"Natural Mystic"
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Instance Squadron
Lieutenant Tonkilu "Mystic" Fytolak (Instance Seven)-(Firerro Male from Coruscant)
Flight Officer Daila Narrow (Instance Eight) -(Twi'lek Female from Ryloth)
Flight Officer Jopak S'etran (Instance Ten) - (Bothan Male from Kothlis)
Flight Officer Lar Otlen (Instance Nine) - (Human Male from Eriadu)
Lieutenant Commander Amral Drobul (Instance One/Leader)-(Mon Calamari Male from Mon Calamari)
Other
The Wanderer (Unknown Male)
Instance Seven's bruised X-wing clung to the back of a stray asteroid. Instance Squadron had made themselves a small base in an asteroid field along the Imperial shipping lanes. Seven thought how they'd made a nusaince of themselves to the Imperials, fourteen shipments either captured or destroyed in the past nine months alone. They would have to leave soon, before the Imperials found them and sent enough firepower to destroy them. Seven cleared his mind, looking back to the snubfighter's scanners. Nothing still. The lanes had been quiet, quieter than usual. Something wasn't sitting right with Seven, and when something wasn't sitting right in his mind it always meant something was about to happen.
"Seven, this is Four. You found thing any yet, Mystic?" crackled a voice over the com.
"Not yet, Four. It is far to quiet...getting that mystical feeling," spoke Seven to his friend in the largest of the asteroids.
"Want we should scramble?" spoke Four again.
Seven thought of it for a momment, then spoke, "Might want to give me some company though. Eight and Ten could use a little less rest if you ask me. I think we should get ready to roll though, in my opinion."
"I'll let the Commander know. And I think I'll rouse Eight and Ten on my way," spoke Four.
Mystic looked back out to space from his fighter. He had a bad feeling.
After a few minutes, Eight and Ten drifted onto Mystic's asteroid, trying to look like just another piece of space garbage. An A-wing and what was refered to as an Ugly in Rebel fighter speak. It was pieced together from a Z-95 Headhunter, a Y-wing and a B-wing in a rather ingenious bomber and capture vessel design.
"Someone always trying to ruin my nice day by waking me up," spoke a disgruntled Eight. She was a purple Twi'lek, happily at home in her A- wing, no matter how much she complained.
"Naturally, it is the order of the universe to make you whiny, Eight." quipped Ten. The Bothan man was smooth as ever, which put him right at home in the oddly graceful ship he had named "The Beautiful Flower" with his own brand of humor. The two pilots were wingmates, and a bit more whenever they could be.
"Cut the chatter, Eight and Ten. Keep an eye out for anything," Seven calmly spoke to them.
"Aw, Mystic. Nobody is anywhere near here for lightyears," mused Eight.
As if to defy the pilot a large, bulky freighter streamed in from hyperspace to make Nav corrections on its trip. It bore large Imperial markings and was broadcasting in Imperial Navy codes.
"Instance Seven to Instance Group. We've got a toy. Light'em up and send them out," ordered Seven, firing his engines to full instantly. "Instance Command, we have a block spouting Navy codes. Moving to intercept, request assistance."
"Got you, Seven. We're on our way," squaked the voice of Four in the asteroid base.
With percision movements Seven lead Eight and Ten towards the Imperial Freighter. They opened with laser canons first, choosing to save torpedoes for something bigger than a simple freighter. It didn't look to be putting up much a fight, though its shields held strong.
The rest of Instance Squadron soared from the small asteroid base towards the freighter. It had stalled in space and sat taking a strong pounding from Seven, Eight and Ten. Something still nagged at the back of Mystic's mind though.
Lieutenant Commander Drobul, Instance Leader, lead the rest of Instance squadron into a formation for precise attack on the freighter. Before their attack could commense though, the freighter itself dropped its shields for its lower hull. From beneath the freighter streamed four entire squadrons of TIE Fighters, and from the freighter itself came laser canon emplacements from the hull of the ship. It was a trap.
Within half a heartbeat the watery voice of Instance Leader screamed through the comm system, "Instance Squadron evacuate...Evactuate! Get out of..."
