Sirdi Kōhō
Oct 24th, 2016, 07:25:32 PM
Peace & Krayt Dragons
Thick, slanted, steel, sterile, grey walls slanted in at the cold floor. The room curved to it’s surroundings. Chambers next door bustled with life but their treble couldn’t pierce the solid divide. A tall walk way rose up and along the wall to another level. The ceiling was high. The room seem empty. The mumble and spark of a cerulean blur was the only life in the vast grey hardiness. All of it was stuffed in the west wing. The blue was a holovid. A screen projected from the mobile pad plopped by the entrance wall. Cast out was a floating azure human figure, hands clasped before him, hair seemingly white and face wrinkled. Robes draped over his frail frame. Short in stature, he wore his hair in braids but adorned a lengthy beard to his pale features. No mustache draped over his lips as his sideburns trailed down into his furry face. His brows were bushy and eased above his gaze as he stared off into his empty audience blurting a soliloquy, “Perseverance is the way. Lower your knees.”
Sweet sticky sweat beads bathed both the young man’s head, neck and back. White shirts always revealed the most: stains, colors, persistence. The tireless workouts showed themselves on the crumpled worn shirt. Hours had passed. Brown grime grinded along the neck as light gray patches drenched the armpits and chest & back. It stuck to his back like a leech, slurping as much as the perspiring as it could. His white t-shirt had seen many days. The sleeves were short. The chest was short too. It nearly forgot to cover his belly-button and waist. Loose pants draped down his leg as he bent. At the knee he split his legs back, his back like a poke. Posture was key. Footwork was the objective. His peer bore brightly into the empty cargo hold. Above his head rose his hand, flat and up. Above the palm floated a hilt. It was horizontal. And, it was only a few inches from falling into his grip.
The invisible strings attached to the shimmering hilt twirled the saber’s grip. The hilt spun about. Time only amplified the speed by the second and furrowed his brow. The eyes tighten and tugged wrinkles into form at the corner of his eyes: he focused. The deep stare strained a snarl to warp his lips; the upper lip contorted into a bumpy curve to bear his teeth. The hilt spun even faster. Deep puffs of airs lifted his chest to the sky. Seconds passed and the air sailed from his lungs to deflate his twisted face. As it seeped out his nasal, so fell the hilt. The quiet plunk of the saber handle in his palm sent his fingers into a sudden grip. Before he could blink, his holding hand’s shoulder pulled up and the hilt was above his head with both hands vice-gripped. His back foot swept forward to the dangerous buzz of his saber coming to life. The blue hue matched the holo-feed as the holo-record played out in the background.
“Swing forth, up, down and around. Follow the foot-work, from bend to stand and back again.”
They were orders. He followed them. The young man thin frame was stuffed with veins that streamed his forearms. Soldier work was in his past. He knew how to follow orders, especially physical ones. His blade came down in a swift swing. Then back up above his head, pointing horizontal. He twirled it above his crown like a helicopter before stepping back. The motions were jarring yet smooth as he hunched at every cut down and up. Sheer force and power were thrown into it in exchange for a grace only his footsteps styled. Each step was planted softly. He tread the cool grounds only two paces forth, but paced back the same. Practice ensured the muscle memory was less recalled and more instinctual. The repetition of the forth and back ensured his knees could jolt into a bend at a the most thoughtless of moments; fights didn’t require the mind for action, only strategy.
Every day for weeks he was weaponizing himself. Sirdi didn’t float to the planet a war machine, nor would he leave one, but he did exercise his lethalness. Given the workout tutorials by Master Wei when he arrived, he hadn’t taken a day off in his own personal blade swaying training. At times he’d take to the field. Other days the sunshine was too bright to waste on sweaty hours amidst the trees alone. Instead, he’d crawl into the dead dungeons in the decks aboard the grounded Whaladon. Classmates, cantina patrons and Alliance officers chirped about it’s history. Many Jedi drifted from those depths once before settlement. They warmed the cargo holds with the hum of saber slicing & deflecting madness. Once his curiosity was peaked, he drifted to the lower quarters. There he could still feel the clamor of excitement others wore in those rooms. Amid the blade swinging, flashes of greatness filled the chambers as phantoms whom watched on in his mind. Masters who formed the council trained in the very rooms he walked and learned the forms Master Wei graciously passed along with a simple file transfer & download.
