy to oblige the challenge from the towering reptilian woman.
Whilst a friendly bout, Fenn's single bladed Shien style facing down the Trandoshan's saber-staff, tension began to mount in the air, bursts of verbal conversation between sequences of blows and defensive blocks swiftly went from assessment of form to the political standoff in the outer rim. Once again, the Bothan attempted to persuade his friend to see sense as he dodged her azure blades, but much like Silakth's bladework, there was little that got past her outer defenses.
Tension continued to mount until it ignited; spurned on by the physical contest, tempers flared and the combat intensified. Working tighter bursts of offense, the tall Trandoshan woman began to beat the Bothan down bit by bit, beginning to crack the furred man's defenses until, during a saber lock, she pushed forward and bashed the elongated hilt of her weapon into his face, breaking her friend's nose. Blood pouring from the injured orifices, eyes watering from the sheer force of impact, Fenn dropped, and with blood dribbling between his fingers as he tried to massage his nose back into place, the Bothan yielded on both fronts.
It was the last time Fenn saw her; there were no goodbyes, and as far as he could remember before hearing of Silakth's departure for the Outer Rim among the war-supporting Jedi, no apologies either. It was hurtful to say the least; Fenn had never really thought Silakth was wrong for making the decision she thought was best, merely he had hoped she would reflect further upon those choices, but as ever, there had been only one way the Trandoshan would have ever gone, even with a century's worth of pondering.
But as her friend, it had been Fenn's task to try, at the very least.
Mission to Nar Shaddaa (22)
Four years followed the onset of the new conflict with the Sith went by quickly for Fenn, life resuming about as normal as it could have gotten for the Padawan during the latter stages of his apprenticeship. Talk about approaching the Trials was far more common, Master Torell's lessons and training sessions far more focused and intense to root out lingering issues. Poor technique with certain applications of the Force were flattened out through sheer quantity of practice, lessons with the lightsaber became far more common, even missions became far more dangerous; gone were the days of waiting in the Temple for the return of the aging human, no matter the task, Fenn was there.
Successes, or at least the the advancement of his abilities, had emboldened Fenn somewhat, bringing the now adult bothan out of his shell at least by a small distance, so when the word came that he and his Master would be going to Nar Shaddaa, one of the most fetid holes in the Galaxy, there was a sense of both uneasiness and confidence; it would be dangerous, but between he and Master Torell, there would be little issue.
The advancement of the war had brought on issues that the Order simply could not abide, chief among them the looting and sale of Jedi and Sith paraphernalia; weapons, armor, all manner of equipment and artifacts taken by raiders salvaging battle sites and pillaging archaeology digs, picking clean the carcasses of those who hadn't already been field stripped. Personal items like a Jedi's lightsaber, for example, were hardly fit for sale in public markets, and seeking to put an end to an issue before it began, the Order dispatched Pax Torell and his apprentice.
It had taken some time, hopping from planet to planet chasing lead after lead, but eventually the two would come to Nar Shaddaa; Hutt space was hardly known for its abidance of Galactic Law and decency, after all, so it was hardly a surprise to eventually end up there. A Rodian named Venik Kenu was, after nigh months of sleuthing, the common name mentioned by the various 'collectors' of the illicit goods, given either by casual conversation or by interrogation, and on Nar Shaddaa, the two jedi would find him.
But it required finesse.
Posing as two simple spacers, Torell and Fenn would seek Venik out, eavesdropping on rumour and following the Force itself to keep them on the right track, and out of harm's way. Seedy bars, merchants along the sky-walks, thugs trying to earn a quick cred through intimidation, all were potential problems but all potential sources of information; bribery and mental suggestion were enough to eventually pin the green-skinned fiend down.
The plan was, arguably, simple; the two disguised Jedi would arrange to meet with Venik and pretend to show interest in what goods the man had to offer, only to spring the trap and apprehend him quickly, using the element of surprise to their favor and keep the merchant's guardsmen on the back foot. After all, who would expect two dirtily-dressed spacers to pack lightsabers of their own and know how to use them?
The results were disastrous, and the blame squarely laid with Fenn for the fault.
