Ary the Grey

"Good...good." He struck a few more times, his blade met every time. "Now open your eyes, but don't trust them over the Force." He didn't pull anything out of his sleeves immediately, still mostly just striking at her with just his muscles, a tap or two here, a short sequence there. "You picked the opening stance of Ataru, the fourth rote lightsaber style. Ataru tends to focus on aggression and offense, but also on acrobatics and using the entire environment as your arena. Walls, ceilings, everything becomes a potential angle of attack to flank and outmaneuver an opponent. The unorthodox fluidity of motion from all angles largely creates its own openings." Three more strikes, the last a little faster. "The opening stance is also the most viable stance when leading into offense or defense from a single target wielding a lightsaber, so you chose fairly well." He reached out with the Force again, activating a training remote drone behind her, which slowly rose and began targeting her. He feinted a strike to her right side, pulling back at the last second. The remote was tuned down, like all the other energy weapons in the sparring rings, and would only sting and temporarily numb where it hit. If it hit, that was...

"You get used to it, eventually. The same effect can be used to aid the speed of your strikes, or even their strength if swung properly. But your true ally in all of this is the Force. It will reinforce you, guide you." Aryian whipped his own saber about, the blade thrumming loudly as it rapidly carved the air. The movements were almost erratic, but there was a graceful half-rhythm to it all that she might have been able to appreciate having already been trained to use a staff as a weapon. "Many of the movements you will learn are base rote maneuvers. In a real fight, they will not save you. They are meant to get you used to the idea that the saber is an extension of the self, to learn to bend with its turbulence instead of fight against it." He gestured, keying a panel on the wall through the Force and activating a holoprojector. Many stationary images sprang to life around her, all of a faceless robed person holding a lightsaber in various guard positions. "Find one that looks comfortable. We'll start there." After she had done so, he continued. "Close your eyes, reach out with your senses." When he felt she was ready, he slowly struck out with his own blade, cautiously testing to see how she'd react. If she managed to deflect his blade, he might continue on, but if she caught a welting burn he'd likely move into some of the more rote movements of Shii-cho.

Aryian rubbed his temples through his blindfold, largely choosing to ignore her last comment. Yes, it seemed to be the right course of action, but if his son made the wrong choice after it had been presented to him, Aryian would still feel responsible for failing his son, failing to raise him in a way where he would have made the right choice. If that meant that he would carry this burden for his son, then so be it. After a pause, he began. "A lightsaber is a useful tool, a deadly weapon, and an extension of your will. Many find it difficult to learn to use, as when activated the blade itself is weightless and the handle has a gyroscopic effect, making certain swings difficult if you don't know to expect them. Others, this effect can simply make stronger. Trained Jedi rely largely on the Force to guide their movements in combat, and that gives them a particular edge over those who cannot feel the Force strongly. Firstly, in that they are able to generally hold their own despite a lack of in depth swordsmanship training, and secondly and more importantly, they know when and how to hold the lightsaber so it doesn't slip their grip or harm them. Many who have tried to wield a lightsaber in battle without skill in the Force or any lightsaber training wind up dismembering themselves or outright killing themselves." Aryian took his light-tonfa from its holster, tuning a set of internal knobs in the hilt with the Force until it was set at an appropriate training level similar to the blade he'd given her. He still hadn't told her about that yet, but it would be amusing when she found out. He ignited his blade with a snap-hiss, the silver blade thrumming to life. "Turn yours on, give it a few test swings."

