Lines and Traditions

[nabi]

Ilal.....

The paunch Human male froze in place, to examine where the noise had come from.

He was in the Arboretum, surrounded by beautiful trees, hedges, plants and bushes of a hundred different species, a mosaic of life with the soft, subtle symphonies of delicate yet resilient plants, from low-level Bothan trees to..

And then he leaped back, the Force taking control of his body and thrusting his hand up, saber in hand to block the strike that had almost decapitated him.

The holder of the saber was all in black, and had come with no noise when it had landed almost on top of him. The Dark Side came off of it in waves, and a cruel, sinister feeling of malice came off of it like waves, the face hidden somehow and..

Saber movement, Ilal countering with his patented, short-bladed purple weapon, weaving around his torso, pulling a second weapon up with the Force and into his extended hand, just blocking the stroke that would have bisected his head like a melon.

Moving forward, Ilal blocked with one weapon and striking with the other, trying for hands, for knees, anything at a distance, while trying to dance away from the long red blade that seemed only a centimeter away in every direction, from his head, his shoulder, his very eyes, blocking always, then an opening he couldn't catch, too slow, and then more saber play. Now a tree was behind them, and Ilal worked to Force Push the Sith into it, trying for the head with one blade, to go for the knee with the other, lunging forward, but his movement was too fast, his knees failed him, the target disappeared...and Ilal felt the heat of a light saber pierce his chest, right at the heart, and fell.

The Sith Lord stood over the body. Then it pulled out a small circular device and pressed a small metallic switch.

"2 minutes, 37 seconds. Tsk tsk tsk."

Ilal looked up, feeling embarrassed, annoyed, and very very small as the black cloaked Sith Lord changed into a short, Mon Calamari female with a bemused smile, a short hood, and a set of robes that now seemed to be two sizes too large for her.

Izzy looked at the Jedi Master, and laughed uproariously, with the kind of affection that only comes from the best of friends, and pulled the grass-stained Human male to his feet, and started laughing that odd laugh that only Izzy seemed able to do. It was the kind of laugh you only heard from someone who knows life, the good and the bad, and decides that the best way to approach it is to honor the sweet parts whenever they can be found. It was an infectious laugh, and it helped take a good piece of the sting Ilal felt over having been beaten in so short a time span.

"Thanks" he said, as he came up from the ground. The sting from the training saber was still tingling his back, and he looked at Izzy. "You were....unexpected."

Izzy laughed, now in the way of those who are sharing a practical joke. "Come come now, Ilal, you were the one who wanted to re-evaluate your skill at light saber combat."

"True, true." Ilal admitted.

"And you were the one who wanted me to surprise you, so you could get some idea of your reactions under stress."

"I know, Izzy, I know.I just..." Ilal made a slight face "I just wished I had done better."

The Mon Cal chuckled. "Sir, you lasted two and a half minutes against what most in the Order would agree is a rather decent swordsman" said Izzy, in a slightly cheeky and conspiratorial aspect.

It was a vast underestimation. With the possible exception of the new Grand Master, there was currently no being in the entire Jedi Order able to match Izzy in saber combat. It had risen to the point that the Mon Cal had become the standard by which other Jedi judged themselves. Those who wanted to compare fighting skill did so by measuring how long they had lasted against the Jedi Master, bragging on even a fifteenth extra second. Padawans were usually measured in fractions of a second, while Knights were considered skillful if they lasted more than half a minute, with Masters averaging twice that. It was rumored that the former Grandmaster Qaim and Izzy had dueled once. Rumors abounded at how long the Jedi Master had lasted. But Izzy was not a boaster, and whenever Qaim was asked, he would always respond: "Take an educated guess. Then cut it in half".

Ilal sighed, and looked at the trees around him. He missed Qaim. Missed his sympathy, his council. Missed him so much that it hurt. Izzy noticed this, and tried to distract him. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad. At least you're staying over the two minute mark. That's quite respectable for a Healer in this Order."

