<font size=1>(OOC Note: This is a self-training thread for Kyle Cannex. If you wish to join, please send me a message via ezinbox before entering the thread. I welcome other players, but I wish to keep this roleplay moving in its intended direction.)</font>



Coruscant, Three Months Prior to 'Endgame'


The city was dark. Only the passing speeders, few and far between in this region of the planet-spanning city cast their headlamps into the inky blackness, and even then they passed by without care or notice.

The people of Coruscant had more to worry about than the possibility of a single child missing from his home.

Kyle Cannex ducked low behind the dumpster as another vehicle moved past. It was late in the Sinear Sector, a quarter after four in the local time.

By all rights, the young man should have been at home, curled under his covers and sound asleep. Certainly not sneaking through what could be arguably called Coruscant's most dangerous region.

The Sinear Sector held many dangers, and many surprises for the unwary.

The speeder passed out of view, and Kyle allowed himself to stand once more. There were no lights in this alleyway, the last glowlamp had burned out decades before, and no one had ever seen fit to replace it.

This was the side of Coruscant the diplomats and senators never saw. The buildings here were dillipidated, at best. Some of the roofs had collasped, and still others were close to it.

All of them were marred with graffiti, hardly seen now through the layers of dirt and grime that had been collecting there for a century.

Certainly not the type of place for a young man like Kyle Cannex to be in the earliest hours of the morning. Making sure that no one -- and nothing -- was watching, he crossed the street and pushed on one of the doors that led into a relatively well-mantained building (well mantained, in this case, meaning that the roof was still intact and the walls did not show the obvious signs of imminent collapse).

Kyle Cannex had been born into a High Class Coruscant family, the son of Edward Cannex, the CEO of a Corporation that spanned several worlds and controlled the second largest private navy in the galaxy (if reports were to be believed) and Lesley Cannex, a startling beauty of an actress twenty years her husband's junior.

He had been taught from birth that money and power were not everything. His father was rich, yes, but constantly reminded his son that credits could not buy happiness. He taught Kyle the virtues of hard work and dignity, lessons that Kyle would remember later in life.

That was before they had been killed, and his life threatened. When Kyle was all of sixteen years old, a company freighter his parents and he were riding on was attacked by enemies of his father. Friends of members of the Senate, whom Edward Cannex had offended by refusing to move large ammounts of military hardware for them.

Kyle, though not even grown, managed to fight off the attackers, though the freighter was wrecked in the proccess. It crash landed on the world of Svivren. Kyle survived, but both his parents were killed.

Upon returning to Coruscant, Kyle swore revenge on the ones who had cost him his family and his life -- but he found himself without friends, his father having been denounced a traitor by the same men who had betrayed him.

To Kyle, the announcement was the final straw. He set it upon himself to kill the men who had dishonoured his father. After loosing everything, Kyle Cannex set out on his own quest for revenge.

Kyle closed the door carefully behind him and, finding the row of switches on the wall behind him, turned on the building's lights. Only a few still functioned, and they cast an eery blue glow onto the floor.

It wasn't much of a home; the duracrete floor and metal walls were standard in most warehouses and the rows of boxes were not nearly as fancy as the furniture in even a poor's family's home.

But for Kyle Cannex, it was the only home he had.

Settling onto a stack of carefully arranged boxes, the young man fell into a restless sleep.

Outside, Coruscant continued to buzz, unaware of the young man without a family, who would wake up the next morning with a terrible sore in his legs from the hard boxes on which he slept, unaware that an angry young boy was preparing for revenge.

Kyle awoke late in the afternoon. Coruscant's streets were to filled with throngs of people to walk in the daytime, but the young man could hardly wait in the dank old warehouse for hours, until it got dark and he could move more freely.

He had taken to wandering the streets at night. There were few people that knew him, even fewer that knew him for his true self. To most of the people he encountered, he was merely a poor boy with no family and no hopes or dreams.

No one knew that he was the son of a murderered corporate entity.

He shrugged into a simple black cloak, one that vaugly resembled those worn by the Jedi Knights (what remained of the Jedi Knights, anyway) and set out, pulling the hood up to shroud his face.

In the Sinear Sector of Coruscant, he drew no notice. People here were used to secrecy, and a cloaked and hooded man was commonplace on the streets.

Despite the street's roughness, Kyle had no fear of being mugged. No one in this part of town would dare try anything when they did not know what was underneath his cloak - and even if they did, he carried a blaster pistol on his belt just in case.