"Hm." The grunt was one of acknowledgement, but also one of thought, as Aryian's mind wound back, recalling events and people long past. "I guess, for me...the question is really where to start? My service with the Jedi seems prudent, I suppose. I rose through the ranks of the Jedi as quickly as I could, seeing combat and war up close. I specialized in defensive combat, mastering lightsaber styles and Force techniques to become known as the 'defensive master' or the 'shield master.' Meaningless titles, really. The one I'm slightly proud of is Weapons Master, a sort of honorific in the Order signifying my skill across a wide variety of combat styles, Force techniques, and weapons platforms. Very few Jedi actually achieve it, mostly because it's an old ideal to be ready for war these days, as well as the title itself confers no benefit of rank or respect. If anything, I suppose they saw me as less of a Jedi after that." Aryian bit into his meal, savoring the spiced gravy that helped lock in the flavor of his preserved nerf. Swallowing, he continued, "Another thing that the Jedi didn't exactly appreciate was taking a wife, who eventually actually became the Grandmaster for a time. Armiena...hell of a woman. For a while, it was us against the galaxy. We had a son, Aidan. He was at the gathering on Kashyyyk, but...well..." Aryian sighed, stirring his food pouch, "I was never really around much as a father. Other concerns always took priority. Fate of the galaxy and all that. It wasn't really until he was grown that I realized how small I actually was when it came to galactic happenings. Certain things happen and you can't stop them. Other things happen and things have a way of just re-balancing themselves. Point was, I was a shitty dad, and I'm not keen to rip open his wounds just to try to selfishly make amends." "And then...a Sith by the name of Ar-Pharazon managed to ensnare a part of my, well, soul through vile Sith magicks, projecting that part of me through the darkness and twisting it for evil. He anchored it to a clone he'd made of me, while banishing the rest of my essence. Eventually the Jedi managed to undo what was done, but I still vividly remember everything I...he did as Darth Ares. I've not sought to rejoin the Jedi since, mostly out of personal reasoning. I don't feel their philosophies adequate to match what I've experienced throughout my life. So I set about learning everything I could about anything I could, offering that knowledge to anyone who wished. You are the latest in a long line of pupils." For a while, silence as Aryian scarfed down the last scraps of his food. "Ready to take that for a spin?" He gestured to the hilt still sitting in front of her.

Aryian had almost nodded off again, but he had been carefully monitoring her over the last few hours. She was diligent, he gave her that. Instead of flicking it halfway across the room like most pupils he'd taught, she took her time and did it right. That time had been hours, but it was important groundwork for everything else she would come to learn. "Good! Good. Relax. You should eat, the dining area is this way. I only have instameal rations stocked here, but they taste good enough. If you're still up to it, we can start on the art of the lightsaber." Aryian led her to the dining hall, detouring once to pick up a training saber from the small sparring ring that was on the way. As they ate, Aryian slid the hilt to her. It would appear like a normal lightsaber, but it was turned down so the blade would pass through flesh and bone without harm. Much harm, anyways, it would still sting and leave a healthy bruise. Better than amputating a limb, anyways. "So, tell me about yourself. I picked you out of the blue, and here you are studying with me, incredibly skilled, and I still know next to nothing about you. And I suppose you know next to nothing about me...but, ah...you first."

The Grey Master chuckled. It had been some time indeed since he'd managed to tutor someone so naturally skilled. "Well, think about it this way. You can control the air you breathe by inhaling and exhaling, right? But does that control the entire planet's atmosphere? It is less forcibly exerting your will on the currents and learning instead to flow with them, shaping them in ways that they are inclined to. With time, those muscles will grow stronger, and you will be able to influence far more. The Force is also somewhat sentient, at the least many practitioners believe it has its own will. You will learn to listen to that will and act on those instincts, as well as perform feats seemingly impossible to most other beings. We will start slow, but in time you will be allowed to choose what skills you desire to focus on." Aryian reached out, summoning a small sack from the edge of the meditation chamber. It hovered between them, the drawstrings unwinding themselves and several smooth obsidian pebbles floated out of the top, taking up spinning orbits around him. "Telekinesis is one of the most basic applications of the Force. You know how to touch the Force, how to make the connection. In time, that connection will become second nature. But now, you must learn basic manipulation. Close your eyes, repeat the process, reach out with your senses." A single pebble floated down, plinking lightly on the stone floor in front of her. "Feel for the stone, take in its shape, its essence. Reach out and try to lift it. If it helps, imagine small tendrils or filaments extending from you to it, forming a net and pushing upwards. Don't forget to breathe." The Grey Master watched her closely, studying her progress. If she needed help, he would be here. It was an exercise he'd gotten wildly random results from over the years, some failed, some managed to fling it like a bullet, underestimating their influence. But in the end, it was a necessary building block to moving forward and developing a deeper understanding of the Force. For now, training wheels.