Upon meeting Venik and his cadre of guards, of varied species some of which the young bothan had no idea to call, something tugged at Fenn's attention through the Force; a sense of uneasiness that made him feel uncertain and vulnerable. Struggling to keep himself in check, not wishing to break the facade too soon, Fenn was blindsided when the Rodian laid out his wares, laying eyes on something he'd not even remotely considered as a possibility, but whne faced with it, it hit him like a hovercar at full speed.
Among a small pile of parts and lightsaber gemstones, lay Silakth's saberstaff; charred and singed by the carbon scorching pattern consistent with blasters. It was unmistakable; the Bothan could spot the hilt a mile off and even feel through the Force the lingering presence of its owner, could remember her determination, and whilst they had parted on negative terms, Fenn had hardly hoped she would have ever met harm, letalone what the presence of her prized weapon hinted toward.
Between the already shaky grounds on which Fenn's sense of control stood, the revelation that one of his best friends had been killed and her body looted by a pig merchant like Venik was too much for the Bothan to take without cracking; drawing his lightsaber from behind his loose coat, Fenn immediately sent the meeting tumbling from potential success to abject failure, forcing Torell's hand to his own blade as the guards surrounding the two Jedi were swift to respond, opening up with blasters.
The fight was brief but intense; Fenn's orange blade working tight, furious swipes guided less by a patient mind and a will to cause harm, using his knowledge of Shien to turn the lethal bolts hurtling toward him back along their flight paths, striking down two Quarren with clean chest-shots that sent the aquatic-featured thugs hurtling to the floor, dead before their backs made contact with the duracrete.
But so focused on those in front of him, the Bothan neglected the entire scene unfolding, zeroed in on the blaster-wielding assailants as he was, the only warning of the Twi'lek knifeman sneaking up on him was a last-second shriek from the Force that served less as a warning and more of a distraction, practically sealing Fenn's fate, as the droid-coolant drenched blade slipped between fabric, fur, and flesh with one solid push.
Being stabbed was a feeling that the Bothan found almost indescribable; it didn't hurt per se, the brain was in far too much shock to really understand or process the flood of nerve signals rushing through it, instead leaving a feeling of odd, heavy pressure in his chest that for a few seconds made Fenn feel like he was going to vomit, bringing the Bothan to a hard wince and heave as if trying to aid the process along. Immediately something felt out of place, wrong, but it was hard to place a finger upon just what it could have been; like waking from a dream, everything went in real speed but just seemed to lag.
Breath shoved from his lungs in what sounded like a sigh, Fenn could feel himself sag slightly, the lightsaber falling from his hands and clattering to the floor by his feet, could feel the hard pressure in his chest refuse to yield whilst his knees buckled and his thighs turned to jelly, only really held upright by the arm of the man behind him, clutched around his chest to hold his target steady.
Another hit of pressure, a little lower, and once more the air was shoved out of him, and all Fenn could bring himself to think was a silent begging that whatever was making him want to throw up would leave, or just bring it up and be done with it.
It was alarmingly cold, to be stabbed, that was the first feeling that really made itself known as the arm slipped away, leaving the Bothan to drop down to his knees and lay prone upon the dirty street of Nar Shaddaa before he could even think to ask why he couldn't stand, the pressure feeling as if a shard of ice had formed through his spine, melting with each second as the water began to ooze and trickle down his sides, dampening the fur along his ribs and his spine.
Water? That couldn't be right...
The next thing Fenn could remember was his Master saying something, and an extremely uncomfortable feeling in his stomach sitting somewhere between having had far, far too much to eat and numbness, the feeling of hot-cold running through him almost head to toe. Sweat beaded the Bothan's head fur to thick, matted patches, and whilst he kept asking the elderly human what was wrong, there didn't seem to be any answer that made sense, as the sense of throbbing pressure began to return in his stomach again, this time bringing a numb sense of pain with it.
After eight years, a straight answer wouldn't have hurt. Reaching up to try to grab his Master by the lapel of his jacket, Fenn's first indication he'd been seriously hurt was the thick spatter of sopping red fur on his palm, his hand practically drenched in it, smearing along Torell's green-trimmed jacket in patches. Red water? Why was there red water on him? There sure was a lot of it; good thing it wasn't his Jedi robes, Fenn could hear himself thinking and immediately found himself startled by it or else they'd have needed a serious wash.
