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Lora casually walked around the bow of the ship, looking around at those who also decided to come to this gathering just as she did. She managed to find the punch bowl and swiftly grabbed herself a glass. She took a sip of the fruity beverage and continued walking about. The vibrations caused by everyone talking made it hard for her to focus, but she did her best.
And then, a protocol droid walked up to her. "Hello, madam. Welcome to the gathering. Are you enjoying herself?" the droid greeted then asked. Lora looked at the droid and smiled then followed with a nod. "That is good to hear, ma'am." the droid responded as it looked at her nametag. "Miss Lora Seren. What a pretty name." Lora simply looked at the droid and smiled. She started moving her hands in a specific gesture. Thank you.
The droid chuckled a bit. "Oh, I see. Miss Seren, please excuse any offense, but, are you deaf?" the droid asked. Lora nodded with a smile. "Oh my. It has been some time since I've spoken with one like you, ma'am. How are you able to understand me, exactly? I do not have lips to read."
Lora shrugged her shoulders and did some more hand signing. It's complicated.
"Well, my lady, I shall let you enjoy the festivities. Thank you so much for coming." the droid bowed , which Lora returned in kind, then walked away. Lora took a few more sips of her drink and continued to wander about.
The bar and mess hall advertised its function, under a low knurled ceiling semi-partioned with bulkhead stanchions showing heavy riveting and buffed weld-lines. Seydon stepped in through the entry, casing the lengthy chamber at a glance. A section of hulling had been laser-cut and subsequently installed with a viewing screen. Smart nano-meter opaque lining dimmed the unfiltered light spearing from outside space. A seated bar lined the starboard curl of the hall, booths to the port, ‘peanut’ tables through the centre line, toward a lit, steristeel plated kitchen.
Seydon grunted noncommittal ‘hello’s’ at the bodies along his way and beelined for the galley. Orders were placed through a functional droid interface, a brass-plated protocol model cut at the waistline then propped onto a power-jack threaded into floor socket. He asked for twice-baked Naboo potatoes, full dressing, Asahi sirloin, rare, something saucy and spicy to go if they had it, and a general ‘summer’ salad. The Dunaan backed to the far port corner and waited on his order. Some outside delegations had arrived, sheepishly interacting, wandering through disconnected conversations.
Two scar-faced men with limpid eyes and unaddressed whiskers began furtive talk. Nearby, another two Jedi, both young, female, and beautiful, sharing bright eyes and bright hair. None looked keen to discuss tuk’ata removal rates or contracts for aiding a pained relative tortured by some beast accursedly haunting their lives, their kin, and their holdings. Seydon resolved to collect his food, a bottle of something fierce from the bar, and take business to the vessel theatre. Hummed a soft ditty, adjusting the leather bale in his hold, and waited on the cooks.
In the bow section: [member="Seydon"] [member="Lora Seren"] [member="Jessica Med-Beq"] [member="Ryan Korr"]
She saw others come to bar area, the woman who sold her a fleet to her and Elysian. She gave her a nodd as sign of respect, as it was good fleet and would protect her homeworld. She then saw a member of galactic alliance, she felt betrayed by them and no love for them. She use to fight alongside them, till they won a Coruscant and then when opportunity came, they just pulled the rug from under her and other people who fought. Though she would done it again, as after all she hated sith, above all else. Though she resented having to pick up tab, for all expense of her wounded, and the funeral costs for her dead. That cost her dearly, it set her planet back for year, she only just rebuilt her forces and her planet. She took another sip of her drink, and she gazed the other she did not know them. Though she was here to meet people, but she was not very good at beginning conversations, she was always was socially awkward.
"How... progressive." Sarge says, smiling tightly at [member="Jorus Merrill"].
"But exposing them to diversity is different from understanding and accepting it. I'll reserve my judgement." Which was his way of saying he already knew how it was going to end, but he wasn't going to say. Or, at least, he thought he knew how it was going to end. "Maybe I'll go see if anyone is fighting. If not, perhaps I'll find some food."
