King of Korriban
Outer Rim;
Perlemian Trade Route;
Saleucami System.
The differences between this planet, and the planets within the rich core were clear. This was the outer rim, where there was no overzealous authority, or hovering reminder of submission. The people lived their lives in independent freedom, for the most part, governed by a more wild and primal version of life. Criminals and crime lords often took residence in these parts, and acted as more well known officials than the Republic itself. That said, there was nothing extremely unpleasant he had seen here during his stop. Nejaa's hand raised to lean his weight against the hull of his large starship. The Sith Infiltrator, a ship contrary to the preference of most jedi. Even so, he had come to appreciate it over the years, and it was even more than that. He had spent most of his pilot's life piloting that ship alone. He was sure his already shaky skills would drop quickly if he was forced behind the yoke of another spacecraft and expected to perform. Of course, as was custom, he had been given hands on experience in the normal Jedi starfighters, though he didn't much like the small, weak feeling of those one man ships. He needed something large enough to take a hit and continue flying.
He heard the voices of three men, his three men, coming closer. Republic pilots tasked with accompanying Nejaa on this particular mission. He had been assigned to monitor the comings and goings of a specific trade route known as the Perlemian Trade Route. Of course, it was not quite as simple as surveillance for polls and general information. His goal was the tracking of a Bounty Hunter who had mounted an attack on a Knight of the order, successfully killing the older man with sniper shots. He had skillfully eluded the Republic's attempts at finding him, and continued to act as a pain in their side. Of course, that meant Nejaa was dispersed to end the Bounty Hunter once and for all, another one of the convoluted missions he'd received from the darkening jedi. Orders which had not been given so simply. Of course not, a jedi would never ask for such a direct approach to be taken, no, it was all hints and suggestions without restricting powerfully vague ideas. Passive aggressive manipulations, self justified, yet just as sickening as those they considered their enemy.
"-Ey, Master Niynx," one of them offered in passing.
"Not master yet," he trailed off in response.
"Yeah well, what're you like thirteen? You've got time..."
"Yeah... thirteen..." he whispered vacantly, out of earshot.
It was true. He had always been young. Uncomfortably young, though he had grown used to it. Before most padawan learners were assigned masters of their own, he had been personally acquired by a member of the council who saw his potential. By the time he had rounded standard year 16, he had been Knighted and the padawan's braid removed. It felt like it should be respected all the more. And perhaps it was, on some level, but it felt more like his troopers thought of him as a child. As if, despite his rank, he would be as useless as any other teenage, average sized male. Of course, if it came down to it, most of his troops would trust him as they would another night, but it was the subtle moments that stung a bit more. He had refrained from speaking with these men, turbulent thoughts having pounded his mind for the better half of the last few years. Fears and anxieties of which there seemed to be no end. "I'm going into the town, stay here with the ships until I return. Oh, and send our status report back to Tython," he said with a firm voice as he began moving. The troopers acknowledged him with carefree nods, and continued their conversation with one another.
Nejaa wasted no time in deserting the men he had been placed in charge of. It sounded as if they were unable to speak of anything but their previous faction experiences. Battles, and piloting stories. Wars, and fights, accomplishments like he had never heard of before. Though, naturally, he had heard the same caliber of boastful and simpleton egos from many others within the Republic's forces. It didn't have to be annoying, he told himself, trying to cease the river of negative thoughts. But it just was. His face wore the smooth skin of a human boy, the same personage he always used. In fact, most of the men and women he worked with knew him as only this human boy. Only a specific few had seen his Clawdite's face, a face he was no where near proud of. His master had been one of them, but he was gone now, and Nejaa was forced to thrive by himself. Without a teacher shadowing him at every bend, for better or for worse. The other aliens on the planet scuffled around him, not very used to military presence, even that of the Republic. He had no reason to hide his jedi origin here within Republic space, but he still made sure to conceal his weapons and slid into a more populated section of town.
