Yan Dooku of Serenno

Jaing hums. Training someone like this will be different, than training the Vode back in the war, or the other Rebellion volunteers now. Training someone to hide their natural instinct, to cover up what makes them good, but still let them be good?

It's a challenge, and he's starting to appreciate the thrill of it. Whatever else, it should keep him busy for a while.

"We'll start with a spar then, today. I want to get a sense of where you're at," he looks inside the training gym, sees that it's empty, and waves Yan inside. "Before we start to modify your style." Like the impromptu training he'd given to some of the padawan commanders, or Etain and Bardan, during the Clone war. Filling in gaps - usually, when he'd seen them out in the middle of an enemy engagement, and seen something that had needed correcting.

There's a set of mats in the center of the gym for just such a spar. Jaing begins a series of stretches, leaving Yan to his own, clearly watching him, already starting the assessment in the stretches and how Yan moves.

A spar, and he's curious and wary both, because Yan was always a duelist more than anything else: his place is with his lightsaber at his hand, and there he is good and knows he is. But that same skill is a liability, and he has been counting his options even before Jaing asked.

Now, considering the situation, he simply nods. He's not about to argue the point, and his curiosity is better served otherwise: the moment Jaing begins stretching, Yan moves to the one corner where he's not going to be fully visible for anyone passing by or opening the door, and begins stretching.

Part of what stretching is for he can balance through the Force, but that is wasteful. And his stretches, even as his presence and his attention shift in the Force towards Jaing and towards their surroundings, are those of a fencer, of someone prepared to move and move fast. He begins slow, then goes from legs up to neck and back again, and when he's ready he clasps his hands, checking through the Force that his body is as it feels, that nothing is wrong. He uses the Force to cover for warming up, even if he suspects it'll be called out.

All that is left is beginning, and Yan wonders if there will or not be any surprise attack, as he stands up straighter and prepares to wait.

"Ehhhhh," Jaing drags the sound out, waffling his hand back and forth as he does it. "Depends on who you ask. In the most literal sense, there is not. Mand'alor means single leader, and there is not the moment."

One Jedi, at least, who seemed to care about getting more answers. Jaing knew the reports said that Kenobi had spent time on the planet, but the general attitude of the Council still seemed to be:

we'll meddle because the Senate tells us to meddle.

"At least; there's three right now. Probably more, in function."

No single leader, and that sounds like a civil war brewing, not that Yan is about to be so direct so as to tell Jaing.

Instead, he considers what he knows, and what he's read, and what he's gathering, and folds his hands into his tunic in quiet consideration.

"Mandalorians have Clan leaders, or so I have read." He said, in the end. "What's the difference, and where is the line?"

Were there three Clans only, at the moment, or were there Clans who didn't care? Or were the archives in severe need of updating, which was always an option to consider, little as an old friend of his would have liked it?

degobahsage

❝ why on this planet, i am ? ❞ the question settled between them like a leaf upon still water, drawing from the ancient master a thoughtful hum as verdant fingers idly traced the polished grain of his gimer stick. amber eyes wandered skyward as though somewhere beyond coruscant's endless sea of lights the answer had already been written amongst the stars, & for one fleeting heartbeat he wore the solemn expression of a philosopher contemplating the deepest mysteries of the force itself

then, as quietly as dawn stealing across the horizon, amusement found him ❝ retired, perhaps i have become ❞ the words emerged with all the gravity of a council decree, despite the unmistakable glimmer dancing beneath lowered brow ❝ peaceful, this planet is. meditate... drink tea... bother no one. a simple life, i seek ❞

for a heartbeat longer he maintained the illusion, weathered features composed with almost theatrical sincerity, before the corners of his mouth surrendered first. the smile lingered warm as hearthfire, softened by decades spent watching the young knight grow from an endlessly curious child into the man who now stood before him. some things, it seemed, neither time nor rank could ever truly change. not the questions dooku asked. not the quiet satisfaction yoda found in refusing to answer them directly.

#degobahsage #{ main verse: lost in time }

He was not fooled by the expression on his old Master: he had seen it far too many times to know that Yoda's first expression was rarely the most relevant one. No, instead he waited, and met that gaze, and read the amusement within.

And truly, Yan knew that his Master was old. That he had lived much, and that retirement was far from an impossibility. But here, of all planets? Alone?

