Syn

Syn'S CHARACTER SHEET Identity [!ident] Real Name: Daphne Rivas A.K.A: Yeshim “Yaya” Bralor Homeworld: Concord Dawn, Manda’yaim, Tatooine Species: Near-Human (Kiffar/Human) Physical Description [!dscrp] Age: 36 Height: Five foot ten inches Weight: one hundred and 70 pounds Hair: Jet black Eyes: Blue Sex: Female Description: Unarmored, Daphne is a fairly attractive woman, though reasonably nondescript when she wants to be. She is reasonably tall and with a meaty athletic build that still retains its feminine curves. She has a square jaw, doe eyes, small nose and full lips, all of which feed to a classic image of beauty, though she wears little to no makeup. Her hair is kept short in a stylish bob for the most part. It’s just long enough to be tied into a small ponytail should she desire to. Her skin tone is copper, as if she were kissed by the sun. Under her left eye are the markings of her people: an upside down hollow triangle, two small diamonds at either side of the triangle, with three lines diagonally streaking from the top left corner down the inside of the triangle. The tattoo is not large, but the work is marvelous and well detailed. Equipment [!equip] Clothing or Armor: A woman of function over form, Daphne’s wardrobe consists of items commonly seen warn by mercenaries. Flak jackets, various tops, utility belt, cargo khakis and combat boots are what she can be most commonly seen in when not on duty. She will also wear a black jumpsuit from time to time. Her beskar’gam is her preferred armor. Cuirass, gorget, spaulders, cod-piece and culet, cuisses, greaves, combat boots and gloves make up the pieces of her armor. Worn underneath is a gunmetal grey jumpsuit treated in the root of the noris. A body glove is worn under that made of breathable synthetic fibers, while providing insulation against vacuum, the elements and electricity. Lastly, her buy’ce (helm) contains a suite of surveillance instruments, a smart HUD display, internal comlink, voice amplifier, rangefinder, spectrometer, infrared and heat-signature instruments all of which are connected to her arms and ship. It’s also equipped with optional air vents and an AC unit that can be voice operated. Her beskar’gam has been individualized as all mandalorian armor is. More specifically, her armor is colored blue and green with hints of black, with her clan’s badge emblazoned on her right pauldron and her helm is modeled after the Kyr’tsad Night Owl helm. When needed, an external backpack can be magnetically attached to the backplate of the armor. In it is housed small repulsor lifts that allow for limited flight, several compartments to store various gear and tools as well as a sealed compartment to house Ysalamiri. The backpack is made out of beskar. Her armor is powered by small generators that reduce the weight of the armor, effectively making it easier for her to move around in. These generators are built into her backplate. She also has a set of Stormtrooper armor, a memento from his time in the Imperial Marines. She will wear it on occasion, but it is mostly kept in a locker aboard his ship for sentimental reasons. Weapon: A280 Longblaster, A295 blaster rifle, Charric PDW and pistols, scattergun, various grenades and charges, vibro-dagger, vibrosword, and beskar katara imbedded in the right vambrace. Common Inventory: Depending on the needs of her assignment, she will carry three of her most common arms. Her preference is the A280, Charric PDW, Charric pistol and a few grenades. She also carries a portable comlink (when not armored), credit chit, various other knickknacks Faction Information [!factn] Force Sensitive Alignment: Neutral Current Faction Affiliation: Manda’lor / True Mandalorians (Loosely) Current Faction Rank: History: [!hstry] Force Side: N/A Trained by: N/A Trained who: N/A Known Skills: N/A Background: No one is truly born a warrior, they are made into one. The ideology, the lifestyle, the dedication and training, the assimilation into that culture that is what makes a mandalorian. Daphne was made mandalorian by her parents, siblings and immediate family. She had three homes as a child, frequenting each when her parent’s work too them there or for cultural reasons. Each world, harsh and indifferent imparted key pieces of knowledge that helped to shape her. As soon as she could walk, she was instructed and indoctrinated into the mandalorian lifestyle, when she was old enough he underwent her rite of passage and succeeded. When the Galactic Civil War came to Tatooine (where she was currently