Dorian Kane

[Julian]

Name: Dorian Kane
Race: Zeltron
Age: 25
Birthplace: Last Harbor space station, Outer Rim

Allegiance: The Galactic Republic and Jedi Order
Status: Knight-Guardian (trained as Sentinel until 16)
Rank: Jedi Knight

Height/Weight: 5'8", 89lbs (organic), 177lbs (with prostheses)
Appearance:

In no way does this excellent piece of art belong to me, it is the work and sole intellectual property of Deviant Artist Fastfood. I did alter it slightly to change the character from Human to Zeltron, and to adjust the color of the lightsaber to my preference, but I make no claim to this being mine.

Dorian, like many Zeltron, is quite attractive by the standards of humans and non-humans, their opinions no doubt enhanced by the subtle cocktail of pheromones naturally exuded by the species. Like most Jedi, he keeps himself clean and reasonably groomed, but limits how much he is willing to fiddle with his appearance to keep himself free of vanity.

Other casualties of Dorian's anti-narcissism campaign include his left arm and both legs. The prosthetic technology used in all three is by no means lacking in function, but all three limbs are obviously synthetic and have an inorganic, mechanical appearance. He has gone so far as to opt out of covering the hardware in synthflesh, seeing no need to simulate something that he never had. Much of his equipment is similarly hardy, cumbersome, and outdated, but the Jedi keeps it all working as well as any newer model, and only replaces something if it is well and truly useless.

Dorian dresses in layers, prepared for different environments and needs. The first is a tight-fitting sleeve of black polyskin that covers his torso and right arm, both breathable and mildly resistant to the elements, secured by the gauntlet that protects the small bone and muscle grafts of his right hand. After that is a shirt of baggier red fabric, worn over the polyskin. It covers his mostly-prosthetic left arm, but doesn't go over the heavier machinery of his wrist and hand. Baggy brown pants serve the same purpose as the red shirt for his legs, terminating where his prosthetics begin at the knee. Finally, durasteel armor on his cybernetics and tan plasteel armor on his organic parts help to protect Dorian from the dangers he faces on the battlefield, 

Personality: Endearing and passionate, Dorian is a strong-willed man with equally strong emotions. He believes that people are fundamentally good, and that everyone is worthy of a second chance, if they are willing to take it. The type who can't help but root for the underdog, he's prone to getting involved in business that isn't necessarily his, but knows how to take no for an answer and how to support someone without trying to be their champion.

He doesn't think of himself as the best of anything, but strives to be. Dorian puts a great deal of himself into everything he does, and is a protector to his last breath, even if the person or thing he is defending is only a lesser evil compared to the alternative. That said, everyone gets a chance to be his friend, and he is very empathetic and accommodating of others and their needs.

Dorian's interaction with romance has been very limited, having been raised as Jedi are supposed to be. He doesn't have much sense of his own sexuality or interests in regards to a mate, but also isn't in a hurry to explore them. Love is the way of the Jedi, but attachment and lust are not, and he is quick to diffuse advances with a few kind words and liberal application of his Zeltron pheromone abilities.

Despite being a capable investigator, Dorian has trouble seeing beneath the surface of people and situations, at least at first. He's quick to draw conclusions at face value, but restrains himself from acting on those conclusions without something concrete. Usually.

Ships/Vehicles:

None, unless provided by the Republic or the Order, or rented for temporary use.

Equipment:

One single-phase lightsaber of standard size and length, focused through a yellow pontite crystal. The hilt is brushed durasteel, and has suffered far more wear and tear than would be expected for the weapon of one so recently knighted. This is the only real hint that Dorian is not the tool's original owner, other than his hands not fitting it as well as he would like.

A utility belt, which includes, but is not limited to emergency credit chips, a magnetic couple, a small tool kit, a datapad, a lightsaber holster (which makes it significantly harder to remove from his person without permission), and long-range comm equipment which is integrated with his left arm cybernetics.

The cybernetics themselves aren't as flexible as some newer models, but what they lack in finesse they make up for in raw power. All three are built to be both extremely strong and durable, and Dorian's Force-enhanced reflexes, excellent physique, and expert tuning of the mechanics into his nervous system do an admirable job making up the slack.

Stats: (Feeble, Below Average, Average, Above Average, Superior, Legendary)

Strength - Superior
Agility - Average
Intelligence - Above Average
Charisma - Above Average

Force Stats: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)

Telekinetic- Adept
Telepathic- Apprentice (supplemented by natural Zeltron telepathy)
Body- Adept
Sense- Apprentice
Protection- Novice
Healing- Novice
Destruction- Unskilled

Combat Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Bare-Knuckle Brawling- Novice
Immobilizing Holds- Novice

Force Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
None

Other Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Pheromone Control (Racial Ability)- Adept
Investigation- Adept
Utility Mechanics- Adept
Cybernetic Mechanics- Expert
Piloting- Novice
Military Tactics- Novice

Lightsaber Training: (Untrained, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master, Specialist)

Form I - Adept
-Shii-Cho
Form III - Apprentice
-Soresu
Form V - Master
-Shien
-Djem So

Languages
Basic
Binary
Huttese

Biography:

Guest-starring Master Fal Tolvus, courtesy of his creator, Harukei!

Birth and Pre-Discovery

In the year 3,626 BBY, the Doctors Samson and Vera Kane - married one year prior, he a medical doctor, she an engineer - departed their homeworld of Zeltros, in the Inner Rim, having joined a small aid mission to Last Harbor, a slipshod space station in the Outer Rim territories that was home to a large population of escaped slaves. Samson would lead the expedition's medical staff in providing vital treatment to Last Harbor's people, and train those who were willing in basic medicine and first aid, while Vera had brought a team to oversee structural maintenance and upgrades to the station itself.

As one might imagine, after the initial wariness of their intentions had worn off, the aid workers were welcomed with open arms, treated as saviors and heroes come to lessen the burdens of people trying to make something out of an awful start in life. The admiration was mutual, the Kanes coming quickly to the realization that these were likely the bravest and kindest people either had ever met, or would ever meet. Although they had only brought materials and supplies to last a few months, the entire crew agreed that Last Harbor needed them for longer than that, and made a group decision to make more permanent homes. Vera's brother Marko, a very successful professional gambler, helped them to arrange the formal purchase of the starship that had brought them to Last Harbor, and that was that. The space station had become their home, and its generous, impoverished people their community.

Within a year, as is wont to happen eventually in a loving heterosexual relationship, Vera became pregnant. However, something that the Kanes had not accounted for was that Last Harbor was powered by an amateur rig of old and volatile ion drives from defunct starships. This resulted in trace amounts of potentially harmful ionizing radiation to leak in certain areas of the station, primarily near the core, which the aid workers had determined when they first arrived would be the best place to set up shop so that the inhabitants would have an easier time getting medical attention. Unfortunately, this had an adverse effect on the pregnancy, making every day a fight for survival for both mother and child, even after Samson had relocated his family to the much safer environment of their ship.

In the end, life won out, and Dorian Kane was born in the early hours of 3624 BBY. For the most part, he was a healthy baby boy, save for one complication that Samson had been unable to remedy in-utero: Dorian was born with three congenital amputations, both of his legs truncated near the knee, and his left arm little more than a wagging stump below the shoulder. As if fate couldn't decide when enough was enough, his right hand had minor deformation, particularly on the back. However, for two parents of such ample education and an entire space station of people that cared more for each other than themselves, this wasn't going to stop Dorian from living a healthy and normal life. Within weeks of his birth, the infant had been outfitted with very basic prostheses on his incomplete limbs, allowing his brain to learn how to work the hands and legs he had been born without. They were simple things, easily removed and replaced to accommodate a growing child, but they did the job. It took him a bit longer than someone who didn't have his obstacles, but Dorian learned to crawl, to stand, to walk and run on his own, and the child and his parents never looked back - at least, not after Vera rebuilt the station's power core to limit any further leaks.

The mechanical boy was ubiquitous on Last Harbor. Going to get a checkup with Dr. Samson? You can be sure that little Dorian would be walking around the medbay, fetching swabs and disinfectants for his father. Brought a holoprojector to Dr. Vera last week to be fixed, and wanted to stop by to check on it? There was Dorian, sitting on the workbench beside his mother, handing her tools and watching her hands work their magic with starry-eyed wonder. Going to the scrap bay to find a replacement part for your hoversled? There's Dorian and some of the other children, playing with old, barely-working junk like it was a thousand-credit toy. It wasn't long before he even knew the basics of tightening the bolts and checking the wires on his own cybernetics, a valuable skill when your limbs were made primarily from spare parts, and weren't built to last more than a year. It wasn't a perfect life, but it was a happy one.

