Public In Remembrance

[Cedric Grayson]

The Graywall, Ruusan

​

The lanterns colored the evening sky in tiny pinpricks of white as they ascended toward the heavens. Cedric watched the proceedings from the courtyard, his finger tapping idly on the arm of his hoverchair as the lantern keepers prepared the next batch. The lanterns were supposed to represent the souls of the Ashlan dead rising to meet with their creator, though the event was far less somber than one might have thought. It was an old Essonian funeral tradition that'd been coopted by the church some time after taking Coruscant.

Tonight, the lanterns flew for those lost on Csilla, both Ashlans and civilians alike. Most of the people in Graywall had come out from their homes to watch the display, hoping to pay their respects and take part in the festivities that were sure to follow. Ashlan funerals had become something of a celebration as of late; one was expected to weep for the dead's passing, but also to revel in the understanding that their souls now resided within the Ashla, in paradise.

"With the freeing of the lanterns, so too do we free the souls of our dead," Cedric announced to those present. "With them fly our burdens. Do not weep for those lost, but rejoice for their union with the Ashla. They await us in paradise." He allowed the words to hang there for a few moments of pregnant silence, "With our respects paid, let the festivities begin!"

The crowd needed little encouragement. The walls of the castle nearly rumbled as hundreds of people dispersed throughout it, most heading for the merchant carts that had been rolled into the courtyard, some toward the bars. A wrestling ring had been erected in the center of the yard, and a small crowd quickly gathered. Cedric wasted little time in shifting his hover seat over to the ring to watch as a shirtless Houk and an already quite drunk Devaronian began slamming into one another.

He longed to join them, but his wounds from Csilla had not yet fully healed. His cybernetic arm had been easy enough to repair; his knee would need more time before it was restored to its full capacity. For now he could only watch, and do everything in his power to maintain the peace should the drunkards start causing trouble.

One might have thought it in poor taste to celebrate after the destruction of a world, but to do do so in honor of the dead was a most holy thing indeed. His people needed to blow off steam after the losses they'd suffered as well, and soon there would be no time for relaxation. The next few years would likely consist almost wholly of conflict.

The crowd roared and jeered as the Devaronian managed to get between the Houk's legs and send the brute tumbling back onto the cobblestone. Cedric couldn't help but crack a small grin at the display. The future was dark as the void, but tonight there would only be light.

Mikhail Grayson , Minka Vosh , Darth Petrichor , R3-D1 , Kano Stone , Juniper Jett , Titus of Epoch

 

[R3-D1]

Location: The Greywall, Ruusan, Outer Courtyard Landing Pads
Relevant Tags: Any.
Objective: Work, work, and work some more!

R3's audio receptors could catch the celebrations elsewhere in Greyhall, their cries and howls echoing across the fortress. The astromech could not claim to understand the organic need to celebrate death, especially when it was usually discussed with what R3 recognized as a sombre mood. However, R3 was a droid, and ergo did not truly understand the intricacies of organic individuals. R3 concerned itself with three things in descending order: the continued survival of Cedric Grayson , the maintenance of all technology placed before it, and recharging. The first was a nonissue presently - and even then, it was rare that any situation where Grayson was in danger and R3 was in a position to help, Csilla notwithstanding - and the third would not become pressing until seven hours, fifty-three minutes, and thirty-eight seconds... thirty-seven... thirty-six...

R3 let out a content whistle as it continued its work repairing the nameless freighter from Csilla. It was an exercise in futility, without a substantial investment of parts the ship would never fly again, but R3 found a certain pleasure in working. The onboard A.I. unit bemoaned its present state, but its whinging and whining was ignored but R3 and the maintenance droids alike. Another series of lanterns flew into the air, casting R3 and its ilk in their artificial work.

There was little time left - a meagre seven hours - so R3 needed to work, work, and work some more!