He remembered far too well seeing Yoda around the creche children, for all he was Grandmaster. He had been one of those children, and he had been on creche duty more than most, in an attempt to understand. So to be alone, when the Galaxy felt so different, when the Force had shifted as it had, did not sit well with him.

No matter his old Master's expression.

"A simple life does not mean a lonely life, Master." Was all he said.

Just what had happened, and why, and what could they do about it?

Ah. That would do it. Jaing grunts, and files the information about his new charge's identity away. As he continues to walk, he murmers under his breadth, "gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaasla." He doesn't expect the other to know, but it's not meant for him. It's centering himself, reminding himself as he suspects he will have to remind some of his brothers.

"Right," this is meant for Yan, said louder and more clearly. "If I'm training you, I'll need a sense of what combat you can do already. I assume blade, but you got any kind of experience in hand-to-hand, or blasters?"

He takes the turn in the hallway that will have them heading toward's one of the smaller training gyms that's less likely to be in use. Jaing doesn't care about embarassing the kind in front of an audience, but it'll be easier to put him through some assessments if they don't have to wait for others to use the equipment.

He does not know Mando'a, not even enough to recognize it: all he recognizes is that it's neither common nor Huttese nor any of the languages a young diplomat might be expected to know. But if it's a curse, whether to the air or to Yan's bloodline, it doesn't entirely sound like one.

But the change towards practicality is welcome, and Yan had been expecting something of the sort.

"Blade." He confirms. "Staff as well, and I am acceptable at hand to hand." He reveals.

He's better than acceptable, because the skills required for Makashi, to be a proper duelist, require observation and awareness of the self, and those skills translate well to hand to hand. And he can use the Force to enhance his strength.

But that, precisely, is what he must avoid doing. And it grates.

"I am a decent shot through the Force, but it shows." He also offers.

No need to walk around it, when he needs to learn as much as possible, and hide his brightest skill which is the blade.

griefdestined

Judging by the flat look he received from Yan, Obi-Wan knew that he was not as subtle as he thought he had been with his realization. And perhaps that was his problem after all, perhaps Count Dooku simply could read Obi-Wan like a holonovel and he had absolutely no idea. With that unsettling thought, he paid careful attention to the Jedi Knight's words.

Yan was frustratingly stoic in both demeanor and in the Force, so much so Obi-Wan was grateful Anakin was nowhere near this happenstance. No doubt his former Padawan would have attacked Yan the first chance he got. Even Obi-Wan's patience was bubbling with uncertainties.

He really wished the Council would have let him meditate before tasking him with this.

Lips pulled down into a frown, eyebrows pulling together at the mention of the Force. It was troubling indeed. Obi-Wan had known the Force was clouded, over the years his abilities as a seer slowly diminished. He just didn't know whether it was because he never truly wielded and trained that muscle, or because the Force now moved in a way that eluded his abilities.

But that would be something to ponder later for what caught his attention was the first real inclination of distain from Yan. Unfortunate as it was, that it was over a topic Obi-Wan was wary of himself.

"Yes," he murmured as he took a slow steadying breath. The nature behind the clones was concerning for Obi-Wan, and he wasn't entirely sure how much Yan was allowed to know about them. It was a sensitive topic among the Council. One that continuosly got brought up, and then somehow got lost in the paperwork of the war.

One thing after another took their attention.

"Technically...they are young," Obi-Wan replied carefully. "From my understanding they are genetically altered to age rapidly during adolescenence for..." and his face twitched at the word. "production purposes. My own Commander, I believe is around 12 or 14 in accordance to human standards. The specifics of years in regards to maturity varies from species to species and I am no expert to have any particular weight in the argument. The only thing I can agree with is that they do feel as light as the younglings and Padawans."

#griefdestined #{ main verse: lost in time }

All of Yan's attention was focused around them: most of it on Obi-Wan, and on Yan himself, because he did not want his shields nor his emotions to waver, but he also wanted to know the man. To see what he was dealing with, just as much as he was keeping an eye on their surroundings. Just in case, because one never know, and Yan wouldn't put it past his old Master to have them followed. He would, if their situations were reversed.

It took all his effort to keep his expression steady at the word 'production', even if his dislike of it was visible in the Force, for the moment he needed before he reeled it down.