Tragically, Dorian's destiny did not mesh with this idyll. Last Harbor wasn't without its troubles, one of which was, perhaps not ironically, slavers on the hunt for runaways and pre-trained merchandise. The station had defenses; old starfighters, immobile bulks with working turbolasers tethered to the outer arms, even shields from a Revan-era capital ship. Everyone knew these wouldn't last forever, but nobody expected them to fail in their lifetime. Wishful thinking, some would later admit.

In an unprecedented display of force, three slaver companies hit Last Harbor at once, a massive assault that the station had no hope of defending against. An infiltrator had disabled the shields, robbing the inhabitants of what little time they might have had to coordinate evacuations. There were only two plans already in place, and the first was to load all of the children and the non-perishable supplies onto the old aid ship, for it had the fastest hyperdrive, the thickest armor, the strongest shields, and the most powerful emergency beacon. It is only by the grace of the Force that this plan survived first contact with the raiding slavers, and that nearly all of the minors of Last Harbor fit inside - some of the older teenagers, knowing what fate awaited them, opted to stay behind so those younger than themselves would fit. The ship launched at top speed, for what that was worth, filled with everything from bawling infants to dead-faced teenagers. Dorian was among them, only five years old, crying for his mommy and daddy with the other younglings. As soon as the ark was out of range, the second plan came to fruition.

Nobody on Last Harbor was willing to return to slavery, and they were even more determined to protect their fleeing children. For this reason, when Vera was rebuilding the ion matrix, the entire community agreed that she should install a self-destruct, just in case it came to pass that there was no hope of repelling whatever foul presence had come knocking.

There were no survivors.

Discovery and Youngling Years

The ark's droid autopilot, simple as it was, carried its heartbroken and terrified cargo as far as it could, getting them within the borders of the Republic while avoiding contact with less savory elements. A rescue frigate was dispatched with all haste, and less than two days after the destruction of Last Harbor, its legacy was safely under quarantine in a Republic hospital, being checked for foreign pathogens while social workers did their damnedest to track down next-of-kin.

For Dorian Kane, the one and only relative of note was his uncle Marko, still winning and losing fortunes with the roll of a chance cube. Unfortunately for Marko, but ultimately to Dorian's benefit, the old gambler had been on a three year streak of bad luck. Initially horrified to hear of the fate of his sister and her husband, and eager to take on his nephew, Marko came to the sad realization that he was not equipped to take care of himself, let alone a small child. However, medical testing during quarantine had revealed that Dorian had a high midichlorian count, high enough that he was eligible for Jedi training. The social worker handling the case assured Marko that Dorian had not been told he would be going to stay with his uncle at that stage of the proceedings, and that when he was old enough to understand how he came to live in the Temple, he would not resent his uncle for making this decision.

Decades later, after Marko had left Zeltros for the greener pastures of Corellian casinos and found himself penniless once more, a young Zeltron with a lightsaber on his hip and three false limbs gave him enough credits that he could eat for a week, and Marko would know that he had made the right choice for his nephew's future.

For Darion, the worst part of the quarantine was that his arm and legs had to be removed for large periods of time. He'd been without one or two before, but usually while he was sleeping and his parents were working on them, or in the heartbeat between having an old one removed and replaced by a new one. For the first time since birth, he was immobile, and it was agony. When he had finally passed through the system, the limbs he was given weren't the ones homemade pieces that his mother had spent long hours painstakingly fine-tuning, weren't labors of love, they were just mass-produced prosthetic limbs, the kind any Republic citizen was entitled to. It was losing the last piece of home, a necessity for Jedi younglings, but indescribably painful nonetheless.

When Dorian arrived at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, he was despondent. The nurturers and teachers had been informed of his situation, and expected nothing less, but even for trained Jedi, getting through to a child who has just lost everything is no small feat. It took weeks before he was willing to say more than one or two words, at a time, and it was still usually in Huttese, which had been more commonly spoken on Last Harbor than Basic. It didn't help that he felt so different from the other children in his assigned pod, very few of them having seen a child with prostheses before. It was one bold little Cerean girl's curiosity that finally broke Dorian out of his shell, though. She sat with him during brea1kfast after he'd been at the temple for about two months, still being privately tutored by a nurturer because he wasn't yet ready to join the main student body. First, she asked him his name, and he grudgingly answered. Second, she asked him where he was from, but on this he kept mum. They sat quietly, Dorian absently chewing his food and pushing it around with the utensils, until finally she asked him if he had metal limbs because he had super powers.

The question was silly, it was innocent, and she was joking, but it made Dorian smile for the first time in quite a while. After that, it was leaps and bounds of progress, and the young Zeltron was meditating and going to daily lessons with the rest of his pod by his sixth birthday. Like most of the younglings, Darion was most eager to practice with a training lightsaber, but he showed equal aptitude for rudimentary Force studies. History and the academics were far from being his forte, but the kid was already on his way to being a dab hand with small machine repair, and he was never afraid to ask for help when he was having trouble. In recognition of that humility, the instructors were content to let him experiment with small DIY models and complicated toys, which kept the boy in good spirits. They even let it slide when he started using the shells from some of those models on his hand and legs, to bring them in line with how he thought they should look. Every few years he would get one or more limbs replaced to a larger, factory-standard model, but that just meant another opportunity to redesign something to his preference.

From around age eight, the instructors knew he was Sentinel material, and kept his Jedi studies divided relatively easily between the practical and philosophical, while also letting him observe and occasionally help out Temple maintenance staff, broadening his horizons and feeding him welcome knowledge about the mechanics he so clearly adored. He had also gone from the odd kid out to one of the most popular younglings in his age group in those few short years, his natural skills with empathy and subconscious pheromone manipulation turning him into a common shoulder to cry on, and a favorite person with whom to share good news. The Cerean girl, Shida, remained his closest friend. They would not meet again after being chosen as Padawans, however, as Shida was killed in action before either had received their knighthood, in 3,600 BBY. Although a few teachers were wary of romantic undertones in their friendship, Darion and Shida never saw each other as anything more or less than lifelong friends.

It was at the age of eleven, in 3,613 BBY, that the next phase of Darion's life would begin. It started with the knighting of one Roccoto'ma, "adventuring spirit."

Padawan I

Roccoto'ma, or as he was better known by non-Twi'leks, Rocco Toma, was a Sentinel, and the former padawan of the respected Fal Tolvus, a Zabrak Jedi Master known for his stalwart devotion to the core tenets of the Order, and his staggering skill with Form V. Tolvus and Rocco cut their teeth on one another, forging the lifelong friendship common between master and apprentice. Rocco still saw Fal as a mentor and a brother, and perhaps this is why he was so eager to take a padawan for his own, to replicate that closeness and pass on the teachings of his master like a father to a son.

Needless to say, when a Lethan Twi'lek with a passion for exploring the stars met a charming young Zeltron helping a Corpsmen repair Rocco's favorite ship in the Temple hangar, it didn't take him long to decide that the boy was going to be his padawan, and Dorian shared that sense of immediate attachment. As is protocol, Rocco spent time observing Dorian in his studies and at play, and got to know him well before broaching the subject of taking him as a padawan. Dorian wasn't the only youngling in his group already being courted, but it was still a moment of pride for him that he was being considered a full two years before the cutoff. Not that it had anything to do with his skill, at that stage he was as generally proficient as anyone else, but still something that made his chest swell.

The approval came in after about a month. Knight Toma would be allowed to invite Dorian Kane to study with him, to become his padawan and learn the ways of the Jedi under his supervision. Despite his excitement, Dorian took the advice of the masters to meditate on this decision for at least a day, but still came to the predictable conclusion that he absolutely accepted. First stop was to get him set up with new prostheses: What he had was perfectly fine for Coruscant and the Temple, but out in the wild black of space, Rocco wanted Dorian to have simpler, hardier wares, things that the two of them could repair in a pinch and that could take more punishment without faltering than the sleek gear of the Core Worlds. This suited Dorian just fine, and he guided Rocco to options that caught his fancy, all affordable and getting on in years, but undeniably reliable. A quick request to the Order, and the limbs were paid for and installed. Along with the necessary funds came an assignment, and both red faces lit up with excitement as they read over their first task as master and apprentice.