 

[Kano Stone]

Kano erected himself from his slouched position in the alley. Grimacing he rubbed his head and discovered he still wore his helmet. A skull cracking headache split his cranium asunder and he knew he was coming down. He placed both hands on the clasp of his head piece and removed it with a hiss and a small expulsion of steam as the stale air met fresh. He took in a deep breath of cool breeze as he rolled his neck which popped in response.

As he clasped the helmet to his magnetic waist grip he placed his other shaky hand to a bandolier wrapped around his thigh. Withdrawing a vial he held it into the air and the dim alley bulb glinted off the crimson liquid within. He smiled a sardonic grin and his eyes shown with a feverish light. A needle was in his other hand before he even realized it, drawing the fluid from the soft top of the jar.

He tossed aside the now empty vial and rolled down the skin tight neck glove. He slammed the needle into his neck and a sharp pain ascended the length of his jugular. Then, as he squeezed the juice home, a numb euphoria enraptured him and he let out a dull moan. The feeling was so much it was all he could do not to cum in his own fucking pants. He tossed aside the empty needle and raised the helmet to his face with both hands.

He stared into the T-Visored helmet and saw that his eyes were saucered, his lips chaped and dry, smiling wide he revealed a set of crooked teeth. He put his left hand on the coinciding helmet horn and his right on the other. The helmet was made to look like a Bogan demon of old, to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies, still it did not scare him at all.

He shoved the helmet back over his dome and laughed at a joke he thought of. Something about a Essonian prince and a lady of the night. Tonight he would play the prince... Now to find his whore

Cedric Grayson

 

[Auteme]

Cedric Grayson
​

Graywall reminded her of a dozen different places. The Coruscant Temple, the groves on Tython, the trees of Kashyyyk -- as with the others, there was a weight to the place. The castle had a presence that radiated a rich energy. Thee shape of the walls, the texture of the stone; it felt ready to jump to life at any moment, as though the history here was ready to be told.

It made her wonder -- could she ever build something such as this? A legacy however small, but something to be built on. The foundations of the hospital seemed to still be strong. Unlike the master of Graywall, she couldn't claim to know her own family's heritage.

Her eyes wandered down to the wrestling ring. Though she wasn't one for that sort of sport, she found that the onlooker's festive energy rubbed off on her. She smiled to herself.

Making her way through the benches that had been set out, she arrived at a man sitting in a hover chair. "Cedric Grayson?" she asked. She glanced at the bench beside him. "May I?"

Given the rather informal nature of the event, she probably didn't need to ask, but it was always better to be respectful than to intrude.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Normally he would have sensed the empyrean shift with the girl's approach. He knew the names and faces of just about everyone calling the castle home for the time being, a stranger with such a connection was a matter of interest in concern. The bacta treatments he was having to undergo every few hours made focus within the Force dull at best, and immaterial at worst.

"That would be me," he murmured, his attentions remaining on the contest for a moment before he turned to look at her. His eyes narrowed for a moment as he struggled to put a name to the face; he'd certainly seen her before, perhaps back on Coruscant?

"By all means." He nodded toward the bench. "As much as I enjoy watching the mercenaries try to kill one another, the sport can be rather dull without company."

The woman's name eluded him no matter how deep he dug into his memory. She was young, probably one of Ryv's compatriots in the New Jedi Order if he had to guess. "You'll have to forgive me, I've got the strong feeling I've seen you before, but I can't put a name to the face."

Auteme

 

[Auteme]

Cedric Grayson
​

"Auteme," she replied. "Denko-Durren. We haven't met, ah, formally -- I was just a padawan, when the Alliance was just beginning. With all those discussions, you know, I'm sure we were in... reasonably close proximity, a few times."

She sat down on the bench, looking back over at the fight. "Now I'm part of the New Jedi Order. I... run it. Sort of. Our council's rather informal. I'm more of the diplomat. Ryv- usually, ah, runs the more action-packed part."