Instance Leader's X-wing became a bubble of melted metal as the TIEs came into Instance Squadron. The rest of the incoming Instances began to peel for space, while Seven, Eight and Ten covered the retreat bravely. The bravery was for nothing though, as the TIEs were faster than most of the Instance squadron and badly outnumbered the rogue group. Within several minutes the retreating group was drifting through space in the asteroid field that would be their new grave. Ten had brought his squadmates vengance though, his ship had killed the Imperial freighter's engines. The freighter returned the favor by blowing through his cockpit in a hail of canonfire. Eight fell soon after, her shriek of rage signalling her run at the freighter which ended in another hail of canonfire.
The only remaining fighter was Instance Seven. He and Eight had taken out four TIEs each, but that left forty-four TIEs and the crippled freighter against his single X-wing. With the odds he faced, even his natural skill his time in the fight did not last long. He managed to down four more TIEs, but a single blast from a TIE fighter slashed through his fighter's cockpit. By some miracle of the universe, the blast did not kill Mystic. It did sear off both of his arms and blew his cockpit apart, leaving the disfigured pilot to drift in dead space.
Mystic drifted through space, barely alive but horribly aware. His tattered flightsuit let in the cold of space, he wished he still had arms so he could turn off the MagCon field and just let himself die here. He watched as an Imperial Star Destroyer entered the area and the fighters and a shuttle from the freighter left to the Destroyer in a half an hour, the impeccable timing of the Empire. They probably knew he was alive. They probably knew he was in pain. They knew he was going to die. The Destroyer left Mystic in the cold space.
Mystic drifted in the darkness of space, the air in his MagCon field was almost gone and his breathing had become shallow. He felt at peace. His squadron...no, his friends had just died here, it was only right that he die here as well.
In a flash of pseudo-motion a battered Troller-Class shuttle came into the asteroid field. The Troller shuttles were the ship of choice for the galaxy's scavangers, people that gained fortunes off of the misfortune of others in Mystic's mind. The troller was painted green in the spots that still had paint. A tow cable soared from its top turrent, latching onto the disabled freighter while smaller tow cables began to collect any pieces of craft big enough to still be salvaged for any sort of scrap. Mystic wondered what would happen to the bodies of his friends that still resided in pieces of the ships being brought onto that troller. He'd miss them, they'd been his only company for the past hour. What's taking me so long to die?
From the troller came a smaller ship which Seven recognized as a personnel retriever. He wondered why a scavenger would bother with survivors since they'd be able to claim the wreck better than the scavenger would. The personnel retriever flew straight towards Mystic. He then lost conciousness as the cold took him.
Mystic awoke feeling warm. He put his hand on his throbbing temple. My hand? He opened his eyes, wondering if the attack had merely been a horrible nightmare. He looked to his hands, pieces of cybernetic metal shone in places where synth-flesh had either not grown over or would not grow over. He sat up, looking around. He wore a pair of medical trousers only, but his gear that came from his flightsuit rested on a table at the end of the medical bed. There were also several boxes at the side of the table, they looked like they contained his stuff that he kept in his quarters. He found this quite interesting, since his stuff had been in the asteroid and not ready for evacuation.
The rest of the room was as a standard medical room on any starship. Seven wasn't picked up by a starship though, but a troller wouldn't have such medical facility onboard. He lept to his feet, taking his blaster from the holster in his flightsuit. He stopped when he caught his reflection in the mirror. His once magnificent mane of multicolored hair had been cropped short and burned down to a bright green color. He cautiously touched the shortened hair, frowning at the loss of his majestic locks. His face turned to a mask of rage. The anger at the Imperials for destroying his friends, the anger at himself for not dying with them, and now the miniscule anger at whoever had sheared off his hair burned through him. He turned to the door and walked out.
Seven wandered through the white, gleaming halls of what he was now certain was a starship, and a fairly new starship at that. He saw no one on board, no crew, no passengers, not even any droids. This unsettled him even further. He continued on towards what he hoped would be the path to the command center so he could deal with whoever had taken him. He came to a large set of doors that bore strange markings, but resembled closely the standard bearing of an entrance to a command center. The doors opened before Mystic could study the markings or make any plans of attack.
Within the command station stood a tall man in a cloak that look black yet shone as if it contained the stars hidden in its folds. He kept his back to Mystic. The man made no noise, not even a hint of realization that he was no longer alone, yet Mystic knew the man knew he was there. The being radiated power and authority, yet also peace and honor rolled from him like a fine mist. Mystic stood enchanted by this aura, unprepared for it in any way.
"Welcome, Lieutenant Commander Tonkilu. I have been expecting you since you awoke. I trust you will consider listening to my words before you shoot me?" the man's voice flowed through the room, as if guided by an unfelt current of wind. It impressed Mystic thuroughly.