It wasn't going to change the galaxy as anyone knew it, Rocco had simply been asked to settle a labor dispute between the line workers of a small Mid Rim shipyard and the company executives. People wanted increased wages, reasonable benefits, less taxing hours, nothing particularly new, but circumstances had conspired to make unionizing impossible. However, any major stoppage in production, even the small amount of time it would take for the company to pull a fire-and-hire, could bankrupt them. So, in return for the disgruntled employees continuing to work instead of striking, the owner agreed to put in a request for a Jedi mediator, and Rocco, being an ace pilot with a mechanically-inclined Padawan, was considered well-suited for filling that role.

When the Jedi arrived at the orbital manufacturing center, which had been chosen as the site for negotiations, there was an audible cheer throughout the complex as the workforce came to the conclusion that their true Republic heroes had arrived. As Dorian would quickly find out, this was not exactly the case. The owner, a chosen representative of the workers, a legal arbiter, and the Jedi met in a small conference room with little more than a pitcher of jawa juice between them, not the lair of an oppressive tyrant, as Dorian had imagined. They began by giving Rocco a copy of the employee contract, which he read quietly while the locals quietly bickered about the Knight's every adjustment and expression.

After he finished, Rocco set the document aside and told the rep in no uncertain terms that, although he agreed that the contract outdated the split of the Sith Aristocracy and needed to be updated for the economic effects which followed, it was legally binding. Rocco explained that he would go through their list of grievances and try to find a compromise that both parties would be happy with, but that the ultimate decision rested with their employer, as the Jedi Order did not have any legal power in this situation. The arbiter threw his hands up in quiet triumph, as he'd been telling both of his clients the exact same thing for more than a week.

Dorian, not at all prepared for this development, couldn't contain himself. He jumped to his feet and shouted that Rocco knows how hard it is to put a ship together, how dangerous it can be, that he should be working hard for these people, not letting this crooked owner take advantage of them. The employee representative joined the Padawan in these noble statements, although his were more insulting, and directed at his boss, who in turn was just as enraged by the outburst and insults as Dorian was by the inaction. The boy didn't realize that his passion had aggravated his natural pheromone production, and filled the room with anger in an aerosol form. Rocco made hasty use of the Force to calm the situation, and shot his Padawan a glare so frosty it made space seem tropical. He dismissed Dorian to the ship immediately, and told him to either practice with a remote or to meditate.

Several hours later, after Dorian had taken out his frustrations with his training saber, and torn apart a few projects so he could rebuild them - far and away the easiest way for him to achieve a deep meditation - Rocco finally returned to the ship, looking much the worse for wear. Dorian was obstinate, unwilling to speak to his master, assuming he would be angry. He wasn't. Apologetic, in fact. The knight sat beside his padawan and rubbed at tired eyes, and apologized for snapping at him. Rocco explained to Dorian that he agreed, the builders deserved more than what they had, more than what their employer was willing to provide, and he wanted to help them, but the only way he could was to make sure the owner believed he was getting the long end of the stick. Dorian's outburst - which Rocco commended for its honesty and compassion, but chided for the amount of anger behind it, even thought it was anger at injustice - made that much more difficult, although Rocco was confident that he had still gotten the people a good deal.

Dorian, in turn, apologized for letting his feelings get the better of him, and for disrupting the mission. Rocco hugged the kid around the shoulders, told him that he learned something, they understood one another better than they did before, and they had succeeded, so there was nothing to be sorry about. On the flight back home, Rocco let the autopilot do the work for a while, and started to really teach Dorian for the first time. Having been the student of a weaponmaster, Rocco was naturally inclined towards the lightsaber, and especially favored Forms III and V for their protective natures. Both of them, he told Dorian, are emblematic of the Jedi, who are meant to be defenders, not aggressors, and should only strike when it is necessary, either waiting for the opponent to make a mistake or forcing them to.

Dorian took his master's words to heart, eager to get past Form I so he could start learning what were, to him, the true styles of a Jedi. They were able to continue training more exclusively after that, and Rocco never hesitated to bring Dorian with him in matters of diplomacy, relying on his apprentice to, as he said, keep his priorities straight.

Padawan II

At fourteen, having proved he was sufficiently capable with Shii-Cho that he wouldn't hurt himself, Rocco brought Dorian to the icy world of Ilum, to find a crystal and build his lightsaber. Completely unused to the inhospitable climate, it took effort just to get Dorian off of the ship despite his earlier excitement. Rocco managed it, though, coaxing his apprentice off through the noble tactic of leaving the boarding ramp down, and locking the doors open, so there was no escaping the cold.

Dorian had heard that there was a temple on Ilum, and expected to be allowed to pick from a selection of crystals already recovered. As Rocco suited the surly Padawan in cold-weather gear, he realized that his assumption was sorely wrong. Although Rocco's current lightsaber was yellow in color, a hue not found in the crystals of Ilum, he had once possessed a more traditional green blade that he crafted with an Ilum crystal, but had lost it in under embarrassing circumstances that he was not yet ready to admit to his padawan. Thus, he remembered the perilous journey they would be forced to make to the cave, and was prepared accordingly.

Rocco was pleasantly surprised with how easy the trek started, although you wouldn't have guessed it from listening to the griping Zeltron lagging behind him. Dorian complained the whole way up the mountain, despite saying many times that it was too cold to even speak. His tone changed when he first felt it, though. That great concentration of the Force, one thousand strings being strummed in harmony, infinite points of light in the far distance. He had never felt such a thing, but Dorian had never been so close to anything like unrefined adegan crystals.

From that point on, he was in the lead, and Rocco smiled warmly against the cold to see it. He was merely an escort, a guiding hand, this was Dorian's pilgrimage to make. It took a few hours, but eventually Dorian found his way to the mouth of the cave, so many thousands of crystals within, and yet only one that rang with the same tone as the boy himself. Rocco, however, sensed something more sinister. There was a presence, not a physical one, but a presence all the same, and it had designs on his apprentice. He did not feel anything sinister about it, but the knight knew on some level that a test awaited Dorian. Like his master did when Rocco was faced with spectres of the past, he knelt down in quiet meditation, doing all he could to reinforce his padawan, but ultimately leaving him to face what lay ahead on his own.

Dorian was hardly aware that Rocco was no longer with him, assumed the elder Jedi was lagging behind, for he could feel his master's presence as though he was standing mere inches away. The Zeltron followed the quiet tug of the Force, of his own connection to it, on a winding path through the labyrinthine tunnels, all softly illuminated by the glow of the crystals. After what felt like only a few moments, but was much closer to hours, Dorian came upon a small chamber that had only a scant few crystals left within, and the one calling to him was among them. Seated snugly in the wall, he reached out to pull it free, but felt the air change and knew something was wrong as soon as his fingers brushed the stone.

The presence coalesced behind him, and Dorian turned on his heel, training saber drawn to face it. The sight of a baby, skin the same red as his, hair the same black, eyes completely dead, dragging itself towards him with one good hand made his heart skip a beat and his knees grow weak. The ghastly incarnation of his other-self moaned softly, the moan of a child no longer strong enough to cry, and dragged itself ever closer. Dorian waved wildly at it to leave him alone, pressing his back to the wall and scrambling to make it deeper. Still it drew closer, blank stare fixed on some faraway thing, stumps wiggling uselessly as the hand grew and stretched, deforming as it became stronger, the hand of a teenager, of a man, of something not at all natural. 

Dorian had no recourse, all he could do was continue to panic as he threw snow and sediment from the cave floor at the approaching horror, grabbed the bag of his pack just to have some thin line of defense, waved his training saber aggressively so that it would just go away. In his flailing, he managed to dislodge the crystal from the wall above him, and it struck Dorian on the top of the head before bouncing between him and the thing. It's elongated fingers slowly wrapped around the slim piece of blue, and brought it close to its face. The lost eyes seemed to find something, gaining some semblance of twinkle as the crystal continued to pulse with soft light.

The arm holding the crystal slowly extended towards Dorian, tears streaking his cheeks but his fit ended. It opened up, offering it to him, and held perfectly still. With agonizing hesitation, Dorian reached out to meet it. He closed his metal fingers around the stone, and once more he was alone. The padawan pulled himself to his feet, breathing heavy, and wiped his eyes. There was a final impression of an image burned into his retina, the faces of a kind man and a brave woman, both Zeltron, holding the deformed baby and looking at it with unconditional love, and behind them was a red-skinned Twi'lek looking on with much the same.

Some time later, Dorian returned to the mouth of the cave, his prize in hand, training saber left behind. Rocco inquired about it, but all he got out of Dorian was that he felt ashamed for how he had tried to use it, and that it would be better not to remind himself of why. The knight accepted his explanation, knowing that he couldn't know what Dorian had faced in the bowels of the Force, just as Dorian could never comprehend the ghosts of any other Jedi.