Auteme glanced at him for a moment, as though searching to ensure that the teacher remembered his student. She then looked back down at the ring. A burly human swung under the ropes, charging towards the Devaronian.

"I'm also a healer," she said, casting another glance at him. "I'm told I'm good. Reasonably. You... look like you need it, a little bit."

 

[Cedric Grayson]

He'd not had many chances to speak with the Jedi of the NJO. Ryv kept in relatively regular contact, but the rest of them had long been beyond his influence. Returning to Galactic Alliance space was impossible at this point if he wanted to maintain his freedom. "It's a possibility," he mused, recalling the early days of the alliance with a private bitterness. "It was a chaotic time. I didn't have the fortune of being very involved with the NJO in its beginnings. Ever really."

The leadership structure of the NJO was an anomaly to Cedric. He'd heard the same rumors everyone else had about relative children standing at the forefront. It made sense, of course. The younger the Jedi, the easier they were to influence and control. He suspected the capitalists in the senate were all too pleased with the current situation.


"I'd heard the New Jedi Order's leadership was relatively young. It's not right that you have to carry such responsibility at such a young age," Cedric muttered with mild disdain. "Though, at the very least, I'm glad Ryv isn't being left to the diplomacy. I haven't had the opportunity to teach him the finer points of negotiating, particularly without a lightsaber." He doubted he'd ever get the time. His student was well beyond his influence at this point, too mired in the politics of the great powers to return to his tutelage.


There was a whoop from the crowd as the Devaronian headbutt the human right in the face. Blood dribbled from the man's clearly broken nose as he yowled. Cedric couldn't help but cringe the affair as the man was taken out of the ring.


"That I might," the exile mused as his gaze returned to Auteme . He waved hand around to indicate the greater castle. "We're mourning Csilla tonight. Many of our people died there, along with the Chiss. It will be one of the last nights of revelry we can enjoy before we set off for the Tingel Arm." He gestured toward his knee. "Had my knee shattered fighting what I believe to be the head of the Hidden Maw. There were other wounds, but this is the one keeping me bound for now."

 

[Kano Stone]

Kano half jigged half walked through the crowded streets as he merrily meandered his way along the locals in a stupor of orgasmic accords. He studied those around him with a suspicious eye and while he seemed to care little for his surrounding he was in fact very aware of everything around him. Kano turned on his loud speakers and began to recite a Essonian sonnet in a ugly falsetto. It was at this point that he entered an intersection where the revelers were at their thickest. Half way through he bumped into a small urchin and snarled as he was twirled round.

After managing to stable himself he shook a stringy hand at the boys neck but missed the folds of his scarf by inches. He was now on the chase. It was time to make the street whelp pay for whatever he had surely stolen from the terrorist. He became overjoyed as the boy took off in a dead sprint, pushing over pedestrians along the way. Kano followed suit but was extra aware of how hard he was stomping upon the down trodden.

But, this only made him stomp all the harder. He thought of ways to shorten the chase as he became winded.

Death sticks will do that to you.

Flamethrowers? Acidic foam? Nah, hate to burn up my collection of teeth... Oh I know!

Miliseconds later Kano raised his wrist launcher and fired a free flying tether. It bound towards the child in a whistling whirl wind. But, the boy was clever. He dived into a shuttle bay and Kano inwardly cursed.

"Playing hard to get huh!?!" He shouted with a little to much zeal for a man who was simply after a bag of teeth.

He turned the corner and peered round the bay to no avail. The boy was gone! But, maybe that little rust bucket astro droid would know... Kano cried out to the mech in his guttural tongue bidding it for its attention and aid.

"Droid! Have you seen a small orphan run through here?" Then he expelled the rest of his breath and began gulping down more. Kano even breathed glutinously...


R3-D1

 

[R3-D1]

Location: The Greywall, Ruusan, Outer Courtyard Landing Pads
Relevant Tags: Kano Stone
Objective: Work, work, and work some more!