residing), she initially stayed out of the conflict. She knew that some of her brethren enlisted with the Empire, yet she was not compelled to do the same. It wasn’t until much later that she enlisted with the Empire and upon completion of her basic training was placed within the Stormtrooper Corps as a Marine. Here she served for a time aboard many ships, taking part in many operations before she became fed up with the war. She saw no profit in it, saw herself being used as a pawn and incorrectly used. She saw nothing that benefited herself, her clan or her people in fighting for the Empire. And so he left and returned home. When she did, she found everything changed. Her family and her long-time boyfriend had been slain by some months before to her return home. Upstart gangsters affiliated with the Hutt Crimelord Gorrjel were responsible for their deaths. There was no formal investigation by the Imperial Outpost. None of the Imperials cared about a few mandalorian murders or their justice. Only Daphne cared. For months, she investigated, pursued, captured, interrogated and killed the gangsters and anyone else who was remotely connected with the slaying of all those she cared for. When she finally caught up to the one who had pulled the trigger, she took her time with the man. For days she tortured and slowly killed him, yet when it was done, Daphne did not feel any better. She felt hollow. She’d been bred to fight and survive and that was what ahe had done, but to what end? It didn’t bring back her love or her family. So, for a time she drifted around the galaxy, taking odd jobs, bounties, anything that put money in her pockets and helped to temporarily fill the void in his soul. At the end of the Galactic Civil War, Daphne had made a name for herself under the assumed alias Yeshim “Yaya” Bralor. It did not matter. Neither did the deaths of the various emperors and empresses, nor the atrocities inacted by the Sith and Imperials. None of it made a difference. Nothing filled the void. Slowly and over time, she became broken, indifferent to anyone and everything. She’d left her home for her convictions and returned because of them. She’d lost everything due to her beliefs in the Supercommando Codex and the teachings instilled in her by her aliit and vode. Everything she’d ever known had been stolen from her years ago and yet she never came to terms with it. Tired of wasting away in bars, hunting, tracking and killing criminals and the unlucky, she tried something new. Instead of hunting and taking life, she attempted to protect it and safeguard the weak. She took up a job in law enforcement on one of the Outer Rim Worlds where the lawmen were more flexible in how they handled criminals. The work reminded her of the old verd within her and that helped some. Yet, after a while, it was not enough. She grew tired of the lawlessness, tired of the constant and unending upstarts, the petty criminals and wanton deaths. Her work was not making a big enough difference; she was not stemming the tide of corruption and crime. As time passed her purpose waned and desire remained unfulfilled. Slowly and over time, she began to wish to hunt and capture the most famous criminals across the galaxy. She figured if she could go directly to the source, she could stem the unending tide. She also desired the ultimate challenge and hunt that tracking and capturing those war criminals would provide. It would not bring them back, she knew, but it might fill the void within her. If she could not surpass that void, she would spend the rest of her life filling it, finding purpose, surviving. Ship Registration [!ship] Name: Wanderlust Class: VCX-700 Heavy Courier Model: Light Freighter Manufacturer: CEC Length: 25 meters Armaments: Dual Laser-cannon turret, Light Ion cannons (x4), Autoblaster, Concussion missile pods (x2), Proton torpedo pods (x2) Armor: Anti-Personnel Defenses: Concealed Anti-infantry autocannons, entrycode on boarding ramp, external link to buy’ce and left vambrace computer which allows for remote access, 1 protocol droid (M1-CI “Micki”) and two astromech droids (R4-D3 “Ready”, R2-H1) Appearance: Image Modifications: Swapped out two of the four original Concussion Missile Pods for two Proton Torpedo Pods, EMP generators and Shielding as well as Force Cages for both NFUs and FUs. The space allocated for the Force cages was placed in one of the spare crew quarters.

((I need to get this out before I pass out, I've stayed up all night long and have no energy. Lets hope ppl can follow it....))