What the Force am I doing here? Mason asked himself casually as he stood in line for his name tag. He knew next to nothing about this particular event, only that he had received an invite from Master [member="Josh DragonsFlame"]. Mason wasn't quite comfortable enough yet with his place inside the Order of the Silver Jedi to turn down an invitation from a master, yet alone his own. So he'd gathered his things and accompanied his fellow students and master on a shuttle to the old Mon Calamari Starliner. He noted that not all of his fellow padawans had taken their master up on the invitation and kicked himself. [member="Auron Song"] seemed eager to be apart of the event. Mason envied him for that. [member="Douglas Starwind"] looked somewhat starry eyed at the proceedings. Possibly in over his head, but in the 'awe and wonder' sense rather than the 'I'm-such-an-idiot-why-did-I-come' sense that Mason felt. He could have been back on Voss studying right now. Instead he was here. On a Starliner. Surrounded by Jedi he didn't know. With a name tag. He sighed as he stepped forward and filled it out.
Name: Mason Raxted
Looking for Instructor:
Looking for Student:
Looking for Sparring Partner:
Barter and Trade:
Services Offered:
His name tag looked rather bare, but again he wasn't really sure what he was going to do here. He considered writing 'antisocial behavior' next to 'services offered,' but thought better of it and left it blank. He watched as his master and fellow Padawans went various directions, mingling with others in attendance. Biting his lip slightly, he checked the holomap next to him, reading the various labels denoting locations of interest. Bar and mess hall, he read. I could use a cup of caf.
With a shrug, Mason followed the various signage to the bow section of the ship, eventually finding himself seated at the bar in search of caf and quiet.
Name: Barenziah Song
Looking for Instructor: ______
Looking for Student: ______
Looking for Sparring Partner: _____
Barter and Trade: _____
Services Offered: Healing
Having joined her son on Master DragonsFlame's transport, Barenziah watched as he departed quickly to get involved with the goings-on of the convention, smiling at the fact. She was happy he was finally coming out of his long-constructed shell. Having watched him descend further into melancholia in the past year, her heart had wept for him. But now this was finally changing for the better, and she was truly, silently indebted to Master [member="Josh DragonsFlame"] for contributing to such. Departing from the party she had arrived with, the matriarch drifted along the immediate area, investigating the surroundings.
She decided not to get involved with her son's dealings, thinking she would perhaps intrude on his private affairs. Instead, she sought to find any Jedi who she might have known from yesteryear. Alas, it was her husband who knew many Jedi, where she would spend most of her time teaching healing to the younglings, over a decade ago. Oh, Rendo, I wish you were here to see such a reunion," she said to herself. But our son... He savours this moment for you."
And, for some reason her mind was wandering, finding herself in the bow section before she knew it. Perhaps it was because she realized she had no business being with Sarge. Perhaps it was because better opportunities awaited her in the bow. She already did business with [member="Elaine Thul"], and did not seem to be overly interested in talking to [member="Lora Seren"], perhaps [member="Seydon"] was the one to talk to. He seemed to be the kind of guy that would probably teach her a thing or two about heavy weapons, or to buy heavy weapons from her. Speaking of heavy weapons, she could sell him mortars, machineguns, thermobaric charges, or perhaps even ion SAWs or an electromagnetic plasma sniper rifle firing the EM plasma equivalent of .50 cal slugs. Yet appraising his needs for heavy weapons, if any, would be a prerequisite to any talk of heavy weapons sales. Or perhaps even of vehicles that could help him fight Sithspawn. The only Sithspawn she ever fought were terentateks, which she knew were to be fought using field artillery, such as main battle tanks.