He walked towards nowhere in particular, paying little attention to the routes he took. He knew the city well enough to get back to the warehouse from anywhere in the Sinear District.

He heard a distant banging, and wondered vaugly if it could be thunder. Doubtful. He thought, looking to sky (it was a steel gray, but that was normal here). More likely a construction droid going to work.

The massive droids, it seemed, were always at work somewhere on the cityplanet, tearing down buildings and errecting new ones. But no sooner had Kyle finished the thought than the first rain drop landed a meter from his foot.

He stopped walking, using both hands to lower the hood if cloak and looking up to the sky once more. Indeed, water droplets had begun to fall from the clouds, and even as he looked on they picked up and began to fall more rapidly.

To the young man, it meant nothing. Rain had no impact in his routines, unless you counted the brief inconvience of getting wet. He raised the hood back over his head and continued to walk.

The people were disappearing, the rain driving many of them into the covered walkways (Kyle could see through the transparent sides that they were packed to overflowing with all sorts of beings).

Speeders of the usual sort moved by in either direction, the uncovered onces moving especcially fast to escape the water that was now coming down in sheets.

Kyle Cannex hardly noticed the water, but ducked into a small building. Over the entrance hung only a glowing red 'X'.

The interior was loud with music and chatter, as was usual at all hours in the Rubix. The cantina was dimly lit and always loud, both of which were ideal for the majority of its patrons. Many of them wore cloaks similar to Kyle's, and all were hunched over their drinks and engaged in conversation.

It was not the sort of place Kyle Cannex would ever have been seen, were his life not in the shape it was. But, as it was, he was there. He kept his hood up as he approached the bar.

The bardtender (a Wookie with long black hair) was sleeping in a rusted chair, and the young man had to slam his hand down on the bar to wake him.

He roared something unintelligable, then the battered 3PO unit snapped to life and offered a translation.

"Master Brieabek demands to know what you would like." He said in his airy, artificial voice.

"Give me a Fire Whisky." Kyle said, addressing the Wookie.

Evidently, he understood basic, because the droid did not translate, but instead collapsed back into its state of inactivity.

Kyle placed a credit chip on the bar and took a seat at the very end. The other patrons ignored him, but he sat for a while looking from face to face. He did not know any of them, but he felt certain that if he was searching for any form of smuggler or mercenary, he could find him, her, or it, in here.

Brieabek the bartender returned to refill his glass once, and on the second time Kyle bent low and asked in a soft voice, "Where would I find a good transport pilot?"

The Wookie growled something in return, which Kyle did not understand. Then the wookie realized that he didn't speak the language, and pointed to a man in a light gray cloak.

Kyle nodded and placed another credit ship on the counter, then slipped away.

The pilot's name was Sun, because (he told Kyle) he had once evaded an Imperial patrol by diving directly towards Coruscant's sun and surviving to brag about it. He was an old man with a beard reaching to his chest and a wide waste.

"You can get me off the planet?" Kyle asked.
"Of course I can get you off the planet. What are you, in some kind of shit with the Reps?" The man's voice was harsh and grumpy.
"Not yet. But I will be, and I need a good pilot who can get me off the planet."
"I can do it. Where are you headed?"
"Ossus."
The old pilot considered this.
"Ossus, eh? Lots going on there. Rogue Jedi control the place, you know."
"I know." Kyle said. He was not in a mood to discuss the Rogue Jedi. "Can you do it?"
"I can do it. But it's going to cost you."
"How much?"
"Twenty. All in advance."

Kyle mentally calculated how much he could bring. His father's account had more than enough credits in it, of course. But that had been frozen after his death. Breaking it open would require another job, and might just tip the authorities off.

Still, he would have to do it if he wanted off of Coruscant.

"All right. I can give you eighteen now, and six when we reach Ossus."

This pleased the old man, and he nodded.

"Here's my com code. Call me and tell me when you want to get out, and I'll prep the ship."

Kyle took the card, thanked the old man, and left.

The next day say Kyle Cannex rising earlier than usual. It was midmorning when he woke up and, rubbing sleep from his eyes, pulled on a pair of tattered cargo pants and a simple muscle shirt.

He clipped his belt over this, the worn blaster and a few other odds and ends hanging off it. The cloak was thrown over it all, giving him the air of a mysterious vagabound.

