II.
My name...
Yes... I should start with my name.
The name I used to go by was Tyrus Kabal.
I am one of the Korunnai. A native and proud survivor of the Summertime Wars of Haruun Kal. One of the few left, from the tribe of Kabalai. That makes me a survivor of two genocides.
I was once a "humble" Jedi Knight. A battle-hardened Jedi Guardian. A proud Padawan of the great, beautiful Shaak Ti. An associate of my planet's pride and glory, Mace Windu.
A friend of Anakin Skywalker.
…Those names.
All the memories of these great Jedi... all they bring me, is utter... despair.
Survivors guilt.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. It took a long time to accept what had happened. Windu, Skywalker, Ti; all once were the leaders and protectors of all that was "good" in the galaxy. The balance of, in my perspective, what was right. Although they always made me feel inadequate and weak in my training, right from the very beginning as a young, eager Padawan, I still looked up to them fondly. For every mistake I made during combat training against Master Windu, I trained just as hard to rectify them. For every flaw of focus in meditating and controlling my thoughts with Shaak Ti, I concentrated just as hard. For every great deed I heard of the Chosen One- Master Skywalker accomplishing, I returned in every aspect of my training just as eager and ready to overcome and best every obstacle and every mission that came my way.
They were some of the Jedi who changed the Galaxy numerous times for the better. They were the Jedi who I really felt made a clear distinction of what was good and evil in this horrible universe full of it.
They were the Jedi who helped me survive and become the man I am today.
I wanted to change the future of the galaxy for the better, too. Like them. That is why I sought out Shaak Ti for training, long ago.
Before all of this... before the Empire. Before Order 66 and the Great Jedi Purge.
When on Haruun Kal, my life consisted of constant fear of everything. For my loved ones perishing, for combat against the brutal Balawai. The Summertime War was a long, devastating experience, and I will never forget how the Balawai brutally treated my planet and its native people with utter disrespect for its life and scenery. They were outsiders to the planet. They had no right to our land, our resources – they had completely dried out all the spices and wealth on the planet and stayed to try and control our humble, peaceful people with a harsh government.
Most of my people- and my clan, the Kabalai- did not take kindly to them. As a young teenager I witnessed all of my clan- my family and my friends - perish, for fighting for basic human rights. I was only spared because I was a young, physically strong man. They had a trade in the slave market and there were distant worlds looking for slaves like me to work to death.
When the slavers were transporting me and the few other survivors of other clans into their run-down ships, a mysterious aircraft came into view and engaged the hostiles in combat. I watched in awe as all around me, the evil men and women panicked and, after a few moments of unsuccessful return fire, were laying down their weapons to the grassy grounds.
When I turned to the direction most of them were looking toward, two tall, mysterious, glowing figures- one woman in pure white and one man in brown and white Jedi robes- began walking across to the ships and slavers, an aura of what seemed like peace surrounding them. They slowly collected all the blasters and other deadly weapons of the slavers with the invisible "force", and rallied up all the survivors gently, including myself, into one of their ships.
I didn't get to stay long. I don't remember much about what exactly they discussed, but I do know they mentioned this was the beginning of an effort to stop hostilities on my home planet, and prevent further loss of innocent life. I wanted to speak to them- thank them eternally for saving me and my brethren, but all I got was quick smile, and the blast doors closed on me. I understood, of course, as the Jedi had plenty more people to save. And, as I spent countless hours on the ship, being transported to the nearest humanity centre to recover and rest up, all I thought about was the Jedi. Their heroism, their bravery to move in. Their efficiency at stopping the threat. After all those crimes and atrocities, I knew exactly what I wanted to become in my life.
I know... it sounds so dramatic. But that is exactly what inspired me to be a Jedi.
So, from there, I managed to stow away on various Star-ships across the galaxy over the years, wanting to reach Coruscant and get to the Official Jedi temple. I was so excited. So eager.
So very young and foolish.
I do not know how I managed to be chosen and accepted into being trained by the Jedi other than possessing dumb luck.
As a Korrun, I have always possessed the natural connection to the force, whether I was aware of it or not. The moments following my initial barging into the temple and seeking some of the Masters into training me, I was told this by Mace Windu himself- a fellow Korunnai- who seemed surprised at the level of force sensitivity I possessed. I told them all about the Jedi Knights rescuing me and how much I wanted to become just like them.
