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Svata Dragoste

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  1. "Oh I lived on a ship in the Cathar strait...with a man with a droid with its brain in a crate...badum bidoom badum..." The old tune came to Svata without thinking as he shuffled around the room, hand picking out bits of tech and squirreling them away in his pockets like a bird pecking berries off a bush. "Badum biddi bum biddi bum..." he mumbled. "And he said he knew a witch of lore on Dathomir so wild...Come with me and she'll teach you much of love and life my child..." Alright...that should be everything. Better go find Defender Sarlaac. Svata kept humming the old tune as he sauntered through the hallways, tail swinging to the silent beat, his feet occasionally breaking into a shuffle and a slide when the guards weren't looking. At least, he hoped they weren't looking. It took some wandering, but he eventually found The Sarlaac in a practice yard practicing his drills. It was easy to forget sometimes that the polite man was a warrior, but demonstrations like this showed off the years of dedication that man had spent to perfect his art. "Defender Sarlaac," Svata said without waiting. If his interruption was enough to break the duros' concentration, then his new master was in sore need of some retraining. "Did everything go well?"
  2. The old ryn shuffled around the room, absent-mindedly muttering as he did. "Emitter arrays...crystal energy chambers...a diatium power cell..." He stopped as his eyes landed on the tip of something pale poking out from one of the top shelves. Stretching, he pinched the tip and brought it down. A 4' length of smooth, featureless yellow-white, it had been carved to the rough approximation of a weapon haft but hadn't been finished. Svata turned it over in his fingers, bringing it close to his face. "Not bone. A horn of something." He frowned as his thumb brushed hairline cracks on one of the tips. "Not strong enough on its own, and it'll fracture if not handled right...but if I cut off the end and hollow it out with a low heat laser, then coat the inside with a plasteel based polymer, and then...hmm..." Twirling it in his fingers, he turned back to Kel Koon. "I think this room should do nicely. I've studied the process...theoretically anyway. I should be able to knock out the basic construction. As for the attunement...well, I guess I'll have to muddle through. From what I understand, it requires days of meditation." Svata's grin turned somber, and he bowed to the Jedi. "I truly appreciate your assistance, and I'm honored by your hospitality. The Jedi have long been the light of the galaxy, and you uphold that legacy in such turbulent times." Svata smiled again, and for a moment he was just an old man with a young heart. "Thank you."
  3. Svata shrugged, holding out his wrist and letting the four tiny, deep yellow crystals dangling from the charm glint in the light. "Dantari crystals. Passed down through the family. Supposedly it changed color depending on the 'heart of the holder' but I think that was just a tall tale I got fed. Will these do?" Svata had planned on using the old family heirlooms ever since he'd joined the Jensaarai. He was the last Dragoste. It would be best that their legacy found some use at the end of the line.
  4. Svata smiled. It had been some time since he'd met a Kel Dor, but he'd had a fondness for the species since meeting a Kel Dorian mechanic on a fueling station in the Hypori system. The old fool had made a habit of pushing himself by doing ship repairs without a spacesuit. He'd always joke that it was good incentive to be efficient. Personally, Svata suspected the man just did that for the small, quick repairs, but the clan hadn't gone back to that station more than a handful of times, so he'd never found out for sure. The mechanic had also been a surprisingly stable father and family man, with an appreciation for order and hospitality that Svata had come to associate with the species. "Hey, I'm not going to complain. I was actually hoping to take a look at your lightsaber construction process. I understand its a pretty personal process, similar to a Jensaarai and their armor. Don't get me wrong, we're required to find or make our own lightsabers too," he said, waving his hand absentmindedly, "but not many of the Jensaarai I've met have put as much emphasis on it as a Jedi would, and I think that's a bit of an oversight on our part. I'd kick myself if I passed up the chance to see how you do things."