At least, that was the idea.

Cloaks such as his were commonplace in the Sinear District, where they were worn to protect one's own identidy. In the more affluent regions of the city, however, they were a rarity. Normally, only the Jedi Knights would bare such clothing.

Sliding the warehouse door closed for the last time, Kyle let out a low chuckle. The Jedi Knights had done nothing for the galaxy since their destruction at the end of the Clone Wars. The 'New Jedi Order' that had since emerged was not more than a group of younglings trained to make rocks fly.

Not that that wasn't a useful skill -- for a circus performer.

At any rate, the citizens of the Republic seemed to hold the Jedi in some respect, and being mistaken for one of them might do him some good. The cloak served well enough to hide his weapons, and that was the main purpose of it anyway.

He set off at a brisk walk towards the nearest border of the Sinear district, and arrived there within twenty minutes. If anything could be said for Coruscant, its transport systems were well designed (as, of course, they had to be to handle the masses that moved through it every day).

He caught a cloud car to the former Imperial Palace, now sitting nearly vacant following the removal of the Republic's government to Corellia, and arrived as the main bulk of the aides and other civil workers were showing up.

Several thousand administrators where required to keep Coruscant running in any sort of dignified shape, and they were all screened as they entered the palace. But the sheer numbers prevented anything but the most basic of scans, and this Kyle easily avoided by doubling back upon reaching the scanner and convincing the guard that he had already been cleared to enter.

He had always had a skill with making people believe what he wanted them to believe.

The defences inside the palace were far more lax, the Republic obviously not considering or not caring that an attack could come from within. Consulting a public directory, Kyle made his way to the upper floors.

Three ambassadors had their joint offices located there, and Kyle knew that today all would be there.

The Protocol droid that served as their secretary rose to meet him as he entered, and found itself hit several times with the heavy blaster pistol.

The sound, naturally, attracted the three men, who came out of their offices and looked for a moment from the droid, to the young man with the blaster, and back to the droid.

When Kyle spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm, and cold as ice.

"My name is Kyle Cannex." He said. "You killed my father, and denounced him a traitor. It is time that you find the errors of your ways."

And then he killed them.





The freighter was a dilapidated piece of junk called the Skyway Express. The old pilot bragged that it was the fastest vessel on Coruscant, and could make point two past lightspeed.

Kyle was dubious that the ship could even make it out of Coruscant's toxic atmosphere, but he had little choice in the matter.

With the young murderer strapped into the copilot's seat, the ship blasted off and made for the shield gap that would allow for its escape into hyperspace.

Kyle leaned back into his chair, and smiled. His father had been avenged, and he was on his way to Ossus. What he would find there, he had not the slightest idea.

But his father, before he died, had directed him there. And so he would go to Ossus, and learn.

Flashback : Ten Years Prior




"They came again today." The woman said. She was young -- exceptionally so. She couldn't have been out of her twenties.

"The Jedi?" The man asked, immediatly concerned. She confirmed it with a nod.

"Yes. They wanted... they wanted to take him." The child was asleep upstairs, or supposed to be anyway. They spoke in low voices, nonetheless, as not to be heard.

"They're no more than a band of kidnappers and thieves." The man said. "You know the Senate just passed a new bill giving them 'Neccessary Resources' to continue their magic tricks?"

The woman nodded,

"It's outragious, the things our government does to support these Jedi. And they hold to official positions within the government -- they are no defenders, we have the fleets for that. They are not diplomats, we have the Diplomatic Corps. for that."

The man's voice was rising, and the woman stepped up and took his arms.

"Shh. You'll wake him, Ed. Sit down." She led him to the plush armchair, which he collapsed into.

"Those Jedi will never take my son."





Ossus... Three Months Prior to 'Endgame'



"Excuse me? Sir?" He called out. The man he was addressing turned, staring at the young man through his square-rimmed glasses.

"Yes, young master?" He said pleasently. Kyle Cannex pulled his cloak tighter around himself, and spoke up to be heard over the wind.

"Can you tell me where the Jedi Temple is?" He asked, trying his best to appear as if he were merely an interested traveller.

"Of course. It's just up the main street here, and to your left." Then the man was gone, turning back into the wind and struggling towards wherever he was going.

Kyle stood there a moment, the wind licking at his cloak, and then turned to the direction the man had indicated. The fog was not unusually thick, but it was enough to shroud whatever was at the end of this particular street.

