Tula Kazak
Character
Veridia was a planet of personal space.
A person could walk the grounds of the Jedi Academy for miles and perhaps never run into anyone. Trees and orchards and bushes ran on forever and ever, sloping with every dip in the valley, rising with every mountain of stone that sprang from the dark soil. The temple grounds were a maze of thorns and twigs and vines, a swirl of pinks and greens and oranges, so dense you could get lost in it, had you not the Force to guide you.
In fact, within the temples themselves, large and small, a person could round corner after corner and wonder when they might run into another soul. It was all very tranquil, and muted, and private.
But even that could never be private enough for Master Kazak.
And so, the spot where she came to be alone - to meditate, to think, to practice - was located a tenth of a kilometer behind her office chamber.
It was surrounded on all sides by twisted trees that boasted pink leaves and curled like gnarled fingers toward the azure sky. One also had to side-step shallow puddles of rain water that very frequently collected on this side of the mountains. And, should that not sway anyone from retreating, her particular spot ran to the edge of a rocky ravine that was located at the bottom of a two kilometer drop.
Such coverage was the perfect camouflage for a Jedi heading out to practice her lightsaber forms.
She paused near the foot of the cliff, her weapon drawn up to her shoulder as she sprang forward with the blade. Her foot paused just shy of the drop-off, sending the tiniest rubble skittering down the cliffside and into the green abyss below.
The Jedi turned, her gray hair spinning with the swirl of her brown robe. The pink lightsaber cut and chopped and splintered the air before her, creating an indistinct shield of violet light that swept like broad paint strokes and made the air smell as if it were burning.
She fought a trio of invisible enemies, low grunts of “aah!” and “whoo!” rushing from her lips as she stepped forward carefully, pushing her enemies backward.
She imagined that all of them wielded blaster pistols, and she imagined sweeping the weapons from their bent fingers with two upper cuts from the blade. Pistols bounced away, chopped to pieces along with unfortunate hands, and she performed one final sweeping bow that put her on one good knee and bent her head.
Tula was aware of many things at once, as a Jedi must be - the rustle of an insect’s wings as it landed on a rock. The splash of a puddle as a bird sprang away into the air. The snap of a twig, and the thud of her own heart.
But there was one thing more important, and it was here.
An aura. Still fresh and new, and still faint in her mind, for she had not known it long. But she still felt it.
The aura of her new Padawan, and he was approaching.
She stood up straight and wiped her brow with her sleeve. He had come to meet her as she had instructed.
Thalmaris.
She powered off the weapon and held it in both hands, and turned to find him.
“Thalmaris,” she called out loud.
Thalmaris Stitchbind
A person could walk the grounds of the Jedi Academy for miles and perhaps never run into anyone. Trees and orchards and bushes ran on forever and ever, sloping with every dip in the valley, rising with every mountain of stone that sprang from the dark soil. The temple grounds were a maze of thorns and twigs and vines, a swirl of pinks and greens and oranges, so dense you could get lost in it, had you not the Force to guide you.
In fact, within the temples themselves, large and small, a person could round corner after corner and wonder when they might run into another soul. It was all very tranquil, and muted, and private.
But even that could never be private enough for Master Kazak.
And so, the spot where she came to be alone - to meditate, to think, to practice - was located a tenth of a kilometer behind her office chamber.
It was surrounded on all sides by twisted trees that boasted pink leaves and curled like gnarled fingers toward the azure sky. One also had to side-step shallow puddles of rain water that very frequently collected on this side of the mountains. And, should that not sway anyone from retreating, her particular spot ran to the edge of a rocky ravine that was located at the bottom of a two kilometer drop.
Such coverage was the perfect camouflage for a Jedi heading out to practice her lightsaber forms.
She paused near the foot of the cliff, her weapon drawn up to her shoulder as she sprang forward with the blade. Her foot paused just shy of the drop-off, sending the tiniest rubble skittering down the cliffside and into the green abyss below.
The Jedi turned, her gray hair spinning with the swirl of her brown robe. The pink lightsaber cut and chopped and splintered the air before her, creating an indistinct shield of violet light that swept like broad paint strokes and made the air smell as if it were burning.
She fought a trio of invisible enemies, low grunts of “aah!” and “whoo!” rushing from her lips as she stepped forward carefully, pushing her enemies backward.
She imagined that all of them wielded blaster pistols, and she imagined sweeping the weapons from their bent fingers with two upper cuts from the blade. Pistols bounced away, chopped to pieces along with unfortunate hands, and she performed one final sweeping bow that put her on one good knee and bent her head.
Tula was aware of many things at once, as a Jedi must be - the rustle of an insect’s wings as it landed on a rock. The splash of a puddle as a bird sprang away into the air. The snap of a twig, and the thud of her own heart.
But there was one thing more important, and it was here.
An aura. Still fresh and new, and still faint in her mind, for she had not known it long. But she still felt it.
The aura of her new Padawan, and he was approaching.
She stood up straight and wiped her brow with her sleeve. He had come to meet her as she had instructed.
Thalmaris.
She powered off the weapon and held it in both hands, and turned to find him.
“Thalmaris,” she called out loud.
Thalmaris Stitchbind
