He was not a man that you shared more than a simple greeting with before that day. He entered your messy living room strewn with rubbish and sat with you, telling you about his religion. The very one you once used to mock in happier days, the Singularity. Describing to you how the Force truly works. None of the half-truths that permeates the Holo-net. Explaining how the Force is everywhere and everything, the very building blocks of reality, not some simple superpower from an action movie. It guides the universe in the way only the Jedi and the church can see, dictating every single thought, life and atom. Individual practitioners can cause objects to levitate, glance into the Force’s plans for the future, and some could even use its power to create new life. In concert with a group, those achievements can be magnified many times and new greater feats accomplished. The Singularity’s goal is to gather all those who want a better galaxy, one not filled with suffering and hate, to join them in a massive ritual to rewrite the will of the Force and remake the universe. Fuelled by the souls of the willing, guided by the practitioners of the Force within the church, they promise a better, remade world where all, but especially the faithful, will live better, fuller, happier lives.

Furious with his attempt to indoctrinate you, using the loss of your family. You send him out in a rageful storm, this finally freeing you of the lifeless stupor that has engulfed you. After he was forced out, the conversation played over and over again in your head, against your better judgment. You don’t believe the words, but each time the interaction cycles through your mind a small spark grows slightly larger within you. What if there is some truth to it? What if this could be the way to see your family again? They are foolish thoughts, that you know, but you can’t help but free yourself from the mental image of you reunited with your family.

You left your apartment, life and planet behind many months ago, weeks following your first dialogue with your neighbour. Now you stand in a side cavern of a cave, filled with sharp edges birthed from the mining efforts of sentients using primitive hand tools to carve through the ruddy rock. Hot air lazily brushes against your naked form. Fire locked in lanterns illuminate the fissure around you, there are hundreds with you in this alcove, all but one sharing in your exposure. Chanting from the central hollow echoes around you, vibrating through your body.

A woman stands in front of you in a line made of the masses, she too shall be part of today’s sacrifice. Anxiety from the coming deed caused your heart to beat erratically and begin a conversation with the young woman on the journey. You feel she is making a mistake. She has never had a home, her family was loveless; in that house, all she knew was a quiet disinterest and spice to dull the emptiness. Leaving that place, she moved in with a boyfriend who did not care for her, she was simply some young thing to have sex with. She eventually moved on from him heartbroken, never finding anything to cure her loneliness or isolation. You have no idea how she has not managed to find love even in a galaxy this cruel, she is a fantastic girl full of humour and energy; somehow she even managed to place a smile on your face, something that has been missing for years.

The rhythmic pounding of drums and loud chants cease. Your line shuffles forward into the main cavern. Tens of thousands of people kneel below your raised platform carved into the rock, all as equally naked as yourself. The few beings that wear clothes are those leading the ritual, garbed in simple robes, the Force-wielding preachers of the Singularity, the Dark Star. The line is ushered forwards by a young apprentice of the order, a girl on the cusp of womanhood, she would be the same age as your son if he was still with you. Soft brown eyes focus on you, her reassuring hand reaches out and squeezes your arm, calming your pounding chest. You and the other willing sacrifices surround the edge of a bottomless pit, the unending hole spews a withering and oppressive heat. Surrounding the lip of the gaping chasm are symbols etched into the rock from a language you do not recognise. At the very bottom, there is black nothingness except what looks to be a flower of purple crystals reaching up toward you. The pit walls seem to bend and blur as you gaze into the depths; something is wrong, vastly unnatural with the chasm that dances before your eyes.

One of the Dark Star members speaks in a voice so quiet yet echoes around the cave so all in attendance can hear. He is old and wizened with kindness written into the deep wrinkles of his face. You link hands with your fellow sacrifices. All faces in attendance watch you, but it isn’t something you notice. Your eyes are locked on the crystals that stretch up like a branch from the shadowed abyss. The man bows his head and begins a whisper, and every member of the congregation begins to join in the prayer. It rises with tempo and intensity from almost silence to shaking the world around you. The heat from the pit strengthens, and the deep purple gems begin to glow with a forceful glare. Then you and everyone in the circle, locked together with interlinked hands, thoughts and consciousnesses evaporating in your minds, stolen by the pit, jump inwards to the darkness below.

You wipe the sleep from your eyes as it to pass the unpleasant dream from your memory. It has been many months since your defeat and branding on Thule. After recovering your damaged bodies, the medical teams rushed you and your master off-world to the Jedi temple on…

>Coruscant, where you and Master Porro have been receiving medical treatment and recovering.
> Tion, where you and Master Porro have been receiving medical treatment and recovering.

Sorry I didn't start last month like said, personal stuff happened. As always let me know what you like and what didn't you like.

Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Stellar%20Turmoil

>>5736023
>Coruscant, where you and Master Porro have been receiving medical treatment and recovering.

Oh, and it's good to see you back Stumbles.

>>5736031
Cheers mate.

>>5736023
>Tion, where you and Master Porro have been receiving medical treatment and recovering.

>>5736023
>Tion

Lets stay in the outer regions.
Also. . sweet, we've got a cut up face. A mask could be cool. Lots of cool jedi wear masks.
Or we could be open and proud with it, they were marks we bore for refusing the sith in even it's most benign form.

Whatcha think guys?

>>5736023
> Tion, where you and Master Porro have been receiving medical treatment and recovering.

>>5736133
I kind of want to wear the mask to not give him the satisfaction of having his name be seem.
He will remain forgotten, and there's nothing he can do about it.

>>5736170
Why not a bandana and silk kinda thing, make's it easier to doff and don.

>>5736023
>> Tion, where you and Master Porro have been receiving medical treatment and recovering.

>>5736023
>Tion, where you and Master Porro have been receiving medical treatment and recovering.

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Tion, where you and Master Porro have been receiving medical treatment and recovering. You’ve seen little of him these past few months, his wounds at the hands of the ancient hateful phantom left him a bitter cripple. His left leg is gone, all that remains is a stump which is now attached to a mechanical prosthetic that he often glares at with revolted eyes. Further slices left deep scars over Porro’s body, not marks that a warrior could wear with pride but wounds inflicted by a Sith finding joy in playing with his underwhelming prey. Synthskin now covers those wounds, but the flame of shame birth by his inadequacy remains burning bright behind the hidden gashes.

Bright cyan light spills through the window in your wall, the two massive stars dance in the sky eternally. The blue twins locked in a waltz that will continue forever, always bathing the planet in light. The colouration of the world is something bizarre and fascinating to you, but somewhat unsettling, it feels like the world is wrong due to the abnormal colour. This headache is a common one that many new arrivals are affected by, at least, that’s what Jedi Knight Korra claims. With potent light comes a wilting heat; the thin, almost see-through white sheets half clings to the lower half of your sweat-coated body, the bulk of the blanket lies bunched at your feet.

As you stretch in the soft, gentle and yet sweaty bed, an audible click emanates from your chest as you let out a compound of a yawn and a groan that deepens as you exaggerate your stretch. Looking around the modest room from the comfort of your bed, you a greeted with joy at the apartment that surrounds you. Because it isn’t just any room, it is your room; during your years as an Initiate, this was a luxury you were not granted; there was no privacy or sense of personal space that you needed. The bedroom you briefly inhabited in Master Porro’s ship was not yours, it was his that you simply borrowed. A strong, welcome breeze darts through your window, bringing some reprieve from the impressive heat.

Rolling out of bed, you grin as you turn to face the window, seeing the planet-spanning sea lap at the golden sand. Crystal-clear blue waves crash along the shore one after the other. Still undressed, you walk through an open door to your small bathroom, cold water sprays from the showerhead buried in the ceiling above. The rejuvenating water sprinkles down, carrying the sweat that built up over the hot night off your body. Without thought or notice, there is a smile on your face and a serene calmness in your mind, gifted by the fantastic weather and the beautiful paradise world. You can see why a Jedi temple is placed here, where else in the galaxy could you get the same feeling of relaxation and a deserved lethargy spawned by the wonderful world and the delightful heat?

Your hand touches the faux marble wall, and the torrent stops, leaving you to enjoy the wind lapping at your overheated naked form. Then your eyes turn to a mirror buried in the walls. Ugly long scars coat your youthful face. You hate them. That smile you woke with is long gone, replaced with a grimace. With your pale skin, bright red eyes and the long scars lettering your face, you look like a common thug, a freak addicted to violence and anger. There is no Jedi you see in the mirror, if anything, the face that stares back is more akin to one of your order’s ancient enemies.

Of course, the medical staff, including powerful and wise Jedi expert in their craft, tried to heal you. Bacta and Synthskin were suggested by the team that was working on you months ago, and you took the offer up to repair your face without hesitation. The very next morning, you were awakened by the foul smell of rotting flesh, retching as you awoke. You stumbled out of bed, confused by the stink of decomposing matter and the sudden awakening. Reaching the mirror in your bathroom, you could see the ruined fake skin that was plastered on your wounds, bonded with the healing properties of Bacta. Rotting meat decayed over the scars buried under the fraudulent skin, eating its way through the false mask. Quickly the medical staff removed the Synthskin from your face, once again revealing the lengthy scars travelling down your visage. They proposed other ideas on how to cover the wounds, but you rejected them quickly, without patience, knowing that these scars could not be repaired.

Turning your eyes from the mirror, you try to ignore and forget the grotesque branding on your face. Your mood dampened; you sluggishly slink slowly back into the main section of your room. On the desk next to your bed, surrounded by books about the Force from ancient text of long-dead practitioners and immature novels of heroics that constituting your guilty pleasure, sits your commlink. For a second, you wait, watching to spot a flashing light indicating an unread message. But there is no blink from a green LED housed within the device, much to your dismay.

You have received plenty of messages from Luke, initially full of concern at the news of your battle and the injuries you sustained. Then after your repeated insistences that you are ok, he switched into wonder at facing the ancient Sith. Constantly asking for new details about the brief encounter, trying to absorb every nugget of information. Your apprenticeship has been much more eventful than his, he and his Master have been cataloguing rare fauna around the galaxy that is endangered. While you’ve always held a deep love of animals and nature, he has always tended towards the mechanical and machines. Surprisingly you have received a few messages from Claire, she was someone you've never counted as a friend. Her messages were always short and to the point, full of awkwardness, much like she is in person. There was a single one from Grand Master Turok, wishing you a speedy recovery and informing you that if you ever needed to speak about anything, he was there. You have received no other message. The rest of your classmates were people you did not get along with owing to your confrontational personality born of the unpleasantness of your formative years. More importantly, not a single message from Alyla.

With a sigh, you get dressed in a loose shirt and shorts. On this planet, the Jedi at the temple have done away with robes preferring lighter clothing. Before leaving your room you…

>Pick up the mask you’ve been hiding your face under these last few months.
>Pick up the bandana you’ve been hiding your face under these last few months.
>Wince, embarrassed at the horrid scars uglifying your face, which you mask with false confidence and pride in your defiance.
>Write in

>>5737136
>Pick up the bandana you’ve been hiding your face under these last few months.
I think a mask would be cooler, but they are more of a Sith thing.

>>5737136
Take one last detached look in the mirror, the mark of your personal sacrifice to resist Sith influence is undeniable. Your devotion to the Jedi cause as we see it is strengthened, but at the cost of something important in the core of your being.