An-Dur beamed brightly before his new master. His life-long dream was no beginning and the lad couldn't help but feel a sense of elation and pride in it. The Zabrak politely nodded as Xae-lin excused herself for what he could only assume was some Jedi thing or another. In time, he knew he would ask and knew that he too would have his own version of 'Jedi things' which only furthered to brighten his mood even more. His dancing gaze passed between his master, the droid(?) and the surroundings at her back. His eyes fell upon the rolling Landscape of Gala and he felt peace wash over him, true and untainted peace. Perhaps this was another gift from her Jedi master? He watched the clouds roll by against the pale-blue backdrop, marveling at its simplicity of beauty and for a time became lost in gentle musing. He was forcefully returned back to this plane of existence when he heard Xae-lin continue from across the void. His ears perked up at the mention of his ship, An-Dur had never considered leaving it docked at Gala. Hell he had never considered being far from it; after all it had been his home since he left his homeplanet. It had provided all his necessities and comforts, hell he had been through more adventure than he had without it. Dread momentarily crept into his eyes at the thought of abandoning it, yet he quickly mastered such trivial thoughts but weighing his future against a vessel of bolts, wires and metal. After that the choice was easy. "...I will leave my ship here. Will it be in good hands?" An-Dur asked, despite his resolution his voice still held concern and his eyes worry. He had truly become attached to the vessel. Yet a short while later (presumably after Xae-lin answer's his question) An-Dur was consumed by a new thought, what to take and what to leave. He'd never been known to travel heavy, often times taking the clothes on is back and a small satchel of supplies and tools. But, for a journey like this, new dangers loomed ahead of him and he found himself with the delicate situation to pack a lot or next to nothing at all. Finally he resolved to take his traveling back pack, placing in it spare change of clothing, at least one pair of winter garb and one with summer garb, spare blasters with ammo, rations, base necessities and his spare swords. He decided he would wait to do so, until his master released him, he was not on to be impolite. Eventually he could sense that the time was nearing for him to freely roam back to his ship and leave her side, his anticipation growing with each new word she spoke. When she finally did end their conversation, she had left it to him to question her. Impulse took over however and he shook his spiked head vigorously before he jogged back to his light freighter. Once he had typed in the passcode and ascended the ramp to his vessel, the Zabrak instantly sprinted for his room, feeling that time was of the essence. Once inside, he bean to throw clothes about his tiny confines looking for the clothes he sought. Before the found them all he had ransacked his room, leaving it in a state of disarray. With all of his clothes fitted into the lightweight flex-alloy pack, he moved towards his armory, proceeding to throw in extra ammo, various modifications and the like. He withdrew two WESTAR-34 pistols and placed them in his shoulder holsters. An-Dur then withdrew two stock vibroswords and their sheathes and strapped them to his hips and exited the even smaller room. He then moved for his cockpit and upon reaching it placed everything on lock down, set his droid crew into sentry and standby mode and headed for the exit. The Zabrak then watched as the exit ramp fell before him a sense of finality overwhelming him. With his ramp descended, he disembarked from his ship and waited for the ramp to raise. He then typed in the passcode, placing it as well on 'lockout'. With everything ready he confidently marched back to Xae-lin's side and nodded to her. Finally he responded to her final question, "Master Ardel, I do have many questions, but they can wait. After all we do have a long time to get to know one another, don't we?" An-Dur stated, smiling warmly towards her and all else present. As an afterthought he added, "Besides, I'm anxious to get going!"

Xae-lin An-Dur slowly began to rock on his heels as he waited for his new master to respond. He had watched quickly become enveloped in taking care of the baby on her back, she brought it around and began to cradle it. Leaving An-Dur to stare awkwardly on the pair, as if he was invading on their private time. Again he became self-conscious of his demon-like features and how he must look in the baby's eyes. Even despite the fact that the child seemed calm in his presence, An-Dur felt as if he was added baggage and again wanted nothing more than to turn and walk away. How come his first teacher, the one that would probably make the greatest impact on his young like have a child?! Nevertheless he managed to overcome his base desire and wait patiently for his mentor to finish her motherly duties. As he waited he flashed her a sheepish smile before he averted his gaze, the least he could do was offer her that much privacy. To occupy his time he reflected on his past, and prepared himself for the trials ahead. Taking solace in that fact that like his people, when he set his mind to something, he would not back away from it. His gaze fell upon the many newcomers that had suddenly began to filter throughout the place, as if it had just woken up from its hibernation. He saw ships arrive and take off, saw others like himself wandering aimlessly, saw Jedi going about his business. Then his mind became lost in the fantasy of his future adventures as a guardian of the light. 'A champion of the lightsaber' and all that.

