Atrophos Military Academy. Ostensibly, this was the main institute where the next generation of officers and soldiers were trained. Unlike the Crucible, where they were forged, this was a place of learning and experience.
And now, it was a place of memory.
A pale blue glow cast itself like a blanket over the room, flickering with the expression of Uji Tameike’s features. Below the holo-projection lay the memorial marker for the Fist of the Brotherhood, as well as a plaque.
The room itself was non-descript. Typical Imperial precision was mirrored in its design and tables lined the space. Those tables had some drinks and food available. Thane had an odd fondness for the finger sandwiches. He didn’t know why, but he did.
Perhaps it was the varying herbs and flavour profiles that allowed himself to distract from the simmering anger he held tightly in a ball at the center of his chest.
Rage wasn’t something the Grand Master was accustomed to feeling. It was a fleeting thing that he rarely brushed up against…but when he did there was no warning. He was placid one moment, incensed the next. Ever since he felt Uji’s loss, he had been unable to truly step away from that place.
He stood in the fires and they sought to consume him.
“Old friend,” Thane murmured as he forced himself to face the projection once more.
Vael stood silently to the side, watching, not for the first time, as the Grandmaster’s mood shifted when reminded of the loss of his Master. The young Arkanian glanced up at the projection, noting lines of age, weariness, and scars that his own memories of Uji did not quite carry.
Vael found himself studying the projection, searching for the man he had followed. The likeness was flawless, yet hollow. It showed the face that had rescued him from indentured service, but none of the resolve behind it, nor the patience that had shaped him, nothing of the quiet strength. Those things remain only in the memories of those who had truly known the man.
He thought back to the words the Headmaster had spoken. Turel Sorenn had not merely described Uji. He had given voice to the man so few had truly known, preserving something no hologram ever could. Vael understood then that while they could honor Uji’s likeness, it was those who Uji had a hand in shaping that would be his legacy.
The gathering that evening would be small, attended only by a handful of those who had been closest to the fallen Elder. He found himself looking forward, in particular, to seeing his former trainer, Barafu. With Uji’s passing, she had accepted the burden of serving as the interim Fist until a successor could be chosen. While carrying that responsibility, she had led the effort to recover and rebuild what remained of the Iron Forces. Vael’s own duties guarding the Grandmaster had kept him equally occupied, leaving them little opportunity to speak since Uji’s death.
Barafu had been later to enter, wandering alongside one of the tables still with a solemn expression. Thankfully cups of water had been provided, it gave her something to hold. Something to do, when her attention wasn’t drawn up to the holo projection gazing over the room. Grief was a strange thing. Even after the fighting stopped, the Togorion had found herself searching for the FIST amongst the Councillor’s, the remnants of their army or at Vael’s left shoulder.
It hadn’t been until she sat in Uji’s seat for the first time and felt far too small, that it had truly set in.
Her gaze landed on Vael, cast in blue light and ever at his post. Not as close today. Yet the Grandmaster was still within view so it counted. Vael made up one of many shifting pieces in the wake of what was left, a piece of routine shed aside to make room for everything else. Barafu closed the gap between them, coming up on Vael’s right. If she squinted, it was as if Uji was looking down on them. Except he wasn’t.
Barafu closed her eyes for a moment, before glancing at the Arkanian beside her, tilting her head just enough to greet him.
Lula glanced over at the table saw a couple of bottles that she had silently brought over earlier. Uji’s favorite. One of her family tradition was to drink the deceased’s favorite drink for a few days.
Another tradition was that her family had were stories. One of them, they always believed when a physical body dies, their soul gets carried by the winds to their home. She always did wonder what her family would thought about the ones that died in the vast space. There was no winds to carry them home.
Despite that, the stories continued to pass down for centuries. Her parents always said that space wasn’t dead. That it’s constantly alive with winds.
She wondered if the stories from then was from a Force user that tied it to ‘winds’.
The Firrerreo female glanced around the room, it was odd. Ever since Bafforr’s death, she felt closer to Thane in the Force. She spotted him and a stranger by his side. They both were looking at the same direction. She turned to look at where they were looking, only to drop her head slightly. At the very least, Uji’s story was not lost nor will it ever be. Not after what he had done.
The Jedi wonder what stories will be told here, if any.
The moment she looked back to Thane, she saw another had joined. The corner of her lip curved into a small smile. Does Thane realize the support that was right by him?
The golden Firrerreo had made her way to the table and poured Uji’s drink and approached to Thane’s side. She pushed comforting thoughts only for a few seconds before it faded. She simply wanted him to know that she was here.
He allowed her to go through her emotions. Now it was her turn to do the same for him.
“I got you a drink, Moonlight.” She glanced over to the pair that was at his other side, “would yall like some too?”
