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Tsilla Salkyn

Tsilla Salkyn
Jedi Knight

Homeworld: Nelvaan

Mentor(s): Erneg'laciali'sestor

Species: Nelvaanian

Padawan(s): Rozea Lhot

Biography

Civilizations thrive on progress. They evolve with the passing of each season and through embracing new and innovative venues. People broaden their horizons as distant cities, planets even, work with one another, from trading to sharing educational information and scientific breakthroughs.

And then there’s Nelvaan.

The day starts and a sun does not necessarily signify that. Most of the time, it remains concealed behind clouds. Ever-shifting clouds that form endless enchanting shapes as the wind breezes through them. Although, in Nelvaan, calling that a breeze is a gross understatement. The people on Dantooine would consider such a “breeze” the end of times.

But such thoughts did not occur to her all that time ago. On a day very similar to this one. Although, in a place where time mostly stands still, every day seems similar to the next one.

Tsilla Salkyn remembers her oversized blanket. Woven, tightly, by her mother. She remembers having to rise early. To reach the berry shrubs beyond the hills. And to do so quickly, lest the neighboring tribe deprives her family from their much needed sustainance. She remembers the stories, passed on from her grandmother to her own mother. Exploits of her ancestors, tales of courage and strength that got more grandiose with each retelling. She remembers the warm stew that she always found bland and boring. She remembers her mother’s lullabies, carrying her off to sleep oh-so gently. And she remembers her father’s warning and lectures, when she dared to stray away from her duties.

She blinked away the thoughts, exhaling softly on the viewport that was hardly an arm’s length ahead of her. She shifted, slightly, upon her somewhat tattered, even if well preserved for its age, blanket. Somewhat small for her currently, but she hadn’t retained it to keep the cold at bay anyway. With a sigh, she peered down towards the contents of her plate. The well seasoned steak paling in comparison to the memory of her mother’s soup. Her parents had tried to raise her to become an asset to the family. To assist them with gathering and with repairs. To keep the candle lit. To maintain the stories, and thus the memories, of those before her for generations to come.

But that did not end up being the path she would tread upon.

It was just after her return, from a rather profitable bounty of berries, that she saw the odd looking being sitting at the table opposite her parents. Their expressions, a concoction of confusion, worry and pride. As the story usually goes, the odd being was a Chiss Jedi; a ‘Watchman’, specifically, that sensed the young girl’s affinity within the realm of the Force and approached her family in order to attempt to explain to them the importance of the situation. Her parents were simple people. They were not from core worlds, they did not live in a metropolis, they had not received the high standards of education that other planets are famous for. But they were good parents. Able to realize what it would mean for their child to have a future. One that would have the capability to be brighter than anything they would have provided for her.

The years passed. The Chiss that had discovered her spark within the cold winter of Nelvaan, Erneg’laciali’sestor, had also made sure that she would be up to the challenges she would come to face on the path of a Jedi. Being his Padawan, she was able to reach a softer aspect of his. Not that it was actually soft, but she would take all she could get. Her training having been a rather unorthodox one, given the Watchman nature of her mentor, she was not accustomed to staying in a Temple. She was not accustomed to large classes nor was she used to having a cantina available at any moment of any day. Most of the food that she would eat, she would have acquired it herself. Or, on some days where the galaxy was somewhat kinder than it was on others, it would be a boon of sorts. She would never accept money as part of a civilian’s gratitude. Being a Jedi wasn’t work for her. It was her calling. It was a pilgrimage. But food? Food wasn’t money. She would gladly accept a hearty meal as a thank you. She would offer many of them as well if needed. As more time passed, her mentor was by now mostly unable to actually join in on the missions they would undertake, tried to serve the Order through other methods more to his own strengths. He would encourage her however to seek out problems in the galaxy, seek out wrongs and try to right them. She travelled far and wide, exploring many planets and trying to assist the ones that she could, before eventually being Knighted.

She spent some time travelling. Trying to find herself, her place in the cosmos. She did however keep contact with the Order. Assisting with lessons if needed or, at times, meeting with people she had ended up closer with within the Order.

It was not that long after that, before she eventually decided to follow in her former mentor’s footsteps. Donning the mantle of a Watchman, she was assigned to Ilum’s sector. There, as the Force would have it, her path crossed with that of her future student. Having done her best to retain within her all that her own mentor had tried to impart to her, as well as trying to evolve her approach in order to properly prepare her ward, she took Rozea Lhot under her figurative wing and saw her prosper and blossom until eventually she took her own path.

Throughout the years she has seen destiny at work. She has gone through hardship and loss. Through trials and surprises. She always valued within her, her capacity at seeing the light within the seeming darkness. She always treated her job as a ritual. A journey that had never lost its magic ever since she was a young girl on the tundras of Nelvaan.

She shakes her head one more time. This time snapping out of the inner mologues that tend to plague one’s mind when the only company they have is silence and the starship engine’s hum. It’s another slow day. Which is good, of course. “Ideal will be the world where our services will no longer be needed”. That is what he used to say, back when… She pushes herself off of the matress, trying to disrupt her thought process. The starship’s room is small. If it had decorations, or more personal effects, it could have been considered somewhat cluttered. But it was mostly bare currently. The dim silver light of a distant sun poured through the viewport and bathed the terminal’s desk in an almost luminescent glow. Her newly assigned sector should arrive soon. As if on cue, the terminal’s screen came to life. Approaching it, taking a seat and interacting with the interface, the hologram of a planet appeared on the screen. Before it slowly zoomed out and positioned itself on a gridded representation of the galaxy. A name flashing slowly on the side of the screen.

“Rannon.”