Restless

[Blue]

The travel back to Coruscant had been... interesting. After spending two years alone, with naught but circuitry and the Force for companionship, being around other sentients again was certainly a refreshing change of pace. While Moho could have made his peace with being on his own for the foreseeable future, and was comfortable enough with his own company, he would not hesitate to say that the act of socialisation was something that he had sorely missed. The news that the war had come to an end was also something that had filled his heart with joy, albeit tempered with the knowledge that it would most likely not last for long. Too much bad blood, now, between Republic and Empire and those left behind by both sides. Not something so simply healed. Perhaps that is something I can help move us towards... Though this is more likely a ceasefire than peace proper, with the right influence, a little give and take, and Force providing, we might be able to make it stick. Stars know, the galaxy has seen enough of war. I know that I have. His troubled thoughts had vanished like mist in the morning when his shuttle had finally brought him within eyesight of the Temple. The old Jedi Master felt no shame the the surge of happiness he experienced. I am home. By the loving Force, I am home. Upon his arrival, Moho had been ushered to the medical wing to undergo proper assessment. They found him malnourished, unsurprisingly, but announced that he should fully recover with a proper diet and a little rest. The old master had accepted his orders without complaint; after all, he had no intention of leaving the Temple anytime soon. He longed to walk its halls again, drink in the sights and sounds he had recalled only as memory for too long. A trip to the Archives would not go amiss to see what his Order might have learned and discovered in his absence, never mind gaining a more detailed account of current events. Ahh, to become the student again. So much to catch up on. Still, he had to recover first, and he could bend his will to that in the meantime. Sitting on his bed, his six legs curled under him, Moho shut his eyes and meditated on the Force. He felt it's flows and eddies, drew it into himself to rejuvenate, revitalise, recover. He could feel the life around him. Living, breathing, sentient life. It is good to be home.

[Ghostie]

The High Council Chamber at the very topmost of the Jedi Temple, situated on the tallest tower in the center of the building had one of the best views in all of Coruscant. Or so Orren Fyek was told it had one of the best views in all of Coruscant. Though Miralukas could see through the Force, it was not the same as it was for normal beings. Colors were not a thing that the Jedi Master could rightly talk about, as he had no perception of them. The sunset of purple sky and wisps of orange cloud was lost on him. The endless procession of speeders streaming past in the distance seemed to be nothing more than translucent lines intersecting one another at various points. The buildings in the distance were there, and yet, were not. While physically existing, they too were translucent to Orren, not existing in the Force, which made for a tangled mess of lines and curves.

No, Orren liked the High Council Chambers because of the emptiness they offered. While the walls and chairs were certainly there, when the Jedi Master sat in the center of the circular room and focused on the Force, he felt like he could be floating above Coruscant. The physical trappings of the building melted away, and he found a peaceful place to meditate. Somewhere he certainly wouldn’t be disturbed, unlike if he was in one of the many chambers for such a thing in the Temple, or in the Room of a Thousand Fountains where he could be stumbled upon. Or worse, sought out. Every once and awhile, the Jedi Master needed an escape. It was not that he was running from responsibility, exactly, but rather resting and recharging before returning to his duties. And meditating in the Council’s Chambers was the best place he had found for such a thing so far.

Truthfully, Orren was weary. He had been weary for the past two years. At the end of the war between the Republic and the Sith, the Jedi Council had been left decimated. More than a few Councilors had disappeared. Some were dead, or so Orren had heard. One had even left the Order and returned to his home planet, which was still under Sith occupation. And there had not been many Jedi Masters ready to take over these positions that had been left vacant. Orren had the title of Master of the Jedi Order, leader of the High Council, thrust upon him in a rather small and unanimous vote. And since then, his life seemed to be in a constant state of movement. An issue to resolve here. Delegates to meet with there. The lastest appointment of Master Shatani to the Council had helped stemmed the tide, but not to the point where Orren could manage it, and himself.

And it was this reason, not meditation that had brought Orren to the Council Chambers today. Though he still sat on the floor, on the cold and hard tile, he was waiting. Word had reached him that Jedi Master Shovaah Moho had been found, one of the aforementioned Councilors whom had gone missing. And today was the day that he was finally returning to the Jedi Temple. The Prellian would be subjected to medical tests, mental assessments, and a small rehabilitation program. Any Jedi who had been missing after the War’s end and had finally come home was. Orren hoped that afterwards, Moho would see fit to resume his seat on the Council, though the Miraluka did not plan on ambushing the wayward Jedi with the question. Nonetheless, Orren could use the Prellian’s staunch, ungiving voice of wisdom, and his insight.