-# <@185936112441622529> <@272527052396298242> <@1382824894877794314>
The academy locker room was quiet as Turel fixed his hair and fussed with his robes in the mirror. He had his Headmaster regalia tailored in the gold and white of the High Republic Jedi. They only came out for special occasions when Turel couldn’t get away with wearing ACS field researcher gear. Turel smiled for a moment; Uji hated the brightness and gawdiness of the Headmaster regalia, preferring simpler dress for himself. The Fist had rolled his eyes slightly when Turel explained his reasoning for wanting to be “loud and proud” about being a Jedi Master in charge of the Shadow Academy.
Turel clutched at a broken holocron that had become a bit of a comfort item for him. “What did you see old friend? What path must I take now?” He stared at the dull and fractured relic in his palm for a moment, almost as if expecting a reply. The moment passed and he shook his head before placing the holocron fragment in a GMRG locker set aside for him to use.
Upon entering the main hall, Turel paused to scan the room, he recognized most of the faces but his eyes fixed on a male Togorian towering above most of the crowd. The Jedi made his way across the room and approached the crimson-armored Togorian.
“Headmaster,” Rajhin brought his right fist across his chest and gave a slight bow in a salutaory gesture. The former Fist had a datapad in his left hand.
Turel awkwardly returned the bow, “Rajhin I never got the chance to thank you for earlier. For letting me stand the vigil with you and Barafu.” He paused for a moment to stop himself from choking up with emotion, “It meant a lot to me. It’s the least I could do to honor him.”
The Togorian nodded, “We must all honor Uji’s life in our own way,” he held up the datapad. “I have almost completed a ballad to honor his great deeds and glorious sacrifice.”
Turel glanced at the datapad, is that Shyriiwook? he pondered for a moment. It took every ounce of self-control to maintain a sabaac face at the thought of Rajhin giving a boisterous poetry recital. “I’m sure the ballad will be as epic as the man himself; now if you’ll excuse me for a minute.”
The Jedi Master made his way toward where Lula and Thane were standing.
<@216702440140046336> <@185936112441622529>
“What an ugly face you had.” Morgan huffed through her teeth as she solemnly observed the holo of Uji Tameike, far enough for anyone curious to hear her or even notice her. She had crept into the memorial, not deliberately stealthy but unwilling to bother anyone just yet. She had her own methods and rituals, after all. She’d have worn something more comfy, but in the interest of decency she dressed up in her customarily classy outfit of black suit, dress shoes, dress shirt, and jewelry. More than anything, the textures of the various fabrics did a lot of lifting to make it appropriately glamurous. Her tailor made sure of that. The old Anzellan certainly knew best, as she had come to learn.
Further, and fitting for a wake or a memorial of this pedigree, she wore her regalia of rings on her fingers, most from the campaigns she and Uji participated in together. Two crystal shot glasses, which she promptly deposited on the beautifully decorated bat table, filled to the brim with a translucent black liquid. Corellian Black. A vintage older than all of the people in the room put together.
“Damn ugly. I wish I’d punched it when I had the time.” She chugged the first glass in one gulp. That was for her.
“I was just starting to hate you less.” She took the other glass and paused, contemplating the liquid. Finally she raised it. “Rot in hell, you bastard. I’ll join you soon enough.” She gulped it down in one. That was for him, since he couldn’t do it himself.
She hissed out a breath, letting the strong liquor burn her insides. Burn away whatever the hell kind of conflicted feelings she was having. The man was a scughole. At least most of the time. So naturally she felt bad about his death, because that made all the sense in the galaxy. She shook her head at her own stupidity.
The man was…Uji was dead. He didn’t give a spit about any of it. In fact, if the damn Jedi were right and there is an afterlife, he was probably laughing at her right now. But she doubted that.
She took a moment to compose herself, get her thoughts in order, calm down, and then looked around the room to actually see who else was there.
Thane. Check. Thane feeling conflicted about his anger — probably conflicted, she couldn’t rightly tell or sense but she had a feeling about it — double check.
Lulaire, almost under his arm, being the emotional support. Check. “You go girl, but let him be angry just a little.”
Barafu and Rahjin, the local rugs, or blankets depending on who you ask. Check. For just a moment she felt a desire to give them catnip, but the thought faded quickly.
Vael. The bizarro Thane. Check. “Weird guy,” she thought.
And Turel. Her brother and most often the first victim of her assholery. She walked towards him, meeting him and the others part-way as they converged. “Grand Master.” She bowed slightly. It was her best attempt at polite, proper etiquette in a public setting. Formal, elegant, but with an undercurrent of annoyance only Thane and perhaps Turel could notice. She turned to her kin next. “Turel, nice speech. He’d have absolutely hated the pomp, but it was a nice touch.”
