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When Obi-Wan had learned of the soothsayer from a hushed conversation between two stall-owners, he had expected a charlatan at worst and a matchmaking wisewoman at best. Still, it was something new and Obi-Wan was bored.
He left his Master cheerfully haggling for their lunch and followed the directions elicited from an urchin, leaving them with a small trinket as payment. Soon he found himself standing in front of the abandoned building entrance the urchin described perfectly, including the grubby wooden door with a faded green sign advertising a singer who had probably died long ago. Children were always the best avenue for fast and reliable information. Obi-Wan spoke from experience.
The door didn’t creak. Obi-Wan felt the Force shift and paused in the doorway. It wasn’t a warning; more like a quiet acknowledgment. He tested the feeling, poked it, but it didn’t reveal anything more. Well now he really couldn’t turn back. His curiosity wouldn’t let him.
“Hello, Jedi,” a tenor greeted him from the shadows of the building. Despite the many smashed plastisteel windows, it was gloomy inside. Obi-Wan tried not to get antsy.
“Greetings, s-oothsayer,” he replied and once again cursed puberty for making his voice break at exactly the wrong moment. He stepped forward to show he wasn’t scared, even if his hands were twitching for his lightsaber. The door slowly fell closed and left the room in further darkness. It wasn’t Darkness though, so Obi-Wan cleared his throat and kept walking towards the voice.
“Why have you come?”
Obi-Wan halted when the Force told him it would be prudent to stop moving, right now. It still wasn’t a warning. Just a fact. It was starting to freak him out, actually. Obi-Wan was pretty sure that he was in danger and that this person was not a soothsayer. And yet the Force was calm, eddying slightly with presences and yet not showing them.
“I heard there was a soothsayer here, back in the market,” he said honestly, suddenly glad of his voice’s childishly high pitch. It made everything coming out of his mouth sound a little bit more innocent. “I was bored. I’ve never met a soothsayer and investigating possible Force-users is within the purview of a Jedi.”
There was also the fact that the two stall-owners had been speaking in hushed tones and took the declarations of a possible future as fact instead of potential. Like it was a sure thing. If it was a rogue Force-user trying to ingratiate themself into the community, trying to amass power through hijacking of cultural practices, dealing with that was within the purview of the Jedi, too.
“Hm,” the voice hummed, and the Force loosened. Obi-Wan was rather shocked he hadn’t felt it tighten. “You speak the truth as you know it, but not the whole of it. Always a good sign.”
The words were primed to be sarcastic, but the tone was not. Obi-Wan tried really hard not to go for his lightsaber.
Suddenly, there was a shifting of the shadows and the overhead lighting in the abandoned building flickered on. Obi-Wan blinked to adjust, then blinked again out of incredulity.
“But you’re a Mandalorian!” he blurted, then instinctively held a hand up to his mouth in mortification. Force, Master Qui-Gon must be experiencing intense shivers for no reason he could discern, Obi-Wan’s lack of control and decorum was so profound today. “Sorry.”
“No matter, little Jedi,” the tall humanoid in front of Obi-Wan dismissed with humour in his tone. Even his pronunciation of ‘Jedi’ was influenced by his accent which Obi-Wan could vaguely recognise as lilting Mando’a. “They call me a soothsayer, this is true, but I have never claimed to be one. I simply… see a truth to things.”
As he said this, he lowered his head again with his scarred lips twitching, eyes flashing in the weak illumination just before his face was hidden again. Obi-Wan always thought Mandalorians had helmets, but this one had a beaked hood trimmed in a darker colour Obi-Wan couldn’t distinguish in the half-light. However, there was no mistaking the shape of armour.
It had pauldrons and bracers and greaves and a lot of other components that Obi-Wan didn’t know the correct name for. It also had lots of different colours that he couldn’t quite make out – he knew colours were important on Mandalorian armour, supposedly it even told people at a glance what was important to them, although Obi-Wan didn’t know the meanings. Presumably, that was the reason for the horrid lighting: another form of protection for the Mandalorian’s identity.
Obi-Wan really hoped he wasn’t about to die at the hand of a clever Mandalorian, whose forerunners had allied with the Force-damned Sith (and mostly survived).
“What are you doing so far from Mandalore, truth-seer?” Obi-Wan questioned firmly after recovering the capacity for speech. If in doubt, be bold. “Are you a bounty hunter?”