And that coppery taste wasn't going away, even worse, his nostrils felt like they were sniffing ammonia and fire; the sense of burning deep in his sinuses making Fenn breathe through his mouth in shallow pants rather than nose inhales.
Then the pain came. Eyes widened, the Bothan choked mid-breath and coughed, his hands immediately reaching for his stomach in pure reflex in hopes it would do any good, the pressure in his chest developing a severely hard, sharp edge that brought the twenty-two year old's pain tolerance far beyond its limits; every second dragging by like an age. Breaths hurt, moving hurt, not moving hurt just as much, and with little else he could really do, panic began to set in; where he had been reaching for Torell in curiosity, the boy now clutched, his hand shaking as his claws pierced the fabric of his Master's jacket, holding onto the old man like a terrified child to its mother, refusing to let go even with the old man's insistence to be released to do what he needed to do.
Whilst there was little more that could be done than keep the boy stabilised and flush out the poison that had already doled severe damage to his internal organs to keep it from killing him outright, Pax Torell would save his apprentice's life; keeping the Bothan from going further into shock on the rushed auto-navigated hyperspace jump back to the Temple, where the healers Fenn had learned so much from would keep him in their care.
Rendered unconscious for the trip and kept that way to stop Fenn from panicking or suffering through the trip, the Bothan spent the next week and a half in a kolto tank, awareness completely gone from him for most of the duration, as the revitalising fluid worked its magic, regenerating the damaged and poisoned tissue to fresh, healthy state once again. For the two days Fenn was remotely awake, however, he could feel little more than remorse, both for failing the mission and his Master in his flippant decision, made in anger rather than common sense, and the loss of his friend; silently wondering if perhaps something could have been said that might very well have kept Silakth from the fate she faced against the Sith.
It was a bitter loss, indeed.
Successes, or at least the the advancement of his abilities, had emboldened Fenn somewhat, bringing the now adult bothan out of his shell at least by a small distance, so when the word came that he and his Master would be going to Nar Shaddaa, one of the most fetid holes in the Galaxy, there was a sense of both uneasiness and confidence; it would be dangerous, but between he and Master Torell, there would be little issue.
The advancement of the war had brought on issues that the Order simply could not abide, chief among them the looting and sale of Jedi and Sith paraphernalia; weapons, armor, all manner of equipment and artifacts taken by raiders salvaging battle sites and pillaging archaeology digs, picking clean the carcasses of those who hadn't already been field stripped. Personal items like a Jedi's lightsaber, for example, were hardly fit for sale in public markets, and seeking to put an end to an issue before it began, the Order dispatched Pax Torell and his apprentice.
It had taken some time, hopping from planet to planet chasing lead after lead, but eventually the two would come to Nar Shaddaa; Hutt space was hardly known for its abidance of Galactic Law and decency, after all, so it was hardly a surprise to eventually end up there. A Rodian named Venik Kenu was, after nigh months of sleuthing, the common name mentioned by the various 'collectors' of the illicit goods, given either by casual conversation or by interrogation, and on Nar Shaddaa, the two jedi would find him.
But it required finesse.
Posing as two simple spacers, Torell and Fenn would seek Venik out, eavesdropping on rumour and following the Force itself to keep them on the right track, and out of harm's way. Seedy bars, merchants along the sky-walks, thugs trying to earn a quick cred through intimidation, all were potential problems but all potential sources of information; bribery and mental suggestion were enough to eventually pin the green-skinned fiend down.
The plan was, arguably, simple; the two disguised Jedi would arrange to meet with Venik and pretend to show interest in what goods the man had to offer, only to spring the trap and apprehend him quickly, using the element of surprise to their favor and keep the merchant's guardsmen on the back foot. After all, who would expect two dirtily-dressed spacers to pack lightsabers of their own and know how to use them?
The results were disastrous, and the blame squarely laid with Fenn for the fault.
Upon meeting Venik and his cadre of guards, of varied species some of which the young bothan had no idea to call, something tugged at Fenn's attention through the Force; a sense of uneasiness that made him feel uncertain and vulnerable. Struggling to keep himself in check, not wishing to break the facade too soon, Fenn was blindsided when the Rodian laid out his wares, laying eyes on something he'd not even remotely considered as a possibility, but whne faced with it, it hit him like a hovercar at full speed.
