Maul

Among the crowded alleys and neon signs, a lone figure moved with purpose, cloaked and silent. Darth Maul’s hood concealed his face, though the faint glint of yellow-red eyes flashed each time a sign flickered overhead.

He stopped at the corner of a rusted bridge, watching stormlight crawl across the skyline. His voice came quietly, almost a growl. “They gather like insects, chasing credits and comfort,” he said to himself. “None see the power beneath their feet. No matter.”

Maul continues toward his destination: a pawn shop with several ancient artifacts.