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Post by The Shepherd on May 20, 2015 13:46:46 GMT -8
Rutil Iorek had been around. He had trained at the heart of the galaxy, in the unending cityscape of Coruscant. He had meditated on the plains of Dantooine, fought in the unrelenting cold of Rhen Var, hid in the dark and hopeless slums of Nar Shaddaa, and taught in the hot, sticky jungles of Yavin IV. The cultures changed. The species changed. The terrain and the climate changed. But none of that especially mattered to the Jedi Guardian.
The dark side of the Force was universal.
It was no different here than it was anywhere else. Even with the heat threatening to incinerate anything without an exoskeleton, even with the barely-tolerable air scorching his throat and chest with each breath, the sickening, putrid smell of the dark side violated Rutil with its very presence. But that, too, was irrelevant to the broken-horned Zabrak warrior; he knew from a young age that his mission in this life was to find those that worshiped evil's power and root them out. No matter who. No matter where. No matter what. That mission was what brought him to this hellhole of a world, and his dedication to that mission would see him through.
He stood on the facility's top-side landing platform, affording himself a grim smile as he watched the eruption almost directly on top of the mining building worsen. The Sith would no doubt be making their way to him soon; their little hideaway on this fireball had - at most - another day before it was completely consumed by the world's tectonic shifts and the gravity of its dueling moons. Behind him, the Sith Lord's ship stood proud and tall against the darkening Mustafar sky...save for its engines, which had been carved to pieces now strewn about the deck beneath it. Even if the monster somehow won against Rutil and his partner, the Jedi doubted his enemy would find their own ship in time to get off-world before the fire and ash consumed him as thoroughly as the dark side had consumed his soul.
The sky was dark. The hills were black. The robes were saffron. But Rutil's lightsaber burned a royal blue, standing bright against the darkness and serving as a beacon for the Sith to come and find him.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 19, 2015 13:50:14 GMT -8
Rutil had been right at the base of the dock, practically flying past what paltry resistance the village had managed to scramble when it hit him. He was unsure what "it" was, but it was there, interrupting his usually flawless concentration, slowly damming the onrushing flow of the Force within his body. While Rutil had never actually been under the thrall of battle meditation before, the effects he had read about were unmistakable, especially considering the events surrounding him. A Sith was at work, the villagers and their pitiful attempt at a militia was actually gathering the courage to take on a still barely-visible Jedi Knight, and the Zabrak's body - which had been honed to its physical prime and through which the Force flowed like a mighty river - felt sluggish and unsure for the first time in almost a century. What else could it have been? Whoever this Sith was, he was already proving quite the adversary...and quite the coward.
Continuing to move as the world around him desperately tried to return to normal speed, Rutil weighed his options. He could keep his momentum, charging the newcomer and going blade-to-blade with him; an encounter he was sure he would win even with his enemy's psychic interference, but left him exposed to the villagers as well as the Sith Lord itself. He could move to disable the villagers; neutralizing them as best he could before the two dark-siders moved in for the kill. A third option presented itself in disengaging entirely; letting his momentum carry him down the dock before diving into the waters and making a break for it, disabling the bongo along the way and swimming for the Gungan city. But that left him underwater, directly below a dark-sider with an ignited lightsaber, with the only beachhead held by angry thralls, all of whom were at the dubious mercy of the Sith. The holocron was important. More important was preventing either of his two foes from acquiring it.
But if he left, forty-something people would likely be slain. And a Jedi Guardian did not allow that to happen under any circumstance.
Fortunately, that led Rutil to the fourth - and most fun - of his options.
The Sith Lord's wretched presence was still as noticeable and repulsive as ever, and Rutil found it again with ease, despite the monster's attempt to dull his senses. Still keeping the world around him at a crawl with Force Speed, the Jedi banked hard to the side and hauling down the street before making another hard turn, putting him on the far side of the building that served as a lighthouse for the Sith's blackened soul. One leap took him into the side of the building, where the Jedi began to gather the Force around him, preparing himself for any countermeasure the Sith might make. Another leap and a backflip took him to the roof of the adjacent building, where he unclipped his own lightsaber from his belt and readied it in his right hand, gathering just that little bit more energy.