A snort.
“Sometimes,” the Mandalorian allowed. He tilted his head so that half his face was visible again. Obi-Wan felt seen in more than a visual sense. “My name is Ezio Auditore, clan Auditore. I mean no harm to those innocents the Jedi seek to protect, I swear it.”
Obi-Wan wasn’t completely convinced, after seeing the whole show - and he didn’t miss how the Jedi themselves were not among the supposed protected - but the Force was in agreement, sliding out of its elusive swirls into transparent honesty. There was no lie, but what Obi-Wan had seen from this person’s wordplay so far, that wasn’t the whole truth, either. It was exhausting to think in such convoluted patterns, but it reminded him of witnessing many a diplomatic meeting between Qui-Gon and a planetary leader; things left hanging unsaid in the air just as important as the vocal communication and often more so. It was good practice, Obi-Wan thought warily, but not very trust-inducing.
Auditore chuckled hoarsely, a rich sound that seemed to echo, even though the room wasn’t all that large. Finally, the Force gave Obi-Wan an all-clear signal. There was no vague ill-intent any longer. His body relaxed, even as his mind went into hyperdrive.
“Ah, still suspicious, little Jedi?” the Mandalorian asked rhetorically. “That’s fair enough. Tells me you learn quickly. What can I give you instead of my oath? How about the truth? You came looking for a soothsayer – would you like to know what I see?”
“The future is always in motion,” Obi-Wan quoted reflexively, then actually stopped to think about it. “I… get visions and feelings myself, sometimes. They aren’t very clear until after the fact, when they are useless. So no, thank you.”
“Wise one you are, little Jedi,” Auditore nodded, his hand reaching to stroke his chin as if he had a beard there despite being clean-shaven. “Perceiving time non-linearly is complicated and risky business. However, I told you I am no soothsayer; I am a truth-seer. I see the now. Many people do not want to see their own truths. It is why they fear me. It takes courage and strength of will, to understand and accept oneself.”
Obi-Wan was dubious, and the Force was no help at all in discerning if this was a trap or not. It sounded like something Yoda would say, which was interesting, but it was also coming from someone who Obi-Wan hadn’t even seen the full face of. For all he knew, the name was fake, too.
It came down to what was more important to Obi-Wan: finding out what the kark this Mandalorian - who could probably use the Force - was doing on Roma or leaving to get backup. His Master would be excellent to have at his back right now, but Obi-Wan knew without needing the Force to tell him that if he exited the building, he would never find this ‘truth-seer’ again. Seemed like he had decided, then.
“Tell me, Auditore. I will let you test me,” Obi-Wan said confidently and he was pretty sure that twitch of the Mandalorian’s lips was an acknowledgement of Obi-Wan’s gall in blatantly exposing the offer’s true purpose. “In exchange, you will tell me what you are doing on Roma, and I will only report the vaguest of interactions to the Council. Unless, of course, it turns out you are Dark-siders with intent to harm; unfortunately, the Jedi have rather strict policies on what to do in that situation.”
Again, a snort. Obi-Wan didn’t jump, if only because he was entirely too much already on alert to do so.
“You have the courage, little Jedi,” the Mandalorian declared with something like satisfaction resonating in the Force. “And the Ka’ra speak to you. No need for lengthy explanations, then.”
Auditore’s gloved hand reached out and tapped a finger on his forehead before Obi-Wan could register movement.
Obi-Wan saw… hopelessness, yet hope. A bright, desperate flame gently stoked by experience and need. A dark and light green twisting into each other, nausea and determination welded together, the meanings evident: duty and a want for peace, always warring, feeding off each other, repelling each other. The chirp of a baby bird morphing into the proud cry of a predator dancing on the wind currents. Betrayal and hurt curled around a deep and quiet worry, an oozing wound of inadequacy, fed by distance. Painful trials and yellow remembering and sharp perseverance. Trying, trying, always he was trying, so frantic, why couldn’t he do anything-
Obi-Wan stared at the Mandalorian and saw himself as Auditore did. As the Force did. It was…
The Mandalorian was right. There was no need for explanations. They would be completely extraneous, anyway. Obi-Wan saw and he tried to accept, really he did, but it was not how he wished to be, it was not what a Jedi was supposed to be like, it was not him, couldn’t be him, or else he was not a Jedi-
“The Jedi meditate, I hear,” Auditore said derisively with a sigh. “They meditate on the Ka’ra, tell their Initiates that to have emotions is to be non-Jedi, talk of a ‘will’ inherent to the Ka’ra themselves, that to follow the way pointed out to them is the right way. It’s osik, is what it is. Misguided, perhaps, but damaging all the same. Emotions mean you are sentient, not that you are compromised.”
