#islwyn

[dear-odile]

Izzy headcanons?? I think he would’ve really been into baking in his spare time 🥰

sorry for the late reply anon!

I was literally thinking last night that Izzy would be a baker if given the opportunity so I 100% support that headcanon!

My Izzy headcanons. Some sad, some random:

calls Kai hot nonchalantly

attempted before

(/ref)

Okay but seriously:

He would have one of those “historical baking” tiktok pages but it’s literally all just gladiator rations from the year 1238 or whatever

He wants to grow a beard but doesn’t like the texture of the hair with his helmet (I think either his va or someone in the cast mentioned his original design had a beard and it’s been living rent free in my mind)

He and Odile have matching friendship bracelets (I love this one soooo much I think Odile would make them but if anyone asks she would say Izzy did.)

He likes to garden, but he isn’t very good at it.

He tries to learn how to draw, and he eventually gets super good, because he’s trying to sketch the faces of Dona and his friends because he’s worried he’ll forget their faces.

Has done yaoi (this one is basically canon b/c his VA said that he committed colosseum yaoi and what she says goes imo)

I think he secretly really likes sweets and sweet drinks

Would wear a “i flexed the sleeves off this shirt” muscle tee unironically

[bonusdragons]

November 9, 2023:

Peridot Primary, Guardian, Jester.

Islwyn of Xenamorph's Dame Blanche Manor!

[sensacetionalshady]

So! I've been reading about estonian mythological beings and with Death from Puss in Boots being turned into rotisserie chicken in the microwave that is my mind, I coughed up this muinasjutt (based on what little I remember from literature class about the traits and aspects of muinasjutud).

The story below is gonna be treated as the origin story of Islwyn (Juhan/Juss) in what I'm gonna call the Eesti AU from now on. Others are maybe gonna join, but mostly I connect Islwyn to Estonia so far, so... we'll see. I have art of his design too. And other aus. I have lots of trad art that's gonna be uploaded gradually.

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Once upon a time, Death fell in love with the executioner of an small city. She courted him with dreamless sleep and a comforting ear for the guilt-wracked man, and he courted her with clean deaths and hanged men. A year went by and she came to visit with a babe abreast, for the executioner to raise and love and cherish and be proud of. The boy grew up taught the fine arts of torture and respectful deaths, listening to the ramblings of the guilty, the mad and the damned. At the age of 16, the child now a man, he came home to his mother visiting. "There is a plague coming, my son. It will be a plague unlike any other, deadlier than poison and quicker than a rabbit. I am already being near overwhelmed with work. It is time for me to retire as the harvester of souls and let you lead people from the light to the dark." She handed him her sickle and told him to thrice circle a bewitched stone. "It will bless you with wolf skin, it may just save you from the plague when my blood cannot." And so he donned his fathers cloak and his mothers sickle. He clasped the cloak shut with a double sickled pross, to declare himself the son of Death and harbringer of eternal peace, and took a chain from the dungeons where his father worked to attach to the handle of the sickle, to forever promise to fulfill his duty as the other end of the chain was tied to his waist with the clasp shut around his wrist. Years went on with the executioner's child severing souls from bodies, Vikatimees accompanying souls to Maanala and Death being an eternal companion to the dead and the ruler of Maanala.

Eventually, the population grew until the death toll each day was too much for Timukalaps to handle, though he grinned and bore it to spare his younger siblings from work as all eldest children are wont to do. However, they were still assigned the same work, some given scissors and some given knives in place of their mothers sickle. The eldest was still in possession of it and would forever be as he was assigned to harvest those who go down fighting, those who need to be defeated in a brawl before accepting their inevitable end, those who are relentless and gruesome and violent and only fit for the timukalaps as tough as old leather and as worn and experienced as him. And although he was only allowed to harvest the vicious, he was granted the honor of taking their father's life, accompanying him on the journey to Maanala by himself and his mother and all his siblings waiting to have a big family evening together before all but one had to return to their eternal work.

[quiddling]

haven't posted izzy in a while :]

[ratasum]

HERE THEY ARE! In honor of Trans Day of Visibility, from your local trans nonbinary bunny player to your dashboard, all of my current trans/nonbinary characters. There will be more, don't worry. Give me time.

