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His consistent and unrelenting suggestions and recommendations to take a Padawan has worn at you. Gnawing at your resolve like the waves steadily eroding rock. No matter how strong the rock or how long it takes, it will eventually be ground down into sand. Memories of Porro, your old master, unwelcomely resurface before you blink them away, not wanting to linger on them. You do not want any of the Initiates to suffer like you did under Porro. While having a Padawan may bring you troubles, it would be worth it if the kid could avoid the fate you suffered through.
“Ok, I give up. You’ve got me. I surrender.” You finally concede to the pressure of your former master.
“Excellent,” Grand Master Porro booms.
Lost in the joy of his victory, the Whiphid goes to pat your shoulder, but in his excitement, the action turns into a slap. A slap from a creature that approaches three meters and weighs half a tonne is not just a slap to a Near-Human. The strength of the blow and your surprise causes your right knee to buckle. Quickly, you recover yourself before you fall flat on your face. A rare look appears on his visage, one which you struggle to read until you manage to place it, the old Master is embarrassed at his emotions stealing his control.
“Sorry Christopher.” He uses your full name, a rare thing for him to do nowadays, attempting to show you respect and remorse for his loss of self-control.
There is a pause as he scrambles to find the correct words that are not appearing in his head. You brush yourself off and straighten your well-fitting robes, “It's nothing, it's nothing. Forget about it. Anyway, I’ve only agreed to consider picking up an apprentice. I’m not promising anything.”
Turok’s clawed hand reaches into his robe to produce a data slate; after fiddling with it for a minute, he passes it on to you. “I know, I know. Anyway, here are a few potential Padawans that no Knight or Master have yet claimed, you might be interested in them. Give them a lookover and keep them in mind. I’ve got to prepare the rest of the ceremony; you’ve got ten minutes to go through to the chamber. Close the doors behind you.”
Grand Master Toruk wishes you well and opens the massive stone doors that fold inward, and he disappears into the utter blackness, leaving you alone, gazing into the data slate. Of the list of unchosen Initiates, your eyes seem to rest on four of them each time you consider a candidate. There are, of course, others who would be excellent Padawans, but the four you gravitate back to are all slightly problemed children. Nothing majorly troubling about them; if there were, then they wouldn’t be considered for the advancement, but enough to make them nobody’s first pick.
