Lord Gaius
Chosen
For those whom had known Hasjo before his transition into his suit, he had been a powerfully built man. His species, the Nautolans, were a naturally enduring race with great strength. Hasjo held a long serving military record, and as a Guardian, he maintained a pinnacle of strength. Brutishly thick in muscle but as flexible as a Twi'lek dancer. Every morning on Voss, the storm of boots could be heard as hundreds of troops performed Physical Training, shouting out their cry. At their head was their Jedi General; Hasjo Hallu. The night previous Hasjo had welcomed the other Jedi to join in freely as they please. The early bird catches the warm he had said, and it was a cold, dreary morning at the end of a long week. 0500 hours was such a harsh time to wake up for training, but somehow the Sixth Battalion did it every day, right on schedule. This morning was no different. Hasjo led his troops, wondering if any other Jedi would join him. Those who were awake could hear their echoing chants as they marched their way across the plains, singing.
When I die please bury me deep!
Place an AB-1 down by my feet!
Don't cry for me, don't shed no tear!
Just pack my box wtih PT gear!
'Cuz one early morning 'bout zero-five!
The ground will rumble, there'll be lightning in the sky!
Don't you worry, don't come undone!
It's just my ghost on a PT run!
Place an AB-1 down by my feet!
Don't cry for me, don't shed no tear!
Just pack my box wtih PT gear!
'Cuz one early morning 'bout zero-five!
The ground will rumble, there'll be lightning in the sky!
Don't you worry, don't come undone!
It's just my ghost on a PT run!
