Svata Dragoste

Svata and the three crewmen volunteers got to their feet in the darkened hold of the ship.

Jara, the human engineer, immediately walked to the wall and hooked up her datapad into the wall-jack. Kon and Veremo, the two fresh Pau'an apprentices and brothers, drew their gleaming blaster pistols and moved to cover Jara, somehow making crouching behind boxes look elegant and refined like every waking moment of a Pau'an's life.

Svata, for his part, drew his blocky heavy blaster pistol and made a slow circuit of the room.

 

"Do you think this will be worth taking?" Kon asked, never taking his eyes or blaster barrel off the cargo hold's single entrance.

 

"Not about profit, it's about the message. And don't talk unless you have to."

 

"I'm in," Jara called. Svata rolled his eyes and walked back to the grubby, scruffy middle-aged woman.

 

"What are we looking at for personnel?"

 

"Ship's records only call out two crewmen, the pilot and the engineer."

 

"Droid guards then."

 

"That'd be my guess. Can't access them through this connection. Maybe from the cockpit?"

 

"Don't bother. On a ship like this, the droids will be under independent orders and closed off from transmissions. Standard wartime security."

 

"So then we..."

 

Svata's lopsided grin gleamed inside his bulky helmet.

 

"We convince them to give us what we want the normal way."

 

Kon and Veremo shared a look out of the corner of Svata's eye, unreadable.

 

"Come on. Let's get to-"

 

The door whooshed open, and a fusillade of blaster fire cut through the air. There was a moment of silence, then a clank as the unfortunate droid who'd opened it fell to the floor, it's club tumbling from its hand.

 

Jara peeked out from behind one of the crates. Svata hadn't even seen her move.

 

"Is...is that a police droid?"

 

"Repurposed GU-model looks like. Betting there's tons of these things lying in the rubble of Coruscant. If this is all they got, we're in good hands. But keep on guard. They might have KXs or worse on here."

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The creeping pace the quartet made through the hallways was only occasionally broken by blaster fire as another droid met its expiration date. So far they'd come across two more GUs, and gotten surprised by an OOM-model that had somehow managed to cram itself into a ventilation shaft before jumping out them with a pair of knives. The brothers had shown their training by elegantly dispatching it before it hit the ground.

 

Jara frowned as she opened another locked door.

 

"Kind of scrappy for a Sith security force, isn't it?"

 

Svata shrugged. "Cheap. Not much else to say. Doesn't matter what galaxy you come from, the government always has cutbacks."

 

Jara didn't look convinced, but pointed to the next door at the end of the hall. "There's the cockpit. We take that, we have control over this ship. We jettison the cargo to the interdictor's tractor beams, then bug out."

 

Svata nodded, and turned to the brothers. Even as serious as Pau'ans usually looked, their faces were grim and stony. They likely thought what Svata did. If you were going to defend one room on this ship, it would be this one.

 

The trio of Jensaarai apprentices approached the door, blasters ready, as Jara hooked her datapad up again and got to work.

 

"Remember boys. We leave the crew alive."

 

Two perfectly mirrored nods were his only acknowledgement.

 

The door slid open, Jara fell back against the wall and as much behind cover as she could, the three apprentices dove into the room, coming up blasters ready.

 

Cowering in front of them were two Bothans, one male adult and one younger girl with a belt of tools around her waist. Neither was armed, and both were terrified.

 

Svata lowered his weapon, though the brothers looked less sure.

 

"Put those down boys. These are independent contractors, not leatherjacks."

 

Hesitantly, the two Pau'ans let their grips slacken, though they didn't holster their weapons.

 

Svata turned back to the pair of Bothans, to find that the male pilot (a brother perhaps?) had moved to shield the younger engineer with his body.

 

"Knock it off with the drama boy, we're not going to hurt you. We're just going to relieve you of your cargo and be on our way." Svata motioned for Jara to come in. She entered but kept her eyes on the Bothan duo as he hooked herself into the ship's console.

 

"We..." the male started hesitantly, but his tone growing stronger with each word, "we need that cargo. If we don't deliver..."

 

"Whatever chubby clerk you're signing off with will realize you didn't rob the glorious Sith when he sees the damage on your ship.

 

Oh...sorry about that.

 

I understand this is going to be a loss for you, but I'm guessing you don't even own this ship. Am I right?"

 

The expression of a slashrat caught in a spotlight seemed stuck to the male's face, and in a confused tone he answered, "Right...right we run it for one of the imperial contractors."

 

"There you see? Your contractor will cover the loss, not you. Call them up before you get anywhere and mention that you'll tell the Sith about the security they gave you for the ship. I'm guessing they don't want their dark lords to know their contractor was using recycled droids to guard their precious cargo. They'll eat the cost to keep you quiet, and you'll be on your way.

