Dav Man'Sell
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Post by Dav Man'Sell on Apr 25, 2013 17:10:21 GMT -8
Connecting every room, every location inside the Temple are the large, wide, stone corridors that to this very day still stand the testament of time. Towards the exterior, sometimes plant life can be seen growing through cracks in the structure, though natural light is allowed to shine in here. Closer to the heart of the complex, artificial light is used to try and mimic the morning sun of Yavin IV, which is considered a softer and more calming level of illumination. Four major turbolifts, forming roughly the 'corners' of the central section of the Temple's interior, provide access between levels, as do numerous winding stairwells of varying spaciousness and design. The Grand Audience Chamber at the top of the Praxeum is accessibly via only two of the stairwells and one of the turbolifts. The walkways are nearly always busy, with students shuffling off to classes, Knights heading towards their duties, and Masters making sure the flow of the Praxeum is always positive and calm.
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Alpharius
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Post by Alpharius on Apr 30, 2013 16:30:33 GMT -8
Upon entering the Temple proper, the Jedi knight's lips curled into a warm and wide smile. Though they were light-years apart, the Praxeum here upon the fourth moon of Yavin, bore a similar style to the Temple mounted upon the city world of Coruscant. The moment of familiarity repressed the faint stomach clenching feeling of nervousness, and gave his aura a more luminous shade of blue. Unfamiliar places with unfamiliar faces had set Arcanus's nerve on edge, giving him a slight affliction of paranoia. It was something he wasn't able to shake throughout the entirety of his training, despite the fact his master had thrown him into the most dangerous parts of his home world's jungle. That had been somewhat known to him, and he felt right at home in the tropical climate. Coruscant was slightly different however, and it took him the better part of a year to grow accustomed to the several kilometre plunge should he have made a wrong step.
Within the stone cast halls, the Warrior monk eyed the intricate details worked into the walls. Every chisel mark and hammer blow were visible in the stonework, and as an Epicanthix; Arcanus appreciated every stroke the artist had made. He knew not whom first built the temple, though he had his suspicions. Unfounded, he had first believed that the ancient Sith of old had brought this great temple together to worship a figure akin to one of their gods. Though partially true, the youthful Jedi knight would soon learn that the Great Temple had been built to honour the Sith Lord, Naga Sadow, five thousand and some odd years ago. The workmanship he had admired, though crafted by evil, held the veneration of the sentient life that forged each brick.
Running his hand along the length of the hallway, Arcanus' bright smile had faded slightly. It was not because of the realization of the Great Temple's history, but the fact his stroll was soon cut short by a pair of Praxeum Guardians whom entered through the doors a few feet from Arcanus direct path. Both wore the traditional garb of the Order and wore their lightsabers brazenly from the front of their belt. The man upon the left, if he could be called a man, stood taller than the man beside him. His skin was a mottled green and was made of hundreds of microscopic scales, making him a seven foot walking reptile. The other upon the right was considerably shorter than his counterpart, and proudly displayed the lashed top knot of greying black hair behind the cone shape of his held.
Almost instantly, Arcanus' hands shot together with his fingers pointing to the ceiling. A symbol of respect among the brotherhood of the Jedi, completed as the newly elevated Knight inclined his head towards his skyward digits.
"Greetings, Brothers."
Unseen by the warrior Monk's eyes, the two Jedi smiled and repeated the same gesture. Their hands coming together and their heads bowing deeply. Standing tall all at once, Arcanus broke the small moment of silence with a heart felt inquiry. This was his moment, not only to make a good first impression upon other members of his order, but to also get the answer he sought. Transferring to another academy was never an easy task, especially one that involved the training of younglings. Breathing deeply, Arcanus let the words flow from his lips.
"It is my first time upon this Maiden world, would you kindly point me in the direction of the Praxeum's council?"
The reptilian Jedi quirked his head quizzically and eyed the warrior monk standing before him. When the beastman spoke, it's tongue slithered in and out of it's mouth, shaking wildly all the while. If this had been the first Barbabel he had ever met, the Strider of Suns would've been taken aback by the man's appearance. The scales, the piercing topaz eyes, and the viscous claws tipping it's fingers. All of it was clearly inhuman, that a portion of his heart wondered how such a being could've evolved from the primordial soup and the will of the force. As the man opened his mouth, the thoughts had been pushed from his mind and focused solely upon what was being said.
"Ssseeking the guidance of the Massstersss?"
Nodding once, Arcanus replied.
"Of sorts. I am looking to transfer from the Coruscant temple to the Yavin Praxeum, sadly the Masters on the city world had failed to give me a map to study beforehand."
The Cerean Jedi chuckled softly, and lifted his arm westward.
"You'll find several staircases off to the west, go upwards and you'll find yourself upon the right track."