Back in the safety of the Ilum temple, Dorian gathered the parts he had prepared for crafting the hilt, all still in need of perfecting, and started to work. All his waking hours for weeks, he fine-tuned every last piece, using the most rudimentary hand tools to make everything just so. Behind him floated the blue crystal, slowly synchronizing with its owner amidst his moving meditation. It all looked like him, felt like him, was an extension of him. No person who knew Dorian Kane could ever look upon his lightsaber without knowing exactly who belonged to it. When the time was right, Dorian gathered it all together and let go of himself, both entirely aware and completely ignorant of the small pieces finding their perfect fit within each other, the crystal their beating heart, its blue light visible at the bottom of the hilt. With a final soft click, all was one, and Dorian reached out to take hold of the weapon of a Jedi. The blade thrummed to life with a perfect hiss, and Dorian smiled as the light of it cast his red face in medium blue.

Padawan III

Although he had crafted the blade at fourteen, it would be another two years of blue milk diplomatic missions before Dorian first used his real lightsaber in anything but a training context. Deep in the crowded belly of Coruscant, Rocco and Dorian had just finished helping the judicial forces deal with a case of missing persons, the subject of which had simply done a bad job of disappearing to dodge old debts. While Rocco settled accounts with security officers, formally acknowledging the intervention of the Jedi Order and his involvement in particular, Dorian had taken the opportunity to experience a speck of the ecumenopolis without an escort. He was only a few blocks from the judicial office, buying lunch for himself and Rocco before their long ride back to the Temple, when a shout from behind drew his attention.

The scene was easy to analyze, or so it seemed to the young Jedi. An old-looking alien - a Gran, though Dorian didn’t know the species at the time - knocked to the ground with turned-out pockets, onlookers gasping, and a Rodian fleeing the scene with all haste. Dorian chose to connect the dots as he saw them, which pointed to a mugging. Excitement overtook him, the idea of playing hero something filling his mind, a hope and goal that nearly all young Jedi had to have smacked out of their heads sooner or later. In the moment, it was reason aplenty to send him racing after the Rodian through the crowded alleys of lower Coruscant.

The alien was fast, and he knew the streets better than the Zeltron pursuing him, but Dorian had the Force on his side. Vaulting over low obstacles, weaving through tight crowds, all made greatly easier through the subconscious physical and mental urgings that told him what to do before any impediment presented itself. That much the Force was telling him, but his awareness simply wasn’t high enough to realize the hornet’s nest he was about to get himself into. Dorian’s quarry shouted something to him in Rodese, and although he could tell it sounded desperate, he simply didn’t understand the language. After another two attempts, the Rodian realized his words were falling on deaf ears, and redoubled his efforts to escape the avid Padawan.

Unfortunately for the Rodian, turning into a empty, tight alley bought him a lot of ground, but gave Dorian clear line-of-sight. The Zeltron took hold of the thief’s ankle through the Force, pulling it towards him, and tripping the now-panicking Rodian onto his face for a skidding stop. The Rodian rolled onto his back and scrambled away from the advancing Jedi, and in his fumblings, pulled the boot from his foot and pitched it at Dorian. By well-trained reflex, Dorian’s lightsaber was in his hand and interposed between the shoe and himself, an excellent position for a traditional Shien deflection. A boot, however, is not a blaster bolt. It was not deflected, diverted, or even impeded by the lightsaber. It was cleanly sliced in half, the point of separation sizzling and glowing from contact with the shaped plasma, and the two halves continued on their merry way in the same direction they had already been flying in. In this case, that was Dorian’s face, resulting in two hard clunks and a gasp of pain as one of the hunks of bisected synthleather burned the Zeltron’s red cheek.

Dorian reacted - at that point, he simply didn’t have the discipline to stop himself - with a wild Force push in the Rodian’s direction, throwing the poor kid against the alley’s back wall with enough power to break a few small bones in the arm that took the hit. The Jedi stormed forward, weapon up in the Falling Avalanche of Djem So, before he realized what he was doing. The Rodian reached for inside his jacket, and out came something black and shaped not unlike a blaster. Dorian swung his arms down in frightened reaction, fully ready to slice through whatever the Rodian was drawing, but his hands were empty as the poor alien recoiled in pitiful fear, holding out the stolen ignition switch of a private transport.

Behind Dorian, at the mouth of the alley, Rocco deactivated the blue lightsaber, pulled from his padawan’s hands in the nick of time. The Rodian hugged his knees to his chest, pleading in Rodese, holding out the vital component like his last credit in the world. Dorian stood panting and confused, looking between his master and the assumed thief. The tension was thick enough to cut with - ironically - a lightsaber. Rocco didn’t say a word to his padawan as he pushed past him to pick up the Rodian, keeping a careful grip in case he tried to run, but being gentle enough that he wouldn’t aggravate the Rodian’s injured arm, or risk spooking him. He asked the alien a few questions in Rodese, Dorian watching in distressed confusion, and Rocco once again stepped past him - this time leading the injured alien - with nothing but a sharp gesture to follow him back to the judicial office. On the way, Rocco commanded the Gran to accompany them, who was content to do so.

Once there, Dorian, still utterly in the dark and feeling naked without his weapon, was sat outside of the office while Rocco dealt with things. It didn’t take long, ending with the Jedi handing over credit chips to the Gran, the Rodian, and the officer in attendance. After, as the Gran left the building and the officer escorted the Rodian to a medical center, Rocco loomed over his apprentice with disappointment etched into his face, and began by explaining the situation. The Gran was a loan shark, shady but legal, who had taken a small family’s starship, their only means of transportation off of Coruscant to their home, outside of Republic space, as collateral for a loan. The deal was always going to bite them, it was by design, but again, legal. The Rodian only wanted to help his siblings and parents, and had stolen the part that the Gran was keeping hostage so that they could finally go home, at which time they would send him appropriate remuneration. Rocco had resolved the issue by paying the remaining balance on the loan, paying the charge for the ticket the Rodian incurred for his quasi-mugging, and giving the Rodian enough credits to help ease the ride home for his kin.

Rocco told Dorian that his response to seeing the apparent mugging wasn’t wrong in the slightest. He was, in part, proud that his padawan had leapt to action at the first sign of unjust activity. The lightsaber, that was his sin. As had been drilled into Dorian by both Rocco and his initiate instructors, a Jedi should never draw his weapon unless prepared to take a life. That Dorian had pulled his so readily at a minor threat, and was pushed to explosive violence by something as minor as a burn on the cheek and a hit to the head, horrified Rocco. Communicated to him that he had made some grave misstep in the training process. On the other side, Dorian had merely sat with his face in his hands, quietly shaking at the thought that he had nearly maimed - possibly nearly killed - an innocent. Someone whose predicament he always imagined himself championing.

The trip back to the temple was dour. Rocco as distressed as Dorian while they rode in complete silence. The distance between them remained for weeks, Rocco having Dorian do nothing but sit with him in the Room of a Thousand Fountains while they meditated. They developed a routine. Breakfast, meditation. Midday meal, meditation. Dinner, meditation. Sleep, start over. All the while, Rocco kept Dorian’s lightsaber, waiting for something, Dorian didn’t know for what. The answer, of course, was calm. Rocco had put the immense weight of guilt on Dorian’s shoulders, but he didn’t want him to stew in it. The Jedi way was to let go, but Dorian had wrapped himself up in the shame and the fear like bindings. Rocco’s meditations sought guidance for himself as a teacher, but also to relieve the tension around Dorian’s mind and heart.

He did, in time, but it took longer than Rocco had hoped. At the same time, that his mistake had such a profound effect on the young Jedi gave Rocco a small sense of comfort, knowledge that his padawan truly cared. The morning after he felt the shadows leave Dorian’s mind in the meditations, Rocco woke him up early, and gave him back his lightsaber. It was time, the knight explained, to expose Dorian to something real. He had kept him sheltered for so long that he wasn’t prepared for real threats, for the dangers that he would face in the course of his duties as a Jedi Knight, and it was time to break him out of the molds. Scare him, shock him, make him put his training to use in a real way.

It started with a mission, picking up the cold trail of a raiding party that was attacking civilian transports all throughout Republic Space, a journey that would occupy the two Jedi for years.

It ended with the first and most painful of Dorian's Trials.