Finally, the shuttle had arrived. While Miralukas perceived inanimate objects as translucent, they could see a being’s Force aura just as a being with perfect vision could perceive a rainbow, or a explosion, or any other sort of bright light. And Moho had been a constant sight in the Temple, across classes and training sessions even when Orren was a child. His presence was a strong, stalwart, unforgettable bright spot. As the Prellian’s shuttle had flown by, the Miraluka perked up in and instant. The Jedi Master was already in the turbolift and headed down to the main part of the Temple by the time his comlink had chimed, reminding him that orders had been given to alert him the soonest Master Moho had returned.

Orren hadn’t made it to the hangar in time to be a part of the Prellian’s welcoming committee, however. Instead, the Jedi Master found Moho waiting in the medical wing, which was thankfully empty today, aside from the Prellian. The Miraluka stopped just inside the doorway. Moho’s presence in the Force was even more brilliant and more bright in person, a sort of white-blue, offset by the golden translucent behind him. Orren smiled a bit, and was caught by an awkward fact. Shovaah Moho was several hundred years his elder. He had been one of several of Orren’s teachers when he was child, well liked and respected by the Miraluka. And now, Orren technically outranked him. It was a weird thought, and he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. The Jedi Master was confident that had Moho been around at the end of the War, he would be Master of the Order instead.

Having lingered for only a moment in the doorway, Orren bowed low in both respect and a bit of glee at seeing the Jedi Master alive and well, the Miraluka’s brown robes swishing wildly around him, and the left arm of his cloak limply dangling with the movement.

“Master Moho! I’m pleased you’ve finally made it back home. May I come in?”

[Blue]

Even deep in meditation, Moho could feel the presence of his old student. The Miraluka had always given the impression to the old Jedi as one who would go far and achieve many great things, even as a solitary youngling. He had followed the young man's career closely, the ups and downs, successes and struggles, and had readily given Orren a yay vote so that he would serve on the Council. Though the old Jedi Master did not open his eyes as Orren spoke, a small smile grew on his large face when he heard the Miraluka's voice. "That is a question that you may never need ask of me, Master Orren," Moho replied, his voice tinged with the flanging tone all Prellian's had, while ensuring to title the man appropriately. Moho had learned early on in his life that most people past a certain age did not appear to appreciate being called 'young one', as they seemed to think it condescending (even when coming from someone centuries their senior), though in this case it was to apply the respect that Orren deserved as much as to be diplomatic. "Your company will always be welcome." The old Jedi's weight shifted, the legs underneath him moving slightly to turn his bulk to face his fellow Council member. He opened his amber eyes... and his expression shifted from happiness to one of dismay as Moho spied the empty sleeve in Orren's robe. Both pairs of the Prellian's appendages waved in understated motions, several clicks coming from deep within his throat as he said something in his native tongue in his surprise. "Master Orren! When last my eyes saw you, you possessed both your arms!" Moho stated in Basic, shock and horror creeping into his voice and concern rising on his face. "What hap-" His question was cut short as realisation dawned on him. "The war," he uttered quietly. He lowered his head and sighed. "The war." Moho's voice suddenly sounded very weary, and for a moment he seemed to visibly wilt. But the moment passed quickly, with the Prellian taking another breath and looking back up at the Miraluka, and his smile returned albeit with a small hint of melancholy "Forgive me, Master Orren. It has been some time since I have interacted with fellow sentients; I fear I may have to refresh my lessons on tact." One of Moho's arms gestured lightly to the man. "Please, come! Take a seat for a while. I have done much reading over the past few days, to catch up on the galactic events that have transpired while I was absent, but it will do me much good to hear some of it from the mouth of a colleague and friend."

[Ghostie]

Orren’s face fell only a bit as the Prellian Jedi’s presence changed a bit in the Force. It was still strong, and bright, but seemed a bit dismayed. Worried. He had seemed cheerful enough to see the Miraluka, and it took the Jedi Master all of two seconds to realise what had changed. The last time that Orren and Moho had spoke, the younger Jedi had possessed both of his arms. As if knowing the conclusion that Orren was drawing up, Moho expressed his shock at the fact that Orren was missing an arm. His whole arm, in fact, on the left side. It had been several years since the fighting on Coruscant. Being without an arm was almost second nature, now, but the Miraluka knew how such a thing could startle some beings.

“Yes, Master Moho.” Orren answered in a less gleeful, yet still light tone. “Taris was… Not kind to me. As it was to many.”

