Private To Know.

[Takui]

Fear and Respect were the two faces of a single coin. They formed the currency that bought Dathomir its relative isolation for generations, though recent times had seen invasive elements. The resulting diaspora of their culture across the Galaxy had birthed covens of their witches, the indigenous Force Tradition that skirted the Dark side- by virtually every account in the Jedi Archives. Unlike the traditional knowledge of the Jedi, anything that teetered on the occult or fell outside of commonly accepted practice were viewed with skepticism and doubt. There was a time in his life, and his training to become a Jedi where the youth would not have questioned it at all. If it posed a threat to what he was supposed to believe, he treated it with hostility.

How was a Jedi supposed to learn to understand and bridge the differences between themselves and others without acceptance of that knowledge? To learn about your enemy was to take away one of the many weapons with which they could threaten you. Peace, real and lasting peace, could never be found in a world where people willfully closed their minds and hearts to others. Takui had asked the question time and again, in various ways, over the past four years.

How can a Jedi respect life, if a Jedi does not respect other ways of thinking?

Ideology was a part of life. Religion and politics, social structures, cultural conventions- these were things that set people apart, and yet, they also bound their respective peoples together. Where two ideologies came to a head and conflict boiled over, a single system of belief once united one of those groups together. Conflict was an inevitable byproduct of civilization. When the Sith said that Peace was a Lie, those words came born of that truth. Perhaps the harshest reality for a Jedi was learning that there was wisdom to be found in the code of their mortal enemy.

So, where did that leave Takui?

As his small ship alighted on the crags of the Shattered Ridge, he looked over the snow that had accumulated there and pulled a cloak over himself. The wind blasted his face and elicited a chatter from his teeth as they involuntarily cringed. "You come to study a culture and you neglect to study the geography in which they live," he chastised himself in a low voice. His steps echoed on the howling wind as he descended into winter, giving the world time to acclimate to his presence as much as he attempted to acclimate himself to the world around him. "With any luck, I haven't attracted any unwanted attention," he muttered discontentedly as he trudged a few more steps from his ship, glancing out over the horizon for anything he might be able to see.

Darth Moskvin

 

[Darth Moskvin]

Fatal Lullaby

Methodically, and with great care, I slowly removed a few fire lichen from the cavern walls, placing them inside my rancor-skin satchel. The lichen was the last ingredient I required, already obtaining the hydraatis earlier, to complete the ink for an experimental tattoo. Recently, out of boredom mainly, I've been dabbing in magical science, a term I coined, to discover if spells could be infused into an ink-based solution, then applied permanently to skin to see if the properties of the spell took. I theorized that it could, considering objects are always being magically blessed. But the downside of the theory was how potent the spell would be and, most importantly, could it be recharged after its initial use; or would it just be a one off?

So many questions to be answered!

Departing through the caves opening, I caught a glimpse of an inbound ship near the Shattered Ridge, curiosity getting the best of me. I wondered why anyone would want to land there, it was breeding season for the rancors, with their main breeding grounds around Shattered Ridge. Perhaps, I wondered, the ship's occupants were big game hunters, coming to Dathomir to bag one of the mighty beasts. If that was the case, I couldn't allow such a transgression. Intervention was needed. And my experiments would once more take a back seat to the preservation of the rancor.

Moving between the several snow-capped rocks, I tried to get a more accurate view of the ship's crew, only to have my visuals obscured by the snowy flora. Then another thought brushed my mind, what if the ship landed because it was in distress, rather the occupants were in danger? Was it possible the ship was malfunctioning, and they were forced to land in that particular area? If that was the case, then I had to warn them of their poorly choice of landing pads.
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Takui

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[Takui]

The world was renown across the Galaxy for its perils. From the creatures that called it home down to the plants, and even the dead that returned to the earth. It came as no surprise to him that there was an overwhelming sense of dread that intermingled with the brutal frost to throw up his guard. What Taku did not want was for that guard to make him seem tense, or defensive toward any locals he chanced to come in contact with.

He took a breath and silently recited a litany of soothing beneath his breath, fixating on the words. Jedi believed in the power inherent to nature, to life- and so, they placed less focus on written word. Much of their histories were stored in Holocrons using the faces and voices of past Masters. Oral preservation of thought, passed down through generations.

Other cultures, Taku had learned, found that there was power in the written word. Symbols, texts, scrolls- these things preserved distilled energies in a manifested form. Whereas much could be done through the power inherent to one's voice, more became possible when that power was transferred and Infused into an object.

It was a silly series of abstract thoughts that started from a few lines of philosophy he'd learned in his time away, but it served to distract him from the anxiety. Taku continued a short distance further, only suffusing his body with what energy he needed to offset a core temperature drop. He learned this during his initial training on Kashyyyk, when they were teaching basic survival to the Padawans.

Knowledge was knowledge, regardless of its origin.

He lifted a hand to his forehead and skimmed the horizon, though the haze became thicker several yards out. "White out conditions?" he asked rhetorically. "I should have scanned for better landing conditions- but this is the general area where..."

His voice trailed off. His thoughts were broken as the dull sound of a beast in the distance carried to him on the wind. Was it a roar, or just something magnified by the acoustics of the mountain range and raging wind? He shook his head.

"No, there's definitely something I'm forgetting," he told himself. "This was an area that wasn't supposed to be hostile toward outsiders, but there was a compelling reason for that..."

Darth Moskvin