Bowing deeply, the Jedi knight had moved in the direction his new found guides had pointed out to him. Flying up the stairs in strides that encompassed two steps at a time, the Jedi had swiftly surmounted the obstacle the flight of stairs had presented. His goal was within sight, and the climax of his adventure would soon come to a close. Just a simple meeting with a gathering of masters, and he would be able to return to his training. The thought of pushing his body to the limits and hopefully beyond, was exhilarating. The sooner he got back to working upon his form, the sooner he could put this nervous edge from his mind.
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Dav Man'Sell
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Post by Dav Man'Sell on May 2, 2013 15:12:04 GMT -8
It was in the depths the early morning, just as dawn cracked over the canopy of the great rain forest, that Dav Man'Sell, clothed in nothing more than a pair of dark red trousers, bolted through the hallways towards the most isolated, and currently empty, collection of quarters. The surge in the Dark Side had woken him from deep meditation, and he had recognised, instantly, the exact source, if only because his meditation had sent his will and his awareness out through the Academy, to sense its every inhabitant. The stone work felt coarse and rough beneath his naked feet, the breeze through the halls teasing the hair on his chest and the back of his arms, the few Jedi he passed on the way turning to look, puzzled, as the half-naked Jedi Master tore past them, twin lightsabers bouncing against his thighs.
Please, let no-one have been harmed.
The source, that one source - Lita Trykk. She was here seeking peace, Jago's friend, one of his oldest and dearest. Dav had yet to meet with her - after she had arrived, he had quickly been swept away by other duties, off world, and had only returned the night before. But Jago had briefed him on everything, and though Dav had no more right to decide who could and couldn't stay at the Praxeum than Jago did, when he had received Jago's brief update on Lita, he knew that Jago had been seeking his blessing and support in the endeavour. Not as a superior - for Dav's superiority over Jago was measurable in years alone, and Jago was every bit the Jedi Dav was -, but as a friend and brother.
He had not refused.
The Praxeum had a history of reconciliation and redemption. The founding class had included Kam Solusar, and Kyp Durron, both of whom had served the Dark Side of the Force. Even Luke Skywalker had been, in his attempts to infiltrate and destroy the order of the Sith from within, seduced and corrupted by it. And Dav himself had been broken and used by the very same Sith Lord that had succeeded in bringing the fall of both Kam Solusar and Luke; Sidious, the Emperor Palpatine himself. The very buildings they occupied had once been the fortresses of the mightiest Sith Lords of their era, Naga Sadow, Freedon Nadd, and Exar Kun, and had been rehabilitated from their dark and terrible history to become a monument to light, a cornerstone of the Jedi way. The world, the Praxeum, and all those within it, they were a testament to light from darkness. To hope from hopelessness. To good, ultimately triumphing over evil.
Dav believed, wholeheartedly, that Lita had a place with them. That they could help her find the peace and purpose she apparently desperately sought.
But he knew she had a lot of pain to deal with. A lot of hurt to confront. And apparently, she had attempted to do so before she was ready.
He hoped she hadn't hurt anyone else. He hoped she hadn't hurt herself.
His mind had remained vaguely pointed toward her since her screams echoed in the Force and awoke him. Not connected to her, not directly, simply pointing in her direction, like an old magnetic compass pointing north, leading him towards her. On the edge of his perceptions, he could feel her now - panic, shame, worry, pain, - approaching. Around one last corner, headed his way. There was another with her. The other, Dav could have recognised the presence of anywhere, at any time, under any circumstance.
Jago
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Jago
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Post by Jago on May 2, 2013 15:56:58 GMT -8
~ The pain was starting to set in.
Jago's half-standing form was carried strongly by Lita Trykk through the hallways of the residential area of the Praxeum, seeking to find the medbay as quickly as possible. His hands, pale white and yellow in their complexion, covered in lesions that went deep, began to burn, searing heat that began to make him sweat from his brow. He was staggering, limping, constantly blinking as he willed his vision to focus but to no avail. He winced, gasping sharply while trying to control it, buying time with The Force to stem what was surely the onset of shock soon.
What made him most curious, even in this moment of dull agony, was how Lita seemed to suddenly and swiftly detach herself from him. Her demeanor, her tone, it all went from caring and sympathetic to nigh cold and indifferent. What piqued his curiosity the most was that the change only occurred when he physically got too close to her, comfortable in her presence. Had he the energy he would have pulled her back, but the lightning had sapped his strength, his very willpower. He doubted he could have even held onto her, were she not supporting the majority of his weight at the moment.
It was as they traveled that a familiar presence began to make itself known, hastening to the position of the Jedi and the Zabrak. It was as they turned a corner that Jago was able to pick his head up and spy the imposingly tall figure of Dav Man'Sell striding towards them at full speed.