Ilal chuckled. "True, true."

"And that doesn't take into account your choice of weapons" Izzy smiled, pointing to the small, centimeter-long cylinders in Ilal's hands.

"I haven't lost anything in comparison to the fuller versions, if that's what you mean", Ilal retorted, chuckling as he glanced them over.

"Yes...but it's going to give your entourage something to get used to." Izzy said, referring to the Medics he had just begun training.

She was right about that, Ilal nodded Most of the students were still somewhat awkward with the short weapons. Designed to be dual-use in nature, the small cylinders could easily pass for and function as the light-scalpels commonly used by Jedi Healers, and easily repackaged as any other number of small innocuous objects, as well as pass through weapons detectors. A Medic would thus be able to bring these items with them anywhere, even if full-fledged sabers were not permitted.

But the students would have to learn how to use them. How to grip the smaller handle. How to wield the shorter blade, and how to use two at a time in order to compensate for it.

All this would take time. Valuable time, which he did not have in great abundance, for training. Perhaps a crash course. Maybe Izzy should pay them a visit too...

"By the way" Ilal responded, "Where did you get that whole Sith illusion? I swear."

"Oh that? Just something I cooked up for the new recruits. It lets them see the worse-case scenario...that way, there's no where to go but up!" Izzy smiled, laughing to herself. She was a good teacher, but a complete nuisance to her students. She cajoled, encouraged, and somehow managed to annoy her pupils into levels of excellence that other trainers rarely seemed to match.

"Good idea."

"Thank you. But...can I ask you a question?" Izzy responded.

"Sure."

"Those light....

"Scalpels?"

"Well, whatever you want to call them."

"Yeah..."

"Why did you make yours look like...uhhhh?"

"Well...Remember Master Las?"

"Yes....he was your trainer in light saber combat when you came back to the Order" Izzy said, in her tactful, considerate fashion.

"Did you remember what he taught his students?" Ilal said, and suddenly spouted in a pompous voice, with thick lips and guttural projection '"Combat is an act of dignity. To go forward is an act of consideration...you represent the Order every time you draw your saber, and must do so in a manner worthy of myself and my fellow Masters"'.

"So....once you got the rank of Master, you started walking around with a pair of Lipstick Lightsabers?"

Ilal laughed, his belly moving visibly. "And in a wide variety of colors..perfect for any occasion, formal, social, business casual..." Ilal finished off. "Not my best joke, I'll admit."

"Uh...huh. And is that where you came up with your...Five Shade Style?" Izzy asked, almost mouthing the capital letters.

"Yes" Ilal said. "Although, at this point...."

"Still cutting off your fingers?" said Izzy.

"Yeah...." Ilal admitted with sheepish amusement. The plan had been to place five of the minuscule sabers on one of his hands, and articulate them individually to block the blade of an enemy and go after the hand holding the saber, changing length when needed to hit more distant targets. The theory should allow a high degree of flexibility, speedy counterattack, and attacks that were almost impossible to defend against.

So far, it was a dud. Ilal had yet been able to use the weapons naturally at anything resembling combat speed, and had been looked at askance by other members of the Order when seen practicing it.

But that wasn't the only thing getting him looks these days, Ilal thought to himself. But he pushed that thought away, and brought his attention back to Izzy. "Ok...so...based on this duel....any advice you have to offer?"

Izzy cocked her head to the side, in that gesture she used whenever in deep contemplation. "The problem isn't your instincts, or your bond with the Force" she said, pondering the words over as she spoke them. "Both could be improved, of course, but at this point t they are both highly advanced, and there is little I could suggest beyond continued practice."

Ilal nodded, taking this to heart. Izzy was usually good at giving advice, and this was her field of expertise.

Tilting her head, the Mon Cal picked up again. "The problem is your knees, Ilal. You can defend very well, better than most Masters your age, but whenever you have to move out of your zone of defense, you have to move slowly. You miss possibilities that way."