Infiltrator Leyya (she/her), Islwyn the Penitent (he/him), Demoltionist Billi (they/them)

Laxzzi (she/her, with her lovely wife), Necrologist Ahlma (she/her), Xeonna the Lost (she/her)

Ktokka (she/her), Butch Crushfist (she/her), Mharnii (she/they)

[catohphm]

In my latest Hogwarts Legacy Star Wars AU brainrot today, I looked into the question of how Jedi Danny would survive Order 66. I ended up coming up with an action sequences where he uses his lightwhip and a speeder bike to escape.

Master Islwyn was out in battle on a Separatist-occupied plant. He and his clone battalion headed into a tunnel to secure the next area. They approached what was a checkpoint that seemed to be deserted. A squadron of CIS soldiers emerged from behind crates and containers to ambush them, catching them by surprise. The Jedi and his clone commander quickly took cover behind some containers while the troopers returned fire at the CIS squadron. It was a short but fierce exchange of rapid blaster bolts.

After all the hostiles were downed, the group was about proceed further down the tunnel toward their target when the clone commander suddenly unholstered and readied his DC-17 blaster - Danny overheard it and promptly disarmed him with his lightwhip. The pistol hit the ground and went off, the shot hitting a weak supporting pillar. It fell over and landed behind him and the commander, separating them from the battalion.

The two engaged in a hand-to-hand brawl as the tunnel started to collapse. The Jedi overpowered the commander with the help of his lightwhip. Unconscious, he was thrown over the pillar to his clones, who had no choice but to hastily retreat while leaving Danny to be crushed by rubble. Meanwhile, the Jedi quickly commandered a Flitknot speeder bike that belonged to one of the Separatist men and floored it.

Although the Flitknot was a fast speeder with good acceleration, it was still a race for Danny's life. The tunnel had just started to cave in, and it was catching up. It was going by like a blur as the vehicle was picking up speed. Boots deep on the pedal, the Jedi hunched forward, gaining momentum. The falling rubble was still reaching closer, threatening to devour him. It now inches away from his speeder. The light at the end of the tunnel had to be close. Danny squinted his eyes closed in desperate hope, leaving himself in the hands of the Force. Then, in a big blast of dirt and dust, he bolted out of the tunnel portal on the other side. He had made it.

If Danny had not pulled off his escape with the speeder bike, he would have perished like the Separatist troopers in the tunnel. Like the collapsing tunnel threatening to obliterate everyone in it, the CIS, Jedi and the Republic would be crushed by the colossal might of the Empire, ruthless in its hunger for power of the galaxy.

[haveyoureadthisfantasybook]

vote yes if you have finished the entire book.

vote no if you have not finished the entire book.

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[swordmaster-sybil]

Not to be problematic but every time Islwyn interrupts what could have been a really cute Sybdil moment I get such an unholy rage. Brb gonna go find Mr Half and Half myself so I can put him back in the ground.

[islwyn-the-heartless]

The Call to Battle

A/N: Just a little something... A while ago I was thinking about him and wrote an izzy fic of him killing someone when he was still a gladiator

---

Title: The Call to Battle

Summary: Islwyn Blackrock is a gladiator known for his ruthless fighting style. He enters the arena to cheers from the crowd and is determined to keep his place.

Words: 2,461

CW for violence, and izzy literally killing someone ig

The deafening roar of the crowd echoed through Islwyn's thoughts as he strode onto the arena floor. Coarse sand crunched beneath his sandals, sending trails of dust swirling around him. Towering stone walls rose high above, their monolithic forms casting long shadows that stretched across the expansive battleground. Islwyn let his gaze wander over the faces in the stands, taking in the mix of emotions flickering across spectators from all walks of life.

Some watched with gleaming eyes, practically vibrating in their seats with pure excitement. For them, the arena was more than just entertainment - it was primal, it was visceral. It allowed them to escape, if only for a moment, from the rigours of everyday life in a rapidly changing world. Others observed with practised nonchalance, as if the violence on display meant little more than a distraction from tedious matters of politics and commerce. A few among the nobility even looked bored, regarding the proceedings as little more than primitive savagery unworthy of their scholarly minds.

And scattered throughout were those whose frenzied anticipation bordered on bloodlust, hanging on the warriors' every clash of steel with a hungry fixation. Islwyn felt a pang of disgust at their unbridled thirst for mayhem, but he brushed it aside. This was his arena, where he had built a reputation as one of the deadliest fighters to ever grace the sands. Today, that reputation would be put to the test like never before.

The metallic screech of gates being drawn open pulled Islwyn's attention back to the matter at hand. His opponent had arrived, and by the escalating roar of the spectators, this was no ordinary challenger. Muscles tensed in anticipation, Islwyn turned to face the shadowy entranceway, bracing himself for what was to come.