Jago could only smile weakly up at him.
" 'Lo, Dav," he said to the one that was appearing towards his left, ignoring the one on his right (since when did Dav get the ability to clone himself?)
" Lita was just being kinda enough to escort me to the medbay. It seems I've done something rather dumb. Once again."~
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Lita Trykk
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Post by Lita Trykk on May 2, 2013 17:00:25 GMT -8
*The sound of bare feet against stone echoed back towards them, and a moment later, he flew around the corner. Lita pulled up short. Feeling the crippling shame that she did, anyone else might have shrunk back in retreat, but it just was not in her nature to do so. Her back remained straight and her shoulders set, her form supporting Jago's as she felt his tone muscles beneath her touch beginning to tense with pain. But she did turn her face away, her eyes not meeting those of the older Jedi master.
She could infer from the state of his undress and the lack of composure in his mad run here that she had not only awakened him, but likely alarmed the entire body of the praxeum in her unleashing of dark energies. She gave a shake of her horned head, wet strands of hair plastered to her brow and cheeks.*
"Do not listen to him, Master Man'Sell. I am the one that err'd. Jago must have followed me, and stayed until he had rendered me back under control. I regret having caused a disturbance."
*She was being very careful. It was more than just her dark side that had been compressed into a fine point and buried at her center. All of her passions were under strict restraint, and since that was not a practice she believed in following, there had to have been another, far more personal reason for it. She was not allowing herself to either exhibit or to feel what intangible thing had passed between her and Jago in that room. She shifted her hold on him.*
"Would you be able to assist us to the medical centre? We might move him more easily and quickly with two."
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Dav Man'Sell
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Post by Dav Man'Sell on May 2, 2013 17:21:36 GMT -8
Dav looked to Lita, noted the aversion of her eyes - he knew eye-contact had cultural significance in many clans of the Iridonian Zabrak culture, but whether this was that, or something else, something entirely more personal and raw, he couldn't entirely tell. She had, by all accounts, spent many years building up the walls around herself, relying on her own survival skills to serve the purpose of close companionship - Dav got the impression that Jago was a stark exception to her otherwise rigid rules. And though she was, indeed, a being of great passion, of powerful emotion, as he had seen in her from across the field that first day she came here, in this moment, she managed to hide almost all of her emotions from his trained, studious eye - not an easy feat to accomplish. All he could read was a universal tension. Had her emotions not have flooded the force shortly after her burst of darkness, Dav wouldn't be able to tell, for certain, anything she was feeling. Now they'd been closed right down, squeezed tight.
He could guess though, what went through her spirit and mind. With no certainty whatsoever, but an instinctive assuredness.
"Of course."
He stepped in beside Jago, and with as much care as he could spare to avoid putting pressure on anywhere obviously burnt, leant his own muscular body and considerable strength to supporting the shorter Jedi Master. He lead now, swiftly as could be managed with Jago supported between them, taking them swiftly through the corridors of the Praxeum. His mind reached out into the Force, sending a silent impulse to another Jedi within the Praxeum, one to whom he was bonded closer than anyone, a single impression that there was a need for a healer in the medical centre; the impression came back, after a moment's fuzziness, acknowledging the request. They moved onwards - and upwards - towards the help Jago needed, and each step along the way, he let her keep her silence. Her priority was Jago's aid, like his;
There would be time for talk later.
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Dav Man'Sell
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Post by Dav Man'Sell on May 24, 2013 18:11:10 GMT -8
 The Mandalorians have brought war to the Galaxy once more. Under the leadership of Mand'alor ASHRAH INTALBO, and his General CORR VHETT, they have begun a campaign against the Galaxy's Force Users. The Jedi World of Yavin IV was the first hit, a strike at one of the greatest Jedi strongholds. The Mandalorians took YAVIN STATION, the mighty orbital defence platform, thanks to a brilliant infiltration strategy by DUKE AUSTRALIS, and under the order of Jedi Master DAV MAN'SELL, the Jedi forces retreated from orbit. With the Jedi fleets scattered, the Mandalorians took their attack to the surface.
However, the Jedi defences were not so easily overcome. With starfighter cover lead by Jedi Master JAGO PULASTRA, and ground defences overseen by Jedi Knight ADI MATANGO and Falleen strategist TZA'UAX, the Jedi were able to force the Mandalorians to withdraw to orbit. However, the defence is not without sacrifice - redeemed former Dark Sider DACE CONCORDIA, at the beginning of his path to reclaim the mantle of Jedi, was slain by the Mand'alor in bloody, vicious combat.
