Lúka
Aug 28th, 2017, 03:22:30 PM
Jumping on the Liz-inspired A-Z bandwagon with Christin (https://theholo.net/forum/showthread.php?57365-A-to-Z) and Sarah (https://www.theholo.net/forum/showthread.php?57387-The-Soundtrack-(A-Z)) with some insight into the backstory of Inyos Aamoran and Lúka Jibral (Master and Padawan). These moments may be flawed/subjective, depending on whose perspective it is from, and some moment may show up several times from different angles.
Apprentice
A Jedi should not know fear. Of the lessons Lúka had been taught here at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, few were more fundamental than that. Fear was the first step on the path to the dark side. Fear of loss, fear of failure, fear of outcomes beyond your control, those clouded a Jedi's perspetive, infecting him with doubt and hesitation that might cost him his life, or the lives of those he was charged with protecting. Yet, fear was an essential part of life: the foundation of every survival instinct, every impulse that cautioned you against danger and recklessness. Worse, the teachings of the Jedi instilled further sources of fear: cautionary tales of mishandled lightsabers, warnings against the seductive dangers of the darkness, consequences for those who did not ascend from the ranks of Youngling before they became too old for Padawan training, and more besides.
The hardest for Lúka to comprehend was the fear of fear itself. Unlike many of the Younglings in his class, Lúka knew fear. He was not a coward, of that he was certain: but of late he had been plagued by nightmares, dark dreams that haunted him even after waking, half-remembered flashes of golden eyes, of the scent of lightsaber through flesh, of Jedi bodies strewn lifeless at his feet. The Council said he was not ready. They said he felt too much, that his emotions were too wild, too unpredictable. The shadow of Dooku was long, and fresh, and so they would not banish him - afraid to tarnish the Order's reputation any further, perhaps - but they warned that he would not advance; that he would remain among the Younglings until he was too old, and then progress into the Service Corps, where all failed Jedi found themselves. The AgriCorps or the EduCorps, those were the destinies that lay before him, unless somehow his emotional turmoil could be subdued. That potential disgrace, that fear of failure, was the swirling magmatic core beneath his maelstrom of emotion, worsened by every report of Republic defeat, and every familiar name that graced the casualty reports. Friends, classmates, brothers and sisters from his Clan:they fought for their Republic, and for their Jedi Order, while Lúka merely languished, stewing in his own failures.
He shifted in his seat, another reluctant glance cast at the florid and enigmatic words that graced the display of the datapad clutched in his hands. He had obtained the contents - the allegedly sage teachings of some Jedi philosophy from thirty-six centuries prior - from the Archives on the instruction of a Jedi Knight; one who had vanished offworld without a word some weeks ago. Inyos Aamoran had been his name: one that Lúka only vaguely recognised. A Padawan until recently, if memory served; and clearly one who had forgotten how things were supposed to work between Knights and Younglings. Perhaps it had merely been an exercise of newfound authority, an instruction provided merely to see if Lúka would follow. If there was a lesson to be learned here, Aamoran had certainly left no indication of what it might be, and Lúka could not decipher it from the texts themselves, despite three weeks of intense scrutiny. All the exerise had left him with was a knot of frustration reserved for the Knight in question, and an irritated curiosity at how the Jedi who had chronicled Master Ari''ana's teachings could have endured listening to such pretentious tedium for so long.
Lúka would have his answer, though. As he sat, he waited in ambush, knowing that at any moment the returning Knight Aamoran would land back on Coruscant after his weeks in the Outer Rim, pass through the main doors, stride into this corridor -
"Lúka Jibral?"
The Youngling's attention snapped up from the datapad, so consumed in his thoughts that he neither saw nor sensed the Knight approach, nor his two companions. The knot of irritation tightened. Aamoran seemed to react, exchanging a wordless glance with the Jedi beside him, his verdant robes a far cry from the generic creams and browns that Aamoran wore. A subsequent glance was shared between the verdant Jedi and the Clone Trooper that completed their triad, his scuffed and scorched armour a style he didn't quite recognise, despite Lúka's obsessive study of the Battle of Geonosis reports, and every other shred of information about the war effort he could get his hands on.
"Master Aamoran," Lúka replied, wielding the Knight's sleuthed identity like a victory trophy.
The response came slowly, almost painfully so, Aamoran seeming to invest considerable time in contemplating his words. Lúka used those few moments as an opportunity to study the Knight: young features, and piercing blue eyes, but otherwise as ordinary a human as one could find. Just his luck: a Knight had finally taken an interest in him, and they wound up being the most bland and boring Knight in the history of the Order.