Connected to the internal servers as R3 was, the diminutive droid had instantaneous access to staff lists, guest logs, and security chatter. Ostensibly, R3 could know exactly what was going on in Greywall on the other side of the compound, so long as Grayson approved that access. With that in mind, neither the staff lists, the guest logs, nor the security chatter made any mention of the dirt-covered, armoured up chap that had now stomped into R3's self-proclaimed domain. His clear agitation was a warning sign for most, but R3's prudence gave way to annoyance at its work being interrupted by someone who clearly shouldn't be stomping about the landing pads!

R3 whined quite agitatedly, making it clear that: no! The droid had most certainly not seen an orphan running about the Greywall! Of course, R3 lacked the means to speak, so only managed to portray obvious agitation as it rolled up to this vagabond. There was no reason for a child to be running about the landing pads, of course, and further still: it was inadvisable! Who knew where a child might stick its filthy, unkempt hands?! And what if it was killed, then whose fault would that be?!

The shrill whistles and screeches of R3 seemed to draw the attention of even the maintenance droids, which looked up from their droll task of repairing the nameless freighter. While their photoreceptors were not supposed to be capable of showing emotion, there almost seemed to be an amused flicker of light. The amusement doubled as R3, a diminutive astromech, attempted to push Stone from the landing pad and from the courtyard entirely.

 

[Minka Vosh]

"I've seen your boy. What is his offense?" A sweet and benign voice called behind Kano Stone as he harassed the small droid. Such a contrast to its owner's appearance, it would be reasonable if he twitched around a bit in search of another woman who wasn't there. Minka stood relaxed against the corner he'd turned moments ago, in lightweight robes of black trimmed in silver. She was an unfamiliar face at the Graywall, and one that turned some heads and earned some skeptical glances.

Skeptical was an understatement. All she needed was a brief skimming of surface thoughts during her time here at the castle to sense Cedric Grayson had plenty of loyal followers who would eagerly draw their lightsabers on her, given the command. Her presence was not welcomed, it was tolerated.

She understood, especially given Ession's history. It did nothing to encourage participation in their celebrations, however. She spent her time ever on the move, observing everything she could within and outside of the castle. Never lingering too long in one place. Her pace was leisure, and though she'd kept mostly to herself until now, she'd always been easy to track down.

This was on purpose. Her introduction to Cedric has caused a bit of a stir. As it turned out, Jedi didn't enjoy being startled by a cloaked Bogan-lover. Now, she kept herself not only visible, but seemingly obvious in her movements and intentions. A feat she internally struggled with, but managed to maintain.

And now here she was, tracking a volatile addict through the slums. One split between a level of alertness and distraction that only mental illness could supply. He was in tune to his surroundings, but not enough to notice the Zabrak quietly tracing his chaotic path. Not quite the turn she'd been anticipating this night, but it drew her in like a magnet. One that had the potential to be a recipe for disaster, if she wasn't careful. Instinct pulled her in one direction, and wisdom in the opposite. The question was, would she be able to find balance somewhere in the middle...

 

[Kano Stone]

Kano's HUD began quietly scanning the bay for life forms as the little dumpster droid rolled its way toward him. Kano was completely oblivious to the droid's gibberish as the droid also seemed completely oblivious to Kano's sawed off scatter gun. Then he heard a woman's voice. Something tender as the breeze yet hard as earth. He spun to confront the newcomer and was momentarily distracted from his objective.

He mentally sized her up. Scopping the measure of her curves for any signs of weakness. Finally he relinquished a sigh as he perceived her no more a threat than the tin can attempting to roll him out of the room. Kano sensed something about the woman, like a faint pull from the Ashla, or perhaps it was the Bogan.

He needed to enhance his spiritual connection to discern the difference.

He raised a hand in defense and pressed the other to a button upon his helmet. The helmet began fuming itself with an aerosol of spice and the thick fog poured out of the ocular sockets.

