Missing Master(s)

[Ben Corscifine]

[member="Zylah Dvale"]

Soceras, The Angel's Den

James Justice's palace of vice was in full swing on the planet where the party never stopped.

​And Ben Corscifine was at one of the club's several bars, having a drink. He was a friend of the Justices now, and it came with benefits and temptations. A well of free drinks could be counted as either or both. A year ago, Ben would never be in such a place and doing such a thing. He had fallen out of old patterns now, and he had more medications than mentors at his disposal since leaving Lothal. This particular long night, Ben was seized with an unusually possessive bout of depression. In truth, he had had more than one drink, and he was spiraling inward. He was at the point where he barely heard the pulsing of the music or the commotion of partygoers around him.

He was spiraling inward with thoughts of things long lost--his friends in the Jedi Order, the direction of his life and training, his dear master Corvus. Despite his distance from these things, when they reappeared in his mind they did so with an intensity Ben could not shake. And, after all, clearing his mind was always his greatest struggle as a padawan.

The lights reflected off the colored liquid in his glass, and the young man breathed a deep sigh. Somewhere in the fabric of the Force, he felt a small twinge. The young man ignored it, his head too full of the past to acknowledge present or future. How unaware he was of the potential of what--or who--was approaching.

 

[Elijah Black]

[member="Ben Corscifine"]

It was Zylah's first time visiting Soceras. A planet of vice, sin and endless nights was not usually the kind that pulled her towards it. Somehow this one had. As a Padawan she may have been curious about such places. They were forbidden, not often spoken of; and when it was it was usually in warning. It had the reverse effect of making it seem much more interesting than it really was. She had since then grown past such things. She had seen more of the world now, and she knew her role in it.

Everyone else would soon realise her role as well. Zylah was not discreet. She wore the traditional brown robes of the Jedi, ontop of beige tunics and undertunics. They fit her much better now than they had years ago. They had become more identity than uniform. Though Republic and Jedi Order seemed to have fallen asunder, it showed her heritage. The attire gained her little respect here, as people seemed to shun her. Those eyes that did not avoid her gaze shone with disdain, and possibly a hint of fear. How corrupted their view of the Jedi must be. She couldn't help but wonder who had led them astray.

The doors to the bar slid open. It was not for this place she had arrived. She had business elsewhere, but for reasons she could not explain she had this strong feeling she would not make the journey alone. It was a feeling, a hunch if you will, she had learned to trust. It was by the grace of something she could not define as anything but the will of the Force that she now stepped towards the bar. Her own ship, which only held enough space for one, she had left behind at the hangar. She had come to this city looking for more appropriate transport. It was during this task she had felt a slight pull, a tingle in the Force that drew her to this location. Zylah was still unaware of what to expect inside.

"Blue milk" Zylah said softly and with a smile to the barkeep as she took a seat not far away from Mr. Corscifine. The bartender did not look amused, his eyes lingering on her a good moment before he moved to get her drink with a dissatisfied grunt. Maybe it was her ordering milk. Maybe it was the obvious Jedi attire. Perhaps it was the mixture. Zylah seemed to either not notice or simply not care.