animatedjen

[animatedjen]

Cal Kestis' second lightsaber was constructed using parts from Jaro Tapal's lightsaber and Cere Junda's lightsaber, both of which had been entrusted to Kestis by their former owners. The lightsaber was powered by a pair of kyber crystals retrieved by Kestis from the Crystal Cave on Ilum in 14 BBY. The crystals had originally been one, but had split in half when Kestis found them. One blade could be ignited or both at the same time, allowing Kestis to use the weapon single-bladed or double-bladed respectively. Furthermore, the weapon could split into two separate lightsabers, allowing Kestis to use Jar'Kai. (source)

[animatedjen]

Let go of what you fear to lose.

[animatedjen]

Failure is not the end.

[animatedjen]

Cal Kestis in LEGO STAR WARS Rebuild the Galaxy: Pieces of the Past

[animatedjen]

tattoo; pt 3

“There is nothing more for you here, young sage.”

Cal idled in the charred remains of the Archive. Sister Taske paused at the doorway, a half-burned scroll tucked under one arm. “We recovered everything we can,” she continued. “You don’t need to keep coming back.”

“But I don’t want to leave,” Cal said softly. Deep scorch marks littered the floor and the remnants of the holobook shelves. He’d repaired the remaining generator twice, but it could only fuel the smallest lights in the base, leaving the upper levels shrouded.

The first time the Empire returned, they scavenged for valuables. Cal had already helped move the recovered books and artifacts to Tanalorr, but Taske’s report still left him sick. When the Empire came back again to destroy any remaining evidence, he was waiting for them.

Now the only evidence was a pile of Stormtrooper armor in the sands outside.

Cal knelt down into meditation, though these days the act feels more like a punishment. The Force still trembled here, as if Vader’s shadow continued to haunt the once sacred space. Despite his own failings, Cal wouldn’t abandon the Archive to such darkness. He inhaled slowly and sent a shaky breath across his bruised knuckles.

A bright spot moved through the dark as Taske joined him on the Archive floor. The Anchorite didn’t speak, but the engraved tassels on her headpiece swayed with each exhale, inhale, exhale.

The red glow of Jedha’s sunset slowly crept through the broken atrium ceiling. Tentatively, Cal felt a shift, the inky hatred dissipating into a sort of lament. It settled around him in a circle, with invisible lines stretching from doorway to doorway, intersecting each other and covering the burn marks carved into the floor below. A restoration. A promise.

He cracked open his eyes to find Sister Taske’s scroll unfurled on the ground. Faded dashes and circles covered the page, a pattern painfully familiar even in the dying light.

“When she found us in NiJedha, Master Junda committed herself in both spirit and body,” Taske explained. “She did not take the Anchorite vow as we do, accepting anonymity in pursuit of knowledge. Instead she chose a different way.”

Cal reached for the parchment, brushing ash from its broken edges. Its echo manifested faintly, eroded by both age and fire. “In stillness, knowledge. In surrender, understanding,” he whispered.

“Ancient wisdom. From another time.” Taske rose to her feet, though the effort took her a moment. Her masked face hid her weariness, but Cal knew the Archive couldn’t be maintained forever.

Perhaps he didn’t have to leave all of it behind. Cal gathered the scroll and followed her to the doorway. “There is one thing left for me here, if you’re willing.”

–

“I can’t do this again,” he had cried.

Admittedly, the conditions weren’t much better this time either. Sister Taske cleared off the counter of her former shop, and Cal sat on a stool he salvaged from a study room upstairs. It took two days to find the necessary supplies, including another trip to Pilgrim’s Sanctuary and raiding the Imperial base in the Halls of Ranvell. For the ink itself, a collection of Jedha plants burned down into soot, then mixed with a distilled Mina-Rau spirit that Greez pilfered from Pyloon’s storeroom. The remaining drink was poured neat into a glass in Cal’s left hand.

Cal slipped the cuff from his right wrist and laid his arm across the counter, palm up. The tattoo had faded slightly, pockmarked by the assorted scrapes and abrasions he’d collected in the last decade. A constellation of freckles stretched along its base, right next to his identification marks. So much had changed since Bracca. He’d changed, inside and out. But he couldn’t fix the inside today.

BD carefully aligned himself at the end of Cal’s arm. Merrin also offered to stay, but there was enough work to be done on Tanalorr, and secretly Cal wasn’t sure he wanted an audience.

