After a year of living in self-imposed isolation and exile, the man now known as Ben Kenobi has gotten used to this new life; he is a hermit now, shunning human contact if he can avoid it, discouraging others from caring about him. Guilt and recrimination have been his sole companions, for the most part, along with that fickle visitor, hope, that likes to tease him with possibilities of the future, too nebulous even for his penchant for seeing the unifying Force.

That is, until he came across a crashed starfighter in the middle of the desert. It resembled something he was familiar with during the Clone Wars, but updated, and made him wary. No starfighter should be this far in the Outer Rim territories.

Ben wanted nothing to do with this, any of it, but the pilot was injured, his droid damaged, and Ben's natural altruistic tendencies came forward. He had not been a Jedi for almost 2 years now, but if need be, he could handle himself against one rogue, injured pilot.

"Hello, there," he called out, moving slowly toward the ship and it's lone human member. "Let me help you. You don't want to get caught in the desert in the middle of the day."



[Apparently I want to play most of it out, because this is what my brain could come up with. I was honestly planning on handwaving some of it...]