Ilal nodded again, less happy with this advice, especially given the fact that it was true. He had been able to reduce the day-to-day discomfort in his knees to almost infinitesimal levels, but it took all of his skill and strength in the Force to manage a jog without blinding pain, and it left him with little to devote to saber combat. "Any advice?"

Izzy thought a little bit, and then responded.

"You're not the first fighter who has dealt with unusual physical limitations. Smaller beings have to learn to be more mobile. Larger ones to be more compact. In your case...." Izzy looked at Ilal briefly.
"How are you with Force manipulation of large objects? Pull, Push, those aspects?"

"Not bad" Ilal admitted. While his trademark in the order was his ability to control large quantities of incredibly small objects at the same time via the Force (a result of professional experience as a Healer) his abilities to move large objects were respectable, if not anything out of the ordinary.

"Hmmm" Ismayyli hummed, looking just above her head at a particularly beautiful set of flowers coming out of a tree above them. "Well, if you can't come to them...why not make them come to you?" Izzy said, and via the Force pulled and levitated a pair of small red fruits in front of them at eye level.

Ilal was about to take a bite of the rightmost fruit, when he noticed a familiar presence just out of the edge of sight.

"Hello Master Las. Is there any way that I might assist you?"

[nabi]

The Human walked over, with a modest degree of liveliness in his stride that Ilal had never seen in the normally taciturn being, and stood in front of his fellow Master with a busy look on his face.

The Master calmed himself, assumed an air of control and relaxation, and spoke to Ilal slowly, leaning in with each word.

"I hear that you have been very...active of late in pursuit of your little project."

Ilal was a touch offended at Master Las' low-key statement. The "little project" had taken up almost every moment of Ilal's time ever since it had begun almost four months ago. A Healer of his prominence, working with some of the most talented pupils in the order, to have his first major project with official direction and support from the Grand Master himself...

Las had been one of the dissenters, lacking voting power in the council but widely respected as one of the most Force-sensitive of the trainers. A great spotter of talent, who could sort out exactly what a Padawan was capable of, and where they could be placed most profitably on behalf of the Order. For all that, he was also one of the most orthodox, old-fashioned members of the Order and had only declined from Council membership in order to function as a member of the "loyal opposition"....as the Human called it.

And free to criticize anything remotely new, Ilal thought, in the most secret part of his mind, the part that so few could see into.

"I have been busy of late, very true" Ilal intoned, quietly and deferently out of respect to the Master's age and seniority.

"I'll leave you two alone" Izzy said, "I have a new batch of Padawan to prod" with a smile that was only slightly awkward. "Have a good evening, Master Las!" the Mon Cal said, bowing.

"Yes, of course....it was good to see you, Ismayyli" Master Las' said to the Master walking away...not waiting for Ilal to respond before dismissing her.

"And you as well, my Master." The Mon Cal responded, rising from her bow, and then walking away with what could only be described as respectfully subdued humming.

Though gruff in his statement, Master Las' had always liked her. She was one of his prized pupils, as well as one of his favorite teachers. One who taught the old ways, albeit with lively talent and adaptation. If the Human ever thought to himself about whether he was being too rigid, if he was holding back new ideas or concepts too wholeheartedly, he would think of Ismayyli, so talented, who taught the old ways. In a new fashion, adapting them to the needs of the students to be sure they would stick. In the proscribed path.

But Ilal....

The Human turned his face over to the paunchy Master, who kept his face bland yet respectful in response to a visage that had always looked somehow disapproving. As if his own lungs themselves only passed inspection because they kept the old man alive.

Ilal knew what was coming. There were few remaining Master's he met on the day-to-day he liked less than Las. He remembered that he had advocated caution in retraining someone so long from the fold of a Jedi. And he had been very strict with Ilal, and often checked in on the Jedi to "see how he was doing" and to offer his judgement, which was always respectfully listened to even though it had not been asked for.

"I am...somewhat concerned about the sparrows you have under your wing."

Ilal nodded that he understood the metaphor. "How so, Master?"