"You have been fighting by their side. I would argue," he pointed out, "it makes you something of an expert on them. More than most."

More than the Senate, more than whoever was giving them the orders.

"Was there truly no other option?" He sighed, and he let himself sound young, and let some of his frustration show. Part design, and part the latter not being something he was always good at hiding. But the question was meant from a desire to understand.

He expected there hadn't been. He wanted to believe better from the Council. But as matters stood, he wanted to hear it, first, and to take the chance to ask questions before doubtlessly being assigned someone who would know not to let Yan start asking.

Or perhaps he'd already been assigned someone prepared, and was merely being humored, of course. Not that it mattered, when he kept looking for something to hold on to, something he could use to feel a little less useless, a little less trapped.

Jaing sighs, long and slow. Yan won't be the first to have thought that; Jaing has encountered similar thoughts from plenty of people at various points. He won't even be the first jetiise to express the notion.

"Loyalty, yes, highly valued. But doesn't mean being overt with your loyalty. Or even honest about it."

"Montross- the traitor- he swore himself to Tor Vizsla, who claimed to be the rightful Mand'alor. When Montross betray Mereel, from his perspective, it was loyalty to his leader."

A self depcreating smile appears as Jaing's shakes his head. "Just like the Jedi, our culture is full of mistakes, and contradictions."

It does not entirely feel like loyalty, where Yan is standing, but then again story is full of spies and infiltrators, and it says something about the Mandalorians that, for all their culture is known for open warfare, they are not above it.

Mistakes and contradictions, indeed.

"I suppose that only makes us all people," he sighs, "for all that so many would like to draw a line between us."

And then, considering it, hands folded in the very Jedi way under the tunics.

"Is this Tor Vizsla still Mand'alor? Is there a Mand'alor at all, now?" He still asked, and let his tone be clearly curious, because he couldn't rely on the Force to show it as he'd show it to another Jedi.

#{ inspiration || dooku }#( omg )

thats-ee

How it started vs. how it’s going

@cinderedgrief gets an old Sith Apprentice Plotted-ish starter

There had been a time, an eternity and an age ago, when Dooku would have faced the sight of corruption and found it contemptible. He was no longer so naive, of course, ever since he'd understood what proper power felt like: he had long learned to harness the Dark Side.

It didn't make the sight before him, he thought, any less wondrous, any less concerning. So much power, so much might, and so little poise, even despite the host of barbarians following him.

This, Darth Tyranus thought, could yet be useful. Against his Master, yes, and against the Republic, and against all those institutions that deserved to fall and be rebuilt again.

"I have heard you go by another name now, my dear grandpadawan." He spoke. An introduction and an offer, made through the iron-walled shields that had grown his very nature.

He would reveal the Darkness, yes, but in time. Not yet.

#cinderedgrief #{ guest muse: the sith apprentice }#( :3 )

Notable; the kid follows, and doesn't complain to the General's face. Or immediately start complaining to Jaing's. Restraint, that's good. Jaing is already evaluating him, he can't help it. Trying to read the emotional state of... The General hadn't explicitly said Jedi, but she'd danced right along the edge.

Teach him to move without the Force, to avoid the Inquisitors. The kid looked a bit stuck up for any Padawan who could have made it this long into the Empire, but Jaing wouldn't call him on it.

"Jaing's fine, no need to be so formal. Jaing Skirata." And for the sake of getting any kind of awkwardness out of the way immediately, while he could still spin around and tell the Jedi it wasn't his fault;

"First name matters more, cause Skirata is gonna get you pointed to four or five different people. You got a problem with me being a clone, you better go tell the General that before one of my brothers punches you in the face."

Jaing Skirata, and the name doesn't mean anything to him, not the way the word 'clone' does, but then again Yan has skipped much of that part of history. He has read enough about it, and heard enough about it, that the disquiet in his chest is far from faint, because what happened is unclear but he knows enough.

But he releases it into the Force, merely regarding Jaing, and then nods, because he doesn't have to like the man to learn from him, and because the Force does not tell him anything unusual about Jaing.

Of course, the Jedi stillness while thinking is something he'll have to work on, but Yan is not focused on that right now.

Instead, after a moment, he decides to be just as frank, and offers Jaing a wry smile.