Usually he only did this before battle with the Sith. A cleansing ritual that he and his followers used. Spice enhances a connection to something akin to the force and even those blunted to its dynamics can become psychonauts. With the fumes came the familiar tug of the Ashla.. And the Bogan. One a gentle stream, the other a tidal wave, both threatening to pull him away... He shook his head as he heard his perceived Saint, but what it said, he would never tell.

"The boy has stolen talismans of great power from mine self," He said distantly, still transfixed by the whispers of the force. He cocked his head to listen as they faded with the mist. Reality became distorted and Kano was filled with a great anger. He kicked R3-D1 and turned to the woman. "Tell me where he is witch!" Minka Vosh

 

[Mikhail Grayson]

Brilliant light flickered in the dark, dotting the grounds of the Graywall with lanterns lit for those lost on the frozen world of Csilla, far beyond known space. The Chiss, the Alliance, the Imperials, the Confederacy, hell even the Eternal Empire had lost loved ones in the brutal struggle against the Brotherhood and their dark allies. For every Ashlan fell, a promise was made to deliver their justice upon those who would see the Light die tenfold. It was not a matter of revenge or raw emotion, no. This led to the Dark Side, to the Bogan, what they strove for was justice plain and simple, they would not stray from the Ashla. The Light guided their actions as they sought justice for the genocidal rampage that ravaged world after world. Justice for every civilian broken into a slave-soldier to fuel the Maw War Machine. Justice for the Light, Justice for Csilla.

Mikhail weeped not for the dead for he knew they rested in paradise, one with the Ashla in the Netherrealm of the Force. No, the youth prayed for the mass of captives dragged from their homes kicking and screaming. He prayed for those who fought for a cause not their own, brainwashed to kill, maim, and burn for their captors. Taught to worship their gods, aspects of the Bogan, as if they were guardian angels deciding their fates at the whim of a bloodthirsty warlord. It made him sick.

"With the freeing of the lanterns, so too do we free the souls of our dead," Cedric announced to those present. "With them fly our burdens. Do not weep for those lost, but rejoice for their union with the Ashla. They await us in paradise." He allowed the words to hang there for a few moments of pregnant silence, "With our respects paid, let the festivities begin!"

The castle shook with excitement, it’s grounds rumbling with activity. Mikhail shook off the melancholy thoughts seconds after hearing his uncle speak to the crowd. It was a celebration in remembrance of the fallen, a memorial gathering meant to lift spirits and honor the dead. The young Grayson could not allow himself to be hampered by such dark thoughts any longer.

Mikhail watched the first wrestling match roll by within the cage erected at the center of the yard. The bout was stretching on, his attention waning away as he sought to clear his thoughts. He stepped away and walked off for a stroll.

“Gotta clear my mind.”

The Great Oak had shown him many things, great and terrible. The weight of their actions in the future would be felt in ways they could not anticipate or fathom. A terrible darkness loomed on the horizon and he merely a young man from Coruscant’s underbelly would have to go from swoop racer to Jedi. They all had to change, to grow, they had to adapt to what was needed of them if they were to stand up to the coming tide.

 

[R3-D1]

Location: The Greywall, Ruusan, Outer Courtyard Landing Pads
Relevant Tags: Kano Stone Minka Vosh
Objective: Work, work, and work some more!

R3 rocked back and, unable to correct itself, fell to the ground with a soft thud. The droid's shrill cry of agitation could be heard across the courtyard. The audacity, the nerve of this filthy vagabond! To stumble into R3's domain, to kick R3 over and make such flagrant and nonsensical demands...

R3 could not let this insult stand! It rocked to and fro to get back up, but alas, it was to no avail. The droid had lacked the foresight to refuel its rocket boosters, having not expected their necessity in the safety of Greywall, and that had been a foolish decision in hindsight. R3 continued to rock about but to no avail until, finally, it conceded it would require help to right itself. A terse message to the repair droids over at the freighter - which were still watching the exchange with all the bemusement their simple programming could muster - sent a pair of them lumbering over, their stout bodies waddling with agonizing slowness.