The droid’s projector whirred to life as glowing lines and dashes appeared from Cal’s wrist to the end of his forearm. They stretched across the Guild mark, changing its shape to something new. A restoration. A promise.

Taske finished tying the sutaban bone needle to a small dowel. For Cere’s tattoos, she told Cal, an elaborate hand-carved stick had been chosen from a selection of Jedi relics, and prayers were recited with each new line applied. Today’s process would be much less ornate.

“Are you ready, Jedi?” she asked.

Cal waited for the fear to come. For the Force to roar its way through him once more, for all the hurt and sorrow etched into these monastery walls to overtake him until only white-hot pain remained.

“You have grown stronger,” Vader growled, saber crackling in sync with the burning Archive walls. “No,” Cere replied. “I’ve only let go of my fear.”

The echoed-memory washed over Cal like a wave. Trust in the Force, like she always told him. 

Inhale, exhale. Cal closed and opened his hand.

“Not sure I’ll ever be ready,” he said quietly. “Let’s begin.”

[part 0] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

[animatedjen]

We all need Jedi training (aka life advice) from Master Tapal

[animatedjen]

tattoo; pt 2

“Do all nightsisters have tattoos?”

“In my clan, yes.” Merrin’s gaze remained on the console monitor, but her mouth tilted in curiosity.  “A gift from our mothers, to symbolize the bond with our coven. Why do you ask?”

The soft glow of holobooks illuminated an otherwise empty Archive. Most Anchorites had retired for the evening, leaving only the Mantis Crew to review Cordova’s findings. Cal just finished a report on the Drengir Crisis, one of many casualties in the aftermath of the Great Hyperspace Disaster. In another life, he’d pour over every historical record in the Archive and learn the entire history of the Jedi Order.

“Sorry if that’s too personal.” Bode rested his elbows on the opposite side of the console. “I don’t know much about Dathomir, aside from Greez’ stories.”

“Greez has good reason to tell those stories,” Cere noted. “Though he only focuses on the dangerous parts.” She’d spent the evening decrypting messages from someone named Sister Avel and only now paused to rest her hands: one fist wrapped around the other, both wrists slowly stretched forward. A technique Cal taught her not long after the escape from Bracca. 

Cere caught his eye, and the Force sparked with a gentle joy.

“Because he only saw the dangerous parts. There’s beauty there too,” Cal added. “Huge temples, carvings taller than the Archive. Even more impressive when everything on the planet wants to kill you.”

Merrin smiled. Bode glanced between them with raised eyebrows, and Cal knew he’d get an earful from the mercenary later. “So the tattoos represent… danger? Or beauty?”

She raised a finger to her forehead, tracing the intricate gray lines down the bridge of her nose and across her cheekbone. “The strength of a bramble lynx and the precision of a Kodashi viper. That’s how my sister described them, at least,” her hand came to rest on her necklace. “Our power comes from our connection with ourselves, our coven, and our home. Everything for the good of the clan, in life and death.”

Bode hummed an acknowledgement, his gaze distant. “What about you, Scrapper?” he said suddenly, gesturing at the ink half-hidden beneath a leather cuff on Cal's wrist. “Is it a Jedi thing?”

“Scrapper thing,” Cal gathered the finished holobooks together and moved them to a nearby table. “Company mark. That’s how the Guild keeps track of their employees." 

He did pass out in that oversized pilot chair. By some mercy, despite watching a scrawny thirteen-year-old kid descend into paralytic shock from unseen visions, the Guildworker listened to him and let the droid finish the branding. When Cal stumbled out of the stationhouse that evening, Prauf had somehow found a clean rag to wrap around his arm. That protected it until the next morning, when he clocked in for his first shift with the Rigger crew.

“Wow. Seems drastic.” Bode remarked. “When–”

“The Empire already knows what I look like, and the Guild gave my employment records to the ISB years ago,” Cal cut in. “So it doesn’t really matter if it’s visible. But I wear the cuff for support anyway, so coverage is just a bonus.”

Normally he didn’t mind talking about Bracca, but everything on Coruscant dredged up memories he’d been trying to suppress. Too many lost friends. Unlike Merrin, whose tattoos kept her rooted to her past, Cal’s mark felt more like a chain. He unstacked the holobooks just to stack them again.

To his credit, Bode took the hint and pivoted to Cere. “It’s a new look, yes,” she admitted. “Not long after I joined the Anchorites.”