A hulking silhouette emerged from the gloomy passageway, its sheer mass blocking out what little sunlight filtered in from overhead. Islwyn stiffened as inch by inch, the figure stepped into the light - and it was all he could do to stop his hands from trembling at the sight. This warrior wasn't just legendary, he was downright monolithic, a veritable mountain of corded muscle and scar tissue.

Grimmjaw the Ruthless lived up to his moniker, radiating an aura of brutal prowess that caused even the boldest onlookers to shrink back in their seats. A bristling mane of dark hair framed a face that was all harsh angles and cruel sneers, bearing the marks of countless violent encounters. And in his massive palms rested an axe the size of a grown man, its chipped edge glinting hungrily.

If the roar of the crowd had been deafening before, it was now approaching apocalyptic levels. Men and women alike screamed themselves hoarse, some calling for Grimmjaw in savage devotion while others remained loyal to Islwyn's cause. Money and jewellery changed hands wildly as last-minute bets were placed, gambling on which warrior would emerge the victor from this epic clash.

Islwyn took a deep, steadying breath as Grimmjaw joined him in the centre of the combat zone. They circled slowly, sizing one another up while thousands of rapt onlookers hung on their every motion. Islwyn's eyes roved over his hulking adversary, analysing every inch for potential weaknesses to exploit. But Grimmjaw was a perfect specimen, without any discernible flaws to target. His rugged physique rippled with coiled power, giving the impression of a wild beast barely kept in check by its own flesh and sinew.

Their eyes met, and Islwyn saw nothing but cold calculation behind Grimmjaw's predatory gaze. Whatever humanity may have once existed in the man had long since been beaten out of him, leaving only a remorseless engine of destruction hungry for bloodshed. Grimmjaw's lip curled in barely restrained malice, as if daring Islwyn to make the first move and hasten his demise.

Islwyn schooled his features, refusing to give his opponent the satisfaction of seeing fear. He knew Grimmjaw, like any true warrior, fed off the vulnerability of others. But Islwyn had faced too many challenges, endured too much pain, to crumble under mere intimidation. His hands tightened around the shaft of his morningstar, fingers calloused and thickened from countless battles. This would be his greatest test yet, but fall he would not.

The deafening clamour of the spectators swelled like a physical force, pressing in from all sides as the warriors continued their tactical gauging. Behind Grimmjaw's impassive mask, Islwyn sensed a well of simmering violence barely contained, the primal urges of a killer through and through. But underneath the facade of ruthless ferocity, he glimpsed another emotion - one that caused his stomach to twist uncomfortably.

Loathing, bare and vengeful, simmered just below Grimmjaw's cold eyes. Whatever personal history lay between them, matters of past wrongs and perceived slights, it lent an extra layer of toxicity to their imminent duel. This fight would be about more than pride or victory - for Grimmjaw, it was personal.

And in that moment, Islwyn knew true fear. Grimmjaw fought not just to win, but to destroy completely. Any mercy or restraint would be nonexistent in the barbarism to come. Only one of them would walk away intact, while the other left broken and defeated. Yet despite the terror writhing in his gut, Islwyn straightened to his full height and stared his foe down, letting no weakness show. This was it - the moment of truth before an onslaught that would test his limits like never before.

The two combatants tensed, coiled springs waiting to unleash pent-up violence. Breaths slowed as focus intensified, tuning out the screams and cheers of the bloodthirsty audience. Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl, the whole arena holding its collective breath. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, some unseen signal passed between grizzled opponents.

As one, they lunged with savage grace, Islwyn whirling his spiked flail while Grimmjaw swung his mammoth axe in a punishing arc. The impact shook the arena to its foundations, a colossal BOOM that silenced even the rowdiest spectators in stunned disbelief. Then pandemonium erupted as their gleaming weapons sang in a lethal dance, carving arcs of silver through the muggy air.

Blow met block in a cacophony of clanging steel, the force of each collision jolting bone-deep. Islwyn pivoted and spun in a graceful whirlwind, morningstar lashing out with the speed of a striking snake. Grimmjaw lumbered behind his shielding axe, meeting each strike head-on with shocking resilience. Their battle was a skillful display that enthralled the masses, two masters pushing each other to new limits through violence alone.