 

[Titus of Epoch]

Armor fell from his body, rounded plates rolled off of his arms and from his elbows. The pieces of his Essonian garb pierced the sands as he slowly made his way toward the arena. Stripped of his protection, adorned in on his tank top and combat pants, the Son of Ession issued a challenge to the victor.

It had been so long. He had drifted from space to space as a guardian of his wayward people as they settled within Wild Space and the Outer Rim. Scars marred his body from the dozens of conflicts he’d seen over his lifetime, markings of valor and honor that no badge could replace. He needed no ribbons, no medals to commemorate his deeds. The greatest recognition had already came, in the form of Cedric Grayson finding him and calling all Essonians home.

Home.

For the longest time he pondered what that word meant to one such as him. He and his people had moved from place to place for years, migrants settling where they could before moving again. He thought for a time there would never be a true place they could call home, but their king returned and showed them otherwise.

Home was their people, their people were Ession.

Abrams climbed into the ring and issued a bloody roar of defiance, one that had seen the worst the galaxy had to offer. “Let’s do this.”

 

[Auteme]

Cedric Grayson
​

She nodded, then reached over, her palm hovering above Cedric's injured knee. Bacta and the Force both had the most difficulty when it came to repairing bones. She could sense the damage to the cartilage and kneecap -- and, for a moment, lamented the disparities in medical care across the galaxy. Her time studying medicine at Coruscant University had given her too high an expectation for medical procedures.

She drew a long breath. Her palm began to glow a dull green, waves of restoration and calm emanating from it. Though she couldn't fix everything, she could help set and repair the cracks in the bone and accelerate the cartilage's healing.

"I was at Csilla as well," she said. "Though, I don't think I made nearly as much an impact as you did."

Now it wasn't the castle that drew her, but rather the vibrant celebration. Even in the face of tragedy there was hope. Happiness. Light.

She turned back to Grayson. "May I ask why you're headed so far?"

 

[Juniper Jett]

Okay so... this is really important Juniper. I want you to think very carefully while you answer this question. Are you ready? Great, here goes. Ahem...

What the hell are you still doing here?

The question kept repeating itself in her mind as she looked across from the bar. It'd started okay. The lanterns were pretty and the sentiment was sweet. She'd even started to think that there was a level of normality to everything happening on this damn planet... but then the wrestling. And the snippy, loud droid. And the commotion over everything. At some point Juniper realised that she was in someone's actual castle, drinking. A castle. What even was that? A seedy cantina, sure, there was something to respect about that. But what spacer, what pilot, what intergalactic trader of note spends their time drinking in a castle?

It was the tree that did it. That stupid tree that spoke in riddles. Paths and Destiny and futures... she didn't trust it. In fact, she was ready to pave over the whole planet with duracrete. If it was so wise, why couldn't it move, eh? Checkmate, tree. Check-damn-mate.

You think you can tie Esm- Juniper Jett to some pre-ordained path? My own parents couldn't, I doubt the abilities of a tongue-twisting twee-tree.

Grabbing another drink (just for comfort), she marched out towards the edge of the wall, where she could look out at the world again. The only thing she still liked about the place. Spectacular views. Dressed simply with a jacket over the top, as if she was ready to take off at a moment's notice, Juniper stared out and nursed her drink a little more. Wondering how rude it'd be to slip out back to her ship.

He still owes me creds, though. And I want those creds.

Least the lanterns were pretty. Shame about the fighting.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Healing with the Force had never been one of Cedric's talents. He lacked...something. Every attempt at it had always resulted in frustration, and on one occasion, tragedy. It wasn't fitting for a man of his principles, one that claimed the Ashla as his lord, to lack the ability to create with the Living Force, and yet he never could. His purpose was that of a shield and nothing more.