“So everyone who crews the Mantis has to have an important tattoo?” Bode mused aloud. “Because that might be a dealbreaker for me.”

“Not an important one,” Cere corrected, mischief scrawled across her once-stoic face.

“Turns out a Narkis kitchen isn’t really equipped for Lateron sensibilities,” as if on cue, Greez’s voice echoed from the front entrance of the Archive. “Not because NaJedhan food is lacking, of course not. But these hermits must think the only holy food groups are plain and tasteless.”

“So I kept it simple; we’re starting with just ten spices. Once they know the basics, we’ll move on to more complicated dishes. Just don’t be too picky about the flavor tonight, okay?” He joined them at the console, then paused once he saw everyone’s expectant faces. “What’s this about?”

“Greez,” Cere smiled, “Do you have any tattoos?”

Heat flushed across the Latero’s face. “Listen, anything I told you in a Nar Shaddaa alleyway stays in a Nar Shaddaa alleyway,” he warned. “Especially that.”

Merrin teleported across the room, materializing behind Greez in a flurry of green sparks. He yelled, two hands chastising the Nightsister while the other two covered his hearts. “Quit it! No! You’re not getting this out of me!”

“Did you lose a bet?” Merrin asked.

“I’m not saying anything!” Greez sputtered.

“He lost a bet,” Cal grinned.

“Cere!” Greez howled.

“Wait, what was that?” Bode interrupted, staring slackjawed at Merrin. “Was that magick?”

She begrudgingly paused her reign of terror. “You have much to learn, Bode Akuna,” Merrin said sweetly. “And I now know why you are friends with Cal and Greez. You all talk so much.”

Bode’s laugh was infectious, and Cal couldn’t help but join in. 

[part 0] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

[animatedjen]

tattoo; pt 1

“This way.”

The Guild station backroom was functionally an oversized storage closet, rows of metal shelves covered in half-labeled data storage and a smattering of decommissioned Separatist office equipment.

Warsren, the station's comm manager (and new employee wrangler, apparently) directed Cal to a retrofitted captain’s chair bolted to the floor. Three armrests of varying shapes jutted from one side, haloed by a large work lamp clamped to the backrest. Cal struggled to imagine the size of its former pilot; it took two awkward hops for him to even make it onto the seat cushion.

While his eyes adjusted to the overhead light, Warsren mounted something to a metal pole above the armrests. She slotted an unmarked ink cartridge into its chest, and four needle-tipped arms emerged as the droid sputtered to life.

Prauf had warned him, but Cal still caught himself scooting away on instinct. A medical droid, or what was left of one, clumsily rebuilt from a mismash of scrap parts. The optic sensor from an astromech dangled from its former head.

“Put your arm down, kid.” Warsren stepped to the front of the chair, two rubber straps in her hands. Something between annoyance and concern pinched her eyebrows. “Hey. If you’ve got any other options, I’d take them now.”

Cal stared at the disembodied droid torso hanging over the smallest armrest. “Yeah. I know.”

She sighed and patted the chair. Cal gingerly willed his body into position. He found a splotchy stain on the floor next to an upside-down KN unit, and stared at it intently while Warsden wrapped one strap across his palm and another around the crook of his elbow.

His right arm now immobile, Cal suddenly wished he could meditate. Despite the hours he spent in the Albedo Brave’s medbay (both due to his own mishaps and visiting injured troopers) he never felt comfortable with the actual equipment. Too many Echoes he didn’t want to see. Master Tapal took his concern seriously, even ordering a separate cot be saved just for his padawan. But an unexpected skirmish on Halais filled the medbay over capacity for weeks - later Cal caught a strain of rynon fever and needed an overnight stay to administer treatment. He spent the entire night in a psychometric haze, reliving the war through the eyes of the 13th Battalion.

“You can’t shake like that,” Warsren snapped, jolting him from the memory. “The mark won’t be clear, and it’ll hurt more.” She tapped the binding next to his trembling fingers. “Grab the strap if you need to. And stay still.”

She’d mounted the datapad to the side of the droid, and Cal could barely make out the key-shaped brand of the Scrapper Guild. His personal ID would be a number sequence that corresponded with the small squares at the base of the tattoo. “That’ll become your lucky number,” Prauf had said, squeezing his shoulder. “And we’ll get dinner at Russel’s after you’re done. But only if you’re really sure about this, Cal.”

