As much as Joe tried to hide from it, he was a warrior. Through and through. He tried to rationalize his desire to go back to the battlefield; that his work actually saved lives, minimized suffering on both sides, and shortened the war. Or skirmish. But deep down inside, he wasn't so sure.
And it was a battle that brought him here: to the space station above Earth, but not on purpose. Here was the key to the rest of the galaxy. It had only taken him a little more than a century to find it. To find what he'd lost. The life he'd been forced to live afterwards, since he crashed on this miserable planet and his poor Karakt lost her hyperdrive, leaving him stranded on a primitive world stuck in a Medieval landscape.
It had only been minutes ago that he'd dispatched the last of the bandits he'd been contracted to track and eliminate, using a weapon he hadn't used in nearly a quarter century. A weapon he thought he'd never use again. His lightsaber.
Joe understood what kind of a weapon fear could be, and used it as often as he could. In this case, when he initially approached the bandit encampment, he was decked out for war; a figure that often cowed bandits into turning themselves in without the needed fight and bloodshed. And Joe was decked out. His usual worn, brown leather armor covered him head to foot, which actually fully encased a set of mithril chainmail, the leather silencing the rustle of metal and any sort of reflective surface. There was a large spear in his right hand, used as a walking stick as he rode no horse. There was a katana slung across his back, with a longbow, unstrung, and its quiver alongside. A broad-edged shortsword on his left hip. A dagger along his left forearm. A dull, black metal rod strapped to his right thigh, with something similar on his left breast. But something gnawed at him. Something he'd tried to forget and ignore, that was every bit a part of him as any other part of his body. It was that discomfort that caused him to stick his spear into the ground and reach for his katana, but his own reluctance to trust those powers again kept him from reaching for the right weapon. Before he even truly realized what was going on, it was over.
Looking down at the slashed and cauterized face of the 2nd to last attacker in the bright orange glow from his lightsaber, he snorted. Those normally blue eyes of his were a sharp gray; The Force was with him now, as little power as he had. Such little power that Masters of the Force would of scoffed at him. But if they caught a glimpse of this little exchange, the sneer would cease. The battle had been a blur... his katana had actually blocked the first few blaster bolts before melting into slag, which allowed him to grasp his lightsaber from his left breast and engage his enemies. He'd deflected two bolts for perfect headshots, sprinted close enough to de-hand the third before thrusting his weapon up through the man's ribcage so that a bright orange-white tip bore through the man's forehead, then neatly backhanded a final shot into the fourth bandit's nose, which bore through the rest of the man's skull. Who was actually still twitching on the ground. His form with a lightsaber was odd; his footwork wierd, at best. But a Master of lightsaber combat would have seen the subtle change from Shien, to a Makashi shiak, and a Soresu swat. Perhaps he'd made up for his Force limitations.
Rage turned at his insides now. "Since when the F*CK did you creeps start getting blasters now?! Since when did you guys stop using crossbows, like you're supposed to?!" Joe cried out, as he moved towards the twitching corpse, whose finger still trying to squeeze on a pistol that had already fallen out of its grasp. "Since when is it f*cking okay to use technology now? And HOW COME I DIDN'T GET THE F*CKING MEMO?!?!" He bellowed at the twitching corpse. With a higher-pitched thrum of energy and a flash of orange, the corpse lost what was left of its head, and the twitching ceased. Joe grumbled to himself, muttering obscenities before disengaging his blade. After a few minutes of rummaging through bodies, he found all sorts of stuff: Credits, a few blasters, some personal effects, and a shuttle call device.
Which is what brought him here, to this space station, those dark brown leather boots leaving muddy footprints upon the clean metal of the passageways. Patrons gave him an odd look and steered clear of him as he walked down. Now blue eyes were agape at things he hadn't seen for nearly a century. A trandoshan, some Bothans, even a cute female Twi'leck. Blasters, ships... oh... wonderful technology. Now only if he could find some trouble. Or that trouble would find him; an armor-clad barbarian in the midst of a technological wonderland.
