“They say that within a child's mind, clarity is formed. The perils of mankind have not yet tainted their body and soul into selective and due process. Children can truly see what is, and don‘t dwell on what it will be. Because of this clarity, the Force is more attainable, and sometimes more controllable with simplicity, rather then complexities of the mind. Some of our strongest students have never aged a day, in body and mind.” - Sierra Taurus
Nyne Reken stepped silently through the woods of Katere-han. His long, chin-length hair bounced with each step, his long childish lashes tasted the air, then connected as if to swallow the night into his deep and glossy black eyes. The clip-clap of his home-made wooden sandals on the smoothed and polished walk-stones posed as one of the few sounds heard on the surface of the small, night-covered planet. Nyne’s long, deep blue robe changed shades and hues as the folds waved at the blessings of his limbs, the many lights of the shining moons added a double silhouette to the already magical figure.
As Reken moved further into the woods, the clarity of the world around him faded into a sea of mist and vapors. The air being denser here, Nyne discarded his blue shoulder-cloak and undid the top 3 knots in his robe, and loosened his undershirt collar. The article of clothing lay alone on the paved path, as if it had no worries that its owner would never returned, boldly trusting enough to float a few feet away from its original placement.
Nyne’s hand found reassurance back around the pummel of his wooden sword. It was a rare occurrence that he ever used it, but he’d grown so close to it, so attached, that it literally moved as one of his limbs. Nyne, from his 16 years of life, never could remember being without his training sword. He felt no need for a blade. As his mentor, Kanas-Tar had once said; “At least a fool with a wooden sword is only going to be able to knock himself out when he makes a mistake, had he been using a blade... he would have been a bloody-dead fool.”
Nyne missed master Kanas, but knew that Tar had served his life duties, and was now serving his after-life in ‘Madan Alur’ when poorly translated into a more common language; ‘Fever of the Mind.’ Kanas had been the only other Human Nyne had ever come in contact with. The only other intelligent creatures he’d ever had any interaction with were in his training holocrons.
Nyne took 3 steps up into the mist-blanketed monastery. Large pillars reached up into the sky with no particular practical reason in a mathematically relevant pattern. Nyne couldn’t even see his own sandaled feet, let alone the floor in this underbrush of moisture, but knew that the floor was coated with a thick blue moss. The white wash walls looked to be millions of years old, but polished to be new as the day before. Nyne worked all the begining of the night to keep the monistary and holy-gardens clean and flourished, and the other portion he spent worshiping, meditating, and training. It was the ways of his people. 1 K’sath to rule over, and protect the planet of Katere-han. When he reached the age of scars (56) he would seek out a woman to be his bride. The first son born to this bride is to be trained for the rest of the K’sath’s lifetime, and that boy is to be named the next K’sath of Katere-han. Until he seeks his wife, the K’sath should not seek human interaction. It had been the ways of Katere-han since... anyone could remember. The bloodline had never been broken.
Nyne shed all of his clothing except for a thigh-long loin, meant for the display of the body-runes. Long intricate designs ran up and down the most slender portions of Nyne’s body. The golden brown tattoos glittered in the moonlight, like gold in the sun. Now, in the roofless, white-washed walls his usually shadowed face shined with bouncing moonlight. His face, too, was painted with scared runes, deep into his flesh. From a distance, the small runes on his face could be mistaken for a pigment of skin, due to their size and color. The young man stepped to the basin of water, dipping his entire head in, he lay there for, what seemed to the world, an eternity. He lifted his head and shoulders from the basin, cleansed his fingers in the water, then carried himself, purified of all thoughts, good or bad, to the main shrine, where he sad, legs folded under him, hands behind him. Nyne spoke softly.
“Ya assole. Ren detel mkel cul.” Which, horribly translated, means “Men Before, I forget myself for your sacrifice.”
Just then, a loud wave of sound flooded the vast jungle land, blowing trees from their million year roots, covering ruins with ash, dust, and grime. Nyne quickly unsheathed his wooden sword, and looked to the sky for the tornado. To his suprise, he was un-redeemed. No eye-sore of a twister pleagued the skies of Katere-han. Only a shining fish-like ship, glimmering in the sky. It tasted of foul humanity to Nyne. It tasted of technology. He was always taught: Unless completely in your control, technology is of no essence to a K`sath.
The Rebellion land speeders hums filled the tiny planet's ears. Scouts trampled entire ancient forests, other soldiers moved dirt into the swamps to make landing spaces for the larger ships. The Rebellion had completely taken control of the small planet of Katere-han within 10 minutes. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers littered Nyne’s home-world. How would he explain to them that they were violating his holy sactuary? How could he describe to them that the damage they caused in 5 would take millions of years to restore? He couldn’t. He simply watched. He simply took it all in. He’d failed the past K`saths. He’d gone against his utter-meaning by not attempting to protect Katere-han. This and many more incidents to come would thus control the fate of Nyne Reken. These incidents would fill his already attuned physical and mental body to achieve a new height... The attempt at Dark Jedi-hood.