Now the Mandalorians are settling in for a long siege on the Praxeum, blockading the planet and seeking constantly to take out the shield generator and ion cannons that form the backbone of the Praxeum's defence. Dav, Jago, and the other resident Jedi of Yavin lead the hard fought and desperate defence, whilst Adi, working with Master WILL SON'TIR and Jedi Knight DIAMONTE TUHLUTE, and the Jedi Watchmen, seeks to prepare the Jedi, and the worlds of the Republic, for the inevitable assault to come.... |
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Chalco
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Post by Chalco on Jun 1, 2013 12:23:10 GMT -8
*Moving with pace towards the turbolifts, quick but controlled strides, Chalco Gannor winced slightly as his shoulder burned in pain, the blaster wounds reminding him of the previous days struggle. His upper body was heavily bandaged, bacta patches plastered over his right-hand chest area, bicep, and shoulder. His teeth ground together as he recalled how much the defense of the temple had cost them and mourned silently that it was just the beginning of the pain and suffering that was sure to come. A mix of relief and anger dwelt in his heart as he thought of the two truants he and Mike had found and returned to the Praxeum, shipping them off immediately to safer shores. Though they had been saved from their fate in the Jungle, the cost to the good men and women of the PTF had been high indeed. The location of the shield generators had also nearly been compromised due to the rash actions of the two younglings, the Mandalorians nearly stumbling upon the site in their pursuit of the small squad, led by Mike and Chalco as they fled back towards the Temple, their two errant charges in tow. True the kids had held up admirably under the strain of being put in such a situation, even combining to foil one of the ruthless warriors that had been trying to draw a bead on Chalco, actually saving him from injury or maybe even death. They had combined their power to tear a branch from an overhead tree, sending the limb crashing down onto the Mandalorians head and foiling his shot. The blaster bolt, instead of burning through the Falleens chest had seared through his upper arm, a painful but not serious injury.
He smiled as he remembered the wide-eyes enthusiasm of the two as they jumped up and down celebrating their small victory with the exuberance and joviality that only children can muster. The smile didn't last as he recalled the next few minutes. The downed Mando rising from the tumble of leaves and branch that had felled him, his visor glowing an evil red as he raised his blaster. Chalco's saber had flashed out, a desperate throw that had taken the mans hand off at the wrist despite his near-impervious armour. The man didn't flinch, didn't how out in pain, as he brought his other hand up to lob the grenade towards the two helpless children. Chalco could imagine the grin behind the faceplate as the man ducked back behind a tree. He had yelled out, raising his left hand and grabbing both children in the Force, hauling them back and out of the blast zone. His right hand came up to erect a hasty barrier of Force energy as the detonator exploded with fiery rage, knocking him off his feet. He winced once again as he remembered the pain of the burns and other wounds, splinters from shredded tree's piercing his flesh along his right-hand side.
Only Mike, the children and he had made it back, the twelve troopers that were with them either lost in the wilderness or victims to the ferocity of the Mandalorian invaders. Twelve brave men and women who had been willing to fall behind to secure the safe passage of the two Jedi and their charges. A flash of guilt invaded the pain and sorrow, the regret that he had not stayed to buy the others a way out. To save them as he had saved Felia and Brakus. He wondered briefly if Mike was wracked with the same sense of shame that he felt, perhaps drowning out the feeling with a bottle of Whyren's like he seemed to do with everything else. Well, thought Chalco grimly, if it works for him... He had tried such remedies in the past but to no avail. The horror of war had always forced its way past the perpetual fog of drink and drugs, cutting like a laser right through any defenses of rationalisation and justification he could employ, freezing his soul with the misery of survivors guilt. If Mike could find haven in such circumstances then good for him. Its was Chalco's lot, it seemed, to always be thrust into the theater of war no matter how fast he tried to run for it, or how deeply he tried to hide.
He entered the turbolift and ascended to level two, his mind dragging itself back the the here and now. He'd just come from the hangar where he'd ordered all available craft counted and made ready, that included those in deep storage. Even now ships were being brought up from the sub-levels below the main hangar bay, those non-military craft being refitted with whatever weapons they could scrounge. The lift doors opened and he stepped out, traversing the short hallway and stepping into the War Room, preparing his report to Dav...*
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Lita Trykk
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Post by Lita Trykk on Sept 28, 2013 17:33:00 GMT -8
~Day Two~
*The morning came with a heavy layer of humidity. Even before her mind snapped to full awareness, Lita had known she was alone in Jago's room. The white-haired Jedi was gone, answering the call of the raid siren. He had to have moved with an admirable level of stealth to not have stirred the Zabrak from her sleep.