Blood began to flow as nicks and cuts accumulated, sprinkling the sands below in droplets that darkened the ground. Islwyn felt a sting along his ribs that heralded the first touch of Grimmjaw's axe, slipping past his guard for just a moment. A strangled grunt escaped at the sharp sting, but he didn't slow, retaliating with a two-handed swing that jolted Grimmjaw's shoulder with an audible crack.

The larger man roared in pain and fury, a blood curdling sound that lifted the hairs on Islwyn's nape. Pure animosity radiated from Grimmjaw's bulging frame as he redoubled his assault, axe moving with inhuman speed. Islwyn retreated step by step, parrying and weaving around the barrage as best he could. Sweat poured in rivulets down his corded muscles from the concentrated effort, making his iron grip slippery.

Their dance of destruction carried them across the ring, tracing chaotic patterns through the dust. Grimmjaw crowded Islwyn towards the chain link fence separating spectators from combat, manoeuvring to pen him in. But Islwyn proved as agile as any cornered animal, using the barrier to launch himself sideways in a spinning manoeuvre. His morningstar whistled through the air and slammed into Grimmjaw's unprotected flank with a meaty crunch, tearing scarlet furrows in his flesh.

Grimmjaw bellowed in agony, features twisting into something downright demonic. Blood streamed from the ragged gashes, already staining the sand crimson beneath his boots. Yet through sheer force of will, he refused to fall, counter attacking with a two-handed overhead smash meant to cleave bone. Islwyn snapped his weapon up just in time, the jolting impact sending spikes of pain shooting up both arms.

Locking eyes, they saw only merciless reflections of themselves - savage killers intent on spilling the other's lifeblood, no matter the cost. This wasn't a simple battle any longer, but a clash of wills, a test of which held the firmest grip on survival. Around them, the spectators were reduced to an incomprehensible din, their frenzied vibrations blending into the primal rhythm dictating the warriors' movements.

Time and again steel met with ear-splitting clangs, a blistering exchange that left no room for rest or recovery. Battered and heaving, Grimmjaw and Islwyn poured all their strength, skill and concentrated Islwyn and Grimmjaw continued their brutal clash, pushing past surging waves of fatigue as their limbs grew leaden. All reason had fled in the throes of battle madness, primal instincts taking over completely.

Grimmjaw snarled and snapped like a feral beast, crimson spittle flying from his lips with each crazed swing. His muscles spasmed and buckled, yet still he fought on through sheer willpower alone. Across from him, Islwyn panted heavily, vision tunnelling down to Grimmjaw's form. Every jarring impact left him reeling, yet he could not - would not - back down.

Their circling footsteps traced a frenzied spiralling pattern through the sand-strewn arena floor. At the centre, spatters of blood mingled amid the dust to form a macabre whirlpool of violence. Spectators screamed themselves hoarse with each blow exchanged, some standing on precarious perches atop the barrier walls to get a better view of the savage spectacle unfolding below.

Gambling fortunes changed hands faster than ever amid a dizzying blur of activity. Nobles shouted colourful insults and encouragement down at the fighters, caught up in carnal thrills untouchable in more civilised circles. Common folk waved banners and tossed coloured powders into the air, representing their favoured warrior in a riotous display.

Through it all, the combatants plunged ever deeper into a private hell forged from steel and sweat, every remaining shred of thought drowned out under an overwhelming flood of instinct. Survival itself had become the sole motivating force, primal directive screaming louder than any rational voice left in their frayed minds.

Something had to give. After what felt like an eternity, Grimmjaw slipped - just slightly, a twitch of his boot sole in drying sand. But it was all the opening Islwyn needed, summoning his last vestiges of strength for a decisive counter. His morningstar whipped through the air in whistling arcs, all his remaining weight behind the swing. It connected with a nauseating crunch, bone splintering under the force of multi-pronged metal.

Grimmjaw reeled backwards with an agonised roar, dropping his axe to clutch his blood-spurting skull. Islwyn snarled and followed through, swinging his spent weapon again and again in a brutal onslaught. Each hit struck like thunder, pulverising Grimmjaw's massive frame. The larger man wavered on his feet, bulk trembling on the verge of collapse.

Then finally, after one last devastating blow, Grimmjaw's knees buckled. He crashed face-first into the pulpy sand, still as death. An unnatural stillness fell over the arena in his abrupt cessation of movement, shock stealing words from thousands of throats at once. Islwyn stood over the prone form, heaving for breath as his morningstar slipped from nerveless fingers.

