Llkt'tudrin'wyshd
Feathered Hunter
Feenix, Current Stronghold of the Templar Order
Ydrin sat comfortably in his current quarters within the stronghold the Templar Order had constructed upon Feenix after liberating the planet from the possession from a group of pirates. Currently, Ydrin was relaxing and unwinding from a long day of working, seeking to ease the ache he felt pulling at his muscles, threatening to pull him down into the blissful unconsciousness of sleep. For days now, Ydrin had been overworked, offering his aid to the populous of the planet that had suffered under the gaze of the pirates. The infirm, the ill and the young, he had looked over any who came to him. And, in some cases, he had had to make the tough decision to end the life of a few patients when their wounds or illness proved too much for their bodies to handle, leaving their fates a slow, painful death if he refused to interfere.
Having lived out of his freighter, The Slight Of Hand, for a time now, the comforts that Ydrin now sought was easily in reach. In fact, Ydrin was rather sure that his quarters was one of the more lavish quarters that littered the compound and served as the current home for many of the Templar Order. It had, after all, been a simple effort for him and Y8-S1 (his droid) to transport his comforts from the ship to the room as soon as Y8 had remotely piloted the ship down through the planet's atmosphere through the long range interface, a heavily encrypted one at that, Ydrin had long since set up.
The room Ydrin was currently calling his own was being heated by a small generated settled in a corner, one that was programmed to utilize an attachment to produce a scent of Ydrin's choosing. As such, the room had a heady, heated feel that as accompanied by the sweet smell of nature. Y8-S1 was standing slouched against a wall, his optics dimmed as he rested in standby. Ydrin himself was seated behind a small, polished wooden desk, settled in a cushioned chair of the same wood. His bared feet were propped up on the desk, his boots thrown across the room, and his hands were folded in his lap. His odd, mismatched eyes were partially obscured from view by his dropping eyelids and a lit cigarette hung from his lips, the end smoldering and causing a thin wisp of smoke to curl around his features.
Dressed only in his pair of navy, worn jeans and his form fitting, tight grey shirt, a silver chain hanging from his neck and draping itself across the from of the shirt. His leather jacket and heavy, leather duster coat were thrown in a messy heap of black leather at the foot of the bed, almost as if they had been thrown there as an after thought. On the desk in front of him was Ydrin's old fashioned timepiece, the gears that were exposed rotating in time to the soft ticks that filled the room. Next to the timepiece was Ydrin's zippo lighter and the thin, silver case that Ydrin kept his cigarettes in. On his chest, a red covered, leather bound book lay open, the spine (displaying no title) facing upwards.
Currently, Ydrin was not attempting to sleep as his posture hinted at, but instead he was waiting. Waiting for a meeting to start. While he was a loyal Templar and viewed the majority, at the least, of Force users as a cancerous blight that infected the galaxy and left behind beings wherever they went that were forced try and remake their lives after the Force users had destroyed them. That said, he was not a man that would put his backing behind a cause without a full explanation. While he had followed the Order for a while now, never demanding an explanation, Ydrin was now doing so. The woman he was to meet, Amelia Sorenn, was the most senior member that Ydrin had interacted with and he was hopeful that she could shed some light onto the questions he held.
[member="Amelia Sorenn"]