One final leap took him to the roof of the Sith Lord's makeshift spire, where he landed in a low Soresu stance, the snap-hiss of his royal blue blade alerting the abomination to his fate. The igniting of his lightsaber was immediately followed by the strongest Force Push the Jedi could muster then and there, aiming to knock the Sith Lord to the street below.
The fall itself would not have been fatal. But in the worst case scenario, the Sith's concentration - and thus, his battle meditation and his hold over the village - would be broken. And in the best, the bastard fell, broke his neck, and the village would rally against the man with the red lightsaber on the far side of the docks in a case of serendipitous self-fulfilling prophecy. Regardless, the villagers were out of the line of fire, and that would serve as a good start.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 18, 2015 14:53:11 GMT -8
Rutil had barely been in the village for ten minutes when he felt the dark side start to permeate through the denizens of the small community. Its stench rode the wind, carried along by deceit and catalyzed by the natural apprehension of the unknown. Dirty looks and hushed tones were something he had dealt with extensively in his years in hiding. But those had been in seedy underbellies and crime-ridden slums. This was a fishing village and cargo waypoint on Naboo. While rare, Jedi were far from unheard of, and fairly easy to spot when they put as much effort into hiding as Rutil did. Stories of their power and their fight against injustice would have been fairly well-known, especially in the years following the Trade Federation invasion. Seeing people go quiet at his approach and shoot stares as cold as his own were one thing. To palpably feel it? To feel the dark side's cold, clammy touch as an unknown lie spread like wildfire?
This was the work of a Sith. And a cunning one at that.
Most of the self-styled Sith Rutil had come across made no effort to hide their allegiance to malice and self-indulgence. Red lightsaber, dark robes, cackling laughter, the whole shebang. Whoever this monster was, they were lying low, letting their command of others do their dirty work for them. Rutil did not have that gift of subtlety. He was no Consular; the old Jedi had never quite managed to learn patience as so many of his companions had, and it was that flaw that had kept mastery just beyond his reach. For as long as he could remember, Rutil Iorek knew he was destined to go blade-to-blade against the dark side's proponents, and had tailored his ability with a lightsaber and his talents with the Force in that direction. And most of those decades of training and experience would be next to useless here.
What he did have, however, was a fairly decent lead. Before the Sith had begun to spin his little web, Rutil had managed to glean the location of the nearby Gungan city he had been so desperately trying to reach. It was far from a complete picture, but between the directions he had received and the landmarks he had been told to watch for, he would be able to - at the very least - point a prospective submarine in the right direction. As time went on, and the village grew ever more fearful as word spread, Rutil felt less and less certain he was going to find a willing guide this time around. But the Force had led him this far, after all. It would not abandon him to the machinations of the dark side now.
Especially not when innocent lives hung in the balance; skilled though he was in various martial arts, Rutil had no doubt that the need to activate his blade to defend himself was a very real possibility. And if it came to that, it was only a matter of time before he was forced to kill someone. If and when that time came, Rutil would have only one action left to perform, and one more life to take. But that would matter only if he were pressed into action. If he acted quickly enough, it would not be necessary.
That a bongo had made its way to the docks not long ago helped matters along greatly.
Rutil found a small alley and ducked inside, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing down. He stretched out with the Force, feeling each and every soul in the village one by one; the beating of their hearts, the turmoil and fear clouding their minds, the tightening of their hands as they gripped whatever weapons they could manage to find. Slowly, their heartbeats began to slow down. Their collective exhalations became long and drawn. Moderately-paced steps slowed to a crawl. Nearby, a bird that had taken flight came to almost a dead stop, each flap of its mighty wings going agonizingly slowly. As the world around him slowed to a crawl, his feelings zeroed in on the Sith himself; cool in the growing chaos, a barely-contained wildfire in a sea of rising panic. But that was incidental; not important.
Rutil opened his eyes.
