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Life is wondrous! Life is wondrous indeed! For all experiences, whether they be good or ill, are worthy of sampling. For each life is a unique and fine dish, prepared with care and wrought with artfulness; it would be a true shame for any man to turn up his nose at the remarkable life he has been given, for its texture, its flavor and its garnishings are never to be seen again in any form of existence.
But lo! One who partakes too freely of life is called a "glutton". And it is appropriate to answer thus: that partaking too freely of anything is gluttony, but for one to appreciate something to its fullest extent is to be a "connoisseur".
And our man, Varrec Marcao D'Ellessar II, has ever been accused of gluttony and piggish idleness, but there is not an idle bone in his body, nor is there the desire to partake of something to his own detriment or the detriment of others. He is, as formerly stated, a connoisseur of life, who enjoys everything simply because it is there and unique in its own way. To him, there is no such thing as "too much of anything," but only "too much at once." Alas, the man is grievously misunderstood.
It is this unorthodox view of life that has rendered D'Ellessar incapable of advancing further in the austere Jedi Order. Even Varrec cannot deny that his lack of advancement is due to his "worldly" line of thought, and this has been a great source of shame to him. Yet he cannot sully his beaming countenance with false repentance or hypocritical sorrow; for he is neither of those things, but believes himself to be correct on some level, and until proven otherwise, stands by his theories. And so time and again he has been cast off by the Masters, not as a lost cause, nor even as a stubborn man, but simply as a being who is so ignorant that few have the patience to put up with his innocent queries. Thus, it has been his lot in life for the past 35 years to traverse from one teacher to the next, learning as much as he is able in the brief tenure of apprenticeship allotted him, but without ever earning the approval of the authorities placed o'er his head. Tragic, tragic...
But D'Ellessar cannot complain, for he is able to boast that he has trained under more masters than any other student in the Jedi Order! Despite the painful realization that he cannot be trusted, our fellow is undaunted in the hopes that his ideas shall one day be shared by appreciators of the art of living. One can almost hear the beating of the heart worn on his sleeve. His soul is bright and evergreen, like a chalice that is full and overflowing. His step is light for a man of his size, and the spring in his walk is an audible tune; should others hear it, they likewise pick up the march. Such charisma is beautiful in a man so downtrodden.
And it was in this same lighthearted mood that he traveled to his new master; for today he was to be taught by none other than Master Avara. Were it not for his pleasant disposition, Varrec would have been worried; for the master was well-known to be a severe and careful man. A great warrior, even! Yes, yes, a great warrior. Now please understand, our man D'Ellessar respected the masters as they so rightly deserved, and he admired their willingness to sacrifice their pleasure for what they believed the greater good; his disagreeing with their beliefs was by no means an indication of personal dislike. Who was Varrec, stout and carefree, that he should be taught by such a fine man as Garak Avara? Few could fathom.
For he saw in Master Avara a love of art that he likewise shared; the art of war, the art of swordsmanship, the art of reading motions; these were as respectable as the arts of dancing or music or sculpture. So yes, Varrec respected the man and believed him to be a worthy teacher; his only hope was that he would not disappoint his new master in the same manner that he had disappointed his previous instructors.
So filled with hope and mild anticipation he bounced along the halls, his ivory cane whirling in his hand like a celestial baton. The tap of his rod set the beat of his march: 1, 2, 3 and 4. He smiled at acquaintance and stranger alike, for he was sure they had done something to deserve it, and as he basked in the warm morning light, he stared upwards at the immaculate ceiling. The pearly marble from which it was formed was gently shaped into interweaving floral patterns, and faces of Jedi long departed smiled benignly from their perches at the fat little Jedi. He smiled back in his gentile way and continued his jovial trot to plaza.
As he passed into the courtyard of the Sage Halls of Empress Teta, Verrac espied his new master. His long shadow was cast upon the delicately wrought patio, as though a dark rift had opened amidst its glimmering surface. Such was his perception of the stern Master Avara. The heat outside was considerably greater than the temperature indoors, and upon his entering the new environment, D'Ellessar broke into a sweat. "Heaven help me," he murmured quietly, wiping his glistening brow with the backs of his porky fingers. Moisture had begun to condense upon his delicate upper lip, and after smoothing his fine mustache and taking a deep breath, Varrec plunged into the heat-wave. "Perhaps it's this coat," he thought as he felt the fur lining of his Jedi robes.
