I, Corellian

[pliantreality]

Byron looked down, over the railing, into one of Coruscant's cavernous trenches. It was a dizzying height, and after a moment Byron stepped back. Coronet City had been something else to him- coming as he did from a small country estate in rural Corellia.

This was beyond Coronet City. This was a planet-city. Byron let out a breath, shaking his head.

He had fought his father about coming here, but maybe the old man had been right. There were experiences here that Byron could appreciate. Maybe.

Maybe. The young man was slow to admit his father right on any one thing. And even if he admitted it to himself, Byron never intended to let the sanctimonious old man know.

The train of thought brought Byron back to the present. He was waiting to meet his... Master? Professor? Instructor? Master. The one who Gerard Kincaid, Byron's father, had told him was to instruct him to be a Jedi.

Byron knew -of- the Jedi Order, but that was about it.

The young man leaned against the base to a towering statue of who Byron assumed was someone important. He drifted a hand over the hilt of his curved dueling sword. The old man had gifted it to him before Byron left.

Gifted wasn't the right term, precisely. After several hours of heated argument, Byron had stormed onto the transport without saying goodbye. The sword he'd found in his bunk. Gerard had not, apparently, considered that Byron might not have gone. The sword had simply been there, waiting.

Proof, to Byron, that Gerard Kincaid thought he knew a great deal more about Byron than Byron would ever admit.

The young man let out a slow exhalation, closing his eyes. He was agitated and nervous, and that might give this Master the wrong impression.

Byron slowed his breath. In through the mouth, out through the nose. Slow, steady. Even. Byron relaxed his shoulders, moving unconsciously into the breathing exercise he'd been taught while very young.

The Jedi Order. The Guardians of the Republic. Guardians of Order. Good guys. There was some appeal to that. Byron liked the idea of being a good guy. He could live with it- and he'd get a laser sword. Which would be cool.

 

[Mr. Crunchy]

Kalza, also, was nervous. The Human she had been assigned would be her first padawan learner as a fully-fledged Jedi Knight. Hurrying along the balconies and spires of the Temple of Coruscant, it was apparent that it was nowhere closer to its' former magnificence, the way it had been before the brutal attack on it by the Dark Jedi. Kalza remembered that day, she watched from the lower levels as the temple fell, and she heard the screams of many Jedi as they breathed their last.

All around, the temple seemed to be in a state of repair, different archways and sculptures being pieced back together or all around rebuilt. As she walked, Kalza pulled out a datapad, tapping away at the keys for a second. Up popped a hologram of her padawan, a Corellian who she knew was called Byron Kincaid. As she looked the hologram over, she began to reminisce about her days about as a padawan, which seemed just like yesterday. She remembered how nervous she felt, and how scared.

The Twi'lek felt the presence of her padawan before she saw him, indeed, he was extremely nervous. But not to worry, as she was hardly an imposing figure. Eventually, she did round a corner and saw her padawan - the very same man as the one on the hologram, standing there quiet alone. Approaching, she bowed deeply. "I am Kalza Duras, a Jedi Knight. I will be your master, my padawan," She said graciously, smiling one of her beautiful smiles at him before stepping back.

 

[pliantreality]

It was hard for Byron to focus. He'd found it true in Coronet and even harder here. His Force-Sensitivity saw to that, it seemed.

Byron had never been able to adequately describe the feeling. It was much like walking through one of Corellia's swampy wetlands whenever Byron entered a city - or any place where life teemed. No malice, but still a great crushing weight. A great press of sensation which the young Corellian had not yet learned to filter.

He felt Kalza's presence before he saw her- the briefest acknowledgement of an energy just a touch more vibrant and focused than the undifferentiated glow around him. It didn't register who that was until Byron opened his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, a young female Twi'lek stood before him. She was smiling and introduced herself as Kalza Duras.

Byron extended his hand, straightening up from where he'd leaned against the statue's dias.

"S'pleasure to meetcha, ma'am." Byron said, clearing his throat. "Expect you know who I am, but all the same. Byron Kincaid."

The young Corellian reached up, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"I s'pose I'm here for ya'll to teach me to be a Jedi." Byron added. "Leastwise that's what my father said."

 

[Mr. Crunchy]

Kalza stopped for a moment, deciphering the heavy Corellian accent that the boy carried. She had never really visited Corellia, so the boy's way of speaking was completely new to her. Of course - it did not take long for her to understand him, and the Jedi would see to it he was speaking real Galactic Basic soon enough.

