Mediator and Arbitrator
Tirin was in search of a Padawan who could use his assistance. He had helped offer stability to some of the young ones he had met, but they didn't seem to be the right fit so far as an apprentice. His quest to find a Padawan with whom he would not make the same mistakes was starting to feel like an endless one. It had been several years now, but he remembered the past as if it were yesterday. He shook his head, dispelling such unpleasant thoughts as he let out a gentle sigh before disembarking the Ares.
Alderaan was not a place he often made a habit of visiting, but he had been making efforts to visit temples, audit classrooms, and observe the young ones attending their education, hoping to find someone who would fit—someone who wasn't so reckless, someone a little more meek, and perhaps less confident in themselves. Tirin knew well the tricks the mind could play and how they often had a significant effect on one's ability to attune to the flow of the Force.
As Tirin stepped off the Ares, the scent of fresh rain mixed with the earthy aroma of Alderaan's diverse flora flooded his senses. The green hills rolled gently in the distance, and the echoes of laughter from the nearby temple grounds resonated in the humid air. Yet, despite the beauty surrounding him, a heavy weight rested in his chest. His hand reached up, taking hold of the violet kyber crystal he wore as a pendant and held it, as if drawing some semblance of calm from it.
The Temple of Alderaan stood proudly before him. Tirin had previously spent many hours wandering its hallways on his last trip here, observing the younglings, initiates, and hopefuls alike as they navigated lessons on the Living Force, lightsaber drills, and the complexities of Jedi philosophy. Despite being a skilled Jedi Master himself, he couldn't help but feel a sense of inadequacy when faced with the prospect of training another. The last Padawan he had taken had thrived for a time but ultimately succumbed to rebellious impatience. He had given them too much free rein, which had led to their gruesome demise. Tirin vowed he would not repeat such a mistake again, but he had to be certain about his choice. The Force often spoke volumes to him, but in this endeavor, he found it frustratingly... silent.
He entered the main hall, where the sounds of laughter shifted into a more structured ambiance, embodying the rhythm of lessons being taught. Students sat cross-legged on mats—some practicing forms with lightsabers, others engaged in meditation exercises. Tirin's gaze landed on a cluster of young ones near the far wall. They were grouped together, sharing ideas and insights, their faces alive with eagerness.
He stood there, taking his time observing what the students were doing in this hour. It was more of a free period, he could surmise, given the variety of activities. He allowed his violet gaze to sweep across the room, taking in each prospective student, curious to see if anyone seemed to stand out. There were a few students here who were older that Tirin knew about, but he would undoubtedly cross that bridge when he got there—if he didn't find what he was looking for first. Perhaps if he was lucky, he might capture a glimpse of who the prospective students were, unfettered by the complications of a Master nearby seeking an apprentice. It often got hopes up and ultimately made it more difficult to see how they genuinely behaved when no one of authority was watching.
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