Zablex walked inside and began looking over the ship to see if it was able to be fixed sufficient for flight but not leave the planet.
Marka began to undergo lightsaber drills with a blindfold and a spherical training drone. Normally, this would be child's play for him but it wasn't long before the drone was getting more hits in on Marka than he had deflected. After about the 15th hit or so after a while he began to slash wildly and cutting down a few trees in the process which landed away from the camp and his final stroke yielded the sound of plasma cutting through metal and two thumps shortly thereafter. He throws off his blindfold in anger, "Why can't I complete the most basic lightsaber drill?" He asked no one in particular. This is the kind of drill you give younglings and newbies to understand how to fight and I've mastered the Sith and Jedi arts so why is this so freaking difficult?! He screamed out in his mind, his anger and self destructive thought process not helping his mood; even now, in his rage, he couldn't even feel the slightest tremor in the Force nor any boost as he usually did when in such an enraged state. He launched his armored fist into the ground but aside from a very audible thump, it had no effect. He hated this feeling of weakness and blindness. He felt alone and abandoned, like a child cast out into the wastes to be devoured by the beasts of the night just because he wasn't what the parents wanted. His emotions taking a downward spiral into his mind. He was broken and couldn't find the way to reassemble the fragments of who he was: a mighty warrior who would revel in the sufferings of his enemies, now an empty, broken shell that was no more extraordinary than even the most normal fighters in their group. He sat, leaning on a tree and just sat there. Useless and weak. Am I still worthy to be called Sith? he asked in his mind as he watched the world around him; watching but not feeling its life as he once could.
OOC: the casting out thing was a reference to ancient Norse culture.