- Joined
- Jan 23, 2011
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History.
Jedi of old, ancestors of the protectors of the Republic, they cried out to Elk, as real as the physical materials he walked on. He strode quickly through the hallowed halls of the Jedi Monastery of Tython, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was dressed in his typical grey robes, the cowl thrown up, concealing his hammerhead face, which concealed the light battledress he wore underneath. His large blue eyes gazed solemnly out of the shadow, his blue eyes a lone light in the darkness.
Elk felt the last wisps of sleepiness draining from his weary muscles; he called on the Force, feeling its warmth and coolness spreading over him like a warm blanket. Dumaw was secure in it's grasp; as he headed to a training session with a completely new master, Elk knew he would need the strength and comfort only it could provide him.
Elk's feet slapped lightly against the cold stone, his feet clad only in comfortable bantha leather flip flops. His dual lightsabers rested reassuringly against his waist, attached to a utility belt secured around his midsection. Dumaw turned a corner, surprised to see he was this close to the training room. Elk pulled himself up to his full height, an imposing 7'2", and depressed the green open button.
A swoosh resounded through the room, and Elk was greeted by Jedi Master Valen Cross. The man was a legend in combat, a living weapon, and his battle experience was formidable. From what Dumaw had gathered he had even left the Order for a considerable period of time. Elk stooped into a deep bow, his armor flexing. He threw back his hood, revealing a strong but youthful Ithorian face. His dark green, almost brown, skin was healthy, and his exposed upper body rippled with strong muscle tone.
Elk Dumaw was still but a padawan, but he had grown into a respectable but reserved warrior, especially in the past few years. The recent death of his master was still apparent on his face, a small glint of grief still apparent in his eyes. Dumaw resisted the guilt, the pain, and spoke, his deep, accented voice rumbling through the room. "Padawan Elk Dumaw, reporting for training, master."
Jedi of old, ancestors of the protectors of the Republic, they cried out to Elk, as real as the physical materials he walked on. He strode quickly through the hallowed halls of the Jedi Monastery of Tython, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was dressed in his typical grey robes, the cowl thrown up, concealing his hammerhead face, which concealed the light battledress he wore underneath. His large blue eyes gazed solemnly out of the shadow, his blue eyes a lone light in the darkness.
Elk felt the last wisps of sleepiness draining from his weary muscles; he called on the Force, feeling its warmth and coolness spreading over him like a warm blanket. Dumaw was secure in it's grasp; as he headed to a training session with a completely new master, Elk knew he would need the strength and comfort only it could provide him.
Elk's feet slapped lightly against the cold stone, his feet clad only in comfortable bantha leather flip flops. His dual lightsabers rested reassuringly against his waist, attached to a utility belt secured around his midsection. Dumaw turned a corner, surprised to see he was this close to the training room. Elk pulled himself up to his full height, an imposing 7'2", and depressed the green open button.
A swoosh resounded through the room, and Elk was greeted by Jedi Master Valen Cross. The man was a legend in combat, a living weapon, and his battle experience was formidable. From what Dumaw had gathered he had even left the Order for a considerable period of time. Elk stooped into a deep bow, his armor flexing. He threw back his hood, revealing a strong but youthful Ithorian face. His dark green, almost brown, skin was healthy, and his exposed upper body rippled with strong muscle tone.
Elk Dumaw was still but a padawan, but he had grown into a respectable but reserved warrior, especially in the past few years. The recent death of his master was still apparent on his face, a small glint of grief still apparent in his eyes. Dumaw resisted the guilt, the pain, and spoke, his deep, accented voice rumbling through the room. "Padawan Elk Dumaw, reporting for training, master."