Uploaded to his brain and abuzz in the rooms of his training were the incessant instructions he had learned to do without. Yet, the chatter was easing. Silence was solace for the introvert, but without another voice, sound, music, or something, a guy like Sirdi found it hard to function. He was not exactly a loner. Still, he liked going about the regiment alone. While the holo-feed could be distracting, there was no way he’d focus with the jabber of some laser-brain duel work-out partner. Playmates were fun though.
“And lift the saber above your head. Your opponents are coming. Prepare.” The holo-vid signaled the connected remotes. Four floated from his trainer bag, bumping one another before drifting into a semi-circle around Sidi. Reserved behind his full lips was a cackle as one-sided smile lifted his cheeks on the right-hand side.
“Lets go…!”
-----------------
2 weeks later
Boredom was Sirdi’s biggest enemy. Regiments, training, practice was one thing. Routine, repetition was another. Too many days stuck him in the dark solitude of the grounded behemoth called Whaladon. He had to go out with the trees. The daily dull of dicing air was dumbing him down. He needed out. He needed air.
Orange, green and browns spilled over and out along the land. Daylight yellow sparked from the heavens as the roar of shipment fly-ins tore amongst the white & blueness. Under the bright mustard skies crunched tall grass to the drop of careful footsteps. Sirdi parted from out the trail. Hills ebbed and flowed as he surfed the sides to it’s high only to see more ahead. Atop the green piles, he felt the ever swaying dangly thumping from his belt line. A knotted thick string strung his saber for an endless swinging at his side, only to be interrupted when danger (or fun) called. Hopefully danger would never come, but he was out here to prepare for when it would.
Oh, and he’d be ready; he walked down the hill into a brush adjacent. There was certainly some trees he could chop down around the bend.
Thick, slanted, steel, sterile, grey walls slanted in at the cold floor. The room curved to it’s surroundings. Chambers next door bustled with life but their treble couldn’t pierce the solid divide. A tall walk way rose up and along the wall to another level. The ceiling was high. The room seem empty. The mumble and spark of a cerulean blur was the only life in the vast grey hardiness. All of it was stuffed in the west wing. The blue was a holovid. A screen projected from the mobile pad plopped by the entrance wall. Cast out was a floating azure human figure, hands clasped before him, hair seemingly white and face wrinkled. Robes draped over his frail frame. Short in stature, he wore his hair in braids but adorned a lengthy beard to his pale features. No mustache draped over his lips as his sideburns trailed down into his furry face. His brows were bushy and eased above his gaze as he stared off into his empty audience blurting a soliloquy, “Perseverance is the way. Lower your knees.”
Sweet sticky sweat beads bathed both the young man’s head, neck and back. White shirts always revealed the most: stains, colors, persistence. The tireless workouts showed themselves on the crumpled worn shirt. Hours had passed. Brown grime grinded along the neck as light gray patches drenched the armpits and chest & back. It stuck to his back like a leech, slurping as much as the perspiring as it could. His white t-shirt had seen many days. The sleeves were short. The chest was short too. It nearly forgot to cover his belly-button and waist. Loose pants draped down his leg as he bent. At the knee he split his legs back, his back like a poke. Posture was key. Footwork was the objective. His peer bore brightly into the empty cargo hold. Above his head rose his hand, flat and up. Above the palm floated a hilt. It was horizontal. And, it was only a few inches from falling into his grip.
