Character
There wasn’t a lot of opportunity for Damian to do his normal chicanery in recent days. Things had heated up in the galaxy and there wasn’t much use for Damian's troublemaking on the front lines. Lines, plural. That was never a good sign, but was all too common in the current galaxy. Still there was an urge that Damian should be doing something in this moment, anything.
That is to say anything but what he was doing. Currently lounging at the base of a heavily wooded mountain sipping at a chemically non offensive drink under a parasol atop of a skiff while waiting for his padawan charges. Uncle Coren had a way of talking him into things, mostly by simply asking, and he found himself once more ready to teach a class.
To his left a grill was smoking atop a skiff the sweet smell of barbeque wafting its savory scent out into the wilderness. On the ground was a tarp with rucksacks laid each with a chronometer next to them along with a scale and a pile of rocks. It wasn’t the most high tech solution to the problem but it was effective.
The sun wasn’t high yet, but the heat was already causing sweat to form on Damian’s skin making his shirt stick to his body uncomfortably. The forecast was for heat, a lot of it, which served Damians purposes well enough, an oppressive heat wave was exactly what he wanted, he needed the group of padawans to be tired and at their limits when his training started.
Looking up the mountain Damian sighed. He had climbed it himself the other day and managed good time but was practically gleeful that he’d be taking the barbeque up on a skiff instead of running up to the plateau’d peak himself. The air was thinner up there and it was hard to breath, more stress for the padawans, but then again the point was to push them beyond their natural limits into the preternatural state that Jedi could enter.
All that was left was for the class to arrive. That was… if anyone actually showed. Damian had his doubts. By his own estimation he really was a poor teacher.
That is to say anything but what he was doing. Currently lounging at the base of a heavily wooded mountain sipping at a chemically non offensive drink under a parasol atop of a skiff while waiting for his padawan charges. Uncle Coren had a way of talking him into things, mostly by simply asking, and he found himself once more ready to teach a class.
To his left a grill was smoking atop a skiff the sweet smell of barbeque wafting its savory scent out into the wilderness. On the ground was a tarp with rucksacks laid each with a chronometer next to them along with a scale and a pile of rocks. It wasn’t the most high tech solution to the problem but it was effective.
The sun wasn’t high yet, but the heat was already causing sweat to form on Damian’s skin making his shirt stick to his body uncomfortably. The forecast was for heat, a lot of it, which served Damians purposes well enough, an oppressive heat wave was exactly what he wanted, he needed the group of padawans to be tired and at their limits when his training started.
Looking up the mountain Damian sighed. He had climbed it himself the other day and managed good time but was practically gleeful that he’d be taking the barbeque up on a skiff instead of running up to the plateau’d peak himself. The air was thinner up there and it was hard to breath, more stress for the padawans, but then again the point was to push them beyond their natural limits into the preternatural state that Jedi could enter.
All that was left was for the class to arrive. That was… if anyone actually showed. Damian had his doubts. By his own estimation he really was a poor teacher.