>>5737136
>Pick up the mask you’ve been hiding your face under these last few months.
Could just be a mask of our face before the scaring.

>>5737136
>Bandanna

False pride will poison us.

What's the intended update schedule for this quest?

>>5737933
I aim to get out 1k words a day, but typically not on Thursdays as that is when I go into the office.

>>5737136
>>Pick up the mask you’ve been hiding your face under these last few months.

10 mins then I'm rolling a dice.

>>5737136
>>Pick up the bandana you’ve been hiding your face under these last few months.

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pick up the bandana under which you’ve been hiding your face these last few months. It is made of a soft fabric that has never once irritated your face when your scars were still wounds, this is due to the specialised material it is woven from. It is a plain black sheet of cloth with no markings or identifiers. You tie the blank looking fabric around your ears covering everything below your eyes, still not all of the long Sith lettering is hidden by your apparel. The scars stretch from the bottom of your jaw, rising to the top of your forehead. During the recovery period, your hair has grown, and you have not had it cut to the short length you used to keep it at; now, your sandy blond fringe tickles the edges of your eyebrows, assisting your bandana in obfuscating your ruined visage.

Leaving your room for the hallway you are greeted with a view of a long corridor filled with doors all containing plaques displaying the names of the occupants. The walls are unadorned, and no painting or murals are used to break up the blank space. But the length of the passageway is not dull on the eyes by any stretch. Materials shaped to look like rough rock fight against the atmosphere created by the sheer multitude of doors, which could be borrowed from a prefabricated apartment block. Above, attached to the uneven ceiling like a limpet to an ancient wooden ship, is a row of smaller glowing rocks emulating the blue glow of the sister stars. You follow the twisting path; it mimics a winding route the sea would bore through a rock. The stone is a light sun-bleached white, tinged by the colouration of the lamps.

This place could not be more different to the massive temple on Coruscant. Where there was marble and gold being used in every inch, the Tion temple does away with the ostentatious grandeur and almost gaudy finery. Instead, it tries to imitate one of the few natural structures that sprout from the bare ocean world. There are many Jedi temples throughout the stars, all on an extremely loose leash on the design and practises going on within the walls. From what you’ve managed to glean from the few conversations you’ve had with the locals, primarily Jedi Knight Korra, and the Jedi you have observed, this place is much more relaxed and less dogmatic. A part of you isn’t comfortable with this meek adherence to the Jedi code, there have been so many Jedi in the past that have used their freedoms to explore different philosophies, which has led to the birth of many dark side users; another part of you, the one you are trying to embrace, is enjoying the slowness of life without the weight of expectations.

Finally, you make your way through the temple. It is far from the largest one in the galaxy and a tiny speck compared to the gargantuan structure sitting at the top of the ecumenopolis of Coruscant, giving a more familial and close-knit atmosphere to the building. Exiting the temple, you pass only a few people, but a slight shiver of embarrassment and shame at your appearance tingles down your spine when their eyes meet yours. You don’t blame them; you look quite a scene with the bandana and long hair masking your ruined face. A mournful ache sprung by the desire to look normal, to be attractive, echoes in your chest. Being a Jedi, you, of course, have sworn off the pleasures of flesh and love, but your hormone-riddled teenaged mind will naturally desire what it will not have.

Looking back at the temple from the outside, you still see the appearance of a large ocean-worn rock, but there is also a layer of water surrounding the structure, almost as if it would shield it. Guided and held in place by weak particle fields, the water flows in a cycle from the zenith of the structure to the base in a constant process. Your bare feet are encased in warm sand between your toes. You hate sand, that is when you get it in your clothes, and it rubs harshly on your skin, but in the moments like this where you are not being assaulted by its coarseness, you love it.

Unlike Coruscant, a planet you’ve called home since you were spared the shackles of slavery, there is no other building for some distance. A few miles away is a slight population centre, housing some of the sector’s most wealthy, and relatively small office buildings containing only important members of a business. A non-human is rare on this planet, a leftover of the humancentric ancient Kingdom of Cron; the few that call this planet home are Jedi and the odd mistress of some wealthy tycoon. In the sky above you, there are the pale silhouettes of three moons circling the planet. Each one is vastly more populated than the planet they orbit. Every moon is a juggernaut of industry, employing billions to make a wide scale of products, from simple hand-sized devices to warships, which they export across the galaxy.

Blue crashing waves pound again at the shore with a roar, you watch the rhythmic performance with the scent of the sea strong in your nose. And without thought, your gaze travels to a group of young Padawan girls wearing swimsuits. Your cheeks flush unseen, veiled by the black cloth you use to cover your face. Some are lying on towels enjoying the warm kiss of the stars on their skin, while others are playing in the water, using boards to ride the waves.

“You know its rude to stare,” A voice comes from behind, it is poorly faking a sternness with real amusement poorly hidden, ripping you away from the scene. Turning around, you are face to face with Korra, an athletic tanned Jedi Knight that has been trying to get you out of your awkward self-imposed shell of isolation. “I don’t think they are looking for a young man to join them. If you don’t have any plans, I do know of a Padawan that would love to hear all about your adventure on Thule, his name is Sion, and he should be in the sparring courtyard. Or if you are looking to be bored, I’m going into the city to a do some Jedi business.”

You…
>Go to meet Sion
>Go into the settlement with Korra
>Try to talk to the group of girls
>write in

>>5738173
>Go to meet Sion

>>5738173
>Go to meet Sion
We need a friend. And a spar.

>>5738173
>>Go to meet Sion

As said here >>5737940 , not going to do an update today.

Aren't those anti slavery guys here on Tion? Maybe we can pay them a visit

>>5738173
>Meet Sion

I agree with another anon, It'd be nice to get a spar and a friend in one stroke.

>>5738612
>The man, that you suspect is in his fifties, hands you a metallic grey card with a thick black rim and scuttles away through a corridor. Examining it, you see the name and titles of the man you were talking to: Duke Denon of the Tion, Head of Tion Heavy Industries.

Everything okay Stumbling?

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You stand stock-still, thinking on her words as Korra investigates your face, awaiting an answer to her simple offer. Since arriving on this planet, you haven’t sparred with anyone, relegated to fighting training droids, but you have found a certain catharsis in dismembering them piece by piece. Master Porro has been filled with foul words and thorned backhanded comments since Thule. He has refused to seek you out, let alone helped in your studies of the arts of the Force, seeking a replacement for the missing tutelage you have spent many days and nights scouring the books in the library and fighting machines in the automated courtyard. This suggestion of sparring with a fellow Padawan sparks a growing excitement within you.

“Sparring could be fun.” You smile down at the woman with enthusiasm clear in the inflection of your voice, then stopping before solidifying your decision. “Sure you don’t need my assistance? I could-”

“No, you get to the courtyard and make a new friend.” She interrupts you with a firmness that carries no malice. Then she almost leans in, Korra’s face becoming a frown and her voice dropping a few decibels, but not quite reaching a whisper. “With a Master like yours, it’ll be good to make as many friends as you can.”

These words embolden you, and you grin all the wider. “Thanks, Mas- Knight Korra, I will see you later, and the offer stands if you ever need my help.”

Still saying your thanks and offering your help for some future point, you have half turned away from the Jedi Knight and started to jog back into the temple. She beams a grin and sends you off with a small wave as you turn your back to her and break into stride. Sparring is one thing that you love; you love testing your abilities with your Lightsabers and showing the world just how damn good you are. You understand that being consumed in one’s pride is not the Jedi way, but there is nothing wrong with being proud in a skill that you have worked hard to cultivate and then excel in, at least in your mind.

Travelling through the winding passages on your way to the courtyard, the style of the interior of the temple remains a constant. Still, the rocky walls surround you, but there are the odd enclaves of technology that clashes with the faux natural structure, which connects the building with the entire galaxy and, more importantly, to private Jedi and military channels and datalines. You pass a few fellow students of the Force and have to turn chest to chest so you can pass each other through the narrow winding corridors. All the while, you are thinking about the forthcoming duel awaiting you at the end of your journey.

As the path widens, you see a figure garbed in a long robe that reaches the man’s ankles; illuminated by his datapad that he holds way too close to his face, you can see his scowl. The man curses under his breath, still wholly absorbed in the device that he hugs to his face. You stoop your head and begin a silent, wordless prayer that he does not look up and recognise you, every time you interact with him, it ruins your day. It brings black clouds above your head that rains misery and despair, causing your mind to spiral into a black mood, and births thoughts on the state of the galaxy particularly on the trillions that suffer.

Managing to slip past without any recognition, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Finally, you have made your way to the courtyard. The open space is in the very centre of the temple, high above, level with the highest peak of the building is the layer of water that is held in place against the will of gravity by small hidden shield generators. Before you, the training ground is almost barren, not to mention small compared to the facilities available at Coruscant; the floor has been constructed with tiles of a powdery white sandstone with verdant shrubs surrounding the temple’s interior walls that circle the courtyard.

In the middle of the yard, there are two figures, one humanoid and roughly your size, the other a giant beast of metal towering above at three meters. The beings are locked in battle; as you walk closer, you notice that the humanoid is indeed a Human. One that you reckon has a couple of years on you despite him lacking a good few inches compared to yourself. Grasped within two hands, he wields a bar of blue plasma which parries the blow from the mechanical monster’s staff which crackles with electricity. You watch them do battle, not interrupting and ruining the Padawan’s fight. The robot is fast, faster than the Human, the one you guess to be Scion. But Scion always seems to manage to have his sword in the right place at the right time, stopping blows that would shatter bone.

You watch in half interest; while the elder Padawan is skilful and is more than a worthy spectacle, you are itching to join in or to batter the machine aside and take its place. Finally, the young man’s azure blade cuts into one of the mailed fists of the juggernaut, loosening its tight grip on its weapon. He follows it up by dodging the blow the droid sends out in a violent sweep of revenge; then he goes for the other hand, cleaving it off. Leaving his massive enemy weaponless, the metal hulk responds with a powerful green light and after a second of bathing Scion in the glow it spewed from a circle in its head, the machine retreats.

“Not bad,” You say, but leaving an audible level of disinterest in your voice in an attempt to rile Scion up.

“You think you could do better?” Scoffs the bald Padawan with beads of sweat rolling down his naked head.

>While he is skilled, he is nothing compared to Alyla or Merek, show him just how good you are.
>Challenge him to a sparring session, but have fun with it (Three D20s please)
>Challenge him to see how many each of you can disable battlebots after ordering them to swarm you (Three D20s please)

>>5740722
Yeah sorry, went straight sleep after work on Friday, my bad.

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>5740761
>Challenge him to a sparring session, but have fun with it (Three D20s please)
I think our entire life has been sorely lacking in fun

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>5740761
>>Challenge him to see how many each of you can disable battlebots after ordering them to swarm you (Three D20s please)

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>5740761
>Challenge him to a sparring session, but have fun with it (Three D20s please)

>>5740769
>>5740770
>>5740773
The Sith broke our skills!

First bad roll of the quest after 17s and 20s, better now then another time.

>>5740769
>>5740770
>>5740773
>>5740783
lmao. dice hates us

Chris just can't catch a break, this quest is pure suffering lol

>>5740774
PTSD Jedi quest, and our shitty master is in no condition to help us through it either. We need to hit up Turok immediately for advice.