The invisible strings attached to the shimmering hilt twirled the saber’s grip. The hilt spun about. Time only amplified the speed by the second and furrowed his brow. The eyes tighten and tugged wrinkles into form at the corner of his eyes: he focused. The deep stare strained a snarl to warp his lips; the upper lip contorted into a bumpy curve to bear his teeth. The hilt spun even faster. Deep puffs of airs lifted his chest to the sky. Seconds passed and the air sailed from his lungs to deflate his twisted face. As it seeped out his nasal, so fell the hilt. The quiet plunk of the saber handle in his palm sent his fingers into a sudden grip. Before he could blink, his holding hand’s shoulder pulled up and the hilt was above his head with both hands vice-gripped. His back foot swept forward to the dangerous buzz of his saber coming to life. The blue hue matched the holo-feed as the holo-record played out in the background.
“Swing forth, up, down and around. Follow the foot-work, from bend to stand and back again.”
They were orders. He followed them. The young man thin frame was stuffed with veins that streamed his forearms. Soldier work was in his past. He knew how to follow orders, especially physical ones. His blade came down in a swift swing. Then back up above his head, pointing horizontal. He twirled it above his crown like a helicopter before stepping back. The motions were jarring yet smooth as he hunched at every cut down and up. Sheer force and power were thrown into it in exchange for a grace only his footsteps styled. Each step was planted softly. He tread the cool grounds only two paces forth, but paced back the same. Practice ensured the muscle memory was less recalled and more instinctual. The repetition of the forth and back ensured his knees could jolt into a bend at a the most thoughtless of moments; fights didn’t require the mind for action, only strategy.
Every day for weeks he was weaponizing himself. Sirdi didn’t float to the planet a war machine, nor would he leave one, but he did exercise his lethalness. Given the workout tutorials by Master Wei when he arrived, he hadn’t taken a day off in his own personal blade swaying training. At times he’d take to the field. Other days the sunshine was too bright to waste on sweaty hours amidst the trees alone. Instead, he’d crawl into the dead dungeons in the decks aboard the grounded Whaladon. Classmates, cantina patrons and Alliance officers chirped about it’s history. Many Jedi drifted from those depths once before settlement. They warmed the cargo holds with the hum of saber slicing & deflecting madness. Once his curiosity was peaked, he drifted to the lower quarters. There he could still feel the clamor of excitement others wore in those rooms. Amid the blade swinging, flashes of greatness filled the chambers as phantoms whom watched on in his mind. Masters who formed the council trained in the very rooms he walked and learned the forms Master Wei graciously passed along with a simple file transfer & download.
Uploaded to his brain and abuzz in the rooms of his training were the incessant instructions he had learned to do without. Yet, the chatter was easing. Silence was solace for the introvert, but without another voice, sound, music, or something, a guy like Sirdi found it hard to function. He was not exactly a loner. Still, he liked going about the regiment alone. While the holo-feed could be distracting, there was no way he’d focus with the jabber of some laser-brain duel work-out partner. Playmates were fun though.
“And lift the saber above your head. Your opponents are coming. Prepare.” The holo-vid signaled the connected remotes. Four floated from his trainer bag, bumping one another before drifting into a semi-circle around Sidi. Reserved behind his full lips was a cackle as one-sided smile lifted his cheeks on the right-hand side.
“Lets go…!”
-----------------
2 weeks later
Boredom was Sirdi’s biggest enemy. Regiments, training, practice was one thing. Routine, repetition was another. Too many days stuck him in the dark solitude of the grounded behemoth called Whaladon. He had to go out with the trees. The daily dull of dicing air was dumbing him down. He needed out. He needed air.
Orange, green and browns spilled over and out along the land. Daylight yellow sparked from the heavens as the roar of shipment fly-ins tore amongst the white & blueness. Under the bright mustard skies crunched tall grass to the drop of careful footsteps. Sirdi parted from out the trail. Hills ebbed and flowed as he surfed the sides to it’s high only to see more ahead. Atop the green piles, he felt the ever swaying dangly thumping from his belt line. A knotted thick string strung his saber for an endless swinging at his side, only to be interrupted when danger (or fun) called. Hopefully danger would never come, but he was out here to prepare for when it would.
Oh, and he’d be ready; he walked down the hill into a brush adjacent. There was certainly some trees he could chop down around the bend.