For much of the days not else occupied, it was scrolls and tomes Nakoa studied. Old and forgotten lore was the thing the young man most fervently adored, was the trade he plied, a call of fate he couldn't help by heed. Destiny, however, was a story he wrote all his own. Wrean, Willmarked, shaman of the wheel, Sith perhaps, scholar. What did it all mean, in the end?
Wreans were a communal people, never warring against their own kind. Self-sufficient and collaborative. Each member of society, of a tribe, was expected to support themselves as best they could while also asking for help and helping others where needed. It made them strong and tight-knit, adaptable, surviving where other cultures burned. Learn everything you can, ask for what you don't know, Wrea above all.
Willmarked were unbound from the fate of ten thousand ancestors, instead part of a cycle of death and rebirth without end. They had no destiny save for that which they chose for themselves. Nakoa was noted as a child for stubbornness and a powerful urge toward self-determination, not uncommon among the willmarked. Further still for cunning and selfish urges, greed and irreverence, though never enough to invite real opposition. A troublesome child who held his own fate above all
Shamans of the Wheel were those rare few with a connection to the Current, aspect of the Living Force. A gift for magic- or sorcery, alchemy, whatever cultures called it- and for communing with spirits of nature and the dead. Further, their nature as reincarnated beings left them with strong ties to their past lives and direct ancestors. All used this for wisdom and knowledge. A few used it for power. Either way, or even both, the spirits were considered above all.
Sith. What was a Sith? A question Nakoa loved to ask others who followed the code. Each time they got a different answer. A being of power, of freedom, of service to the Shadow. Of subtlety, of strength, of cunning, or brute force, of intelligence, of obedience, of selfishness and greed, anger and icy calm. So many contradictions wrapped up in chains. What was a Sith? Only a miserable little pile of secrets and the malice to wield them. For a true Sith, secrecy was held above all.
Scholars found secrets. They searched and dug, translated, and puzzled out the meaning of things long forgotten. Regardless of where, when, or why. It didn't matter, their joy was in discovery and understanding, in philosophy, debate, and argument. Scholars discovered medicine, hypergates, artifacts. They won wars through strategy, dominated business economies, and through subtle action defined the future. No matter how minor, they prized knowledge above all.
Nakoa considered these things as he closed his translated Zeffo text. It was a work originally penned by the Sabracci Sages detailing some of their esoteric ways long lost by the galaxy at large. It contained much philosophy among techniques of the Force. It proved to Nakoa that what one could do with the Force was not limited to the narrow scope largely accepted by Jedi and Sith. It was nothing that allowed one to control the weather, throw buildings, descend a blanket of fear upon an army, or even really harm another at all.
Irirangi looked ahead from where he was. In front of him were a desk and chair. From his perspective they were firmly attached to the wall along with all the rest of his furniture, while he himself stood quite comfortably next to a wall light. Through these translated teaching he'd begun to understand how, through the force, Gravity itself could be subverted beyond simply jumping and leaping around. He'd done it himself, understood it himself, worked hard to achieve it, and would continue to strive toward mastery.
Why was it, then, that the first thing he wanted to do was tell Arla about it? They spoke rarely except for scholarly business; neither seemed fond of long text conversations. Would she care about such an unusual little thing?
Would she smile again?
Nakoa decided he wanted to find out.