"It is....difficult to explain." The Master said, and began to move his head away from Ilal. Meaning that, to continue it Ilal should supply something to be concerned about.

Ilal nodded. His face became very impassive, and his mind distanced himself from the conversation as he worked to analyze the Master's tone and body language. Ilal had been sent more than once into mild panic attacks over the slightest hint of dissaproval, sometimes from nothing more than the tilt of the Human's head. It had made Ilal very dilligent in his training, as well as very insecure of himself. A fact that was not always aided by the responses he received from his fellow pupils ten, fifteen or twenty years his junior.

"It is...the new program you have begun with your pupils" the Human intoned slowly.

"Yes....what of it?" Ilal responded, still with the utmost respect. Ilal new he meant the Commando training he had started. He did not say so by name, but there was nothing else new that the Master might be referring to.

Ilal sighed. So it was going to be one of those conversations. Long, winding, with the devil waiting in the details. Where you had to pay close attention to every fragment of emphasis, every measure of body language in order to discern the Master's true intent. Ilal had hated these conversations as a pupil, and dreaded having to watch exhaustedly again for what could last for what seemed almost obscenely long lengths of time for a message that could have been sent in a matter of moments.

So it was. After about an hour and a half of nearly content-free conversation, mixing commentary about the Arboretum, the Master's health, and the progress of other students, which would prove exceedingly boring written down, the paunchy Healer eventually received the Master's message: The training program for the Commando Concept, while supported by the Grand Master and admittedly unorthodox in goal, did not have to be divergent in methodology. Ilal could train his students primarily in the traditional field of Healing. Other necessary skills, such as intelligence gathering or infiltration, could be learned "on-the-job", so that the students would be able to resume lives in more traditional roles, which the coming crisis would doubtlessly require of them very soon.

Ilal took care with his response. The Master's suggestion was basically to suspend the new program, and to train all the Medic's basically as Healers.

Which meant theory, over practice. More emphasis on esoteric disease, and the limits of the Force, and the ability to treat and aide patients over the course of years when they struggled from any number of rare, long-term disabilities and infirmities.

Perfect for a Healer.

But for a Medic, one who had to learn to heal blaster wounds or biological weapons outbreaks, who had to heal the life-and-death of the locals.....who had to wheedle as much as heal, who had to infiltrate into a community and forge a relationship over the course of weeks or months rather than decades, and win minds this week before war came the next...

He could not let down the Grand Master, and give in.

Such a statement would have to be relatively blunt and to the point. Which was just how Master Las' liked his responses. It was the old hands who deserved true subtly. The young never had anything really important to say that required any real art or thought around it.

"Loyalty...is to be valued of course" Las began, indicating Ilal could provide a response.

Ilal nodded his assent to this. "I will of course serve the Grand Master in my fullest capacity."

"Of course, of course." The Master assented, nodding his head with each response.

"His goals are my own, ones that I will no doubt work toward."

Las nodded, observing the tone and body language the Master used for his message, almost more than the message itself.

"And work toward them with the most effective tools at my disposal. "

Las took this in, analyzing every muscle in the Master's face for emotion, sincerity and commitment. How much did this pupil believe in this?

"And I promise shall do my best in our upcoming struggle against the Sith." finished Ilal, with a trace of finality in his voice.

The Master nodded. The...eccentric one was sending him a message. Talk to my master, if you want change. Nothing else will divert me. It was not subtle, in fact almost painfully blunt, obvious and direct...but what could you expect from someone so...unrefined in the Temple of the Order?

Las resumed the slow conversation, and began to browse other topics.

The interlude lasted for another half an hour before Las finally took his leave of the bald Healer. Ilal thanked him politely, wished him his best...and walked away to his office.

It was while thinking of him that Ilal latter on retired to his quarters. Closing the door from his office, he put on a small glove kept in a desk drawer. The glove was decorated with short, metallic tubes. Light scalpels. One on each finger.

Closing his eyes, the Master reached out with the Force, flicked the switch....and began.