Not kind was an understatement. Orren had lost a student to the darkside on Taris, as well as his arm. Still, he was not the only Jedi to make it out with wounds, and in fact several Jedi had never made it off the planet at all. Waving off Moho’s apologies, with an almost lackadaisical movement from a few of his fingers, Orren was not offended in the slightest. He wouldn’t be a very good Jedi, or a very good friend, if he was. Friend. That thought made him smile in the slightest, as the Prellian brought it up. That Orren could be Master Moho’s friend and colleague, rather than pupil, was once again a weird thought. The elder Jedi was simply so ancient, and so wise. Orren would have a hard time not seeing him as a mentor.

“You’re fine, Master, I assure you. More than a few beings are put off by the fact I chose to not get a replacement, but with how Miralukans perceive their surroundings, well…” Orren let his words drift for a moment as he crossed the room and stood at the foot of Moho’s bed, looking the alien up and down with a small smile. “... I’ve always been a but off-put by droids and cybernetics. Besides, it was you who used to teach us younglings that your physical body should not be a limitation.”

Orren’s smile broaden as he finished, trying to reassure the Prellian Jedi Master that he was quite at ease with the whole situation. One hand gently gripping the railing at the foot of the alien’s bed, the Miraluka continued.

“I will pass on your offer of a chair, I’ve been sitting all afternoon. Instead, I was wondering if you were up for a walk. From what I hear, it’s a lovely day, and our rooftop gardens are in full bloom. It might make for a more relaxed setting to discuss whatever you wish.”

[Blue]

As Orren explained his injury, Moho nodded his understanding. Taris. He had been on the other side of the Outer Rim when that atrocity occurred, but had felt it through the Force just as keenly as though he was there in person. So much effort put into healing that broken planet, all for naught. It was a wasteland now, as he understood it. That place might never recover from the devastation wrought upon it. A quiet laugh escaped Moho as Orren brought up old lessons, and the Prell's smile regained some good percentage of its ease. This moment was one that reminded him why he adored teaching so; a mentor may tutor a student on many subjects, but some forgot that the student also taught the mentor. Patience and understanding, as well as a solid grounding in life and the very lessons they wished to impart to their younger compatriots, were things just as invaluable to a initiate as they were to a master. "Very true," Moho responded. He placed a claw on Orren's good shoulder, his smile both warm and proud. "And very well said." At his former pupil's suggestion, Moho's face lit up and his words took on fresh energy. "Ahh! An absolutely fantastic thought. It has been simply too long since I have been among living things; as much as I admire the medical staff's efforts here, I feel that a trip to the gardens will do me much more good than sitting in the sterile environment here." To his side, a squat hoverchair suddenly lifted into the air beside the Preillian Jedi, who then floated in the air himself for a moment as his bulk settled comfortably into the seat's lining. Of his two mobility aids the exo-rig provided far more speed and dexterous handling, but was rather large and cacophonously loud in the grand open spaces of the Temple. His hoverchair was, for this reason, his preferred method of moving around, at least in times of peace. Moho's two smaller claws manipulated the device and the hoverchair began moving forward at a comfortable pace. "Tell me, Master Orren," Moho said as they moved towards their destination. "What is the state of our Order? War is always a trying time for all involved; I would be eager to help solve and soothe any rising issues... once I am given a clean bill of health, of course. I would dare not risk the consternation of our stalwart medical personnel, after all!" He was certain that, as the new Master of the Order, Orren would be able to provide such information, but Moho had sensed some small discomfort from the Miralukan. Nothing overt, just a subtle twitch in the background of things, but something that the Prelllian would like to help smooth over for his former pupil.

[Ghostie]

“Oh trust me, the medical staff has already had enough of me over my arm…” Orren gave a small smile. “... They won’t bother you as long as I’m around.”

As the pair made their way out into the grand hallways of the Jedi Temple, the last red and yellow dredges of the sunset were shining through the long, oval windows. Orren could feel the sun on his face, but not see the colors themselves. Shovaah was not far behind, the hoverchair that the Prellian employed scooting along at a slow walking pace. The Miraluka was happy to let the Jedi Master lead; it had been years since he had set foot in the Temple, and no doubt had a favorite garden, or wanted to spend his time reminiscing in the old interior of the ancient halls.

And letting Master Moho lead let Orren think. His sleeves hanging limp at his sides, he pondered the best way to answer the Prellian’s question about the state of the Jedi Order. He pondered asking the Prellian if he would resume his chair on the Council. Anymore, Orren was always pondering, and always trying to answer hard questions. The Miraluka simply walked beside Shovaah for a moment, before speaking. His voice was quiet, and serious, and he was very honest with the Prellian.