Padawan IV

It began in the Expansion Region, around an agriworld whose exports had been under constant fire. The planet was of no special significance, save that the company based out of it was partially controlled by a Sith Aristocrat. Every ship had been attacked differently; some were ambushed, others baited, some peacefully boarded before chaos ensued. The only commonality was that there were no survivors, just a dead husk of metal left drifting in space, some of their produce taken, most of it merely exposed to the vacuum and made useless. Rocco made the same connection as everyone before him had, that the attacks weren’t for profit - or if they were, then it was for profits that the Jedi weren’t aware of. Dorian, however, found the first useful lead.

All of the affected vessels had standard security systems, and all had been routinely destroyed, leaving behind no surveillance of any kind to work off of. While investigating the most recently recovered wreck, however, Dorian made a discovery in the crew quarters: One of the crewmen had kept a holorecorder. The thing must have been four decades old and very cheap to begin with, boxy and awkward, not the sort of thing that someone used to Core technology would notice for what it was. It just so happened that it had been recording during the attack.

The scene was unpleasant. The attackers had already boarded, the old man who had owned it was leaving a tearful message behind for his spouse, and a Trandoshan burst through the door behind him. There was no hesitation, just the song of a blade and the man was dead, the alien taking a “trophy” from his corpse. The old holorecorder sat unmolested, even as two humans came in after the lizard and started tossing the room. The holorecorder was knocked to the ground, just in time for another figure to enter. This one, a woman, small framed, they could only see her from the waist-down. She had on darkly-colored robed, ratty things, but reminiscent of standard Jedi fare, over a beaten suit of armor, and with a very ramshackle lightsaber hilt on her hip. One of the humans spoke, but the microphone was covered by something, they couldn’t make out what it was, and the small woman replied harshly. There was a word of dissent, and her foot smashed into his face into a brutal roundhouse kick that sent the mercenary to the floor, knocking the holorecorder into the crevice between two footlockers that had secured it when the ship’s atmosphere was vented by a later explosion.

The injured mercenary pulled himself to his feet as his attacker stalked out of the room, giving them the first, grainy look at her upper body. She had short hair, tomboyish, and was wearing a visor of some sort that wrapped around to the back of her head. On the back of her robes, also faded and beaten but still barely visible, was an insignia, a single, perfectly round eye wreathed in lightning. The other raiders vacated the quarters in all haste, and the recording cut out as an explosion rumbled through the ship, the blast that ended the engagement.

Rocco could have kissed his padawan for the find, difficult though it had been to see its owner die, and then to see his killer mutilate the remains. Rocco bid Dorian return to the Temple and begin researching the insignia, try to find any record of it in the Archives. Rocco would continue on-site investigation, trying to find any other threads to pull. It was about time for Dorian to upgrade his cybernetics, anyway, and the Temple was the best environment for him to work in. The Archivists allowed Dorian unprecedented access to the information banks on Dark and Gray Jedi groups.

Rocco didn’t know it at the time, but he was already being scouted by the Council of First Knowledge as a potential Shadow, due to his extensive saber training, level head, and fearless nature. As such, Dorian was able to delve much deeper into the Archives than a padawan of his level and age might usually have been allowed to, knowing on whose behalf he worked.

The first and only clue he was able to dig out after a month of careful combing was that the symbol was better known in the Outer Rim, where grafitti of it had often been seen in multiple spaceports, usually preceding some of the very attacks that Rocco and Dorian were investigating. That was all the lead they needed, though. Dorian contacted Rocco immediately, only to find that his master had sensed the breakthrough even across so many light years, and was already en route home to Coruscant. Once there, he petitioned the Order for a vessel that might be able to support the two Jedi for extended periods of time, and a moderate credit grant with which to live on. After jumping through a few bureaucratic hoops, the request was granted, and Dorian and Rocco found themselves boarding The Silver Wind, an old-but-reliable freighter that flew like a dream. Suffice to say, they couldn’t have been happier.

On the long journeys from world to world as they pursued the dark maiden, Rocco and Dorian filled every hour with intensive training. If there was a Dark Jedi on the other end of this chase, as Rocco rightly believed there was, he wouldn’t allow his apprentice to be unprepared. The training was brutal, but effective. Dorian found himself witnessing a level of discipline and endurance he had never known Rocco had, instilled in the Twi’lek by his own long years training under Fal Tolvus, a Guardian through-and-through. Their Force studies began to lag behind a bit, at least as Sentinel training went, but Dorian had no complaints. It hurt, but he felt the progress they were making as the days and weeks ticked by.

When they would arrive at a sighting, the training would be put on hold in favor of intensive investigation, looking for traces of the insignia, the dark maiden, or anything related to either of them. Many false leads, many wild goose chases, but always another sighting. Rocco never grew disheartened, guided by the Force to the belief that they were still on the right track. Dorian was bolstered by his master’s confidence, and supplemented it in turn through his pheromone control, keeping their spirits up even when both ached from the constant physical effort and technique practice.

Neither even noticed when a year passed them by, and the only sign of it was the Order requesting an update. Fortunately, because the pair were, in fact, gaining ground on their targets, attacks had been occurring less frequently. This was good news, as was Rocco’s newfound faith in his padawan’s abilities after their long time of silence. With time, patterns had also begun to emerge. If an attack was coming to an agriworld? The graffiti would be in a spaceport no less than one week prior. Industrial? A cantina, but the kind that only allowed humans - Dorian and Rocco had trouble tracking those, but the mind trick is a wonderful thing. Another clear pattern, one that made their jobs far easier: The only businesses and planets being harassed held interests controlled by members of the Sith Aristocracy, old connections to the Republic that had not yet been phased out. The number of targets dwindled ever more, as the Jedi became better and better at anticipating where to go.

Meanwhile, Dorian was getting ever stronger, and used all of his free time doing maintenance on their ship or his limbs, turning the simple, heavy cybernetics into extensions of the physical strength he had earned just by carrying them. He was growing more comfortable being apart from them for longer periods, as well, content to sit at the cockpit and keep an eye on the course without his legs, or practice Shien blocks against the training remote with his left arm turned off, hanging as dead weight, in case it should ever come to pass that he has to rely on one hand. On some level, deep inside, both of them sensed that this was too peaceful, that they were doing too well. Neither spoke it aloud, but the fear remained.

Although the hunt for the dark maiden was their primary goal, the two Jedi took on the role of knights errant wherever they went, helping people as they could and working towards a better galaxy. The right use of their time, as far as the pair were concerned.

They celebrated Dorian’s eighteenth and nineteenth birthdays aboard the Wind, Rocco making a point to tell him that the time was coming close for his Trials to Knighthood. Dorian waved away the future, assuring his master that he didn’t care when he became a Jedi Knight, and that he trusted Rocco to get him there. It was a happy time for them, when they began to feel those true bonds of brotherhood between Master and Apprentice as Dorian edged ever closer to being Rocco’s peer and equal. It came to a close with the best development of their long journey: They not only guessed where the next attack would be, but there was only one viable target on their list, and they were close enough to get there first.

Padawan V

It was a trap. Of course it was a trap, and they walked right into it. Hubris is the downfall of many brave people, Jedi included, and these two were no exception. In a sense, they did actually do what they set out to, get to the ship that was in-danger in time to warn them, they simply didn’t realize it was they who were in danger.

The Silver Wind was holding position far afield of the planet, monitoring all traffic to and from, when they received the ping. Ship-in-distress, the attack was happening. Rocco put all of his piloting skill to use closing the distance in as little time as possible, pushing their ship to its limits. There it was, though, a strange and broken vessel clamped around another, some kind of advanced boarding maneuver. Rocco swooped in, opening a comm channel to the sector authorities to close on their position with all haste. And that’s when the real ship, a marvel of electromagnetic stealth functions and jammers, coupled itself to The Silver Wind and shut down its engines. Rocco wasted no time making a plan, although it wasn’t a very good one: Dorian would guard the airlock on their end, keep back any that tried to board, and Rocco would try to push in to confront the dark maiden. Bad plan, but all he had time to come up with before the mercenaries breached their way in.

Dorian planted himself where his master had commanded, and Rocco opened the emergency door, getting the drop on their foes with a powerful Force push through the corridor that forced them backwards into their own ship. The same crew they had seen in the holo was there: Two human men, the big Trandoshan - who was actually female, although the Jedi couldn’t tell - and the dark maiden, smiling grimly with an emerald-colored lightsaber in her hand as she shouldered the impact of the Force push. Dorian couldn’t help but note that her hair had grown out in the years since they first saw her image, and she had also grown considerably taller. Instead of a visor, there was now a simple band of cloth tied over her eyes. Rocco recognized it as a Miraluka tendency, Dorian would learn that later.