Stiffling a slight yawn, the young man began to walk.





The temple was a massive building shaped out of white marble. It's shape resembled some sort of ancient cathedral, with large pillars and arches much in evidence.

There was no indication of what the place was, but (he mused) a sign was not needed to tell anyone that this was the Rogue Jedi Temple.

Gash Jiren had built this place and trained legions of Jedi Knights here.

Kyle entered the structure and found himself in a large empty room. Less of a room, really, than an atrium -- it was round and supported on its perimeter by thick marble collumns, with insets in the walls showing busts and holoportraits of Rogue Jedi Masters.

Kyle wandered the edge of the room, and found himself before the marble sculpture of Master Jiren.

The brass plaque read Searthen Jiren, but everyone (Kyle included) knew him more famously as Gash. The bust itself was dark in contrast to the others. It appeared dirty. Tainted.

"Master Jiren remembers his days as a Dark Lord of the Sith well." A voice said from behind Kyle, and he jumped. "As indeed, we all do."

The young man turned, his hand going immediatly to the blaster at his side.

"You will not need that." The voice said. Kyle could not see anyone, nor any source for the voice. But he a strange sensation that whoever was speaking was very near.

"Very good, young man. I am indeed very near." And, in front of Kyle's startled eyes, an man appeared. The same man, he realized with a start, who he had asked directions to the Temple of.

The man nodded gravely, and indicated the bust of Searthen Jiren behind Kyle.

"Jiren once taunted the Jedi over their weakness; their inability to protect the citizens." The man frowned. "Now, I am afraid he was right. We are to few, and the Sith to many.

"More and more Jedi are falling to the Dark Side of the Force."

Kyle only nodded. He had no idea still why his father had wanted him to come here, and even less of an idea why this man was speaking to him of the ills of the Jedi.

"You, though. In you, I sense great sadness. Despair. Anger. Uncertainty." He smiled sardonically. "The Dark Side, they are."

The man turned away, and gestured for Kyle to follow.

"Come, Kyle. You have much to learn."

Kyle, shocked as he was that the man knew his name, did not move.

"How do you... what do you mean 'much to learn'?" He asked, speaking for the first time.

"Your name I know because the Jedi have had their eye on you since you were born. By 'much to learn', I mean that you have much to learn in the ways of the Force."

"The Force? But I'm not -- I can't be..." Here, the man grinned.

"A Jedi? But you are, Kyle."

"Feel the force... flow through you." The man said. His name, he had told Kyle, was Gree. That was all -- Master Gree. "Feel its power strengthen you, let it nourish you."

They had moved from the main chamber into one of the large rooms that was, evidently, reserved for Jedi training. The walls here were padded with a thin, but exceptionally soft, substance that made Kyle wonder what, exactly, the training would consist of.

The two were seated facing towards one another, their legs crossed. Gree had his eyes closed, and had instructed Kyle to do likewise. But the young man was having trouble doing so.

"What do you know of the Force?" The Jedi Master (Kyle assumed he was a Jedi Master, at any rate) said, placing his hands on his legs and opening his eyes.

"Only what I have been told." Kyle said slowly. "It's some sort of... energy field from which the Jedi draw their power." He faltered, at a loss for what to say next.

Gree gave him a small smile, and nodded.

"Yes. The Force is indeed an energy field, of sorts, made up of all living things. The Jedi draw their power from the Force." The Master stopped, looking at the young man. "Listen closely, for what I am about to say is of the utmost importance."

"To become a Jedi requires the deepest commitment, the most serious mind, and unwavering loyalty in the Jedi Code. This is not a venture to be undertaken lightly.

"A Jedi who fails in their training is a very serious threat. The Dark Side of the Force may call out to you, if you are impatient or uncertain. In the past, students have been lured to the Dark Side. The consequences are always devestating."

The Jedi Master fell silent, his chest rising and falling with a little bit more speed now that he had finished his speech.

"I understand." Kyle said. His eyes were hard, almost cold. But they left no doubt in the Jedi Master's mind that the boy was indeed willing.

He smiled.

"Then, my young apprentice, we shall begin."

"A Jedi's strength, flows from the force." Gree said. "It gives him the energy he requires to perform all the tasks that the Jedi are known for." He smiled thinly, and motioned with his hand.

From the corner of the room, a thick leather-bound book came floating, drifting down into the Master's outstretched hands.