"I'm Jessica Med-Beq, fine purveyor of heavy weapons. I never was one to know exactly what kind of heavy weapons to use against Sithspawn, so please tell me what you can about how to effectively use heavy weapons against Sithspawn. Maybe vehicles could be a good choice, maybe an anti-materiel sniper rifle could be just fine, for what I know"
“...It all depends,” Seydon put simply, briefly. She’d caught him trying to juggle his order tray with the bale of leather still hoisted under an arm pit. He nodded at a nearby port booth, sitting in with Ms. Med-Beq. The food tray cooled atop their scratched table, a dug-in patina showcasing fingernail indents, fork gouges, and absent minded graffiti drawn by scores of prior customers waiting on their orders. The Dunaan leaned back into the seat upholstery, reflecting on the craft.
“On the make and permutation of what you’re after. Some ‘spawn are just wretches you can fell with either a good blade or modest firepower. Others are more burly, with reinforced hides, shielded carapaces, robust metabolisms that can cycle through toxins and other virulent elements. Knowledge is your friend; understand what you’re facing, find what materials you can describing any shortcomings or weaknesses, then act on them. More oft than not, that anti-material rifle you mentioned is enough to pulp most ‘spawn. More than enough.
“But...” He paused, a waiter delivering a stout fire-tempered jug of tihaar from the bar. “...At times, you’ll find some... things... that don’t seem able to die to conventional tactics. Perhaps they’re too quick, or too clever or strong, or too weird. When you find those ones, they’ll back you into a corner quick. That’s when I recommend you send for another professional.”
Name __Cassius________
Looking for Instructor ___
Looking for Student ___
Looking for Sparring Partner ___
Barter and Trade ___
Services Offered ___Piloting____
He told himself that he’d just go for a short amount of time. It seemed ridiculous, to spend all this effort to go to this convention and not do much of anything, but Master Jade had asked him to think about going. There would be a great deal of Jedi there from other parts of the galaxy. It would be good to meet them and get a feel for how the rest of the galaxy felt, apparently.
Still, he wasn’t too keen on going. While his injuries had healed and the scars mostly faded, the events that had led to them were still fresh in his mind. His right thigh still became sore every now and then, and he had a limp that his doctors said was apparently psycho-somatic. Regardless, he took to wearing his blaster on his hip now instead of his thigh to lessen the pressure there.
In his Jedi robes, Cassius reluctantly left the U-wing he’d flown to the ship and boarded, taking his name tag and clipping it to his outer tunic. He’d only wrote his first name – it was the only piece of information that was relevant. After briefly looking over the signs, he decided that, against his usual judgment, the bar was probably the best place to go. People talked a lot in bars.
Eventually, he found himself in a secluded corner of the bow section, a non-alcoholic drink in hand. He strained to listen to the conversations around him, trying to use the Force to amplify his hearing abilities. He did a quick scan of the room, not recognizing any faces. His brow lifted when he saw a woman using some kind of sign language to communicate with a droid. That was interesting…
Jorus returned Med-Beq's greeting as she bustled off toward the bow. He contemplated following, but her merchandise was probably outside his price range.
“Enjoy,” he said to Sarge with a grin. “Just had my liquid lunch and the fight scene isn't my thing.” He hefted a pack. “Besides, I promised some folks I'd get some trading in. Gonna head up to the observation deck swap meet, I think, see if I can wrangle a deal or two. I saw Kael Rose head up that way, and from what I hear, there's nobody better for jury-rigging blasters. Want me to grab you anything?”
Kael stood somewhat awkwardly in the observation deck, looking at this elegantly adorned woman. She also had a check mark on "Looking to trade.". Her description, though it was awkward to attempt to read from a distance, was "Custom Equipment." That would be cool, except Kael spotted nothing that implied she had 'regular' equipment. Didn't mean what she was offering wasn't useful, but if she did it would be more akin to charms and talismans than what Kael thought of as "equipment". Stuff had it's use no doubt, but simply wasn't Kael's modus operandi. With the way she was dressed, well, Kael didn't think she'd appreciate talking to a 'ruffian'.