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Epic: Episode I TC, Epic: Podracing Mod MP/SP, Epic: Starbattles Mod MP/SP
Nyne Reken stepped silently through the woods of Katere-han. His long, chin-length hair bounced with each step, his long childish lashes tasted the air, then connected as if to swallow the night into his deep and glossy black eyes. The clip-clap of his home-made wooden sandals on the smoothed and polished walk-stones posed as one of the few sounds heard on the surface of the small, night-covered planet. Nyne’s long, deep blue robe changed shades and hues as the folds waved at the blessings of his limbs, the many lights of the shining moons added a double silhouette to the already magical figure.
As Reken moved further into the woods, the clarity of the world around him faded into a sea of mist and vapors. The air being denser here, Nyne discarded his blue shoulder-cloak and undid the top 3 knots in his robe, and loosened his undershirt collar. The article of clothing lay alone on the paved path, as if it had no worries that its owner would never returned, boldly trusting enough to float a few feet away from its original placement.
Nyne’s hand found reassurance back around the pummel of his wooden sword. It was a rare occurrence that he ever used it, but he’d grown so close to it, so attached, that it literally moved as one of his limbs. Nyne, from his 16 years of life, never could remember being without his training sword. He felt no need for a blade. As his mentor, Kanas-Tar had once said; “At least a fool with a wooden sword is only going to be able to knock himself out when he makes a mistake, had he been using a blade... he would have been a bloody-dead fool.”
Nyne missed master Kanas, but knew that Tar had served his life duties, and was now serving his after-life in ‘Madan Alur’ when poorly translated into a more common language; ‘Fever of the Mind.’ Kanas had been the only other Human Nyne had ever come in contact with. The only other intelligent creatures he’d ever had any interaction with were in his training holocrons.
Nyne took 3 steps up into the mist-blanketed monastery. Large pillars reached up into the sky with no particular practical reason in a mathematically relevant pattern. Nyne couldn’t even see his own sandaled feet, let alone the floor in this underbrush of moisture, but knew that the floor was coated with a thick blue moss. The white wash walls looked to be millions of years old, but polished to be new as the day before. Nyne worked all the begining of the night to keep the monistary and holy-gardens clean and flourished, and the other portion he spent worshiping, meditating, and training. It was the ways of his people. 1 K’sath to rule over, and protect the planet of Katere-han. When he reached the age of scars (56) he would seek out a woman to be his bride. The first son born to this bride is to be trained for the rest of the K’sath’s lifetime, and that boy is to be named the next K’sath of Katere-han. Until he seeks his wife, the K’sath should not seek human interaction. It had been the ways of Katere-han since... anyone could remember. The bloodline had never been broken.
Nyne shed all of his clothing except for a thigh-long loin, meant for the display of the body-runes. Long intricate designs ran up and down the most slender portions of Nyne’s body. The golden brown tattoos glittered in the moonlight, like gold in the sun. Now, in the roofless, white-washed walls his usually shadowed face shined with bouncing moonlight. His face, too, was painted with scared runes, deep into his flesh. From a distance, the small runes on his face could be mistaken for a pigment of skin, due to their size and color. The young man stepped to the basin of water, dipping his entire head in, he lay there for, what seemed to the world, an eternity. He lifted his head and shoulders from the basin, cleansed his fingers in the water, then carried himself, purified of all thoughts, good or bad, to the main shrine, where he sad, legs folded under him, hands behind him. Nyne spoke softly.
“Ya assole. Ren detel mkel cul.” Which, horribly translated, means “Men Before, I forget myself for your sacrifice.”
Just then, a loud wave of sound flooded the vast jungle land, blowing trees from their million year roots, covering ruins with ash, dust, and grime. Nyne quickly unsheathed his wooden sword, and looked to the sky for the tornado. To his suprise, he was un-redeemed. No eye-sore of a twister pleagued the skies of Katere-han. Only a shining fish-like ship, glimmering in the sky. It tasted of foul humanity to Nyne. It tasted of technology. He was always taught: Unless completely in your control, technology is of no essence to a K`sath.
The Rebellion land speeders hums filled the tiny planet's ears. Scouts trampled entire ancient forests, other soldiers moved dirt into the swamps to make landing spaces for the larger ships. The Rebellion had completely taken control of the small planet of Katere-han within 10 minutes. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers littered Nyne’s home-world. How would he explain to them that they were violating his holy sactuary? How could he describe to them that the damage they caused in 5 would take millions of years to restore? He couldn’t. He simply watched. He simply took it all in. He’d failed the past K`saths. He’d gone against his utter-meaning by not attempting to protect Katere-han. This and many more incidents to come would thus control the fate of Nyne Reken. These incidents would fill his already attuned physical and mental body to achieve a new height... The attempt at Dark Jedi-hood.
------------------
Epic: Episode I TC, Epic: Podracing Mod MP/SP, Epic: Starbattles Mod MP/SP
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ᴸᶥᵛᵉ ᴼᵑ ᴬᵈᵃᵐ
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