And less than a second later he was little more than a saffron-colored blur making a beeline for the docks, heading straight for the recently-vacated submarine.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 18, 2015 14:00:07 GMT -8
Banned for being named after bread.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 18, 2015 13:17:51 GMT -8
So I never knew what the name 'Malora' meant. It just sounded pretty to me, so I used it. Just found out it's a name derived from the Latin word meliora, which means 'always improving'. I guess she's one of those people that doesn't fit her name. could be worse. Like "bread"?
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Post by The Shepherd on May 17, 2015 16:37:47 GMT -8
I'd prefer something with obstacles / hazards. Not especially picky as to what.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 17, 2015 16:25:15 GMT -8
I'll team up with you if you'll allow me the honor. That make for Sihnyad and Rutil vs Alkor and Miras Sounds good to me, amigo.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 17, 2015 16:18:31 GMT -8
Count me in.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 16, 2015 7:32:07 GMT -8
There it was.
Rutil made neither sound nor expression to alert the Gungan boat driver that something was amiss. But he had been a Jedi for almost a century, and a Jedi Guardian for nearly as long. He had been one of a select few to survive the Great Purge. He had kept himself hidden away from the Empire. He had seen the New Republic come to light. He had been from one side of the galaxy to the other, had seen every level of society from its highest echelons to its deepest pits, and met every person that lived in between. But no matter where Rutil went or what Rutil did, there was one universal constant; the Force.
And the dark side's filth was as sickening here, in the crystalline waters of Naboo, as it was anywhere else.
The wizened Zabrak cursed under his breath. When he told his guide that those behind him would not be as willing to negotiate for the holocron, he had not expected them to be nipping right at his heels. For all he knew, whatever lied in wait behind them would strike the second Rutil's boots hit the docks of this village they were going to, and if the Jedi did not act then the entire community would be laid to waste. In hindsight, perhaps warning the Gungan would have been the correct course of action; it was only fair that they understood what was about to befall them. But on the other hand, a panic would not only cause more people to get hurt, but also cause any potential witnesses to flee the scene. And if that happened, the holocron was as good as lost.
Not that the Jedi would have minded. But in order to reach the holocron, he had to know where it was. And sending anybody that could either tell him where to look or get him to a Gungan underwater city to continue his search was not going to help matters, even if it was to save their lives. If Rutil played his hand right, nobody would die anyway.
"Dissen de place, Mister Jeedai. Yoosa findin' yoosa bongo here, metinks."
Stepping out onto the wooden dock, Rutil nodded in gratitude as the boat pulled away. The village was small; forty full-time residents at most, the settlement barely more than an outpost. And one of them would be able to point him in the right direction.
Preferably before the dark presence now shadowing him made itself known.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 15, 2015 12:52:16 GMT -8
If you dropped your cloak, I could give us our first in-scene fight.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 10, 2015 14:48:21 GMT -8
"Yoosa sure yoosa no wantin' to talk about dis ting?"
Rutil's only response was one of his trademark glares. Ever since he had told his Gungan guide that he was on Jedi business, the amphibious, curious boat driver had been completely unable to stop asking dumb questions. But while the Zabrak tolerated the general sort of questions that everyone seemed to want to know - what Jedi did, how many fights they had been in, all the planets they had been to, and so on - the constant questions about why he was actually on the boat that day were starting to wear on him. Previously, simply saying he was on a mission for the Jedi had done the trick, but the Gungan had slowly grown more persistent over the course of their journey together. And as many that knew him knew all too well, patience was not something the surly old man was known for.
"I'm positive."
"Ookie-dokie. Meesa jus' tinkin', Jeedi no comin' here a lot. Jeedi only goin' to trouble. If da Jeedi is here, den deresa trouble. Bombad trouble, metinks."