>>5740752
>As the path widens, you see a figure garbed in a long robe that reaches the man’s ankles; illuminated by his datapad that he holds way too close to his face, you can see his scowl.
Who is this?

>>5740807
>>5740805
Don't worry things will get better and if they don't Chris will make them better.
>>5740906
Good old master porro, your realtionship has soured. I'll get into it more in a later update.

>>5740761
>Challenge him to a session but have fun with it.

I honestly think that losing may sting a bit, but the fact that we're not trying to win and rather just want to enjoy the clash of sabers can open for a nice way of forging bonds.

>>5740805
>>5740807
Faith anons. The Force guides us along our paths, so do not despair.
Trials and tribulations forge a stronger man through their difficulties.

Even if, when reflecting on the matter, I can very very easily imagine a scene later down the Line with Chris being incredibly bitter and angry with Turok, demanding why the fuck were we given to such an obviously worthless drunken bastard like Porro, and how all that resulted from that decision rests on his shoulders alone. That we'd earned some level of consideration! That we'd displayed some talent worth nurturing! And he pawns us off like last months refuse meat!
It's a scene I think we would reach either with teenage hormones or when our patience with the order is at an all time low.

I feel like we're all forgetting that our master is in great danger of dark side influence if that's the case it's on us to try to steer him back onto the right path.

>>5741193
It's a bit much to ask a padawan to guide their master in the force.
But Chris probably could do it because he has the power of an autistic hivemind that doesn't want him to fall to the dark side controlling his actions.

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“Yeah, I think I could.” Replying with a friendly grin on your face to show there is no real animosity behind your words. But there is truth in your statement; from what you have seen, you are better than him, to the point where you are not on the same level. In fact, no one sharing your rank has ever been able to equal your skill since your early days in the temple, the closest being Chook, who you humiliated back in your Trial of the Blade.

With a flourish, Padawan Sion swings his blade of pure blue plasma in a circle and brings it to a centre guard; his eyes narrow, and his voice deepens, continuing with the act the pair of you are performing, “Then show me… If you can.”

You throw your right arm out with your hand empty, waiting for the familiar grip of a Lightsaber in its palm. Through the Force, you pull at your full-sized Lightsaber which hangs from your belt, it rises slowly into your waiting grip. With a simple press of a button, a bar of blue plasma springs to life with a hum. Your other Lightsaber, your smaller Shoto blade, hovers right in front of you, and you snatch it out of the air with your left hand and ignite the smaller sword of pure azure light. Assisted by the Force, you throw yourself up into the sky with a powerful jump towards the older Padawan, the air flows through your flapping hair as you glide forwards. Landing a dozen meters from your jump and only a couple from Sion, you break out an exaggerated pose based on a basic Soresu guard.

Like a lightning bolt, you leap forwards at Sion and slice at his form in a mad flurry. Your expertise in Soresu and Makashi discarded, handicapping yourself. Lately, you’ve spent effort and hours to begin your journey into learning Ataru looking to widen your skills, and more than that, it compliments your dual sabres. The force behind your initial blows, granted by the speed of your leap, batters at Sion’s rushed defences, forcing him to step back in retreat. Following those blows up, your small Shoto swipes out, trying to nick his hand or torso, while your longer sword of pure light slices at his feet, forcing him to either continue his retreat or use his single blade to parry away your strikes.

The wild and aggressive Form IV is almost liberating compared to your more practised, virtually passive Soresu and the calm coldness of Makashi that makes up your typical offensive playbook. Sion’s fist whips out, seeming almost like an accident or an unconsciously flailing limb, brushes against your chin. Partially stunned by the punch to your jaw, not by the power of the blow, but more by the surprise. Your offensive dies, and he begins to pummel the weak Ataru defences you conjure up to slow him down, while you try to regain sense of the battle, refusing to fall back to your skill with Soresu.

Lashing out with a scythe-like kick, you strike his knee, buckling it, causing him to fall forwards into you. Side-stepping out of his path, you raise your right Lightsaber to strike your tripped foe. Instead of continuing his stumble into the downwards arching swing of your sword, he throws himself into the air, still on the same path that promises to score you the victory. Except he spins airborne, so he faces you and throws out a flat palm. An eruption of Force chucks you back, and you struggle in the air to control and guide your descent. He, too, uses the Force to land on his feet.

Sion then swings at you with mad abandon, mimicking the Ataru assault you unleashed on him. Not budging a step, you match him slash for slash. For each cleave of his blade, you reply with an equally aggressive swipe with one of your two sibling Lightsabers, batting his attack away. The pair of you try to overpower the other with wild swings of strength and speed, wrestling for dominance. Even if you did not have two blades to his one, he wouldn’t stand a chance against you; you are simply faster, stronger, and undoubtedly more skilled. But to give him his dues, he faces you head-on with only half your tools and doesn’t crumple instantly, which is a testament to his skill.

Once again, he uses his free hand to send a potent wave of Force crashing into you like a tsunami, to gain reprieve from your assault, but his move is too telegraphed. Drawing from the wellspring of power within you, you fill your body with roiling power. The flood smashes against you, simulating the primal fury of the sea. But you stand uncaring like a stone shrugging off the sea, the power forcing you to retreat only a single half-step but no further as tiles rip from the floor into the air and land, shattering far behind you. His face utterly warped with confusion at the stone wall that withstood his power. A single word slips from his mouth, an expletive born from awe.

Continuing your battle in Ataru, spending out torrents of lightning-fast slices, you force him back into the trees edging the courtyard, obscuring the lower half of the temple’s ground floor. You jump on a thick branch and spit out slices to the older Jedi below that withers under the hail. In a last act of defiance, he darts out with his blade bisecting the low branch you were perched upon. Calling upon all your focus, you hang in the air, unaffected by gravity, trying to continue your assault. But your unpractised mind is spread across too many things, your defiance of gravity, the paths of both of your azure blades and his own cyan Lightsaber. Trying to strike his head, the Force you were using to hold up your right foot disappears, sending you tumbling forwards, straight into his blade.

With a strike echoing a hawk-viper's whipcrack bite, Sion hits you square in your forehead as you tumble into him headfirst. The pair of you are sprawled in a heap with your head aching like it was struck by a mule. A laugh mixed with a groan of self-pitying pain rolls out from your mouth, quickly joined by Scion underneath you. Rolling off of him, you stare up at the layer of water being held in the sky, obscuring the few small clouds floating above.

“Fucking hell you are good, Chris I assume? I’m Sion.” He asks between large gulps of air.

Nursing your forehead you reply, “The one and only, you aren’t too shabby yourself.”

“I think I’m a bit better than that,” He chides. “I just beat you if you haven’t forgotten.”

“I beat myself.” You retort with a smile hidden under your black bandana.

“What a poor excuse, but that still means you lost, and I won.”

You break into full conversation which he quickly steers to your battle with Lord Merek. His amazement clear in how he is enraptured with your tale. He nods along, still half panting from the exhaustion of the duel. He bombards you with questions about every such detail he can think of, trying to reconstruct your words in a mental image. Finally content, he asks you, “Any plans for the afternoon? There’s this beach I know where some beautiful heiresses around our age hang out and they love Jedi, or we can prank the Padawan girls out front that spend all day at the beach, or we can shoot the shit. It is up to you.”

>Join Sion trying to pick up the heiresses
>Prank the Jedi girls(feel free to suggest ideas)
>Talk about…(write in)
>Sorry I plan to…(write in)

Been mixing up Scion and Sion, sorry, its Scion.

Our people traditionally use gliders to get around right? Could we make one with him and find a place to try it out? Could be fun and be a useful traversal tool when combined with the force.

>>5741924
Sure, sounds useful for quiet and covert movement. Sleeping now, but ideas like this are always welcome.

>>5741924
We could even show off with the glider to impress the heiresses

>>5741911
>>Join Sion trying to pick up the heiresses

>>5741924
Support, flying around should be a fun experience.

>>5741911
>Show him how to use a glider

I doubt chris could charm anyone at the minute, being a push away from depression

>>5741911
I like the glider idea
Good to see everything that happened can't keep Chris down. His endurance is his best trait and I suppose that includes enduring hardship
I'm curious, what happened after we were rescued? Did the other Jedi take out the Sith?

>>5742275
We probably shove the report up the chain and the jedi sent their best to deal with it.

Or quarrentine the whole place and hope it stays quiet. Whichever jedi order we are dealing with will be revealed with the reaction.

>>5742280
There was another Jedi team that had already been sent while we were there I think

Shit lads bad news, computer shit the bed and deleted half the update. I'll see if I can sneak finishing it off during work tomorow.

>>5742275
>I'm curious, what happened after we were rescued? Did the other Jedi take out the Sith?
Basically the Jedi masters+knights arrived and cordoned off the area. A divison of republic troops have been shuttled in to join them guarding all tombs, the council are debating the best way to proceed which isnt a fast process. At least thats what I think currently, it could change if i get an idea.

>skilled swordsman gets defeated and cursed by an ancient unsealed evil spirit
>then grows out his blond hair and uses a glider
I just played tears of the kingdom and this shit is uncanny

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“Those all sound great,” You say with as much enthusiasm as you can express. Making friends is something you have really struggled with during your days as an Initiate; with him offering a proverbial hand of friendship, you try to convey just how much you appreciate it, so he doesn’t mistake some of your more bad-tempered natural reactions as rejection. “I am happy to do any of them, but I have had an idea that’s been floating in my head for a while.”

Scion simply nods his head, spurring you on, all the while still looking at you with a loose smile, “Yeah?”

“So, my planet isn’t very advanced, and we used gliders to travel around the planet. Long story short, we lived on these stone pillars high above the ground; the planet’s surface has these large beasts that drove us to live up above the clouds. And I was thinking about what I could do with one now I can control my use of the Force. So, I’ve been thinking about creating one. Would you be interested in making one with me?” You ask, trying to keep a neutral tone, supressing the bubbling excitement swelling up inside from your voice.

A frown creases his brow as he thinks on your thought, “Huh, I’ve never thought about using the Force with a glider before. Sounds like you’ve got a pretty good idea there. Yeah, let’s do it; I’ve got some engineering experience myself. More electronics than materials, but still.”

Scion takes you to the workshop, it is a relatively small workspace, but it is a surprise to you that this temple even has one at all. Four bulky brown wooden tables divide the room into quarters; they are covered in chips and knicks from sharp cutting objects that have sliced into them. Dark patches of discoloured wood speak of old burns that have scarred the tables in spots. Coating the walls are a myriad of tools that hang from nails, none of the modernistic MagLocks or Repluserlifts lift them suspended in the air, the style fancied by the standard workshops of the galaxy. Each of the four benches houses an array of plugs, sockets and a single computer, all enabling the man working at them to use the varied tools of their needs. Hanging light fixtures ward off the darkness, bathing the room in a strong brightness ensuring there is the proper visibility for the task you are about to embark on.

Whilst filled with all the tools you need, the thing you find lacking is the material you would need to begin your project. Sitting down at one of the desks, the pair of you activate a computer. Scion takes control of the device, opening an application to design objects. You sit beside him and brainstorm the features and design decisions of the glider. He listens to you describe the wing of the glider; a rare few times, he interrupts, asking for you to go into more depth or reiterate what you said in a different manner. After having the wing of it mapped out on the device, he starts talking about electronic components to add. This leads to a lengthy debate where he talks in-depth about features that could be added, but eventually, he relents to your argument of keeping it basic and not relying on any power source. Instead, he adds mechanical parts to the design simulation on the screen, few in number to limit failure and making it man-portable by proposing the wings being retractable.