((Sweet Jebus! I forgot about this! So sorry.)) An-Dur stared bewildered at the older of the two Jedi. Apparently she had meant to be wise, but the bulk of her statement soared high above his head. What was left nearly made him openly scratch his head in confusion. He managed to restrain himself taking solace in the fact that he was 'Force Sensitive'. As soon as her words dawned on him, he broke into a wide grin. All his fears had been washed away in that moment and he would stay firm on his path now, never would he allow himself to deter from it. He then glanced in the younger Jedi's direction as it was evident that the older one wanted nothing to do with him for a time. He turned upon her with a warm and kind smile. His eyes spoke volumes of the truth and sincerity that he could not; I would follow you forever if you would just train me. I pledge myself to be your guardian. To others that might seem odd, but to him and his values it was the only course of action. As if to ask her without the use of words he raised an idle brow a silent 'so?' ((sorry for shortness. Need to get this out and done with to move things along. Xae I pm'd you))

An-Dur nodded and brought his craft down, it spiraled towards the planet, before leveling off and simply reentering its atmosphere. Heat burned off the Unlucky's hull, causing it to look like a fireball careening towards Gala's surface. From within, An-Dur walked back to his chamber and began to peruse through his wears, trying to find something to carry with him as he walked the surface of the planet. Something to help defend him. And so he spent several minutes scrounging through footlockers and dressers, searching for something he consciously knew not. As he did this, his auto-piloted ship, began to slow in speed as it moved for the Jedi temple that was now fast approaching. An-Dur continued to search through his things before he finally gave up, realizing that he needn't anything to impress a Jedi or at least the Jedi he held as their common image. A guardian who protected the weak, contained and held back the darkness and suffering, fought so that others did not have to. In truth his image of the Jedi was more warrior than pacifist, more champion than protector. Perhaps it was do to his upbringing, his warrior culture, the ethos he was raised under, perhaps it was his own fantasies, whatever the reason An-Dur had; that was simply how he saw them. And gathering all he could within himself and handing a finality to his doubt, fear and hate, he strode from his ship, lowering the ramp he exited it. Wearing a simple forest green ground-length cloak and black tunic and trousers he began to search through the largely empty Jedi temple. Behind him, he could here the sounds of his entry/exit ramp raising and closing, his droids doing their job. All was good. For a short while An-Dur searched the outskirts of the temple, seeing nothing but rubble and earth, he fought against the feeling that there was nothing here, taking heart in that at least he could find out where the Jedi had gone. At least he could follow. His search lead him closer towards the center building, his steps careful and cautious, his twin broadswords sheathed at his hip. An-Dur began to aimlessly wander throughout the complex, noticing mouse droids roam about their daily duties, flickering lights and the place otherwise abandoned. Again his heart sank, only to be bolstered by his determination. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of searching he happened across two women stationed on a landing pad of some kind. In idle conversation, he had no doubt who they were or if they knew he was there. His heart and mind told them they were Jedi. At long last he had found Jedi, but more importantly he was prepared to walk down the path he had hid from, shirked or otherwise tried to forget. He was finally ready to face the unknown and rise to his greatest challenge. But he did not move. He stood rooted to the spot, at the threshold between the temple and the landing pad, his gaze, steely yet his heart wavered. Not because he wanted to go back, but because it was an important event in his life, perhaps his most important. He wanted to remember it, for those times when he would doubt himself and his abilities (whatever they may be), he wanted to use this as a shining example of his resolve. And so he stepped forward, with as much symbolism behind him as movement. A part of him had died that moment and it was a part he would not miss. Like a butterfly bursting from its cocoon he was reborn in that moment. (('scuse the analogy, I couldn't come up with a manlier one)) And so he continued to step forward, each step filling him with pride and confidence, each step reawakening the warrior within him. Finally he approached the two women, bowed before them and waited till they stopped conversing. He took note that whatever it was seemed to be greatly important. And then, once they paused he spoke up, calmly, yet commanding enough to not be judged as weak, "Excuse me. I am sorry to interrupt, but are you two Jedi?" He queried, briefly before continuing, they nodded slightly which served to embolden him even more. "My name is An-Dur and it is my wish to become a Jedi, to be a champion for the good and the weak. It has been my biggest dream and lifelong goal. So I ask you; am I capable of doing this? Am I Force-sensitive?" He paused, his eyes flickered in-between the pair (OK and XLA), lingering a tad longer on the younger one, as if he was searching her for his answers.