The Gungan's view was dead on. Oversimplified, of course, but no less accurate for it. Rutil was only on Naboo because a holocron had been rumored to be here, and the very rumor of such a thing warranted an investigation as far as he was concerned. Not necessarily for the holocron itself; much of what the Jedi Order had lost in the Purge had since been regained. But the Jedi were far from the only ones interested in such things. Even beyond that, Jedi were not called in for simple things like treaties and security detail. If a Jedi was involved, things were either about to go royally sideways or already had, and all other options to avoid a crisis had been taken off the table. Bombad trouble, as his guide had said. Considering what he had already felt in the spaceport, the window to avoid disaster was already narrow, and was getting narrower with each passing second.
But being right didn't entitle the curious boat driver to an answer.
"You aren't wrong. But believe me, the less you know, the better. All you need to know is that I'm here to get something that the Gungans might already know about, and that the people behind me won't be nearly so reasonable. Understand?"
With a frustrated shrug, the Gungan turned his attention back to the waters before him. They were about a third of the way to Kaadara now, and before long there would be a coastal settlement; a laoyver where Gungan fishermen would store and stage their hauls for transport across the surface. It was farther than Rutil would have liked to be from the capital, to be sure. But it was also the closest submarine - bongo, as the guide called it - available, and thus the fastest route to one of the Gungan underwater cities.
And if there was any justice, the fastest way to the holocron.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 10, 2015 14:01:04 GMT -8
Rutil knew what was coming the moment he felt the panicking girl reach out. Ordinarily he would have never let the balls come close; a simple twitch of a mental muscle would have been all it took to stop the wobble balls from hitting their mark, or a simple step would have been all the Zabrak needed to evade the attack. His goal had been to demonstrate that some fights simply could not be won. But while the hammer had to be brought down sooner or later, the ripe old age of nine was not the time to instill that particular lesson. She could let her Master teach her that when she became a Padawan.
If she became a Padawan.
The older Jedi slowly raised his sword hand, flicking the lights to the training hall back on. Wordlessly, he lowered his arm and extended it towards the sprawled youngling, and the saber he had lost shot out of her tunic and into his outstretched palm. He turned on a heel, once again taking his signature slow, heavy footsteps to the training saber case, retrieving his own saber as he placed the borrowed weapon back in its place. With one last look, he turned around and opened the double doors on his side, letting them close behind him.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 10, 2015 13:09:16 GMT -8
The words had hardly finished carrying across the air when Rutil reached out with the Force, violently hoisting Vidalu into the air and slamming her against the nearest wall, keeping her pinned almost four meters above the hard floor. Continuing pressure kept the young girl completely immobilized as slow, heavy footsteps once again echoed in the hallway. Half a minute passed, the pressure on the youngling's body both overpowering and unrelenting, as Rutil's body came into view, just barely visible on the fringes of the lightsaber's green glow.
"I'm without a weapon," the Jedi growled, the faint light making the grim-faced Zabrak look outright demonic, "but I'm not unarmed. Let me demonstrate."
On cue, Vidalu's sword arm was taken hold of, the unseen power of the Force forcing it to move against its owner's will. The training blade began a slow, inexorable journey towards the youngling's throat, allowing the girl to process every centimeter it gained and every second that passed.
Four meters below her, Rutil Iorek stood by, arms folded behind his back, watching the spectacle unfold.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 9, 2015 20:01:50 GMT -8
Rutil hated the saber throw. Whenever he was asked why he refused to teach it even to his senior students, he would open the floor to anybody in the nearby vicinity, all of whom answered reasonably; the necessary focus was hard to keep in the middle of battle, the blade could careen off course and hit a bystander, an especially fortunate opponent could seize control of the blade, the list went on. It was a very rare thing for a student or passer-by to give the answer that Rutil was looking for, and was just demonstrated in the halls of the Jedi Temple.
No matter how well the maneuver was executed, even in the best possible scenario one could imagine, the Jedi was now without their lightsaber. Fortunately, Rutil did not have to be himself in a training scenario, and it allowed him to use moves - and thus, demonstrate by example - he would never even consider in the field.
Fortunately, Rutil had been ready for the girl to panic and start shaking his ankle something fierce. His own blade extinguished, the hilt clattering against the tile floor in the darkness as he broke the girl's psychic hold on his ankle. And when he did, the Zabrak did something else he would never have done in an actual battle.
