The following is an extract from Jedi Xaamtaemash Jal Tyl dairy. Discovered during the excavation of the Viscara Enclave. Written during the turmoil of the Jedi Civil War. It gives detail on how the kaleesh priests select those for training in the Force. Xammtaemash often changes from galactic basic to the kaleesh language. Be advised that I have left a glossary beneath the extract.
I still remember when I was taken from my home. I had just entered my eighth summer and my father Xarakatta Jal Tyl was celebrating another in a long line of accomplishments. Of what that accomplishment was I could not say as my life before being a priest of Shrupak is hard to remember.
But I remember my father’s grand hall being filled with music, laughter and of the boasting of the younger warriors. As I have yet come of age to wear a mask so common among my people, I and the other maskless children were seated the furthest away from my father and his warriors. There I, my brothers and the other male children of the tribe spoke of the great deeds we would perform when we came of age.
“I will become a great warrior who deeds will rival that of our chieftain.” One of them said.
“I will be a hunter who’s aim is always true and my feet will be as silent as the shadows themselves.” Another added.
We laugh and eat and almost made as much noise as the warriors at the other end of the halls. Such is the way for the Kaleesh when we celebrate. Joy can be hard to come by on Kalee, filled as it is with dangerous beasts, war and sickness. So, when it does come, we hold to it like a dying man hold onto his last breath.
Suddenly, the shouting and laughter slowly grew quiet, and a sombre air arose from each of the tables in the grand hall. Our table was the last to become silence, as like all children our perception was not as acute as our parents. When one of us did notice the sudden change in the hall we all looked to the adults in question, only to find them all staring at the grand hall’s entrance.
There were three of them. Three Kaleesh, each one of them dressed in simple robes. Their masks half hidden beneath hoods, their belts interwoven with charms carved from an assortment of materials. It was clear who these strangers were.
They were priests. But, they were not priests from the few temples that were built upon the towering peaks of the Jeturua Mountains. These were lowlanders.
They passed our table and moved towards the warriors and my father. I remember finding myself mesmerize by them. By what it was that had captured my attention I could not say. Looking back on it perhaps it was the mavik within them calling out to me or perhaps it was simply seeing a kaleesh from the jungles below. Whatever the case I could not take my eyes off them.
My father greeted them. Bowing in the respectful manner that is expected when speaking to a servant to the Gods. Yet, I always found it strange when he did this. My father was a powerful warlord. Commanding a loyalty and warriors of sixty tribes from the mountains to the lands beneath their shadows. At the time I thought it was the priests who should be bowing to him, but such is the ignorance of youth.
They spoke for some time. Their voices too low for our table to hear, but it was clear that it had something to do with our table with the way one of the priest kept turning his head in our direction. Soon all three priests, along with my father and his personal guard, came to our table and told us to stand.
We did so without hesitation. Following his orders as he commanded that we all stood in a line before them. I remembered that this had reminded me of the drills we often did. Where each child was drag out of their beds at the crack of dawn, given a staff the same wight and length of a spear and practice thrusting and stabbing motions until it became second nature to us. Though, it was clear to me and the other children that this was far more important than learning how to use spears. Even if we did not truly understand what was happening at the time.
With us all standing in a row, the priests each started to speak with us. One by one. They ask questions. Odd ones. They would ask about our dreams, our skills with a sword, what gods we worship and how we show our devotion to them. I watched them as they ask their questions and when they received their answers. Trying to see if I could discover their motives through the stances their body takes or by the difference in tones of their voice.
So focus was I that I didn’t realize when one of the priests had come to me until he spoke.
“Your mind seems to be elsewhere Ithaka.”
I span my head away from the others and look up to the priest standing before me. Feeling embarrassed for not noticing him.
“Forgive me Qok.” I said. bowing my head deeply and respectfully.
“There is no need for forgiveness Ithaka.” The priest said. “Though, I wonder. What is it that seems to have captured your attention so?”
I didn’t reply at first. Instead, I looked at the priest standing before me. He was perhaps the oldest of the visiting priest. His mask having more marks painted on it, each one depicting a deed or achievement that was worthy of remembering. His back was hunch slightly as if his spine had trouble in keeping the adult kaleesh upright. But the most defining feature of his were his eyes. Again I felt myself being drawn to these priests. I stared into those aged eyes and found myself seeing something more there then he had perhaps wanted to been seen.
“I was listening to the questions your kin had been asking.” He said truthfully. Watching for any slight reaction. “I was trying to discover what it is you are searching for.”
“You think we are searching for something?” he asked his voice becoming softer as if it was a conspiracy. “And what is do you think we are looking for?”
I thought for a moment. Looking away from the old priest before me I listen again to the other priests and the question they are asking and to the answer they are receiving. They still sound like what they are asking are random questions without any link to previous ones, sometimes they would even skip over some of them or just simply ignore one of the children to move on to the next.
No that’s not right. There is something to those questions.
“You are looking for…” I says still working on my conclusion as I spoke the words. “Initiates.”
A smile spread across the lips of the old priest. “Very good.”
“But that can’t be right.” I said. “One can’t be an initiate of a temple until they gain their mask.”
“This is true.” The priest nodded. “But there are those, those who are special who are taken to the Temples early. Those who had been gifted by the Gods themselves.”
I felt excited by the priest’s words caused I knew what it was he spoke of.
“Mavik.” I whispered. “You think one of us has mavik?”