Aryian nodded, pausing a moment before leading them further in. It had been a while since he'd had a padawan, at least one that had the promise of staying. Instead of beating around the bush, he decided to simply dive into things. "The Force is an energy field that permeates the entire universe as we know it. It connects everything, from living beings to inanimate objects. Those who can touch the Force tend to interact with it through midichlorians, micro-cellular organisms that bridge the gap between the Force and the physical. However, in rare cases, they become unnecessary to touch the Force." Reaching the small meditation area just off the main lobby, he gestured for her to sit. "For now, I will help you. We will start by learning how to touch the Force in the first place. To the untrained, it is similar to stretching and using a muscle for the first time. Close your eyes, and imagine a tree in an infinite plane. Imagine nothing else but you and the tree, nothing else in all of existence. Slowly, let it dissolve away, leaf by leaf into nothingness." As he talked, he monitored her through the Force, reaching out lightly and helping her make the connection. "As the tree dissolves into nothingness, you may notice something at the periphery of your senses. There is nothing left but you, and the Force. Reach out. Breathe in. In your mind, open your eyes, and see."

Name: TBD (Multiple IC registrations) Class: Light Freighter Model: 2300-SV Manufacturer: Corellian Engineering Corporation Length: 40.2m Armaments: Four quad laser cannon turrets (two ventral, two dorsal), two hidden swivel-mounted torpedo launchers (middle dorsal and ventral shafts), each capable of launching torpedoes in a 180 degree hemisphere, 6 missiles per launcher. Armor: Upgraded with military-grade armoring yet kept light. Twin shield generators in the fore port and starboard sides provide protection when needed, but this diminishes power to the engines. By default, standard shielding is all that is used for normal space faring operations. Anti-Personnel Defenses: Biometric locks on exterior doors and piloting controls. Appearance: Modifications: -Upgraded armor -Additional shield unit installed -Upgraded engines capable of matching acceleration speeds of most starfighters, with maneuverability to boot -Upgraded hyperdrive (class .75) -Hidden cargo areas that are sensor baffled to make it look like normal parts of the ship (even when the counter-sensor suite is inoperable) -Experimental electrochroma paint job that can change color to change the exterior appearance -Hacked transponder capable of broadcasting identifications of multiple ship registrations -Stolen military grade counter-sensor suite, detects incoming scans and modifies internal sensor scattering transmitters so as to return the scan the pilot wants them to see. The 2300-SV was a design largely nicknamed the 'space turtle' by others in the Corellian Engineering Corporation not on the project. It was designed originally by a young engineer who had heard of the legendary exploits of the Millennium Falcon and wanted to design a ship that could match the potential of the heavily modified freighter. The base model itself was reduced down a lot by higher ups, who thought nobody would buy a ship meant for cargo hauling if it had bells and whistles all over it. However, this particular ship was one the engineer kept for himself, and had slowly been upgrading over the years. Eventually, he died, triggering a very complex set of instructions in his will. Ownership of the vessel would be passed at random to one very lucky individual, especially one who would make use of it.