That was an alarming amount of knowledge on Jedi-specific doctrines, and the Padawan couldn’t even fear this worrying development. He was far too involved in trying not to unravel. Obi-Wan knew his eyes were glazed because Auditore was making motions to take his hood down and yet Obi-Wan couldn’t focus enough to memorise his face. A hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched. When it didn’t do anything else, he relaxed and attempted to assimilate this new information. It wasn’t going well. Even a shallow meditation wasn’t getting Obi-Wan to snap out of it; this was worse than any of his visions had ever left him in the aftermath. His inner self, his Force was rubbed raw with truth.
“I do not apologise for making you aware of yourself, little Jedi, nor for the disorientation,” the Mandalorian said. “There is no preparation adequate to make this bearable, everyone is different. But I had forgotten the depth of Jedi teachings.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said with more gravitas, like a chant, and Obi-Wan tried not to panic about the Mandalorian knowing his name on top of everything else. “Who you are is who you are. There are things you can change about yourself. There are things that you cannot. There are things you can do - decisions to make, decisions you could avoid making - as with everyone. How I see you is my truth. How you see yourself is yours. I would like to help you make your truth closer to how you want it to be.”
Obi-Wan’s mind bent around the vision and the words, inasmuch as his mind could and inasmuch as it could be described as a vision. It felt more like an experience, an assessment. This was how the Force saw Obi-Wan, filtered through Auditore, and railing against it was the epitome of folly. It had the impression of a judgement, without the judgement. A conclusion, but it was not final. He trusted the Force, and the Force was telling him this was not the end.
Something seemed to snap into being and Obi-Wan took a ragged breath long overdue. It spluttered as he came out of the shock, making him cough and his eyes water even as a warmth spread from his chest outwards. He still couldn’t make out the details of Auditore’s face, but Obi-Wan knew the man was smiling. Obi-Wan’s eyes closed in confusion and he shook his head slightly. How did he know Auditore was smiling?
“Well done,” the hand patted his shoulder and retreated. “There is a difference between acknowledging and resigning oneself to something. Now that you have attained self-recognition, the learning can begin. Such potential should be nurtured.”
Obi-Wan was, perhaps, a little afraid and a lot irascible at the moment, hence the attempt at punching the tall Mandalorian in the solar plexus. It was caught by a gloved hand without any apparent effort and Obi-Wan was ashamed of how weak and shaky he was feeling. It had only been a vision! He retracted his hand quickly and glanced to the side. Auditore laughed, as if in response to his quickly-hidden shame.
“Oh, you definitely have mandokarla, little Jedi,” which confused Obi-Wan but made Auditore’s lips twitch. In a response Obi-Wan was coming to learn might be universal, for surely everyone felt irrationally angry at the Mandalorian’s perpetual look of I-know-something-you-don’t, Obi-Wan felt his fists clench again. A deep breath paired with a reminder that he was a Jedi and that it hadn’t worked the first time, they uncurled, very deliberately in sight of Auditore who only lifted a brow. “You have held up your end, though the learning has only started, and I recommend meditating on it. Thank you for your honesty. I shall now give you your side of the bargain.”
When Obi-Wan could focus again, he saw a tall, very generic-looking human with buzzed-short hair and a scar across his lips. Younger than expected, he thought dazedly. The uncovered eyes were a warm brown and they had crinkles on the outside that told of a habit of smiling. His hands had vanished into a self-gripping gesture that was not quite a crossing of the arms. Obi-Wan noted that it would let the man untangle his armour-covered forearms very quickly, presumably to allow him to go for a weapon. Then Obi-Wan was bewildered about when, exactly, he had begun thinking about personal idiosyncrasies in terms of tactical advantage.
“I am the Men’torre of the As’sini,” Auditore declared, just like that, with the air of a dramatic reveal. Obi-Wan blinked and tested the statement with the Force, only to find it perfectly truthful. Obi-Wan wasn’t even surprised, though he didn’t know the meaning of the words. Yet. “I am here to establish a network, find recruits, and hopefully leave Roma in slightly less disarray than it is currently in. It is what I do, as Men’torre. Share wisdom, inspire an ethic of protection and release from unethical control, teach how to deal with those that would harm others.”
