Channelknight Fadran

Just the official one

@Ravenclawjedi42 @Justice_Magician @Scars of Hathsin @Ancient Elantrian @ΨιτιsτηεΒέsτ @The Bookwyrm The morning came through the fog that day. Light shone in beams through wisps of mist and dew - obscured, but not hidden. It still reached through Aria's window and shone against the far wall, striking just shy of the shelf holding the hologram she'd finished recording the night before. In fact, she'd barely slept a wink up until at least midnight, running her mind through the same impossible choices over and over again. What to do, what to say, what to think; how terrible that here and now, the thing she knew best was uncertainty. Because, after all, Darth Krarik was expecting them. Aria thought she could sense his anticipation from here - it was a sharp, heavy sort of feeling. Like clinging to the top of a jagged cliff. She knelt upon a rug, watching herself in the mirror. There wasn't much to see, really - save perhaps the little sunken crevices that age had given to her, and the scar across her left eyebrow from that Assassin all those years ago. For now her hair was down in a choppy bundle, drooping just across her shoulders. She'd gotten it cut recently, up to the top of her neck... except, of course, the one braid that now hung halfway down her spine. She usually kept it hidden; not out of embarrassment, but rather because no one else really needed to know. It was a decision she'd made for herself, and one she would maintain until the time was right. Rikani Holnogar: her Master. He had tied that very braid for her when she was only nine years old, and again every morning they trained and worked together. Seven years he had done it, until his hands weren't so good for it anymore. Now, every morning, Aria Feisyyd tied it herself. Not because she was ashamed; not because he had never seen her become a Jedi Knight; not because of any obligation or creed or doctrine, but because she'd made a promise to herself the night he died. I've always wanted to see, he'd said, the next generation of Jedi. I want to see what they learn from what we left behind. I want you to become your best self, so that someday you can want your own padawan to do the same. Two lightsabers lay before her as she tied her hair back into its regular shape. Normally she might've wrapped the ends with her braid, but today she just held them up with a pair of long pins. The braid hung down across her shoulder, and she watched the hilts in deep contemplation. On the left was her own lightsaber, made years and years ago... she had found the dark green Kimber Stone in nearly under five minutes, and was the first among her fellow younglings to forge a blade over the span of about an hour. Even the Masters would remark on the stability of the saber, and in friendly bouts often struggled to tear their blades off hers. The one on the right had been his. How it was found, why it was brought to her... all that, she did not know. That last she'd seen of Master Rikani was his vicious duel against the Assassin, and in the ensuing shipwreck it was nowhere to be found. Yet three years ago - the very same day she'd taken Nayla as her Padawan - it had wound up on the shelf of her wall. Indeed, he had always taught her that a Jedi's blade is more than just a weapon, and so she had tended to it with every day as carefully she would an ancient holocron. But today, she realized, was the climax. In fact, she'd suspected it might be from the moment she'd first felt Krarik's arrival; perhaps even when Cloud had wandered into their lives. A strange sense of finality, like the ending of a book. Aria was growing old; her body, slowly but surely, became weaker. Deep connection to the Force had made the symptoms barely noticeable, but over the years she swore she could feel her bones steadily grinding under the weight of gait and posture, and the muscles at the ends of her limbs creeping ever so quietly into disruption. It had become difficult, recently, to tie the braid every day. Aria Feisyyd could feel it: the shift in the tide, the settling clouds over a once-stagnant sea. In all the Force it sounded, ringing distantly to her soul both in sleep and in wake. She felt it resonate through all the young friends she'd trained - Nayla, Reel, Rukk, Cloud. It touched them with its Will, lying in wait for this new generation to carry out the change. It would be years before they were as powerful as a Jedi Master; decades, perhaps, to grow as experienced as herself. But they would surpass her without a doubt, sooner or later. She wondered if it was the quiet touch of Rikani's memory that told her that she could not become a part of it. "That's all I've ever wanted," Aria said aloud, reaching for her master's old blade. "Rikani, all I want... I want them to be strong." An old memory spoke in her mind. I want to be the last grateful ember, or the shred of flint across a stone. I wish to set your soul ablaze, so you can spread the light across the stars... so you can share the warmth with whoever comes next, so they can learn to burn even brighter. That had been the last lesson he had ever given her; the night before he died. When she emerged, Master Aria Feisyyd wore a hard cuirass over her robes. The pads and studs wouldn't do much against a lightsaber blade, but they helped to focus her form. She strode with a taller posture, a steadier gait, harder gazes; because today, she was going to need every last ounce of her strength. Her braid had been cut from the stem, and two lightsabers hung from her belt. "Is everyone ready?" Master Feisyyd asked.

I’m willing to die in Hunger Games. I can’t really keep up with it

He guzzled it down gratefully.

"...Yeah. I thought that went without saying. We'll go for yours first."

"You're the Radiant here."

"Okay. What about Kamadori?"

"...Do we know who this Ezrium guy is?"