Thunder rolled in accompanyment to the rhythmic bass vibrato of the siege cannon, until it was difficult to differentiate one from the other. She dressed in the darkness, without artificial illumination, the only source of light being the occasional blinding flash through the coverings of the modest dormitory's window. She did not require more than that. The Force lit her way. Undertunic. Tabard. The loose-fitted drape of Iridonian robes. Boots made for marsh-like terrain. Her saberstaff and a vibroknife at her hip. Jago's fire-blue gaze burning in her thoughts. She hissed a curse and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her horned head.
No one knew she had slept in this room. What if someone had needed her during the hours that she slept? How would they have been able to accurately guess her whereabouts? Her lips pulled back from her sharp teeth, her irritation flaring anew that Jago had not roused her when he himself had awakened. Gone like a thief in the night, with his sweet scent lingering on her skin and the memory of him on her mouth, leaving her awashed in tension and confusion, which was a dangerous distraction for a Force-user on the front lines of Yavin's ground forces.*
"Tlau <dick>."
*The profanity muttered under her breath was followed by the soft whisper and click of the chamber door closing and securing behind her as she left the room. The Zabrak froze, every muscle in her long limbs locked in place. Her angular cheeks darkened as her eyes fixated on the Master Jedi standing in the hallway mere feet away, looking equally startled to see her emerging from Jago's quarters.
Dav Man'Sell.*
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Dav Man'Sell
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Post by Dav Man'Sell on Sept 29, 2013 5:33:28 GMT -8
After several long seconds of them staring at each other, the Jedi Master blinked. His brows, which seemed to have become stuck half-way up his forehead in an expression of, to say the least, mild surprise, twitched inwards into the ghost of a frown, and his lips parted with the intent of saying something, but neither the full frown nor the words managed to materialise. His head tilted subtly to the side, his eyes narrowing, his whole expression as if he were trying to solve the greatest mystery he had ever faced.
There was another few seconds of him looking at her like this. They could have been hours.
Then his eyes fell from her, glancing down and to the side, his brow furrowing a little more deeply in thought as his head tilted a little further. Still he couldn't seem to find the words. The expression became one almost of discomfort, and puzzlement. He half turned from her, as if to walk away, his face obscured from view for just a moment. Then he stopped.
Finally, he turned back again, lips pressed thinly together, an expression more of confusion than chastisement. His hand came up in a loose fist, the back of his thumb pressed to his lips, his eyes still down, still lost in thought. He took two steps closer towards her, and finally, finally found some words, as he lifted his eyes to, again, meet hers.
"Do I even want to know what's going on?"
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Lita Trykk
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Post by Lita Trykk on Sept 29, 2013 11:18:13 GMT -8
*Lita carefully observed the changing expressions on the Jedi Master's face. Human expressions, generally speaking, were not all that difficult to read, once you'd grown accustomed to the eyebrows or other facial hair that could either exaggerate or conceal certain movements. Man'Sell seemed to almost be at war with himself, an internal debate in attempting to process and reason through the most uncomfortable seconds of Lita's long life.
He was judging her. And from what she could discern, the verdict found her wanting.
Her own eyebrows knit together, her eyes narrowing and a flash of enamel between her lips exposed as her teeth clenched together. She could well enough guess what the Jedi had assumed. By all appearances, Lita would have assumed much the same thing. But they would have both been wrong. Her fingers curled into her palms. She wasn't sure what was fanning the flames of her anger more, the fact that Dav had thought she and Jago had...and was disapproving of it? Or was it how close to the mark it really was, how she and Jago had been one whispered word away from fulfilling that ancient instinct? Which, because of Tai'Shan, would have been more than just emotionally inconvenient, but violently dangerous as well.
Guilt and embarrassment ate away at her pride, which she buried beneath indignation and insult, so there was perhaps more snap in her words than what the situation warranted.*
"Nothing is going on. Believe me, you wouldn't have to ask if something were."
*...But if nothing happened, why were her cheeks burning hotly? A kiss was nothing to be apologetic for. Not even one that was violent and gentle, fierce and tender. Where hands touched and limbs tangled and wordless sounds pleaded. Lita lowered her horned head into her palm, concealing her eyes for a moment. Steady, Trykk.
When she lifted her eyes to Dav's again, her voice was softer, steadier, though still uttered through a tense jaw.*
"I have not lost sight of our priorities, and I have not disregarded your words in regards to...more personal matters. Now, what can I do for you, Master Man'Sell?"
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Dav Man'Sell
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Post by Dav Man'Sell on Oct 1, 2013 14:05:45 GMT -8
Dav arched an eyebrow as Lita, somewhat sharply, answered his question. His chin lifted, his hands coming to rest on his hips, giving her, as always, the time to say what she needed to say. On the surface, he believed her when she said nothing had happened - in the short time he'd known Lita, she had been singularly honest and forward with him, admitting to the Jedi Master things that he felt almost as if she had barely been willing to admit to herself.