"Are you ready, Snot-Nose?"
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Post by The Shepherd on May 9, 2015 18:33:51 GMT -8
In the darkness, there were two sounds made in rapid succession. The first was the telltale slide of rubber on tile as Rutil's foot was suddenly pulled from under him. The second was the dull thud of his hard, aged body hitting the floor. A few seconds later, there was a soft, whisper-like sound, like a soft breeze blowing through the hall.
And then, mere meters from the youngling and closing fast, an almost blinding beam of green light erupted from the darkness and spun with a demon's fury, coming at Na'an from seemingly everywhere at once.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 9, 2015 17:27:11 GMT -8
It took only a quick readjustment for Rutil to pull his hilt close to his chest, angling his blade to catch Na'an's as her strikes came in. She was sloppy. The strikes were good and solid - so far as they could be for a girl her size, anyway - but the footwork was narrow, sacrificing her balance for the sake of getting the blade to its target. Rutil liked the initiative, but there needed to be a certain proficiency in styles before one tried to combine them, and the youngling simply was not there yet.
As Na'an came in for her second strike, Rutil pushed her blade away with his own, using his free hand to reach under his crossing arm to grab Na'an by the tunic. He changed levels, crouching down to spin her around before springing up again, using the extra momentum to launch the girl deeper into the hallway. And as she flew, the old man deactivated his lightsaber and raised his left arm, stretching out his hand.
After a brief moment, the Knight allowed his hand to drop. With a stereophonic slam, the training hall was plunged into darkness.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 9, 2015 16:57:36 GMT -8
The wobble balls were a nice touch. As soon as the first one took off, Rutil stepped and slid to his his own left, deftly dodging the first wobble ball. A slide backward sent the second ball brushing past his leg, and with a short flick of his wrist, the third wobble ball curved mid-flight and was sent reeling into the case of training sabers, almost toppling the thing. The Zabrak stood stock still, only to hear the whirring of a lightsaber blade zipping through the air getting louder and louder.
Clever.
Cleverer than he had given her credit for, anyway.
Clever enough for him to up his game.
*snap-hiss*
Rutil spun around, the green blade of the youngling's shoto batted away by a second green beam of energy protruding from the metal cylinder in the gargoyle's hand. As Snot-Nose made her landing, the old Jedi pushed her blade away and swung it back around the way it had come, utilizing a quick Makashi slash to go for the youngling's thigh.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 9, 2015 16:12:37 GMT -8
By the time the youngling had begun to swing the bright green blade, the arc it traced cut nothing but open air. Rutil had taken the time she used to step forward and away before turning to face the youngling, not even bothering to activate his own weapon in response as she came to a landing. Instead, he simply thrust his open hand outward, letting a surge of energy hit the impetuous child square in the chest and sending her careening towards the closed door behind now behind her.
If she wanted to have a place beside a Master, she would have to earn one. And that would not be won by swordplay alone.
Of course, Rutil was holding back. He had to; while he demanded his students to give their all and find more to give him, he knew that returning the favor would lead to broken bones and broken wills. But then again, it was a rare sight for Rutil himself to go blade-to-blade against any of his students, and he never used his telekinesis in conjunction with his blade work in a training scenario. Snot-Nose was going to get as close to the real deal as the temple's gargoyle dared to give her. And while that was a far cry from what the grouchy Zabrak was truly capable of, it would be far more than the youngling would have gotten before.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 9, 2015 15:27:07 GMT -8
Na'an did not have to wait long. On the other side of the hall, another pair of double doors swung open, and allowed entrance to a figure as far from the younglings as could be reasoned. The figure strode where the younglings shuffled, remained silent while the younglings chattered, and wore a permanent scowl and icy glare where the children could barely keep from hiding their smiles and bewildered eyes. Since his arrival on Coruscant, it had been joked that the Jedi Temple had but a single gargoyle, and that it answered to the name of Rutil Iorek. And while he knew - and silently approved - of the jest, the Masters were too respectful, the Knights too polite, the Padawans too reverent, and the younglings too scared to say it to his face.
