"I dunno, it seemed right... Yeah, like this was meant to be," Braze said, his voice tinged with optimism.
"You never know what you'll find out here, lost to the sands of time."
As if answering an unspoken summons, a bizarre figure—old and hunched—pulled a groaning cart into the square. Decked out in ragtag clothing that resembled the garb of the local sand raiders, he seemed a living plethora of quirks and peculiarities. A smattering of eclectic objects tumbled from his cart as he halted. He retrieved them, each with an exaggerated grimace of effort, arranging them under a makeshift tarp assembled from expired food wrappers and remnants of fabric.
"Blast these old bones," he muttered, casting his eyes heavenward as if consulting invisible spirits. With a grunt, he unfolded a chair—its origins equally mysterious—and sat down beneath his patchwork shelter.
"Ah, greetings, outlanders! Would you be intrigued by some of my splendid, and oh-so-rare wares?"
This was Maurice, endearingly and unofficially known as 'Crazy Old Maurice.' A local legend, he was rumored to wander the desert in pursuit of arcane trinkets, each more baffling than the last. Now, with a grand flourish, he secured a very unusual umbrella into a special slot in his cart. The umbrella seemed to hum a soft, otherworldly melody as he put it in place, and its metal gleamed in a very distinct way.
The material was unmistakably Song Steel, the very material Braze had been questing for.
"Is that umbrella made of...Song Steel?" Braze asked, unable to hide his excitement.
Maurice looked startled for a moment, then chuckled, puffing his pipe to produce bubbles that popped into mini rainbows.
"Ah, you've a keen eye, young one. Yes, that's dear old Bertha, she is. Made from Song Steel, indeed."
"Is it for sale?" Braze asked, almost holding his breath.
"Oh, I couldn't possibly part with Bertha," Maurice said, caressing the handle of the umbrella as if it were a cherished pet. However, his face twisted into a grimace of discomfort, and for a moment, he looked frail and ailing
. "Actually, if you could do an old man a favor, I'd owe you a great debt. These old bones don't move as they used to, and there's an errand I must run before the oncoming sandstorms."
Braze exchanged glances to his compannions. Here was an adventure within an adventure, a quest within a quest.
"In exchange for this favor, I'd be more than willing to gift you dear old Bertha," Maurice offered, eyes twinkling with a blend of sincerity and mischief.
The proposition hung in the air, wrapped in the promise of mystery and adventure, as the impending sandstorms whispered in the distance.
Braze could barely contain his excitement, practically hopping on the balls of his feet.
"We'll do it! What do you need us to do?"
Maurice's eyes twinkled even brighter, if that was possible. He reached into the depths of his cart, past what appeared to be an ancient holocron, its surface etched with mystifying symbols, and beside what looked suspiciously like the remains of a Sith artifact—though it was hard to tell under layers of dust and grime. Maurice finally pulled out a small, carefully sealed box.
"My dear old friend lives far past the outskirts of town, in the caverns to the east," he began, handing the box to Braze.
"He needs this special medication quite urgently. He's often ill, you see, and with the sandstorms predicted to roll in by nightfall, I simply can't make the trip quickly enough."
Braze looked at the cart curiously eyeing some of the odder objects. Among the heap of what seemed like junk, Braze noticed what looked like an old databank from the time of the Old Republic, and even a mechanical arm that could very well have been a relic from an ancient droid model long considered obsolete.
"So, all we have to do is deliver this medicine to your friend?" Braze clarified.
Maurice nodded solemnly, yet his eyes danced with that blend of whimsy and wisdom that only kooky old men seem to master.
"Exactly. Do this for me, and dear old Bertha, made of the finest Song Steel, will be yours."
The offer was tantalizing. The mysterious treasure trove that was Maurice's cart hinted at a lifetime of incredible, improbable adventures. If this man considered the umbrella—Bertha—valuable enough to trade for a critical errand, then it must indeed be as special as it appeared.
"Consider it done, Maurice. We'll get this to your friend before the sandstorms hit," Braze declared, his hand gripping the box of medicine like a sacred charge.
Maurice smiled, his teeth an odd collection of shapes and sizes, and for a moment, he looked a little less old, a little less weary.
"Ah, youth. May the Force be with you both, and hurry back. Old Bertha will be waiting."
Loomi
, one Braze's closest friends during their training at the Jedi Temple. He has asked
Kaleleon
for help in this endeavor since he never actually made one before and asked him along.
