Being shot out onto a dustball in a modified escape pod barely bigger than himself to seize a gigantic war machine was hardly where or how Par''brishan'Zahed though he'd find himself supporting the war effort. He dreamed of fighting bitter battles on heavily populated planet, valiantly protecting those who could not protect themselves. Then again, he wasn't really sure what he had expected when he signed onto the Revanchist movement. Would anyone remember him? Would they call him a coward for fleeing to the Mid Rim, for abandoning from his duties as a Jedi? That was an anxiety that had been brewing in Par ever since he set his robes aflame in that Dubrillion fields, all those years ago. Fortunately, most of the Jedi recruits had seemed younger than him, idealistic Padawans and Knights with the same burning desire to protect others with their actions, rather than their ideals.

A cold feeling stirred in the pit of Par's stomach. He had seen violence before -- too much violence, some might say --, but he had never participated in full-scale [i]warfare[/i]. He shifted uncomfortably; calling IRSOG 37's operation full-scale might be a bit of a stretch, and the words [i]networked autoblaster and turbolaser batteries[/i] didn't exactly inspire confidence. Par took a moment to examine his surroundings. The sterile ship. The sound of Republic troopers and Jedi alike preparing for the encounter below the only thing giving the cold room life. The soldiers, some of them freshly recruited, sealed inside faceless helmets to become nameless war-machines that so eerily resembled their Mandalorian foes. 

[i]Mandalorian[/i], too -- that was another word that caused his stomach to churn. They had been the ones to shatter the Order-instilled belief that Jedi were somehow above those blind to the force. The sight of his master succumbing to bolt after bolt after bolt of laser fire dispelled that illusion in seconds, as did feeling of the same happen to him seconds later. It took Par a moment to get that terrible image out of his mind, hand grazing over the part of his chest wehre the scars he gained that day ached with a phantom pain. He took a deep breath. [i]"Thirty minutes to jump."[/i] Now wasn't the time to be getting second thoughts. His hand moved from his chest to brush over his set of lightsabers nostalgically; he concentrated on the comforting weight of the blaster pistol at his side. He had grown in six years. 

He hoped it would make him ready for what awaited them below.