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[The Fynch]

Home is Where the Heart is
Obroa-skai
Tags: Open (One responder)

Lothal Protectorate​

Commander in Chief...

What good was a title with no people to lead? For fifteen years, Fynch gave his flesh and blood to ensure the security and independance of his people. Now it was all for naught. The Empire had Lothal. The Protectorate's hundred year long mission had run it's course. He was a Commander of nothing now, an empty title for an empty man...

Fynch sat alone on a peak, the wind swirling around him. There was no Force to protect him from the frigid air, nor any garments more than his worn military coat. He simply perched himself there in vigil, candels lit around him dedicated to the memory of his loyal Riflemen. The evening atmosphere began to glow from the light of the tiny flames, dancing into the cold night. A bottle of whiskey was clutched in his hand, brewed back on Lothal under the once protective watch of Capital City. He drank slowly, savoring the burn of the whiskey. It's smokey flavor made the air warm as he breathed, reminding him of the air back home. A false comfort. The cold air would return just as quickly as it left his nostrils.

At least the drink would keep him warm.

And so he sat in wait. For whom? Fynch did not know. Perhaps he just wanted to watch the candels go out one by one, seeing off his fallen comrads. Perhaps he was far to ashamed to show his face to the Galaxy anymore. Ultimately, those theories would never see any worth. He wasn't here for answers. Fynch was here in this place now, for one reason or another. One need not know how he got here, only that the road was paved with good intentions.

Good, futile intentions.

 

[Gillom Rone]

The Fynch​

Gillom Rone went by many titles. Some sought, others given. But above them all he was a spiritualist. The Force guided him to the rest. There were times in which it took him to places unknown or unexpected, but never without purpose. This was one of those times.

Obroa-Skai was a craggy, frozen world. Its nature was not as kind as that from Gillom's home, but it was nature all the same. As much as it ached to be away from his herd, he felt a oneness with this world, familiarized with it like a fast friend. And so he journeyed up to the peak unimpeded. The presence of another murmured between the icy winds, until he saw the source in front of him at last. Gillom wasn't sure if the man noticed him or not, and so he cleared his throats quietly. The sound still carried this high up. Unless the man spoke Ithorese, the only voice he would understand next was that of a small droid, hovering next to the elder priest, "Few would take a journey like this alone."

"What brings you so far and so high?" He spoke calmly, yet knowingly, with decades of wisdom laced in every word. As if already piecing together the story of this man in front of him.

 

[The Fynch]

Obroa-skai
Tags: Gillom Rone

Lothal Protectorate​

"Few would take a journey like this alone."

"What brings you so far and so high?"

Fynch glanced over his shoulder briefly to assess the old Ithorian. His kind were common on Lothal, and he knew their tongue well enough. A sigh escaped the former Commander's as he turned back to look at the setting sun.

"Traveling becomes easier with nothing to hold you down," Fynch responded, a hollow grin on his face. It gave a glimmer of charisma, but one that had since been lost. "I have some souls I need to put to rest. This seemed as perfect a place as any. The cold doesn't really bother me..."

It wasn't their home, but at the very least they deserved a last vigil. To die in service to their home, rising and setting like the sun... If only he had been able to do the same. Alas, here he was. Alive, well, and seeing off the spirits of the departed. Fynch took another swig, letting out another sigh as he continued to watch the light in the sky slip away. He didn't mind the sudden appearence of the Ithorian. In fact, perhaps he even secretly wanted some kind of interaction.

The alternative was wasting away alone.

"Can I offer you a drink?" he asked, gesturing to the whiskey. "Helps warm the insides."

 

[Gillom Rone]

Gillom folded his long hands into his worn sleeves, and replied with a low grunt, "Makes it harder to find home, as well," He added, plodding forward, "You are not from around here." A question or a statement? He spoke plainly, and continued on regardless, "This custom suits them?" The elder looked towards the evidence of Fynch's memorial, almost protective of those it represented, despite not knowing them.

"Can I offer you a drink?"

Gillom managed a chuckle, "I am alright without. I don't really imbibe." He raised a hand in polite rejection.

The Fynch​

 

[The Fynch]

Obroa-skai
Tags: Gillom Rone

Lothal Protectorate​

"This custom suits them?"

"I hope so," Fynch sighed. "This is not their soil... but I couldn't do nothing. Not after all they did for me..."

And not just him. For a hundred long years did they maintain peace and order on Lothal. To kick that fifteen years further down the road was surely more than anyone had ever expected. As their elected leader, their Commander, Fynch had a duty to see them off. It could not be on their homeland, but this was better than nothing at all.