“Ready?” Warsren asked. “I need to check the comms, but I’ll come back once it’s finished.”

Cal swallowed his fear and nodded. He had begged Prauf to suggest him as the replacement. As much as the Abednedo didn’t want Cal living a scrapper’s life, he also didn’t want him starving on the streets. Or dying in an Imperial prison, but Cal hadn’t told his friend of that possibility. Either way, this was the only path forward.

Cal closed his eyes, letting his breath soften into a familiar rhythm. He could do this. The whirr of the droid’s motors sounded well-oiled, despite their crusty appearance. He gnawed on his tongue when the first pinprick landed, then another, then another, then another. The needles danced along his forearm in pairs of two, starting near his wrist and working their way up. Uncomfortable, but nothing like what he’d already been through. No amount of pain could compare to–

–and suddenly the Force was there, flooding his system, a wailing cacophony of Echoes from other scrappers-to-be who’d sat in this captain’s chair before him. The cry ripped from Cal’s throat without warning, his body overwhelmed with both the onslaught of memories and the Force the Force! Here! Now! Now! It’s all your fault!

He dry-heaved to his left, phlegm and spittle dripping onto the far side of the chair. The office door slid open and Warsren’s wide eyes reappeared from behind the cluttered shelves. Echoes of her past self danced around the room, prepping the same droid over and over for a myriad of new hires. She rushed towards it now, yelling, but her voice drowned in the psychometric noise.

“Don’t stop it!” Cal gasped, his head lolling against the backrest. “Please! Even if I pass out, don’t- don’t stop it. It has to finish.”

Her hand paused over the droid’s shutoff switch. Those same pinched eyes burrowed into his, and Cal forced his shaky gaze to focus on her overlapping past-present forms. “It- has to finish. Please. I can’t do this again.”

Over and over the Scrapper Guild brand flashed before Cal. Needles drilling into arms again and again and again. It’s your fault it’s your fault he’s dead and it’s your fault!

The room grew white-hot, and he couldn’t hear the whirr of the droid motors anymore. Just the sputtering engine of the Venator escape pod, screaming its way towards Bracca.

[part 0] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

[animatedjen]

tattoo; pt 0

“How old?”

“I’m fifteen,” Cal lied with as much confidence as his scrawny frame allowed. He adjusted the oversized shirt he’d borrowed from Prauf: it hung nearly to his knees, but he’d tucked the hem into his belt in hopes the extra fabric gave an illusion of bulk. “Turned just last week, so I’m able to work.”

“Don’t care, just need’ya to say it,” the Aqualish deskworker drawled, punching numbers into a Guild station datapad. The former engineering office still held signs of its past life, mainly the long drafting tables piled in the far corner, but most of the room had been converted to a glorified holding tank for disgruntled scrappers. 

Account hit with “unexpected” overdraft fees? Ask at the station. Something was stolen? Report at the station. On med leave for an injury? Daily check-ins at the station. Need a job? Station. Cal spent the entire morning listening to a slew of grievances, all while a snitmouse-looking man hovered slightly too close to him in line.

“And I’m joining Rigger crew ATKISO-09 as a replacement,” Cal added. His heart pounded in his ears. It was already a risk to pursue Guild work, but claiming a specific role like this was hearsay for any Scrapper, especially a new hire.

“You start as Hazmat and earn your way out, same as the others,” the deskworker recited. Half of their datapad screen flickered haphazardly, and any attempted input took multiple presses to respond. Cal startled as the pad slammed onto the desk. “Stupid,” they muttered, slamming it a second time for good measure.

Even without the Force, Cal sensed the impatient crowd behind him. If that form went through, he’d lose his chance. “SP-0 moves to Shipyard Qek tomorrow, and they need one more Rigger,” he pressed. “I can fill that spot right now. Otherwise you’ll be stuck managing a death report and a fulfillment request, probably after hours.”

The Aqualish regarded him with all four eyes. Cal knew this was a gamble. Tabber’s friend’s partner managed a Guild stationhouse near Shipyard Thesh and she always complained about the datawork: for what little regard the Scrapper Guild seemed to have for employee safety, they made up for it with attention to payroll. Once a coveted position, office jobs had become known for erratic hours and increasingly personal liability, despite their ever-failing equipment.