Still, there was something there, something beneath the indignation. Iridonian facial expressions, their micro-expressions, body language, and emotional topography, was different in several crucial aspects from the Human norm; there were different extremes, different variations. But the clenched fists, the taut jaw, the tension in the muscles around the face - those were common to almost all Humanoid cultures and species.
As much as he trusted Lita not to lie to him, he could see that she wasn't completely convinced by the words she said; not her first statement, at least. Something had happened, something that had triggered a powerful emotional response in her, something related entirely to having spent the night in Jago's room.
Don't push her on it. She's obviously still working it out for herself; she'll tell you in due time. When she's ready.
With what he knew about Iridonian customs and mating rites - limited though that knowledge was - and indeed, with what he knew of her, he was confident that whatever had happened was not something Lita was going to take lightly, nor underestimate the significance of. She was smart, exceptionally so, and she had the wisdom of a life long, and hard, lived. He trusted her to find the right path. Her own sense of honour, he fully believed, would guide her to nothing less.
Jago will guide her too, in his own way. Between them, whatever's going on, they'll get it right.
He arched both eyebrows, lips pressed thin, and, after a moment's pause, carried on as if he'd not even seen her sneak out of Jago's room, let alone asked the question that had elicited so strong a response from her.
"Actually, Lita, I was wondering if there was anything I could do for you."
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Lita Trykk
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Post by Lita Trykk on Oct 4, 2013 11:29:10 GMT -8
*Those eyebrows of his. Man'Sell's concern and curiosity somehow had Lita burning more beneath her thick skin than if he had displayed presumptuousness and been unjustifiably angry. At least then, she would have had the moral high ground. But no. He had to be reasonable, to know his place, while still managing to communicate his admonishing without actually saying anything.
In spite of the seemingly chaotic tension swirling behind red eyes that were feverishly bright, there was a distinct lack of weight behind the temper. As though just behind the churned-up surface, there was serenity. Rolling off of her were not the parasitic passions fed to her by the Force, but rather something else all together. Something more biological. And perhaps more notably, she had been keeping these emotions at bay throughout the night using Dav's guided teachings on Jedi control. For the first time since arriving on Yavin, the Zabrak was holding back the addictive grip of the Dark Side of her own will alone. Whether or not she was aware of it beneath the distracting hormones of Tai'Shan was another matter entirely.
It was something of a relief to her when the Master Jedi allowed the subject to be shelved rather than prodding for a less vague explanation. Her hands uncurled and the aggression in her stance eased as she considered the unexpected offer. The significance of the offer coming from someone of Dav's rank was not lost to her, though perplexing considering her unconcealed prejudice against the Order and Jedi in general.
Prejudice that was acutely absent at the moment. She blinked, then recollected herself.*
"Yes. There is something."
*Her eyes narrowed, just briefly.*
"I want Jago protected. He's up there, in zoehu combat, piloting in an incomplete formation, isn't he? Without his other half. Without Ksandra Mallan. You're shorthanded on pilots; I've seen most of the fighters sitting inert in the hangar. I don't care who you have to pull from the ground, I want more aerial fighters protecting Jago's back."
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Dav Man'Sell
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Post by Dav Man'Sell on Oct 4, 2013 14:34:52 GMT -8
The Jedi Master pondered on her words for a moment. Lita was right, they were flying incomplete Squadrons. Yavin had some of the finest starfighter pilots in the Galaxy, and even with all that skill, all their talent, many of them had fallen in the battle that had begun this all.
And Ksandra. She'd been Dav's master, his colleague, his squadmate, and his friend... he had felt her departure just as much as anyone else. Anyone save Jago. It had been the right thing to do - for Ksandra and for Jago both - but it had not been easy on anyone. What was right rarely was.
Isn't that just the ultimate summation of a Jedi's life.
And Lita was very right, the fighters on the ground, the ones sitting unmanned and unused, they needed to get them up in the air too. Dav had surmised already that their strongest defence, after the shield, was going to be their fighter line. He was already searching, looking through the records and the skill sets of everyone they had, to find people good enough to man their fighters.
That Lita's concern in the skies was for Jago, however... there was something quite ironic about that. Dav knew where it came from, and he felt a warmth, a deep reassurance, from her loyalty for the white-haired wonder, but of anyone in a cockpit above their heads, Jago was the one who needed back-up the least.
"I'm already looking. We don't want to send anyone up without the kind of back-up they need. But we lost so many excellent pilots in the initial battle, that there's just not that many people with the necessary skills. Sending people up who can't fly well will be worse than not sending anyone up at all, because it's just going to get them killed. And when it comes to finding a wingmate for Jago..."
Dav's eyebrows arched, and he exhaled through pursed lips. He shook his head, gingerly, thinking simply of the task that Lita had asked of him.