He nodded in respect to the stranger's wish to not drink and returned the bottle to his side on the ground.

"You seem a stranger to these lands yourself," he observed. "Passing through?"

 

[Gillom Rone]

"Then it is enough," Gillom assessed. The man seemed to weigh his circumstances heavily, but performed his duty all the same. He seemed decent enough in this regard, at the very least.

"Going where the Force takes me," He replied, stepping forward further, "It's call often resides with my people. But there are times in which it carries on the wind. And so I follow the wind. Today, that has brought me here. To you, it seems." He didn't smile quite like a human does, but his eyes seemed to wrinkle into a similar expression, "Are you a follower of the Force?"

The Fynch​

 

[The Fynch]

Obroa-skai
Tags: Gillom Rone

Lothal Protectorate​

"No... her call does not reach my ears," Fynch shrugged.

He was, for lack of a better descriptor, an average man. No wizardry or spiritual connection to a higher power, only the sweat and blood of his own labor. He did not resent the folk who could feel the Force as some did. It was a gift, one that he simply did not have the fortune of posessing. His journey as the Commander in Chief of Lothal's people had brought him into contact with quality individuals that he held in high regard.

"It's not for me to hear, I suppose," the man decided. "I'll leave that to someone else."

It was better that way. After all, everything he had a hand in seemed to go up in flames in the end. Fifteen years was fifteen years of delaying the inevitable. Perhaps it was for the best that he was just a man.

 

[Gillom Rone]

Gillom nodded, "One does not need to hear it to trust in its virtues." He raised his hand again, "But I have not come to offer incessant preachings."

"This weighs heavily on you," The Ithorian said, "More than just this. If you've nowhere else to be," He looked around amusedly at the barren landscape, assessing this man wasn't exactly on crunch time, "Perhaps you'd like an ear to listen?" Whether as a witness to what brought Fynch here, or simply as a chance to vent, Gillom offered it all the same.

The Fynch​

 

[The Fynch]

Obroa-skai
Tags: Gillom Rone

Lothal Protectorate​

"Perhaps you'd like an ear to listen?"

"There isn't much to tell," Fynch sighed. "I was a leader, now I am not. 'The things which I have seen I now can see no more.'..."

Fynch took another swig of his drink, looking on at the setting sun. He was in a reflectionary period of his life now. Disconnected from his people, exiled from his homeland, and defeated at the hands of the very people he had warded off for so long. As complex as it all seemed, it was simple after everything had been torn down...

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

"It was a fifteen year deathmarch," he muttered. "I just couldn't see the writing on the wall..."

 

[Gillom Rone]

"Title or not, a leader is a leader still," Gillom replied, "Those who lead are not defined by status, but by actions. By what they did for their people, and what they still can do…" He didn't fully know Fynch's plight, but the implication was present. If there was more he could see done, then he shouldn't let this defeat be his end. "Strengthen yourself, reinvigorate your spirit. Do not allow those already lost to be swept off into the wind, when their names could be etched in stone."

The Ithorian sighed, and pulled out a handheld holo, "If you've nowhere else to go, I might offer you a place to get your bearings." The hologram came to life, showing a miniature image of a massive floating ship, "Even if only temporary. We tend to accommodate people such as yourself."

The Fynch​

 

[The Fynch]

Obroa-skai
Tags: Gillom Rone

Lothal Protectorate​

"If you've nowhere else to go, I might offer you a place to get your bearings." The hologram came to life, showing a miniature image of a massive floating ship, "Even if only temporary. We tend to accommodate people such as yourself."

"That's a kind offer... but I'm afraid I must decline," Fynch stated.

It wasn't his time... or his place. He needed to find his new calling on his own, somewhere out there in the galaxy. The path that he had to walk was his own. Out beyond the atmosphere of this planet, far from the reaches of his homeland, something was calling out to him. Fynch walked the road of penance now...

He would find his redemption out there, blade in his hand.

"My exile stands," he decided. "I cannot rest my head... not yet."

It wasn't his time.

 

[Gillom Rone]

Gillom tucked the hologram back away, "Very well." The man was set on his path, and would not budge. The Ithorian understood, even if it disappointed him to be incapable of helping further. Sometimes, introspection was needed to find the right direction. And sometimes, introspection could only be done alone.

"Then there is little more I can offer to you, be it words or shelter" He turned around, glancing back at the man, "I hope you find what you are looking for." Then, he walked, "Until next time." As if there would be a next time. A portent, or merely an optimistic prediction? Who could say.

The Fynch​