Jedi Artisan 034

By the time everyone had had their fill of the Terror Box, it was afternoon, and rapidly approaching dusk. 

That energetic air of invincibility that the Mandalorians had in the morning had all but evaporated. 

Surrounded by monuments of their ancestors, and being in a ‘festive’ atmosphere where stalls sold all sorts of food & merch, confidence had been high. Yet it was in this very square dedicated to the triumphs of their people that a sloppily dressed, lazy Jedi had shat upon their culture. 

During the first challenge, warriors wielding swords, knives, axes, maces, machetes, spears & more exotic weapons all took their beatings from a young man and his stick. Even those handful of participants who had passed had only done so due to the Jedi's mercy. Anyone with a keen eye could spot Zane's mercy. If that wasn't enough, there were plenty of videos, influencers & news casters over analyzing each fight in excruciating detail. 

It was clear as day to anyone paying attention that they had been toyed with! 

Then there was the matter of the Terror Box. Many still speculated that there were injectors inside, that the blasted mystic was personally controlling how intense the effect was. Furthermore, who was to say if he wasn't using his own spells to alter the results? 

Everyone knew that the Jedi Council had shown favor to Clan Kryze. Dispatching a Master of all things to guard them spoke of how much they valued this relationship. To the ornery Mandalorians who already had a bone to pick with the Kryze family, this was simply unacceptable! 

Of course they weren't salty that a teenage girl lasted longer than everyone else. No, they couldn't possibly be nettled that she gave away priceless heirloom beskar armor to a kriffing commoner butcher or teacher of all people. 

Needless to say by the time dusk was rolling around, Zane-still standing upon the steps leading to the palace-had noticed that the ever prideful people were beginning to look incredibly grim. To him, he imagined this is what it must look like if the USA won the football world championship against the Germans, and then went on the call it the soccer world cup. The rest of the world would be positively enraged! 

Of course, he was much too tired to care about the opinions of the people who would rather kill one another in a Civil War than make boatloads of money as mercenaries. 

Seriously, Mandalorians had such a badass reputation, yet they only ever deployed as single units or squads. If they devoted as much energy as they did to killing themselves to killing other people for credits, they could buy entire systems. That, or just rule other planets from the shadows. 

“Knight Zane, are you going to move on to the third trial? I fret if you delay any longer, the locals might cause a riot.” Obi-Wan asked, approaching from the side, and offering a drink. 

Zane saw that the drink came in a coconut, and had a bendy straw. ‘Ah, the student is learning.’ Just what would he do once the precocious brat learned that he could be bribed with good food & snacks. 

“It isn't time yet. There's 24hrs in a day, right? They can wait.” Zane tiredly yawned, then reclined in a colorful beach chair. “Here, take a seat. I doubt you'll be surrounded by so many pissed off, hopeful Mandalorians at the steps of their capital building again any time soon.” 

Obi-Wan clearly didn't want to take a seat, but his unnerving respect for authority didn't allow him to refuse. 

“...” The youngster silently opened his mouth,  hesitating. 

“Go on now, speak your mind, Padawan.” Zane waved, then whisper-grumbled to himself. “Nothing stopped you in the past. And before you ask, yes, your little girlfriend should be fine.” He lazily waved. 

Obi-Wan's face briefly turned red, but he was quick to take a deep breath & settle down. 

“Attachments are forbidden by the-”

“We already discussed this, use the code. What was it you truly wanted to say?” Zane asked, tiredly closing his eyes. 

“About the Beskar armor…do you think you could make a set for my Master? I know he wouldn't wear it, but he frowns whenever he sees a set. As if he wants to approach, but is restraining himself.” Obi-Wan said in a low, embarrassed voice, as if he were tattling on his teacher. 

“Oh? That is indeed troublesome. Typically Qui-Gon is quite direct with what he wants. At least, in his own roundabout way.” Zane replied, stroking his chin in thought. 

Obi-Wan blinked his eyes, confusion written all over his face as he listened to Zane’s contradictory words. 

“Hmm? Confused, are you? Let you in on a secret, I will. Every older generation of Jedi's job it is to speak in riddles. Dispense wisdom to sound deep, yes?” Zane said, speaking like Yoda. He was beginning to see the joys that Masters Yoda & Oogway had when trolling him. 

“...so is that a no?” Obi-Wan blinked, not even pausing to consider Zane’s cryptic advice.

This little shit. 

“You are a good child, Obi-Wan, but Master Qui-Gon has his own considerations. After all, while you're here shooting the breeze with me, who do you think is responsible for guarding Satine from that assassin posing as a butcher?” Zane lazily drawled. 

“Satine?!” Obi-Wan cried out as he registered Zane's words, and then moved to stand, only to be held back in place by a wave of Zane's hand. “What are you doing, her life is in danger!” Obi-Wan grit his teeth, struggling with all his might, even channeling the Force, but was unable to escape Zane's grasp. 

“And you have the audacity to claim she isn't your girlfriend?” Zane rolled his eyes, then took a very loud sip from his bendy straw. “You know it's actually pretty difficult to find a regular bendy straw like this on Coruscant? Everyone is trying to be so trendy, and they have so many crazy loops. Utterly boring if you ask me.” 

“Knight Zane, please.” Obi-Wan entreated, his blue eyes full of focus and the will to do good. “This is my first mission, I fear failure might…” He said, then hung his head in shame. 