"Who, or what, are you?" asked Mystic. He lowered the small blaster to his side, but kept himself ready to use it.
"You may call me Wanderer for now. Revealing myself before you accept my offer would be unwise," spoke the man again. He still did not turn to face Mystic.
"Wanderer..." Mystic let the name flow through his mind for a momment, then spoke again, "why have you brought me here? What do you mean by 'offer'?"
"You have a gift, young Adept," spoke the Wanderer, "a great gift with a great responsibility."
"What do you mean..." spoke Mystic, but the realization came to him before he finished, "gift..."
"Yes, you know what I speak of. You're ability to sense out danger before it comes is a part of the gift you have, a small part but a good sign of it," the Wanderer spoke once more, the tone of his voice never rising beyond a calm but never dull wave. It was almost a whisper, yet Mystic never had to strain to hear it.
"What gift are you talking about?" Mystic asked. He moved a bit closer, the weapon in his hand falling from his thoughts.
"You have an ability that shall soon be again in this galaxy. An gift that binds the galaxy together and is found with all life within it," the Wanderer hinted, "when my kind wandered more frequently we called it the Force."
"The Force? You mean like General Skywalker has?" asked Mystic, not noticing the command doors closing.
"Yes, as Skywalker has. You have it as well, Tonkilu," whispered the strange man.
Mystic considered the Wanderer's words. He watched the tall figure cloaked in black silently. "If what you say is true, what is this offer you have for me?"
"I wish to train you to use your abilities. This galaxy will need the Jedi again. I foresee the fall of the Emperor and then his Empire in short time," the Wanderer predicted.
"You want me to abandon the Rebellion and go with you?" asked Mystic skeptically.
"The Alliance shall restore the galaxy without our help, young Adept. The Jedi shall need to return soon as well though, or the Alliance will tear itself apart when the fighting is done," said the being.
Mystic frowned, considering the choices. "You saved my life, though I'd have rather died with my friends. You gave me new arms," he made a fist and looked at it as if to enhance his words, "This I could never repay you for. You wish for me to abandon the Alliance though, and forget that people will die in my place."
"An honorable concern, Tonkilu, yet you must look further than the current day. I do not recommend looking towards tommorrow at all times, yet I ask you to consider the lives you may save as a Jedi that would otherwise perish were there not one to save them," spoke the Wanderer.
Mystic frowned.
"I promise you that by rejoining the Alliance you could save no one that would not already die. You would probably end up dead yourself if they allowed you to fly," spoke the voice from the black cloak.
"And by being a Jedi I could prevent others from suffering?" asked Mystic.
"You could prevent a great deal of suffering as a Jedi," offered the Wanderer.
Mystic looked at his arms, then he looked at the man who offered him a new life in this galaxy. He looked further, staring into the void of cloak the Wanderer wore, considering the debt he owed his squadron for losing their lives and the debt he owed this man for saving his life.
"You are quite convincing, Wanderer. With a heavy heart I must acept your offer," spoke Tonkilu.
"Thank you, Adept Tonkilu, you will not regret your choice," spoke The Wanderer.
"Please, call me Mystic or Seven...I do not wish for my name to be spoken, it could capture me into the service of another being," asked Mystic, squriming in the heritage of the Firrerro.
"The Force has called your name now, you are indebted to its service beyond all others calls, my apprentice," said the Wanderer, a calming aura coming from his voice.
Tonkilu nodded, watching the man still, "You said you would tell me your name?"
The being nodded, turning to face Tonkilu. He lowered the hood of his cloak, revealing a youthful looking man with long silver hair. His eyes glowed green with energy, thin wisps of green smoke coming from where the energy had overrun. "I am Jedi Master Logray. You may call me Master Logray."
Tonkilu nodded, then repeated, "Master Logray..."
"Allow me to also introduce your fellow apprentice...Doya Tay Logray," the Jedi motioned to the command doors as he spoke. The command doors opened again, revealing a beautiful young woman in radiant white robes. Her long hair was silver like the Master's, but her eyes were a stunning violet though they did not glow. She bowed gracefully to Tonkilu, who returned the gesture. She smiled with kindness and a bit of roguishness.
"You both shall be members of a new order of Jedi. Perhaps the mistakes of the past can be erased, and the galaxy can become a place of peace again," announced Master Logray.
Tonkilu nodded, smiling a bit, "Perhaps we can be the return of the Jedi."