After the pair of you finalise the design, you search on a database of materials you can use for the skeleton and for the wing. Choosing between one of the very lightweight composites that also has good relative strength, Scion puts in the order. The purchase is facilitated by the Jedi internal request system, which quickly approves the relatively cheap order. Delivered the morning of the very next day, the pair of you spend half a week constructing your design. At the start, you were worried he would not be all that interested in the project or lose what little interest he had, but as soon as the assembly began, he, like yourself, was absorbed in the process, spending many hours together in the workshop. Scion’s music played the whole time; heavy drumbeats mixed with a cavalcade of fast-tempo instruments rang out at all hours of the day. Initially, you only liked the beat and aggressive pulse while finding the alien singing off-putting, but with time, you grew to appreciate his music like you have no other.

Finally, it is finished. It is a simple torso-sized block, a boring charcoal box attached to your back. Outside, with a Force-assisted leap, giving your creation its inaugural test, you trigger a button buried in the pack, which you reach with a small tendril of the Force. Springs expand the device to a large singular metal aerofoil that cleaves through the air. Assisted by your powerful jump, the Force you use to propel yourself, and the lift that is created by the pressure from the wing, you soar. With the ocean wind and the plentiful updraughts, you climb with ease, soaring higher and higher until the cheering figure of Scion shrinks to a spec.

Flying free, like a bird of prey surveying its kingdom, you travel above the tropical archipelago, and a memory you forgot a long time ago resurfaces. You remember being a young boy on Achlys, flying with your kin, the rush of exhilaration and liberation from the stone pillars. But there is more than that; there is a recollection of family and love and wonder. Soaring above, you drink in the beauty of the resplendent blue-green crystal-clear ocean. Finally, mournfully, you begin to glide back down towards Scion. Like an arrow, you dive down from your height in the sky at an incredible speed, loving the old thrill and the heart pounding with excitement. Assisted by the Force, you come to an abrupt halt as you land before Scion, laughing with joy.

The pair of you spend the rest of the day testing and playing with your wonder of construction. Your comradery is not broken by the completion of this achievement; you soon begin constructing a duplicate glider for Scion. Shortly after, the pair of you spend what time you have when not training together in spars and reading old Jedi writings, flying in the skies together. Often racing or mapping out the smaller islands dotted nearby the coast, exploring for hidden wonders from ages long past.

What do you do next…
>Do something with Scion(What?)
>Do something locally(What?)
>Skip to the next plot point

>>5743980
>Skip to the next plot point
Also message Turok with our concerns about Porro and his recent behavior towards us

>>5743980
. . . That's nice. Really nice.

>Message Turok our concerns about our master's increasing hostility and preexisting lack of training.

We do this properly, so nobody can say we didn't.
Anyway, with our new friend. . Hmm. I kinda want to keep being productive, but we ARE training with him already. So uh, nah lets keep it moving.

>Skip to next plot beat

>>5744000
If we haven't already we could spar him with our true strength, but only if he's interested. Not that important in the grand scheme of things though I suppose.

>>5744000
+1

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Your exposed torso shines from the sheen of sweat coating your chest under the twin suns half veiled by the translucent wall of blue water held above the courtyard. Each breath you take comes from lungs that burn from exhaustion, pleading for you to drop to the floor and stop exerting your body. But of course, you do not stop; how could you after all this, when you are so close? Padawans surround you on all sides, each firmly grasping their own personalised Lightsaber in both hands. They are in all different kinds of styles, from rustic wooden handles which appear more like a branch one would pick from a forest floor to ones with ultramodern grips covered in an array of countless buttons illuminated with lights housed within the nobs and dials. Similarly, you grip both your dark grey Araksteel, a metal native to your homeworld of Achlys, Lightsabers in each hand.

A bald-headed young human, two years your senior, watches you with intense focus from pale blue eyes that never stray from your hands. He, like the others, is brandishing his weapon. An Ithorian breaks the momentary pause and then swipes at you with a wild, tired, and uncontrolled blow from your rear. You do not see it, of course, at least not with your eyes, but you know it is coming. In fact, you knew it before the alien Padawan even did. Catching two blades with a sweep of your Shoto, one a deep purple birthed from a large handle that demands both hands and the other a blue bar of plasma from a Lightsaber much like your own, you guide them away from you into a third attacker. They both strike at the Padawan advancing towards you and is about to unleash a flurry of stabs directed your way. Your main blade clinches with the bald human in front of you, Scion, and then you pivot away; the force behind his blade no longer stopped by your resistance. Scion tumbles forward as he stumbles to where you were a second ago.

Scion and the Ithorian strike each other with their Lightsabers and then collide in a heap on the floor. Hisses escape their lips from the light pain caused by the sting of the Lightsabers on the training setting. The pair is eliminated, leaving only four Padawans left in the royal rumble; the rules are simple, leave the square or get hit by a humming Lightsaber blade, and you are disqualified, and the last man wins. You are, of course, one of the remaining Padawans, and the other three, which were five an instant ago, are all teaming up against you. For this whole bout, you’ve been using your Soresu proficiency to withstand the cavalcade of attacks launched at you, with the occasional Makashi counterattack tossed in. Knowledge of your skills has permeated the temple due to the regular sparring sessions you have had with Scion, making you an obvious target for a concentrated group attack.

Finally, down from the initial twenty students who were fighting against you or were locked in private duels, you feel the situation is much more manageable, so you discard your Soresu and switch to a Makashi offensive. Within a second, you score hits on all of them, typically not what would be killing blows but with light disabling attacks. Two crumple to the stone ground from exhaustion from the long contest, the other hunches over his knees with heavy heaves, luckily your energy reserves haven’t yet been fully taxed. You vigorously pump your arms, that feel like they weigh as if they are made from lead, up into the air in triumph and roar with a primal celebration, extolling your victory and dominance.

Some acolytes roll their eyes as if this unwanted outcome was not only expected but predetermined before the event even started, others look at you with awe. Wearing only shorts and the boring black bandana, you bask in your victory, accepting handshakes and congratulations from the more graceful participants. Scion claps you on the back and congratulates you, then asks if you want to join him soaring around the skies after showering. With a consolatory smile, you tell him next time, you’ve got something to do which you have put off for far too long, which he accepts without a second thought or an explanation.

Since you’ve been on Tion for these months, you’ve only seen Porro a handful of times, and he has been long cleared of his numerous injuries. It is farcical to call him your master, you learn more from sitting in sessions with Scion and his master. This can’t continue. Arriving back at your room, you wash away the grime and dirt that built up from the hot day so far, and stare at the communicator on your desk. You need to call Grand Master Turok and report this, you need a new master, one that wants to teach, or even resigns himself to teaching at the very least.

Staring at the communicator, you think of all the ways to start this conversation, all the ways to articulate your point effectively, all the ways to pull on his heartstrings to appeal to his emotions. With one hand, you pick up the device. You start just fiddling with the buttons on the commlink, not activating it in any way. The fear of failure washes over you, coalescing in half an hour of indecision halting your action. Finally, you count to three, and don’t hit the button to initiate the call. But that’s okay, you were going to do it on three on your third count of three, you lie to yourself.

Depressing the button, the screen crackles with a wave cycling across the screen until finally you see the confused giant holographic face of a Whiphid coated in grey fur, which was once a strong and proud brown. Not recognising the bandana-covered face, he asks, “Chris?”

How do you feel about Master Turok?
>Write in…
Do you want to talk about anything other than Master Porro?
>Write in…
>No

Sorry about missing yesterdays update, writing after work really kills my sleep pattern and it builds up.

>>5747131
>Write in…
Disappointed. Chris probably had enough time to see that not making the knight he has a crush on his master was probably a good move, but handing it to Porro instead makes it feel less like a intentionally smart move.

>Write in…
The situation of the Sith, the runes and the curse he mentioned. Are there any residual effects of the dark side hanging over us?

>>5747131
>How do you feel about Master Turok?
Trust, tempered by confusion bordering on feeling betrayed by him due to being assigned to Porro. Showing him our face would demonstrate the severity of Porros failure as a master
>Do you want to talk about anything other than Master Porro?
Reassure him that we've stayed true to the ideal he taught us and that we'll continue to do so no matter what.

>>5747135
No worries man, it's worth the wait. I'm always impressed by your clarity and detail in fight scenes in particular, I'm sure writing that is time consuming.

>>5747241
Glad you enjoy it

>>5747131
>Turok
I think Chris still trusts him. Hes a shining figure of the Jedi order in his head, the grand master of the temple which freed him. It would take a lot to shake that.
But at the same score, I second the motion of disappointment in his decision of replacement master.

>Ask about the sith situation
>Ask if our assignment to Porro was meant to remedy him of something. Because it feels like it, and that is unfair.

>>5747131
Chris knows Turok is wise and cares for Chris, so I think Chris would assume that he just doesn't understand the reason why Turok placed him with Porro.

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“Hi,” A reply to his question comes from your dry mouth. Your tongue wets your lips as you try to conjure up the words that have escaped you. “Yes, it is me, Chris.”

The eyes of the projected holographic face stop the studious scanning of what they can see of your face and rest with the kindness of an old man staring at a young grandchild still in its infancy. “Hello, Chris, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” You lie with a wrote reaction that you hide behind, never letting others see what is hidden beneath. With a quick shake of your head, you find your voice is now strong and filled with unbreakable steel. “No, sorry, I am not fine. It has almost been a year since I’ve left Coruscant as a Padawan, and I’ve yet to meet my teacher.”

The Whiphid’s face scrunches in what you assume to be confusion at your statement, you struggle at reading non-humanoid expressions, and his voice becomes soft and gentle as if talking to a fragile being. “Sorry, I am not sure what you mean Chris. Can you explain?”

“Since I’ve been shackled to Master Porro, I have not had a lesson from him. I am not exaggerating. During this last year, I have had to rely on teaching myself either through practice, meditation, experimentation, reading Jedi works or sitting in others’ lessons. He is not my master; he avoids me like I carry the plague.” Your deep voice raises in volume as pent-up frustration and anger you have buried bubbles to the surface in its first true release. With a harsh yank of your hand, the bandana cladding your head, which obscures it from the world, falls from your face, exposing the numerous lengthy scars. “This is a fucking joke. I understand not being Alyla’s Padawan, it is shit not being around her, not even being able to message her at the very least, but I do understand. What I don’t understand is why I’m shackled to an addict which resents my very being. Is it some kind of punishment or trial? I know it isn’t, it can’t be, we don’t work like that, but why him out of all the Masters I could have possibly had?”

Forlorn sadness glimmers in Turok’s eyes as his expression sinks like a stone. “Oh… I didn-… Sorry Chris, I didn’t realise. Master Porro is your master because there was no one else. Alyla requested you to be her Padawan, which I hesitantly accepted. But after a report I got from one of the students, I realised you were far too infatuated with her. We needed to break that. So, I made her change apprentice, that apprentice’s original master felt he couldn’t do a good job of helping you mature into the great Jedi I know you will be. I had to find another. And if no one would accept you, you either waste an entire year waiting for a new master, which you might not be able to find, or you join the Jedi Service Corps and waste all your talents. So, I ordered Master Porro, who was going through some trouble at the time, to take you on in the hope that both you two would grow together and he could redeem himself.”