So Kael looked awkwardly at the door, then at her, then at the door, and then at her. The viewport, the floor, the ceiling, just anything to make it look like he wasn't staring down the woman or whoever came through the door. Eventually he decided to camp at a little table and "set up a station" as it were, pulling out his datapad and putting some blueprint files in the background. Afterward he took out one of his revolvers and clicked on the cylinder release, before unloading the X-CL ammo and putting it up on the table. He hadn't loaded it in any really special way, just put a couple of each type of ammunition to show the variety of potential loads. From there he'd close the cylinder and wiggle it a little to ensure proper fit, before laying it on the table. He'd probably hollar at [member="Jorus Merrill"] when he came in the room. Jorus was the opposite of a stuffy sort of Jedi, and Kael had a way of opening up to those people.
Laira approached the greeting droid for the little Jedi get together quietly, taking in the sight of the handful of people that she had seen. She recognized exactly zero of them so far. Then again, the Jedi weren't exactly her crowd of people. Most of her time had been spent alone or with Firemane, and a few vacations here and there since she had gone out on her own away from Alderaan. The droid produced a name-tag for her to fill out quietly, which was a lot better than being announced at formal dinners or galas if she was being honest.
"Thanks." She murmured, reading over the name tag before starting to fill it out. She dotted the I in her name with a little heart, and filled out all the fields it had with bold letters so they would be relatively easy to read without having to stare. When she was done, she slapped the sticker high on her shoulder.
Name: Laira Darkhold Looking for Instructor: Sure, specifically Aing-Tii practices and Alter Environment Looking for Student: No Looking for Sparring Partner: Possibly Barter and Trade: Yes Services Offered: Discrete Shipping/Transportation
"Excuse me, do you know where Jorus is?" She asked the droid running the little kiosk. The princess knew of Jorus, meaning they had met, had a very one sided conversation that she had intentionally made quite awkward in an attempt to make the young man feel as uncomfortable as was within her power.
For this particular meeting, the uninitiated redhead still didn't have a Lightsaber, and though she knew the basics of construction, such as what pieces to use, she had no idea on where to get and how to attune herself to said pieces and components. One of the many drawbacks to not having a traditional master. She instead carried a fairly simple-looking pistol and collapsible blade on one hip and a ring on her right hand, not that she thought she needed any of them here, just that for the most part she never took those things off after some events that occurred on Manaan involving her, a different redhead, and a sea-serpent. Never know when a Space-Leviathan was going to attack.
The Droid pointed in a direction, and the Redhead started walking that way slowly, glancing around for a face she might recognize.
"The real reason why I'm asking is because several of my clients are preparing to fight Sithspawn"
Perhaps the merchandise sold by Ringo was out of price of the Wretched Hive, or [member="Jorus Merrill"], because most of the components, including the Eri heavy long-range tractor beams for which pre-orders are already taken but whose production problems are starting to show, were for ships much larger than what the WH usually dealt in. The Eri is for cruisers and larger, while mounting a 420mm HVC on a Hardcell-X frigate chassis is perhaps the smallest platform that can fit one. And the only things that she knew she sold that could be mounted on ships the WH usually dealt in were point-defense or ordnance. But what [member="Seydon"] doesn't know yet is that, by far her biggest client is the Silver Jedi Order. It was entirely possible that he wasn't abreast of what's happening at war in the galaxy at large for what she knew. To that she could also add a mention of how Force-light fit in her plan, were she to fight Sithspawn. She knew Force-light or Electric Judgment was effective on a few Sithspawn but other than that, she was at a loss.
"While myself I can use Force-light, I know not everybody can use it, nor can it work on every Sithspawn. If I needed your help to fight the more recalcitrant Sithspawn, are there anything you would prefer for payment?"
All right, I'm getting bored waiting on the name change. So ignore the Master rank.
This probably wasn't the Jedi school bus back to the Praxeum on Commenor.
