Sitting with his eyes half closed, in a half sleep/meditation state Tobal barely heard the mechanical voice. His mind was drifting back to his home, which he had last seen two years prior.
Green grass, deep, luscious woods and people … people who he knew, people whom he trusted … people who had tried to kill him.
His eyes opened at that thought, and he bit back a bit of homesickness. Why they had tried to kill him was apparent now, they had feared what he might become, ages upon ages of legends of the ancient Sith had ingrained fear onto their minds, fear of anything they did not understand.
Thus, they had feared him, and hunted him.
In an effort to stop the flood of memories, and bitter feelings, Tobal stood and flexed his neck. He glanced over to his traveling companion, who looked up momentarily before engrossing herself back into her datapad. The ice was as thick as ever, both seemingly unused to speaking.
Reading his datapad proved to be a strenuous, and exceedingly boring job. While familiar with the basic alphabet, it was still a foreign language.
“Misery,” said Tobal abruptly, on impulse. “How long have you been with the Order?”