But he had little time to contemplate the weather, for in a few short bounds he was within a few yards of his teacher. Upon approaching nearer, his face burst into a good-natured smile, and he stooped low in respectful recognition of the master. "Master Avara," he pronounced gleefully, sweeping his beret majestically from the crown of his head. "Your humble servant, Sirrah!"
But lo! One who partakes too freely of life is called a "glutton". And it is appropriate to answer thus: that partaking too freely of anything is gluttony, but for one to appreciate something to its fullest extent is to be a "connoisseur".
And our man, Varrec Marcao D'Ellessar II, has ever been accused of gluttony and piggish idleness, but there is not an idle bone in his body, nor is there the desire to partake of something to his own detriment or the detriment of others. He is, as formerly stated, a connoisseur of life, who enjoys everything simply because it is there and unique in its own way. To him, there is no such thing as "too much of anything," but only "too much at once." Alas, the man is grievously misunderstood.
It is this unorthodox view of life that has rendered D'Ellessar incapable of advancing further in the austere Jedi Order. Even Varrec cannot deny that his lack of advancement is due to his "worldly" line of thought, and this has been a great source of shame to him. Yet he cannot sully his beaming countenance with false repentance or hypocritical sorrow; for he is neither of those things, but believes himself to be correct on some level, and until proven otherwise, stands by his theories. And so time and again he has been cast off by the Masters, not as a lost cause, nor even as a stubborn man, but simply as a being who is so ignorant that few have the patience to put up with his innocent queries. Thus, it has been his lot in life for the past 35 years to traverse from one teacher to the next, learning as much as he is able in the brief tenure of apprenticeship allotted him, but without ever earning the approval of the authorities placed o'er his head. Tragic, tragic...
But D'Ellessar cannot complain, for he is able to boast that he has trained under more masters than any other student in the Jedi Order! Despite the painful realization that he cannot be trusted, our fellow is undaunted in the hopes that his ideas shall one day be shared by appreciators of the art of living. One can almost hear the beating of the heart worn on his sleeve. His soul is bright and evergreen, like a chalice that is full and overflowing. His step is light for a man of his size, and the spring in his walk is an audible tune; should others hear it, they likewise pick up the march. Such charisma is beautiful in a man so downtrodden.
And it was in this same lighthearted mood that he traveled to his new master; for today he was to be taught by none other than Master Avara. Were it not for his pleasant disposition, Varrec would have been worried; for the master was well-known to be a severe and careful man. A great warrior, even! Yes, yes, a great warrior. Now please understand, our man D'Ellessar respected the masters as they so rightly deserved, and he admired their willingness to sacrifice their pleasure for what they believed the greater good; his disagreeing with their beliefs was by no means an indication of personal dislike. Who was Varrec, stout and carefree, that he should be taught by such a fine man as Garak Avara? Few could fathom.
For he saw in Master Avara a love of art that he likewise shared; the art of war, the art of swordsmanship, the art of reading motions; these were as respectable as the arts of dancing or music or sculpture. So yes, Varrec respected the man and believed him to be a worthy teacher; his only hope was that he would not disappoint his new master in the same manner that he had disappointed his previous instructors.
So filled with hope and mild anticipation he bounced along the halls, his ivory cane whirling in his hand like a celestial baton. The tap of his rod set the beat of his march: 1, 2, 3 and 4. He smiled at acquaintance and stranger alike, for he was sure they had done something to deserve it, and as he basked in the warm morning light, he stared upwards at the immaculate ceiling. The pearly marble from which it was formed was gently shaped into interweaving floral patterns, and faces of Jedi long departed smiled benignly from their perches at the fat little Jedi. He smiled back in his gentile way and continued his jovial trot to plaza.
As he passed into the courtyard of the Sage Halls of Empress Teta, Verrac espied his new master. His long shadow was cast upon the delicately wrought patio, as though a dark rift had opened amidst its glimmering surface. Such was his perception of the stern Master Avara. The heat outside was considerably greater than the temperature indoors, and upon his entering the new environment, D'Ellessar broke into a sweat. "Heaven help me," he murmured quietly, wiping his glistening brow with the backs of his porky fingers. Moisture had begun to condense upon his delicate upper lip, and after smoothing his fine mustache and taking a deep breath, Varrec plunged into the heat-wave. "Perhaps it's this coat," he thought as he felt the fur lining of his Jedi robes.
But he had little time to contemplate the weather, for in a few short bounds he was within a few yards of his teacher. Upon approaching nearer, his face burst into a good-natured smile, and he stooped low in respectful recognition of the master. "Master Avara," he pronounced gleefully, sweeping his beret majestically from the crown of his head. "Your humble servant, Sirrah!"
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