The raven-haired space elf stepped onto the Mon Calamari cruiser. He wore a simple brown youngling tunic and had a Sasori staff sweeping from left-to-right in front of his feet as he walked. The blank, thousand yard stare gave indication that the boy was not, in fact, looking where he was going.
He stopped abruptly with the staff struck something solid.
The burst of static-y droidspeak that came a split-second later told him what he'd hit. Holding the staff close to his body, the child reaching out with his free hand to get a feel for just what kind of droid. It was a squat model, about the same size as he was.
Also, a little dirty. And probably in need of an oil bath.
Which was totally not his job. He'd done his chores for the week already. Well, most of them, anyway.
"Welcome to the Jedi Convention, young master," the droid remarked in welcome, before adding a very cryptic. "If you would please fill this out."
The hand holding onto the walking stick reared up to scratch the side of his head. The thousand yard stare was replaced by a genuine look of confusion. What was a convention? Was that like a conclave? They'd had to study Jedi conclaves in history class. Clan Mynock was even supposed to have a field trip to the Jedi conclave on Deneba. And... wait? Fill this out?"Fill what out?" the boy asked, obliviously.
Contrary to popular belief, the Force did not see everything. Or, if it did, he sure as Hutt hadn't figured it out.
"Are you visually impaired?"
The youngling's nose wrinkled slightly as the confusion turned to momentary frustration. Was he... what now? "No, I'm Sephi."
"I'll take that as a yes," the droid intoned, before asking, "Name?"
"Hello, my name is Montoya Inigo," the child uttered, without so much as missing a beat. And quoting from the cult holo-movie The Jedi Princess Bride. Seriously, there were, like, soooo many girls in Clan Mynock. He'd had to listen to that movie like a thousand million times. "You killed my master. Prepare to die."
"That will not fit in the space provided."
Apparently this was Oblivious-One-Kenobi. "Eriond," the young Sephi supplied finally.
"Are you seeking an instructor?"
"Yes."
"Are you seeking a student?"
On second thought, this droid was quite the funny man.
"I do not believe laughter is an appropriate response to the interrogatory."
The sudden giggling subsided, the look of confusion returning as the boy tilted his head. "The what?"
"Nevermind," the droid noted dryly. "I'll just put no."
Eriond could make out the sound of a stylus rubbing against flimsiplast coated paper. After another moment, he heard, "Are you looking for a sparring partner?"
"Yes!" the youngling chirped eagerly. Were there velocities at a Jedi conversation? Or conventralation? con-whatever-long-word?
"Do you seek to barter or trade?"
The head tilt returned. "What's barter mean?"
"I think we're done here," the droid remarked in answer. A moment later, the boy heard, "Here is your name tag."
The spare hand came up again, fumbling again as he was grasping at air. Tapping against the droid's body, the child felt upward and outward until he'd discerned the droid's outstretched arm, and could feel along to the outstretched piece of flimsiplast. "Uh, thanks," the boy offered, the gratitude seemingly sincere even as he just stood there with the paper in his hands.
What he was supposed to do with this... he honestly had no idea.
"Do you want me to affix the name tag to your person?"
Caught. "I can do it," the youngling insisted. Ripping the paper from the back to expose the adhesive, the child slapped the patch against the front of his tunic. Then, standing proud, declared, "See? There!"
"It is upside down."
"Oh." Reaching back up, the boy's fingers felt for the edges of the name tag. Then, lifting up, flipped it around before pressing it back against the fabric. When he looked back up, he asked, "Where do I go now?"
"The display on the wall will guide you."
Craning his head up, the child stared blankly as he turned to the right. Then to the left. Then seemed to peer over the droid's head. "Yeah, wow. How did I miss that?" the Sephi deadpanned.
"I'm going to need a shot of synthetic oil after this."
The child's faced tilted to the other side, hearing parts of that but not discerning its meaning. "What?"
"To your right is the bow section, which hosts the congregational area."