"This is an ancient text, recovered some time ago by Master Jiren. It tells of the old ways of the Force, its powers and weaknesses."

Gree opened the cover, exposing the worn pages to the room's harsh light. They were written on with a thick, flowing ink, and it was obvious that the entire book was hand-written.

Kyle did not want to think of the long hours no doubt required to transfer that ammount of information by hand.

"Chapter One lists the theories. What one may do, and what one must never do, with the powers given to them." He smiled, almost sardonically. "With greater power comes great responsibility." He half-quoted. "Responsibility for the people you are sworn to protect. Responsibility for yourself, and your actions. And responsibility for the actions of those around you.

"You must understand the position of the Jedi, before we can go and further. A Jedi lives to preserve life -- the Force if made up of life, and any harm we do to the life that makes it up we do to ourselves.

"A Jedi never strikes out in anger, or fear. When you have built your lightsaber, a neccessary step in your training, you will learn more about fighting as the Jedi do. Combat is your last resort!" Gree barked this out, causing Kyle to jump.

"A Jedi ignites his lightsaber only when there is no other option left, or his very life is in danger. A Jedi never acts from agression, fear, or despair -- these are the traits of the Dark Side."

With a start, the Master turned a hundred pages into the book.

"The theories of the Force are long and deep." He said, scanning a tattered page. "And if we had more time, I may discuss them with you at length."

"But time, it seems, is against us. We must must move on, to the manipulations. The book describes many manipulations. Some, of course, are much more difficult to master than others, and require more power.

"For now, let us focus on the simpler manipulations of the Force."

He shut the book with a snap, and Kyle looked up. The Master was rising from his cross-legged position, his robes flowing out around him.

"The first, and the most essential, skill of the Jedi is sense. Through your connection to the Living Force, you should be able to sense all that is around you.

"In time, as your skills become more refined, you will be able to recognize unique personalities amongst hundreds of beings, and even over great distances."

"I want you to clear your mind of all thought. Open it, get in tune with your surroudnings. Through you connection with the Force, you should be able to detect the objects and the people around you."

The Jedi Master made a motion of his hand, and a small green ball flew to it.

"This ball has been used as an object by Jedi trainees here since the founding of the Order. You may wish to concentrate on it, to use it as a direction of your energies."

Kyle nodded. He was still unsure of the entire concept of becoming a Jedi (his parents had kept it from him for so long!), but he did as Gree had instructed and focused all his mental energy on the small green ball.

After a time, the Master spoke again.

"What did you feel?" Kyle snapped back from his focus, blinking several times. His eyes had dried out from the excersice.

"I felt... strange. As if someone was whispering in my ear constantly, but I could not understand what was being said."

Gree noddd.

"You have made the same mistake that thousands of Jedi before you have, Kyle. The Force is a sense, as much as sight and smell are." He smiled. "Have you ever noticed that when you close your eyes, your hearing becomes much more acute? Try it now. Do what you were doing, but close your eyes."

Kyle looked from the ball to Gree, dubious.

"How can I feel it if I can't even see it?" The Jedi Master responded with a small smile.
"How does a blind man find his way?"

Kyle, with a last glance of distrust, shut his eyes and reached out as best he could for the green ball.

It was, at first, as if someone had taken the image and cut it into thousands of pieces, and then scattered them for Kyle to put back together.

He saw glimpses of other students who had used this room; excelling in their studies, struggling to master difficult concepts. He saw the green ball, sitting right in front of him on the floor.

But where he expected to find Gree, there was nothing. He could sense nothing of the Jedi Master, and his surprise was so great that he opened his eyes and looked about, as if to make sure that his mentor had not vanished.

But Gree was standing there, an impressed look about his face.

"That was very good, my young apprentice, for a first attempt."

But Kyle barely heard the words.

"You weren't there!" He said, the strength and suddeness of the outburst surprising even him.

"No, I wasn't."

"How-"

"In time, you will learn as well. For now, though, I think we should break. You have had a long day, no doubt. I will find you in the morning."

It was raining.

The storm had beat on the Rogue Jedi Temple throughout the night and well into the early morning hours. Kyle had been woken by the noise at the quarter past five, and found no one else awake in the building.

He sat up in bed, tentitively stretching out with his small Force powers. He could sense -- vaugly -- the presences in room next to his. He did not know the name of the apprentice who slept there, but he could feel in his mind images of the boy's homeworld, his father and mother saying their goodbyes.

