Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The Hydra Beckons

Dried blood flaked off his cybernetic limb in crimson waves as the miniature pressure washer did its work. No one had told him just how messy a cybernetic limb could get in the midst of combat, nor had they thought it wise to inform him that cleaning the results of such violence was so time consuming that it could take up half the day. Not for the first time, the exile found himself wondering if he should hire on a servant for the sole purpose of maintaining the robotic limb.

This most recent sojourn had gone sour, but then they all seemed to be problematic these days. The galaxy was infested with servants of the Dark Side, and a Shadow's work was never done. Privately, Darius wondered if he would ever allow himself a peaceful escape from this life, but in his heart he knew how it would end. His life would expire the way all his peers' had: violent, bloody, and alone. It was something all Shadows had learned to accept in the past few centuries. In a galaxy without peace, they would be called to serve until they met the grave.

Such broody thoughts passed through Darius's mind as he finished his task. He stood in one of the workshops aboard a Praxeum ship. The Jedi aboard were genuinely kind-hearted souls, and Darius appreciated them for it. Even still their softness worried him. If this was the future of the order, would they ever be able to stem the growing tide of darkness? Had the Jedi lost their fangs?

He cast his melancholy aside, knowing it would do him no service. This last mission had resulted in the death of one of his last living brothers within the secretive order of the Jedi Shadows, and the resulting loneliness had begun to poison his thoughts. There was a possibility other shadows worked in the dark corners of the galaxy, but none had sought to seek him out. So far as he knew, Darius was the last of his kind.

The whirring of his limb made him smile. The cybernetics were cleaned, oiled, and working just as intended. Satisfied, the exile began to tinker with one of the lightsabers that had been hanging from his belt. He had another mission; the exiles had few men capable of the things he could do, and he was always needed. It was for the sake of his own mental health that he delayed disembarking, instead contenting himself to tinker with the blade of his dead friend for just a little bit longer.

Even a Jedi needed a little bit of time to himself.

[member="Eline Djo"]
 

Eline Djo

Guest
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Eline wasn't aboard the Praxeum ship for its peacefulness; no, she was on it to be anywhere but within the calm, isolated existence offered on Eira Pechal. Where she was going, she didn't know, but she felt something was missing in her still nascent journey to become a Jedi herself. She was grateful to the Jedi that rescued her from captivity forced upon her enroute to seeking the vague concept of "The Jedi" out, but where she ended up wasn't what she left Hapes for, not with how pitch black the nights of Eira Pechal could get. Not with how useless she sometimes felt.

Eline forced the thought of the encroaching night out of her head, shivering slightly as she wandered the corridors aimlessly, peeking in on various people, Jedi and mundanes, going about their day. She knew most of them by name by now, and some of them more than that, if something they said made her want to dig deeper, or if unintentionally touching something of theirs gave her information that was at times utterly out of context, due to a previous owner. Digging was what she did, following trails, clues, and a lightsaber was one of those things that could very well have changed hands.

Speaking of lightsabers... but an unfamiliar face was more interesting, and perhaps even an opportunity, like the one she spied in one of the workshops working on a lightsaber, stopping her in her tracks. More than one lightsaber in his possession, a cybernetic arm, and dried blood on the workbench. And the man himself looked worse for wear. Could use a bath, at least, but her curiosity was just enough to stay her critiques.

"You're new," came the blunt interruption of her refined Hapan accent, stating what might be obvious, as she leaned into the doorframe, crossing arms over her bosom, "contextually. Out of place, and therefore…" she paused, which could be for effect or thought, "...of interest."

It was hard not to sound like she was going to dissect him. Speaking to men like they weren't secondary took a lot of effort. Surpassing her cultural upbringing was a steep hill to climb, but Teyla had put things in context - to say, she wasn't on Hapes anymore, and she wasn't going to get far if she didn't try to be more than the sum of her parts.

"I've never seen a Jedi with two lightsabers before," then she paused, her eyes narrowing in scrutiny, "but are you a Jedi?"

She had no way to be sure. Being on a Jedi Praxeum ship, or in a Jedi temple, did not a Jedi make… or the greenness of her own Jedi journey was showing quite clearly. Either or.

[member="Darius Sedaire"]
 

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