The Next Generation

[Wyatt Morga]

The air was warm, though it carried with it a certain quietness that was uneasing. This place had history, and was notable in history for the darkside of the force, though today was not one of those days. Wyatt walked into the aging and dilapidated temple with a vague determination, though his eyes wandered like he had no worries. A smile crept on his lips as he appreciated the aesthetic natures of the foundations; a group of birds flying from the rafters out of the massive doors nearby.

His coat threatened to tread on the ground as he walked, trailing behind him closely. It took a moment for him to come back to reality, glancing around quickly before pulling from his pocket a small holopad with some information on it. Reading it to himself, he thought about all that had come to be;

“Jarael…”, he said quietly to himself.

It’d been some time since he’d been sought out to be a teacher for a Jedi of any sort, but it felt vaguely satisfying to fully come out of hiding and being entrusted with such an endeavor. Still, there was a faint fear he may not be enough in the end; letting only The Force itself steady his nerves as he sat on one of the nearby duracrete edges.

With the sun treading the depths of its shadowy halls, Wyatt relaxed as he waited for the padawan to show up. They were secluded on Ruusan, and this was the meeting point set out as a predetermined location; though he worried something might have stopped them from reaching their destination. He supposed he’d wait a few hours before picking up and departing, incase she never showed.


[member="Jaräel il'Belaerys"]

 

[Jarael Belaerys]

She stood tall, with a cocky look on her face. Jaräel bowed only a few inches for her new master. She was still resentful on being there, she didn’t like the smell of Wookies, she hated that jungle heat, and she had a new master. Hers, was the jedimaster of the Jedi Council, Tholme was a warrior, a fighter who defeated twenty troopers in a row before being defeated by those cowards of the knights of Ren. She fled for her life, with tears in her eyes, but she brought her masters saber and a proper DC-17 hand blaster. And now she was standing in front of a gun for hire, a Jedi with a eccentric way of teaching.

Up in her feet, Jaräel pronounced her name in a cold way. “Jaräel il’Belaerys. I came from the Jedi Order in Mustafar, before it fell.” And stood down, with her ice-blue eyes focused in her new master. The Jedi have send her to be a student of master Wyatt, a tall man, with a elegant look in his face, unfortunately for Jaräel he had kind eyes, not the harsh eyes that Tholme always looked at his students.

She just wanted this to end quickly, she just wanted to become a Knight as fast as she could, for she wanted revenge, she wanted to crush the throats of those in the First Oder. She always tried to purge those thoughts out of her mind. For her becoming a jedi, she would need to find peace and balance with the Force, or she would be corrupted by the dark side. “Sorry the delay" She took a long sigh, pulling the heavy air around her, breathing the air back. Raising her voice a little. “When should we start... Master?” She asked in a calm tone with her husky voice.

 

[Wyatt Morga]

As she approached, Wyatt stood and nodded at her short bow; unsure of how being so formal felt. Afterall, he hadn’t been apart of a formal Jedi Order in nearly thirty years; and the entire thing seemed too foreign for his tastes. Brushing his bangs from his forehead he simply listened to her for a few moments before glancing around, offering her a calm and slow response;

“Yes well… I heard about what happened on Mustafar. I’m sorry for what happened, truly I am-“, he said comfortingly.

“I’m Wyatt Morga, by the way. Jedi Knight, though no longer in any of the formal orders. Please, if you will, you don’t have to be so formal…”, he said as he rested a hand on her shoulder.

“What do you know so far, Jarael?”

[member="Jaräel il'Belaerys"]

 

[Jarael Belaerys]

He had a calming and charming voice, she could almost think that to herself. Hearing someone paying her condolences was something that touched her heart, and even so, touched her soul. Touched her in a way that she could feel like a warm hand had wrapped around her chest in a sweet way, and all Jaräel could do was nod slightly with her head, calmly cleaning her throat in a formal manner. Standing there, with the hands united in the back of her body, dressed in leather and armor like a soldier, not a guardian of peace like the Jedi Order used to say they were in the Jedi Code, rules that she lived by, but was trained by a soldier, a weapons master that teach her to fight and defend herself, not to find the common peace of the Jedi most famous masters. "He thought me a lot about defensing and attacking. Specially the Marks of Contact, but not much about control of the force powers... I'm a bit slow in that... I can't even lift a pencil with the force...", she stopped talking for a moment, realizing how stupid she sounded, "I'm sorry for being so blunt."


[member="Wyatt Morga"]