((From Kashyyyk)) They'd had to catch a smaller shuttle from Corellia to make it to Mechis III, but overall when they finally stepped down the landing ramp to the dojo's pads, the place was largely as Aryian had left it months ago. Fairly sad, too. Still, it was a good place for beginnings, a quiet corner away from the noise of the galaxy equipped with the proper amenities needed for focused study. The fresher air greeted him as he led Faux down the spiraling ramps that led away from the landing pads on top of the cliff, down into the rock and the dojo proper. As they reached the main floor, the great hall stretched before them, lined with statues of legendary figures from the past staring at them with eyes of marble. "Welcome to my home. You will always be welcome here to learn and train. Did you get much sleep in the transit shuttle? From what I noticed, you seemed to be at the viewports a lot. I'd prefer you rested and ready before we begin training."

The trip was largely uneventful, not much was said between the two. Aryian would save the majority of the thicker philosophy for when they arrived at his dojo on Mechis III, and so when the small talk topics expired between the two of them, there simply wasn't much to say. Aryian had ordered Saladin on ahead, and mostly spent the journey taking in the sights or simply meditating. In space, he slept. ((To Mechis III))

"I am Aryian Darkfire. Aryian is fine. And I'm glad to be of service." A sudden realization hit him, he had no transportation for her off-world. Saladin had a single seat cockpit. They'd need to use public transportation to get anywhere, and that destination would likely need to be back to his dojo on Mechis III. There he could tend to his wounds and craft them an ideal ship. It would also serve as a good learning environment for her for a while. "If you are eager to begin learning, we should go. I can signal for a shuttle to ferry us to one of the main spaceports, but from there will need to use a mass transit ship. The one I took here won't accommodate both of us. Otherwise, just let me know when you're ready." Aryian began accessing local holonet feeds through the comm function in his implant, finding a taxi service and calling for a shuttle. It would conveniently arrive whenever they were ready, so they wouldn't be stuck on the minutiae of waiting.

"Only what you are willing to learn. I used to be part of the Order a long time ago, and I am familiar with their methods and curriculum. If that is what you wish to learn, I can teach you. I am also versed in other philosophical paths, which I can teach you if you like, but when it boils down to it the core techniques are largely the same. Who you are as a person will determine the path you walk. I can guide you from the pitfalls, but it will still be your choice to avoid them, just as it has been the choice of every padawan learner from the beginning of the history of the Jedi." The Grey Master rubbed at the cloth wrappings on the side of his head, fighting off another headache. Seeing through the Force for extended lengths of time was tiring, even for him. He certainly wasn't used to it like others were, despite being a skilled practitioner of the ways of the Force. "I can also teach you many things that have been lost to the Order over time...it may be beneficial to have one from their Order trained in the ways of combat such as I've learned them. As I understand it, the title 'Weapons Master' hasn't been uttered in a long time. Though that too will be your choice whether to learn or not...I am merely the catalyst."

Aryian was confused for a moment. The Cerean that had approached she'd identified as Roene, and Aryian bowed, murmuring his name in introduction as she continued. But...how could she not know? "You mean to tell me you just happened to show up at the largest gathering of Jedi the Galaxy has seen in years, and you don't know of the Force? Your natural talent is apparent, but you are here by happenstance?" The Grey Master exchanged looks with the Cerean briefly. Conjuring the Force to him, he reached out, lightly grabbing another small plate of the pudding with his mind, levitating it over to where they stood, allowing it to hover in front of her. "Would you like to learn? The training is difficult, and the lifestyle harsh. But in the end, you stand to make a great impact on the galaxy. The Jedi can train you, or I can. I think they still trust me to train a padawan, hm?" Aryian chuckled a bit, shooting a glance at Roene. He wasn't trying to poach their hopefuls by any means, but this encounter already seemed more predestined than anything.