“Truth be told Master, our numbers are as to be expected since the War’s end…” Orren tried to lead into the subject as best as he could. “... We of course experienced some hard losses. Rhen Var, Taris…” Orren paused for a moment, hoping that the Prellian had read of, or known, of the battles there. “… But we still fill the Temple, and we still hold our enclave on Mustafar, as well. The rebuilding efforts have been the hard. Trying to shift the Order from a position of leadership over the military to a more observant role with interference when necessary was more challenging than I predicted, and there are some in the Republic who seem to like to cause us issues, only because we’re Jedi. Along that vein, the general populace sees us as more of a mystical warrior force than anything, and that’s something I wish to change. As much as we need to prepare for when the Sith come again, we cannot forget about those we serve.”

Finally, the pair made it to a small, somewhat deserted rooftop garden. One of dozens that the Order maintained around the Temple. Though the colors were lost on the Miraluka, he could tell that someone had tried their utmost to keep the plants perfectly cared for and arranged. Orren didn’t bother to stoop and inspect them. He felt a bit guilty, truth be told, that he was laying all his troubles at his mentor’s feet, when the alien had barely been back for more than a hour after having disappeared for two years. But Orren was always going to be honest with Shovaah, and Shovaah had asked about his home, as expected.

“The hardest part has been the Council.” He said flatly, and finally. “The Order survived the War, but our leadership did not. A few perished in the fighting. A few simply left. One even went back to his homeworld to lead a resistance, as the Sith still occupy it.” Pausing to let Shovaah soak in all the information. “We have far more empty seats in the chambers these days than filled ones. Though we have Jedi masters, many are either fairly young and new in their roles, or otherwise committed to particular tasks.”

Pausing for a long while, once again letting the Prellian lead their walk, Orren had to ask.

“Master Moho… What happened over the past two years?”

[Blue]

As Moho awaited Orren's response to his question, the old Prellian soaked in the sights and sounds of the Temple as they moved towards the rooftop gardens. Room after room, the Jedi Master's smile grew incrementally wider as memories trickled through his mind, over three hundred years of them. Little things: an excited youngling finally mastering the basics of moving small objects with their mind, a newly initiated Padawan glancing back over their shoulder as their new master lead them towards their new lessons in life, a quiet joke shared by two friends. Bad memories existed, too... but when one rooted oneself firmly in the little things, it was harder for those harsher experiences to cast you adrift. Orren began speaking, and Moho listened in silence as the Miralukan told him things that he had long suspected, yet had hoped had not come to pass. The Prellian nodded sadly as Orren spoke of Rhen Var and Taris. He had felt them both when the attacks had happened; they had been like daggers to his heart, and to have been so far away, unable to help, had been a strain on the entire Order. The fact that the Temple was still full and that other enclaves were thriving eased his mind significantly, although he certainly shared his former pupil's distaste for the Order being seen of warriors. "That is good to hear, Master Orren," Moho said in response to the Miralukan's goal for the public image of the Order. "A Jedi must always be mediators and diplomats first and combatants second. The last thing the galaxy needs right now are yet more figures of violence, reminders of traumas past." As the pair of them finally reached the gardens, Moho sighed at the sight of the budding life around them. The gentle growth of the plants was always a relaxing center for many of the older Jedi's meditative sessions, especially given the hustle and bustle of chaotic activity that went on outside, and in some cases even inside, the Temple's walls. As the two paced the gardens sedately, the Prellian took in the information that the Council was thin on members. Ill news, indeed. Though the Order could continue on with some autonomy, leadership was still as essential for Jedi as it was any other organisation. Orren eventually asked the question in his mind, relating to where he had been for so long while the Order struggled. Though the old Jedi Master knew he had had little control over the events that had transpired, and felt no guilt for choosing to remain behind, there was a twinge of regret in his heart that he could not have been here to help his Order in its time of crisis. The Prellian offered his old student a small smile before he spoke. "I was somewhat... indisposed," Moho explained, turning his hoverchair to face the Master of the Order. "I was in the Outer Rim assisting a small colony on a world called Yablon. It had little in the way of strategic or material value, other than the souls who had settled there. The Empire were headed there and I was able to sway the Republic military to divert a small task force to help them. I had hoped that the knowledge that a Jedi Master being on-planet might dissuade the Imperial armed forces from attacking what they had previously thought was an easy target." His smile once more took on a sad quality. "A fools hope, I knew, but I could not leave innocent lives to war if there was even a small chance I could avert it. During the course of the conflict I had a vision; an overwhelming Empire victory, overshadowed by a cataclysm of planetary proportions that swallowed Republic, Imperial, and bystander alike. I order an evacuation and... persuaded our Imperial counterparts to do the same. I elected to remain behind to help a shuttle struggling to break orbit. The shuttle got free, but I was trapped. "The planet... died around me. Not all the civilians where able to escape, you see. So many perished, and the Force became tumultuous with their collective death throes. It was... difficult to center myself in such an environment, but I was able, step by step, to fix both my mobility aid and a small shuttle. The rest, as they say, is history." With the story told, Moho sighed in thought as he continued. "Such time may seem short in the grand scheme of things, but being isolated from the galaxy for two years at a time when my aid was needed most... it was jarring. I feel I need to start helping put things right, encourage healing and provide respite... to do what a Jedi does best."