  5. Svata watched his master leave, then turned to back to the ship. Absentmindedly humming a tune as he played a counter-melody on his nose, he ran a security check through the ships systems. No unauthorized access, no twitchy systems, and even the landing struts were registering the expected weight plus Svata. Smiling, he rubbed another of his charms as he pondered the Sarlaac's silent admonition. This new master is going to take a bit to get used to, he thought, moving the charm through his fingers in a deft bit of sleight of hand. New family, new rules I guess. Still, seems like a solid man. The Saarai-Kaar trusted him with this mission, and Meska would have stretched my tail if I didn't learn from him. We are just a few steps apart on the trail...I like that. Still, wonder how he got that name? Reaaaallly hope the Force doesn't see fit to name me Shaak or something like that. Heh, maybe Bantha. I'm certainly hairy enough. Svata sauntered up to one of the landing platform guards, who eyed him as he approached but kept discipline by holding a respectable, neutral military stance. "Excuse me," Svata said, dropping his previous formal tone and lapsing into his more natural, breezy voice. "But I don't suppose I could get a tour?"
  6. Svata moved respectfully past the two Jensaarai Defenders to descend the ramp first, staff held straight like a herald's flagpole more than a weapon. He imagined he must have been a jarring contrast next to the dark, polished armor and grim helmets of the Defenders. His rough clothes, colorful scarves, and dangling charms were not exactly a uniform to strike fear and garner respect, at least in this crowd. Eh. Formal protocol for the Jensaarai was difficult to pin down, with so many traditions having blended and shifted over the centuries. Still, the old ryn was of the opinion that it was the job of the juniors to introduce their superiors at formal to-dos like this. It just had been a long time since he'd been a junior to anybody, but Old Meska hadn't raised a shirker. He bowed low, charms glinting and tail curling in a flamboyant flourish. The tail thing was probably a little much, but Svata had been an actor at heart for his whole life, and he indulged when he could. As he bowed he touched his free hand to the side of his nose in a sign of modest respect, and his eye caught on the saber pistol. "And good tidings to you. I have the honor of introducing Defender Mantis and Defender Sarlaac, representatives of the Saarai-Kaar." Svata stepped to one side to allow the two Jensaarai to descend and bowed his head.
  7. Svata followed suit, closing his eyes as The Sarlaac spoke. His instructors on Raka Nwul had initiated him into the mysteries of the Force, teaching him to touch the power that had been with him all his life. However, he had yet to actually wield it. Svata relaxed and searched for the peace through which the Force could be perceived, an old friend embracing him in warmth and strength. Svata had initially had difficulty perceiving the Force, having ignored it for so long that opening his eyes to its presence was as difficult as feeling his own heartbeat just by standing still. The trick to overcoming this handicap, as it turned out, had been to use something Svata had in abundance. Memories. Svata spoke, voice smooth and calming. Beside him, Parami played a low, sleepy song, integrating with and supporting Svata's reassuring words. He spoke of Hava, an ancient ryn of cunning and loyalty, and his many acts as he traveled the galaxy and founded the Dragostes and their four brother clans. He spoke of Hava's wisdom as he challenged alien rulers and outwitted terrible monsters, and how he brought his family through it all to prosper in peace. And throughout the story was Sarami's music, as lovely as her, rising and falling in soporific tones. Her nose's flutelike timbre blended seamlessly with her low humming, the two separate melodies harmonizing into something wordless and warm. In the hammock before them, strung between two starship frame struts, their youngest son still shuddered in fear, but his nightmare was already fading as his parents reassured him. His breathing slowed and deepened, and Svata saw his eyes close midway through the tale. He didn't stop until he'd finished the whole story. He didn't want the moment to end. Peace came over Svata. The bitter taste of loss briefly tinged the memory, but Svata moved past it with well worn acceptance. He had lost much, it was true, but he would not lose the man of that precious moment. He could feel the Force, ever present and ever constant, extending through and beyond him. He reached out, his hands mirroring the motions of his mind, and grasped it. He couldn't describe how it felt. It was like swimming in an ocean, like holding a sun, like taking a deep breath, and yet it wasn't really like any of that. Did it respond to his will, or was he responding to it? Were his emotions feeding into it, or was the Force giving them to him? He couldn't tell where the Force began and where he ended, if there even was a distinction. Before him, The Sarlaac was indistinguishable in the Force, just a part of the background, as impossible to spot as a droplet in a stream. He acted as The Sarlaac instructed, turning the flow of the Force inward. He struggled, forcing himself to remain calm. If he tried to force it, it would only slip from him. For a second, he held it, the Force flowing back into him, concealing him. Then he lost his grip, and his breath that he hadn't known he was holding escaped. Still, not bad for a first try.