Not that Cal enjoyed taking advantage of someone’s death, though Prauf insisted the ex-con was a “health risk” the moment he joined the crew. While the Abednedo no longer held an engineering title within the Guild, the ATKISO-09 crew still acknowledged him with a small amount of seniority. They all fell under jurisdiction of the foreman droids anyway, so the respect couldn’t go far. But when Prauf offered Cal up as a replacement Rigger, the other scrappers reluctantly agreed.

Which only left his paperwork, or lack thereof. Cal bit back a sigh of relief as the Aqualish abandoned the new-hire form and instead loaded a work transfer sheet. “Credits deposit every fortnight, with lodging and meal expenses taken out first. All equipment must be purchased and maintained by an approved Guild store.” They paused to rub spice-stained fingers through their cheek hair, leaving a smear of reddish dust behind. “Your foreman will assign daily tasks along with long-term project responsibilities. Failure to complete work will result in termination.” 

“Understood,” Cal nodded. That obviously meant job termination, right? He fixed his shirt yet again, stepping aside as the snitmouse-man pushed towards the desk.

“Payment is assigned via company ID, which you’ll receive in the back,” the deskworker concluded, side-eyeing their next problem in line. They tossed the datapad towards another employee at the comm wall. “Warsren! Turn on the droid! New hire needs ID.”

Behind the main Guild station desk, a middle-aged human turned to frown at Cal. “You’re tiny,” she said, but she heaved herself from the chair and motioned him to follow.

[part 0] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

[animatedjen]

this turned out very silly, but here's the Golden video! Came together faster than I thought it would lol https://www.tumblr.com/saltandbees/791311333710839808

You finished it!! 🎉 Love how the energy/movement of each clip matches the song, and that you incorporated the game's UI into the story (turning down difficulty after repeated deaths to then defeat Rick, so fun). Another incredible entry for the Jedi x KPDH crossover ✨🗡️

I also struggle with the best settings to screenrecord game footage - lately I'm using OBS to capture 2K footage with a 25mbps target bitrate and "indistinguishable quality." It's always a balance between your hardware specs, image quality, and file storage space. And then adding cosmetic mods / camera tools on top of all that makes my PC really really grumpy hah. Your footage and the added color grade looks good!

Yay for more silly Jedi edits (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

[animatedjen]

Cal Kestis | Jedi Survivor

[animatedjen]

Merrin | Jedi Survivor

[animatedjen]

Cal Kestis | Jedi Survivor

[animatedjen]

Advice from Bode | Jedi Survivor (Jedi 3 Concept)

So both Jedi games have used a "mentor flashback" to unlock new Force abilities: Fallen Order had training sessions with Jaro Tapal, and Survivor had cutscenes with Cere Junda. But if the pattern continues in Jedi 3: who is left to teach Cal?

There's a few different options. Maybe an upgrade to Cal's psychometry lets him learn from the High Republic Jedi who were once on Tanalorr. Maybe he learns from his current crew of Greez and Merrin. Maybe through training Kata he gains new insight.

But I'd love to see those flashbacks highlight past antagonists instead - specifically Bode. He's already going to haunt the narrative, obviously with Kata but also as a warning sign for Cal's strained relationship with the Force. And now that Cal knows his true identity, he might re-contextualize some of Bode's past advice as both parental and slightly Jedi-ish.

We saw Cal pull Masana's gunship from the air in the same way Trilla tried to ground the Mantis on Bracca. We saw him listen to Dagan and reconsider Tanalorr as a home for the Hidden Path. There's lessons to be learned everywhere, and Cal is constantly shown to be resourceful. He finds what's useful and makes it work for him.

Idk just spitballing here. I'm definitely in the "shorter timeskip, keep Survivor's ending very fresh" camp, plus this could help give new players context for who Bode was.

[animatedjen]

Shattered Moon | Jedi Survivor

[animatedjen]

Force Uppies!!

[animatedjen]

ohhh your kdh video really makes me want to make a silly video of Golden with Inquisitor Cal. Like being a sith can be his hot girl summer....

DO IT that'd be so fun. Inquisitor Cal deserves a hot girl summer 🌴⛱️

There were multiple requests for Your Idol with the Jedi games' Inquisitors/antagonists - I'd love to do a tiny edit when Empire Hunters hits 100k, but only if I have time :( It's been fun to see other Star Wars x KPDH crossovers popping up! Such a wild combo but somehow it works??