First it was a Jedi conventeration. Now it was a congregarion-al? Which was it! And what did it mean!? "The who what?"
"Forward is the observation deck, where economic transactions are taking place."
"Do you even speak Basic?" the child asked pointedly.
"I do," the droid declared firmly. "Clearly you do not." That comment elicited the child making a rude gesture that involved sticking his tongue out at the droid, who, nonplussed, merely continued. "To your left is cargo hold three, where sparring..."
Sparring? Finally, a word he recognized! "To the left!" the youngling chirped, actually scooting to the left as he spoke. He made a second slide, like a line dancer, as he echoed, "To the lef... ugh."
There was a wall there.
Or, a bulkhead. Whatever walls were in space.
"Uh," the child uttered, his hand slapping against the wall as he felt his way to the corner. There. A hallway. "That left!" the child exclaimed, his walking stick sweeping in front of him as he turned down the path toward the sparring area.
The name tag, written in what was clearly a droid's handwriting, contained a note from the gatekeeper.
Name ___Eriond___
Looking for Instructor _Yes__ Looking for Student ___
Looking for Sparring Partner _Yes__ Barter and Trade ___ Services OfferedYou'll need alcohol for this one
Gears turned in her eyes, weighing his words for their worth, Seydon offering noncommittal glances while he chewed through his cold luncheon plate. The dishes were soggy with condensation, potatoes frosty on his tongue and the melted cheese a fine plastic patina drenched in the too-cold sour cream. When Med-Beq broke out of her quiet, the Dunaan felt staggered by the many potentials of her offer. Seydon slid his scarf-mask back over his nose, and offered terms for employment.
“Just credits. Depending on what you need killed, when, and where, I’ll give you my consultation. If and when I complete the agreed contract, I want every guarantee the SJO will pay out what I’ve asked. Also: unfettered travel through Silver Jedi regions. As it stands, your Masters and contemporaries don’t take kindly to my kind sailing through. If I’m going to work for your worlds, I want those strictures lifted. For myself, and for anyone I decide is necessary for the hunt. ...And that’s all.”
Eyes as icy as his own stared back him, though they carried a certain intensity that he had come to lack as of late. For the first time in what seemed to be an epoch, Cedric felt a looming sense of anxiety clawing at the back of his skulls.
It was always the quiet that brought nervousness. He found himself missing the cold honesty that came with conducting warfare, but that path was no longer his to walk. Not now, anyway. The youth simply shook his head in response to the more experienced master, though he seemed to change his mind as his lips parted.
"No, we haven't." A bit of discomfort came with the words. Pronouncing his t's and p's had been a painful experience after that cathar-like Sith had shattered his father's mask right into his face. The scars marred his once proud visage, but he'd learned to live with them. "My name is Cedric," his brow furrowed, "My father knew you before he decided to strike out on his own. Fought with you, I think."
Tense arms folded about an uneasy chest. "I recognized you from a dossier, and I don't know anyone else here in any capacity," he offered a faint shrug, "I'm not really sure what I'm doing here if I'm going to be honest. Are these gathering common?"
Usually, however, the Jedi, or rather "Jedi," gathered in large numbers to talk about unity or to try and heal the rifts between the various orders. Personally, Ryan thought the lines to be quite clear. Either one tolerated the presence of dark side enshrouded murderers and pretended they did not exist. Or one addressed the issue of the cragmoloid in the room. Not necessarily with violence, but - remembering the alleged redemption of Ket Van Derveld - Ryan tended to take a sterner approach. He'd thought they all would have learned that lesson years ago with Daella Apparine's betrayal.
Betrayal...
Speeches with Atrisia's mangled remnants in the background. Speeches aimed to stir up resentment and hate.
Korr's eyes, the shade of drawn steel, became edged and hard as they looked upon Cedric Grayson, once Archlord of the Dominion. A man who had by all accounts associated with Jedi and dark sider alike, so long as they flew the Dominion's banner and aided his crusade against the Alliance.