[member="Cross Ikon"]
Perlemian Trade Route;
Saleucami System.
The differences between this planet, and the planets within the rich core were clear. This was the outer rim, where there was no overzealous authority, or hovering reminder of submission. The people lived their lives in independent freedom, for the most part, governed by a more wild and primal version of life. Criminals and crime lords often took residence in these parts, and acted as more well known officials than the Republic itself. That said, there was nothing extremely unpleasant he had seen here during his stop. Nejaa's hand raised to lean his weight against the hull of his large starship. The Sith Infiltrator, a ship contrary to the preference of most jedi. Even so, he had come to appreciate it over the years, and it was even more than that. He had spent most of his pilot's life piloting that ship alone. He was sure his already shaky skills would drop quickly if he was forced behind the yoke of another spacecraft and expected to perform. Of course, as was custom, he had been given hands on experience in the normal Jedi starfighters, though he didn't much like the small, weak feeling of those one man ships. He needed something large enough to take a hit and continue flying.
He heard the voices of three men, his three men, coming closer. Republic pilots tasked with accompanying Nejaa on this particular mission. He had been assigned to monitor the comings and goings of a specific trade route known as the Perlemian Trade Route. Of course, it was not quite as simple as surveillance for polls and general information. His goal was the tracking of a Bounty Hunter who had mounted an attack on a Knight of the order, successfully killing the older man with sniper shots. He had skillfully eluded the Republic's attempts at finding him, and continued to act as a pain in their side. Of course, that meant Nejaa was dispersed to end the Bounty Hunter once and for all, another one of the convoluted missions he'd received from the darkening jedi. Orders which had not been given so simply. Of course not, a jedi would never ask for such a direct approach to be taken, no, it was all hints and suggestions without restricting powerfully vague ideas. Passive aggressive manipulations, self justified, yet just as sickening as those they considered their enemy.
"-Ey, Master Niynx," one of them offered in passing.
"Not master yet," he trailed off in response.
"Yeah well, what're you like thirteen? You've got time..."
"Yeah... thirteen..." he whispered vacantly, out of earshot.
It was true. He had always been young. Uncomfortably young, though he had grown used to it. Before most padawan learners were assigned masters of their own, he had been personally acquired by a member of the council who saw his potential. By the time he had rounded standard year 16, he had been Knighted and the padawan's braid removed. It felt like it should be respected all the more. And perhaps it was, on some level, but it felt more like his troopers thought of him as a child. As if, despite his rank, he would be as useless as any other teenage, average sized male. Of course, if it came down to it, most of his troops would trust him as they would another night, but it was the subtle moments that stung a bit more. He had refrained from speaking with these men, turbulent thoughts having pounded his mind for the better half of the last few years. Fears and anxieties of which there seemed to be no end. "I'm going into the town, stay here with the ships until I return. Oh, and send our status report back to Tython," he said with a firm voice as he began moving. The troopers acknowledged him with carefree nods, and continued their conversation with one another.
Nejaa wasted no time in deserting the men he had been placed in charge of. It sounded as if they were unable to speak of anything but their previous faction experiences. Battles, and piloting stories. Wars, and fights, accomplishments like he had never heard of before. Though, naturally, he had heard the same caliber of boastful and simpleton egos from many others within the Republic's forces. It didn't have to be annoying, he told himself, trying to cease the river of negative thoughts. But it just was. His face wore the smooth skin of a human boy, the same personage he always used. In fact, most of the men and women he worked with knew him as only this human boy. Only a specific few had seen his Clawdite's face, a face he was no where near proud of. His master had been one of them, but he was gone now, and Nejaa was forced to thrive by himself. Without a teacher shadowing him at every bend, for better or for worse. The other aliens on the planet scuffled around him, not very used to military presence, even that of the Republic. He had no reason to hide his jedi origin here within Republic space, but he still made sure to conceal his weapons and slid into a more populated section of town.
[member="Cross Ikon"]