"It would be highly hypocritical of me, Jaing, to judge anyone for their origins." And then, "I'm Yan Dooku, and I would appreciate it if you forgot the last name now that you know it."

#{ rp memes and starters }

musesgonnamuse

Send “📚” and I will flip to a random page in a book and use the first line of dialogue I see as a starter.

griefdestined

Obi-Wan chuckled at the similiarity, "Mine as well. Bant - you might see her around at some point - enjoys the pools there. She would swim and I would sit amongst the plants."

The Jedi Master allowed himself to be brought wherever Yan felt more comfortable considering how awkward their situation was. And upon noticing they were brought to the running water, muffling their voices something in his eyes clicked and he looked at Yan differently.

It occured to him now, that he really didn't know Dooku at all, or even his true motive. Cunning and clever clearly from a young age, maybe they could get more information than they realized. Obi-Wan had a general idea from what Qui-Gon told him, and of course accounts from Yoda, but he was never truly able to get into his mindset.

Friends close and enemies closer right? So while Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi wanted to help Yan figure out this Force mystery. General Obi-Wan Kenobi wanted to know everything he could that could help him win this war.

Now he understood why the Council chose him.

The comment caught him off guard enough that his eyebrow rose in surprise. "Oh. I suppose it depends. I learned battle meditation early enough, I can mantain balance seemingly easier than others. It does not distract from feeling death, however." He commented grimly. There was no need to sugarcoat his words, this was still technically Dooku, he would not have appreciated it.

"It feels...lighter immediately away from the Core and battlefields. I'm sure you can feel how light the clones are. I feel like I'm surrounded by the creche on my ship sometimes. It's not all bad. But I imagine it feels clouded. I know the temple itself feels different than just a few years ago."

#griefdestined #{ main verse: lost in time }

He noticed the look, and just as he noticed it he offered it no more than flat recognition, because he hadn't thought for a moment that the Council -and among them Yoda- wouldn't assign someone as observant or more than Yan himself.

This was, in a way, politics. And for all that he disliked them, he was comfortable navigating them: he'd had to become good at them, both to negotiate and mediate and to deal with being the Grandmaster's Padawan.

Still, given the chance, he wanted to do good for the Jedi Order, and for the Galaxy. He wanted to help. He just also wanted to find Sifo-Dyas and he doubted the Force had brought him here to keep him just on Coruscant, of course, but for now he'd play with the cards he had.

"I see." He replied, however. And then, at the confirmation that it felt lighter away from the battlefield, he nodded. Because that had been his impression, yes, but he couldn't know if it was due to the war, or due to his own state, or if the Galaxy felt darker because the man he would become was a Sith. But the confirmation was still welcome.

"That has been my impression too. Both before, and on the journey back." He admitted. And then, at the mention of the clones, he didn't hide a frown.

Time to see what he was dealing with.

"They are light, indeed. And they are so young, far younger than most Padawans." He added. "It does not sit well with me."

Time to see if he was believed, which he didn't entirely hope he would, and time to see what the answer would be. Whether there would be offense at it.

Jaing settles; talking Mandalorian history is a lot more familar to him than arguing Jetiise philosphy and thinking about the wider scope of the war. This question, this is one he knows absolutely how to answer.

"Jaster Mereel was Mand'alor around forty years ago. Worked at reforming the clans, reestablish peace with the Republic, even reached out the Jedi at several points."

"He worked a lot at finding a balance between reforming Mandalore, and holding onto traditions. And then he got himself killed, because he was too blind to see the snakes within his own camp."

Jaing had grown up with a lot of stories about Mereel and the True Mandalorians. Sometimes, the way that Kal'buir had talked about the man... Jaing wondered how much of that emotion was respect for the fallen leader, and how much was mourning his lost lover.

Yan does not miss the way the other settles, and welcomes it: he's curious, and it's something he doesn't entirely know... much beyond the basics. The Republic rarely thinks highly of Mandalorians, after all, and never has, and so what Yan knows is quite limited.

He does not miss the way it would put Mereel in his original timeline, which is a curious thought.

"Betrayal?" Yan asks. "I'm... surprised." He admits. "History says many things about Mandalorians, but it speaks highly of Mandalorian loyalty to each other. How regrettable, then, if this Mand'alor truly wanted peace."

But it might be precisely because he wanted peace, Yan thinks, and wonders just how much it might be the case.