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Instance Squadron
Lieutenant Tonkilu "Mystic" Fytolak (Instance Seven)-(Firerro Male from Coruscant)
Flight Officer Daila Narrow (Instance Eight) -(Twi'lek Female from Ryloth)
Flight Officer Jopak S'etran (Instance Ten) - (Bothan Male from Kothlis)
Flight Officer Lar Otlen (Instance Nine) - (Human Male from Eriadu)
Lieutenant Commander Amral Drobul (Instance One/Leader)-(Mon Calamari Male from Mon Calamari)
Other
The Wanderer (Unknown Male)
Instance Seven's bruised X-wing clung to the back of a stray asteroid. Instance Squadron had made themselves a small base in an asteroid field along the Imperial shipping lanes. Seven thought how they'd made a nusaince of themselves to the Imperials, fourteen shipments either captured or destroyed in the past nine months alone. They would have to leave soon, before the Imperials found them and sent enough firepower to destroy them. Seven cleared his mind, looking back to the snubfighter's scanners. Nothing still. The lanes had been quiet, quieter than usual. Something wasn't sitting right with Seven, and when something wasn't sitting right in his mind it always meant something was about to happen.
"Seven, this is Four. You found thing any yet, Mystic?" crackled a voice over the com.
"Not yet, Four. It is far to quiet...getting that mystical feeling," spoke Seven to his friend in the largest of the asteroids.
"Want we should scramble?" spoke Four again.
Seven thought of it for a momment, then spoke, "Might want to give me some company though. Eight and Ten could use a little less rest if you ask me. I think we should get ready to roll though, in my opinion."
"I'll let the Commander know. And I think I'll rouse Eight and Ten on my way," spoke Four.
Mystic looked back out to space from his fighter. He had a bad feeling.
After a few minutes, Eight and Ten drifted onto Mystic's asteroid, trying to look like just another piece of space garbage. An A-wing and what was refered to as an Ugly in Rebel fighter speak. It was pieced together from a Z-95 Headhunter, a Y-wing and a B-wing in a rather ingenious bomber and capture vessel design.
"Someone always trying to ruin my nice day by waking me up," spoke a disgruntled Eight. She was a purple Twi'lek, happily at home in her A- wing, no matter how much she complained.
"Naturally, it is the order of the universe to make you whiny, Eight." quipped Ten. The Bothan man was smooth as ever, which put him right at home in the oddly graceful ship he had named "The Beautiful Flower" with his own brand of humor. The two pilots were wingmates, and a bit more whenever they could be.
"Cut the chatter, Eight and Ten. Keep an eye out for anything," Seven calmly spoke to them.
"Aw, Mystic. Nobody is anywhere near here for lightyears," mused Eight.
As if to defy the pilot a large, bulky freighter streamed in from hyperspace to make Nav corrections on its trip. It bore large Imperial markings and was broadcasting in Imperial Navy codes.
"Instance Seven to Instance Group. We've got a toy. Light'em up and send them out," ordered Seven, firing his engines to full instantly. "Instance Command, we have a block spouting Navy codes. Moving to intercept, request assistance."
"Got you, Seven. We're on our way," squaked the voice of Four in the asteroid base.
With percision movements Seven lead Eight and Ten towards the Imperial Freighter. They opened with laser canons first, choosing to save torpedoes for something bigger than a simple freighter. It didn't look to be putting up much a fight, though its shields held strong.
The rest of Instance Squadron soared from the small asteroid base towards the freighter. It had stalled in space and sat taking a strong pounding from Seven, Eight and Ten. Something still nagged at the back of Mystic's mind though.
Lieutenant Commander Drobul, Instance Leader, lead the rest of Instance squadron into a formation for precise attack on the freighter. Before their attack could commense though, the freighter itself dropped its shields for its lower hull. From beneath the freighter streamed four entire squadrons of TIE Fighters, and from the freighter itself came laser canon emplacements from the hull of the ship. It was a trap.
Within half a heartbeat the watery voice of Instance Leader screamed through the comm system, "Instance Squadron evacuate...Evactuate! Get out of..."
Instance Leader's X-wing became a bubble of melted metal as the TIEs came into Instance Squadron. The rest of the incoming Instances began to peel for space, while Seven, Eight and Ten covered the retreat bravely. The bravery was for nothing though, as the TIEs were faster than most of the Instance squadron and badly outnumbered the rogue group. Within several minutes the retreating group was drifting through space in the asteroid field that would be their new grave. Ten had brought his squadmates vengance though, his ship had killed the Imperial freighter's engines. The freighter returned the favor by blowing through his cockpit in a hail of canonfire. Eight fell soon after, her shriek of rage signalling her run at the freighter which ended in another hail of canonfire.