  8. Relaxing, Svata shook his head and chuckled, dropping the formal tone and letting his more natural, jovial attitude emerge. He didn't know the Sarlaac well yet, and he'd always found it was better to show respect and be proven wrong than vice-versa. "Apologies, your lesson is well received. I spoke out of fear Defender Sarlaac, not wisdom. I've come to treasure my family in the Jensaarai and I am afraid to see us drawn to the attention of the Sith. But I understand, and I'll do my best to deal with that fear in the future. I won't dishonor the Saarai-Kaar or the Jensaarai." He grinned. "And don't worry about me 'borrowing' anything. Those days are decades behind me. But I will look into starting construction of my lightsaber. I'll admit, I've gotten the basics of Cleddyfymladd from training, but swordplay hasn't been my strong suit." He fingered his staff. "Staff and spear fighting are more my style. Perhaps one of those double-bladed sabers with a long hilt..." He absentmindedly blew a soft, trilling melody through his nose as he pondered.
  9. From behind, an old, serious ryn in colorful clothing strode up to stand beside his master. His iron staff tinked against the bridge floor as he rested it against his shoulder. "Master, far be it from me to question the wisdom of our Saarai-Kaar, but is this a good idea?" Despite the fact that the ryn was clearly decades older than his master, he spoke formally, with honest deference and respect. "This rebellion is nascent, and the Jedi have a...sour reputation these days in some circles. They are not the group they were in the days of the High Republic, and the Sith are as powerful as ever." As they approached the planet, Svata's fingers brushed against his good luck charms. Despite the good-natured ribbing the other, much younger apprentices had given him, he couldn't bring himself to part with all the ryn superstitions of his long life, and this was a situation that could use a little luck.
  10. Identity Real Name: Svata Dragoste A.K.A: Svata Homeworld: Space-born Species: Ryn Physical Description Age: 61 Height: 4’10” Weight: 115 lbs Hair: White Eyes: Yellow Sex: Male Equipment Clothing or Armor: Colorful vest and pants, and an assortment of scarves and charms draped around his neck. Clothes usually have numerous hidden pockets and are padded to make concealed weapons difficult to spot. Weapon: Heavy Blaster Pistol, 6 non-tech throwing knives, iron quarterstaff with a concealed vibroblade at each end, 2 flash grenades Common Inventory: Commlink, slicer-quality datapad Faction Information Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User Force Sensitive Alignment: Lawful Good Current Faction Affiliation: Jensaarai/Rebel Alliance Current Faction Rank: Jensaarai apprentice History Force Side: Light Trained by: The Sarlaac Trained who: None Known Skills: Slicer (Expert) Galactic Knowledge (Master) Pilot (Expert) Mireinio Ysbrydol: Jensaarai practice of spiritual refinement (Skilled) Ymladd Heb Arfau: Jensaarai art of unarmed combat (Novice) Cleddyfymladd: Jensaarai art of swordsmanship/lightsaber combat (Novice) Arosymladd: Jensaarai art of wielding staves (Expert) Tafluymladd: Jensaarai art of throwing blades/lightsabers (Skilled) Gwaywffon-Ymladd: Jensaarai art of wielding spears (Expert) Penhwyadymladd: Jensaarai art of wielding the lightsaber pike (Novice) Crymancadwynymladd: Jensaarai art of wielding the chain and sickle (Novice) Tancelf: Jensaarai practice of using firearms/blasters (Skilled) Cuddiocelf: Jensaarai art of disguise (Expert) Dull-Llechwraidd: Jensaarai art of stealth (Expert) Hyfforddiant Elfenol: Jensaarai training in use of the natural environment and elements (Skilled) Strategaeth: Jensaarai training in strategy (Expert) Ysbio: Jensaarai art of espionage (Expert) Dianc-Cuddio: Jensaarai art of escape (Expert) Background: Svata has lived his life in the Dragoste clan. Growing up under the care of a dozen uncles, aunts, cousins, and siblings along with his parents, Svata had no shortage of family. He spent his early childhood on the ramshackle ships the clan used, away from the harsh, prejudiced galaxy, and as a result developed the classic ryn insularity. His family was everything to him, and outsiders were just a potential threat. A knack for acting turned into confidence games, and soon Svata was a living example of the stereotypical dishonest ryn, conning gullible marks out of credits they obviously didn’t deserve. No one suffered