(*Speaking out of character for a moment: I enjoy writing these posts, but Twitter itself makes me increasingly unhappy. If I think of a suitable alternative, I might keep writing about D'rgo in that alternate location instead.
Stay tuned; I'll announce if anything is changing.)
This line of communication appears to have been tapped. (See? That analytic number at the bottom of the page even politely tells you how many eavesdroppers there have been.)
Until further notice, I will be seeking a more secure comm channel. Grrg.
Hello and goodbye, all who hear from me. My crew and I salute you, but we will express... um... "holiday cheer"(?) rather quietly for the present time.
I have been lying low, at least as far as these communications are concerned. Though I am no Jedi, I still felt a great disturbance in the Force. Somehow, I just knew it was not safe to be here.
We shall see if that changes soon.
One advantage to aimlessly drifting in space recently: We missed out on that weird tradition of invading raiders seeking to steal our nutrients, while wearing disguises, on that one strange night.
It was a lot more peaceful this way.
I have continued to tell myself the same. It has been a long month. Perhaps it helps to think of recuperation and healing as our temporary job.
...Sort of.
Despite the fact that I just spent days preparing for that shot, only to let loose a stun blast when the moment arrived, I feel content.
My target will face justice and make restitution. And it feels good to stretch.
Some people mistakenly believe the work of a sniper is impressive and glamorous. In truth, it is one of the most frustrating tests of patience, and one of the longest, angriest internal monologues one can endure.
Also, my neck hurts.
Just saw a fellow T'doshok today. From the way he glared at me, I think he must know who I am.
But by the fact that he respectfully gave us space, he probably knows about that time I killed a madclaw Wookiee in unarmed combat.
He likely doesn't know it was an accident, though.
Well. That was illuminating. That strange little guy, Minch, had a good point, in the midst of all his rambling. "Wars not make one great."
Good to know some people in the galaxy have not forgotten that fact.
The world ran a little too red today. I wished I could have said the red was only from festive colours.
May the innocents rest in peace. And may the murderers who spilled their blood be dishonoured and forgotten.
I almost don't even want this bounty.
Whew. My arm's grown back.
...
And... I can't feel anything with it. Is this normal? I'd ask one of my own people, but last I checked, I'm still exiled from Dosha.
*Sigh.*
Now that I think about it, I don't know when the last time was that I slept.
Thanks for reminding me that I look terrible, Kosmoth. That may be the kindest thing anyone's said to me in some time; it's what's reminded me to get some rest.
At times like this, I empathize with amputees all the more. It is simply too bad I am not ambidextrous. (Not that T'doshok are relatively dexterous at all.)