He was worried.

With a start, Kyle realized that he inside the boys mind, and even as he did so the connection slipped away from him.

You will find, A voice, one that seemed familiar to him, yet oddly removed, said, that the mind is most vulnerable when one is asleep. There seemed to be a chuckle. Were I so inclined, I could have seen everything happening in your mind as you slept.

"Thank you for resisting." Kyle said aloud, not expecting to be heard. But he once more received the impression of laughter.

Do not thank me yet, Young Cannex. But the day is young, and you have no need to be awake. Get some sleep.

And the voice was gone.

Kyle, though, could not sleep. He rose from the bed and dressed quickly, making his way out of the temple. He had not been outside of it since his arrival on Ossus, and he was eager to see the planet.

It was still dark out when he emerged, and the cloud cover only made vision more difficult. It was not yet even five o'clock, and so he was not surprised to find very few people about.

He bought a steaming cup of caf from a Bith on a street corner, and walked slowly through the streets, sheltered from the rain only by his cloak.

Slowly, the sun began to rise and burn through the cloud layer. People began to appear on the sidewalks, most with umbrellas to protect from the rain, followed by landspeeders and aircraft.

Ossus was coming to life.

The Jedi Apprentice stopped at a small bakery, near to the Temple (he had walked a long circle, and arrived back after some time) and sat watching the pedestrian traffic.

For the second time, he closed his eyes and reached out with his Jedi senses. It was hard to find any sort of focus, because there were so many people around him.

He caught the baker worrying about the flatbreads and a stock trader calculating the day's opening (when Kyle glanced in his direction, he was no surprised to find him reading The Business Post). He could feel the thoughts and worries of the people who walked by in front of the bakery windows, on their way to work.

"That is very good, my apprentice." A voice said from beside him, and Kyle opened his eyes with a start. To his surprise, Gree was sitting there, holding a newspaper and sipping a large cup of caf.

"Master! I did not see you! Nor did I sense that you were near."

Gree only smiled.

"As was my intention. You are learning well, indeed I do not think any of my apprentices to date have shown abilities to learn as fast as yourself. Yet I still have much to teach you. In time, you will be able to sense even me."

The Jedi Master rose and, dropping a credchip on the counter, grinned.

"Let us return to the Temple, and continue your training."

<font size=4></font>


If the Force if life, and all life is the Force, then how can the Jedi condone killing?


The answer came to his lips immediatly.


They don't. The Jedi kill only when there is no other option available to them. When there is no choice but to kill, or be killed.


There was a sensation of laughter. Not mocking, but ammused.


But if the Force if Life, and the Jedi are servents of the Force (and, by defenition, life) then they should not be afraid of Death, correct?


He did not have an answer for this question, but sat for a moment, thoughtful.


Is Death not an extension of life, according to the Jedi?


He looked up, his eyes boaring into the others.


The Jedi exist to serve Life. But they cannot serve Life in Death. Their existance as Jedi is based on their living.


The voice was silent, appraising. The boy was bright -- of that there was no doubt.


Do you ever wonder, it said suddenly, what makes the Sith hate the Jedi so much?


When there was no response, the voice went on.


It is not a personal contempt. No... it is much more than that. The Sith hate the values of the Jedi, their philosiphies, their ideals.


The voice paused, as if gauging the boy's reactions.


They hate you -- as they hate all Jedi -- because the Jedi respond. They react! The Jedi do not actively seek out the Sith, they wait for the Sith to come to them

In that way, the Sith hold an unfathomed control over the Jedi.

The Jedi do not act without the Sith first striking,

Do nothing but respond.

The Sith know they are safe, until they strike.

And because the Jedi never strike first...


The voice laughed harshly.


...the Sith always have the element of surprise!

"To understand the Force, you must first understand yourself." Gree had said. "You must known who you are, what you are. You must be certain that this is indeed your choosen path.

"If there is doubt, than a Jedi Knight you are not."

He had left Kyle with that, leaving the room silently and shutting (and locking) the heavy wooden door.

At first, the young man found it difficult to concentrate. The idea of sitting alone in this room was absurb, rediculous! He felt little more than an animal in a zoo, confined to one small space for too long.

Kyle was nearing the point of attempting to use the Force to wrench the door open, but it occured to him that he may sacrafice everything he had done thus far in doing so.

With a sigh, he sat crosslegged on the cold flagstones and began to concentrate.