"You are correct. However, I cannot stress enough that I shall not merely be teaching you the ways of the Jedi and how to swish your lightsaber about, but our beliefs, what we cherish most dearly. Padawan and Master form a deep bond during their time together usually; I hope to share such a bond with you, Byron," She said meaningfully, "So; tell me just a tad about yourself. Where did you grow up? What do you know about the Jedi? Things like that. As you will find out in due time, I am a patient listener as much as I am a competent talker," Kalza said with a tiny little laugh. "And, do not be nervous. The Jedi are the masters of the Light, you have nothing to fear from us, or Coruscant. As long as you stay up here on the upper levels, that is!" She continued, attempting to soothe her Padawan, as she felt his emotions through empathy. She saw how much he felt from all the life around him; she would have to teach him to meld such into one - the Force.

 

[pliantreality]

Byron cleared his throat. He'd heard of things like 'padawans' and the like. But now he was one. Or was going to be one. Or something. The young Corellian felt out of sorts. The Twi'lek, however, seemed gentle and patient- and at the very least Byron appreciated that.

"Not really afraid of Coruscant, ma'am." Byron said, forcing a light laugh of his own. He shifted weight from boot to boot. "Just feel sorta like a Southshore grouper in the shallows..."

He paused, realizing that the alien might not immediately grasp the colloquial expression. Byron licked his lips, mentally searching.

"Eh. That is- a fish outa water." he clarified, nodding once.

She'd asked him how he knew about the Jedi. He had learned about the Force from his father, who spoke of it with reverence. He'd spoken about a great mystical energy field, some light and dark stuff- Byron hadn't really taken it to heart. What Gerard Kincaid -had- been clear on, however, was that the Jedi were its servants. Servants of the Force and of the Republic.

"My father sent me here, to tell you the truth, ma'am. He said that I was Force-Sensitive or sommat like that- said it was why I sometimes got all..." he motioned in a vague circular motion. "Eh. Kerfluffled, I guess, whenever I'm around a lotta folk."

Byron licked his lips again, speaking carefully in his distinctive drawl.

"Grew up in my father's estate, in the lowlands outside Coronet. Back on Corellia." he said. Byron tapped the hilt of his dueling sword. "Father runs a dueling academy there. Din't get out much, tell ya th'truth. Don't know a jackwagon from a jerryhole when it comes to the Jedi Order, though. Sorry ma'am."

 

[Mr. Crunchy]

Kalza paused, feeling the young man calm before her. So; just like her, had no idea of the Jedi Order's teachings when he arrived. It seemed more and more Jedi were not being discovered as young children, rather as young adults. "Very well. I suppose you have seen how this temple has been destroyed? This is a work of those slaves of the dark. They came here and massacred the Jedi. We - the Jedi - are guardians of peace. We live simple, monastic lives and do what we can to keep the peace in the galaxy. The Dark Jedi are spreaders of chaos, fallen Jedi who could not bare a life of selflessness, and so took one of selfishness instead. They are merciless, should you encounter one he will torture and kill you without batting an eyelid. Now, sadly, we lack the libraries of Tython and Ossus, and therefore we don't have a great deal of knowledge at our disposal. However, the temple on Coruscant still has the basics of the Lightsaber forms, our history, the codes and our tenants. Go and learn about them all, and then come back here," She said at length, calmly and patiently.

So, the boy had grew up in a duelling community, perhaps Makashi would be the best lightsaber form for him. She'd have to try and find a curve-hilted lightsaber to train with, perhaps. But she would let him decide for himself, and teach him all she could.

 

[pliantreality]

Byron dug into a pocket as the Twi'lek talked. He pulled out a thin t'bac stick, letting it hang limply between his lips. The young Corellian raised both eyebrows. Apparently there was quite a bit to being a Jedi. Guardians of peace, he got that. Monastic life- well, not much of a change from his father's simple rural estate.

Merciless killers, torturers, and spreaders of chaos diametrically opposed to the Jedi Order?

That he hadn't known. But Byron was alright with it. For now. He was on Coruscant, and that was a far cry from Hutt space. The young Corellian set his t'bac stick to smolder, politely turning away from Kalza when he exhaled a thin ribbon of smoke.

"Tell true, ma'am, that sounds more 'n a bit to swallow." Byron said slowly. "I ain't sayin' I'm not keen on it- I am. Jedi Order sounds like the place I wanna be. All the same..."

He paused, taking a thoughtful drag.

"Guess I'm sayin' my father didn't never tell me nothin' about all this when he sent me here." he said, resting both hands on his belt. He gestured at the towering spires of the Temple behind Kalza. "Don't suppose you could help me find them libraries you were talkin' on? I don't quite have the nose for direction unless I been there already, if you kennnit..."

 

[Mr. Crunchy]

"Also... we'd prefer it if you didn't smoke. Me, personally, actually," Kalza looked at the stick her padawan was smoking. She'd never seen a smoking Jedi before, come to think of it. "Why yes, let's go then, shall we?" She added with a customary smile.