I may be stating the obvious (and admittedly probably am) but this seems to be reminiscent of LOTR. Does it have some ties to J.R.R. Tolkien's work?

A Ship from a failed past, burst out of hyperspace, the Unlucky 7. An aptly named vessel for its occupant had no idea what happened to him since the last time he awoke till this moment right now, when he appeared above the world of Gala, with his own voice hailing a Jedi temple! Of all things a Jedi temple! What happened to his plans of running a smuggling guild? Of his companions and friends? Where had they gone? They've abandoned you, came a sinister and familiar voice. One that had been An-Dur's companion and friend for far too long. Upon the open channel only static rang through, broadcasted back towards Gala. The Zabrak was frozen with fear. What was he to do? This was once again a defining moment in his life, would he back away from the challenge, or would he do what was in his blood; and rise to it? Succeeding all hopes placed upon him by himself and Sato. That familiar voice of doubt crept up again, chocking his throat, suffocating him. And then came the anger; why couldn't he just open his mouth and speak? What was so hard about doing that? Nothing. There was nothing wrong with it nor him, only the limitations placed upon him by his mind. Which had to be defeated here and now. And so like many times before, he squared off in his mind, mentally battling a nonexistent foe, the extension of his doubt, fear and hate. They circled each other around a small ring, each wielding a vibrosword. In An-Dur's hands, Chaos and Tranquility. Repaired, they had been repaired! Neither made the first move, they continued to circle each other, each man sizing the other up. Each an exact copy of the other, an exact replica of An-Dur. An-Dur grew tired, he did not have the luxury of time waiting for his other 'half' to make the opening move, so he did. He lunged with both blades, at the last moment, using his forward momentum gained and turned himself into a spin, striking at the others solar-plexus with a swift side-kick. Doubt flew from the ring. Slammed harshly against a nearby pillar, Hate charged. Somehow An-Dur faced two enemies now, both of them attacking in tandem, perfect cooperation. When one struck, the other blocked and visa versa. It was quite a sight to see An-Dur desperately block, counter and dodge all of their ferocious attacks, a man on fire, An-Dur would not fail himself. Not anymore, no longer. He loosed a mighty war-cry upon them both, his anger rising to the surface, bubbling but not yet boiling. Hate feigned a strike, but blocked high, through his guard Fear struck, a jab to An-Dur's spleen. The young Zabrak nearly keeled over then and there. He'd had enough, it was time to end this! Taking several menacing yet wounded and stumbling steps forward, An-Dur forced himself to rise, blood trickling from the corner of his lips, he sneered malevolently towards them before he charged with abandon. Fear took the van, trying desperately to make several quick vertical slashing attacks, An-Dur dove through this, slamming his body into fear, who toppled over from the force. Resting atop fear, An-Dur raised his swords high above its head, so that it could see what was to come. The sneer grew into a demented smile and the swords fell like a guillotine and off went his head! An-Dur positioned himself to his knees, rising off of the decapitated Fear's limp body, with speed unknown he planted both feet under him and leaped forward, entering a front flip he came out in a sprint. Hate was different, instead of waiting--like Fear had, Hate charged himself. Screaming madly and swinging his sword overhead, An-Dur leaped once more into the air, so did Hate. Time slowed to a crawl. They passed each other, Chaos had been trailing him, now it was wrenched forward in a sweeping motion. The vibrosword severed Hate in two. An-Dur landed where Hate had once stood. Time resumed. The Zabrak exhaled, he'd done it. He'd won. An-Dur parted his lips, flexed his jaw several times and then spoke, his voice calm and even. ::Comm:: "This is An-Dur, pilot of the YT freighter, the Unlucky 7. I wish to land at the Jedi temple and be trained as a Jedi. Please allow me to be." ::End Comm:: His right hand raise and clicked off his mike, again he sighed deeply. He'd won, but at what cost? Only time would tell. Only time.