The only remaining fighter was Instance Seven. He and Eight had taken out four TIEs each, but that left forty-four TIEs and the crippled freighter against his single X-wing. With the odds he faced, even his natural skill his time in the fight did not last long. He managed to down four more TIEs, but a single blast from a TIE fighter slashed through his fighter's cockpit. By some miracle of the universe, the blast did not kill Mystic. It did sear off both of his arms and blew his cockpit apart, leaving the disfigured pilot to drift in dead space.
Mystic drifted through space, barely alive but horribly aware. His tattered flightsuit let in the cold of space, he wished he still had arms so he could turn off the MagCon field and just let himself die here. He watched as an Imperial Star Destroyer entered the area and the fighters and a shuttle from the freighter left to the Destroyer in a half an hour, the impeccable timing of the Empire. They probably knew he was alive. They probably knew he was in pain. They knew he was going to die. The Destroyer left Mystic in the cold space.
Mystic drifted in the darkness of space, the air in his MagCon field was almost gone and his breathing had become shallow. He felt at peace. His squadron...no, his friends had just died here, it was only right that he die here as well.
In a flash of pseudo-motion a battered Troller-Class shuttle came into the asteroid field. The Troller shuttles were the ship of choice for the galaxy's scavangers, people that gained fortunes off of the misfortune of others in Mystic's mind. The troller was painted green in the spots that still had paint. A tow cable soared from its top turrent, latching onto the disabled freighter while smaller tow cables began to collect any pieces of craft big enough to still be salvaged for any sort of scrap. Mystic wondered what would happen to the bodies of his friends that still resided in pieces of the ships being brought onto that troller. He'd miss them, they'd been his only company for the past hour. What's taking me so long to die?
From the troller came a smaller ship which Seven recognized as a personnel retriever. He wondered why a scavenger would bother with survivors since they'd be able to claim the wreck better than the scavenger would. The personnel retriever flew straight towards Mystic. He then lost conciousness as the cold took him.
Mystic awoke feeling warm. He put his hand on his throbbing temple. My hand? He opened his eyes, wondering if the attack had merely been a horrible nightmare. He looked to his hands, pieces of cybernetic metal shone in places where synth-flesh had either not grown over or would not grow over. He sat up, looking around. He wore a pair of medical trousers only, but his gear that came from his flightsuit rested on a table at the end of the medical bed. There were also several boxes at the side of the table, they looked like they contained his stuff that he kept in his quarters. He found this quite interesting, since his stuff had been in the asteroid and not ready for evacuation.
The rest of the room was as a standard medical room on any starship. Seven wasn't picked up by a starship though, but a troller wouldn't have such medical facility onboard. He lept to his feet, taking his blaster from the holster in his flightsuit. He stopped when he caught his reflection in the mirror. His once magnificent mane of multicolored hair had been cropped short and burned down to a bright green color. He cautiously touched the shortened hair, frowning at the loss of his majestic locks. His face turned to a mask of rage. The anger at the Imperials for destroying his friends, the anger at himself for not dying with them, and now the miniscule anger at whoever had sheared off his hair burned through him. He turned to the door and walked out.
Seven wandered through the white, gleaming halls of what he was now certain was a starship, and a fairly new starship at that. He saw no one on board, no crew, no passengers, not even any droids. This unsettled him even further. He continued on towards what he hoped would be the path to the command center so he could deal with whoever had taken him. He came to a large set of doors that bore strange markings, but resembled closely the standard bearing of an entrance to a command center. The doors opened before Mystic could study the markings or make any plans of attack.
Within the command station stood a tall man in a cloak that look black yet shone as if it contained the stars hidden in its folds. He kept his back to Mystic. The man made no noise, not even a hint of realization that he was no longer alone, yet Mystic knew the man knew he was there. The being radiated power and authority, yet also peace and honor rolled from him like a fine mist. Mystic stood enchanted by this aura, unprepared for it in any way.
"Welcome, Lieutenant Commander Tonkilu. I have been expecting you since you awoke. I trust you will consider listening to my words before you shoot me?" the man's voice flowed through the room, as if guided by an unfelt current of wind. It impressed Mystic thuroughly.
