Lord Poncho (Port Knowhere IC)
(hi @true0neutral)
“This is absolutely ridiculous, you realise!”
The only response the former Sith Lord Tromeros got to his complaint was a somewhat bewildered moo. Nerfs didn’t generally care much about politics, or status, or anything beyond whether there was sufficient grazing land. Small bipeds making noises at them generally only meant that the small biped wanted them to go somewhere, and this one didn’t seem to. He just seemed to want to keep making noises. It was confusing for a simple-minded grazing animal.
Tromeros didn’t care much about what sort of response he got. Standing in the middle of Port Knowhere’s grazing lawn, a poncho over his fairly simple clothes and his hair bleaching to new-minted copper in the bright sun of the desert moon of Jadvyga, all he really cared about was making his frustrations heard. “Obviously I didn’t expect immediate trust when I came here. But having to try every chore at this outpost? Horticulture at the hydroponics bays? Vaporator maintenance? Nerf herding? Did she do all of this?”
Then Tromeros really thought about what he was saying, considering the ‘she’ in question. ‘She’ was Jallira Greystorm-Harridin, who’d earned the rank of Master earlier than almost anyone in living memory (including her adopted sister Ahrianna, who’d previously held that distinction), and who generally referred to every incredible thing she’d ever done as “I just ... do ... things” with characteristic Jedi self-effacement. A holoimage displayed in the canteen came to mind: Jallira, her adopted sister Maelana, and six refugees from a Mid Rim farming community rescued during the Zakuul invasion. That, according to the stories, was taken at the very start of Port Knowhere’s existence, back when this now-bustling community was a deserted township on a forgotten desert moon.
“...I suppose she did do all of this,” he mused, as much to himself as to the nerf. “She’d have had to. It’s not as if she had staff. And certainly not slaves, not that I was ever a fan of that sort of thing. She told me,” he turned to the nerf, all but disclaiming, “that if I really wanted to help lead, I needed to learn what those who would follow need and want to let them thrive. She said this was how I’d learn. But I talked to my people! I--”
He noticed the nerf still looking at him with a confused, wary expression, then wiped sweat off his brow. “I need a hat,” he grumbled. “I wouldn’t have thought of a hat. I had people on planets as hot as this and they never told me about hats.” A thought occurred, born of the nervous look in the nerf’s eyes. “Were they too afraid of me to tell me things unless I directly asked about them? Is that what she meant?”
The nerf mooed a wary, noncommittal reply.
Tromeros shook his head. “Unless I experienced it for myself, I couldn’t possibly know the right questions. So I learn by doing. I harvest gor apples. I herd nerfs. And,” he added, feeling at once proud and dismayed, “learn Jedi wisdom thereby. Apparently.”
After a moment’s further thought, struck by a rather giddy urge that he now felt free enough of Sith expectations to indulge, he spread his arms wide and cried, “I AM LORD PONCHOOOOOOO!”
The nerfs mooed wary acceptance.