((Sorry for posting on this account am too tired and delirious to change. Plus I just noticed this. Palau you wouldn't know how many members we have and to be realistic it would far excede three as we would have tons of people to do all sorts of tasks. So...I'll ignore the last part and chalk it up to inexperience, just don't make a habit out of using things you know OOC ICly, its not good.)) The masked man sat back father in the chair as he listened to this man speak. There wasn't much to him, or he was keeping secrets. Either way, the agent would soon find out. "So you say, you are Palau the orphan, with no history and past, you just exist and have acquired a ship. Thats it? Thats all? That is the extent of 'Palau'?" He paused, folding his arms over his chest. "Be mindful, you have seven minutes left." An idle glance at the cantina wall let him know this. This man was quickly becoming a nuisance and the agent was losing his patience, he wanted more from this man, he wanted this man to reach his full potential and more importantly he wanted this man to become aware of his potential. Though, time was quickly running out. "5 minutes left."

((Silas I've got this...at least for now)) The bartender turned a skeptical eye towards the newcomer, "You got an interesting name there son. So tell me, what do I care if your name is Palau Wuvca?" The older man, looking as rugged as a krayt dragon shifted his weight as he leaned against the counter, he stooped over it, close to Palau's face a sinister smile on his face. He flashed the man a dirty grin, bearing teeth of the starkest yellow, his rancid breath wafting into the nostrils of Palau. "So are going to remain there staring at the handsome figure before you or are you going to answer me?" He asked as if he was quickly becoming irritated. "I ain't got all day kid, I got customers that need to get wasted, so hurry it up!" Though unknown to this Palau the bartender meant him no harm and was only having fun, these agents of W.U.V.C.A.--whatever that was paid him good money to do this. Far better than what he earned working here at three years pay. At the back of the cantina sat a masked man, wearing robes akin to that of a Tusken Raider, he remained silent listening to all around him. As soon as the newcomer had entered, his eyes were drawn to him, he followed the man as he made for the bar. Even through all of the noise, the mysterious man heard the man named Palau speak and only one thought was ringing throughout his head; Nice. This guy must be stupid. From behind his mask he rolled his eyes, and sighed very audibly, some patrons nearest to him broke their conversation to listen to the quiet stranger. Thinking that perhaps he would divulge some secrets about who he was. However, they were wrong, for the strange man stayed still and said nothing thereafter. He would remain as he was and watch how this 'Palau Wuvca' would handle the situation.

