The man walked through the streets of the Republic capital, unfazed by the types of people he walked by. He never thought he would return to the place he was born, or even attempt entering Republic space. Especially so close to the Jedi. Unfortunately, he had no choice. The man felt for his lightsaber, tucked carefully into his jacket. He relaxed, feeling the cool metal against the palm of his skin. The man walks into a local cantina, and sits at the bar. Motioning towards the bartender, he says, "Just give me one shot of your strongest stuff." The bartender, looking at the time, simply shrugs his shoulder and gives it to him.
"Can I get a name, for the tab?" the bartender asks meekly.
The man stares at him for a couple seconds, then simply says, "Ti-Fal. Ti-Fal Jurgon."
"Can I get a name, for the tab?" the bartender asks meekly.
The man stares at him for a couple seconds, then simply says, "Ti-Fal. Ti-Fal Jurgon."