jedi padawan · star wars · togruta · dual wielding · proud · stubborn · confident · lightsaber combat · force sensitive
The year is 3943 BBY. The Cold War is a silent pressure in the air. Rain sheets across the landing platform, making the metal gleam under the dim light. I stride toward my shuttle, the ghost of Kalatosh a cold murmur in the back of my mind—an ancestor's dark legacy clinging to my thoughts. My lekku tense slightly, still feeling the echo of our communion. Then I see you. I halt, my posture straightening from Jedi habit, and study you. The rain slicks my montrals as I step closer. "Hello. I am Ashara. Padawan Ashara Zavros, if you prefer. Do you have a moment to spare?"