The Unlucky 7 rocketed away from Mannan, going into a series of blind hyperspace jumps to throw off any would-be pursuers. During each reentry into normal space An-Dur went through a series of system checks, and overall ship integrity checks. While at the latest reentry point the young Zabrak waited. He chose to meditate in order to clear his mind. Closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing in order to become centered for his next task; speaking to millions about employment. Sora rose from his chair and sat on the cold floor of the cockpit, the cool durasteel floor chilling his back side. He crossed his legs and sat up to his full height, straightening his back to make sure he wouldn't screw up. And slowly he began to breathe, at first taking shallow quick breaths while his mind ran all over the place, running throughout the long and disturbing hallways of his mind. Then, as time passed, his breathing slowed and along with it, the childish running of his brain as well. Eventually bringing him to the point of perfect meditation, when there were no other sounds, no other disturbances around him, only the gentle thumping of his beating heart and the lulling of his breath. In this state he began to focus his mind on his speech, the words he would say, the tone he would use, how he would dress, all the little things that others might miss, became intensely scrutinized by him. He would not ruin this, after all; you only had on chance at first impressions. As he sat upon the cold steel floor, with a feeling of calmness and serenity washing over him and thinking upon his words a distant beeping rang out and pierced his concentration. The sounds were emanating from his console, which meant that his integrity scans were completed. An-Dur's eyes flashed open, his hazel pupils gleaming with purpose and composure. The young man calmly uncrossed his legs and rose to his full height, patted down any wrinkles on his blue outfit and walked the short distance to his chair. Where he sat down and began to read over the log. After about five minutes or so of reading, An-Dur found nothing wrong with his ship and smiled. His actions caused his mind to race suddenly. He realized how much he was smiling despite what Geki had done to him, despite the half crescent scar that was barely noticeable upon his cheeks. He wondered why. In times past, he would have been consumed with the need to find, hunt and kill any who harmed him or his past. Why was this different? Why was he able to overcome such a wrong? And why was he so happy? Then another thought floated to the surface; his friends were the source of this. His friends gave him light, solace and hope for himself. Hope for a better An-Dur and in the future. A brighter tomorrow of sorts. Causing yet another smile to crop up upon his face, slowly the Zabrak broke into a fit of hysterical laughter alone on his ship. "*Hardy laughter* Man, I get friends and go soft--*Hardy laughter* I should get more! *Hardy laughter* Hell, I should meditate more often! I've forgotten how good I feel afterwards! *Joyous laughter*" He laughed and spoke to himself on his bridge, his r-unit droid rolling all throughout his ship, oblivious to it all, the gunner droids emotionless and stoically at their post equally oblivious. Bob long gone, destroyed by Geki on Coruscant. The Unlucky 7 suddenly lurched forward, entering hyperspace, after about half a standard day doing checks, it felt good to be on the move again. Just as before the ship made random and sometimes blind jumps in order to throw off pursuers, not that he had any, but a little paranoia was healthy at times. Its destination; Myrkr and the future.

An-Dur phased into the backdrop, disappearing from the view of the Jedi. Though, still present to them, always. He stood near the wall, resting his back gently against the cold durasteel, letting the slight chill dance across his spine. He raised an idle leg and rested that too against the wall, folding his arms across his chest as he did so. He stood silently watching peace unfold all around him, intermixed with the commotion of chaos, but peace nonetheless. The ceremony was a joyous and beautiful one and he was truly glad that he had been able to witness the wedding. Such happiness before him, gave him hope for himself and the future. An-Dur was also saddened by the fact that no one had answered his question, though at the very same token couldn't help but be happy as well. At least he had safety of mind in not knowing, no matter how much it bothered him. He could always hope and prey that he was one day able to be a Jedi. Soon, the wedding ended, not without its mishaps though, two communiques burst through the joyous mood, cutting it like an arrow piercing the heavens. The first was from a group called Darkwatch and their net bomb, then a short while later, after the ceremony another message came for the bride and groom as well as all present. It was a sinister message from the Empire and one of its goons. Who had apparently prepared a gift for the newlyweds and their guests, though his threats seemed hollow and devoid of execution. Though, several minutes later, he was proven wrong as the very air turned deathly cold, all the warmth from him was taken away. He felt naked in the midst of dozens, instinctual-ly he dropped into a low martial stance, ready to defend himself against any threat. He would not yet draw his blaster pistols, lest he became the problem. Though, with the ever passage of time came the answer to that problem, the warmth returned to the air and An-Dur took this as a sign to leave. Before anything worse could happened; he would leave. The young Zabrak quickly caught sight of his friend and waved good-bye to him before he disappeared into the long expansive corridor. After some time of blindly searching he found the correct hanger, keyed in the disarming sequence that would drop the boarding ramp and walked up it. He turned one last time to face the Jedi temple, a solemn tear streamed down his face as he turned away from his destiny, then he pressed a button of the keypad and watched as his ramp raised off the surface, waiting for it to snap-hiss shut. Aboard his ship, he quickly headed for his room and changed back into a dark blue tunic and trousers. An-Dur had never known how big his ship truly was until he was alone on it once again. Haunted by that thought he sauntered to the cockpit, went through the preflight checklist, recheck them. Thumbed the ignition switch and waited as his ship slowly rose from the surface of the submarine, he pulled back on the control stick and his ship responded by turning around. An-Dur pushed the throttle forward completely and the Unlucky 7 lurched forward. Just as before he completed the aerobatic routine before his ship rocketed from the atmosphere and into the dark lonely expanse of space.