The sensation was as uncomfortable as it ever was. Flesh, bone, and cartilage mended together rapidly, causing a strange itch that was something close to pain, yet not quite so.

The exile huffed a quiet laugh at Autume's suggestion. "I'm not sure what impact I managed, truthfully. Solipsis still lives. The threat remains," frustration laced his words despite his better intentions. "Csilla won't be the last world he targets."

Cedric paused for a moment at the question she followed with. There wasn't much point in lying. "It's home. My people have no place in the Galactic Alliance any longer, and our ancestral lands have been under the Sith jackboot for far too long," he waved a hand all around in suggestion, "We will liberate it, or we will never have a home again. Our great struggle awaits," he paused to eye the newest combatant. His normally stoic face split into a wide grin as Titus of Epoch stepped into the ring.

"For now though, they need to enjoy themselves." His senses extended outward as Auteme's efforts inevitably lessened some of drugs dulling his mind. He felt Minka Vosh 's agitation, and the desperation of Kano Stone . Hopefully R3-D1 could keep any real violence from breaking out, but if Cedric felt things reach a dangerous pitch, he would intervene.

Mikhail Grayson wandered aimlessly. Cedric was almost disappointed; his nephew, for all his talents, did not seem to have very many friends. The exile had privately hoped he might be a bit more social. Still, he worried more for Juniper Jett than any of them. The girl was marked, whether she knew it or not, and seemed keen on leaving the moment she could find a reason. Why she remained Cedric had no idea, but he was certain of her importance, if not a bit ignorant as to what her greater purpose was. The empyrean was the girl's companion, perhaps that was enough.

"Klappt hien erof a pecht den Abrams!" He shouted in his native tongue at the combatants in the ring as he withdrew from his momentary reverie. His attentions returned to the physical, and to Auteme . "I must ask, what brings an esteemed leader of the New Jedi Order to my home?"

 

[Warrior]

Parts Unknown, these were parts unknown to The Warrior. A cavalcade of memories rushed after every blow, fuled by only the adrenaline and frustration a thousand lifetimes of combat could give. Inside this ring the Warrior had defeated every single competitor and fighter in this planet and laid them to waste.

Veterans of actual war, prize fighters, shock boxers and even force wielding beings stepped inside of these rings and each of them felt the power, The Power of the Warrior. His vascularity was more than any of these tiny humans had ever seen, his muscles were larger than the head of a Wookie and already two battle droids had been flung into the Duracrete wall.

"Deep in my Bones lies the fury of a thousand stars and brawlers! I only breathe to taste the stench of war!"

The Warrior bellowed a thousand nonsensical war shouts to the amazement and fear or some but to those from parts unknown he would speak clearly. As another was laid waste another took the steps up to challenge him, this one different that all before.

This One A Warrior.

Titus of Epoch would clash with two hundred and seventy five pounds of augmented muscle and bone toned in an entire lifetime of living in otherspace. The Warrior, entirely by instinct would seek to rip his head off with a massive clothesline.​

 

[Minka Vosh]

There was a stretch of silence while she considered many things. Even more things than the length of silence suggested, storming through her mind in a whirlwind of realizations and considerations.

This one was not stable. Not in the least. She didn't need to invade his mind to know that. Something in him reminded her of her late Master, though they were hardly the same. Is that why she'd followed him? Because she sensed another rabid beast that needed to be put down?

Or was it the boy... Again, she found herself picking useless runts out of the jaws of inevitable death and flinging them to safety. But for what? Children were useless. She ought to find a more productive hobby.

It hadn't been the droid, though now it played a role as well. She did appreciate them so. They were the reason she could fly her ship in peace. Or rather, manage to sleep on her own ship without twitching awake at the slightest sound in paranoia. She did so loathe sleeping in the vicinity of other sentients.