Turel’s uncharacteristically stoic face broke into a familiar grin, “yeah ol’ sourpuss would have hated it-” he stared at the holo-projection for a moment, “-it’s the least I could do. I’d say he’d have done the same for me but I doubt any eulogy from him would be over two sentences.”
The Jedi Master waved his hand in front of his face and overlaid a perfect recreation of Uji’s visage over his head in the perception of those nearby. “Turel was a lousy Jedi, and a card cheat. But there’s no one I’d rather have watching my back. That’s all.” His voice a pitch perfect recreation of his friend’s from memory. With a second wave of his hand the illusion was gone.
Sometimes you have to laugh through the pain, he thought as he waited to see if people laughed or were offended.
Vael had been waiting, knowing Barafu and Rahjin would need to navigate the politics of the social circles before he had the chance to approach them. As he waited, he listened to the myriad conversations taking place around him, noting the arrival of the Headmaster and the Herald even as his gaze drifted toward the entrances, where he observed the security detail provided by the Fist’s office for the councilors in attendance.
Surprisingly, he was not on duty for the evening, yet he still found himself included within the small circle of influential figures who had surrounded Uji’s professional and personal life.
Noticing that both of his trainers had arrived, he set out to greet them. Setting his drink aside, he made his way across the room, only to catch snippets of Morgan and Turel’s conversation. When the Headmaster mockingly adopted the late Fist’s mannerisms for a laugh, Vael felt his pulse begin to quicken as a familiar sensation of anger, bordering on rage, settled over him like a well-worn suit. His hands flexed at his sides as he turned toward the two councilors, uncertain what he should, or even could, do to stop them from continuing to mock his mentor.
He had taken only a single step before he felt a familiar hand settle on his shoulder. Taloned fingertips dug in just enough to seize his attention as Barafu pulled him back before the others took notice, the Togorian having spotted him and being far too familiar with the guardsman’s temper.
“Hello Praetor” Vael stated through gritted teeth.
“Hello Vael.” Barafu would normally release him by now, instead pulling on his shoulder to get Vael off of his intended path. The Praetor kept him close, taking precious steps away from a political disaster. Though she still hesitated to release him. Her claws retracted enough to avoid tearing the shoulder of his jacket, pressing the pads of her fingers down in their place.
To unfamiliar eyes, one could assume the Togorion hadn’t even seen what occurred. Her expression remained cordial yet morose, exhibiting the calm she hoped to impart on Vael. Yet, there was twitch to her ears that followed her glance to the councillor’s that said enough. The same part of Barafu that would laugh at Maeva’s morbid ramblings was currently meeting its match against hurt, offence and confusion. While seeing a dead man’s visage used so casually ended up being amusing in result, it certainly still rung as disturbing.
“That was weird.” Barafu’s tail flicked, conflicted agitation taking over her typical rigid control of it. “I think we should stay together, though, yes? Stick to who- or, well, what we know.”
“I think that would be wise… Have you had a drink yet?” Vael’s hands unclenched as the familiar voice of the Praetor calmed his frayed nerves.
He cast one last glance toward the Sorenns before turning to walk alongside Barafu toward the tables laden with the evening’s food and drink.
Thane took the offerred drink from Lulaire, briefly raising it towards Uji’s visage before throwing it back in a single gulp. It burned the entire way down.
Good.
After a deep inhale, the Firrerreo turned his black-gold gaze towards the others that had gathered. He understood on an intellectual level what they were all doing, handling things in their own way. It wasn’t something worth taking offense over. On the other hand, he felt an odd sense of responsibility towards Vael.
The engineered man had been Uji’s private pupil and the lessons were hardly complete. That said, Thane was most certainly not going to be of any help within the social space. That was one battlefield he was ill equipped to navigate.
“You forgot to smack your cane on the ground to punctuate the ending,” Thane remarked towards Turel.
Turel approached as Morgan followed. She noticed the conflicting emotions from Morgan. For a moment, she glanced back to Uji’s visual appearance.
Lula turned her gaze to Master Turel’s the moment his voice changed and blinked at him in surprise at him using the illusion. His decision to take on Uji’s appearance.
Greif was complicated.
Healing was always messy.
So was the emotions that arose at Turel’s choice. The sorrow was already heavy in this room but there’s some anger lurking underneath it.
The storm suddenly rose and the winds was staring to howl. For a moment there, she thought it was Thane’s. It was not. It was the man that was standing beside Thane. She watched as the Praetor stilled the storm and they both started to walk away.
Thane’s was the same since Uji’s death. A flickering flame in the midst of a storm.
The golden Firrerreo swiftly took Thane’s glass to swap it with hers as she softly murmured to him in Firrerreo. Her free hand gently touched his arm as she gave him a small squeeze in reassurance.
Lula released her grip and made her way to the table where Vael and Barafu had retreated to. Vael’s storm at a dangerous whisper.
