The words of the prophets...

[Julius Sedaire]

Location: Luka Sene Academy​

​

The weather wasn't particularly good or bad that day, and for that, the beggar situated outside on a corner near the academy of the Luka Sene was grateful for. Trying to hide in rain of this world without sight was terrible for one such as himself. Though honestly, there was much doubt that there was ever a Miralukan like him. Most of his people, even without eyes and only vestigal sockets, could 'see' after a fashion by Force Sight, an ability vaunted from every corner of the Galaxy. It was likely part of the reason their abilities in Farsight were so advanced and precise, and tied into the prominence and reverence the Luka Sene were so revered with.

However, for this unfortunate creature, there was not such an ability. The lack of sight had made him a reviled and exiled part of this society. Even as a beggar, he was hardly surviving and eeking any sort of living. The lowest of the low, his scratchy voice was often met with a curious glance, and then revulsion as it became apparent he lacked sight in truth. Maybe once before he could see as his fellow Miralukans could, but he could not remember. Past a few months ago, he could not remember much of anything, maybe flashes on occasion, but nothing else.

Standing, he tapped a scratched and beaten stick along the smooth pavement and stone of the walk way, attempting to begin to move. The Academy would be opening soon, the students and lecturers and such would be filing in. If he could make it to the steps on time by the side entrance, some of the mentors and the like often took pity on him and gave him food, or in the case of bad weather brought him inside. Some of them had even brought him into their homes, or paid for a nights lodging for him. The administrators of the Luka Sene always seemed to be sad when addressing him, almost pitying. For some reason, that angered him.

Shuffling his way from the crowd, the raggedy man with sunken face and rags for clothes that almost resembled jedi robes, clacked his cane as he walked. Here and there he would stumble, apologizing when he accidentally bumped into someone or such. Movements were slow, his back hunched as if weighted by great sadness, and if he had sight his eyes would be downturned to his feet, head twitching back and forth almost like a bird. Sadness rolled from him like the waves on a beach during tide change, and he sighed. It had been a few days since he last ate.

Though he could not feel it, those avoiding him could as if he were a radio tower. Particularly those gifted in Farsight. Something around him seemed to roil and disturb the currents of time in an undefinable way. It was almost as if he were a living wound in the Force, something undeniably wrong and twisted in his aura and presence within it. Clearly, he was Force sensitive beyond just the ability of Force Sight. But something, possibly tied to whatever seemed wrong within the currents of Time as they flowed around him, had warped and twisted that.

Bumping into someone again, he muttered an apology and flinched as if expecting a crass lecture.

[member="Spencer Varanin"]

 

[Allyson Locke]

Running late was something Spencer was good at. She had perfected it down to the minute of fashionably late and why did you even bother coming. Still, speaking as a lecturer at an academy was something you were fashionably late for. Running down the street from where the speeder cab had dropped her off, she regretted wearing the heels she wore and the skirt suit. She had remembered how the holovids told her to stand, walk and talk at places like this. Spencer knew things, but she was never formally educated, the academy was going to grant her one of those doctorates for just being a know it all about the mental capacity of the mind and her studies on the Aing-Tii. Of course Spencer could care less about the degree as it would get her nothing on her career path.

Was being a Force User fighting bad guys and making holocrons a profession? Spencer pondered this as she continued to run down the sidewalk, maybe she should introduce herself as the Queen of Eshan, that’s a career right? She found the stairs that lead to the lecture hall she was supposed to be speaking at, but instead of breezing right through them she bumped into someone. He apologized quickly and Spencer shook her head and dusted off her bottom as she tried to make sure that she didn’t ruin the suit. “No, it was my fault I was running and just blah.” She was a bit spaztic at this moment, knowing that she was late and now she might have a scuff mark on her backside.

She extended her hand in an offer of peace and to make sure the man was okay. Though, something caught her off guard. Most Miralukan are consistently using Force Sight, this mean that she was usually able to pick up on the Force usage. She could feel the force around the man in front of her, but she couldn’t feel him using Force Sight specifically. Spencer had met enough and studied enough to know the feeling of the power. Pulling her hand back, she patted the man’s shoulder. “Is there anything I can do for you?” The lecture didn’t mean much anymore, there was something, someone more important than a bunch of bratty kids that went to the academy and never experienced life outside of the structured world their school was. “I don’t mean to pry, but why aren’t you using Force Sight?” [member="Sougir Khol"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The touch was gentle, easy, and it didn't really cause the typical reaction in him that most touches did. As any transient may attest, long enough on the street and paranoia seeps into you. Even kindly touches, and polite or well meaning worlds might cause one such as him to withdraw and hide, recoil from the source. Some days he even felt the proverbial hackles on his neck rise. So often his presence was met with disgust at best, or morbid curiosity at worse, that he was beginning to hate those who held him in such regard. No matter though... In this case, in this instance the one making the contact seemed genuine, and none of the above. A jaded part of him grumbled he would be proven wrong soon enough. But, something deeper pulled him to trust her.

Slowly, his head swiveled to the noise, and cocked to the side as if examining the source. Eyeless face revealed, stubble and dirt and grime covering what might have been a handsome face, hair randomly tangled and knotted almost into greasy dreads... Whatever he was once, he was obviously not that now, and the knowledge pained him, the sudden realization of how he must look to this other causing him to wince and duck his head in deferment before his mind raced for an answer to her question. The voice was definitely female, and carried that particular cadence he had come to associate with intelligence, kindness, and typically some sort of unknown quality he found most intriguing.

"I... I can't... I am sorry, but I just can't. I don't know how"

The words were broken, wracked from him with great pain. In his months outside this place and in the surroundings, no one had ever asked him that question that way. And to hear it now, finally asked out of concern and curiosity rather than as if he were a lab subject or a particularly difficult experiment... Something in him broke and flooded forth, overwhelming his mind for a moment. Tremors started along his body, small and random, if violent in motion. And in his aura, a tremor broke out as well, as if he were somehow warping the Force sense of those around him, which rather rapidly would clear away pretty much anyone near him.

[member="Spencer Varanin"]