For a suspended moment, nobody dared make a sound. Then as one, the spectators found their voices once more in an explosion of noise that nearly shook dust from the rafters high above. The roar was deafening - part hysteria, part admiration, colliding into an overwhelming din that lifted Islwyn's fatigue if only for an instant. He tossed his head back and let loose a primal howl of triumph, claiming victory in the only language that truly mattered within these bloodstained walls.

All around, cheers rang out with abandon. Betting sums exchanged hands at breakneck speeds, fortunes made and lost on this singular battle's outcome alone. Colourful celebratory powders rained down in hued torrents, bathing Islwyn and the still form at his feet in bizarre rainbow hues. Hands pounding against the barrier walls sent vibrations through solid stone like thunder without end.

Islwyn drank it all in, fatigue burning away under exultation's glow. This was what he lived for - the thrill, the adrenaline, the savage glory of emerging on top against impossible odds. Nothing compared to standing in triumph over a seemingly unconquerable foe, with thousands chanting your name in awe and fervour. Here, in this arena, he had truly lived.

As the adrenaline began to fade, weariness swept over Islwyn in a crushing wave. His battered muscles trembled with exertion, knees threatening to give out at any moment. Only his iron will held him upright as the deafening cheers of the crowd washed over him.

He took a final moment to bask in the adulation, letting the roar of the spectators rush through his veins like the richest vintage. Victory was as sweet as the finest nectar, reaffirming his place at the pinnacle of the gladiatorial world. But now, the time had come to exit this brutal stage.

With an almighty effort, Islwyn dragged his morningstar from the ground and lifted it high, eliciting another surge of hysterical cheering. Sand peeled away in grimy flakes as he turned to take his leave, the effort staggering on legs that wanted only to buckle. Each step felt like wading through quicksand, and dark spots swam before his vision. Only decades of hard knocks kept him moving forward through sheer force of will alone.

Finally, blessedly, the entrance gates loomed ahead like the gates of paradise itself. Islwyn stumbled through with a last surge, immediately sagging against the stone walls of the passage beyond with a grunt. Shadows embraced him kindly, masking his weaving form from thousands of still-baying spectators. But the roar followed, echoing endlessly down the tunnel long after the massive gates rumbled closed, sealing him in privy silence at last.

In the dim light, Islwyn allowed his façade to crack, slumping fully against the wall. His heaving breaths echoed raggedly off lacquered stone, mingling with the throbbing din inside his skull. Every muscle screamed for respite after the brutal ordeal, wracked with tremors that betrayed his humanity laid bare once more. Blood seeped from various abrasions to stain his tanned skin, glistening wetly in shafts of sunlight.

How long he remained thus, Islwyn couldn't say - time held little meaning squeezed within the passageway's womb-like embrace. But slowly, his harsh pants eased to a less laboured rhythm. Shudders subsided, leaving him limp and drained yet somehow at peace. Victory's afterglow suffused his weary flesh with a comforting warmth, dulling the sharper pains that clamoured for attention.

[haveyoureadthisscifibook]

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[dear-odile]

art by @quiddling 🥰 truly my biggest competition for #1 Izzy fan

This week’s episode made me lose my mind. “Do bears have knuckles?” I’ve been quoting that all week hahah.

Anyway Izzy is literally my babygirl, and I decided to really make that clear with this edit. I just think he’s soooo uwu coded

[svndowning]

𐐪 a closed starter for @strongxsurvivors featuring islwyn einar.

islwyn forced himself to take a deep breath as he studied the silent individual at the other end of the table, promptly lifting his chalice to his lips and taking a rather large gulp of the mulberry wine. almost as if he was hoping the sweet liquor would chase his nerves away. he wasn’t used to not getting his way and it was starting to eat away at him. “how long are you planning to keep up this act of resolve? it’s not as if you can leave the winter court.” they were essentially his prisoner, something he wanted them to be keenly aware of. “this is your home now, you may as well act like it.”

[sensacetionalshady]

I couldn't decide which I like more!! but here's Islwyn, my fav werewolf and oh BOY am I excited to start writing about him. he's in the body shop world so he needs.... a Lot more work, the world itself has only existed for like 3 months.

uhhhh one sentence description: 40 yr old single father whose ex-~it's-complicated~ baby daddy is in jail and boutta get hands thrown at when he's released

[quiddling]

new boobie man

[ratasum]

My new boy, Islwyn the Penitent. Former courtier, spent some time in Mordremoth's sway, currently in the Crystal Bloom. He's still a little murdery sometimes.