Jaina left him. Left him with Misal. It was an unintended cruelty, so Aryian didn't fault her. She had her own business, the urgency in her mind growing and freeing her from the anchor her curiosity had cast, leaving the Grey Master with the leviathan of secrets. After a moment, he finally spoke to Misal. "So. She's alive but captured?" A pause of silence between them, as Misal was never good with words she didn't want to say, and Aryian struggled to say something, anything, that wouldn't end the encounter with a bleeding artery. "I...um, appreciate you not attacking me or anything here. And if I can help at all, just...let me know. She's still the one thing I've never forgotten. You have my conta-" The moment was cut short though, as a plate of pudding slopped onto his chest, sticking there. Aryian looked down at it in disbelief. He hadn't participated in a food fight since...old memories, didn't matter. Who had thrown it? Young girl, short hair, absolutely mortified. The Grey Master chuckled. Using the Force, he telekinetically worked top to bottom slowly, separating what he could from the robes and armor beneath, back onto the plate, and set the plate on a nearby table. In that moment, Aryian didn't know whether Misal had seen the opportunity to leave or she simply had to, but he quickly realized she was gone. Instead he turned to the young woman, addressing her. "I don't think you want to eat that anymore. And don't worry about the robes, they wash clean." It took only a moment to realize she had little Force training compared to the others present, their essences in the Force were calm and controlled, hers still swirled turbulently. The incident was likely an uncontrolled manifestation of telekinetic energy, but even if it was intentional, Aryian probably wouldn't have taken offense. He wasn't here to be angry, after all. An idea hit him in the moment, connecting two thoughts he'd had previously, and suddenly he was quite intrigued. "Where is your Master? Someone with talent like yours probably has one of the council members or even the Grandmaster themself as their tutor."

"Are you looking for something?" Aryian broke his concentration to refocus on whoever had asked him the question, mentally muting the conversation routed through his implant. It would record, and he could review it later. A young woman, brown hair, green eyes, no more than thirty (though that was a stretch). Something about her looked familiar, but Aryian couldn't place it and decided to ignore it. "Um, no. Not really. It's just been a long time since I've been in the presence of so many gathered Jedi. I've forgotten how utterly peaceful it feels. Like...everything's going to be all right, you know?" A moment of silence passed between them as Aryian craned his head up, marveling at the beautiful trees Kashyyyk offered. So vibrant when viewed through the Force, each organism its own micro ecosystem teeming with life. "I don't think we've met. I'm Aryian. I'm not, uh...really with the Order anymore. But I still have my friends and contacts."

Few things of note here, mostly because I understand this was a learning duel, so I'll give some critical feedback. The large majority of these posts were lobbing grenades back and forth. I would avoid that in the future, especially against opponents who can wield the Force, unless they are part of a larger strategy at play. Firstly because it doesn't really get anyone anywhere in the duel if they handled it like you guys did by losing roughly one man per post until the latter end, and secondly grenades can easily backfire, as both of you demonstrated a few times. The writing style changed up a lot from post to post, and that was mostly in Ambrose's posts. That's fine, that's kind of expected, and I got the idea that for the first couple posts you were largely mirroring what Kalimore was doing. In a firefight, flanking is essential. If you can catch your opponent in a crossfire, chances are you can overwhelm them easily. Another tactic to read up on that you guys could have capitalized on is the 'fatal funnel' of a doorway, I'd recommend reading up on MOUT training. So while the grenade chucking could have been the main show, there should be set up from one post to the next, maneuvering and lining up your pieces for the checkmate. Give them an attack to respond to, but that's not the overarching point of a duel. Try to get some kind of end game in mind, and adapt if your opponent unwittingly messes up the strategy somehow. Duels are won and lost largely in the last few posts. All that being said, you guys wrote a decent story and you both put up a good fight, but in the end positioning clearly falls to Ambrose being the victor. Ambrose gets the next ("victory") post.

Aryian received an incoming message on his comlink, but it wasn't nearly what he'd expected in the sense of a normal comm. It seemed to be a pocket dial of some sort, but when he tried to respond, there was no answer, as if incoming audio on the sender's end was muted. Odd. He transferred it to his implant, listening carefully. After a few moments, he recognized Misal's voice, and that they were talking about Armiena, specifically that she was missing. Misal wasn't that careless, and the Grey Master surmised that this was done intentionally. Well, at least this was a better interaction with Misal than being cracked over the head by a hurled rock. Patiently, Aryian waited. He'd need to speak to her about this, or at the least leave her a message. Armiena might have divorced him in absentia, but Aryian still cared for her. He'd messed up his family enough as it was when he was still with the Jedi, the least he could do was help ensure she was okay.