"I see you took my advice," Aamoran said at last, gesturing to the datapad and it's presumed contents. "Good."
And that was all: the entirety of conversation that Aamoran was prepared to offer before he walked away, viridian companion in tow. A dozen paces passed before Aamoran stopped, and turned.
"Well? Come on, we don't want to keep the Council waiting."
Silence was all that Lúka could respond with, a few seconds of absolute confusion passing before he slid to his feet and began to follow in Aamoran's wake. The Council? Which one? Surely it was too soon for him to stand before the Council of Reassignment and accept his fate; and yet these were different times now, amid the war with the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Perhaps there was no longer time to wait for his age to exclude him from the mainstream Order; perhaps the Service Corps were to take a more active role in the Grand Army of the Republic, just as the Jedi Knights had. It was not the means of service he had hoped for, but perhaps the Exploration Corps, perhaps a role in reconnaissance aiding his fellow Jedi? The mere notion of ending his inprisonment here at the Temple filled him with enough excitement to quicken his pace, drawing alongside Aamoran rather than trailing behind.
But no: quickly, Lúka realised that his assumption must be false. There would be no need for a Clone to accompany Aamoran if this was merely internal Jedi business; nor was that likely to be their first destination upon returning from a mission. A few more corridors confirmed it:they would have made a right if they had been headed to northeast tower; instead they continued onwards, headed towards the southwest: the High Council. The familiar sense of fear and dread began to stir within Lúka's chest. What had he done? What further disappointment had he become to the Jedi Order?
"Master Aamoran -"
The repeated words were all that Lúka was allowed to say. Inyos responded as if his words were prepared, simply waiting for Lúka to trigger it by speaking.
"We are about to debrief with the High Council regarding our last mission," Aamoran explained. His voice was strange: not dismissive as if the answer was obvious, but unexpectedly calm and patient. It clashed with the version of Aamoran that Lúka had constructed in his mind, carefully built out of fragments of frustration. "It seemed prudent that my new Padawan be present, rather than have to recount the mission to you separately."
In an instant, the bottom fell out of Lúka's stomach. This was a mistake. An error. Master Aamoran had confused him with a different Youngling, and that truth was about to be revealed before the High Council, to their mutual embarassment. Lúka should speak up; should say something; but his voice struggled and protested in his throat. Perhaps there was a chance, an opportunity to his benefit. if he only remained silent, if he allowed the mistake to persist, perhaps it would be too late to undo the steps that had been taken by then. Perhaps -
His better sensibilities refused to indulge that train of thought for even a moment longer.
"You can't."
The blunt statement was accompanied by Lúka coming to a complete halt in the corridor. His hands gripped tighter around the datapad, the knuckles on his already pale hands turning whiter still. He searched his mind for what to say, how best to convey the doubts that the Jedi Order had instilled within him. Every sentence he tried to construct collapsed upon itself however, leaving only one single result. His eyes turned down to the datapad in shame, his hands holding it towards Aamoran.
"I did not understand your lesson, Master Jedi."
Something softened in Aamoran's expression. He offered a brief nod to his clone and his companion, and without a word they continued on their course, leaving Aamoran alone in the corridor with Lúka. A few short strides retraced his path, and he dropped to a knee, a hand resting gently atop the datapad.
"My Master urged me to read these teachings when I became his Padawan, so that I might understand him better. My intention for you was the same."
His brow furrowed, and Lúka sensed the faintest hint of reluctance in advance of Aamoran's next words.
"As a Youngling, I struggled to comprehend the spiritual side of the Force. I understood it in practical terms, in how I could shape it and utilise it, but the mysticism and philosophy of it all? It felt archaic, at odds with the structured way we learn to understand the rest of the world. At first, these words and teachings baffled me as well, until one day, one by one, they did not. Slowly, I came to understand that there was no distinction between my Force, and the Force of others: I merely comprehended in a different way, and had only to learn how to conceive the Force in my own terms."
Silence fell again, and Aamoran patiently waited until Lúka's eyes climbed upwards, meeting his.
"The Council had their doubts about me, as well. My Master saw in me what they did not: his faith, and the opportunity he provided, allowed me to prove those thoughts false. I see a little of myself in you, Lúka, and so I offer you that same chance. Will you take it? Will you let me help you prove them wrong?"
The maelstrom inside Lúka shifted. The shame didn't dissipate, but rather transformed, a similar weight of doubt and unworthiness turning the eye contact between him and Aamoran into a struggle. Something else stirred as well though, a flicker of resolve, carving through his thoughts like the gleam of a lightsaber in the night. He mustered a small nod.