[catohphm]

Hi everyone! I spent the rest of yesterday typing up a complete backstory for my Hogwarts Legacy OC, Danny, for a Star Wars AU in which he is a Jedi! It took me several hours to pull all this together so I hope you enjoy it!

tagging some moots to start: @adalinda-selwyn, @rypnami, @n0va25, @boxdstars, @superconductivebean, @idiot-adventures, @hazyange1s

Circa 45 BBY, Master Islwyn was born on Dressel, a remote, rural, wooded planet in the Mid-Rim largely detached from galactic politics. For the first three years of his life, the boy was nurtured on his parents’ ranch, who were former successful merchants that had sold off their interests and settled down for a quieter life after their enterprise started to wane due to the rising influence of large commerce houses such as the Inter-Galactic Banking Clan. However, his parents wanted their son to have a chance at life in the galaxy. They were not strong in the Force, but believed in it. They prayed that one day their boy would be granted that opportunity by will of the Force.

It seemed that those prayers were answered when a handful of brown-robed strangers showed up at the front doorstep of the Islwyns. Believing that this was the opportunity they hoped their son would have, the family welcomed the strangers. Little Danny could speak by this point, but being so young, there was no way he could process that this was the last family dinner he would have until he was an adult. Over supper, the visitors revealed their identities as Jedi and explained to the family their intentions to take their son in, raising and training him as a part of their Order. As much as they believed in the Force, little Danny’s parents had a hard time believing that the Jedi was more than myth, the mysterious guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy. They were still somewhat surprised when members of the Order approached their abode. 

The Islwyns agreed, albeit very reluctantly and emotionally, to let the Jedi leave with their son and train them as one of their own. The three-year old Danny was the loudest and it took some time for both the parents and the Jedi to calm him down. His parents gave him hugs and admitted they would still miss him dearly in spite of the fact that they had what they wanted for him. Life on the ranch would not be the same for the couple, but they had to manage for everyone’s sake. Indeed, young Danny remained in tears as he left the ranch on the shoulder of one of the Jedi, waving goodbye.

Emigrated to the grand Jedi Temple of Coruscant, the sight of a planet-wide big city was a lot to take in for the youngling when the starship docked. He was shocked and amazed of course, as it was a vast difference to the forests and prairies of quiet Dressel. Immediately from the beginning it was clear to the masters that Danny struggled with attachment and letting go. He was a happy if somewhat quiet and shy kid. It bothered the little youngling greatly that he would have to adjust to his new surroundings, even face the reality he may not get to see his mama and papa for a very long time, if not ever again. 

Under the Jedi Code, attachments were forbidden within the Order. Forcing it on little Danny however, would be wrong. One of the masters, a Togruta named Shaak Ti, took a particular interest in him. She felt and understood his deep struggles with attachments. Thus she was not hesitant to express her concerns about how he may be treated when it came to addressing his feelings and memories. Rather than trying to forcefully drill it in, which would be wrong, Master Ti advocated for working with Danny to understand his troubles and develop the important skills he would need for his journey in the Force. 

Master Ti would become a motherly figure to young Danny in the Jedi. She was allowed to play a main role in his early education and training as a youngling. He felt at ease when she was around, able to sense her strong devotion to the nature of the Force and the Jedi teachings. She encouraged him to explain what upset and scared him. Ti recognized that his attachment to his mother and father was natural and part of what made him happy. It also showed that he had  a strong heart and was concerned for other people and their wellbeing. Over time, Danny would learn to acknowledge and accept his feelings and attachments as positive and healthy so that he could remain focused on his studies and betterment as a Jedi. Shaak Ti understood why the Code banned attachments. They had the potential to interfere in the training and duties of a Jedi, turning them to the Dark Side if they were left unaddressed and allowed to overrun the individual. At the same time, she believed that with the proper handling, training and meditation, one would be able to manage their attachments in a constructive way.

As a student, Danny also looked up to Shaak Ti as a role model. He took up after her in the spiritual, scholarly and martial components of the Jedi, preferring negotiation first while being prepared for battle at any moment. He even took an interest in whips and dreamed of having a lightsaber that worked like one of them when he got older, developing a specialization for the whip throughout his training. Danny was well-liked by his peers and got along with most of his clan, though some considered him as weird and teased him for his unusual interest in whips. Otherwise he was empathetic and hardworking, sometimes assisting classmates in need.

