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This occurs about four days after the current Council meeting.
There was a light drizzle in the air about the Jedi Temple of Coruscant the evening on which Lecchamemnon chose to arrive. Perhaps the melancholy weather was a herald to the dark times that lay before every Jedi, a prelude to the killing and the confusion and the futility that combined made the result of war. He did not agree with the notion of mass killing to further the cause of peace, but he accepted the fact that at times it was simply necessary.
The Sith had brought this upon themselves. War was imminent.
It was the reason he was here now. Grand Master Kanasaur had asked him to scour the Jedi Archives in order to find information on the Sith that would prove useful in the coming struggle. He was to find it, identify information that would be relevant to the majority of Jedi, and if necessary censor said knowledge to protect the less experienced of the Order from corruption. The Corsucant Archives were known to harbour a small number of unique texts that he was interested in, so he had traveled here post haste to find them and take them back to Tython. It seemed that even in the halls of the Jedi Lecchamemnon was doomed to pursue the dark side of the Force.
He had not announced his arrival, as was always his way. The first warning anyone got was the unmistakeable force presence of one so utterly saturated in lore that it seemed to seep from his very pores. To any who focussed in on this presence further there would become apparent a definite feeling of restraint, as if he was holding back a great deal in an eternal effort to distance the innocent from the corrosive stain of evil. There was also sadness, distant and immense, although that was so smothered in determination that only the truly powerful (and doggedly persistent) would ever catch wind of it. When the Lord of Knowledge desired something hidden, it could not be found.
The Head Librarian on duty jumped when she looked up and saw the Lore Master striding towards his desk, looking directly at her. She had been trained by him personally and liked to think she knew his mind at least some of the time, which was more than many in the Order could claim. She stood as he approached, and held a brief whispered conversation with her Master before nodding and going back to her book. She was privileged to have a personal relationship with one so closed to outsiders, and she knew it. She pitied him, in a way, because she knew him. It was a strange friendship.
Lecchamemnon walked quietly away from Jayara's desk, half smiling with the simple pleasure of being reunited with a friend. He had so few, and even those he had were distant. He could not afford to allow them any closer, he could not allow them to be corrupted by him. He was a diseased man of sorts, but it didn't bother him unduly. He had been tainted for so long that he had forgotten the feeling of love, the sensation of sharing. He was alone, and that was how it always would be.
It was how it had to be.
He stood for a while, simply absorbing the hushed atmosphere of this, his second most impressive of libraries. It was a serene place, and one on which Lecchamemnon felt at peace. He exhaled silently, mood lifting a fraction. He shut his eyes, and allowed himself to become one with the space. The Sith could wait five minutes... This was an atmosphere to be savoured.