Yavin Jedi Praxeum
It was early, not too early, but the sun had yet to rise on this side of the planet. His legs crossed and his body loosely garbed in drab Jedi robes he watched from atop the dormitory for visiting professors and students. In front of him floated, if you could call what the shaking ball of metal before him was doing floating, a Dantooine Sphere. The death, or rather supposed death of his brother and the events over the last month had drained him. So much so that his brother had recommended time away from the Mando'ade. His only reminder of home was the musty smell of his strill, still sound asleep in his room, and the occasional Mandalorian shuttle that delivered supplies to the academy.
He had taken Corvus Raaf's words to heart. He knew he could never...truly become a "Jedi", and he was fine with that. It wasn't what he wanted, to be bogged down by all of their codes and restrictions. What he did want, what he felt he needed was stronger control.
Since he had come to the Academy he had learned so much, outside of lightsaber combat. He had learned about the various applications of the Force from visiting lecturers, about his own people from a land forgotten. He was a Kiffar, and while neither of his parents had made a large deal out of it he had always known so. But now, every time he touched his lightsaber, activated its crimson blade, memories from ancestors he had never met or even knew about flooded his mind.
Psychometry, he had been told it was called. A skill that ran through the blood of every Force sensitive Kiffar.
It was difficult to control the flashes. Sometimes it brought great joy, and others, great sorrow. He had yet run into his brother's near death in his fight with Ordo, but he dreaded the day that occurred and had simply locked the crudely constructed saber away in exchange for a training saber from the Academy.
Many, many changers were happening, even among the Mandalorians. A mysterious, zealous faction had taken many worlds that had once been under their protection. Mostly by force...His brothers and sisters on E'choyla suffered in near slave labor conditions, mining Beskar, a mineral once thought only to exist in the Mandalore system. These zealots had swooped in from seemingly nowhere and took the planet and its Mando'ade to favor their own growth and expansion in the chaos that occurred from the mass vanishings.
As he reflected on the last few months and the sun slowly began to peek its head over the treeline, Davin focused more intently on the sphere as the warmth washed over him. He struggled turning even a single row on the strange training device. One click, two clicks. Sweat began to accumulate on his brow. Three clicks, four, five. He gasped for air, his eyes bursting open, the sphere falling onto the permacrete ceiling. He sighed, running his hand through his hair, pushing the heavy hood from his head.
It was strange not wearing a helmet.
It was early, not too early, but the sun had yet to rise on this side of the planet. His legs crossed and his body loosely garbed in drab Jedi robes he watched from atop the dormitory for visiting professors and students. In front of him floated, if you could call what the shaking ball of metal before him was doing floating, a Dantooine Sphere. The death, or rather supposed death of his brother and the events over the last month had drained him. So much so that his brother had recommended time away from the Mando'ade. His only reminder of home was the musty smell of his strill, still sound asleep in his room, and the occasional Mandalorian shuttle that delivered supplies to the academy.
He had taken Corvus Raaf's words to heart. He knew he could never...truly become a "Jedi", and he was fine with that. It wasn't what he wanted, to be bogged down by all of their codes and restrictions. What he did want, what he felt he needed was stronger control.
Since he had come to the Academy he had learned so much, outside of lightsaber combat. He had learned about the various applications of the Force from visiting lecturers, about his own people from a land forgotten. He was a Kiffar, and while neither of his parents had made a large deal out of it he had always known so. But now, every time he touched his lightsaber, activated its crimson blade, memories from ancestors he had never met or even knew about flooded his mind.
Psychometry, he had been told it was called. A skill that ran through the blood of every Force sensitive Kiffar.
It was difficult to control the flashes. Sometimes it brought great joy, and others, great sorrow. He had yet run into his brother's near death in his fight with Ordo, but he dreaded the day that occurred and had simply locked the crudely constructed saber away in exchange for a training saber from the Academy.
Many, many changers were happening, even among the Mandalorians. A mysterious, zealous faction had taken many worlds that had once been under their protection. Mostly by force...His brothers and sisters on E'choyla suffered in near slave labor conditions, mining Beskar, a mineral once thought only to exist in the Mandalore system. These zealots had swooped in from seemingly nowhere and took the planet and its Mando'ade to favor their own growth and expansion in the chaos that occurred from the mass vanishings.
As he reflected on the last few months and the sun slowly began to peek its head over the treeline, Davin focused more intently on the sphere as the warmth washed over him. He struggled turning even a single row on the strange training device. One click, two clicks. Sweat began to accumulate on his brow. Three clicks, four, five. He gasped for air, his eyes bursting open, the sphere falling onto the permacrete ceiling. He sighed, running his hand through his hair, pushing the heavy hood from his head.
It was strange not wearing a helmet.