Kiskla Grayson-Matteo
Redeemer
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But she’d been going about it all wrong.
So wrong.
For her entire term as Grandmaster, she’d wanted to pull everyone from the outside back in. But you cannot bake a pie by starting with the crust. She needed filler first. (Not that baking as an appropriate analogy for the Kiffar, she is definitely domestically dumb). This had meant months of kneading crumbling dough around a hollow centre. The flakiness was certainly not conducive for sustainability.
When Halcyon was in power, Kiskla had reached out to former Grandmasters, and Levantine Jedi. When councillors left, she reached out to The Silver Jedi. At the convocation, she had suggested a collaborative council. Only Merrill had responded. They now worked together. After that idea had flopped on the larger scale, she reached out to all the Jedi sects with a holo requesting that they meet and discuss unification once more. That too, had garnered her no return.
Finally, surrounded by failures of her own, and of her predecessors, Kiskla blinked to a realization. Through the darkness of two nights, Kiskla’s features had been speckled with the cyan glow of those of the past. The Grandmaster’s holocron spoke words that she could never conceive. Wisdom far beyond her meagre years. Another story from the archives played in succession to Yoda’s ramblings — tales of Grandmaster Skywalker and his successes. Through the words of both former Masters, and her own considerations, she reached a drastic conclusion. The soft breeze of Ruusan ruffled her blonde hair, and a smile cracked across her features, just as the sun’s rays cracked the dawn of this new day.
A new day indeed.
Hurriedly, Kiskla uncrossed her long legs and stood. She had been seated in isolation, on an extended ridge from the uppermost area of the temple that overlooked the planet’s sprawling flora. Everything the light touches, is her kingdom. Just kidding — that wouldn’t reflect Jedi humility!
With a sort of youthful excitement, the blonde Grandmaster collected the two projections that had been running for quite some time. The holocron nestled into one of the oversized pockets of her spacer’s jacket, and the slab of archived information tucked beneath her arm as she adjusted her weight to essentially slide back down to a more plateaued surface. From there, her agility wove her through the roof compartments of the temple and back through the levels to the major atriums and canals. The bounce of her ponytail could attest to that, if nothing else. The veins of this temple would soon be pumping with a metaphysical echo of her pulsing enthusiasm.
“Councillors, please make yourselves available for consultation. I have an announcement that you should know before the rest of The Order.”
Once [member="Jorus Merrill"], [member="Michael Sardun"] and [member="Talon Vosra"] responded with either their projected, or corporeal presence, the Kiffar would explain. After all, it affected them greatly.
Kiskla had always taken failure personally. It was like a mental leprosy. The Sith were rampant and unified. They had been successful on Corsucant, Teta and Alderaan. Morale was low, and the Jedi were thin and shells of their former selves. Kiskla had been meditating heavily on this — and she’d always believed that The Jedi had to become unified once more. But she’d been going about it all wrong.
So wrong.
For her entire term as Grandmaster, she’d wanted to pull everyone from the outside back in. But you cannot bake a pie by starting with the crust. She needed filler first. (Not that baking as an appropriate analogy for the Kiffar, she is definitely domestically dumb). This had meant months of kneading crumbling dough around a hollow centre. The flakiness was certainly not conducive for sustainability.
When Halcyon was in power, Kiskla had reached out to former Grandmasters, and Levantine Jedi. When councillors left, she reached out to The Silver Jedi. At the convocation, she had suggested a collaborative council. Only Merrill had responded. They now worked together. After that idea had flopped on the larger scale, she reached out to all the Jedi sects with a holo requesting that they meet and discuss unification once more. That too, had garnered her no return.
Finally, surrounded by failures of her own, and of her predecessors, Kiskla blinked to a realization. Through the darkness of two nights, Kiskla’s features had been speckled with the cyan glow of those of the past. The Grandmaster’s holocron spoke words that she could never conceive. Wisdom far beyond her meagre years. Another story from the archives played in succession to Yoda’s ramblings — tales of Grandmaster Skywalker and his successes. Through the words of both former Masters, and her own considerations, she reached a drastic conclusion. The soft breeze of Ruusan ruffled her blonde hair, and a smile cracked across her features, just as the sun’s rays cracked the dawn of this new day.
A new day indeed.
Hurriedly, Kiskla uncrossed her long legs and stood. She had been seated in isolation, on an extended ridge from the uppermost area of the temple that overlooked the planet’s sprawling flora. Everything the light touches, is her kingdom. Just kidding — that wouldn’t reflect Jedi humility!
With a sort of youthful excitement, the blonde Grandmaster collected the two projections that had been running for quite some time. The holocron nestled into one of the oversized pockets of her spacer’s jacket, and the slab of archived information tucked beneath her arm as she adjusted her weight to essentially slide back down to a more plateaued surface. From there, her agility wove her through the roof compartments of the temple and back through the levels to the major atriums and canals. The bounce of her ponytail could attest to that, if nothing else. The veins of this temple would soon be pumping with a metaphysical echo of her pulsing enthusiasm.
“Councillors, please make yourselves available for consultation. I have an announcement that you should know before the rest of The Order.”
Once [member="Jorus Merrill"], [member="Michael Sardun"] and [member="Talon Vosra"] responded with either their projected, or corporeal presence, the Kiffar would explain. After all, it affected them greatly.