"I will try, Master."
A faint flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of Aamoran's mouth. "I would not let Master Yoda hear you say that, if I were you."
Apprentice
A Jedi should not know fear. Of the lessons Lúka had been taught here at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, few were more fundamental than that. Fear was the first step on the path to the dark side. Fear of loss, fear of failure, fear of outcomes beyond your control, those clouded a Jedi's perspetive, infecting him with doubt and hesitation that might cost him his life, or the lives of those he was charged with protecting. Yet, fear was an essential part of life: the foundation of every survival instinct, every impulse that cautioned you against danger and recklessness. Worse, the teachings of the Jedi instilled further sources of fear: cautionary tales of mishandled lightsabers, warnings against the seductive dangers of the darkness, consequences for those who did not ascend from the ranks of Youngling before they became too old for Padawan training, and more besides.
The hardest for Lúka to comprehend was the fear of fear itself. Unlike many of the Younglings in his class, Lúka knew fear. He was not a coward, of that he was certain: but of late he had been plagued by nightmares, dark dreams that haunted him even after waking, half-remembered flashes of golden eyes, of the scent of lightsaber through flesh, of Jedi bodies strewn lifeless at his feet. The Council said he was not ready. They said he felt too much, that his emotions were too wild, too unpredictable. The shadow of Dooku was long, and fresh, and so they would not banish him - afraid to tarnish the Order's reputation any further, perhaps - but they warned that he would not advance; that he would remain among the Younglings until he was too old, and then progress into the Service Corps, where all failed Jedi found themselves. The AgriCorps or the EduCorps, those were the destinies that lay before him, unless somehow his emotional turmoil could be subdued. That potential disgrace, that fear of failure, was the swirling magmatic core beneath his maelstrom of emotion, worsened by every report of Republic defeat, and every familiar name that graced the casualty reports. Friends, classmates, brothers and sisters from his Clan:they fought for their Republic, and for their Jedi Order, while Lúka merely languished, stewing in his own failures.
He shifted in his seat, another reluctant glance cast at the florid and enigmatic words that graced the display of the datapad clutched in his hands. He had obtained the contents - the allegedly sage teachings of some Jedi philosophy from thirty-six centuries prior - from the Archives on the instruction of a Jedi Knight; one who had vanished offworld without a word some weeks ago. Inyos Aamoran had been his name: one that Lúka only vaguely recognised. A Padawan until recently, if memory served; and clearly one who had forgotten how things were supposed to work between Knights and Younglings. Perhaps it had merely been an exercise of newfound authority, an instruction provided merely to see if Lúka would follow. If there was a lesson to be learned here, Aamoran had certainly left no indication of what it might be, and Lúka could not decipher it from the texts themselves, despite three weeks of intense scrutiny. All the exerise had left him with was a knot of frustration reserved for the Knight in question, and an irritated curiosity at how the Jedi who had chronicled Master Ari''ana's teachings could have endured listening to such pretentious tedium for so long.
Lúka would have his answer, though. As he sat, he waited in ambush, knowing that at any moment the returning Knight Aamoran would land back on Coruscant after his weeks in the Outer Rim, pass through the main doors, stride into this corridor -
"Lúka Jibral?"
The Youngling's attention snapped up from the datapad, so consumed in his thoughts that he neither saw nor sensed the Knight approach, nor his two companions. The knot of irritation tightened. Aamoran seemed to react, exchanging a wordless glance with the Jedi beside him, his verdant robes a far cry from the generic creams and browns that Aamoran wore. A subsequent glance was shared between the verdant Jedi and the Clone Trooper that completed their triad, his scuffed and scorched armour a style he didn't quite recognise, despite Lúka's obsessive study of the Battle of Geonosis reports, and every other shred of information about the war effort he could get his hands on.
"Master Aamoran," Lúka replied, wielding the Knight's sleuthed identity like a victory trophy.
The response came slowly, almost painfully so, Aamoran seeming to invest considerable time in contemplating his words. Lúka used those few moments as an opportunity to study the Knight: young features, and piercing blue eyes, but otherwise as ordinary a human as one could find. Just his luck: a Knight had finally taken an interest in him, and they wound up being the most bland and boring Knight in the history of the Order.
"I see you took my advice," Aamoran said at last, gesturing to the datapad and it's presumed contents. "Good."
And that was all: the entirety of conversation that Aamoran was prepared to offer before he walked away, viridian companion in tow. A dozen paces passed before Aamoran stopped, and turned.
