Daen C'allyx
Oct 23rd, 2003, 02:51:10 PM
The Book of Pranks
Studying was always a pain. A big hairy pain with webbed feet. No, it was a red, spike-encrusted pain with sharp teeth and—
“Padawan.”
Daen smiled at the warning given from the common room of the quarters he shared with is master Iro Kann. The little boy sighed and straightened in his chair, pulling a datapad closer. A few moments later a prolonged gurgling sound followed by a short bark of surprise was heard from outside the lads room. Daen slipped off his seat quickly and ran into the kitchenette. There stood his master before the automated washer, fur sopping wet and knee deep in bubbles. Daen’s mouth dropped open and the apprentice gave a little squeal as a lake of water crept over his bare feet. The boy grinned up at his master.
“What happened?” He asked in an awed voice. Iro sighed, his long ropy tail and pointy ears drooping simultaneously in exasperation.
“I put too much soap in.”
Daen watched from the dry safety of the table. Staring contemplatively at the bubbles the boy said,
“It looks like a fizzbomb went off in here.”
Iro looked at the seven-year-old carefully.
“How would you know that?”
“Me’n Ze—” The boy stopped. Iro cleared his throat.
“You and Ze what?” The Knight pressed. Daen shrugged, blushing.
“I mean, I guess this is what a fizzbomb’d look like.”
“I see. And I suppose you don’t know anything about the fizzbomb that exploded in the student level girls bathroom yesterday?”
Daen fidgeted under his master’s scrutinizing gaze. He twiddled his thumbs absently.
“It was Ze’s idea—”
Iro cleared his throat sternly. Daen ducked his head and in a small voice said, “I helped.”
The Knight shook his head.
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you already knew?” The ever-helpful Apprentice supplied. Iro chuckled softly and reached out to tug Daen’s braid affectionately. The Jedi nodded.
“Yes Padawan. I always know.”
Daen grinned and then,
“Master, if I promise never to do it again can I not get punished?”
“I didn’t know you were such a comedian Padawan.”
The boy frowned and tried again.
“I’m really sorry.”
His master nodded sagely.
“I’m sure you are. Now come and help me clean this up and then you can go see Master Lrig; she has some chores for you and Ze.”
The dark-haired boy groaned loudly as he slid off the table and into the sudsy water. Iro looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“And then you can come back here and meditate on why you’re being punished and why you’ll never do it again.”
“Because I got caught.” Daen grumbled under his breath.
“Padawan.”
“Sorry.”
Daen sighed and began to swipe at the water. Suddenly he grinned.
“It sure was funny though!
If there was one thing Daen C’allyx could, and did, use the Force for it was meditating. It took up far too much of his time now. The young man rarely slept anymore. Instead, when his eyes could barely remain open he would yet again slip into a heightened state of awareness, an endless stream of sense. It did well to refresh him enough to last another standard hour, at least.
Daen and his master Iro Kann had been sent on an extraction mission, their prerogative being to rescue a prominent political figure being held hostage by a group of rebels who had been planning to use her to sway a treaty in their favor. It was true that these sorts of missions were usually reserved for Knights or Masters that did not have apprentices, but Iro and Daen had earned a reputation as more than capable and willing to handle hostage situations. The duo was a skilled pair, both preferring physical solutions over diplomatic negotiating. There had been close calls over the years, and the Council had almost put an end to the assignments, but the Master-Padawan team had always been quick to assure them otherwise.
Until that last mission. Something had gone terribly wrong. The very rebel group that they had come to infiltrate had captured the Jedi team. Specifics were not known, but it was ominously evident that in the two months before the padawan and the body of his master had been recovered that they had been brutally tortured. Daen was near death when a second Jedi team rescued him.
The padawan spent weeks in a Bacta tank, and even now he had not completely recovered from the physical wounds. The worst damage however had been psychological and emotional. For eight weeks after the Bacta tank Daen had remained in a near-comatose state, and his already ravaged frame had continued to shed pounds.