"I remember you now."
Before the scars. Before dreams of vengeance in the name of Atrisia became ash.
And, now that he thought of it, wasn't that [member="Elaine Thul"] by the bar?
Perhaps he should leave... but then that would just be ignoring the problem, but so too would be letting it stand between them like a cavernous rift. No. That was not his way.
He could see the tenseness in him, the defensive crossing of the arms. Hm.
"You led a regime dedicated to fulfilling the dreams of fallen Sith."
Was what he wanted to say. Instead he said, "Sometimes we drift through life on autopilot, not realizing we are searching for a purpose. Unable to see the Force's will. I've felt that way before."
After the One Sith, when peace had been achieved. Wondering what capacity he could serve in besides that of a warrior. Wondering if that made him a monster too.
Name: Mr. Al Chemist
Barter and Trade Yes
Services Offered Custom Alchemy Creations & Supplies
Well, he wasn't exactly a Jedi but he wasn't a Sith either. Dissero toed the line of that wishy-washy grey area perhaps a bit too strongly, but he was here for the purpose of continuing to lean more towards the left. It was a process... this whole undoing all the things he'd done in what now felt like a past life. A marathon, not a sprint. He'd been running at it for years now and only recently had he felt like he'd really made much progress.
As Kael set up his booth and played a couple of games on his datapad he noticed another man begin to set up a table. He set up all manner of wares, odd little knick-knacks and artifacts. Kael could feel power from them, some of them seemed vaguely like holocrons. Others were a sample of some wood, another was a bag that caught his eye. Store some ammo perhaps. What followed soon after was the man, a Mr. Al Chemist, sporting some wandering eyes. Kael put up a grin, before extending a hand.
"Kael Rose. Teepo Paladin. Was, anyways. Between stuff I guess. I make and modify blasters, customize this and that. Are you interested in the revolver, or do you want to look at some examples of other stuff I've made?" He asked. He decided not to bring too much of his wares onboard, as strutting around with blasters wasn't a way to make friends with jedi, but his datapad held examples of all his works, and potential work.
Name ___Zark___
Looking for Instructor ___
Looking for Student ___
Looking for Sparring Partner _X_
Barter and Trade _X_
Service Offered ___Artifacts Assessed/Appraised___
What the hell was he doing here?
It had been some time indeed since the Galactic Alliance Vice Admiral had made a regular habit of donning the distinctive brown robes of his fellow Jedi. And even back in his praxeum days, the New Territories had not exactly been accessible to the great Orders based in far more civilized space. But for the past few years his life had been a matter of military command and seemingly endless warfare. The lightsaber he had crafted during his Knighthood trials had lied stored away collecting dust, as he allowed the oath he swore to the Alliance to supersede the ones he had sworn to the Force. Duty before Code.
After recent encounters with the malevolent Dark over the course of the Alliance's campaigns, the Gray Jedi Knight had forged a new blade despite his enduring crisis of faith. Using his time on leave to visit whatever local temple or holy site he could find once more, and resuming his meditation exercises, Zark had learned through those he had met of this gathering. Out of uniform, he was dressed in less adorned if not entirely inconspicuous attire. Loathe to get drawn into any conversations concerning instruction or ideology, the human had been drawn towards the Observation Deck and its assembled bazaar.
Slowing down a pace or so as he passed each slap dash set up of goods on offer, the Knight meandered through from stall to stall. Peering at the nametag that read [member="Kael Rose"], he paused when he reached the services offered. Well, so long as he was here he might as well see if the trip could be a productive one. Standing before the square jawed weapon modder, Zark swept back his sides of his coat and powered down the heavy blaster pistol holstered under his arm. Drawing it carefully, he twirled it and presented the sidearm to Kael grip first.
"Think you can do anything with this?" he asked, nodding apologetically to the man one stall over for interrupting as he did so.