An-Dur stood there in the background, watching all the Jedi around him converse about something of great importance. What it was he wasn't sure, something about a weapon, but from his distance all he could hear were bits and pieces of their heated conversation. Which only intensified his curiosity to know what the infernal matter was. Of course, An-Dur was no fool and the matters of the Jedi hardly concerned him. Deciding to do something in an attempt to not drive himself insane with the 'whats', 'whos' and 'wheres' he began to contemplate how he would go about drumming up interest for his guild. Lucky for him, such thoughts were all engrossing. He began to consider what he would wear, if he would shroud his face, his words and his tone. Would he be energetic? Perhaps serious? Would he discuss current affairs in a hopes to peak the publics interest through moral outrage? So many options to contemplate, it all began to excite him. A roguish smile eased across his face, and his eyes began to dance with mischief. That, unfortunately did not last long, because he was thrust from his thoughts when he noticed that his friend had not yet come over. That alone was odd, since Ichigo had wanted this so bad, was it possible that he was having second thoughts? He was drawn to his friends image, as he conversed with the female Jedi, he wondered if he could do that as well, if he could do that and not be tempted to give into his desires. It was something that completely drew him away from his simple musing and tossed him back towards the dilemma that was the brick wall he could not get passed. The fate--his fate, it seemed that it was upon him and to deny it was to doom himself to a life a misery. His mind began to race with a choice, a simple yet profound one that would rule his life; Desire or duty? Two words that meant as much to him as the fate of his parents death and his own place in the galaxy. If he had knowledge over the force, perhaps he would have been able to shield his thoughts, would have been able to conceal them from those prying minds that so chose to invade. As it stood, he did not and as such, his mind was an open book ripe for the picking, for all to see. At his back came the grunts and howls of something familiar to him, one that he'd heard before; it was a Wookiee. An-Dur's mind changed gears in that instant; a Wookiee as a Jedi? Who ever head of that? Was it possible? Perhaps a great warrior and partner because of some life-debt, but a Jedi? Could it be true? With his thirst for knowledge An-Dur turned on his heels, and sure enough right where Master Ayrian Darkfire was a Wookiee stood grasping Master Darkfire, holding him several feet off the floor, in an impressive bear hug. More importantly though, he was a Jedi! a lightsaber could be seen at his belt. An-Dur stood there struck stupid, he couldn't believe it! With a slack jaw and gaping expression. He stared towards the Jedi Masters. If he could have gotten control of himself he might have noticed the Wookiee Jedi leaving, he did not though. Lost in his world of wonder at the thought of a Wookiee Jedi in combat, their natural prowess, their code of honor, An-Dur nearly shed a tear. Suddenly he cursed himself and wished to be a Wookiee, wished to be able to rip men in two with ease and without the aid of a weapon or strength enhancers. Finally, though ever slowly An-Dur regained control of his motor functions and spoke, addressing Jedi Master Darkfire. "Master Darfire, I didn't realize a Wookiee could be a Jedi, incredible! I bet he is a wondrous warrior! Oh, how I wish to be a Jedi..." Suddenly, as the words tumbled out all color drained from his face, he had unconsciously voiced what his soul yearned for and to a Jedi no less. An-Dur looked to be dead on his feet as he stared terrified into the mans eyes. He cursed his luck and his ancestors for making him dimwitted. Oh, how he wished he could take it back, or that Ayrian Darkfire would ignore it, but a greater part of him wished for the answer, wished to know if he could wield the force. And on that train of thought and convincing himself that since he started, there was no point in stopping he continued his conversation with the Jedi master. the color in his face slowly returning and his eyes dancing with the question that burned throughout his soul. "...Do you think I could be a Jedi? Am I...Force sensitive?"