The cool feel of smooth metal beneath his touch gave way to the rougher, more regularly spaced out, grip of the lightsaber hilt, as he moved his three-fingered appendage to rest comfortably on the instrument of his devotion once more; sitting his backside once more on to his heels - rocking into the position with constantly practiced ease - the Kel Dor Jedi, stripped down to the waist inside the confines of his personal chambers, yet his crimson skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, focused again on the varying pops and gaseous hisses of the audio recording that was playing over and over again. To any outsider it would seem to be just that, random noises of the most queer type, but to T'ish it was what his people considered to be a relaxing form of music. Indeed, anyone familiar with the naming conventions of Kel Dor would realise that even his own name, T'ish Keth, was no more than a sound caused by the atmospheric phenomena of his hazily remembered home world. Why should their music be much different?

For several hours now he had been there, surrounded on all sides by the walls of his chamber and enveloped in complete darkness, the semi-soft surface of a floor mattress placed beneath his knees allowing some of the strain from such a position to be mildly alleviated. Not only had he blotted all light from his room, a chamber no wider than four men abreast, no longer than two on one another's shoulders, but he had also removed his protective goggles from his black eyes and effectively blinded himself for the duration of his training. Such exercises as he now practiced, alone and with only the Force for company, were commonly done using blindfolds, but when one could make oneself temporarily blind, then what need was there for superfluous and rudimentary aids.

Another deep breath rumbled within him, filtering in through his breather mask and winding its way down into his naval area, swirling there like some moving ball of energy waiting to be released, in his minds eye a visual representation of this feeling helping to further the experience. Focus such as this was key, the Force being all around, yet so rarely harnessed by others for anything other than what T'ish considered to be acrobatic tricks and frivolous wastes of movement, energy and concentration. He had come to such conclusions during his study of Form Four, his least favoured of the saber forms by far, and rarely incorporated the sweeping and leaping movements and manoeuvres of Ataru into his training sessions.

As he let the breath back out he was already in motion, muscles within his legs coiling and then unwinding like a spring, the lightsaber hilt almost leaping into his hand and igniting into the concentrated beam of blue energy as he performed a flawless horizontal slash - designed to strike directly across the abdomen or torso of the opponent in one fluid slash - shifting the weapon into an overhead grip and bringing it down vertically. During this latter movement he took to one knee, imagining the lightsaber cutting from head to groin, stopping the humming blade a mere inch from the floor of the chamber and feeling the last vapours of the channelled energy leaving his half-tensed body; by the time he even thought of this, his saber was already deactivated and returned to his side, such was the way of the drawing cut.

Something was wrong though, [i]something[/i], for his last blow had been a fraction off to the left of where he knew his foe would be...he was [b]never[/b] a fraction off, to the left [b]or[/b] to the right. Something inside now concerned the Kel Dor, his shoulders rising and falling to the rhythm of his breathing, his concentration now momentarily lost, but the reason as to exactly why he felt uneasy alluding him.

He had to find Jasma, the precise reason why being unknown even to him, but all he knew was that he must find his Padawan and he must remain with her.

Darkness, all was darkness.