Private Nice Guys [Balun]

[Tev Ontarre]

Home Sector
Avalonia, Dosuun
904 ABY

The midday sun bathed Avalonia's Grand Promenade in a golden glow, highlighting the marble walkways and towering monuments that marked the city's storied history. The air carried a festive energy as citizens moved purposefully, their arms laden with goods destined for donation hubs, a hallmark of the Festival of Thanks. Tev Ontarre leaned against a wrought-iron railing overlooking the central fountain, its cascading waters reflecting the banners of gratitude strung between streetlamps. He adjusted the cuff of his leather jacket, his piercing green eyes scanning the crowd for Balun Dashiell , it wasn't often that Tev entertained visitors.

As a distant choir began rehearsing a hymn of thanks, Tev allowed himself a brief moment of calm. The community's unity during the festival mirrored the ideals he fought to preserve—a poignant reminder of why he continued to stand against the galaxy's darkness. Scratching the back of his head, the man sighed, and felt the chill of the Autumn winds in Avalonia.

Tev's boots echoed against the polished stone as he moved toward the plaza, weaving through knots of citizens engrossed in festival preparations. The automated teller greeted him with sterile efficiency, dispensing a fresh stack of sovereigns into his hand. He tucked them neatly into his wallet and resumed his journey along the Grand Promenade.

Ahead, Rosewood Castle loomed—a towering testament to Avalonia's dual legacies. The Galidraani stonework, ornate and imposing, spoke of old-world traditions, while the First Order banners snapping in the breeze served as a bold proclamation of the city's Imperial heritage. His thoughts lingered on Balun Dashiell as he strolled past rows of vendors setting up their festival booths. Balun's disinterest in aligning with the Jedi or Sith resonated with Tev, who had seen firsthand the devastation wrought by such rigid extremes. While the Commonwealth's Guild of Force Users wasn't without flaws, its emphasis on choice and independence offered something rare—a measure of freedom in how one wielded the Force.

A glance at his chronometer confirmed the time. Balun's ship would be docking at the Armitage Intergalactic Starport soon. With purposeful strides, Tev headed toward the transit hub, anticipation tightening his chest. He settled into his seat, his gaze sweeping across the train car's diverse occupants. On his left, members of the Order of the Lore Keepers bore their sigil proudly on their shoulders. Tev smiled faintly; he admired their dedication to preserving the traditions and histories of the Commonwealth's many worlds. Opposite them, a group of Dark Wardens sat in hushed but animated conversation. Their tattooed hands marked them as enforcers against the galaxy's darker threats, their demeanor as rugged as their reputation.

Families, students, and commuters filled the train, their chatter blending with the hum of its engines. The train's popularity on this main city line made it a microcosm of Avalonia's cultural vibrancy. Tev leaned back, adjusting his jacket, readying himself for the meeting to come. The train lurched forward, smoothly accelerating along the magnetic lines. Tev let his eyes drift shut, the steady rhythm and distant conversations fading into a dull murmur. The soft ping of the conductor's announcement stirred the car's occupants, silencing chatter as the stops were called out in an array of languages: Dosuunai, Seoularian, Mephoutian, and others, Basic trailing at the end.

When Tev reopened his eyes, the holographic map above displayed their position—a glowing dot nearing the starport. Rising to his feet, he steadied himself for the approaching destination. At the starport, Tev Ontarre quickened his pace, eager to finally meet Balun Dashiell and showcase the Commonwealth's vibrant culture. The arrival gates buzzed with activity, and Tev noted an increase in security personnel—a precaution typical during festival seasons. The thrumming vigilance reminded him of the lengths people might go to disrupt peace.

Overhead, between the scrolling boards of arrivals and departures, the Dosuunian Broadcast Corporation's news stream aired updates on local and galactic events. Tev ignored it; media chatter had a way of agitating what was already complex.

 

[Balun Dashiell]

Location: Armitage Intergalactic Starport.
Apparel: X.

The Nomad Commercial Heavy Freighter descended gracefully onto one of the starport's expansive landing pads, its immense shadow stretching across the bustling platform as engines hummed to a halt. Traffic control had granted Balun clearance and a formal welcome moments earlier, a routine exchange in the heart of Dosuun's interstellar hub.

The freighter itself was an impressive sight—an enormous commercial vessel, heavily modified both inside and out. Once a derelict husk drifting aimlessly in deep space, Balun had salvaged it, personally overseeing its meticulous repair and transformation. Now, the Nomad served as a cornerstone of Dashiell Retrofit's smaller production line. Its previous owner, clearly an engineer of some ingenuity, had outfitted the ship with a meluclar furnace—a compact, mobile forge that allowed its user to craft and innovate while surrounded by the solitude of the stars.

For Balun, this arrival marked two significant firsts: his inaugural visit to Dosuun and his initial encounter with the Commonwealth. He had crossed paths with mentions of the Commonwealth during his travels, though he'd always dismissed it as yet another Imperialist regime. Balun had never bothered to delve into its structure or philosophy, content to let his assumptions stand. Yet now, as he stepped into their world, curiosity simmered beneath his initial indifference.

Lately, Balun found his thoughts turning toward his future. The shifting tides of the Tingel Arm Coalition, now forced to submit to the Empire of the Lost, weighed heavily on his mind. Compounding this was the absence of his former Master, who, though unaffiliated with the Coalition, had stepped away from his role due to personal obligations on Corellia. Balun respected his Master's decision to prioritize family and duty, but the loss had left him adrift. Without a mentor, his training in the Force had stagnated over the years, leaving him yearning for guidance and growth.

It was time to seek out a new teacher, someone who could help him reignite the path he had begun. Whether this mentor was part of a greater organization or a solitary practitioner mattered little to Balun; what mattered was the quality of their character. They needed to be good at heart.

Though his business ventures flourished, and credits were never in short supply, a deeper emptiness lingered within him—a void where his connection to the Force should have thrived. Balun longed not for power or control but for understanding and mastery. He desired to deepen his bond with the ethereal plane, to honor the mysterious energy that tied him to something greater. To walk that path again would be to rediscover his purpose and come closer to the truth of his calling.

When Balun sent out word that he was seeking wisdom, guidance, and the simple pleasure of thoughtful conversation and good company, one reply stood out among the rest. To his surprise, an invitation arrived from none other than Tev Ontarre of Dosuun. It was unexpected, but intriguing—a gesture that hinted at opportunities he hadn't anticipated, and perhaps a perspective uniquely aligned with his own quest for understanding.

As the freighter's loading ramp hissed open, a rush of cool air swept into the ship, carrying with it the sounds and scents of Dosuun's bustling starport. Balun made his way to the rear of the cargo hold, his movements deliberate, his robes flowing with a quiet elegance as he descended into the open air. He paused at the base of the ramp, drawing in a deep breath, savoring the crisp freshness after weeks aboard the Nomad.

It wasn't long before his attention was drawn to a group approaching from across the landing pad. A welcome party, by all appearances. The men and women of the Commonwealth exuded a distinct presence—formal, deliberate, and unmistakably significant in both number and bearing. Balun couldn't help but wonder at the reception; he was no one of great renown, yet they approached him as if he might be.

Stepping forward with calm confidence, he moved away from the shadow of his freighter to meet them halfway, his curiosity and composure guiding each step.