 

Jara, you got it yet?"

 

"Just...got it. Cargo is away."

 

Svata turned back and gave a bow with a flourish of his tail.

 

"Pleasure meeting you both. Have a safe trip." He activated his comm-link as the group walked away from the confused but relieved Bothans. "Hey, open a door for us, we're coming back. It looks like we got lucky on this ship. Hopefully Sarlaac didn't get the worse pick."

On 7/24/2020 at 9:50 PM, The Sarlacc said:

Turning to Svata, The Sarlacc placed a reassuring hand on the elder’s shoulder. “Are you prepared to board the vessels of oppression and take from them to save lives? We kill only when we must. Let us hope that our show of force will be enough for the downtrodden trudging under the yoke of the Sith. We will offer them freedom. Perhaps that will be enough.”

 

Svata gave Sarlaac a lopsided grin, his whiskers bristling. In one hand he cradled his iron staff, hidden blades sheathed. In the other loosely dangled his heavy blaster pistol. The old ryn looked every bit the part of a rogue.

 

"It'll all depend on who's onboard and what they're transporting, but if this shipment is worth taking...well, it's probably worth protecting. We can hope, but I'd be ready for droids or troopers. We probably won't need to worry too much about reinforcements, but with the rebels stepping up their attacks I wouldn't put it past the Sith to start instigating piracy policies. Ships patrolling just off the hyperlanes, that sort of thing. Sith can get pretty ruthless when they get pushed. I heard a story about a freighter transporting explosives, only for them to go off once they were boarded by pirates. Turned out they'd been shipping those bombs back and forth for weeks waiting for a pirate to take the bait."

 

Svata shrugged.

 

"In the end we can't control what they'll do,  just do our best to do the right thing. At least, that's what's always helped me sleep at night."

 

He turned back, and a serious expression tightened his face. Old pain danced across his eyes for a moment, then it was gone.

 

"Just gotta do what we can."

Humming a marching song as he worked, Svata carved and assembled from the pile of tech and oddities on the table. Slowly, over hours, his creation began to take shape.

 

The center of the construction was the bone hilt, hollowed out for the power cell, crystal chambers, and the various other bits that made the ancient weapon work. He set down the vibro-etcher and took a long look at the decorative carving running along the length of the soon-to-be lightsaber.

 

Constellations adorned the whole of the hilt, a starfield as detailed as the night sky. A simple, small outline of a sarlaac weaved between one cluster of stars on one side of the bone shaft, and a tiny ship moved through the stars on the others.

 

My teacher and my family.

 

Svata smiled as he stared at the empty spaces between the stars along the rest of the hilt.

 

Looks like I've got a lot of space to fill.

 

Svata began the work of placing the crystals into their respective chambers. He sunk into the Force as he'd been taught, for only through his connection to the mystical, uniting power could he complete his work. A bitter but pleasant ache unfolded in his chest as he worked, a memory coming to mind...

 

Parami laughed, clapping her hands in time with Svata's silly marching song. Behind the exaggerated goosestepping of her shameless husband, their first son marched in time, breaking pace every few steps to run and catch up to his father's longer stride. A durasteel strut lay propped against the 4-year old boys shoulder, his "weapon" that he used to hunt the ship's loth cat.

 

Unfortunately for Svata, the universe seemed to have granted the young the equivalent energy of a collapsing star, and the proud ryn had to admit defeat and end the game. He pulled his son aside and held the boy's "weapon".

 

"Now, why do we use weapons?" he asked.

 

The little boy opened his mouth, but then stopped, cocking his head in a comical fashion as he thought. He'd recently figured out that stopping and thinking got him the right answer more often than just blurting out whatever came into his head. Unfortunately, he was also four, and Svata could tell after a few moments that his son had gotten distracted and was off on some internal tangent.

 

Parami, no doubt guessing Svata's intention, walked over.

 

"What does Aunt Kila use her weapons for?" she asked.

 

This answer knew, and he shouted, "To protect the clan!"

 

Svata smiled. "That's right. That's what weapons are for. To protect the people and things you care about."

 

"I don't think Aunt Kila likes me."

 

Svata couldn't help but smile a little. The abrasive Kila had problems with children, and their son's recent obsession with weapons had earned her an endless stream of questions on a few occasions. Her respect for Svata's position had kept her from snapping at the little boy, but children were more perceptive than people thought.

 

"I bet you're wrong. You're a Dragoste. Kila's a Dragoste."

 

This seemed to appease the boy. "What should I fight for?"

