Garth Dovhann

Prancing Yawn

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Grandmaster of the New Jedi Order​

WIP
grandmaster2.png


I

The year was 967 ABY, and I was a Padawan, at a somewhat rather young, inexperienced, very adventurous sixteen. My master and I had been assigned on a Jedi war frigate in the Gala system. The planet was being occupied by a group of pirates, terrorists and the like, who had installed a planetary shield generator stolen from the Empire. They were demanding ransom in billions of credits for the entire planet’s populace – including two visiting Alliance senators. They had also placed a small fleet
outside the shield, which we were able to easily engage and destroy.
The Admiral – whose name escapes me – attempted all possible strategies with the fleet we had. It was uneasily decided on, for a two-man suicide mission. I brashly volunteered my master and myself. I was enjoying the limelight of being an ace in the space battle before, and the pride from that convinced me that myself and my Master could complete the mission and escape, unscathed.

We were able to penetrate the shield with the smallest craft the good Admiral could squeeze us into, and over the course of hours of meticulous, inch-by-inch movements, snuck our way into the shield generator bunker, which was heavily armed and heavily monitored. Dispatching even one guard would tip them off to our presence.
Inside were a plethora of guards that we were now forced to engage. I remembered my adrenaline was running at its highest when I saw those dozens of barrels pointed at my master and I. It was even, as a Padawan, a thrill. I completely forgot it was a suicide mission, flawlessly hacking and slashing my way through the guards to get to the controls of the generator.
I looked over my shoulder once to see that my master was not following me up the steps I tread a few seconds ago. He was lying on the ground, a bolt burned into his chest and shoulder, and his saber had rolled out of his hand a few feet away from him, de-ignited. I distinctly remember the feeling – my heart had stopped, I still moved to block the shots being relentlessly fired at me, but my mind was dead.
In no more moments I began to turn red, angry at these vagabonds for killing my master – which was what it looked like at the time. I grabbed the pistol of a dead guard and, yelling at the top of my lungs, blew towards the control panel enabling the shield. I fought as ferociously as I could – not out of necessity or survival but out of pure anger. The Dark Side was powering me, and if my master was conscious at the time, he would’ve, even then, with a blaster bolt in his chest and shoulder, scolded me.

By a sheer miracle, I deactivated the shield and escaped on a ship with my horribly wounded master. Jedi gunships were now flying into the atmosphere past my Galacean ship, carrying a company of troopers to mop up the remaining rogues. I returned to the warship with a hero’s welcome, and admittedly, I loved the limelight of it. I had no trouble marching into the barracks or the mess hall during the hyperspace journey back to Coruscant and re-telling my story to everyone there, over and over each time at lunch hour. I was patted on the back more than once.
There was no doubt it was getting to my young head – I’d have been damned if I said I didn’t enjoy all the attention I was getting. When my master regained consciousness, he instantly noticed something else. T’ wasn’t like it was a complete surprise to him, as from when we first met, he knew I was an attention-getter. I didn’t mind telling wild, tall tales to my friends, and I was a little cocky here or there when it came to dueling, but it was always just in good fun. He confronted me about it, and I simply shrugged it off.

Nothing more of it escalated until a few weeks later, when we were back on Tython. I was engaged in a spar with my best friend, a Nautolan, who, like me, was quite the competitor. When we sparred, we always taunted each other, constantly driving on about how the opposite was a horrible duelist compared to themselves – or something, but in the end, we always went to the cafeteria with a good truce.
I became so enthralled in one of our duels. I remember I was losing – his banter was frustrating me, and I advanced on him viciously. He defended with ease, quipping at my further. I remember I saw a confused look on his face as I became more aggressive and violent in my strikes, and mannerisms. He was irritating me; I was hating that smirk that came over his lips every time he deflected a slash with a simple flick of the wrist.
I charged at him, blade overhead, and went on a rampage of vicious strikes, getting my friend – who I’m still apologizing to – up against the wall of the room. My master barged in, no doubt sensing the Dark welled up in me, and immediately pulled me away from the duel. I then realized what I had done. Too easily I had allowed the Dark Side to infiltrate me by a simple irritation.. with things like that happening, I was at a great risk of falling. My friend suffered non-lethal wounds, but stayed in sickbay for about half a month.
Knowing this, I went to the council alone and *begged* to them to be exiled. I thought it was the only way – honestly, I was ashamed of how I had acted, and I didn’t want to face anyone. My master intervened, taking full responsibility for my actions – like a fool, I still think. . . – and stating that if I couldn’t change myself within a year, he, too, would personally deem himself a failure as a trainer, eventually sinking into self-exile. They agreed.

And so, I regained myself. I remember meditating atleast a hundred hours out of that year. I spent the entire time on Tython, most of it in solitude, just.. feasting on the Living Force. The experience completely changed me, and I returned to the Order with quite a few eyes on me. The Council deemed my Master nothing of the sort of a failure – I doubt they would’ve allowed him to leave, anyway. One so passionate about his trainees could not, so easily, be let go. If he were still alive, I'm more than confident he would be in my position.

younggrandmaster.jpg

I had slain my demons early in life, and shortly thereafter I passed the trials of Knighthood. I knew as a Jedi I would face incredible obstacles and challenges. . but my next would not come until I had reached the respected ranks of Masterhood, many years later.
 
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Deloi

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So he's Qui-Gon Jinn's descendant?

:CHappy
 

GABA

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Hurry up and type the rest!
 

Prancing Yawn

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You're wasting time posting here when you could be typing. :CStern

I'm typing right now.

[or as you're reading this, 10 seconds - 10000 years ago :CHappy]
 

Deloi

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You only typed 1152 words.

If you did this in three days that means you only type 27% of a word per minute... That's not a lot. How long does it take you to type "I"?
 

Dmitri

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You misspelled the name, silly Prancing Yawn. It's a D, not a G. :CHappy
 

Prancing Yawn

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You only typed 1152 words.

If you did this in three days that means you only type 27% of a word per minute... That's not a lot. How long does it take you to type "I"?

The quotation marks add on a good 10 mins each..

@Weiss: Seeing what you did there, I am.
 
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Nevermourn

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Awesome! Your finally getting his profile up. ^^
 

Lucid

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Link this dude in your sig, yo. I spammed like 15 people looking for his name, lol.
 

Sreeya

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Or you could've just checked the roster to find the GM, dorkuss.
 

Padmé

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Yawn, I like the story.

I feel as though you ran out of gas towards the end. I can't wait until you finish Garth Dovhann's story.
 

Dmitri

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You haven't named the Nautolan yet. :CStern
 
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