"Truth is, there aren't many pilots that can keep up with him. He's the best we have. He's probably the best in the Galaxy. He's effectively leading this Starfighter defence from the front and the reason he's doing it, and doing a lot of it without help, is because he can make that starfighter do things that ninety-nine percent of our pilots simply can't. He is probably, single handedly, ensuring as many of our people survive this ordeal as a whole squadron of lesser pilots would be."
He took a deep breath in, which he exhaled with a slightly pained sigh. His next words were softly spoken, and carried the ring of honesty about them.
"I'm just as concerned for his safety as you are, Lita. He's my brother and my closest friend, and as soon as I have the the right kind of willing person needed to give him a wingmate that will actually compliment his skills, rather than hold him back? Believe you and me, I will, without a moment's hesitation."
Whether the metaphor had been intentional or not, he gave no indication. He simply broke eye contact for a moment, pensive, as his mind, once more, weighed the options open to him. He looked up at her.
"Unless you fancy climbing into a flight seat, I don't know who can possibly do the job right now."
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Lita Trykk
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Post by Lita Trykk on Oct 6, 2013 21:47:27 GMT -8
*As the Master Jedi began to explain the declining of her wishes with insufferable reason, Lita's horned head dipped, her gaze averting from Dav's. True enough, sending someone up who did not know what they were doing in a fighter would not just endanger their own lives, but the lives of every teammate around them.
But the deepening change in inflection in Dav's tone had her eyes meeting his again, without lifting her chin. The words had a heavy weight to them, as though he were trying to say more than what was being said on the surface. She recognized that tone. It resonated in her Iridonian blood, pounded deep within the tribal soul of her being.*
"I'm just as concerned for his safety as you are, Lita. He's my brother and my closest friend, and as soon as I have the the right kind of willing person needed to give him a wingmate that will actually compliment his skills, rather than hold him back? Believe you and me, I will, without a moment's hesitation."
*She sensed it coming before the coy words parted from his lips, thrumming through the part of her mind that was still primitive.*
"Unless you fancy climbing into a flight seat, I don't know who can possibly do the job right now."
*Challenge.
Of course, Lita had no idea if this Jedi knew anything of her skill in a dogfight. The only thing on record in the Iridonian Empire would be her fleet command in the many brutal wars the planet incessantly suffered. Her darker past decades ago, the mercenary life of her youth that often consisted of backworld fighter battles of bounty hunter against bounty hunter would be obscured in shadows. Though Man'Sell struck her as a resourceful sort. He might have contacts within Hutt space. Or caught a glimpse of it in her buried memories when she had invaded his mind.
But was that really enough of a lead for Dav to trust her in a flight suit after he had just finished warning her of the danger of sending an incompetent pilot into the air with the likes of Jago Pulastra?
Lita only knew of Jago's piloting skills through reputation. She had never seen them first hand, nor pitted herself against them. She had always assumed their two styles would not even be comparable to each other. She was not even in the same class of flying as he was. But, she did have experience in both militant and mercenary fighting, fighting in formation depending on squadmates, and as a lone wolf pushing the limits of what a fighter can do.
Her angular face was locked into a rare expression of indecision, amplifying those subtle Nagai traits that could occasionally be seen beneath the thicker bone-structure of the Zabrak.
But then the stone walls vibrated, dust filtering down around their heads as the siege cannon once more returned to its thundering attack. The situation for Yavin IV was grim. They were locked in this nightmare of isolation and blood, and Lita was no stranger to a siege in war. Their side could not win on ground defense alone. The thunder struck again, as though mocking the subtle nuance of daring in Dav's words.
Fly again, Trykk.
Her face hardened.*
"Find me an R2 and allow me a day to learn the fundamentals of one of your X-Wings. I'll do the job."
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Dav Man'Sell
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Post by Dav Man'Sell on Oct 7, 2013 15:10:21 GMT -8
Dav watched her run through the decision making process, the subtle flickers of emotion and consideration both passing over her features and vibrating just slightly in the Force. He knew Lita had some skill in flying - she had, after all, arrived in her own Firespray, and though the craft didn't exactly have the spring in it's step an X-Wing had, it was still a craft that responded well to an experienced pilot - and her skill in the Force was apparent. Combine that with the little he knew of the murkier aspects of her past - a past where he didn't doubt that she would have developed a need to survive in a dogfight - and just the faintest echoes of the Force, giving him an instinctive little nudge, he felt there was a good chance that Lita could be the answer to her own request. More so, he trusted her to make the judgement herself; if she didn't feel herself up to the task of flying on Jago's wing, she would dismiss his suggestion, and they would be no worse off.
But she didn't dismiss him. She committed. He offered a small smile, and replied with a nod.
