Author Topic: Tales from the Shatari Legacy  (Read 16302 times)

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Offline Hawking

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Re: Tales from the Shatari Legacy
« Reply #30 on: 09/21/21, 12:30:38 AM »
He had used his lightsaber in combat for the final time one day. He had meditated that evening, and had then gone to bed that night, and had awoken the next morning thinking nothing of it at all.

That had been a blessing. It was a quiet, dignified, peaceful way for Master Shatari's combat career as a Jedi Knight to come to an end. Anticlimatic, if you were feeling particularly cynical. To Hawking, it had felt just right. The dazzling sapphire plasma of his blade had retracted itself behind the aged, but still keen shine of his lightsaber's kyber crystal. It had wound its way back through the byzantine matrix of focusing lenses with what had sounded like a sigh, just as it had tens of thousands of times previously, and the burnished and worn silver cylindrical hilt had returned snuggly to his belt. There it would sit, ready to be drawn, unaware that it had already seen its final battle.

'Battle' was perhaps a grandiosity.  There had been Imperials, make no mistake. Obviously, they weren't the first to encounter this particular blade. They had all lived to perhaps see it again, too. Their weapons hadn't been so lucky - they too had seen their final battles, but weren't likely to be much use to anybody who didn't work with smelters. That hadn't always been the MO of this particular blade. It had done more than its fair share of piercing through armour, melting through flesh and organs, slicing through cybernetics, and being used to open particularly stubborn doors.

Not that day though, which was something of a triumph in and of itself. That was what he was most proud of; why the recollection made him smile, where other memories continued to plague his meditations and dreams. Of the countless wars, campaigns, operations, battles, missions, skirmishes and duels he'd been part of in his years as a protector of the Republic, it had all ended with a simple two-form soresu movement, protecting the helpless from wanton violence. He'd warned the Imperials firmly, although they clearly didn't take the hint from the ageing Jedi. They'd fired. He'd swept his blade, and the bolts of energy had been batted away. He'd followed through, and cleaved through the barrels of the weapons with such practiced ease that you might have mistaken him for another man of Hawking's vintage spreading butter on his morning toast with a breadknife. The Imperials had run, their would-be victims had cheered and cried and thanked him, and Hawking had merely offered them a smile through his beard, and a bow goodbye. That was the life he had chosen, and been chosen for, all those years ago.

His blade still hung from his belt. It was done in combat, but now it had a new mission. He did too. He'd been asked to draw on all those battles, all those years, and turn it into something. Something the young Jedi could use. Lessons. He wasn't to be a Battlemaster any longer - just a regular old master. A mentor to the kids coming to Tython, like he himself had been drawn to Coruscant. He was ready to endure the taunts about the grey in his hair, and the wrinkles around his eyes, and the way that his knees had started to ache (notably, not even the Force could fix that, apparently.) That, as he felt now, was the worthiest challenge in the galaxy. Hopefully it would leave him with less scars than his usual routine.

But where to begin?

Why, where else? In the temple gardens, with a training mat, and his lightsaber.

Master Hawking Shatari tugged on his robes, slid on his belt, and let his hand run across the silverine blade that had lived alongside him throughout decades of pain, turbulence and triumph.

Time to begin again.

« Last Edit: 09/22/21, 09:40:17 PM by Hawking »


-Hawking Shatari, Wandering Warrior
-Aspasia Maguire, Smack Talker
-Rieko "Boogie" Black, Agent of the Empire