“Indeed, we do.” The priest says. “We are from the great temple of Shrupak. The Temple dedicated to the First God. He who had stolen that power from the demons of the stars and gifted it to his most faithful followers.”
I could barely contain the flash of excitement at his words. Every kaleesh knew the story of the First God and his battle against the thrice damned Stoko Vol. It was he who had free the kaleesh from enslavement, gifted us our name and taught us the skills and knowledge to never again bend the knee to an outsider. The thought of serving at his temple, of being one of the few gifted by the power he had use to fight against the demons was beyond words.
But then I remembered who I was, and the thrill of this discovery turn to ash.
“Then you should ask your question elsewhere Qok.” I said. “For I am not the one you are looking for.”
“And how do you know this?” The priest asked.
“I am my Father’s runt.” I said. looking to the stones beneath my feet. “I was born weak. Of my brothers and sisters I am the least skill when it comes to fighting. Even worse when it’s to do with hunting. I am clumsy and sickly. I bring shame to my father, though he would never speak it I know that I do. The Gods would not have chosen me to carry such power.”
The priest becomes silent for a long moment as he look upon me. Then with some effort and a soft groan, he kneels so that we were both looking at each other as equal. He reaches out and placed a bony finger on the small wooden charm that hangs around my neck.
“This charm you wear. It is of Taakren Jal Tyr, yes?”
I nodded. “He was my grandfather’s father. He was a great healer.”
“He was indeed.” The priest agreed. “Do you know the story of why he became a great healer?”
“He found a cure to the blood rot sickness.”
“No. That is the story of how he earned his godhood.”
“Then why did he become a healer?”
Again, the priest gives me a gentle smile. “Because he too was born as the runt to his father. He too was weak, unskilled in combat and often became sick. But, the Gods still blessed him with mavik, And from this blessing he became strong and help cure a sickness that had ravaged the kaleesh for many centuries.”
I stared at the priest, speechless until I found my voice again. “I did not know this.”
“It is a story that many do not remember. Gods are often remembered for the great deeds that earn their place in the World beyond Worlds, not for the struggles they conquered to become Gods.” The priest says as he stood back up. Groaning again as his body resisted the sudden shift of posture. “Now then. Shall I ask you, my questions?”
I nodded. “Yes Qok.”
“What is your name?”
“Xaamtaemash Jal Tyl.”
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The priests remained within my father’s fortress for some time after they had asked their questions. If they had found any with the gift of mavik they did not say. They would watch us as we trained or go on the hunt. Sometimes they would take one of us aside to ask further questions.
With each passing days however, I felt their eyes on me more and more. I would see them speaking with my father and mothers. Once they had me play a game involving them hiding something behind their backs. My guesses were often correct which impressed them.
Then one day I was summoned to my father’s chamber. He never invited me to them before, so I was surprised by how large it was and of all the different trophies that lay within. I particular remember the skull of a sarvak hanging over my father’s bed. The six holes where the insect’s eyes would be were large enough to stick both my arms through.
However, it was my father and the priests who demanded my attention.
“Shai Father.” I said. Bowing my head low to him then to the three priests.
My father did not return my greeting. He merely nodded to my presence. “Xaamtaemash, these priests of Shrupak had come to our home seeking new initiates to be trained and tutored in the spiritual arts.”
“I know father.” I said, earning an annoyed look from him.
“Do you now.”
“Indeed, he does.” The old priest said. Stepping away from his fellow priests to join my father’s side. “Your son is quite preceptive for one so young. Further sign that he had been chosen.”
I was shocked to say the least by what the priest had said.
“Chosen?” I asked unable to hide my surprised. “Me? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am sure.” The old priest replied with that same gentle smile. “My brothers and I are quite certain. We have watch you Xaamtaemash, and we see the mavik within you. Raw and untapped. But I have no doubt that given time and guidance you will be able to unlock your true potential.”
“They wish to take you to their temple.” My father said once the priest is finish. “I told them they are free to take you. Pack your things. You leave on the new day.”
I could barely contain myself, and I am ashamed to admit that whatever else is said within those walls I could not remember. Once I was dismissed, I rushed to my chamber, gathered whatever I had thought I needed and waited for the morning. Once it came, I joined the three priests at the gate of the Tyl Fortress. I said my goodbyes to mothers and siblings. Many of them cried. Not my father however who simply placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “Do the Tyl proud my son.”
“I will father.” I remembered saying.
Then I left. It would be many summers until I would return to my home. Many years until I would see my father and mothers, brothers and sisters. I wonder if they are still proud of me after everything that had happened. I wonder if they speak my name as a cursed or if they speak of it at all. My failure to protect the Shala Mavik would no doubt put a black mark upon the Tyl tribe’s name. Even if I do manage to find it and redeem myself. Would they welcome me?
But these are questions for the future, and I must focus on the here and now.
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Kaleesh Glossary
Ithaka – Child/Untrained
Qok – Priest
Shai – Kaleesh greetings (literal translation: I come with no lethal intent)
Shrupak – The most sacred of the Kaleesh Temples.
Mavik – Kaleesh term for the Force.
Shala Mavik – An artifact important to the Kaleesh. As to what it actually is, is unknown. Though due to having Mavik as part of it’s name it most likely have something to do with the Force.
Stoko Vol – Legendary devil figures in the Kaleesh religion
(Note: There has been some debate on rather or not the Stoko Vol may be an actual species or simply the usual representation of spiritual evil common in religion. I advise reading the historians Jilro Reti’s “Devils and their Origins” or Zylsi Arno “The Unseen Ancients” for further studies.)