Serian Loria
In the shadows, at the fringe
The unexpected stop on some unnamed planet annoyed him. It wouldn’t have been bad except that the ‘town’ was some backwater that didn’t have anything of interest. The only place to sit and wait was the tavern and he’d always hated such places. There had been a small town some miles off, right next to the small spaceport some distance from where the temple stood. The planet while controlled by Sith secretly, was technically just an outpost with a bad reputation. The town had a similar vibe, though he didn’t know the source. For all he knew this world was one controlled by the plethora of Sith cults that had sprang up, this new age seemed to have far too many calling themselves ‘Sith’.
It didn’t help that the Jedi or Jedi like cults followed suit, everyone seemed to have claimed a chunk of the galaxy. It made him miss the simplicity of his past, at least then the ‘factions’ were easily defined and not as many. It was almost funny to him how the ruthlessness of his past had devolved into the land grabbing and fractious bickering of now. At least the Confederacy’s ideals made sense, though he tried to stay out of things, he hated politics. He was sure [member="Isley Verd"] would have his own thoughts and say about his actions, but his only desire and concern was the care and collecting of information. To better the CIS and himself, to learn, he’d fight when asked as that was part of his duty, but meddling in the galaxy had never been something he cared to do.
That wasn’t to say he was some passive submissive bookmonger, he was a capable fighter and a ruthless bastard when he had to be. Anything that stood in his way of getting what he wanted had three options, compromise, comply or be ripped to shreds. There was no room for anything else. His most recent excursion had been to some ruins he’d found reference to in the Templar Archives, but the information led him astray some. There had plenty of things that were interesting to him, but the ‘treasure’ had either been already claimed or long since destroyed. He’d taken copious amounts of notes, along with pictures, but that was really it.
He stared at the door to the tavern with annoyance, in such places he somehow always managed to stir up the locals. He was dressed in brown leather boots, pants and vest over a long sleeved cotton tunic. He had on a dark grey cloak as well, with his bag slung over one shoulder. The hood was pulled up to aid in protecting his eyes from the bright light as well as sunglasses. There was a dusty quality to his appearance, he’d spent almost a week holed up in aging stone ruins. He looked like every other drifter, except for the quality of his clothing, though only someone with a subtle eye could see it.
When he stepped in the buzzing conversation lulled for a moment, but as he walked to the bar it picked back up again. He looked at the bartender “Whiskey, neat.”
His old imperial accent was a rarity in this new age, the refined clipped tones that once were so common around him as a child diluted in the centuries spent in stasis. He drew back the hood and took off his sunglasses tucking them into a pouch at his belt. His lit ruby gaze giving the bartender a bit of a surprise, but the man made no comment. One might mistake him for near-human, but he wasn’t, it was some mutation unique to his mother’s bloodline. He’d found that out later after he killed his father, he’d wanted to know more about her side of his blood. He was aware of eyes on him as he sat quietly, his drink handed to him in silence. He drank it down and signalled for another, he wasn’t impressed with the taste, but he kept his expression blank.
There were a smattering of various aliens within the place, but the majority were human. He stuck out, even if he seemed to fit the part, like a wolf in sheep disguise. It was that aspect of Other to him that did it, the Force at work, though his aura was carefully hidden. It still marked him. The barmaid sauntered up to him and leaned against the counter smiling at him, the swell of her breasts in view from her clothing. “Ain’t seen you ‘round here before sugar, want some attention?”
The thought was repellant, he’d never been interested in sleeping with soiled doves, even if he didn’t also detect the scent of stale sweat and something else more unpleasant. He looked up at her and gave her a warm smile, letting it light up his eyes “I’m sorry miss, but...I’m afraid there is someone else and I’d hate to ruin her good impressions of me.”
Her eyes went wide and she patted his shoulder “Goodness, an honorable man come to visit this place, good for her hmm? She’s a lucky woman catching a man as fine as you, I’m almost jealous.”