“Th-that’s illegal vigilantism at best,” Obi-Wan stuttered in shock at hearing someone easily divulge that they were up to something so… unlawful. “This world has a government, with its own police force and laws and people just going about their lives! They don’t deserve someone coming in and establishing a-a cult! Especially-!”
He cut himself off there because shouting was not communication and he realised that what he had been about to say was not something to be shouted about. Or said. At all. Ever.
“Especially a Mandalorian?” Auditore finished for him, a mildly enquiring eyebrow raised in an expression that made him look uncomfortably similar to Obi-Wan’s Master, despite the disparity of the hair.
Osik, Obi-Wan thought.
“Do not concern yourself; although that was very undiplomatic, it is your truth. Would it not be terrible for this system to get annexed by the Mandalorians? You and I know our history. But what do you really know of the Mandalorians, little Jedi? What do you know that doesn’t come from centuries-old texts and biased outsider accounts?” With every word the resemblance to Qui-Gon increased, and this time Obi-Wan wanted to know the answers. It was another test, but he didn’t mind. Obi-Wan was surprised at how defensive he wasn’t, actually.
Obi-Wan’s thoughts spiralled as he realised that he didn’t know much of anything about the situation. He’d just been here to check out a rumour! Auditore seemed to see it on his face and nodded solemnly.
“Identify a weakness, find its shape, decide what you want to do about it, then do it. I ask about your knowledge, because your answer reveals your weakness. You do not know the tenets of being Mandalorian. You do not know the history of the As’sini. You do not know what this government is doing to all those ‘people just going about their lives’, otherwise you would choke on your hypocrisy.”
“Wh-what is the government doing?” Obi-Wan asked, not sure if he wanted the answer but knowing that he needed it. Obi-Wan thought of his Force-self and gained a little more confidence, his posture straightening. Obi-Wan Kenobi could handle trials of faith and understanding.
Auditore gave a pulse of pride in the Force, the clearest Obi-Wan had ever heard in this entire interaction. Obi-Wan felt his face heat and hoped the bad lighting would hide the blush, his shields holding in his emotional reaction. Thinking about the Force made him remember his Master however, who was probably finished with haggling and looking for Obi-Wan. As if on cue, their fragile Force bond twanged in weak query from Qui-Gon’s side. Obi-Wan glanced at Auditore and, seeing his expectant eyebrows, sent back reassurance and an impression of a short time.
“Never mind. Don’t tell me,” Obi-Wan said firmly to Auditore. “I’ll figure it out. And if it turns out that you’re the problem, then… I’ll think of a solution.”
Auditore smiled and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes became more pronounced.
“Just so, little Jedi. If you need further wisdom from the As’sini, look for this symbol,” he pointed to his pauldron where a stylised Xesh-like character glimmered. “Remember the phrase ‘we work in the shadows to serve the light’. It is one of our core tenets. If you do come, be sure you want answers, because if you come to us with conflict on your mind, conflict is what you will find.”
Then, with that overly dramatic warning given, the weak light was doused altogether, and the building was back in darkness. Within seconds while Obi-Wan adjusted, the Force became illusive again and then any presence within it vanished completely. He knew Auditore was gone.
When he strode outside, door banging in his haste, Obi-Wan was halted by a cleared throat. Okay, maybe he jumped; his nerves were at their very end, and he chided himself for his sloppiness. The person’s Force-signature was also scrunched into itself, practically invisible after Auditore’s strangely layered yet rather unique Force imprint.
They were a Twi’lek, probably about Obi-Wan’s age. They didn’t have tattoos, but they had form-fitting black clothing and a wooden torc on one upper arm. Not quite distinctive, but not generic, either. Obi-Wan knew they were with the As’sini before they even opened their mouth.
“Yeah, that’s the look of someone who just talked to the Men’torre, alright,” they commented lightly. “If you don’t quite know what the kark he’s blathering on about, don’t worry, that’s normal. Desmond has one hell of a time acting as interpreter and kriffing brake, I tell you.”
Obi-Wan really just wanted to get back to Qui-Gon and get to researching. His curiosity regarding the new name and the newly revealed dynamic did not outweigh the exhaustion he was suddenly wracked with. This was not what he had expected to encounter while following one of his whims.
