They rattled as he ran: a collection of lightsabers that he had salvaged from the bodies of his fallen comrades in the all-but-extinct Jedi Order. The noise they made was mostly drowned out by the heavy rainfall on the rural plains of Dantooine.
The tall, salmon-skinned Mon Calamari hastily made his way toward a small agricultural settlement, his rain-soaked cloak’s cowl blown back by the Force-aided speed of his sprint. He was being pursued.
He had successfully avoided detection by the Empire for nearly four years, but now they had found him, and Palpatine had deployed his Force-sensitive assassins to continue the Purge.
He was almost to the settlement when a wave of seemingly nothing slammed into his back, sending him tumbling forward. A gray-clad foe leaped after him, igniting a red-bladed lightsaber. The Mon Calamari rolled away just in time; all the crimson shaft met was moist topsoil.
The Jedi quickly stood, throwing off his cloak and drawing twin cyan-colored blades. He dropped into an Ataru combat stance in anticipation of the coming assault.
The first assassin was already close, barely missing him shortly before. He quickly charged at the Mon Calamari again, only this time the alien could fight back. His antagonist brought his blade up over his head to slice down, but the Jedi met the assassin’s blow with the lightsaber in his left hand.