When they came of age, young Danny and the rest of his initiate clan participated in a rite of passage known as the Gathering to build their lightsabers, as was customary. They were flown to the faraway snowy planet of Ilum in an ancient starship called the Crucible under the guidance of Professor Huyang, an academic droid also dating back from antiquity. On the planet, Danny and the younglings had to journey into caverns to find kyber crystals that they connected to in the Force while overcoming challenges testing their resilience and willpower. He managed to work through all the obstacles and negative temptations within him due to the teachings of Shaak Ti. The crystal he found was green due to his affinity with the Force’s nature. Danny used the powers of the force to build his lightsaber under the careful direction of the droid professor.

He passed his Initiate Trials with flying colors. As a Jedi Master, Shaak Ti was allowed to select her own apprentice to train, who would be none other than young Danny. It was now 32 BBY, which would see the world of Naboo be invaded and occupied by the Trade Federation in response to hefty tariffs by the Galactic Republic. He also witnessed the arrival of a young slave from the Outer Rim desert world of Tatooine, Anakin Skywalker, the news of which also brought along rumors of a Sith resurgence. While the possibility of the evil Force order returning concerned Danny somewhat, he brushed them aside as he was intrigued by the story of Anakin. Skywalker was permitted into the Jedi for training as Obi-Wan’s student after helping defeat the Trade Federation force that held Naboo at gunpoint. While welcoming toward Anakin, Danny couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was troubling him. He sensed that Skywalker also had problems with attachments, which he could understand, but the former slave’s predicament was worse than what he had to deal with. 

Danny continued his studies under Master Ti, them going on many missions together to further their journeys in the Force. Their bond grew to new heights as her student became an older teenager. Master and padawan saw each other as equals and had a shared mutual respect. Even on the hardest missions did young Danny enjoy traveling with and learning from Shaak Ti. In 25 BBY, he completed the Jedi Trials and was knighted in a formal ceremony. While proud of this accomplishment, he was not to rest on his laurels for long as he was assigned his new padawan shortly after, a teenage girl named Sophronia. Danny was reluctant at first, if a bit apprehensive even, but all doubts came crashing down when he got to meet her. The girl was intelligent and bright, as well as eager and friendly. She conveyed an air of maturity while remaining youthful and was devoted to the Jedi teachings.

Over the next 6 years, Master Islwyn dedicated himself to training Sophronia the best he could using what he learned from Master Ti and his own experiences. He constructed his lightwhip with an orange crystal after years of honing the skill. His apprentice was somewhat jealous of this, but she was also proud of him for his accomplishment. She respected and admired him a lot. They shared their passion for learning and knowledge, which further their bond and respective paths. Even then Danny would sometimes be irritated by Sophronia’s deep passion and talkative nature on the details of historical events and legends. While their bond was still a bit rocky at the start, they gradually warmed up to each other. He continued to maintain his close bond with Shaak Ti, who offered his padawan advice and motivation from time to time.

Tensions in the Republic only continued to worsen following the Naboo crisis. Many star systems were breaking off to join a new rising power in response to growing corruption, bureaucracy and alleged mistreatment. Named the Confederacy of Independent Systems, it rapidly gained support and membership under the direction of a former Jedi-turned-Sith, Count Dooku, who was christened Darth Tyranus by his master, Darth Sidious. The massive commerce houses that prompted Danny’s parents to leave business had also joined the CIS, providing military and financial support in return for places in the Separatists' governing council.

It was hard to believe for Danny that such an accomplished and respected Jedi such as Dooku could leave the Order and possibly even defect to the Republic’s rivals or enemies. He picked up his parents’ sentiment for politics, it being sort of alien to him as a committed Jedi. It was believed that Dooku had left as he felt that the organization was becoming too political, short-sighted and narrow in its ways serving the Republic. Danny also struggled to comprehend this as he always remembered the Jedi as essential to his family. They had cared for him, trained him and afforded him a life where he could be happy and perhaps make a difference in the galaxy. As much as he felt strongly about Dooku leaving the Order, nothing could change his stance on the Jedi until the outbreak of the Clone Wars. 

Dooku’s warnings would be validated as the powder keg of tensions in the galaxy exploded, pitting the Republic in open hostilities with the Separatists. The shortcomings of the Jedi were exposed to the public throughout the war, the role of them as soldiers not helping sentiment against them. That’s what Danny saw himself as he continued to serve the Jedi and the Republic in the war. He did not see it as his duty to be caught up in the back-and-forth playing of politics in the Senate Chamber. His convictions lied in the safety and wellbeing of his padawan, Master Ti and his force of clone troopers.