Among a small pile of parts and lightsaber gemstones, lay Silakth's saberstaff; charred and singed by the carbon scorching pattern consistent with blasters. It was unmistakable; the Bothan could spot the hilt a mile off and even feel through the Force the lingering presence of its owner, could remember her determination, and whilst they had parted on negative terms, Fenn had hardly hoped she would have ever met harm, letalone what the presence of her prized weapon hinted toward.
Between the already shaky grounds on which Fenn's sense of control stood, the revelation that one of his best friends had been killed and her body looted by a pig merchant like Venik was too much for the Bothan to take without cracking; drawing his lightsaber from behind his loose coat, Fenn immediately sent the meeting tumbling from potential success to abject failure, forcing Torell's hand to his own blade as the guards surrounding the two Jedi were swift to respond, opening up with blasters.
The fight was brief but intense; Fenn's orange blade working tight, furious swipes guided less by a patient mind and a will to cause harm, using his knowledge of Shien to turn the lethal bolts hurtling toward him back along their flight paths, striking down two Quarren with clean chest-shots that sent the aquatic-featured thugs hurtling to the floor, dead before their backs made contact with the duracrete.
But so focused on those in front of him, the Bothan neglected the entire scene unfolding, zeroed in on the blaster-wielding assailants as he was, the only warning of the Twi'lek knifeman sneaking up on him was a last-second shriek from the Force that served less as a warning and more of a distraction, practically sealing Fenn's fate, as the droid-coolant drenched blade slipped between fabric, fur, and flesh with one solid push.
Being stabbed was a feeling that the Bothan found almost indescribable; it didn't hurt per se, the brain was in far too much shock to really understand or process the flood of nerve signals rushing through it, instead leaving a feeling of odd, heavy pressure in his chest that for a few seconds made Fenn feel like he was going to vomit, bringing the Bothan to a hard wince and heave as if trying to aid the process along. Immediately something felt out of place, wrong, but it was hard to place a finger upon just what it could have been; like waking from a dream, everything went in real speed but just seemed to lag.
Breath shoved from his lungs in what sounded like a sigh, Fenn could feel himself sag slightly, the lightsaber falling from his hands and clattering to the floor by his feet, could feel the hard pressure in his chest refuse to yield whilst his knees buckled and his thighs turned to jelly, only really held upright by the arm of the man behind him, clutched around his chest to hold his target steady.
Another hit of pressure, a little lower, and once more the air was shoved out of him, and all Fenn could bring himself to think was a silent begging that whatever was making him want to throw up would leave, or just bring it up and be done with it.
It was alarmingly cold, to be stabbed, that was the first feeling that really made itself known as the arm slipped away, leaving the Bothan to drop down to his knees and lay prone upon the dirty street of Nar Shaddaa before he could even think to ask why he couldn't stand, the pressure feeling as if a shard of ice had formed through his spine, melting with each second as the water began to ooze and trickle down his sides, dampening the fur along his ribs and his spine.
Water? That couldn't be right...
The next thing Fenn could remember was his Master saying something, and an extremely uncomfortable feeling in his stomach sitting somewhere between having had far, far too much to eat and numbness, the feeling of hot-cold running through him almost head to toe. Sweat beaded the Bothan's head fur to thick, matted patches, and whilst he kept asking the elderly human what was wrong, there didn't seem to be any answer that made sense, as the sense of throbbing pressure began to return in his stomach again, this time bringing a numb sense of pain with it.
After eight years, a straight answer wouldn't have hurt. Reaching up to try to grab his Master by the lapel of his jacket, Fenn's first indication he'd been seriously hurt was the thick spatter of sopping red fur on his palm, his hand practically drenched in it, smearing along Torell's green-trimmed jacket in patches. Red water? Why was there red water on him? There sure was a lot of it; good thing it wasn't his Jedi robes, Fenn could hear himself thinking and immediately found himself startled by it or else they'd have needed a serious wash.
And that coppery taste wasn't going away, even worse, his nostrils felt like they were sniffing ammonia and fire; the sense of burning deep in his sinuses making Fenn breathe through his mouth in shallow pants rather than nose inhales.