“That’s… not really the problem. What if I said I understood quite a lot of the so-called blathering?”
“Then I’d say either you’re kriffing lying,” they returned with an intrigued look up and down Obi-Wan’s dusty robes. “Or you lot deserve each other. Either way, you’re going to be one to watch in the future.”
“…You sound like your Men’torre.”
“Thanks.”
Obi-Wan walked past them briskly, mind already fixated on finding the fastest way back to his hotel room. Would it be inappropriate to use the rooftops? Everything was easier with a sightline. Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder just as he was making to turn the corner, a question on his tongue. It died there without being voiced. There was no Twi’lek in the alleyway he had just come out of.
Of course.
His – slightly doctored – account of meeting the Men’torre was extracted post haste once Obi-Wan revealed what he had been doing the last couple hours. His Master hung onto every word, haphazard scribbles onto a flimsiplast written without being consulted once. Qui-Gon’s searchlight attention was solely focussed on Obi-Wan. It made for an uncomfortable interrogation, and the longer he thought about it, the more Obi-Wan was sure that while he hadn’t necessarily been in danger, it had nonetheless been dangerous.
“As’sini,” Qui-Gon mumbled as he sat back from the third retelling. “I’ve never heard of that word; it must either be new or extremely ancient.”
It was not a revelation that Qui-Gon knew Mando’a; he had lamented before that Obi-Wan could only learn so many languages at once and that his Padawan was currently stuck on Bocce. Obi-Wan saw various possible spellings and etymology speculations in his notes. Obi-Wan wouldn’t even try to figure that one out. It was probably something simple, yet profound and truthful to the As’sini tenets, as seemed to be the case with the Force-communication of the Men’torre. Qui-Gon, avid reader of ancient texts that he was, made extensive notes on references that might assist in pulling apart that puzzle.
He also helped Obi-Wan realise something rather important.
“You say he was Mandalorian, but did he ever say that his cult was Mandalorian? Did he confirm verbally, or did he let you imply?”
Obi-Wan… was stumped.
“I-I don’t know, master,” he admitted and hung his head in shame.
No, stop. Identify the weakness. Breath in. Breath-
“I was the one who mentioned Mandalorians first, but he didn’t deny it. He used Mando’a like a native, sliding it into Basic sentences to supplement words. Oh, and he had an accent! He clipped his words, said ‘Jedi’ like a Mando, but I’m not sure now if it was all Mando’a or something else. His armour was mostly… dark and shiny. It had scratches here and there, but I couldn’t make out any colours because the lighting was so bad. His hood was beaked and light-coloured and lined with a darker colour. No helmet, but it could be that he just didn’t have it with him for whatever reason.”
Qui-Gon got back to scribbling as Obi-Wan realised that he had taken note of more than he thought he had.
“The other As’sini outside… they didn’t have armour, but they were young. Maybe they haven’t earned it yet, or their role in the cult doesn’t lend well to armour. No wait,” he stopped his Master there with an aborted gesture. “That part is conjecture, don’t write that down. There are too many things it could have been.”
Qui-Gon halted abruptly and stared at Obi-Wan, who tried not to squirm under his regard.
“Padawan,” Qui-Gon said after a long pause. “I suspect you have grown more in these few hours than in the last few months, combined. I am proud of you.”
“Th-thank you, Master.” Obi-Wan’s heart skipped a beat and he pushed down the urge to recount the terrifying ordeal of having his own self be showed to him. They had made a deal, and anyway, it was private. Qui-Gon often stopped himself from saying something about his last Padawan, so he was only following his Master’s example.
Alright, so maybe he just didn’t want to tell Qui-Gon. After all…
“Do you know, Master,” Obi-Wan said pensively, “I think I’ve found the first disreputable contact of my very own.”
It seemed that whatever Qui-Gon was feeling, it was a little too much and he black-screened into a diplomatic Jedi-blankness.
Obi-Wan swallowed a snicker and eased out a datapad from his belongings. Time to write up a report that only slightly matched Qui-Gon’s – the likelihood was good that his would be the one to be referenced rather than his Master’s, who was well-known to go on academic tangents for pages if he was particularly irked with a Council assignment.
Obi-Wan would only write the truth, of course, but the specifics could perhaps be held to a minimum.