Running a hand through your hair, you hear logic that makes sense to you, but you don’t like it. Riled up with the release of feelings that you’ve held in for so long, you are spoiling for a fight, to strike out and cause hurt like you’ve been suffering. A deep sigh slips your lips as you exhale and try to expel the negativity welling inside. A tender and vulnerable voice breaks the mounting silence. “Can I have a new Master?”

“If you want, I can recall you to Coruscant and have you wait for the next graduation ceremony. But if no Knight or Master picks you, then you’d be forced into joining the Jedi Service Corps; we do not have third chances for Padawans.” Turok replies, still in that gentle tone. “I will be talking to Master Porro after this, but if you stay with him, I can get the both of you assigned to a long-term mission which will involve four pairs of Masters and Padawans. This might alleviate some of the issues for a while, and hopefully, during that time, you can come to understand and work with each other.”

There is a pause while you think the offer over. Returning to Coruscant, a world that would be soulless without Alyla or Luke to share it with, while you could steal some of the Grand Master’s time to spend with him, his duties would limit it substantially. And it would mean leaving Tion behind when you’ve found joy here in your day-to-day routine, most of it filled with enjoying the time you share with Scion. With a deep exhale and closed eyes, you pass the built-up stress and anger and nod your head, trusting Turok’s decision. “I will stay with Porro for now, I am doing well enough without him. If we don’t fix our relationship into something more constructive, I won’t be missing out on too much in the short term.”

An odd view, which many of the galaxy would shrink back in fear from, stares back at you with a tusked grin. “Good, I am glad to hear. I know it will work out; the Force will see to it. Tell me about what you’ve been getting up to since arriving on Tion.”

So, you tell Turok about your new friendship with Scion. Proudly proclaiming your successes in the training courts, despite your lack of tutoring, you have been dominating the sparring you’ve taken part in. Then, gushing over the gliders you jointly designed with Scion, about their practicality and their use for other Jedi. His smile becomes more pronounced from your infectious enthusiasm. Turok, in return, tells you about things back on Coruscant, nothing about troubles or worries, but about day-to-day life and how they are expanding the biodomes and working towards breeding endangered wildlife to reintroduce it across the galaxy.

You ask him what is going on with the Sith, and he replies with a deflated disinterest at the transition of the conversation to a more serious topic. “Ah, the Sith tombs? So, we have barricaded them and have got a sizable force on the planet to guard against anyone looking to steal the secrets of the dead or, worse, awaken the spirits. We will soon be working to exorcise the spirit of Lord Merek, but the issue is if we come in a number too large, he flees into the ether, and we are unable to help him become one with the Force. It is something we are working on, and if there is a curse he has implanted on you, it shall pass with him. If you mean Dark Star, yes, I know a lot of our order likes to call them Sith, but they hold different philosophies. All they share is some of the trappings and the use of the dark side of the Force. I think it is wrong to label all those who practise the dark side as Sith, it is overly reductionist. We try to limit the knowledge of them to Padawans, but as you will be taking part in that mission, the one I brought up earlier, details will be included in the brief, and I will also get a Master to explain them to you as well.”

Sensing the end of the time Turok can spend with you on this call, you bow your head in respect of the wizened being and take on a formal tone, “Thank you, Grand Master Turok; I did trust you, but I couldn’t understand my studentship to Master Porro. Thank you for explaining it and giving me a choice.”

“You are welcome, but I am sorry I had to. It is disappointing that Master Porro hasn’t matured as you clearly have and used this time to build himself into a more… diligent person. And as time has passed and you see sense in me halting your apprenticeship with Alyla, you may now contact each other. Just make sure I do not regret it. Anyway, I shall contact you and Master Porro about the mission you will embark on roughly at the end of the week.”

Mirroring your nod of respect, the hologram of the old Jedi Master winks out of existence. Your heart races at his words, no longer will your communicator be blocked from contacting Alyla’s. Finally, you can talk again after so long.

Do you call her?
>Yes (is there anything you particularly you want to say to her?)
>No, control yourself and message her later after you compose yourself

>>5748364
>Yes (is there anything you particularly you want to say to her?)
Just that we miss her and we're sorry that our lack of control over our emotions is what caused us to be split up.

>>5748364
>No, control yourself and message her later after you compose yourself
Master Turok is good man.

>>5748364
>No, control yourself.

It's a privilige. Lets not waste it by overdosing.

Hi, sorry, no update today. Sleep calls

>>5748364
>>No, control yourself and message her later after you compose yourself

>>5748364
>>No, control yourself and message her later after you compose yourself

Unless we are about to die, don't talk with her.

>>5748364
>Yes (is there anything you particularly you want to say to her?)
That we made a good friend and recovered a positive memory of our home planet.

I think Chris has gotten to a much better place mentally. He's not obsessed with Alyla and has independently found his own happiness despite all the stuff he's been through. It's a good chance for a reset of their friendship and to support each other in a healthier way. Avoiding the conversation isn't going to do anyone any good.

Hoping this quest isn't dead. It's a good one

>>5751863
The vote is to delay the conversation to when we haven't just been bubbling over with resentment and anger and relief at the past year.

>>5750849
this vote here is not indicative of the others.

>>5751895
>this vote here is not indicative of the others
You have no sense of drama anon

>>5751978
>No sense of drama
>"Oh, you only call me because your life is literally about to end within a half minute?! Seriously?"

Mama mia, my sense of drama is screaming so loud you will mistake it for a bomb siren. And it's not the good drama either.

Hi guys sorry about last week, I had something personal happen which drained my energy. I was hoping to update but I really couldn't find it in me, I'm sorry.

>>5753248
how dare you not work for several hours every day on our free entertainment??

jk man thanks for the update

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Your thumb brushes against the glass screen of the Commlink, scrolling through the sparsely populated contact list until you see her. Beforehand, when you clicked on her name, you were greeted with large red text saying CONTACT UNABLE TO CONNECT TO where her image should be, but now you see her face in the forefront of the blue background of the display. A wry smile grows on your face as you stare at the visage you’ve been wanting to gaze your eyes upon for so long; Alyla is still as beautiful as you remember her to be. Your idolisation of her didn’t conjure up false memories that lie of her beauty, she is utterly spectacular. Unconsciously, your thumb gently rolls over her image, and you can feel the warmth of her soft blue skin all these lightyears away.

The small impish smile on your face grows wider as you shake your head from the amused self-derision at the boyish feelings welling up deep in your soul, yearning for you to contact her immediately. To share every in-depth detail of this past year with her, all the while questioning her about what she has been doing since you’ve been apart. Deeper still inside you is the shy nervousness and insecurity, unsure how you would break the ice, how to greet her, if she really misses you as you miss her, did she really care for you, or was it a pet project to help out an awkward young boy; but you bury that self-doubt under a blanket of confident false self-mockery and amusement at your feelings to this older Jedi.

Now is not the time, you’ve been granted this privilege by Turok because of the maturity and restraint that you have displayed; leaping at this gift too eagerly would recreate the issue this division was created to solve. Slipping your Commlink into your pocket, you pick up your glider to spend the rest of the day flying in the sky, reminiscing about what was and planning what will come to pass. There is nowhere where you feel so utterly free and contemplative, unshackled by the worries of the world as you glide above it. Even deep introspective meditation doesn’t compete with it.

The week begins to pass as you wait for the long-term mission Grand Master Turok is preparing to set you and three other pairs of Jedi Masters and apprentices. Thoughts of grand herculean tasks fill your mind, which you quickly wash away with the sobering rain of reality, reminding you that anything so important wouldn’t be given to Masters with Padawans by their side. But that doesn’t stop the hopeful daydreams from reappearing and conjuring fantasies. Also, you think about who will be joining you, you hope Luke or Scion will be there with their Masters, and maybe even Alyla will join you. Turok did say Masters, but perhaps he means it in the context of having a student instead of the rank.

A few days later, you find yourself strolling through the Jedi temple without a plan for the rest of the day, without a worry in the world, about to enjoy the picturesque beach and the warmth of the twin stars that hug your body with a loving embrace. As you arrive at the entrance hall, you spot a figure gazing at a mural of Jedi long since passed, battling a group of ancient Sith wielding enchanted blades. The figure is a man with a full belly and a chubby face coloured red from excessive drinking; his clothes are plain and unremarkable, something you would imagine a father might wear. He exudes an aura of carefree joviality that a fun uncle might show his nephew.

“Duke Denon?” You call out in limited recognition, unsure if it truly is the man you met on Coruscant on the day of your trials.

Open-mouthed, the man with greying hair, belonging to someone entering their fifties, turns round with a little jump of a startled prey animal. Seeing you, the person the sound originated from, his brow furrows in confusion at your veiled face hidden under the plain black bandana, trying to spot some feature to recognise you by. Failing, his face scrunches into a frown at the lack of recognition, and his arms instinctively cross as he watches you approach after a brief scan of the Lightsabers hanging from each of your hips.

“Yes, just call me Denon,” Says the man as he flashes you a fake smile from teeth that are too perfect. “How can I help? And, um, who are you again? Sorry, I’m bad with fac-..”

An easy and friendly laugh at his clumsy faux pas slips from his lips, warding away the unease born of the abrupt startlement of the older man. “I’m Chris, Christopher, we met once on Coruscant. You were asking questions for a Holomovie you were going to make about my friend, Jedi Knight Alyla.”

“Oh yes,” He claps with excitement and recognition. “You’ve grown quite a bit over this last year. Yeah, the Holomovie has started shooting; I’ve given it to a director I trust, and it should be great. All profit will be going to the Ramdar people, so you have no reason not to watch it when it finally releases. What’s with the mask?”

Cringing at the question, you answer back in a level tone, “I got into a fight with a Sith spirit in a recently uncovered temple. It didn’t go my way.”

His eyes light up, “Really? You aren’t feeding me shit? Why didn’t it kill you?”

“Yeah, I promise you it is the truth. You should be able to find something about it on the Holonet, look up something like Sith Temple on Tion or something.” You reply with a nonchalant shrug.

“Well then, I say you should show your face. Wear your battle scars with pride. Let the galaxy know what the brave Jedi, ones even as young as yourself, are willing to face to protect the innocent. Say, are you free today? I’ve got some cool toys around here if you want to take a look?”

You…
>Go with him
>Stay at the temple

>>5753281
>Go with him
>"Ah well, it's not just battle scars. The Sith carved his name, he wants it to be seem. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction."

>>5753281
>>Stay at the temple
>I need time to recover and train, sorry.

Time for a training montage! (desu we absolutely need more proficiency or skills if our master isn't going train us)

>>5753356
wtf I didn't type desu

>>5753358
T B H is filtered into desu

>>5753281
>Go with him
A Jedi who only learns in the temple is not much of a Jedi at all. Let's see more of the world. Also to get more experience dealing with people who are clearly duplicitous like our "friend" Denon here

>>5753281
>Go with him

Yeah, you do need some worldy experience to understand what you protect.