 

[pliantreality]

Byron paused, looking down at his t'bac stick. No smoking. He didn't like that. The young Corellian took a final drag before dropping the stick and grinding it out with his heel.

"Aye, then, ma'am. Right." he murmured. Byron's rebellious instincts rankled, momentarily, and he reminded himself that they were just t'bac sticks. He would find time for a smoke by himself. "Lead the way, uh, Master- am I s'posed to call you Master?"

Byron motioned for her to lead the way.

 

[Mr. Crunchy]

"Yes. Master will be sufficient," Kalza said, nodding. The young Twi'lek led the way, through the various temple courts and down corridors that led off into training rooms. As she walked, she conversed with her padawan. "We will have to get you a lightsaber soon, of course." She said with a nod, drumming a finger on the hilt of her own lightsaber.

 

[pliantreality]

Byron fiddled restlessly with the tasseled hilt of his curved dueling blade. He had been unable to keep his eyes off the elegant handle of the lightsaber clipped to Kalza's belt during their walk.

A lightsaber. He knew what it was, in theory. He'd seen holovids. He knew they were the weapons of the Jedi. 'A sword used as a shield'. Or something.

"That right?" Byron drawled, eyebrows rising. "I confess, they look slicked 'n a wax snake on a marble floor. It'd be a de-light to get my hands on one."

The young Corellian licked his lips, letting his eyes leave the lightsaber hilt and travel around the Temple.

"You reckon there'll ever be another attack on Coruscant, Master ma'am? On the Jedi Order?"

 

[Mr. Crunchy]

"We can never rule out attacks on our temples," Kalza said sadly, "That is why we must defend them, with all our life. They are bastions of hope!" She looked around the temple, examining the still unhealed scars the Dark Jedi had left on it. Her padawan could probably still feel the taint that lingered here like an unwelcome smell, too. Shuddering, she brought herself back to reality. "A lightsaber, is a symbol of peace and hope. It is not merely a weapon - it is part of us, and show should be treated as such. But remember, it is not the lightsaber that makes the Jedi, but the Jedi that makes the lightsaber..." She paused for a moment, "Tell me, Byron, what do you see yourself us? A guardian, a diplomat or something in between?" She said with a narrowed eye. Of course, training would be much easier if her padawan was a Consular such as herself.

Soon enough, they arrived at the library. Parts of it were still burned and damaged, but many of the old archives had been restored and datapads that helped students find information were scattered around the room. It struck Kalza how empty Coruscant was in comparison to Ossus where she had completed her training. Soon enough, Jedi would start to return to Coruscant to be in the centre of the galaxy, but for now many were settled in the monasteries of Alderaan, Tython and Ossus.

 

[pliantreality]

Bastions of hope. That was a tall order, to Byron's thinking. Millions and millions of sentient beings- and a few spots of light on which to hang their hope. The thought alone gave Byron pause.

He had never been a responsible sort. It didn't come easily for him. And yet, now, Byron was beginning to suspect that he was faced with a responsibility greater than any he could've found at his father's dojo.

A Jedi was not just a sentient creature, but a symbol.

The Twi'lek asked him if he was a diplomat or a guardian, and Byron cleared his throat.

"Well, ma'am- eh, Master ma'am Kalza..." the young man began, slowly, avoiding direct eye contact. "I don't reckon I can be anything 'cepting what I am. Ain't rightly sure if I'm a guardian or not- and sure as sh-... Eh. Sure as a sunset I'm no diplomat."

Byron rolled his shoulders, resisting the urge to dig out another t'bac stick. He was a stress smoker, and between the city-planet at this Jedi business, he was feeling the stress in spades.

Part of it was the lingering stench of dark. He couldn't place where it was coming from, nor exactly what it was- it reminded him of, alternately, the look on his father's face when he'd been told of his grandfather's death. It reminded him of the smell of death Byron had the displeasure of inhaling when he'd found a man, dead, in the wooded creek a mile from the estate. It reminded him of a rotten gorb-fruit and vomit, except it weighed on the brain and the heart and not the nostrils.

Byron coughed lightly into his hand, coming back.

"Apologies, ma'am Master Kalza, I'm not exactly sure how to answer." he drawled. The young Corellian motioned to the computer terminals. "You figger I should look somethin' up?"

 

[Mr. Crunchy]

"Yes," Kalza said with a nod, feeling the uneasiness within her padawan. "And calm yourself, this place is your home now - you will find no hostility within our hallowed halls," she added, smiling at him."Read up on everything, the Codes, the Tenants, the lightsaber forms, out history..." she said, giving him a sympathetic look. "I know you feel out of place here, but just try and relax,"