“You are a talent, Obi-Wan, I truly admire your dedication. As for that fear of being sent to the Service Corp? Do not dwell upon it, besides, didn't I say your Master was already on the case?” Zane playfully questioned the young teen. 

Obi-Wan suddenly stopped struggling, then suddenly lifted his head. “Master!” 

There, slowly, steadily climbing up the steps was the composed figure of Qui-Gon Jinn. “You can release Obi, now, Zane. He has suffered enough plight for one day.” 

Obi-Wan stumbled forward as Zane waved him away. The teen frantically looked left & right, but couldn't spot head nor hair of his blonde beau. 

“Master, where is she?” Obi-Wan asked, barely maintaining his veneer of calm. 

“You have much to learn, Obi-Wan. Were you not exercising patience when conversing with our resident troublemaker?” Qui-Gon asked. 

‘Oi, I represent that! How could you paint me in such a diabolical light, I thought we were friends!’ Zane thought to himself, yet remained silent, understanding that Qui-Gon was teaching his student a lesson. 

“But-!”

“Reach out your mind, feel the Force. Panic will get you nowhere.” Qui-Gon calmly intoned, and placed a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. 

The short brunette took a deep breath, calmed himself, and then focused. 

“I see Satine. She is unharmed. But something else. A killer! Master, we must-!”

“And? What else, Obi, what do you see? Do not allow panic to cloud your vision. Focus.” Qui-Gon guided like a father teaching his son how to ride a bicycle. 

“A gunman, no, several dozen assassins, we must not tarry!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, shook off Qui-Gon's hand, then ran towards the nearby tents where Satine was still resting. 

“He has much to learn.” Zane idly remarked, playing with his lightsaber. 

“I have faith in him.” Qui-Gon simply stated, clasping his hands within the fold of his robes. “However, it is you whom I worry about. I had thought that this was a ‘simple’ cultural exchange. At least by your standards, things had not gone too far out of proportions…however, how you are acting, the results you are looking to enact. You are not much different from my own Master. Although I call you friend, beware, I am watching you, Zane.” 

With that, Qui-Gon disappeared, following in his student's footsteps at a leisurely pace. 

Zane for his part, rolled his eyes. The way Qui-Gon was speaking about him, it was like he was some mustache twirling villain with plots within plots. Just because he had made the Terror Box, he was getting a second look all of the sudden? 

Of course, Zane knew that this wasn't what concerned Qui-Gon, but what could he say? Tell the older Jedi that he had had an accident during the forging process, and to just abandon the project halfway? Zane considered himself the ultimate salted fish Jedi, and didn't want to put in the effort to solve all the galaxy's issues by himself. So what if he made himself a little helper? 

Whilst Zane was enjoying his drink, and the peeved expressions of the Mandalorians, something entirely different was taking place in the large ‘medical’ tents off to the side. 

Under the cloth sheets were hundreds of people that had tested their mettle against the Terror Box. Many people were deep in sleep, and were twitching in place as they experienced nightmare after nightmare. However, those people who had woken up from their nightmares appeared to possess a zen-like quality about them. As if even their greatest fears could not hold them back. The Force felt strong around them, influencing them in ways they couldn't perceive. 

Amongst those currently asleep was none other than Satine Kryze. After leaving her hand within the Terror Box for so long, her sleep was the most troublesome. Tossing & turning in place, the young teen appeared particularly vulnerable. 

Watching the scion of Clan Kryze from a corner of the big tent was a dozen or so Mandalorians. A group made up of disaffected commoners & low tier clansmen, they viewed the Kryze as people holding everyone else down. If those at the top vanished, then everyone would get a piece of Beskar! 

“Perhaps we shouldn't do this…slaying a sleeping girl, where is the honor in that?” The butcher who had been gifted a set of Beskar whispered, clearly feeling apprehensive about this. 

“Shut up. If we take her out, then blame it on the Jedi, we can seize all that heirloom armor during the chaos.” One of his companions hissed. 

Eyeing one another shiftily, the conspirators started to cause a ruckus, drawing the attention of the guards. Meanwhile, one would-be killer wielded a staff similar in make to Zane's, and silently approached Satine. 

Just as he raised his weapon high, a black blade snap-hissed into existence, dicing the wood into pieces. 

Emerging from the dusk with the setting sun glimmering upon him, a fully armored man wearing Beskar armor-and no clan markings-had cut his way into the tent. 

Lifting one massive leg, he kicked the assassin in the chest, crunching bones, and sending him flying. 

The other conspirators tried to run, recognizing the newcomer as a superior warrior. 

Red cloak flapping behind him, the man silently cut them down or crippled the assailants one after another. By the time he had reached the butcher, the commoner clad in Beskar armor fell to his knees. 

“The Dark Saber, the Mask of Mandalore…that cape! Manda'lor please execute me! I am without honor!” The butcher cried out, and ripped his own helmet off his head, revealing a youthful face no older than 16. 

The Dark Saber was held high, when suddenly a youthful Padawan came charging in, blue blade stabbing forth. 

Black & blue collided in a mighty crack, and the force of the blow cut down the folds in the tent, revealing their duel for all in the square to see. 

For the first time in generations, Mandalore played host to a duel between a Jedi & their most sacred son!