She walked off without a second glance, if only she knew that everything that had come from his mouth and expression had been a lie. He’d not shared company with a woman in eight hundred and ten years, give or take. It wasn’t lack of interest on his part, it was simply the lack of desire to ever get that close again to someone. He never wanted to fall in love again, never wanted to lose that one person ever again. He sat quietly watching the clock, he had almost a whole hour and a half to wait.
@Mikhail Shorn
It didn’t help that the Jedi or Jedi like cults followed suit, everyone seemed to have claimed a chunk of the galaxy. It made him miss the simplicity of his past, at least then the ‘factions’ were easily defined and not as many. It was almost funny to him how the ruthlessness of his past had devolved into the land grabbing and fractious bickering of now. At least the Confederacy’s ideals made sense, though he tried to stay out of things, he hated politics. He was sure [member="Isley Verd"] would have his own thoughts and say about his actions, but his only desire and concern was the care and collecting of information. To better the CIS and himself, to learn, he’d fight when asked as that was part of his duty, but meddling in the galaxy had never been something he cared to do.
That wasn’t to say he was some passive submissive bookmonger, he was a capable fighter and a ruthless bastard when he had to be. Anything that stood in his way of getting what he wanted had three options, compromise, comply or be ripped to shreds. There was no room for anything else. His most recent excursion had been to some ruins he’d found reference to in the Templar Archives, but the information led him astray some. There had plenty of things that were interesting to him, but the ‘treasure’ had either been already claimed or long since destroyed. He’d taken copious amounts of notes, along with pictures, but that was really it.
He stared at the door to the tavern with annoyance, in such places he somehow always managed to stir up the locals. He was dressed in brown leather boots, pants and vest over a long sleeved cotton tunic. He had on a dark grey cloak as well, with his bag slung over one shoulder. The hood was pulled up to aid in protecting his eyes from the bright light as well as sunglasses. There was a dusty quality to his appearance, he’d spent almost a week holed up in aging stone ruins. He looked like every other drifter, except for the quality of his clothing, though only someone with a subtle eye could see it.
When he stepped in the buzzing conversation lulled for a moment, but as he walked to the bar it picked back up again. He looked at the bartender “Whiskey, neat.”
His old imperial accent was a rarity in this new age, the refined clipped tones that once were so common around him as a child diluted in the centuries spent in stasis. He drew back the hood and took off his sunglasses tucking them into a pouch at his belt. His lit ruby gaze giving the bartender a bit of a surprise, but the man made no comment. One might mistake him for near-human, but he wasn’t, it was some mutation unique to his mother’s bloodline. He’d found that out later after he killed his father, he’d wanted to know more about her side of his blood. He was aware of eyes on him as he sat quietly, his drink handed to him in silence. He drank it down and signalled for another, he wasn’t impressed with the taste, but he kept his expression blank.
There were a smattering of various aliens within the place, but the majority were human. He stuck out, even if he seemed to fit the part, like a wolf in sheep disguise. It was that aspect of Other to him that did it, the Force at work, though his aura was carefully hidden. It still marked him. The barmaid sauntered up to him and leaned against the counter smiling at him, the swell of her breasts in view from her clothing. “Ain’t seen you ‘round here before sugar, want some attention?”
The thought was repellant, he’d never been interested in sleeping with soiled doves, even if he didn’t also detect the scent of stale sweat and something else more unpleasant. He looked up at her and gave her a warm smile, letting it light up his eyes “I’m sorry miss, but...I’m afraid there is someone else and I’d hate to ruin her good impressions of me.”
Her eyes went wide and she patted his shoulder “Goodness, an honorable man come to visit this place, good for her hmm? She’s a lucky woman catching a man as fine as you, I’m almost jealous.”
She walked off without a second glance, if only she knew that everything that had come from his mouth and expression had been a lie. He’d not shared company with a woman in eight hundred and ten years, give or take. It wasn’t lack of interest on his part, it was simply the lack of desire to ever get that close again to someone. He never wanted to fall in love again, never wanted to lose that one person ever again. He sat quietly watching the clock, he had almost a whole hour and a half to wait.
@Mikhail Shorn