(Apologies for disorganization and whatnot. Phone posting this one.)
The crucible of war was no place to forge Jedi Knights. They were to be defenders of peace and all that was good across the galaxy, yet Graxin's training had been just the opposite. The Grand Council had named him a Master of the Order, though outside of Ession that title held little weight. The Ession Jedi had cut all ties with the Republic and those within the mainstream order, Graxin going so far as to call them heretics in a moment of anger.
Perhaps it had been too drastic; too driven by raw emotion, but the deed was done. The Grand Council now looked to unite the the Silver Jedi and those of the Levantine Sanctum with themselves, and salvage what was left of the outer rim. There was far more to the galaxy than the core, after all.
While all this was lovely, Graxin had begun to notice his own flaws. The newly named Master had grown arrogant: at risk of being consumed by his own hubris. He had begun his crusade to unite the outer rim under one banner, to do good for those forgotten by the Republic, but those good intentions had quickly been perverted into a desire to conquer. He wanted to enforce his own views upon the galaxy, a complete mockery of everything that he preached.
Graxin was working on this issue, and the Enclave on Dantooine seemed to be a solution. On that train of thought, days before the campaign to sweep across the outer rim, Graxin had abruptly left Ession with a simple letter stating his return in a week or so. He needed to be around history; while the Grand Temple provided peace, Dantooine had stood the test of time as an ancestral ground for the Jedi Order. He'd never visited the world before, and he had no idea how the Jedi that inhabited it perceived the Reformation. There was no hope of hiding his allegiances--he led the damned movement. He would just have to deal with their scrutiny and hope they would tolerate him for a bit of time.
Dantooine was two quick jumps away from Ession, and the trip had been uneventful. The Mephirium came to a slow hover some distance away from the enclave, and came to land between two grassy hills. Graxin exited with a lowered head, his helmet tucked under his arm.
The trek toward the enclave was a relatively short one. He looked very much the Jedi Knight, albeit with a bit more durasteel than cloth in his outfit. He stopped just outside the entrance, and drew in a deep breath.
If the masters here would allow, then he might be able to help them teach. Perhaps he's gain further insight himself--you never became too old or advanced to learn.
Gathering his courage, Graxin strode through the doors.
The halls were much unlike the Grand Temple: there were no turrets hanging from the walls, for one. He strode forth, and so long as no one came to greet him, would continue to do so.
It was when he heard voices that he came to a stop. The errant Master rounded a corner, and peered out at strangers converting. Padawans and another Master, perhaps. He stepped forward to come into earshot, but otherwise remained still. He was content to listen for now. To observe those he did not understand. It was a bit of perspective he felt he needed; to see Jedi whose lives revolved around introspection and meditation, rather than great temples, governing , and peacekeeping.
[member="Ryan Korr"] [member="Shule Windspeaker"] [member="Vrook Cho Leem"] [member="Khaleel Malvern"] [member="Sophie Gustav"]
, lying in a pool of his own sweat. The dreams felt important, but memory of them sifted through like sand, leaving him empty but for one thought.
