He sat in the cockpit of his little ship, silent. Outside his Dudes walked about the hangar, moving about lazily, and their conversation was rather...grim. Captain George relayed what the council had said about their...rash actions. This only caused outcries from The Dudes, complaints which all echoed the same sentiments, they were meant for war, why were they being chewed out for doing what they were best at? These comments amongst The Dudes did not help Draven's already...conflicted mood. The fresh knight took deep breath after deep breath, trying to calm his temper which was ramping up inside him, growing worse and worse with each passing moment. His long, slow breaths became more and more choppy, and his handsome features creased themselves into a hard expression. He was gently running his fingers up and down the smooth leather arm rest of the chair in the fighter, and in a snap of emotion, slammed it down with a muffled thug, he slammed it over and over again, his screaming muted by the glass above him. If his dudes had seen him in such a sorry state, they may have turned on him right there. Moral was at a all time low, and Draven was in a position of weakness.
Tears streamed down his face as he continued to kick and scream in the cock pit like a small child. That is exactly what he felt like. A small child. Like he had no power again, like once again he was being thrown away into the hole, and left to rot. Eventually he came to his senses though. The man wiped his face, and took one or two steadying breaths, letting the flushed pallor fade from his face as he prepared to face his men.
The lid of the fighter popped open, and Draven climbed out over the edge of it, his boots thudding as he landed on the ground heavily, not with the usual grace which was thought of when one thought of a Jedi. The Dudes immediately snapped to attention, forming a neat, and orderly platoon formation in front of him, at the front, Captain George. The man's features were brutish, almost ape like, and his large block of a chin stuck out defiantly. These were not his friends, as Draven had to constantly remind himself. These were men which he had gathered from the slums of the universe, and whipped into one of the most deadly shock trooper fighting forces out there. They were hungry wolves, and right now, he was a bleeding steak. They'd rip him apart if they sensed weakness.
"Yes, we took a hit boys. Yes we were chewed out by the council. But what can I say? Some Jedi are... soft. They have forgotten what it means to be strong, something which we will remind them of. We will remind them of the proper way to dispense justice. But if I hear anymore of these treasonous utterings in our ranks, whoever is speaking will loose their tongue."
Captain George said nothing, but he didn't have to, his hard expression retained its respect. As long as George was with him, a mutiny would not be feasible. Draven may have been the commander, but George was the leader. He was one of them, which they all looked up to, and he supported Draven. The young knight roared,
"Now you are dismissed! The lot of you."
The troopers then set off, shuffling out of the bay area, and leaving Draven to his own devices. The knight resorted to the best way he knew to relieve stress, and cope with the strenuous situation he was in, and began to set up training drones. After he clicked the little floating orbs on, and the machines swirled around his head, like a swarm of annoying, and insensitive flies, Draven drew both sabers. He slid the switches along them, and slowly the handles began to form together, clicking and whirring, before finally coming together after a minute or two, to create a much longer, more stable saber. The knight ignited it, and its magnificent blue glow burst forth as the saber shone bright, its form almost too bright to look upon, burning hotter than most any other lightsaber, and unstable power emanating off it.