The Praetor’s? Mostly confusion. Upset. Lula placed the glass she took from Thane onto tray for dirty dishes for the staff to take to the back. She grabbed the water pitcher, a cup, and started to pour the water into the cup.
“Would either of you like some water? Or somethin’ stronger?“ Lula asked, turned slightly to look at the pair.
Barafu paused their walk along the table, smiling politely at Lulaire. She’d heard about the woman, being connected to the Grandmaster had that effect. Being spoken to caused her to finally release Vael, at the very least.
“I probably.. shouldn’t take anything stronger.” She spoke gently. In a way she wanted to imbibe, she was allowed to again but with Vael and the intent to maintain visible calm… “Water would be welcome though, thank you.”
She glanced around for an empty cup, finding a stack and pulling two free from it.
Vael let his eyes fall from the councilor’s now-distant figure as he felt Barafu’s paw withdraw from his shoulder, his own hand unconsciously moving to cover the absence of that reassuring touch.
His gaze slowly came back into focus as he recognized the Grandmaster’s paramour.
“Thank you,” he said quietly as he accepted the cup from Barafu, offering a nod to both women.
After taking a sip, he shook his head and let out a deep sigh.
“My apologies for the disruption.”
Lula gave him a friendly smile, “It’s no disruption. Nothin’ like when Uncle Leroinks died. A swift kick in the head by an orbak. Down he went. His favorite bantha was not happy that he was dead, caused a stampede right at the funeral and before we can even light his body on fire, the bantha pooped right on him. Though… the bantha was right by his side as his ashes was carried by the wind and over the ocean. His body burned brighter, actually. Maybe it was the poop.”
Lula chuckled at the memory and then sighed.
“My condolences to you both. Do you… have any stories to share about Uji? I never got the honor to know him. Just… one or two things from Tha- Darth Renatus.”
-# <@272527052396298242> <@1382824894877794314>
Oh Maeva would like Lulaire. That was the first thought that flitted through Barafu’s mind, providing her a precious few seconds before feeling the need to provide a reaction. She smiled faintly, a touch awkward as she sipped on her drink.
“Mostly all small moments. The only one that sticks out currently… Well.” Her tail flicked behind her, “It was right before the battle. I had geared up and as I walked past he stopped me. Made sure I had my Bisento with me and told me to keep it with me at all times through the fight. It was intense. He was. He saved my life.”
On instinct she shifted, the rough texture of bandages still pulling on her fur in awkward ways where it lay hidden beneath her robes.
Vael watched Barafu’s movement. The moment they had settled in orbit over the Collective, he had sought any reports of her and been told of the injuries she had received.
For weeks, months before the conflict, he had watched Uji seek visions of the future through the Force. The visions never came clear. Just pieces. Hints of what might come. More than once the normally reserved Councilor had lost his patience with them. Every time though, he’d changed something. A deployment. An order. A plan. Always making sure the people he’d chosen had the best chance of surviving.
Vael knew he and Barafu were alive because of those choices.
He could have just as easily died alongside the countless others who fought on the surface or aboard the other ships. Instead, Uji had made certain he remained aboard the flagship with Thane.
The memory of watching The Pride’s hull give way still sat heavy in his chest. The Force pulled at that memory even now, urging him to reach into the anger and grief it carried, to make use of it.
This was neither the time nor the place.
As Barafu finished speaking, Vael answered.
“When they brought me to Arx, it was because the mining consortium traded my contract. I figured I was just being sent somewhere else. Another world. Another mine.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Instead I found Uji… and a very shy new Praetor.”
His eyes settled on Barafu for a moment.
“Didn’t know what a Praetor was back then. Didn’t know much of anything”
Now that was something Lulaire didn’t know about Uji. It almost sounded like Barafu was indicating that Uji had the curse of seeing visions.
She still never quite forgave the Force for inflicting such a curse on her twin sister.
But then Thane was gifted with a vision that Lula couldn’t help but hopes it becomes true. Among all this pain and darkness he’s going through, it would be some joy and hope.
Just maybe, Farsight can be a gift.
Her vibrant orange eyes met with Vael’s as her lip curved into a small smile, “I’m just goin’ to be a bit bold here and say, he saw somethin’ in you.” Her eyes moved to meet with Barafu’s. She wanted to ask something but wasn’t quite sure if Barafu wanted such a conversation here.
She then chuckled, “Right, I reckon I was a bit rude there and forgot to introduce myself. I’m Lulaire, but you can call me Lula.”
-# <@1382824894877794314> <@272527052396298242>
“It is good to officially meet you, I have heard small snippets of you from the Grandmaster. And considering his enjoyment of silence speaks volumes.” Vael returned as he finished the drink and set the glass aside and straightened to his full height allowing the situation to pass.