D O M I N U S
Only a handful of months had come and gone since the murder of Jor'si's beloved parents. His mother, a Zeltron dancer, was clubbed over the head by a drunken patron one evening at work....and his father, a fallen Jedi, had flown into a race and claimed the life of the drunken murderer; only to be hunted down and slain by the mob the drunk worked for. Following their deaths, Jor'si was completely alone and caught in a downward spiral of depression and grief. He went about his days with little care about anything, which eventually cost him his bartending job and depraved him of any income. Now stuck between a rock and a hard place, the young man decided to spend a portion of what little savings he had to get off Nar Shaddaa and make a fresh start elsewhere. 'Who knows,' was his rationale, 'maybe I'll find something worth...living for out there.'
He managed to convince a merchant heading to Dantooine for some "business" to allow him to tag along, but it cost him a ridiculous sum of credits. That boggled the mind of the young Force-sensitive, but then again they WERE on Nar Shaddaa! Once that was squared away, Jor'si situated himself and his small parcel of belongings as comfortably as possible within the cramped, musty cargo hold of the merchant ship. After a shaky takeoff, an even shakier hyperspace jump, and the most terrifying landing the young man had ever experienced in his life, Jor'si disembarked and decided to explore the city that had landed within. From what little he knew about the world, he ascertained that this was the capital city, and therefore the perfect location to start anew.
His first order of business: sating that nagging growling in the pit of his stomach. Straightway, he ducked into the nearest diner and was seated at a booth by the soft-spoken, elderly hostess. She handed him a menu and shuffled away, promising to return to take his order. Jor'si muttered his thanks and browsed their selection of foreign foods, ultimately deciding upon a sandwich of sorts that came with a meat-rich soup. With that said, he set his parcel of belongings up upon the table and rummaged through it for his credit chit, but came to a halt when his fingers brushed over his father's lightsaber. A sigh escaped the male, the depression rearing its ugly head once more, causing him to slump back in the booth seat dejectedly.
"Damn it all..." he muttered.
His mind instantly fell into a spiral of memories about his dear ol'dad: he recalled the drunken rages, the arguments with his mother, and most importantly the random episodes of "training". Ah yes, he could recall it as clear as day, his father would teach him some rudimentary art of the Force and then command him to keep his presence suppressed at all times. Then, he'd teach him a lightsaber tactic followed by the same edict of Force Suppression. Jor'si didn't get the big deal, was there an army out there looking for him? 'Heh, an army would be better than this...' he thought to himself, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, released the suppression that hid his presence from those sensitive to the Force. Who knew? Maybe someone or something would come looking for him.
He managed to convince a merchant heading to Dantooine for some "business" to allow him to tag along, but it cost him a ridiculous sum of credits. That boggled the mind of the young Force-sensitive, but then again they WERE on Nar Shaddaa! Once that was squared away, Jor'si situated himself and his small parcel of belongings as comfortably as possible within the cramped, musty cargo hold of the merchant ship. After a shaky takeoff, an even shakier hyperspace jump, and the most terrifying landing the young man had ever experienced in his life, Jor'si disembarked and decided to explore the city that had landed within. From what little he knew about the world, he ascertained that this was the capital city, and therefore the perfect location to start anew.
His first order of business: sating that nagging growling in the pit of his stomach. Straightway, he ducked into the nearest diner and was seated at a booth by the soft-spoken, elderly hostess. She handed him a menu and shuffled away, promising to return to take his order. Jor'si muttered his thanks and browsed their selection of foreign foods, ultimately deciding upon a sandwich of sorts that came with a meat-rich soup. With that said, he set his parcel of belongings up upon the table and rummaged through it for his credit chit, but came to a halt when his fingers brushed over his father's lightsaber. A sigh escaped the male, the depression rearing its ugly head once more, causing him to slump back in the booth seat dejectedly.
"Damn it all..." he muttered.
His mind instantly fell into a spiral of memories about his dear ol'dad: he recalled the drunken rages, the arguments with his mother, and most importantly the random episodes of "training". Ah yes, he could recall it as clear as day, his father would teach him some rudimentary art of the Force and then command him to keep his presence suppressed at all times. Then, he'd teach him a lightsaber tactic followed by the same edict of Force Suppression. Jor'si didn't get the big deal, was there an army out there looking for him? 'Heh, an army would be better than this...' he thought to himself, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, released the suppression that hid his presence from those sensitive to the Force. Who knew? Maybe someone or something would come looking for him.