At first they refused, saying I was already too old and foolish. My mannerisms in coming to the temple didn't impress them, either. But I luckily caught the eye of Shaak Ti.
And she trained me. For years alongside my two fellow Padawans, I learned the ways of the Jedi and the ancient, hypocritical "Code" we had to follow. When Fe Sun, Ti's other student, accomplished a task set by her before me, I tried my very best to overcome it and prove to her I was just as focused. Just as devoted. Just as good.
I could not best Sun. My frustration and lack of focus on the task caused me to lose control of my emotions for a brief moment, and I proceeded to attack Sun in anger. I was immediately disabled by Ti and Sun.
Sun was always competitive, but humble; she just stood there, looking at me without a hint of dislike or smugness to spurn me on. I found that worse than if she had chosen to challenge me. I was too proud, and insulted Sun like a spoiled child. I was arrogant and stubborn a student. Shaak Ti never told me this, of course. But that is what I think I was. What I know I was.
Ti taught me everything I will go into detail later in this holocron: I mastered the graceful and almost flawless Makashi and Ataru lightsaber forms under her wing with years of training and devotion, but I was described as more of a Niman user, as I tended to focus on balancing all my defence and offense equally. I knew I could never master the dangerous Vaapad technique like the great Master Windu used to his advantage- but I wanted to be the next best thing, which was to balance the ability to be flexible and dangerous in all categories of combat with my lightsaber.
Ti taught me how to resist force tampering with the mind, and focus on more offensive and defensive traits: I successfully blocked my mind from psychic tampering and I mastered the physical deflection of force lightning and blaster bolts with just the tip of my fingers and focus of my perception on a target from any perspective. I could sense a hostile from a dozen metres away and have any flexibility and prowess to maneuvere and quickly take down any opponent with a well-co-ordinated series of slashes and jumps. I always wore down an opponent with my agility, and mixed it up a bit with my offensive favourites. I felt I was well on the way to become a true Warrior on par with my master. These skills and abilities… were everything I dreamed of being capable of doing.
Shaak Ti taught me everything I know. Everything I used to survive. I was proud to be her student.
I guess none of my masters expected me to survive, however, when they themselves perished miserably. While all I ever had in my stubborn mind was eagerness to return to training and do better than last time, the rest of the Masters, Students and Knights frowned upon my constant need to impress and change. I argued frequently with fellow students. I displayed emotion more openly, and my uncontrollable anger and resentment when I failed or didn't meet my expectations often got the better of me and threatened my position within the Academy. Prior to the Battle of Geonosis, all I ever heard most of the time in the academy was the wise old sayings of Odan Urr: "Use the Force to satisfy the will of the Force—not to satisfy your own curiosity.", and Master Yoda's infamous, "Try not! Do, or do not. There is no try."
Master Yoda was a wise one. I always respected his way of thinking and acting, and words of wisdom. But even his calm, well-meaning demeanour couldn't stop me from being increasingly irritated at the barriers of the Jedi Code and way of life. I always felt I was being restricted and told off for being curious. For wanting to be better. For questioning what truly constitutes good or bad or evil. Master Yoda could not comprehend that I was doing. I was trying to be better. It did not mean I was defying him or the Code- I just wanted to be better, so I could serve the people of the galaxy better. But he and most of the rest did not ever seem to understand.
Only Shaak ever displayed sympathy or understanding to me. My Master was always the calm and collected one, whom I could always seek out for guidance without fear of harsh judgement. She never gave me discouragement, but words of advice which eased my mind, and helped me improve upon my faults and errors and become a better student, and ultimately, a better Jedi.
But most of her acceptance came from our long history of training together, and for being her only surviving Padawan. She became used to my bouts of stubbornness and "defiance", and I sensed she used the time to support me as a way of forgetting her own misplaced guilt. When Fe Sun and Jor-Kel had died, my master was overcome with grief. She hid it well – as every Jedi Master did - but ultimately I knew she was upset. Lyshaa, the criminal responsible for murdering Fe Sun, was eventually brought to justice by Ti herself, but I knew she would never overcome the guilt. The way she faltered in her movements, the way her tone of voice always changed in the rare moments she did speak. I still wanted to make her proud, to show her that I was trying- that I was alive, and proving our superiors doubts wrong that she was guiding her students in the wrong direction in some fields. I wanted to make her smile, be happy again.
But like Yoda, she mistook my efforts as dangerous displays of emotional attachment.