Although Danny always had questions about the Jedi doctrine that stemmed from his very first encounter with them as a little boy on Dressel. They were aided by the Clone Wars’  increase in scrutiny and condemnation of the Jedi as warriors pushing for the Republic’s interests at the costs of other people. Danny did not believe that it was that extreme, but he could not refute that the Jedi doctrine was flawed, if even outdated and in need of amendment. He further suspected that there were plans going on behind closed doors to usurp the Jedi and destroy the democracy laid out by the Republic. However he could not act on it nor communicate it much to others due to a lack of proof.

Nevertheless Danny and Sophronia fought in many battles together, the experience in the combat zone a test of their bond and prowess in its own right. Coming into 19 BBY, Sophronia became a knight herself. Much to the immense applause and gratitude of both Danny and Shaak Ti, she had proven herself a fierce, independent and accomplished Jedi worthy of the honor. Following the battle above Coruscant and the rescue of Chancellor Palpatine, Danny was informed that he had been selected for the ascension rank of Master for his honorable service and dedication to teaching young Sophronia the ways of the Force. He was to receive the promotion once the Clone Wars were over, this would unfortunately be cut short by Order 66.

Having thwarted an attempt by Master of the Order Mace Windu to apprehend him and bring him to justice, Palpatine, the Sith Lord Darth Sidious, framed the Jedi as killers who attempted to take over the Republic and made Anakin his apprentice, Sith Lord Darth Vader. While he sent out Vader to raze the Jedi Temple with 501st Legion backup, Palpatine issued the contingency command Order 66 to turn the clone troopers against their Jedi commanders and comrades out in battle. Danny himself was able to dodge the crossfire using his lightwhip skills and slip away. Sophronia also managed to escape although Shaak Ti was caught in the temple and killed by Anakin along with many of the other Jedi on Coruscant. 

Danny attempted to reach a few of the Jedi as he escaped the battlefield in his fighter. Most of the channels gave no response but he managed to reach Sophronia, who he advised to lay low and sent coordinates for a place where they could rendezvous later on. He also got ahold of Obi-Wan Kenobi, who had just fled Utapau after killing the Separatist warlord General Grievous. They agreed to meet at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant to investigate a distress signal coming from it. Danny had a bad feeling about it as his suspicions of a secret plot to topple the Jedi and Republic were confirmed.

Meeting Obi-Wan inside the ruined temple, he was horrified at the insurmountable decimation that had been wrought, even that Anakin, the “Chosen One” could even fall to the Dark Side. Unfortunately, that was the case as they and Yoda reviewed security footage of their former ally slaughtering their innocent comrade. It was too much for Danny to bear but he had to stick to his Jedi teachings and remain strong for his surviving brethren. Obi-Wan had to even stop him from entering Shaak Ti’s room and seeing her gruesome remains. He was devastated that she had been killed and they’d never get to see each other again, although some consolation came in the form of a holomessage Master Kenobi had recovered from Ti’s room. It had been recorded by her soon before Anakin had arrived with hundreds of 501st Legion troops, sensing that he had turned to the Sith and she’d most likely be dead. The recording was a goodbye from Shaak Ti to her former student. In it, she urged him to continue his studies in the Force, seek out Yoda to get his master promotion, and stay alive so that he can help defeat whatever evil arises from the shift in Force and restore freedom, peace and justice to the galaxy. Anything else, the deaths of Ti and other fallen Jedi would be in vain. The message also encouraged Danny to seek out whatever family he had, if there were any at all.

After receiving and listening to the holomessage, Danny and Obi-Wan reluctantly said farewell and may the force be with you to each other before parting ways. Yoda had already departed to battle Sidious before the other two surviving Jedi investigated Ti's room. Obi-Wan was going to Mustafar to confront his former friend and student Vader. Thrust into a new reality where the Republic and Jedi, the family he knew is now dead at the hands of an evil Sith lord and a traitorous Skywalker who was once an ally, Danny sets himself off on a new journey. Acting on a tip from a contact who recognized his surname, he begins the long flight to Dressel to find the original family he came from. 

Palpatine meanwhile declares the First Galactic Empire. In a move to consolidate power under the guise of security and stability, the Sith Lord ends the era of the Republic, crowning himself Emperor and putting the Separatists to the saber. Democracy is dead with thunderous applause. Danny could not have picked a better time to flee the heart of the new Empire, as any surviving Jedi were marked for death with bounties soon following. No matter what, the Force remains strong in him, who must remain committed on his journey in his role as a guardian of peace and justice in the galaxy.