[center][h1][color=seagreen]Talen-Jei[/color][/h1][/center]
The stench of Jedha City invaded Talen-Jei's nostrils like an uninvited guest, forcing him to unconsciously wrinkle his snout, as if willing the foul air to disappear. A sprawling mesa of cramped buildings, littered streets, open markets choked by fumes and the gaggles of pilgrims and travelers all pushing past each other, the Holy Land had seen better days. 

Up above, a lone Imperial Star Destroyer hovered above the City, an eclipsing reminder of the Empire's ubiquitous reach and authority. The Temple of the Kyber sat dormant in decay, a mocking memorial to those who still follower the Way of the Force. Its Guardians forced onto the streets with the rest of the commoners, and its Kyber Crystals ransacked, the Temple was little more now than a pathetic reminder of a time before the Empire. 

Talen-Jei had arrived on the desert moon mere hours before, a cramped occupant on a passenger freighter designed for occupants mostly smaller than he was. Cramped and sore, Talen-Jei found himself despising the City almost the moment he stepped off the freighter. Outside the Mesa there was nothing but jagged rock, desert spires, and dry sands. The Hunt was nonexistent here. But a man-made jungle had formed itself within the Holy City's markets. Charlatans and illicit traders preyed upon unwary pilgrims and unaccustomed travelers, looking over their shoulders in fear of spotting an Imperial Patrol. There was no honor amongst these predators, only profit. And Talen-Jei was disgusted by it. 

Fighting against the current of spacers and wanderers into the heart of the market, hawkers calls and offers of fine sales fell deaf on Talen-Jei's ears. A few brave peddlers would go as far as to try and stop Talen-Jei by provocation with a tap on the shoulder or a quick tug of the arm, but a low growl and brief flashing of teeth were more than enough to send these few scurrying off like swamp rats. 

A pang of hunger gnawing at him, Talen-Jei found a small food stall, tended to by a foul-smelling Aqualish chef garbed in a stained apron over dirty clothing. Seemingly unfazed by the wary, at best, cooking conditions, Talen-Jei handed the alien a small handful of credits from a large, clawed hand, receiving a chipped ceramic bowl in return, filled with still-wriggling tentacles from some undisclosed cephalopod swimming in thin broth. 

Finding a spot secluded from the swell of the crowd near the once-grandiose entrance to the Temple of the Kyber, Talen-Jei let his back meet against the stone wall of an adjacent building, gravity letting him sink to the dirt ground beneath him. Unsure where his journey would take him, Talen-Jei could only keep his mind in the present, there was no looking back. Nothing to gain from there.