Saran Drast
Templar
Saran stood in the very hanger she had fought through years earlier i the recapture of Dac. Carbon scoring from the blaster fire and the Force energy still residing here from the Sith she had fought told her exactly where she was. Her palm began to itch almost as if the wound had happened yesterday. Which, in a way, it had. She had reopened it to save the life of a certain [member="Geneviève Lasedri"], who was now somewhere nearby, along with [member="Regor Laxvan"], their commanding officer. Well, maybe. Saran wasn't sure how Gen saw all of it.
The armor she now wore to better blend in with her fellow soldiers felt... heavy here. With the memory of the fight, the plates seemed redundant, useless, worthless. But she couldn't take it of at the moment. She needed to stay as merely one of the officers on this mission. Not a Jedi. Not here, where they may well know her. Sighing, she looked to the others, removing her helmet for a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow.
"Are you ready?"
The armor she now wore to better blend in with her fellow soldiers felt... heavy here. With the memory of the fight, the plates seemed redundant, useless, worthless. But she couldn't take it of at the moment. She needed to stay as merely one of the officers on this mission. Not a Jedi. Not here, where they may well know her. Sighing, she looked to the others, removing her helmet for a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow.
"Are you ready?"