When he had marginally recovered the boy had gone to the Council chambers and asked that he be allowed to go and find his master. The request brought with it apprehension; did the boy not even remember that Iro was gone? Yes, he’d been at the Healers when the ceremony of the Knights cremation occurred but surely he hadn’t forgotten? After a little probing it was found that, while the lad did indeed remember his teacher was gone, he had completely blanked out all of his training.
After the initial discovery of his memory loss, Daen had made little progress; he seemed to be regressing in fact. So now, nine months after the horrific event that the young man had survived, he found himself breaking out of meditation in his travelling quarters; he had arrived on Coruscant.. The Council had decided, in all their infinite wisdom, that he needed a fresh start.
Daen didn’t care.
It was not for another few hours that the boy arrived in the recruitment center of the Coruscant Order. Daen had been a handsome young man before, but now there were a million little things that gave him a menacing appearance. His dark hair was growing in a disheveled pattern, some spots longer than others. A chunk of flesh was missing from his right ear, his nose was crooked from being broken again and again, a few teeth were missing, and a jagged scar ran from the left corner of his bottom lip in a graceful curve down to his Adams apple. One of his gray-green eyes was clouded in partial blindness. The young man walked with a noticeable limp, and his hands were a mess of shaking nerves. He wore a heavy Jedi cloak wrapped around his body for warmth, and also to disguise his dramatically thin self.
As he walked up to the small desk in the corner, Daen looked around. This place was far different from the temple he had grown up in and yet the young man felt absolutely nothing because he had not been expecting anything.
Did they have expectations? Daen didn’t know, he hadn’t been made aware of what information had been sent before him.
Daen set down a small canvas bag that held a few of his belongings and gave a stiff bow to the one behind the desk. When he spoke, his whole voice undermined the devilish appearance, quiet and tired. He pulled the edges of his cloak closer.
“I’m Daen C’allyx. I’m supposed to check in when I get here. I’m expected.”
Studying was always a pain. A big hairy pain with webbed feet. No, it was a red, spike-encrusted pain with sharp teeth and—
“Padawan.”
Daen smiled at the warning given from the common room of the quarters he shared with is master Iro Kann. The little boy sighed and straightened in his chair, pulling a datapad closer. A few moments later a prolonged gurgling sound followed by a short bark of surprise was heard from outside the lads room. Daen slipped off his seat quickly and ran into the kitchenette. There stood his master before the automated washer, fur sopping wet and knee deep in bubbles. Daen’s mouth dropped open and the apprentice gave a little squeal as a lake of water crept over his bare feet. The boy grinned up at his master.
“What happened?” He asked in an awed voice. Iro sighed, his long ropy tail and pointy ears drooping simultaneously in exasperation.
“I put too much soap in.”
Daen watched from the dry safety of the table. Staring contemplatively at the bubbles the boy said,
“It looks like a fizzbomb went off in here.”
Iro looked at the seven-year-old carefully.
“How would you know that?”
“Me’n Ze—” The boy stopped. Iro cleared his throat.
“You and Ze what?” The Knight pressed. Daen shrugged, blushing.
“I mean, I guess this is what a fizzbomb’d look like.”
“I see. And I suppose you don’t know anything about the fizzbomb that exploded in the student level girls bathroom yesterday?”
Daen fidgeted under his master’s scrutinizing gaze. He twiddled his thumbs absently.
“It was Ze’s idea—”
Iro cleared his throat sternly. Daen ducked his head and in a small voice said, “I helped.”
The Knight shook his head.
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you already knew?” The ever-helpful Apprentice supplied. Iro chuckled softly and reached out to tug Daen’s braid affectionately. The Jedi nodded.
“Yes Padawan. I always know.”
Daen grinned and then,
“Master, if I promise never to do it again can I not get punished?”
“I didn’t know you were such a comedian Padawan.”