Whatever the reason, this dance demanded careful and graceful steps to a tune she was not well versed in. She was a tentative guest in a sea of faithful Essonians who would jump at the chance to crucify her, if they knew who she really was. She had no desire to blend in with them - if it was even possible - but she certainly had to...behave.

Darth Petrichor ... Damn that man. He was nothing if not persuasive. Coming to the aid of Jedi was the last thing she ever imagined herself doing. Now she was effectively muzzled.

"That boy doesn't know what a talisman is." She scoffed softly, watching the aerosol fume from Kano Stone 's helmet. It wasn't what she had wanted to say, or do, but it would keep the peace for now. Her posture was unusually relaxed, considering his volatility. Whether he ended up attacking or shrugging her off, she couldn't confidently guess, but she didn't fear him. That was the only certainty.

A hand gestured to the angry droid that rocked about next to him, trying in vain to right itself. As it did, R3-D1 lifted gently off the ground and hovered in the air as it rotated slowly into the proper angle to set back down. Long before its bulky helpers would reach it.

"But what is a talisman to you? You already have the power you need... You feel it right now, don't you?"

 

[Jegy Sesara]

Ruusan
Companion: Sun​

Releasing the paper lanterns on cue, he watched them fly away as people went into applause as did he and Sun. The celebrations were long, something he only could know so well of for living so long. That life...has now started to pass for him, in such a great way. With their hoods up in the robes of Ashla, the pair would slowly go through the crowd as they could hear the upcoming wrestling match that was to soon begin. A human male, roaring with pride and then the Warrior itself, the being of pure power and destruction. Sun would chime in, leaning a bit on the Sullustan in question as she looked up at him with a teasing voice.

"Ever thought of getting back in the ring Doctor Death?"
"Hehe, maybe but not with those two involved."

Looking back down at Sun, he gently brushed the gloved hand of hers with his thumb. He gave a warm smile and gently kissed the top of her Sullustan head, giving a long sigh. The man had given up so much to be here, to be given this kind of a moment for centuries to come. Giving up near limitless power was something he would have given up time and time again, to have his beloved once more with him in his life. How Ashla herself...gave the one known as Jegy, not a second chance, but a third chance at life, to begin again with the pair being followers of Ashla and spreading their teachings, all being quietly away from the Galaxy itself. The Sullustan would notice something from the corner of his large eye, seeing a particular human male as he gently pats the top of Suns hand, not unknown to the Force but...for the first time, less than a beacon and more of a candle light, like he should have been.

"My beloved, I will be right back. I think...I have someone to talk to."

Tugging the top of his hood a bit more, he would place his hands together in almost a prayer, head down as he followed a particular individual as he masked himself in the Force, as well as making himself...extremely uninteresting. It was an old technique but it works when needed, more so than not when he been in more than one bad situation. Sun would of course only watch for a few moments before tending to some duties, she was used to him wandering off for days at a time...that was just who he was though she can get a bit upset if gone to long. The male Sullustan would carefully make his way through a large portion of the crowd before going right behind who he wanted to talk to. Raising his head up gently, he let his presence be known by increasing his Force Signature near the male, just enough to possibly spike an interest but not enough for everyone else to know where he was. The person he was trying to get to....

Was Mikhail Grayson .

Walking towards him but keeping his pace on the stroll, he would only follow behind him about two feet away as he spoke up gently, feeling the emotions running through him. It was not unusual though...he felt as if he had a connection towards him but could not put where. Speaking a bit when possibly there was less people nearby, he would speak with a gentle gentleman voice, even if it sounded a little...gritted. While speaking, he lifted his head up to show his own face, those green eyes of his with tiny shades of purple near the top of his head.

"Praise to Ashla dear child. I can...somewhat tell you been wandering, as if leaving a trouble behind. Would you...like to talk about it? It would be between us and Ashla, whom gave me another chance at life and perhaps...better meaning to help those that need it now."