Return:
A beat down starship limps it’s way through hyperspace, it’s hull scored several times over from too many battles and not enough repair work. It is getting old, not unlike it’s owner.
In the cockpit, a thirty something Mandalorian has a foot propped on a consol, as he sits in the busted pilots chair. Grey armor dented, burned. His helmet resting under a propped foot, deep gashes from the claws of some creature. His armor is in a similar state. Blaster strikes that he failed to dodge, fang and claw marks from odd hunts, even an old mark from a lightsaber strike. In his left hand, he turns over a fang from an old hunt, Krayt Dragon’s tooth. In his right a data pad that he speaks into, logging the days thoughts.
“Viscara; been a few years. Funny how things find a way to come full circle. How history repeats. First stepped foot on what I thought was an out of the way backwater system a few years ago, trying to find a purpose to life after war. Found a lot good times… lot of bad, found fortune flew away to find better prospects.” He sighs, as a warning alarm bellows and the ship drops from hyperspace a few hours time by sublight from his destination.
“Life was good for a while, one bad job and here we are again. Old stomping grounds. Wonder if anyone I knew is still around down there. Clan Shereshoy, Markus, Zvadras… Ira’dana. Had some wild runs, hunting dragons, rancor, other things. Still have that Clan Lsu garb that Y’serna gifted too.” He paused for a long while as the ship by some miracle begins to dock. Moving from his seat to peer into a poor reflection of a steel panel. “Not as young this time around… feel old talking to a data pad on long ago memories. Time to find out if an old dog can learn new tricks.”
With a final look of determination. He fits his helmet over his head, it hisses as the seals lock. With a final glance to the Krayt tooth, a check of a trusty blaster. He turns to tread Viscara, begin again, cycle renewed where it all started.