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“Uh, okay,” You answer, taken aback by the speed at which the conversation has escalated into the invitation. After a second of processing, your mind reverts back to his comment on your bandana, and the need to justify yourself rises. “And the reason I wear the bandana is because the Sith carved his name on my face. I won’t perpetuate his legacy or memory.”

Denon simply shrugs at your reply, less curious about your scars at this point, finding himself far more interested in whatever he plans to show you, “Mh hmm, I hear what you are saying. But in my mind, you are giving him power; you are hiding your face due to his actions, you know? I would personally deny him that. Are the scars in galactic basic?”

Not liking his words, you reply with defensive, clipped sentences, “I disagree. And no, it is in the ancient Sith language.”

“Well, no one would even know the scars are a name or even letters, and the few that would across this galaxy of trillions either would be your sympathetic brothers in arms or people you’d want to stick your Lightsabers through. Eh, sorry, it isn’t my business. Anyway, let me take you to my ship.” He says, nodding you in the direction of the front entrance of the temple with both doors propped wide open and begins to walk. “Was your Master not there to stop the Sith?”

“Yes, he was there, but the ghost got the better of us both.” You suppress a snort at the idea that Master Porro could defend anything from the Sith Lord Merek; his skill with a Lightsaber was far from impressive coming from one who is titled Master.

The pair of you make small talk about inconsequential things as you walk across the soft sand, the rays of heat from the stars tickling your exposed extremities due to your very un-Jedi-like shirt and shorts. Soon, you reach the nearby landing strip, a sliver of flat, worn stone juts an inch from its bed of sand. Scuff marks born from years of landing gear scraping black stone cover the pad. The number of ships that rest silently on the rock heated by the stars is sparse; all are relatively small. This is not the landing dock of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant or the industrial one on Thule; the largest vessel is a modestly sized freighter; it is an elegant ship in the shape of a sleek naval vessel; it is a pure, unblemished white with decorative gold edging the grows into a face of a roaring predator at the rear of the craft. The most common ships are personal starfighters, only able to fit a singular being, with a half dozen batter and worn freighters for larger groups to travel in and, of course, Porro’s Anhinga.

Denon leads you to the white freighter, which is elevated from the rock on three claws making up the landing struts. You approach the side of the ship, which then opens and produces a staircase coated in red velvet fabric. Climbing into the vessel, you see it is an immaculate craft; you have no doubt it was tailor-designed to give off an air of sophistication with its sparse ultramodern aesthetic. The interior matches the white of the exterior, and the odd art piece adorns the walls, protected within a thin Transparisteel pane of glass. A large rock carving is fitted to a wall, depicting swarms of unclothed humanoids battling to reach the centre of the mass of humanity in which there is a single being with an elongated cone-like head and stalked eyes, getting ripped to pieces with naked hands. A few stray smaller mobs similarly massacre other large-headed creatures.

The duke beckons you to continue following him through the ship, reaching the cockpit. He sits in the pilot’s chair and points you to the copilot’s seat. A sultry female’s voice greets the pair of you, “Welcome, master, I see you’ve brought a guest. Nice to meet you, I am H011Y. All systems are in perfect condition, you are ready to take off, waiting on you, master.”

“Ah yes, this is H011Y, she is my copilot and the soul of the ship. She is perfectly capable of flying without any input on my part, but I do like the action. It keeps me young.” He taps a few buttons, grabs a control stick, and the vessel lifts off the ground. “So yeah, if you didn’t gather by the title, I am a Duke. My family owned this system for thousands of years, but until recently, it has been rather barren and did not create much value. My great-grandfather turned that around. With our proximity to Raxus Prime, he was able to buy cheap metals from the slagged ships and created Tion Heavy Industries. The business started off slow and derivative; we licenced archaic designs from Kuat as we built up our skills and were able to compete on price due to the neighbouring Raxus, cheap workforce and subsidies. As we grew, we then began to create our own designs, which included more and more cutting-edge technologies. Now we are one of the great shipyards of the galaxy and have won every naval security contract in the sector, unifying them into one force controlled from Tion.”

The ship shudders as it breaks through the atmosphere with increasing speed, travelling towards one of the moons orbiting the planet. You pass a massive fleet of system defence ships, outnumbering the firepower held within entire sectors. One behemoth sits in the centre of the patrolling armada, a Star Dreadnought, dwarfing the countless Star Destroy class escorts. As the ball of rock expands, and the distance decreases, you spot large metal structures stretching across the red and white moon. Growing veins or tendrils stretch out, beginning to wrap the moon’s surface in a coat of metal, battling to consume the moon in its embrace. Sprawling enclosed superstructures housing cities dot the airless rock.

Travelling closer towards the celestial body’s surface you spot large masses of skeletal scaffolding surrounding giant warships; approaching even closer you sidle along one of the gargantuan bones of a future leviathan. In the very centre of the structure is a large cylinder wider than the freighter you are a passenger to, that almost stretches the entire length of the forthcoming vessel. You gaze out the view screen in awe, dwarfed by the towering partial-creation. While you’ve never cared for fighter crafts you have always loved the juggernauts of interstellar warfare. There is something about the sheer strength and resilience of such powerful goliaths, and how such fragile creatures can construct something so mighty.

“This is my future baby,” The Duke tells you with a proud grin and booming voice, waving at the half-built construction. “What we do is build the best stuff for ourselves and sell the older more worn vessels to customers. Typical practise in this market sadly, the Republic and sectors really don’t have an appetite for building functional navies. It could be worse, when there wasn’t a Hutt Empire bordering the Republic the shipbuilding industry was reportedly even more dead. Sadly, this ship has hit a few issues and we’ve restarted the design process despite starting construction. But don’t worry, it’ll be excellent whatever it becomes. But the team, and myself, are having some arguments about what it will become. I was thinking about it being another Star Dreadnought like the one we passed. That wasn’t very popular with the designers; they want to do something new. The team is split between wanting to make her a Carrier or Battlecruiser. Typically, Carriers sell better, but there are those that think the Battlecruiser design will have their day soon. What do you think? A Jedi’s recommendation always carries weight for me.”

You answer with…
>A Battleship will be best for defending the system and is unmatched in large naval brawls.
>A Carrier has a lot of utility, and it sounds like they are somewhat popular.
>A Battlecruiser has the speed and power for hard and fast penetration attacks.
>Not my place to say.

>>5754752
>A Battleship will be best for defending the system and is unmatched in large naval brawls.

>>5754752
>A Battlecruiser has the speed and power for hard and fast penetration attacks.
Chris's sparring philosophy is steady defense and precise, not overly aggressive attacks. If we've already got the defensive aspect covered then the battlecruiser makes sense

It just occurred to me that this guy is making an anti-slavery movie in order to get the public more riled up about the Hutts in hopes of inviting open war and selling more warships to the Republic, what a savage

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>>5754783
Who said you can't get rich by doing the right thing?

>>5754752
>A Battlecruiser has the speed and power for hard and fast penetration attacks.

>>5754752
>Battlecrusier

The key to any opening is to seize the initative and keep it, dictating the flow of battle.
You do that best with a spear that won't be blunted.

>>5754752
>>A Battleship will be best for defending the system and is unmatched in large naval brawls.

GIVE ME MY DREADNOUGHTS!

Fuck, sorry i didnt update last night, I had a "small nap" after work which took me through to this morning.

>>5756333
t's alright, it happens.

>>5756333
Lol I've been there, sounds like you must've needed it

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“I don’t have the best knowledge when it comes to naval warfare, or galactic markets.” You answer, unsure that you want to take the deciding decision for a project that would bankrupt lesser sectors.

“That’s not why I asked you.” He shakes his head in amusement. “I can get figures and hour-long presentations about why each choice is the correct one, and I’ve sat through enough of them for a lifetime. I want your raw, instinctive choice. I trust a Jedi more than pencil pushers; you guys have a way of just being so lucky with everything you do.”

“Sure, then a Battlecruiser. I like how they are a very offensive tool; you can use them as a heavy raider attacking well-defended convoys, starbases and leaving before a counterattack, or use them as a centrepiece of a fleet. They might not be able to stand and fight like a Dreadnought, but they can maul a flight of Star Destroyers like little else.” A picture of a large ship surrounded by lesser glowing hulks shredded by a tsunami of turbolaser fire fills your mind as you respond.

“Great,” He nods his head at your answer, “I’ll let the men know soon so work can resume. Do you see the massive rod travelling through the centre of the ship? That is a mass driver. That’s our speciality here. After years of focus, we have the industry-leading coilguns. While there are others, of course, that can and do make them, ours are a good percentage more energy efficient, which means we can put a good deal more power into the weapon. A gun of this size will obliterate an unshielded Star Destroyer with a single shot. We build our Star Destroyers similarly with mass drivers in the centre; that being said, they are a good deal weaker than this one.”

“What about ammunition?” You ask as your eyes scan the beam buried in the centre of the skeleton of the future Battlecruiser.

“Yeah, that’s the biggest issue, it’s kinetic, so it only has a limited number of shots. But with the power it can unleash, the gun will do wonders working in any single engagement.” Denon retorts, with a puffed-up chest filled with pride and ego. You do not have to peer into his mind to see his feelings; he radiates his emotions.

The Duke continues to show you around the shipyard, passing ships of various classes and size. All are in different stages of completion. Some you pass are agile fighters smaller than the freighter you are on; others house octuple barbette turbolaser batteries larger than any of the modest-sized ships that are docked at the temple. Awe-inspiring is the only way to describe the menagerie of metal monstrosities, such power produced by a single moon. You also note how the sprawling manmade buildings reach out and try to coat the world in a layer of steel, beginning the formation of an econopolis on the low-gravity moon.

After much of the day is done and you’ve exhausted your wonder at all the half-baked ships, Duke Denon returns you back to the planet of Tion. As you step out of his personal craft, H011Y wishes you a good day, and the Duke says, “Just letting you know if you want to help, we can always use someone like you in a couple of years to join HAAS. You taking part in one of the protests on Coruscant against the continual bloodstained deals the Republic makes with the Hutts would go a long way to inspire the layman. If you don’t mind me saying, don’t just focus on the here and now, that won’t break the bonds of slavery that shackles your people. Think about how you can bring change to the galaxy. And remember, the galaxy HAAS a problem with slavery.”

You give an awkward, polite wave to Denon’s ship that ferries him up into the sky, away from the Jedi Temple, out of eyesight, to what you presume to be his residence on this planet. The days continue to pass, and just before it has been a whole standard week since your call to Turok, you receive a rare message from Master Porro. The message calls for you to join him immediately in one of the temple’s communication rooms. With a hesitant jog, you find yourself in the correct room in record time; the doors open, revealing none of the temple’s natural rock-like architecture. Instead, the room is a perfect square made from a polished black compound that seems to steal the light from the world. Master Porro sits slumped deep in a chair, his eyes now on you, before your entry, he was watching and listening to a large Whiphid’s holographic face.

“Ah, Chris, excellent, please sit down.” The speakers hidden in the room blurt out words as the hologram points to an empty chair, which you then sit-down in. Grand Master Turok continues, “As I was saying, there has been an increase of troubling activities on our border with the Dahlhaus the Second’s Glorious Renewed Huttenese Empire and the Republic. Pirates, or what we believe to be privateers, have been raiding border worlds, enslaving citizens, and attacking cargo vessels. We, of course, think this is a strategy by the Hutts to put pressure on the Republic for favourable terms in renegotiating some of our expiring trade deals."