"Well? Come on, we don't want to keep the Council waiting."
Silence was all that Lúka could respond with, a few seconds of absolute confusion passing before he slid to his feet and began to follow in Aamoran's wake. The Council? Which one? Surely it was too soon for him to stand before the Council of Reassignment and accept his fate; and yet these were different times now, amid the war with the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Perhaps there was no longer time to wait for his age to exclude him from the mainstream Order; perhaps the Service Corps were to take a more active role in the Grand Army of the Republic, just as the Jedi Knights had. It was not the means of service he had hoped for, but perhaps the Exploration Corps, perhaps a role in reconnaissance aiding his fellow Jedi? The mere notion of ending his inprisonment here at the Temple filled him with enough excitement to quicken his pace, drawing alongside Aamoran rather than trailing behind.
But no: quickly, Lúka realised that his assumption must be false. There would be no need for a Clone to accompany Aamoran if this was merely internal Jedi business; nor was that likely to be their first destination upon returning from a mission. A few more corridors confirmed it:they would have made a right if they had been headed to northeast tower; instead they continued onwards, headed towards the southwest: the High Council. The familiar sense of fear and dread began to stir within Lúka's chest. What had he done? What further disappointment had he become to the Jedi Order?
"Master Aamoran -"
The repeated words were all that Lúka was allowed to say. Inyos responded as if his words were prepared, simply waiting for Lúka to trigger it by speaking.
"We are about to debrief with the High Council regarding our last mission," Aamoran explained. His voice was strange: not dismissive as if the answer was obvious, but unexpectedly calm and patient. It clashed with the version of Aamoran that Lúka had constructed in his mind, carefully built out of fragments of frustration. "It seemed prudent that my new Padawan be present, rather than have to recount the mission to you separately."
In an instant, the bottom fell out of Lúka's stomach. This was a mistake. An error. Master Aamoran had confused him with a different Youngling, and that truth was about to be revealed before the High Council, to their mutual embarassment. Lúka should speak up; should say something; but his voice struggled and protested in his throat. Perhaps there was a chance, an opportunity to his benefit. if he only remained silent, if he allowed the mistake to persist, perhaps it would be too late to undo the steps that had been taken by then. Perhaps -
His better sensibilities refused to indulge that train of thought for even a moment longer.
"You can't."
The blunt statement was accompanied by Lúka coming to a complete halt in the corridor. His hands gripped tighter around the datapad, the knuckles on his already pale hands turning whiter still. He searched his mind for what to say, how best to convey the doubts that the Jedi Order had instilled within him. Every sentence he tried to construct collapsed upon itself however, leaving only one single result. His eyes turned down to the datapad in shame, his hands holding it towards Aamoran.
"I did not understand your lesson, Master Jedi."
Something softened in Aamoran's expression. He offered a brief nod to his clone and his companion, and without a word they continued on their course, leaving Aamoran alone in the corridor with Lúka. A few short strides retraced his path, and he dropped to a knee, a hand resting gently atop the datapad.
"My Master urged me to read these teachings when I became his Padawan, so that I might understand him better. My intention for you was the same."
His brow furrowed, and Lúka sensed the faintest hint of reluctance in advance of Aamoran's next words.
"As a Youngling, I struggled to comprehend the spiritual side of the Force. I understood it in practical terms, in how I could shape it and utilise it, but the mysticism and philosophy of it all? It felt archaic, at odds with the structured way we learn to understand the rest of the world. At first, these words and teachings baffled me as well, until one day, one by one, they did not. Slowly, I came to understand that there was no distinction between my Force, and the Force of others: I merely comprehended in a different way, and had only to learn how to conceive the Force in my own terms."
Silence fell again, and Aamoran patiently waited until Lúka's eyes climbed upwards, meeting his.
"The Council had their doubts about me, as well. My Master saw in me what they did not: his faith, and the opportunity he provided, allowed me to prove those thoughts false. I see a little of myself in you, Lúka, and so I offer you that same chance. Will you take it? Will you let me help you prove them wrong?"
The maelstrom inside Lúka shifted. The shame didn't dissipate, but rather transformed, a similar weight of doubt and unworthiness turning the eye contact between him and Aamoran into a struggle. Something else stirred as well though, a flicker of resolve, carving through his thoughts like the gleam of a lightsaber in the night. He mustered a small nod.
"I will try, Master."
A faint flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of Aamoran's mouth. "I would not let Master Yoda hear you say that, if I were you."