There was, somewhere in his mind, a nagging annoyance. A tiny bud of irritation that prevented him from entering the neccessary state of mind for a true meditation.

He probed it, but there was nothing to feel. It was simply there, without explanation or reason.

He frowned, rising and striding to the window. Yesterday's rain had passed, giving way to an overcast near-day that seemed to engulf the entire city in a wake of sleep.

That much, the young man could feel through his connection to the Force.

But there still that damned bug in the back of his head!

Rubbing his eyes, he looked out across the tops of the buildings. In the distance, he could see a small shape - a deep black that contrasted sharply with the white buildings around it.

He could have sworn it was a man, but when he blinked and looked again, there was nothing.

With a start, he realized he was seeing things, and chided himself on seeing such an age-old cliche, of all things!

But there had been something about the shape (the man?) that had both intruiged and frightened him.

Where he back on Coruscant, he would dismiss this out of hand. But since coming to Ossus, he had learned that those feelings were perhaps more than just that.

To a Jedi, feelings were often sensations of the Force.

That thought made him shiver a little, and on impulse he went back to the window. As he expected, there was nothing to see.

Yet still...

He took a spot on the floor once more, cross legged, and shut his eyes.

Immediatly he got a strong sensation of the city, with its thousands of inhabitants and plethora of life.

A thought came to him, then. The Jedi of Old had built their temple on Coruscant, the most heavily populated world in the galaxy.

Did they draw strength, perhaps, from that? Where the torrents of life on the city-world a boost to their Force awareness?

Even as he, a mere student of the Jedi, reached his senses across the city he could feel himself becoming more acute. He felt the light breeze as it brushed across his skin, the smell of years of sweat and blood in the floor...

His eyes snapped open.

He had not been expecting to see Gree standing there. Not entirely. But he was no surprised by his Master's presence.

"You are troubled." The old man said, not a question.

Kyle nodded. He was tempted, for a moment, to tell his master of the man he had seen, but something compelled him to remain silent.

If his master desired information, he would ask. Or, perhaps, simply snatch it from Kyle's mind.

"Have you discovered yourself yet?" Gree asked patiently.

"Not entirely, Master." The corners of the old man's mouth rose in a slight smile.

"Good, good." He said abstractly. "Come, young Kyle. The dinner meal is fast approaching."

And, with a look out the window, Kyle saw that the sun was setting behind the buildings.

He started, a second to long, and recieved a sharp jab in the ribs from Gree.

"Come! You must hurry."

Evening? Already?

Kyle thought.

It had been morning when he begun.

OOC: Not sure if I understood your intentions or not from the PM.





Action...Reaction.


Those two words spelled out the totality of the relationship between the Jedi and the Sith.

Perrin's mind was irritated. Eons of conflict boiled down to two little, insignificant words.

If he weren't clinging to the Sith banner himself he might appreciate the irony and laugh.


But that was beside the point.


True Jedi, Rogue Jedi, Shadow Jedi, Dark Jedi... What's next? Crimson Jedi?

They were all splinters of the same intangible ideal. An ideal that no one really knew how to cling to anymore for everyone followed, not the version their celebrated legends espoused but, rather, a version created to suit themselves.


Somewhere along the way the rules changed and the old, restricting Jedi Code was not enough for some. They found that what they really wanted was to have their cake and eat it too.


And that smacked of Sith.


Not that anyone would agree. No, it soothed their conscience to simply change their name to Rogue, Shadow or whatever. And so the need for Jedi "distinctions" arose.

Suddenly, "Jedi" was not what the name implied anymore but merely a fraction of some incomprehensible total.


Hypocrites! All of them!


The mere fact that a Jedi needed to prelude their title with "True" dilluted the Jedi's reputation, consequently their perception, and, inevitably, their power.



All that counted nowadays was whether a person could "feel" the force and, if so, some "master" would come along and train them to do some tricks.


And if they were successful the tricks would keep the student alive.


At least until the true nature of the force was revealed to them...


Then, if they were bright they would adapt, or, if they were stupid (as most are nowadays), they'd die.


Their total impact on the galaxy rivaling that of a Galaxy Burger coupon.



There was no substance to the Jedi Philosophy anymore.



No one cared, opting to "do their own thing" or to justify their own interpretations thus negating the philosophy's intent which was..


direction.




Perrin chuckled to himself at the absurdity of it all.