The boy frowned and tried again.
“I’m really sorry.”
His master nodded sagely.
“I’m sure you are. Now come and help me clean this up and then you can go see Master Lrig; she has some chores for you and Ze.”
The dark-haired boy groaned loudly as he slid off the table and into the sudsy water. Iro looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“And then you can come back here and meditate on why you’re being punished and why you’ll never do it again.”
“Because I got caught.” Daen grumbled under his breath.
“Padawan.”
“Sorry.”
Daen sighed and began to swipe at the water. Suddenly he grinned.
“It sure was funny though!
If there was one thing Daen C’allyx could, and did, use the Force for it was meditating. It took up far too much of his time now. The young man rarely slept anymore. Instead, when his eyes could barely remain open he would yet again slip into a heightened state of awareness, an endless stream of sense. It did well to refresh him enough to last another standard hour, at least.
Daen and his master Iro Kann had been sent on an extraction mission, their prerogative being to rescue a prominent political figure being held hostage by a group of rebels who had been planning to use her to sway a treaty in their favor. It was true that these sorts of missions were usually reserved for Knights or Masters that did not have apprentices, but Iro and Daen had earned a reputation as more than capable and willing to handle hostage situations. The duo was a skilled pair, both preferring physical solutions over diplomatic negotiating. There had been close calls over the years, and the Council had almost put an end to the assignments, but the Master-Padawan team had always been quick to assure them otherwise.
Until that last mission. Something had gone terribly wrong. The very rebel group that they had come to infiltrate had captured the Jedi team. Specifics were not known, but it was ominously evident that in the two months before the padawan and the body of his master had been recovered that they had been brutally tortured. Daen was near death when a second Jedi team rescued him.
The padawan spent weeks in a Bacta tank, and even now he had not completely recovered from the physical wounds. The worst damage however had been psychological and emotional. For eight weeks after the Bacta tank Daen had remained in a near-comatose state, and his already ravaged frame had continued to shed pounds.
When he had marginally recovered the boy had gone to the Council chambers and asked that he be allowed to go and find his master. The request brought with it apprehension; did the boy not even remember that Iro was gone? Yes, he’d been at the Healers when the ceremony of the Knights cremation occurred but surely he hadn’t forgotten? After a little probing it was found that, while the lad did indeed remember his teacher was gone, he had completely blanked out all of his training.
After the initial discovery of his memory loss, Daen had made little progress; he seemed to be regressing in fact. So now, nine months after the horrific event that the young man had survived, he found himself breaking out of meditation in his travelling quarters; he had arrived on Coruscant.. The Council had decided, in all their infinite wisdom, that he needed a fresh start.
Daen didn’t care.
It was not for another few hours that the boy arrived in the recruitment center of the Coruscant Order. Daen had been a handsome young man before, but now there were a million little things that gave him a menacing appearance. His dark hair was growing in a disheveled pattern, some spots longer than others. A chunk of flesh was missing from his right ear, his nose was crooked from being broken again and again, a few teeth were missing, and a jagged scar ran from the left corner of his bottom lip in a graceful curve down to his Adams apple. One of his gray-green eyes was clouded in partial blindness. The young man walked with a noticeable limp, and his hands were a mess of shaking nerves. He wore a heavy Jedi cloak wrapped around his body for warmth, and also to disguise his dramatically thin self.
As he walked up to the small desk in the corner, Daen looked around. This place was far different from the temple he had grown up in and yet the young man felt absolutely nothing because he had not been expecting anything.
Did they have expectations? Daen didn’t know, he hadn’t been made aware of what information had been sent before him.
Daen set down a small canvas bag that held a few of his belongings and gave a stiff bow to the one behind the desk. When he spoke, his whole voice undermined the devilish appearance, quiet and tired. He pulled the edges of his cloak closer.
“I’m Daen C’allyx. I’m supposed to check in when I get here. I’m expected.”