@[member="Ashin Varanin"]
@[member="Spencer Jacobs"]
Briefly, Sarge wondered if perhaps he was about to be treated as some sort of a living legend; he wasn't hoping for it, far from it. He feared it. Recognition was something he got, but never asked for. His reputation was given out by others - it wasn't something he strove to spread himself.
Thankfully, it seemed he was off the hook there.
This time, the smile faltered, becoming sad, his head dipped slightly as memories flooded back. A burning village, rampaging Nightsisters... ash. Vast wastes of sand and barren landscape. Dathomir had been a rock, nearly literally.
Life as it had been known there had ceased to be, all because the Nightsisters refused to lose. They'd won, and lost their home in the process.
He'd not been to Dathomir since. The memories were too vivid; they seared his mind at night.
The duo had survived, waiting for extraction for months, off of less than any man should ever have to. A small morsel of meat, usually scarfed for a snack, had to last them several days. Water was a precious commodity that had to be stolen from villages.
It had been hard. It had hurt. He'd lost more weight than he'd ever thought himself physically capable of, and suffered from all kinds of maladies.
But they'd survived. They'd helped each other.
Je'gan had never mentioned thinking so highly of him. He was... honored. But Ashin was wrong. It hadn't been decades. It had been centuries.
"He was a great man. Rest was something he'd earned more times than I'd care to count, may the Stars watch over his soul."
A calloused palm extended from beneath the cloak, the forearm visibly scarred by Force knew what. "I'm happy to see his bloodline survive. But you can ask your questions another time. I've overstayed my welcome."
Again the sad smile. He faded from sight, gone with the wind. His voice lingered, however, a haunting note discordantly hovering in the air.
Somehow, someway, Sarge had literally left his sorrow as a taste in the air for a few brief moments after he'd left.