Blasterfire filled the corridor, Rocco and Dorian expertly batting it back towards the mercenaries, not landing any real hits though. They were trained to deal with Jedi, taking cover before checking if a shot connected. Based on the lightsaber scoring on their armor and burns on their skin, Dorian gandered that their leader had been preparing them for this engagement for quite some time. Rocco was unfazed, charging through towards his target with absolute trust in the Force before him and the fellow Jedi at his back. Dorian held his ground when the maiden and Rocco left his sight, although he could feel his master’s courageous presence, and hear the heavy strikes of Djem So digging into the enemy.

The Trandoshan, however, was losing patience. She came rampaging forward, an actual metal sword in hand, and Dorian barely had time to get out of the way as she finally broke the space for her comrades to attack. Dorian’s first instinct was to engage in full Djem So, slashing at her sword to destroy it so he could finish on the next cleave. It was therefore quite distressing when the sword held up against his lightsaber, and arms stronger than his own pushed Dorian's sapphire blade perilously close to its wielder. Dorian broke off the blade lock, backpedaling for ground, but the ship wasn’t the most spacious. At best, he could open the escape pod to give himself a bit more room, but the humans were already rushing to provide reinforcement to their vanguard. The Trandoshan advanced slowly, savoring the fight, swatting at Dorian’s lightsaber even as he stared her down with steely determination. The next swing, he spun into a flawless Djem So counterattack after redirecting the sword, cutting the Trandoshan’s stomach just enough to hurt - any closer, she could have grabbed him. Years later, he realized that the roar of rage the Trandoshan let out at the offense is what drew Rocco back to the Wind.

The knight came barreling back through the airlock, utterly unscathed, his opponent trailing after with multiple minor wounds, but more scoring on her obscenely tough armor than actual injuries. With a flick of his wrist, Rocco threw one of the gunners aside, taking a measured slash at the other to take the man’s arm off. The Miraluka re-engaged him, green and yellow clashing. She forced his blade down, ruining the controls of the Wind with an explosion of sparks. The Trandoshan wheeled around to see the new circumstances, giving Dorian another shot, which he used to take out a tendon on the back of her knee. The incredible strength in her fist as he went flying backwards was stunning, in multiple senses, and the young Jedi could hardly breathe through what was at least one cracked rib.

Rocco ordered Dorian to ready the escape pod, the Miraluka snarling at the smiling Twi’lek. This was his fight, even against the powerful anger of the Dark Side. The knight goaded her into attacking by saying she only damaged his ship because he had done the same to her airlock, but she didn’t waste time on banter, keeping up an endless onslaught that only played into the Djem So master's hands. Meanwhile, the Trandoshan had begun to lumber towards Dorian, and he popped open the escape pod doors at his back while facing her down.

What happened next, Dorian remembers in excruciating detail. It was almost all he thought about in his free time for years.

First, he felt the Force around his neck and wrist, and saw the Miraluka smiling wickedly as she thrust her hand towards him. His lightsaber was wrenched from his grip by the Trandoshan, but it closed with a hiss-snap, the safety engaging as soon as pressure was taken off of the right switches. The Trandoshan threw the weapon away, he could hear it clattering in the escape pod behind him, where he later found it. The Trandoshan struck him again, throwing him back. The Force released its grip as she followed with a charge, and Dorian slipped underneath the limping lizard, leaving her in the escape pod and he in the ship. He reached out to jettison it, just as he saw the knife glinting in her scaly hand.

Before the weapon could reach him, a golden blur zipped through Dorian's peripheral vision, Rocco’s lightsaber impaling the Trandoshan through the head, and beginning to withdraw so it could return to his grip. Dorian spun to see what had developed in the other fight, just as the living human gunner fired his pistol directly into the Twi’lek’s shoulder. The jolt was such that Rocco’s concentration broke, and his blade deactivated, hitting the ground and then becoming trapped underneath the Trandoshan’s massive corpse as it fell forward, out of the pod.

Dorian screamed and ran for Rocco as the green lightsaber of the Miraluka plunged into his master’s stomach. Rocco looked down at her, surprised at the pain. Dorian reached his hands back, thinking to summon both blades to charge the Miraluka, but he did not get the chance. The Jedi gave his padawan a wry smile as the Miraluka withdrew her blade from his abdomen and reeled back for a decapitating blow. Before she swung, Rocco’s hand jerked towards Dorian, and threw the padawan and both deactivated lightsabers straight backwards into the waiting escape pod. Dorian slammed into the back of it with tremendous force, tripping the emergency launch as the pod partially decoupled, as Rocco intended.

The last Dorian Kane ever saw of his master, the honorable and heroic Roccoto’ma, was the knight closing his eyes in complete peace, prepared for the end. The pod doors slammed shut a heartbeat before the green lightsaber connected with Rocco’s neck, and launched Dorian into space.

Dorian Kane had begun the Trial of Flesh.

Mourning

It turned out that Rocco's emergency call to the sector officers, who had been on standby to reinforce the Jedi already, hadn't been completely jammed. The mercenaries hardly had time to get the bound ships limping before the turbolasers started firing, but they did still get away, The Silver Wind going with them because of the damage Rocco had dealt to their airlock controls during his brief boarding attempt. A cadre of starfighters were dispatched to follow, but the mercenaries managed to reach deep space before the assault ships could catch up, and escaped effective range. Meanwhile, the overseeing judicial frigate secured the drifting escape pod, rescuing Dorian. To say he was distraught did not do the padawan's condition justice.

In such a state he was, sobbing and fighting the troopers as if only he could still save his master if he could just get to there in time, that the medical officer had to sedate him. It was no better when he woke up, but at least he was on-planet, and a communique had been sent to Coruscant over what had transpired. An ace returning to the temple was near enough to retrieve the orphaned padawan, whose hysteria had given way to despondency and grief. This was the second time Dorian had lost his father, and he had known and loved this one even better than the first.

Once back in the safety of the Temple, Dorian was quickly debriefed, then placed under the temporary supervision of an instructor, who mostly left the young man to his mourning as long as he participated in the daily meditations - far away from the younglings, lest his presence affect their young and unguarded minds. He secreted himself away like that, never allowed to dwell entirely on his grief, but being given the time to work through it naturally. The Order had taken Rocco's lightsaber shortly after his return, using it as the centerpiece in a planned vigil in lieu of the traditional cremation, due to the lack of a body. Lacking even that, Dorian retreated into his mind for long stretches of time, tearing apart and rebuilding anything he could get his hands on - including his own legs and his arm - just for the depth of a moving meditation.

For the first time in a long time, Dorian wore the traditional Jedi robes around the temple. Rocco had preferred skipping the cloaks while they were on mission, and for their grand hunt for the dark maiden, both had slowly come to look more like nomads than Jedi. For Dorian, they were just uncomfortable, now. They fit poorly over the plating of his cybernetics, and the light fabric was so foreign and impractical. During the vigil, he actually locked his legs and his left hand to keep from fidgeting, but the ceremony squeezed his heart even more tightly as he had nothing else to focus on. Another of the attending Jedi shared the pain, and Dorian recognized the tall, muscular Zabrak for who he was immediately: Master Tolvus, the Jedi who had training Rocco to knighthood. Dorian moved to stand with him, his misery easing slightly with the knowledge that someone else knew what he was feeling, and finished the ceremony in respectful silence.

Shortly after, Dorian was told that Master Tolvus had volunteered to become the Zeltron's new teacher, and finish the training that their lost connection had begun. With a heavy heart, Dorian accepted, and they met formally the next morning. Master Tolvus explained the level of discipline he expected, and gave Dorian the frank truth that his training would take longer than he had perhaps anticipated to finish, as Fal would be holding him to the standards of a Knight-Guardian rather than a Knight-Sentinel. Given that Rocco had already been sliding towards Master Tolvus's legacy of Form V expertise and physical excellence for the years prior, the news did not greatly impact Dorian, and he mentally prepared himself for the long road ahead.

More than Dorian expected, however, he did find himself enjoying Master Tolvus's company, if only because he could see shades of Rocco in the Jedi Master, and vice versa. The two reminisced often, even as Dorian began the long process of changing his discipline so late in the training process, and Master Tolvus began to push him to new heights as a swordsman. Part of the young Jedi was starting to come to peace with what had happened, with what he had seen. Perhaps he would pursue future instruction at an Enclave, follow the path until he became an instructor. Younglings were easy, and he was uniquely equipped to keep them all in a positive learning environment.

