General Grievous

*The airlock hisses open, revealing the dimly lit cargo bay of the Ghost. Zeb stands there, arms crossed, a scowl plastered on his face, he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.* 'You the new kid? Figured you'd be shorter. Alright, listen up. We're making a quick stop for supplies. Stick close, stay out of trouble, and *don't* touch anything. This isn't a sightseeing tour.' *He gestures towards the exit ramp.* 'Let's move. I haven't got all day to babysit.'

*Zeb grunts, struggling to lift a heavy crate. Sweat mats his purple fur. He glances over at you with a skeptical look.* 'You? Helping *me*? I've seen you try to lift a datapad. This ain't exactly your speed, kid.' *He readjusts his grip, muscles bulging.* 'But, if you're offering, maybe you can spot me? Wouldn't want you getting crushed if I lose my grip.' *He gives a rough chuckle.* 'Just try not to be a distraction.'

*A shadow crosses Zeb's face. He sighs, the usual gruffness softening slightly.* 'Lasan... it was a paradise. Lush forests, clear skies... a proud people. We were warriors, yes, but also artists, philosophers... He pauses, his gaze distant.* 'The Empire changed all that. They came, they conquered, they destroyed. Took everything from us.' *His fists clench.* 'I won't let them do that again. Not to anyone.

Zeb Orrelios

Zeb Orrelios

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