“Furthermore, we’ve got unconfirmed reports that the cult of The Singularity has infected numerous border worlds. As you know, the cult is working with the Hutts; The Singularity was given the right to worship within the Hutt empire for their services. As part of our efforts to stabilise the region, we are sending multiple groups of Jedi to these affected worlds. You will participate in one of these operations for the next two years, possibly longer. The pair of you will be stationed on Ravaath. Your duty will be to promote, maintain, and secure peace and stability on the planet. Joining you in this task will be three other pairs of Masters and Padawans. In fact, I think you know two of the Padawans, Chris, they are…”

Choose Two
>Luke
>Claire
>Scion
>Other

>>5757180
>Luke
>Claire
Sorry scion, but got to go with our best friend.

>>5757180
>Luke
>Scion

>>5757180
>Luke
>Claire
Gotta see how our old palls are doing.

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It's Thursday so I'm in office, very unlikely I update today.

Just thinking, what do you dislike about the quest, apart from my inability to update regularly? Is there something you want to see which you haven't or something you want more of? Is there something you'd like me to improve upon? Let me know if you've got any feedback at all, good or ill.

>>5757180
>Luke
>Claire

I Like Scion but catch up with the gang time

>>5757445
Not really man.

Inconsistent schedule aside, the quest is well written, well directed, characters are enjoyable and the MC is just enough not a blank slate that we can see him as Chris and not US.

Pretty good going so far.

>>5757445
Maybe explore Chris's character flaws a bit more and I don't want to get lost in powergaming but more of a focus on specific skills that we're training would be fun

>>5757583
Ok cool, glad you are enjoying it.
>>5757617
You think Chris is a bit of a gary stu? I can work on that.

>>5757795
>You think Chris is a bit of a gary stu? I can work on that.

I don't think that Chris is a gary stu, a big part of being a gary stu is that he is always right and everything that dont bent to the most little and stupid wish of him is evil and wrong, plus that he is the most special being in the world

When Chris was denied of his most important wish in his life, it make sense if you can see beyond his teen emotions, and the decision of making him Porro padawan only make sense on the POV of a galactic org of wizards that is not focus on a 14 years old boy

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“Luke and Claire, I’m not sure if you remember them,” He says with a smile that tells you they were picked not for being great students with promising futures, which they were and you are sure they still remain so, but because they are your friends. “Ravaath is a new world; it is on the very edge of the Republic and is next door to Dahlhaus’ empire, meaning a lot of trade flows through the world. Truth be told, it is a world of sadness and cruelty; unfortunately, the Hutt’s culture has spilt over and infected the planet. Poverty and crime dominate the world. I understand keeping the peace sounds farcical, but if you can either root out any causes or prevent them from taking hold, it would do more good than most would understand. You are to meet at the Governor’s House. Despite the name it isn’t a house, but the building is used to house the local planetary bureaucracy. We will shortly forward a package of information about the world, threats to the peace of the planet, and anything we might think would be worthwhile for you to know. You are to meet at the very latest in two weeks’ time. I know it is the opposite end of the galaxy for you, but that’s more than enough time to get there. Any questions?”

You stay stock-still seeing his gaze narrow and focus on your Evocii master, knowing it isn’t directed at you. From the corner of your eyes, you spy Master Porro slumped in his seat, gazing blankly on, into the projection with uninterested dispassion. His arms crossed across his chest, closing him off to the world and, most importantly, to Turok. No words are spoken from your master as he gazes through the hologram into the wall behind. The empty silence is deafening. Turok’s brow furrows in some emotion you are not quite able to completely read, is it annoyance, anger, exasperation?

“No? Okay, good luck, and may the Force be with you.” Grand Master Turok says before his image blinks out of existence.

Immediately after the projection dies, your master’s head swivels to face you, and a gruff accusation slips from his lips. “I have been told by a certain someone that you feel we’ve not trained enough together. Let’s start. Follow me.”

The old, chubby Jedi Master staggers out of his seat, unsteady on the bionic leg that has replaced the limb the Sith Lord Merek stole. Unlike most replacement limbs of these days, there is no Synthskin coating the robotic appendage. A smooth, matt black layer of plastic wraps around most of the false limb, but small missing patches expose the moving joins, faintly glowing lights, and serpent-like tubes. He waddles out of the room, still accustomed to his new leg, awkwardly plodding away from you. Of course, you follow, but the tone of his voice and the foul mood written on his face has killed any hope that this will lead to any kind of reconciliation, at least for now.

As you chase your master, you can’t help but be disappointed with the sight. Since his injury from your battle on Thule, he has gained more weight, his dishevelled brown hair is patchy on his balding head. He looks like a wreck of a man. No, he is a wreck of a man, you think to yourself silently. Arriving at the courtyard which you have made your second home, you spot a group of enthralled Initiates following the slow practised actions of an instructing Master. Master Porro stops and turns to you, studying you with a glare mixed between aggravation and amusement.

“Activate your Lightsaber.” He instructs you after backing up a couple of meters and then plants himself sitting on a wooden bench, surrounded by vibrant bushes that wrap the end of the courtyard and connect the beginning of the building.

You activate both your Lightsabers and use the Force to turn the dials onto training setting so as not to cause any possible harm. He then instructs you to do the most rudimentary stances and defensive actions, the ones someone would teach before the end of their very first year. Initially, you accept it without a black thought in your mind, expecting the session to ramp up quickly. But it does not happen; he repeats his orders for you to cycle between these simple basic stances. The only others here are the Initiates and their leading Master; they filter out as time passes leaving the pair of you alone, and you are still repeating the most rudimentary of lessons you mastered years ago.

Soon, your temper begins to flare. He is making a mockery out of you, embarrassing you by this joke of a lesson. If he has to teach you, he is going to make it as painful to you as it is for him. You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the old man long past his prime and just focus on fulfilling his instructions. A flame of rage begins to flicker inside, ready to explode into an inferno. His face doesn’t change during the entire farse of a lesson, a cold, impassioned uninterest and what you think to be a sliver of amusement hidden underneath. This joke of a training session is an insult, you fought the Sith Lord with him. Where is the respect he owes you? How many Padawans, if they were in your place, would have fled when fighting alone against a phantom that easily and contemptibly bested their Master? While neither of you defeated the ancient Blademaster, you put up a better fight, you are sure of it. And with his self-seclusion over this last month, you are sure that his skills have further withered.

“I am ready to move on to the more challenging techniques. I have mastered these long ago.” You growl at him, the growing frustration evident in your deep Coruscanti-accented voice.

“Not yet,” A slight sly smile begins to grow on Porro’s mouth. “We need to make sure your technique is perfect. As you rightfully complained about me to Grand Master Turok, that I have not been training you enough. It is vital you have the basics practised to perfection. So, let us make sure you have the building blocks down flawlessly. And after this, we will leave for Ravaath.”

You…
>Insult him
>Storm off to the ship
>Challenge him to sparring(3 sets of d20s)
>Swallow down your anger and continue this joke of a lesson
>Write in…

>>5758888
>Swallow down your anger and continue this joke of a lesson

>>5758888
>Insult him
Fuck this guy

>>5758888
>>Write in…
"If you want to make me mad, you have win. I will not fall into using anger in battle, however. I didn't do it in that grave, nor will I do it now.

If you want to feel superior by abusing the fragile, purely bureaucratic authority that you exercise over me, you are free to do so. But know that when this "lesson" is over, you will still be what you are, a shadow of a man enjoying tormenting the boy who saved him in that cave."

>Swallow down your anger and continue this joke of a lesson

>>5758888
>Write in…
Why did you accept me as a Padawan? There is no point to this arrangement unless you actually train me. I am eager to learn. This pettiness is beneath a Jedi. A true Jedi at least. I suppose it isn't beneath the shell of a man that you have become.

>>5758888
>Swallow down your anger and continue this joke of a lesson

Just going along with this will never get the root of Porros problem. I say we confront him.

>>5758962
>Support

This is a valid question and it's going to keep coming up. Why the hell were we accepted as a padawan if you're utterly disinterested in teaching us.

I don't support the first write in, because while it's a better slap to the face, it is also a better slap to the face.
I do not want to sink to his level. Chris is proud of his skills, but I think he can outlast the bastards neglect.

>If we aren't told to fuck off for calling him a shell of a man, continue the lesson.

>>5758962
>Support

Sorry about not updating yesterday, I forgot to say I was watching 293 what a fucking upset

>>5760214
Adesanya was getting annoying, good for Strickland.

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Your brows furrow in a furious scowl as the anger inside begins to strip reason from your mind. The animalistic, base part of your brain takes over, drowning sense and judgment in a boiling ocean of blood-red rage. Your fists clench tightly around both hilts; knuckles turning white from the strength of your grip that you imagine to be around the neck of your fat wastrel of a teacher, crushing his windpipe as he stares up at you helplessly as his weak hands ineffectually slap against your unyielding arms of iron. The disciplined stance you were holding shatters; you turn your body to face the frail, aged cripple and take a single step towards the smaller creature as your roll your shoulders and square up to it. A flash of some emotion destroys his composure, but you can’t read the expression. All you can think about is how either this display of dominance and restrained strength will cow Master Porro or escalate into a well-needed physical lesson, teaching your master to give the respect you are due. This is the only thought you can hear in your mind, it has hijacked and gained total control of your physical shell.

Master? Master Porro? No, you see no Master in front of you. You see a small being that blinks and makes the entire world, the entire galaxy small. How is this thing a Master of anything, to anything? He is not your master; he has not taught you anything except the limits of your patience and has made it evident that he has no interest to start, nor does this lifeless husk have the ability to teach anything to you. What could he even begin to teach? How to drink? You know deep in your soul, at the centre of your very being, hidden under a layer of insecure, overly harsh self-doubt, you are better than him, you are an exceptional once-in-a-generation talent with a Lightsaber. The closest thing you had to an equal was Rook, and you left him humiliated, shamed and defeated in front of an audience of the most powerful beings in the galaxy. Porro is no Master in the ways of the Jedi, it is an insult to the Jedi Order that he stands before you with this title. Mentally, you strip him of the rank. The only master you have is one you allow yourself to be shackled by.

Both your crimson eyes bore into his shit-coloured irises, causing the thing to avert his gaze anywhere to be free from the strength you exert. And then you forcibly swallow the lump in your throat, the one stealing all the vile words from your mouth. The explosive, coiled rage inside lessens as your clenched jaw slackens slightly as you drink in the site of the cringing man. You revel in the sight and feel powerful, even triumphant. Porro spots the change in your demeanour and almost instantly regains his composure as if it had never left him. He glares up at you with hate-filled eyes and the returning smirk you just stole from him.

“Why did you accept me as a Padawan? There is no point to this arrangement unless you actually train me. I am eager to learn. This pettiness is beneath a Jedi. A true Jedi at least. I suppose it isn’t beneath the shell of a man that you have become.” The demand for answers comes out as a deep growl as you glare into his soul through his eyes.

“You have many lessons to learn, and this one you have failed.” Porro’s disparaging grin grows wider as the words escape like a serpent’s hiss, and he walks away from you towards the closest door leading to the innards of the Jedi Temple. “Get your stuff, we are leaving for Ravaath”.