[Ghostie]

As Master Moho started in on his story of Yablon and the cataclysm the little-known world had experienced, Orren found himself a seat. While he was not necessarily one for colorful gardens or well arranged shrubbery, a nice seat in a quiet spot where he could feel the warmth of the sun and the wind was all the Miraluka needed. Several such stone benches littered the Temple’s gardens, and this one in particular was overshadowed but a relatively small, scraggly tree with red leaves that dipped low. Settling on the bench, Orren listened as the Prellian retold his tale.

Orren had heard of Yablon, and that Master Moho had been assigned to the planet with a detachment of Republic troops near the end of the War. The Council had received scattered reports of the cataclysm that had shattered Yablon from the refugees, but all contact with Master Moho had been lost. Still, none of the Council had felt their old mentor become one with the Force, so they simply decided to be patient. They had so much more to attend to as the War came to a close then looking for one lost Master, even if it was Shovaah Moho. Now, finally, it seemed their patience had paid off. Nodding at the correct intervals, Orren was quiet with his interjections.

“The Council had heard of Yablon, and that you were there, obviously. The reports we received from the refugees of what happened there was… Jumbled, at best.” Orren directed his face towards the stone pathway below his feet. “I’m sorry we didn’t come looking for you, Master. The Council had much to attend to as the War ended.” The Miraluka himself felt particularly guilty about the lack of a rescue effort, as he remembered that Council meeting in particular, when the masters had argued about whether or not they could spare the Jedi. Orren had argued that they couldn’t. The Prellian continued on, as he expressed his wish that he return to doing his duties as a Jedi. That made Orren smile a bit.

“Master Moho, you never change.” His single hand in his lap, the Master folded it neatly, and sighed a bit. Moho wanted to encourage healing and respite, but Orren wished that he would look to his own, first. Pausing for a moment has looked for the right words, the Miraluka continued. “The Order does need you, Master. However, I wish you would look to your own healing first. You’ve been gone for two years, with little or no supplies.” Standing once again, Orren reach up and a put a hand on Moho’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you wander the Temple for a bit, and get your bearings once again. Let the medical staff fuss a bit more over you and do their tests. After that…” Orren’s face smiled, but voice took on the tone of a man deciding another’s punishment. “... I fully expect to see you seated in your chair in the Council’s Chambers. It’s still there, and it has been vacant long enough, I think."

[Blue]

In the Master of the Order's voice, Moho heard as much as felt the guilt that rippled within him as the Miralukan spoke of the reaction the Council had to the news of the Prellian's absence. The old Jedi felt nothing but understanding for his old pupil, and for the Council of the time; they had done the best they could in impossible circumstances, stretched thin as they were and under enormous pressure. "You and our peers made the best choice you were able to, Master Orren," Moho said softly, his tone full of sympathy. He, too, had been forced on more than one occasion in his long life to make similar hard choices. Such choices were never easy, nor should they ever be, but neither should they haunt you for the rest of your days. They were each of them lessons to be learned and, so long as you took the knowledge you needed from them, should not be dwelt upon lest they consumed one's mind and soul. "Were I present, I would have urged you to take the path you ultimately decided upon yourselves. My life is not, nor shall it ever be, more important than the lives of those we are sworn to defend, especially in times of war," he continued, offering a comforting smile as his hoverchair's repulsor engine hummed gently, bringing Moho closer to his old student. "You made the right decision, old friend." The smile became wider as Master Orren spoke up once more, standing and placing a hand upon his shoulder. The Order was in safe hands with the Miralukan at it's helm, Moho felt. Sometimes a person needed protecting from their own drive, no matter how well intentioned. "Very well, Master Orren. I shall focus on my recovery for the moment, and then return to my seat," Moho conceded, his tone light and an amused glint in his large amber eyes. This soon softened as the old Jedi contemplated where he was, finally, and let out a contented sigh. "It is so very good to be home."