Fal seemed to have no taste for staying in the Temple, and Dorian dutifully followed him from one mission to another. Battle seemed to find the Zabrak, and the Zeltron learned by experience as much as practice. As he approached twenty-two, knowing that the dark maiden and her remaining cohort had not been seen in the galaxy since Rocco's sacrifice, Dorian was finally come to terms with the loss.  In just another year or two, a career of peacekeeping, of instruction, that could be his. It was a rosy future, and he looked forward to it.

His attitude changed when the galaxy was turned on its ear.

War

The Sith Order had returned, and Master Fal Tolvus did not hesitate to join the Jedi Blades in counter to their ancient enemy. Right at his side, blue lightsaber of a Jedi Guardian gripped tightly in hand, was Dorian Kane. Tolvus didn't even need to ask, Dorian was almost more prepared than the Master to protect the Republic from the Dark Side. He was on the back lines of Subterrel, but when the Blades formed, he followed Fal into battle with fire in his belly.

On the front lines, the young Jedi was blooded. Shien was a beautiful tool on a battlefield riddled with blasterfire, and Dorian knows in his bones that his skilled deflections and barrier of blades resulting in multiple casualties that he isn't personally aware of, but the first real kill he dealt was by pure reflex. A pair of Imperial soldiers had gotten the drop on Dorian's squad, one stole a rifle and the other tried to sneak up on him with a combat knife. Dorian was barely aware of what he was doing, he just tipped his lightsaber on his waist and ignited it, running the Imperial through. The squad leaped into action, and Dorian inadvertently bisected his attacker as he pulled the weapon from its clip to counter his partner opening fire on their position. He kept the men Fal had assigned them to alive, and was frightened by how easy it had been to cut someone down.

It only got easier as time passed, as battles came and went. The loss of Rocco had finally taught Dorian to let go of himself, and by focusing exclusively on protecting the soldiers and Jedi around him, he was able to begin fighting without emotion, as a Jedi should. He was never sure of this was his new master's intent or not, but he suspects that it was. Dorian would never be as close to his new master as he was to the old, nor did he expect that Fal would ever see him as he had seen Rocco, but the pair fit together well enough, and they were united in their staunch support of the Republic and drive to protect its people.

They fought a losing battle, and Dorian saw it. He also saw that the Blades were the difference between evacuations and massacres, which did more to reinforce his sense of how much the Jedi were needed than winning ever would. No end lay in sight for this new war, but Dorian drew strength from the convictions Master Tolvus, and shared it with the fighting men and women of the Republic however he could.

After so long, Dorian had begun to feel as if he might really have what it takes to be a Jedi. Naturally, this is when the Force tested him. The young warrior's trials came to him, at long last.

Padawan VI

In 3,600 BBY, they found her, and her station had been elevated since last the dark maiden and Dorian had crossed paths. She had a name, now: Lady Zyriks, Sith Lord. Apparently she had destroyed the entirety of her small-time cult when they refused to join the many in reforming the Sith, and had been rewarded for her dedication and skill. Having a notch on her lightsaber from the Jedi Knight she killed certainly didn't hurt. Zyriks was leading a force two systems out from where Dorian and Fal were stationed, and the Jedi Master was already putting together a small strike team to bring her in. The padawan was ecstatic, verging on hysteric. This would be his Trial of Skill, there could be no other possibility. The Force was guiding him to this confrontation, and Rocco would finally be at peace once his master and apprentice had avenged him. Very un-Jedi thoughts, but self-righteous belief had blinded Dorian to that truth.

They were traveling the same night, a small craft that could get five Jedi in and five Jedi plus one Sith Lord out before the Imperials could scramble a response. Dorian was resting up for the eagerly awaited confrontation when it happened. A dream, but more. A nightmare, but real.

It wasn't a new dream, not at first. He was back on The Silver Wind, falling backwards towards the escape pod, reaching out to his master as the doors closed. All happening in excruciating slow motion, and Dorian with no control of his body. He focused on getting past it, entering a resting meditation state, but it shattered as soon as the pod launched. This was usually where the story ended, where the nightmare was complete, and he would wake up in a cold sweat. This time, the perspective took a sudden and violent shift. Now he was watching himself hurled backwards from a distance, a standing position, arms pulled back. The red boy with total helplessness on his face hit the wall, and Dorian looked down, Rocco in front of him, barely standing, a look of resignation and disappointment etched into the Jedi's face.

Dorian tried to look away, and saw his arms moving, his lightsaber slicing through the air as the pod closed in the distance. Fighting as hard as he could to stop it, he looked back to Rocco, but instead he saw Lady Zyriks, calm and collected, older and wiser, the hollow spaces where other near-humans have eyes staring back at him. Like deepening wells of oil, shimmering and black, they drew Dorian closer, entranced with the void on the other side. His lightsaber was close to her now, and she smiled as it moved through the air so slowly they might have been in high gravity. It stopped at her neck, and he heard her speak. Never had he heard her voice, but he knew it belonged. Do it. 

Finally, he woke up, the sweat colder than it had ever been. Still almost an hour away from the insertion point. Dorian hugged his shoulders, shaking. Master Tolvus appeared before him, concerned, but already prepared for battle. He asked Dorian what was wrong.

All the apprentice could do was mumble that he couldn't go down to the planet. He couldn't face her, not then. Maybe not ever. Tolvus sensed the truth that the vision had granted Dorian, that if he allowed himself to attack the Sith in the name of vengeance, not justice, that there would be no avoiding a fall. Although he had learned to control his passion, this would add too much fuel to the inner fire to contain. Dorian would go over the edge, and that would be that. Tolvus would be forced to put down an apprentice.

It was Dorian's Trial of Spirit, to acknowledge that he had long fostered the seeds of the Dark Side, had not dealt with his emotions as a Jedi should. It was a hard pill to swallow, but he forced himself to stay on the ship while his master and his peers went out to face Zyriks. She stood no chance against Fal, and was taken into custody with no complications. Dorian had passed, but as he looked at her scarred face as he watched her be led aboard the ship in shackles, about to be placed in a force cage, he knew that the true challenge was still to come.

The Jedi made for Zeltros, ironically. The nearest advanced world where they could resupply, and that had the security forces to contain a Sith Lord until the Blades or the Order had prepared a location to hold her. Although the planet was independent, it was friendly to the Blades, and didn't turn them away so long as they kept Zyriks under their own lock and key. She had been stripped of everything but her clothes, even her eye band, and the Jedi were certain that the Empire wouldn't be able to find her in time to intervene. Unfortunately, Imperial moles caught wind that a high-priority prisoner was coming through, and investigated as a matter of course. They were able to infiltrate the hangar where Zyriks was being held, poisoned the Knight guarding her, and released the Sith from her cell. She killed the unconscious Jedi, and took back her scarlet lightsaber before making good on the opportunity for escape. Unfortunately, Master Tolvus was not present, busy organizing her transfer to Seraphim.

Dorian finally believed that there was no such thing as coincidence when, while going for a walk to clear his head, he saw the shadowy figure running through the night. There was nothing and no one to hold him back, and Dorian leaped through the air, blue saber thrumming powerfully in his hands. He underestimated the extent of Zyriks's Force-assisted senses, as her own red blade came to life and batted away the Falling Avalanche. Dorian had a belly full of rage, and didn't even give her time to register who it was that had attacked. He fed his strength with the Force, with the Dark Side that hid within him as it did all life, and attacked like he was already dead, and there was nothing she could take from him.

Strength and discipline clashed with speed and fluidity as Jedi and Sith fought the duel of their lives. Zyriks could feel his anger, remembered the apprentice of the Knight she had killed, and the flicker of rage that was born inside of Dorian when she killed his master. She had felt it then, as she did now, and smiled widely as renewed vigor filled her muscles. To kill the master and corrupt the padawan? What greater expression of the Sith could there be? If only he wasn't trying so hard to kill her, she might have tried to sell him, but Dorian wasn't giving her the time to speak  between counterattacks and vicious assault. She needed to stop him. To break him. To force him to submit. The lightning that exploded from her fingertips might have succeeded, if she knew more about the man she was facing.

That is not to say that it had no effect. In fact, it was a rather significant one. Dorian, unprepared for the pure expression of dark power, caught the full force of it on his left arm. His cybernetics seized up as power dampeners and surged protectors tried and failed to protect the delicate machinery within, dropping Dorian to the ground where his fist connected with the street. It grounded him, just enough that the lightning didn't lay him out as it would have had he caught it in the chest. His arm continued to fight, the hand clenching harder and harder around his lightsaber, until finally the hilt ruptured, the blade deactivated, and the crystal inside was crushed completely.