Then the pain came. Eyes widened, the Bothan choked mid-breath and coughed, his hands immediately reaching for his stomach in pure reflex in hopes it would do any good, the pressure in his chest developing a severely hard, sharp edge that brought the twenty-two year old's pain tolerance far beyond its limits; every second dragging by like an age. Breaths hurt, moving hurt, not moving hurt just as much, and with little else he could really do, panic began to set in; where he had been reaching for Torell in curiosity, the boy now clutched, his hand shaking as his claws pierced the fabric of his Master's jacket, holding onto the old man like a terrified child to its mother, refusing to let go even with the old man's insistence to be released to do what he needed to do.
Whilst there was little more that could be done than keep the boy stabilised and flush out the poison that had already doled severe damage to his internal organs to keep it from killing him outright, Pax Torell would save his apprentice's life; keeping the Bothan from going further into shock on the rushed auto-navigated hyperspace jump back to the Temple, where the healers Fenn had learned so much from would keep him in their care.
Rendered unconscious for the trip and kept that way to stop Fenn from panicking or suffering through the trip, the Bothan spent the next week and a half in a kolto tank, awareness completely gone from him for most of the duration, as the revitalising fluid worked its magic, regenerating the damaged and poisoned tissue to fresh, healthy state once again. For the two days Fenn was remotely awake, however, he could feel little more than remorse, both for failing the mission and his Master in his flippant decision, made in anger rather than common sense, and the loss of his friend; silently wondering if perhaps something could have been said that might very well have kept Silakth from the fate she faced against the Sith.
It was a bitter loss, indeed.
Trials (Current)
Roleplay Sample:
Damned lightsaber burns!
It wasn't just the pain that had the young man on edge, quietly gritting his teeth as the bandage fell away under the careful tug, revealing beneath the parted reams of golden-yellow fur the fleshy pink scald mark in all its nasty beauty, but it was certainly what made him draw breath in quiet hisses; even the air itself seemed to agitate the skin.
It was tempting to lean into the Force, to let its soothing energies flow and isolate the issue, to correct the wrong, but even trying seemed difficult; not merely from the physical pain and exhaustion clouding the Bothan's focus but from the sense of selfishness that seemed to rise from it.
No, the kolto will do. It will have to do.
Another long day and the feeling of fatigue seemed to be only ever stronger present in the young man's motions as Fenn exhaled, feeling his narrow shoulders sag and his head droop slightly, as if his neck could no longer stand the weight of his own skull. The Healing Halls were silent, free of the bustle of treatments and hurried attendants that carried through the daylight hours, allowing the cool chill of the night to bring rest.
Hours of work in keeping patients as comfortable as they could be, providing treatment and assistance, should have been enough for Fenn to have perhaps considered ducking out of his duties in assisting in the initiates lightsaber instruction, but pride had blinded the Bothan much in the same way that stubbornness had.
Instead, all that was left was the scald of a lightsaber across the arm, two more along the back, and a bitter sense of regret and shame. The assistance was hardly a chore; Fenn was a modest fencer and the practice was always welcome, but it was the small things that seemed to add up to the young Apprentice's mind that left him wondering. Why the instructor's lightsaber had been dialed in twice as strong as standard practice intensities, for example, had left Fenn wondering if the burns were perhaps a subtle hint to him.
Whatever it was, fatigue had certainly set in regardless; between healing and fighting, Fenn could feel himself drift ever closer to sleep, and yet, ever closer to falling down where he stood to get it, despite whatever connotations a shirtless, haphazardly-patched Apprentice in the Healing Halls would give.
Though, with a growl as the Bothan steadied his arm and felt the kolto patch press against the aggrieved flesh, bringing a fiery stinging sensation behind his eyes forward to the point of nearly making him cry out, it was hard not to wonder if there were perhaps any other motives going on. By the Force it hurt to even hold in place, but Fenn bit down all the same, gritting his teeth against his bottom lip for a second as his hands carefully guided the clips into place, binding the strap around his forearm to hold it flush to him.
It was harder not to swear under his breath; an aggressive little anesthetic to numb the pain was a comfort the Jedi wasn't about to spare himself...
"Next time I find that lightsaber higher than training I'm gonna shove it so far up...Hell, that stings...." Muttered Fenn under his breath, and leaning forward against the medical bench, felt his forehead press to the cool durasteel; ignoring the thin sheen of sweat in his fur. Oh, for a few moments of rest without everything either feeling as if it were on fire or about to fall off, would be nice...
