Cedric Grayson
Ashlan Kaiser
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"]
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"]