Keepin Corellia Weird
Had it really been that long? Force, had it really? When things had went sour yet again, he had returned to the Rift. It was almost more home to him than Corellia really. At first he worked as a lawman, but the laws of the Coalition were like the laws of any society of any race. Easily bent and their enforcers corruptible. Soon enough he had run afoul of a fluffed up politician making money off of selling young girls to offworld businessmen on Demonsgate. Small time, elite operation.
Julius had fallen upon him like an exploding star. The man's home was wrecked, operation in ruins, and above him stood the former Green Jedi Grandmaster. Rage had boiled black in his heart and frenzy in his eyes, before old teachings from a mentor rose up. The realization of the constantly repressed then embraced and then repressed emotion from the chaos of his life had become critical. And, as before, his mentors had come to his succor. Not much will be said about the fate of that slaver or the events of that day. But Julius sent his ship back to Socorro with instructions to dry-dock it for long storage, and took only what could be hauled in a rucksack, his armor left behind in the ship as well.
Since that day, sighting were rarer as time went on. Always there then gone. Always with the Monks. Rumors abounded of the former Jedi on occasion taking an apprentice or companion, teaching or fighting alongside them. But none can provide proof to have studied with or served the Battlemaster. But none of that mattered as he sat at a quiet corner in a rowdy dive on Corellia itself. Years ago, the League had been born in this very tavern. The Green Devil had seen better days, but it was far from falling apart. The very seeds of Corellia's independence owed itself to this grimy bar. Poetic justice, really.
Thankfully, with the heavy salt in his beard and hair, and the rougher nature of his longcoat and clothing, no one recognized him much. The only comment made was to the First Class Bloodstripes he wore. And those just drew an eye that quickly averted from most. Whispers from others. He may be trying to be incognito to an extent, but he'd be damn to hide his 'stripes.
He was waiting for an old... Friend... Sel was never his, not quite, but the tension and pull couldn't be denied. And if there was one person he could count on after all these years to answer his comm and then show up to the invite WITHOUT the express and only intent of murder, it would be her. She'd at least woo dinner and a drink out of him first. Well, he hoped so anyway.
[member="Selinica Miriya Cailis"]
Julius had fallen upon him like an exploding star. The man's home was wrecked, operation in ruins, and above him stood the former Green Jedi Grandmaster. Rage had boiled black in his heart and frenzy in his eyes, before old teachings from a mentor rose up. The realization of the constantly repressed then embraced and then repressed emotion from the chaos of his life had become critical. And, as before, his mentors had come to his succor. Not much will be said about the fate of that slaver or the events of that day. But Julius sent his ship back to Socorro with instructions to dry-dock it for long storage, and took only what could be hauled in a rucksack, his armor left behind in the ship as well.
Since that day, sighting were rarer as time went on. Always there then gone. Always with the Monks. Rumors abounded of the former Jedi on occasion taking an apprentice or companion, teaching or fighting alongside them. But none can provide proof to have studied with or served the Battlemaster. But none of that mattered as he sat at a quiet corner in a rowdy dive on Corellia itself. Years ago, the League had been born in this very tavern. The Green Devil had seen better days, but it was far from falling apart. The very seeds of Corellia's independence owed itself to this grimy bar. Poetic justice, really.
Thankfully, with the heavy salt in his beard and hair, and the rougher nature of his longcoat and clothing, no one recognized him much. The only comment made was to the First Class Bloodstripes he wore. And those just drew an eye that quickly averted from most. Whispers from others. He may be trying to be incognito to an extent, but he'd be damn to hide his 'stripes.
He was waiting for an old... Friend... Sel was never his, not quite, but the tension and pull couldn't be denied. And if there was one person he could count on after all these years to answer his comm and then show up to the invite WITHOUT the express and only intent of murder, it would be her. She'd at least woo dinner and a drink out of him first. Well, he hoped so anyway.
[member="Selinica Miriya Cailis"]