For a long time, Aryian did nothing. Spoke to nobody, didn't even recognize other individuals present. He was there to remember his friend, and to that end the Grey Master tried his hardest. Many memories and emotions filled him for a while, but after a while, Aryian felt that enough was enough. His friend was at peace, finally one with the Force he so dutifully served. He lived on in memory, in history, and stories told to younglings. Mourning was for the mourner, not the deceased, and Kirlocca would have wanted Aryian to also be at peace with the Wookiee's death. Taking a deep breath, inhaling the humid and earthy smells, he began shifting his attention to the proceedings around him. His son was here...as was his mother in law. Well, former mother in law. It was a miracle Aryian hadn't been attacked yet, or she valued the sanctity of the gathering over beating the crap out of her former son in law. Or...less likely, she was finally old enough that she didn't have the strength. Of course, as long as she had the finger strength to pull a trigger, she would be a viable threat. The old woman drew strength and vitality from her bitter hardships, it seemed. The Grey Master made no move to intercept either. Aidan would likely take his presence hard, as he'd done in the past, and Aryian would rather just let his son be. Misal would kill him, probably with a hidden knife or something. So instead, he withdrew to the outskirts of the gathering, observing.

Saladin pulled out of hyperspace, this time mercifully not by some forced act that would cause the mech to practically slag itself. Fully fixed, more or less, landing was relatively simple, and Aryian put down a ways from the rest of the ships. Already he could feel the presence of the Jedi assembled, and while there was some slight turmoil, it was far more peaceful than he'd felt in a while. He was an interesting sight to behold as he walked up to the gathering, only able to wash his robes and shower once while he was at Scarif, so the hodgepodge Mandalorian armor was still visible under his sand-crusted and stained white robes. His right arm was still in a sling, his eyes still wrapped, his light-tonfa lightly clinking against the thigh plates. His arm had gotten better, but still ached from the bullet wounds, and his eyes...well. For the time being Aryian would learn to live with the impairment. Because of it, he moved slower than a regular walking pace, more out of getting comfortable with the condition rather than really being unsure of his surroundings, if anything being forced to rely on the Force to see his surroundings made him far more aware of things, even to the point of sensory overload. He approached no-one, started no conversations. He was simply here to mourn an old, but dearly close friend.

After a few days, and much help from the tribe, Aryian had repaired Saladin and was on his way. Hopefully he wasn't too late to catch the funeral, despite the whole crappy explanation for how a couple days had passed here but not on Kashyyyk. Somehow it had to do with hyperspace travel, relativity, and plot holes tearing continuity a new one for the sake of a good story or plot development. But what did Aryian know of such things? He was merely a figment of an imagination, living in a fragile bubble of pseudo-reality whose real purpose was to entertain the one who made him. Did that really matter though, at the end of all things, he could have wondered were he even aware of the narration. And the truth was, it didn't. It was more or less all existence on any planar universe. But as it was, Aryian really was unaware of all that, and it was mostly just filler so the double post actually looked meaningful and full of content instead of a one sentence cop out for not typing anything with any actual substance. In the grand scheme of events that happened on Scarif in regards to the story of the 'great' Grey Master Aryian Darkfire, some buttons were pressed, some levers were pulled, and the grizzled former Jedi witnessed the galaxy smear around him as his ship made the jump to lightspeed.