 

Svata considered, but it was Parami who answered. "Son, you should fight for whatever you believe in and whoever you want to protect."

 

"I'll be a great protector like Aunt Kila!"

 

Parami smiled and looked at Svata. "I know you will."

 

Click

 

The last piece of the the emitter array snapped into place on the hilt. The weapon was done.

 

Svata wiped his eyes.

 

"Alright. You just need a name.

 

...Protector." He chuckled. "Simple, but I think that fits us, don't you think?"

 

He pressed the activation switch, and the twin golden blades hummed to life.

 

"Protector..." he muttered, still grinning.

 

___________________________________________________________________________________

 

Svata stepped onto the bridge.

 

On 7/24/2020 at 9:50 PM, The Sarlacc said:

Turning to Svata, The Sarlacc placed a reassuring hand on the elder’s shoulder. “Are you prepared to board the vessels of oppression and take from them to save lives? We kill only when we must. Let us hope that our show of force will be enough for the downtrodden trudging under the yoke of the Sith. We will offer them freedom. Perhaps that will be enough.”

 

He grinned as he wrapped his new lightsaber hilt in cloth to hide it from casual sight.

 

"Defender Sarlaac, if you're going to teach me the mysteries of the Force, the honor of the Jensaarai, and my place in the universe, I think it's only right I teach you something." He stepped up to the viewscreen. "How to enjoy your work. And there's nothing more heartwarming than seeing a bully get what's coming to them. So yeah...I'm ready."

 

 

 

 

On 7/18/2020 at 8:51 AM, The Sarlacc said:

”As such, we ought to ensure you are properly prepared for battle. I know you have trained with a myriad of weapons and training sabers back home. It is time to build your own weapon. Even if we do not use our sabers so as to further hide our identities. Do you know how the saber is constructed?”  The Duros carefully removed his saber hilt from his belt and set it on the table between the two Jensaarai. “If you need it, please reach out in the force and use mine as a guide.”

 

Svata let his mind sink into the Force. He hummed another old song to himself, and it took him a moment to recognize the tune his subconscious had chosen.

 

It was a funerary dirge.

 

The soft but steady notes thrummed in his head as they faintly escaped into the air. He saw the Sarlaac's lightsaber then, not in the physical sense but in another way. He saw the crystal, a focal point in the Force that glinted and gleamed with colors indescribable, yet an obvious reflection of its master. He saw hints of the deeds it had accomplished, or perhaps deeds it had yet to complete.

 

Svata smiled.

 

"I think I'll be fine."

On 7/14/2020 at 11:27 AM, The Sarlacc said:

“Brother Svata, it appears that we will be lending our skills to the Jedi right away. I believe that your experiences and particular charm will be of great use to us. Do you happen to have a disguise for a space pirate in those pockets of yours?”

 

Svata burst out in a belly laugh.

 

"You know, if I didn't know you better, I'd call that comment speciesist!

 

Also yes. Probably know a few tricks and some good fake names to go under. Haven't heard about Gorri the Mad Dug in a few years, so I'm guessing he's dead. Can probably ape his signal pattern, maybe scuff up the ship with some scribbles of severed hands, that kind of thing." Svata grinned. "You just let me know how authentic you want it to be. Time was a ryn caravan couldn't pass through Sector R-27 without looking like a band of murderers who just ate a trandoshan slaver for brunch. Lesson one, you can never have enough industrial grade cleaner."

 

He started towards the ship.

 

"Enough said."

"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?"

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."

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.

On 7/5/2020 at 4:57 PM, karyu128 said:

Kel watched on in silence as the grand master and the Jensaarai discussed the histories of each of their groups. For a moment it seemed like hostilities would ensue when defender mantis aggressively rose from his seat in response to one of Adenna's remarks, but defender sarlacc prevented any escalation. Soon after, Kel was beginning to feel out of place when he heard a ping from his comm. The Jensaarai apprentice had requested a tour. seeing this as a perfect opportunity, Kel excused himself from the gathering to acquaint himself with the new comer.

 

When Kel arrived at the hangar he recieved a salute from the platform guards that Svata had spoken to. "As you were good sirs. I can handle things from here." and so the guards had returned to their posts leaving Kel and Svata to their own devices. "So, shall we be going then?"

 

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."

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?"

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

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

Dual-bladed yellow lightsaber

 

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 Lore (Master)

Pilot (Expert)

Lightsaber wielder, Form VI (Novice)

The 15 Essential Skills of the Jensaarai 

• 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)

Force Skills:

Telekinesis (Novice)

Animal Friendship (Novice)

The Secret of Evaporation (Novice)

Buried Presence (Novice)

 

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.