The Arbiter
Yinchorr
Marcello's glacier-blue gaze were fixed on the horizon. The blue and black paint scheme of his N-1T reflected the light of the setting sun on the barren world of Yinchorr gently. Marcello felt as though he was growing something of a fondness for the all-but-forgotten world. Then again...most places that reminded him of [member="Kiskla Grayson"] and their conversations or general time together tended to have that effect.
Yinchorr symbolized more than that to him, of course. Though he'd not been alive, he knew well of its distant past as the training ground for elite soldiers of the First Galactic Empire. He often mused on how much blood and sweat had tainted this ground over the years...blood and sweat spilled in the exercise of sculpting weapons of the dark side, dare he say evil.
Today, however, Marcello would use it to initiate the final elements of the early stages of a Jedi's training. Marcello really wasn't philosophical enough to think the pure coincidence had some deeper meaning, but he tried...tried to be the monk-inspired Jedi the Jedi Order was typically known for. The simple fact of the matter was...things had changed, the galaxy changed, and they had all changed. Had this change been slow...painful?
Nope. It had been extremely freaking painful, and it was a continuous process. Marcello adapted an attitude towards this that he carried into both his own personal training and that of his apprentices. The more they sweated now, the less they would bleed when the chips were down and the lives of the defenseless at stake. That was the purpose of his and their existence. There was no grand, philosophical right to it all. They were Guardians.
It was time to see if [member="Meeristali Peradun"] was worthy of sharing in Marcello's struggles, and the struggles of an entire Order. Certainly, mere existence was not now nor would it ever be enough. Marcello should know, he'd forced himself to learn the hard way, and he continued to learn.
Marcello's glacier-blue gaze were fixed on the horizon. The blue and black paint scheme of his N-1T reflected the light of the setting sun on the barren world of Yinchorr gently. Marcello felt as though he was growing something of a fondness for the all-but-forgotten world. Then again...most places that reminded him of [member="Kiskla Grayson"] and their conversations or general time together tended to have that effect.
Yinchorr symbolized more than that to him, of course. Though he'd not been alive, he knew well of its distant past as the training ground for elite soldiers of the First Galactic Empire. He often mused on how much blood and sweat had tainted this ground over the years...blood and sweat spilled in the exercise of sculpting weapons of the dark side, dare he say evil.
Today, however, Marcello would use it to initiate the final elements of the early stages of a Jedi's training. Marcello really wasn't philosophical enough to think the pure coincidence had some deeper meaning, but he tried...tried to be the monk-inspired Jedi the Jedi Order was typically known for. The simple fact of the matter was...things had changed, the galaxy changed, and they had all changed. Had this change been slow...painful?
Nope. It had been extremely freaking painful, and it was a continuous process. Marcello adapted an attitude towards this that he carried into both his own personal training and that of his apprentices. The more they sweated now, the less they would bleed when the chips were down and the lives of the defenseless at stake. That was the purpose of his and their existence. There was no grand, philosophical right to it all. They were Guardians.
It was time to see if [member="Meeristali Peradun"] was worthy of sharing in Marcello's struggles, and the struggles of an entire Order. Certainly, mere existence was not now nor would it ever be enough. Marcello should know, he'd forced himself to learn the hard way, and he continued to learn.