Zyriks's confidence emanated out from her, Dorian's anger quelled by the pain, and she laughed as he destroyed his own Jedi weapon. She let off of the lightning, and let him kneel before her, body smoking and arm sparking. The Miraluka began to speak, already having a grand oration planned out, but was silenced just as suddenly as Dorian had been. Getting hit in the mouth by a sixteen-pound hunk of metal is usually plenty to put someone on the ground, and that's exactly what Dorian's arm had been reduced to as he exploded upwards and smashed his frozen fist directly into the Sith Lord's face. Flat on her back, he straddled her chest, and just kept punching. Teeth were broken, blood flowed freely, and her eyes would have been ruined if she had any, but Dorian had frustration to work out on her face. Zyriks, changing tact from "turn him" to "end him," brought her lightsaber up and deftly slashed through the mechanical arm, taking off half of it. Dorian replied by smacking her arm back down with what remained, and jumped up to bring his armored, pain-proof leg down on the Sith Lord's wrist, shattering it and forcing her weapon-hand to open.

Dorian reached down and picked up the red lightsaber in his good hand, pointing down at her with his sizzling metal stump. The Force gripped Zyriks, guided through his damaged arm, lifting her up and smashing her back down to the ground, then slamming her back to the wall of a high-rise. Dorian stalked towards her, the crimson blade eager to taste the blood of its creator. It would have, had Dorian not wanted to look the Sith Lord in the face before he killed her. He expected defiance, anger, the unbridled evil of the Sith, but all Dorian found in her broken visage was desperation and fear. Someone who, despite all her power, was afraid to die, and couldn't even see the face of the man about to kill her. That's when it clicked. Dorian's vision hadn't told him that he would fall facing Lady Zyriks, it told him he would fall if he continued to see her as something she wasn't: The Dark Side. She was a person, as were all the Sith, and although their path was paved with monstrous actions and cruel intentions, they were not, themselves, monsters. As his anger ebbed, and retreated deeper into the Jedi than it ever had, he knew that this was the ultimate lesson of the Jedi. The Sith were afraid to die, and Dorian had convinced himself he needed to avenge Rocco's death, but there is no death, there is the Force.

Dorian let Zyriks slip from his grip, and her legs buckled beneath her as she fell against the wall. Placing the tip of her own lightsaber a hair's breadth from the Sith Lord's face, he spoke to her, in a clear and steady voice, full of calm. "In the name of the Jedi Order, the Galactic Republic, and Roccoto'ma... You are under arrest."

Knight I

The other Jedi, having felt the conflict from afar, arrived mere moments after, and Dorian helped them take her back into custody. The beating he had dealt kept her sedate and weak long enough for Master Tolvus to take charge, and she was ultimately transferred to Coruscant, where she was taken as a prisoner of war.

Dorian was immediately rotated away from the front lines, his wounds from the lightning and dalliance with the Dark Side sufficient reason to return to the temple for mental and physical recovery. During this time, Gargon fell to the Mandalorians, Taris entered contest, and the Jedi Order finally committed to supporting their offshoot Blades in the war. Also during his recovery, Master Tolvus recommended Dorian to the High Council for ascension to Knighthood.

In finally coming to terms with the death of Rocco, he had endured and completed the Trial of Flesh, the psychological pain of losing a master far worse than losing any limb would ever be to Dorian.

In overcoming his own darkness and recognizing his flaws, and ending his duel with Lady Zyriks as a Jedi should, he had passed the Trial of Spirit, although he would continue to receive instruction from those more experienced in emotional control.

By defeating a Sith Lord in single combat, and comporting himself valorously on the field of battle against the Empire, Dorian Kane had completed the Trial of Skill, and was deemed a true Jedi, at last.

After having his braid cut, Dorian requested passage to Ilum, so that he could replace the lightsaber he had lost. Instead, he was presented with an older yellow blade, a used one. It had belonged to a great knight, who had sacrificed himself so that his padawan would have the chance to surpass him. With tearful pride and gratitude, Dorian accepted Rocco's lightsaber.

Now in good health, and emotionally whole, Dorian Kane is ready to return to the battlefield. Not as a Blade, not as a padawan, not even as the Guardian that Fal had molded him into, but as a Jedi Knight, protector of the Republic.

Roleplay Sample:

How do I always end up in these messes? Dorian asked himself, ducking under the hail of blasterfire coming from the other skiff. The trooper piloting his didn't seem as interested in self-preservation, but Dorian grabbed the soldier by the belt and yanked him down, throwing them both around like cargo as the controls bucked and the fast-flying hovercraft was pushed by the wind. Still, better than watching the man get a hole in the head. With a quick wave of his right hand, Dorian stabilized their skiff, and pulled back the throttle so that it could cruise while the Imperials raced past. It bought them about thirty seconds.

The Jedi grabbed the trooper's shoulder to get his attention, reaching out through the Force to perceive their attackers. Three people on the other skiff. Gunner, pilot, commander, and the commander was feeling back. That needed dealt with. "Alright," he muttered, focusing on remaining confident so that his pheromones would respond. "Stay low, keep us moving. Get me about twenty feet from them, and don't try to play hero, understand? That's my thing." The Zeltron smirked, and the soldier smiled back, encouraged by the Jedi, in more ways than he knew.

The human crawled quickly back to the controls, barely peeking over the lip of the craft to see where they were going as he sped back up. Dorian stood up tall, and ignited his golden lightsaber, holding it in a Shien defensive pose as the Sith urged his gunner to resume firing. The sheer volume of incoming death was more than he would be able to stand for long, it would take someone better schooled in Soresu to have any hope of standing up to the repeating fire, but Dorian only needed to withstand it for a heartbeat. As the stream of green light came lancing towards him, the Jedi took one careful swipe at the lead bolt, and sent it drilling into the back of the Imperial driver's helmet, an instant fatality. Dorian dropped back down and killed his blade as the corpse lurched forward onto the controls, and the skiff started a wild crash course to the ground.

The Republic pilot had done an admirable job getting them to the range that Dorian asked, making their skiff the best place for the Sith to jump to as he abandoned the other soldier, who was desperately trying to regain control of the skiff without being thrown free. Whether or not he succeeded was of no interest to Kane, who gave their new, disheveled passenger a welcoming smile, even as the red lightsaber snapped to life. Dorian planted himself firmly between the Sith and his allied trooper.

"I don't suppose you'd like to surrender?" Dorian asked sincerely, already feeling the Dark Side creeping towards him as the Sith's anger grew. A snarl was his only answer. "Well, you can't blame me for trying." Dorian re-ignited his own lightsaber and raised it smoothly above his head, tilting the blade behind him in the Djem So opening pose.  He swung down hard as the Sith charged him, sparks flying as their lightsabers clashed, smashing the red blade aside and following up with a tight, powerful sai tok.

[Neology]

Ships/Vehicles:

None, unless provided by the Republic or the Order, or rented for temporary use.

Equipment:

One single-phase lightsaber of standard size and length, focused through a yellow pontite crystal. The hilt is brushed durasteel, and has suffered far more wear and tear than would be expected for the weapon of one so recently knighted. This is the only real hint that Dorian is not the tool's original owner, other than his hands not fitting it as well as he would like.

A utility belt, which includes, but is not limited to emergency credit chips, a magnetic couple, a small tool kit, a datapad, a lightsaber holster (which makes it significantly harder to remove from his person without permission), and long-range comm equipment which is integrated with his left arm cybernetics.

The cybernetics themselves aren't as flexible as some newer models, but what they lack in finesse they make up for in raw power. All three are built to be both extremely strong and durable, and Dorian's Force-enhanced reflexes, excellent physique, and expert tuning of the mechanics into his nervous system do an admirable job making up the slack.

Stats: (Feeble, Below Average, Average, Above Average, Superior, Legendary)

Strength - Superior
Agility - Average
Intelligence - Above Average
Charisma - Above Average

Force Stats: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)

Telekinetic- Adept
Telepathic- Apprentice (supplemented by natural Zeltron telepathy)
Body- Adept
Sense- Apprentice
Protection- Novice
Healing- Novice
Destruction- Unskilled

Combat Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Bare-Knuckle Brawling- Novice
Immobilizing Holds- Novice

Force Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
None

Other Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Pheromone Control (Racial Ability)- Adept
Investigation- Adept
Utility Mechanics- Adept
Cybernetic Mechanics- Expert
Piloting- Novice
Military Tactics- Novice

Lightsaber Training: (Untrained, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master, Specialist)

Form I - Adept
-Shii-Cho
Form III - Apprentice
-Soresu
Form V - Master
-Shien
-Djem So

Languages
Basic
Binary
Huttese