And it was a battle that brought him here: to the space station above Earth, but not on purpose. Here was the key to the rest of the galaxy. It had only taken him a little more than a century to find it. To find what he'd lost. The life he'd been forced to live afterwards, since he crashed on this miserable planet and his poor Karakt lost her hyperdrive, leaving him stranded on a primitive world stuck in a Medieval landscape.
It had only been minutes ago that he'd dispatched the last of the bandits he'd been contracted to track and eliminate, using a weapon he hadn't used in nearly a quarter century. A weapon he thought he'd never use again. His lightsaber.
Joe understood what kind of a weapon fear could be, and used it as often as he could. In this case, when he initially approached the bandit encampment, he was decked out for war; a figure that often cowed bandits into turning themselves in without the needed fight and bloodshed. And Joe was decked out. His usual worn, brown leather armor covered him head to foot, which actually fully encased a set of mithril chainmail, the leather silencing the rustle of metal and any sort of reflective surface. There was a large spear in his right hand, used as a walking stick as he rode no horse. There was a katana slung across his back, with a longbow, unstrung, and its quiver alongside. A broad-edged shortsword on his left hip. A dagger along his left forearm. A dull, black metal rod strapped to his right thigh, with something similar on his left breast. But something gnawed at him. Something he'd tried to forget and ignore, that was every bit a part of him as any other part of his body. It was that discomfort that caused him to stick his spear into the ground and reach for his katana, but his own reluctance to trust those powers again kept him from reaching for the right weapon. Before he even truly realized what was going on, it was over.
Looking down at the slashed and cauterized face of the 2nd to last attacker in the bright orange glow from his lightsaber, he snorted. Those normally blue eyes of his were a sharp gray; The Force was with him now, as little power as he had. Such little power that Masters of the Force would of scoffed at him. But if they caught a glimpse of this little exchange, the sneer would cease. The battle had been a blur... his katana had actually blocked the first few blaster bolts before melting into slag, which allowed him to grasp his lightsaber from his left breast and engage his enemies. He'd deflected two bolts for perfect headshots, sprinted close enough to de-hand the third before thrusting his weapon up through the man's ribcage so that a bright orange-white tip bore through the man's forehead, then neatly backhanded a final shot into the fourth bandit's nose, which bore through the rest of the man's skull. Who was actually still twitching on the ground. His form with a lightsaber was odd; his footwork wierd, at best. But a Master of lightsaber combat would have seen the subtle change from Shien, to a Makashi shiak, and a Soresu swat. Perhaps he'd made up for his Force limitations.
Rage turned at his insides now. "Since when the F*CK did you creeps start getting blasters now?! Since when did you guys stop using crossbows, like you're supposed to?!" Joe cried out, as he moved towards the twitching corpse, whose finger still trying to squeeze on a pistol that had already fallen out of its grasp. "Since when is it f*cking okay to use technology now? And HOW COME I DIDN'T GET THE F*CKING MEMO?!?!" He bellowed at the twitching corpse. With a higher-pitched thrum of energy and a flash of orange, the corpse lost what was left of its head, and the twitching ceased. Joe grumbled to himself, muttering obscenities before disengaging his blade. After a few minutes of rummaging through bodies, he found all sorts of stuff: Credits, a few blasters, some personal effects, and a shuttle call device.
Which is what brought him here, to this space station, those dark brown leather boots leaving muddy footprints upon the clean metal of the passageways. Patrons gave him an odd look and steered clear of him as he walked down. Now blue eyes were agape at things he hadn't seen for nearly a century. A trandoshan, some Bothans, even a cute female Twi'leck. Blasters, ships... oh... wonderful technology. Now only if he could find some trouble. Or that trouble would find him; an armor-clad barbarian in the midst of a technological wonderland.