The Zabrak's footfalls were slow and heavy, each one echoing across the room before he came to a stop, his steely gaze coming to a rest at the nine-year-old girl almost a hundred meters away. Rutil had thought to ask if she was lost, or even to order her out of the room, but he had no particular right to solitude in this place and knew as much. Besides, the youngling was intent on learning, and it was far from Rutil to disallow an opportunity to learn. Especially if the student came so willingly. Especially if they did so knowing just how harsh a teacher he could be.
Her intent was clear: the youngling was gunning for a place by a Master's side, and hoped to prove herself here. Tonight. Her lack of patience would prove her downfall; the very motion of intruding on what was commonly known as private time for a teacher known for specifically not sponsoring younglings for older Jedi spoke to a hardheadedness and naivety that would have disqualified her before she even began. But words alone were not going to reach this one. If Rutil sent her off, she would simple reappear the next night. And the night after. And the night after that one. Repeating day after day until he finally relented and gave her a chance.
Rutil would know more than any other Jedi there; at her age, he had been exactly the same way. So far as he was concerned, it was only fair she learned the same way he did.
"You'll need more than a shoto, snot-nose. You know where the blades are."
Jerking his head toward the case where the training sabers were contained, Rutil unclipped his own durasteel hilt from his belt and went for the case on his own side of the hall, opening it and placing his own weapon inside before drawing one of the simulation weapons.
True to his character, Rutil's lightsaber had no safety setting.
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Theed
May 9, 2015 13:08:39 GMT -8
Post by The Shepherd on May 9, 2015 13:08:39 GMT -8
Though he remained on foot, the surly Zabrak moved with purpose, his sheer presence moving those in his way around him and his deft footsteps maneuvering him around those too oblivious to see him.
Rutil had only been on the trail of this holocron for a few days, and he already felt as though he were behind the curve. He had been in a far-removed system when he first heard the rumors of a lost holocron on Naboo, which meant the news had almost certainly been heard by others (one of whom he had just finished having a rather enlightening chat with). Making things even better, Rutil was being followed. At least his shadow had the courtesy to be obvious enough about it, wearing a black cloak in a day and age where only those under the dark side's thrall wore black cloaks. No matter how the infamously grumpy Jedi parsed the information, he was behind the curve, and every second he spent in the serene capital was a second people were getting closer to that holocron.
Long strides carried Rutil through the area immediately outside the starport, itself set below the city proper, next to a massive waterfall. It was not far from a marina, where travelers could continue on their way by boat rather than speeder to their final destination. The Jedi was not especially fond of the idea, taking a watercraft when people were advancing through far faster means of transportation. But he felt his approach was more than adequate. His foes would likely have speed or firepower on their side. In the case of the cloaked figure following him from a healthy distance away, they had a certain degree of cunning. But Rutil had them licked in the most important aspect of all; wisdom. Firepower meant nothing if you did not land a shot. Speed meant even less if it carried you the wrong way. And cunning could only get you so far before you ran into someone wittier than yourself. But wisdom? Wisdom would outstrip every other consideration by leaps and bounds, provided one had the patience to listen to it.
For instance, the holocron had landed in the ocean. By the time even the first treasure seeker looking for a bit of pocket change could reach it, it would be sitting pretty on the ocean floor somewhere. The Royal Security Force might have started a search, but how helpful could they really be? They shot down the freighter carrying the holocron with nary a care for it, and so far as Rutil could tell they had not even started to sift, to say nothing about the creatures roaming the deep, unable to distinguish treasure from treat. For a people that lived on a planet covered with oceans, the Naboo seemed to know very little about them.
In comparison to their amphibious neighbors, anyway.
As the Force would have it, Rutil spotted one such neighbor at the far end of the marina, tending to his boat. A few moments and a few credits later, the old Jedi found himself aboard, the boat itself pulling away from the docks and towards the nearest Gungan settlement.
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