Your hand reaches out to grab him, to yank him back to face you and give a real answer, but as you struggle with the violent urge, you realise you don’t have to. Swirling emotions freely emanate from the old man, for you, or anyone else, to snatch up and read. And you drink upon them, stealing your answers when he would give you none. You feel his impotent rage at your outburst, humbled, embarrassed, and fearful as he saw a demon locked within your eyes. Then there is his shame and resentment of the outcome on Thule. Why did he, the “master”, lose his leg instead of you? Why did you, his young apprentice, last longer against the ancient Sith? Why didn’t you die? There is also resentment at you, and this compulsory bond of teacher and student that is forced onto him as punishment. He wants to be free of you or any youth that doesn’t sit on his lap and expect a note of money slipped into her revealing clothes.

And more, there’s hate towards Grand Master Turok and the Jedi council for this assignment, for these risky missions, for stealing his youth and giving him no chance to be free of the religious dogma. Of course, he could leave the order, but where would he go? What skills does this man past his prime have? He would be forced into crime to gain any sort of money or get stuck on welfare in a more forgiving world. Trapped in a world, he has grown to hate, and with it, his hate towards everything grows. All he wants underneath it all is to enjoy life without responsibilities, the ability to drink and consume as much spice as he wants, no patronising talks or punishments from superiors acting like a teacher to a naughty boy who just happens to be fifty-three years old. He simply does not care about the galaxy or the suffering that occurs within it, because, in his mind, he has been suffering this last half of a century, he is the one that needs the saving.

Porro leaves you there, still recovering from your anger, which is supplemented by your growing disgust of the man. How can someone not care about all the trillions of beings that suffer injustice every second of every hour of every day of every year? You marvel with uncomprehending repulsion at how a being gifted by the wonders of the Force does not grant him a hunger to make the universe a better place when that power is within our hands. His egotism and selfishness are nothing short of evil to you, to do nothing to help those in need when you have the strength. Us Force wielders are the only things in this galaxy that can change the fate of destiny and end the suffering across the innumerable planets circling countless stars.

Shaking your head, you leave; most of the stuff in your room you do not need at Ravaath. All you truly require is your Lightsabers and your Commlink. You…

>Say goodbye to Scion(Write in if you want to include anything)
>Quickly get aboard Porro’s starship

I may have slight misread the votes and gone my own direction, sorry about that.

>>5760748
>Say goodbye to Scion(Write in if you want to include anything)
Thank him for being welcoming and friendly, and say that we hope we can work together in a mission one day, either as padawns or as knights.
And that he should keep on his dueling training, or we might just even the score next time.

We need to be careful. Chris' feeling of superiority could lead him to the darkside if we are not careful. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and all.
And Porro is standing right at the abyss, if he hasn't started the fall already.

>>5760756
To add to this, it wasn't intentional and if you guys are pissed we can talk about redoing the update or something.

>>5760756
I think you counted correctly
There were three to confront him, three to do the lesson (plus a speech) and one to insult him

>>5760748
>Say goodbye to Scion(Write in if you want to include anything)
Thank him for his friendship, he helped get us through a hard time. We'll keep in touch.

>>5760768
I think it caught the general vibe of the votes

>>5760748

Support this>>5760763

>>5760756
We don't attack him or anything, we were just rightfully pissed about the whole thing and sick of Porro bullshit, so the swallow down your anger part of the vote was there, and it was Porro choice to fuck off, so it wasn't chris that end the lesson. Seems fine by me.

Maybe later we can get Porro a normal space job, so he can live like a lazy hedonist without pushing us to the dark side out of pure rage and resentment.

>>5760763
>Support, Also get our retracting glider.

Honestly, I'm fine with Chris' reaction. And beyond story view. . .yeah. Porro is actual garbage and I refuse henceforth to put "master" before his title or refer to him as anything beyond his name and make a suggestion that this extends to the rest of us too.

He's selfish, lacking conviction and weak of will and devoid of generosity. The jedi are better without him and I see no reason to give him the time of day any further.
We'll maybe attend "lessons" but if they are like the first then we'll just fuckin' teach ourselves. What else is new?

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The words play over and over again in your head. You think about what he said, what is meant behind those words, his very thoughts, and things you could or should have said. They repeatedly echo in your mind, causing a cloud of ill mood to hover over your head, but your one reprieve from reliving that moment is the hurried rush you are in. His tone was clear: he is leaving soon, and you are unsure if he would leave you behind. Whilst it would be far from the worst fate being separated from Porro, you want to see Luke again, and you wouldn’t mind seeing Claire. Furthermore, you have been given a task, as part of a group, to help a world, to save souls from evils originating from Hutt space. This willingness to self-sacrifice and fight for a better world is precisely why you have idolised the Jedi and attempted to emulate them since your rescue. And if Porro is too self-absorbed to fight to save these people, you will work twice as hard to carry his discarded burden.

Jogging through the narrow, winding rocky walls brings you some frustration as you scrape your arms on the rough surfaces. Arriving at your room’s front door, you slam it open in haste. The handle smashes against one of the walls, and a loud thwack is birthed and echoes down the empty, twisting walkway. Reaching out, you snatch up your glider; if you are going to keep anything from this word, it is this. There is little else that you genuinely care for that you own, not that you own anything else other than the clothes on your back and your Lightsabers. Strapping the glider to your back like a small backpack, you rip out the draws from your wardrobe and pour the contents into a translucent bag on the floor.

After rescuing your clothes, you send a written message to Scion, asking him where he is. Much to your irritation, he does not answer. With one hand holding closed the bag of clothes and the other cradling the bottom of the bag, you flee your room to search for Scion. You imagine you look quite the comical sight, but that doesn’t matter. How many of them will you ever see again in this galaxy of trillions of beings? Running outside of the temple onto the sandy beach, you look around and see a grinning Scion, clearly amused with your appearance.

“What’s up with you?” Asks the chuckling human with a raised eyebrow.

“Looking for you. Ever thought about answering your messages? What if Sith attacked the temple when you were out trying to chat up the locals?” You retort with a sly smile, recalling his big talk but lack of luck.

Scion rubs his chin as if thinking about the answer, “Well, if the Sith still existed and they attacked the temple while I was talking to a lucky girl, I think it would be best if I didn’t answer and looked after her and her friends. Innocents are our first priority, after all, and I’m sure you’d have all the Sith beat.”

Your smile slightly breaks, and you have no idea how to say goodbye. “Ha, yeah, something like that. You know that mission Grand Master Turok was going to send me on? Well, it has just arrived, and Porro is taking off soon. For Ravaath. The other side of the galaxy.”

“Shit,” Scion says simply as he similarly loses his smile, which quickly reforms. “What are you going to be doing there?”

“Uh, well, it is on the border with the Hutt empire, and there have been what Turok thinks are state-sponsored pirates attacking Republic trade vessels, raiding worlds and a growing presence of The Singularity.” You struggle to recall all the details as your confrontation with Porro and your search for Scion has taken up headroom.

“Fuck, that’s a good mission,” Nods Scion as he draws up a mental image of the world and your actions in his head. “Pretty jealous I wasn’t also chosen.”

“Yeah, it should be good.” You say, not sure how to thank him for his friendship without coming across as overly awkward or revealing quite how much his friendship has meant to you. “Thanks for… Being cool, without you… If I didn’t meet someone as cool as you, this world would have been shit. Thanks mate, you’ve been a great friend, and we will have to work together at some point down the line, either as Padawans or as Knights.”

Picking up on your awkwardness and mirroring it, he punches you in your shoulder with a wry smile, “That’s pretty gay mate. But yeah, definitely. We will absolutely meet up at some point, even if it is just for a drink, and make sure to keep in contact; I want to keep up with your legendary exploits. Who knows how many undead Sith you will fight on Ravaath?”

“Exactly, you can eventually write a book about all my heroic deeds. I would offer to write yours, but I’m not sure what you’ve achieved apart from managing to scare off a record number of girls trying to enjoy themselves by the beach.” You smile, suppressing a laugh, remembering that one time it went disastrously wrong for him. “Keep practising with your duelling, or I might just even the score next time.”

“Sure, and you keep practising to not faceplant for next time. But seriously mate, keep well and look after yourself. Don’t let Porro bring you down to his level. May the Force be with you.” He says and hesitates, then gives you a quick, embarrassed hug of goodbye.

“May the Force be with you.” You reply after the pair of you quickly break the embrace.

You are on Porro’s ship, the Anhinga, watching the world shrink below into a hand sized ball of azure blue from the cockpit. A massive Star Destroyer cuts into your view, hiding the world below beneath its bulk; much like Denon’s own private ship, it is painted an immaculate white, with gold decorations coating the edges of the angular behemoth and coalescing into the same design of a roaring beast. Arriving at the jump point, you watch stars stretch into long white lines as you enter the blue world of hyperspace.

Leaving the wretched thing to pilot the ship, you retreat to your room. It is much smaller than the one you had back on Tion. Sitting on your firm bed, you reach your hand into your pocket and withdraw your commlink. You sit there for a second thinking about it, it is something you have been thinking a lot about this last week. Shaking your head with amusement at your own indecision, you brush it off and decide it is time. You’ve put it off too long. With your heart in your mouth, you click a button on your commlink, which begins to set up a call across countless lightyears. A holographic angel appears, her dark hair tied back into a ponytail, exposing her captivating face, the same blue as Kinoss’ water lilies. Her mesmerising black-blue lips, contrasting her lighter sapphire skin, are stuck in a war between surprise and pure joy. Striking red eyes are wide in shock, sighting a face that she has yearned to gaze upon for the past year.

“Been a while,” You smile into the communicator.

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Well thats the thread, seems a good place to stop.

Next thread will have more action so if you have been missing that it'll be there. Unsure when I will start the next thread, depends on a few things.

Let me know what you thought of the thread/quest and I will try my best to improve upon any issues.

>>5761577
Thanks for the thread, looking forward to the next!

I'm honestly curious to know what Porro was like in his prime, and what happened to him to make him this way. Or if he really always was a piece of shit.

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Oh the update to Thrawn's Revenge is a decent one, if you are hungering for a star wars strategy game.

>>5761620
Glad you enjoyed it.
Porro never liked risking life and limb, he's never been a brave soul, but he tried to fill the role and force himself into it. Decades of repeatly being forced into hazardous situations and trying to be a person he was not left him demoralised and resentful.

>>5761769
Geez. What's up with the severe shortage of Jedi Masters? Porro should have been put into a support role years ago. Turok is kind of coming off as an incompetent grandmaster here

>>5761823
>What's up with the severe shortage of Jedi Masters?
The cult of The Singularity is popping up where there are those who are desperate. It was once spear-headed by the members of Dark Star within the Hutt Empire, but now it is spread by the lesser plebian followers. Jedi are flung far across the galaxy, spread thin, trying to kill the religion before it takes hold within the Republic.

>>5761823
Nah.

How often does one deal with every member of the order, an order that must number in the tends of thousands.
And it's not like Porro of all people is going to do good and fix their situations. Not even touching on the neccesity of knights in the galaxy

>>5761575
Scion is great
>>5761577
See you later Stumbles

>>5761769
Any rough idea on the next thread yet? I don't really come to /qst/ for any other quest currently and I don't want to miss it!

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>>5770417
Not really, on holiday right now. At the latest early of next month.