Aryian chuckled. "I don't suppose you have a prefab forge I can borrow? I appreciate the offer, but you've helped me enough. The Force will provide, I just need to get up off my tuchus and do it. Well...when I can, I suppose." Moments later, Aryian had left the ship, thanking the Captain and crew one last time as he did so. Through the Force, he studied the small group of tribals that had gathered to watch him. For a long while, nothing was said. Then, He simply walked through the crowd, past them, taking refuge under the shade of one of the tropical trees in the village. He'd be safe enough there from natural predators. Now...now it was time to get some damn sleep. When he awoke, he would be ready to get to work on Saladin's repairs. Before he dozed off, though, he applied the bacta patch to his arm, hoping to regain functional use of his limb soon. His eyes...his eyes could wait. Sleep took him quickly.

Aryian braced himself against one of the ship's bulkheads, sliding down to the floor. He still hasn't felt anything malicious from these men, nor had they treated him with anything less than the actions of good samaritans. "You can relax. Tell your men to stand down, or whatever. It was just me. I'm...well, it's a long story, best told over a glass of ale. Or wait, this is a tropical planet, they probably have rum or something. Short answer is I'm a Jedi. The long answer...I have a feeling you can wait for that. I just really need a bacta patch and some gorram sleep, that's all." Aryian allowed himself one last survey of Saladin, the alchemized and enhanced armor looking far different through the Force than he'd thought possible. The internals were a mess, but he knew enough about the mech to get it up and running when he was feeling better. Couple hours of Force meditation and persuasion, and the thing would practically fix itself. "Um...thanks, by the way. Getting into a bad habit of saying that more often, I suppose." And with that, he allowed the Force to fade from his eyes, finally relaxing a bit for the first time since Mandalore.

Again, Aryian shook his head. He already had his lightsaber on him, though it certainly didn't look like a traditional one. He was ready to depart whenever. However, when nobody was looking, he reached out with the Force, quietly shutting the cockpit access hatch, and by generating a large amount of heat around the door seal, more or less welded it shut. Anyone looking to scrap it would have to cut through the ridiculous armor of the tank, or simply move the whole thing. It would be safe for now.

Aryian shook his head at the mention of a guard. "I...I don't think it'll be necessary. This island isn't highly populated, I don't think, and there wasn't that much space traffic that I noticed on the way down. You're probably the only ones who noticed me. I'd appreciate a lift to that village though, if you're willing, once I get to a working holonet terminal I can wire you some funds for your trouble." He kept moving his head, like he was looking around, and to the other man, he might as well have been. "From the heat, I'm guessing this is a tropics zone...islands, mostly water...what planet is this anyways?"

A few minutes later, Aryian felt the ship, and his skin bristled. He wasn't sure what to expect, and depending where he was, they could easily have benevolent or hostile intent. After all, scrappers still made decent money. But they also wouldn't know about him or who he was, and that gave the Grey Master the advantage...more or less. As the man who identified himself as Captain Drogan identified himself and addressed him, Aryian wearily hauled himself to his feet. "The reactor's fine, the power systems are blown anyways. It's already shut down and should be intact enough that we're not at risk." Aryian stretched, his right arm that was buried in a sling in his outer robes now clearly visible, as well as some of the hodgepodge carbon scored Mandalorian armor he was still wearing marked with symbols from different clans. Reaching conversational distance with the man, Aryian seemed to look back at his ship, and though they couldn't tell it, he was. He could see that everything was more or less safe for the time being, if not incredibly screwed. He'd never been as good at machinery and electronics as his ex wife, his forte had always been software, but he knew enough to get by. The repairs were doable, but definitely not at that present moment. Right then, he only wanted a bunk and a bottle. "I appreciate the assistance, by the way. Had a pretty bad hyperdrive failure, only managed to get this far on luck alone, really. Name's Aryian. If we leave my, um...ship right there, I can come back later and fix it right up." He was beginning to sense that these men were recognizing the ship for what it was, not as a normal configuration, but more or less a walker mech with a repulsor system and hyperdrive strapped to it. Curiosity was running rampant, and he didn't want them touching Saladin while he was busy resting up.