It had been months since he'd stepped foot in this building. This hall. Adorning the walls were banners of one philosophy and language or another. Some were states of mind, some were as simple as the word "Iron" or the closest word the culture had to it. Weapons of all shapes and sizes decorated the lower section of the walls, all easily in reach. Extra hand wrappings hung from pegs. Most had stained blood coating them. An assortment of padding sat around the hall. Gloves, shin and elbow guards, thigh and abdomen protectors, headgear even. Free standing bags could be hoisted higher or lower as the user deemed fit. Posts for the hardening of bone and tissue ran like columns down the length of the hall. Concoctions of herbal oils for pain relief, inflammation reduction, and healing were often close by as was tape for the setting of dislocated fingers or sprains. All there was in the back was a couple bedrolls and a wooden tub. Water had to be carried in from outside. The temperature at its hottest was around 60 degrees Fahrenheit in this part of the world. During this season it was usually 45, around 20 at night.
If he had a concept of hallowed ground. This was it. He prayed here, in his own way and to his own deities that not even he could name.
Most of the people of this planet were agrarian in nature. There were only a few spaceports on the entire planet and some towns only had one speeder. He'd chosen this spot for its isolation and its calm serenity. He lived a life of violence with a mind that would rather destroy itself than let him rest. If he wasn't on the battlefield trying to die, in the underbelly of some city trying to die, or jumping off or out of something, he was here. The air just sat well with him. The chill settled his bones and tightened his muscles just enough.
It had been a bit of a walk along the path to reach his hall. He left his speeder in a small clearing he'd constructed a sort of garage in. There was enough room for another, he'd made it that way in the chance he hurt himself too much to move and required the assistance of a doctor from the nearest town. He'd protect the locals in the eventuality of pirate or bandit attacks but most knew to stay away. Whether they knew him by his 'gam or by his face it didn't matter. He'd sit alone up here, mostly his time was spent living simply and training. Using what supplies he wanted to or hunting for what he needed if he wished for a more spartan lifestyle. Meditation took practice, but it kept him from extremes of emotion and self destructive behaviors.
This place was cleansing to him. It was a returning to roots. The light snowfall already melting crunched under his boots. He placed one hand affectionately on the door before placing the ungloved hand on a reader. The door seemed to grind open, squeaking against the slightly rusted metal. The air that rushed out to greet him carried a chill against his face, devoid of helmet. He'd need to light the fires again, get this place warmed up. Rekindle the forge while he waited.