"Who, or what, are you?" asked Mystic. He lowered the small blaster to his side, but kept himself ready to use it.
"You may call me Wanderer for now. Revealing myself before you accept my offer would be unwise," spoke the man again. He still did not turn to face Mystic.
"Wanderer..." Mystic let the name flow through his mind for a momment, then spoke again, "why have you brought me here? What do you mean by 'offer'?"
"You have a gift, young Adept," spoke the Wanderer, "a great gift with a great responsibility."
"What do you mean..." spoke Mystic, but the realization came to him before he finished, "gift..."
"Yes, you know what I speak of. You're ability to sense out danger before it comes is a part of the gift you have, a small part but a good sign of it," the Wanderer spoke once more, the tone of his voice never rising beyond a calm but never dull wave. It was almost a whisper, yet Mystic never had to strain to hear it.
"What gift are you talking about?" Mystic asked. He moved a bit closer, the weapon in his hand falling from his thoughts.
"You have an ability that shall soon be again in this galaxy. An gift that binds the galaxy together and is found with all life within it," the Wanderer hinted, "when my kind wandered more frequently we called it the Force."
"The Force? You mean like General Skywalker has?" asked Mystic, not noticing the command doors closing.
"Yes, as Skywalker has. You have it as well, Tonkilu," whispered the strange man.
Mystic considered the Wanderer's words. He watched the tall figure cloaked in black silently. "If what you say is true, what is this offer you have for me?"
"I wish to train you to use your abilities. This galaxy will need the Jedi again. I foresee the fall of the Emperor and then his Empire in short time," the Wanderer predicted.
"You want me to abandon the Rebellion and go with you?" asked Mystic skeptically.
"The Alliance shall restore the galaxy without our help, young Adept. The Jedi shall need to return soon as well though, or the Alliance will tear itself apart when the fighting is done," said the being.
Mystic frowned, considering the choices. "You saved my life, though I'd have rather died with my friends. You gave me new arms," he made a fist and looked at it as if to enhance his words, "This I could never repay you for. You wish for me to abandon the Alliance though, and forget that people will die in my place."
"An honorable concern, Tonkilu, yet you must look further than the current day. I do not recommend looking towards tommorrow at all times, yet I ask you to consider the lives you may save as a Jedi that would otherwise perish were there not one to save them," spoke the Wanderer.
Mystic frowned.
"I promise you that by rejoining the Alliance you could save no one that would not already die. You would probably end up dead yourself if they allowed you to fly," spoke the voice from the black cloak.
"And by being a Jedi I could prevent others from suffering?" asked Mystic.
"You could prevent a great deal of suffering as a Jedi," offered the Wanderer.
Mystic looked at his arms, then he looked at the man who offered him a new life in this galaxy. He looked further, staring into the void of cloak the Wanderer wore, considering the debt he owed his squadron for losing their lives and the debt he owed this man for saving his life.
"You are quite convincing, Wanderer. With a heavy heart I must acept your offer," spoke Tonkilu.
"Thank you, Adept Tonkilu, you will not regret your choice," spoke The Wanderer.
"Please, call me Mystic or Seven...I do not wish for my name to be spoken, it could capture me into the service of another being," asked Mystic, squriming in the heritage of the Firrerro.
"The Force has called your name now, you are indebted to its service beyond all others calls, my apprentice," said the Wanderer, a calming aura coming from his voice.
Tonkilu nodded, watching the man still, "You said you would tell me your name?"
The being nodded, turning to face Tonkilu. He lowered the hood of his cloak, revealing a youthful looking man with long silver hair. His eyes glowed green with energy, thin wisps of green smoke coming from where the energy had overrun. "I am Jedi Master Logray. You may call me Master Logray."
Tonkilu nodded, then repeated, "Master Logray..."
"Allow me to also introduce your fellow apprentice...Doya Tay Logray," the Jedi motioned to the command doors as he spoke. The command doors opened again, revealing a beautiful young woman in radiant white robes. Her long hair was silver like the Master's, but her eyes were a stunning violet though they did not glow. She bowed gracefully to Tonkilu, who returned the gesture. She smiled with kindness and a bit of roguishness.
"You both shall be members of a new order of Jedi. Perhaps the mistakes of the past can be erased, and the galaxy can become a place of peace again," announced Master Logray.
Tonkilu nodded, smiling a bit, "Perhaps we can be the return of the Jedi."