like the ryn, so why should the humans who ran the galaxy and lived on velvet pillows keep all the creds to themselves? Especially when they were too stupid to see through a simple play? Occasionally he got caught, and he’d always play the part of the shamed son to his clan when they bailed him out. Behind the facade though, he saw it as a learning experience. They saw through his ruse? He learned to always have an escape ready. They locked him up? He learned to pick locks. They beat him up? He started carrying knives and a blaster. There was no telling where Svata might have ended up, had Uncle Meska not spotted his game. A bear of a man, Meska Dragoste was the keeper of the clan’s traditions and folklore, bearer of an unwritten history spanning centuries. He saw how fast Svata picked up his sordid skills, and decided to put the teenager’s memory to better use. From then on, Svata had no time for his cons, as he spent nearly every waking hour absorbing Meska’s stories. Meska would talk nonstop for hours, barely pausing to eat or guzzle his cheap booze. No matter how tipsy he got, the big ryn never garbled a word or jumbled a sentence, each story a perfect recitation. When he forced Svata to repeat it all back, he’d cuff the boy on the head until he got it right. For years Svata resented the old man, but soon enough the stories began to sink in, and Svata got the greatest gift Meska could have given him: perspective. He saw how his family had suffered at the misconceptions of others, and how his behavior wasn’t helping anything. In a very real way, he was dishonoring every Dragoste who’d come before him, tearing down the work they'd done to help their family prosper with his selfish games. After that epiphany, his cons seemed dirty and childish compared to the legends in his family history, and Svata slowly became an upstanding member of the clan. Time passed, and eventually the reformed Svata married Parami, a ryn from another clan. With their children, the clan grew, and once Meska passed on, Svata took on his role as keeper of the Dragostes. He still did the occasional play acting now and again, but now with the intent of disarming situations and keeping his clan out of trouble. Of course, sometimes the only way to keep the clan safe was to skirt the law, and if that was the case then so be it. Svata lived his life as a proper ryn should, devoted to his family. One day, the clan elders came to him and asked him to meet with a delegation from another clan to help negotiate a marriage between one of Svata’s grandsons and a young girl. When he arrived, he found only the bodies of the clan delegation, and recognized the trademarks of an imperial purge. He ran back to his own clan’s encampment and discovered it a smoking ruin, and Sith trooper boot prints everywhere. He was the last Dragoste left alive. Svata self-destructed after that, carrying out reckless acts of violence and sabotage against the Sith, hoping to join his family. After one such excursion where he’d miscalculated the timer for a bomb, he was nearly blown up and was knocked unconscious. When he awoke, he was on the Raka Nwul, the Jensaarai home-ship. Confused, he was told that a Jensaarai had brought him in, though they would not tell him which one. They went on to explain that Svata was Force-sensitive, which went a long way to explaining Svata’s inexplicable health and vitality at his age. Whoever had found him had been drawn to him and his anguish, and had taken a chance to try and save the old storyteller. Svata’s deeply ingrained sense of hospitality kept him from outright insulting those who had accepted a criminal into their home by rudely leaving, so he allowed himself to be taught the Jensaarai way. He intended to leave after a week or two once he’d given the order a solid chance. To his surprise, the ways of the Jensaarai resonated with him, and he found new camaraderie in his fellow apprentices. His family’s legacy of tales and legends were incredibly popular among the younger trainees, and Svata found himself growing more and more attached to these honorable folk. He found he wanted to protect them. Svata threw himself into his studies after that, and has mastered the basic, mundane skills of a Jensaarai. Now ready to be trained in the ways of the Force, he has been apprenticed to the Sarlaac, and is eager to become what he has always wished to be. A Defender of his people.
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