"There are simulators on level two, just down from training room two. When you have the opportunity, you'll find the X-Wing simulators pretty easy to spot. I'll get an Astro to you as soon as I can."
What, he wondered, of the deeper metaphor? Jago's half was no longer Ksandra, and Lita, Lita looked as though she was going to serve a purpose in his life that she never had before, just as he was in hers. Wingmates could well become more than just a tactical arrangement.
Whatever happens, Jago will benefit from someone with her determination, and she will benefit from his experience. She has a warrior's soul, the spirit of a fighter, and she is going to learn and grow best in that environment. If a path in the light is what Lita's future holds, then this is how she will reach it.
His smiled widened a little, a warm one with a genuinely positive feeling, one that seemed to be evading all of them, most of the time, under the oppression of the Mandalorian siege. He held it for a moment, until once more, the Temple shook from another impact upon the re-positioned shield segment. He let it drop from his face as he glanced up at the ceiling, almost as if he was listening to the sounds of the Temple's shaking, feeling it's tremors, and discerning great meaning from it.
"Meanwhile, though, I believe we have some work to do."
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Lita Trykk
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Post by Lita Trykk on Oct 10, 2013 11:08:21 GMT -8
*The nature of his smile changed, as though he knew something more that she herself did not, and a feeling that was at once both indescribably pleasing and fearfully unsettling washed over Lita. The Force whispered to her on a wordless sigh, and a vision that was more felt than seen, as was most often the nature of her precogntion, came unbidden to her mind.
Events that were yet to come. She was clutching her fists against her temples. Screaming? No, fighting. Denying. She had been here before, and yet she had never been here before. She knew this place like home, but she never looked at it. Arms were there to enwrap her in a protective embrace. No, that wasn't quite right, either. He wasn't protecting her. He was guiding her. Both anchoring her and leading her to a place she did not wish to go. The presence was familiar and comforting, even though all around them was a storm of chaos. Jago's unique scent surrounded her, so that when she turned to look over her shoulder, she expected to see cerulean blue eyes. But it wasn't Jago. His smiled widened a little. She snapped out of the vision with a sharp intake of breath, which in truth must have begun and ended in the span of two heartbeats. So...Master Dav Man'Sell was going to be there during a moment of great vulnerability. Why him...?
And why was it a look of selfless hope that triggered such a dark vision?
Then, much like a dream upon waking, the discomfiting feelings passed and the memory of them faded. He was no longer looking at her, but rather had his dark eyes, clouded once more with worry and fatigue, lifted skyward. She lowered her own eyes in a gesture of agreement.*
"I will re-organize the patrols this morning to make certain my absence does not weaken the ground defenses. After that, you will be able to find me in the simulator or hangar if I'm needed."
*She started to move past him with the same abruptness the Zabrak typically displayed when ending a conversation, but this time, she hesitated. Her hand twitched at her side, as though she might have lifted it to touch Dav's shoulder in a mutually comforting sort of way, but she didn't quite make contact. Still shied away from making that connection to yet another Jedi. But the thought was there.
Lita slipped away with that long and silent purposeful stride, leaving Dav behind in the corridor.
Yes, much work to do, if she was going to be ready to fly in a single day and night.*
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Dav Man'Sell
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Post by Dav Man'Sell on Oct 10, 2013 13:58:23 GMT -8
He turned, and watched her go, the military efficiency of her - one that, in just the first day, proved a boon to their Forces - carrying her on this next task he had set before her. That moment, that pause, just as she was about to leave - there had been something there. A softening. Lita Trykk was beginning to accept them, the Jedi - or, at least, beginning to accept him - as allies. Perhaps, even friends.
As she walked from him, and as he studied her, his perception passed beyond the physical. Each step she took carried her along a path, a path to a new future, and he could just make out the fault lines and shatterpoints of the passage of time reshaping before her and around her. In this state, this perception of the Force, he could sense the unfolding of events; not as a premonition, not as a vision of the future as Lita had, but as an understanding of the present, and the importance of a moment. Of an action.
Of a person.
Like her, he couldn't truly say what the impressions he was getting meant. There was more to Lita's future than, Dav felt, she truly believed possible. Shatterpoints were beginning to converge on her, including some that drew him in, and many that seemed to connect most significantly to Jago. She was going to be a big part of their future. She was going to have a powerful effect on the unfolding of events. She was going to make a difference.
There was a flicker in the corner of his mouth, a twitch that he felt in his cheek. Though he could not quite explain why, the impression felt, to him, to be a comforting one.
Force go with you, Lita Trykk.
Another blast shook against the re-positioned portion of the shield. It was closer, and the impacts were coming more frequently. He had work to do.
He turned, headed for the War Room, setting his sights on another day of survival.
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