Private An Old Thorn In His Side

[Ti-Fal Jurgon]

Another day, another one of the galaxy's scumbags dead at Ti-Fal's feet. Ti-Fal hooks his lightsaber into his belt and exits the building of the slain slaver. The streets of Nar Shaddaa were filled with vermin of people, as always. It turns out vermin is perfect for hiding in plain sight, however. Ti-Fal continued his way down the street until he stopped at a local cantina. He went inside the building, and immediatly walked over to a table in the back of the cantina. He placed a tracking fob on the table, and a man shrouded in the shadows grunted.

"Was it painful?" he asked.

Ti-Fal scowled, and said, "Of course not. I do my buisiness quick, if you want torture, find one of your other scum bounty hunters, or better yet call a Sith. I take joy in battle, not murder. I just do what I must to get by."

The shrowded man chuckled. "You Jedi are all the same."

Anger filled Ti-Fal, and he quickly shouted, "I am no Jedi."

Reaching out with the Force, Ti-Fal lifted the man in the air, right into the light. As he began to close his fist, the man, revealed to be a Rodian, began to sputter. Unable to form words, he began to reach for his blaster, but his hand soon fell limp, as Ti-Fal closed his fist, crushing the Rodian's windpipe. The Rodian dropped to the floor, lifeless. Ti-Fal put his hood over his head, and quickly exited the cantina, heading for his ship. Little would Ti-Fal know, an old thorn in his side was not far behind.

Wyatt Morga

 

[Wyatt Morga]

The light pollution was intense, heavy and toxic to Wyatt’s eyes as he got off the transport. Rusted as it were, it was hardly the most comfortable ride he had gotten - only made worse by the ever present stink of its pilot. Sauntering from the pilot seat with a kebab in hand, sauce leaking from his lip - he uttered a gutteral demand;​

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“Oy, Jedi. Gimme the creds.”​

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Wyatt couldn’t help but cringe at the demand, but he obliged. There wasn’t a need to play coy with the man, and using the force as some of his peers would have only been abuse of his power. Besides - it would have stood in direct opposition to his teachings, something that rang true today more than ever.​

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As the man departed, no doubt to finish his meal and do patch work on the freighter, Morga moved on to do what he had come to the planet for. There was a man he needed to seek out, an old apprentice gone dark years ago - a permanent shame on Wyatt’s record. He grimaced at the thought, but he could feel the essence of his once-padawan in the distance.​

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It was … Darkened, molded by the planets ever present echoes of pain and sorrow. No doubt someone sensitive as he was would be changed by these people - but that wasn’t what Wyatt was hoping for. Somehow, he hoped his apprentice would be unmarred by its detestable underworld, without scars from its darkness; though he knew these hopes were far from rationale, fleeting in the grand scheme.​

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But he had to try.​

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It was only then he watched Ti-Fal rush from the Cantina, and a sudden rush of people enter. The words weren’t clear, but the Force understand them for him - he’d killed a man inside, and moved to depart. Wyatt grimaced, clenched his jaw and broke into a run - he had to stop him before he got to his ship.​

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“Ti-Fal, wait!”, he called out as he unlatched his lightsaber. He didn’t imagine he’d strike at him, but it was always best to be prepared.​

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Ti-Fal Jurgon​

 

[Ti-Fal Jurgon]

Ti-Fal stopped dead in his tracks. A voice he hadn't heard in a long time, calling out to him. It couldn't be. The Force was playing tricks on him. He turned around, and there he saw his old master, lightsaber in hand.

"Morga. After all of this time, I did not think that this would be the place that you'd find me."

Motioning towards the lightsaber in his hand, Ti-Fal says, "Why are you here? Come to kill me, master?"

He pulls his lightsaber from his hip and into his hand with the Force. "I won't let you. I've grown more on my own than if I had stayed with the weakminded Jedi."

People begin to form around the two Force wielders, murmuring.

Wyatt Morga

 

[Wyatt Morga]

“Of course not, Ti.”, he said with a glance to his own lightsaber.​

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The crowds were troublesome - no doubt curious to see the depth Jedi could fight, but it wasn’t what he was here to accomplish. He wanted his apprentice back within the Order, perhaps not with him - but within the Order nonetheless. To be free of the harm one could do outside, free and mingling amongst the banality of common folk.​

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Wyatt swallowed as he hoped to speak, nerves always on his mind in moments like these;​

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“I’ve come to see you home, to the Order. To have a chance at a life with a purpose again.”, he said in an almost pleading tone.​

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“You killed a man back there Ti. For what? Out of anger?”​

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Wyatt slowly, very visually, moved his lightsaber back to his belt and clipped it onto its chain. With both hands, he moved his robes aside and opened both hands to his apprentice, to show he was unarmed - to show he meant no harm.​

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“We both know that isn’t right. You know it…”, he repeated.​

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“Come home, Ti-Fal. The Order misses you.”​

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Ti-Fal Jurgon​

 

[Ti-Fal Jurgon]

Ti-Fal throws his head back and laughs. "It isn't right? There is no right, there is no wrong. Not in this galaxy. The Jedi paint themselves as peacekeepers, but how many die because of Jedi intervention?"

Despite the way he is talking, Ti-Fal begins to feel very weak. He was so confident in his ability to hide himself, he hadn't prepared himself to ever see his old master again. Looking around, he sees the crowd growing bigger, leaving little room for escape.

"You are stalling. Trying to trap me here. The Order isn't my home, it never was. My home is in the comforts of knowledge, of gaining power."

 

[Wyatt Morga]

“There is right… and there is wrong.”, he said with a quiet, somber tone.​

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Often, it was a grey topic - what constitutes right and wrong from what was a cultural norm? Was morality not dependent on the culture it came from? And yet, Wyatt understood through the Force what was right and wrong, at least in the small scale. Rituals, surgeries for religion, every manner of disgusting practice that hurt others was something he could feel cry out through the Force; and it was through the Force’s pain alone that he could tell what was wrong.​

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It wasn’t an easy concept to explain, and he never truly could reinforce it into Ti-Fal, a failure in his own right. He exhaled, slow as he spoke;​

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“Jedi are not perfect, Ti-Fal, I will not disagree. We are scattered, broken into sects who see the galaxy in a thousand ways - but I… I know that can change. To find a new path, to see the Order restored.”​

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Wyatt took a few careful steps towards him, to close the distance, to make their conversation more personable. There were a thousand and one eyes that stared at them then, but he had to ignore them, ignore the pressure their emotions, their fear exuded on the situation. They hoped for a fight, but Wyatt hoped to give them nothing.​

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“There is no comfort in power, Ti-Fal. Were there, even the Sith Lords would settle and grow dormant; but they don’t. They fight on, always hunting for something out of their reach…”, he offered a smile as he came within striking distance, knowing full and well Ti-Fal could move to lash out would he so wish.​

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“There is no happiness in the dark path to power, but there is a comfort in knowledge. In peace. In service. Let me help you, and in turn, you can help me… Help the Order, Ti.”​

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Ti-Fal Jurgon​