The whole situation was absurd. He'd come for a presumed Rakatan artifact, perhaps to distract and sabotage the efforts of a Jedi Master. Instead, he was locked in a cave with a different Jedi, a Jedi who had helped him fight off rakghouls, who had treated his wounds, who was now offering to trade lightsabers as if they were two thugs bragging about their speeders. He blinked, and then he couldn't help but laugh. It was an entirely pleasant sound, catching even; nothing like the mad cackle one might come to expect from a Sith Lord, and it was still there, quiet, when Procion shook his head and reached for his own saber, reaching over with the hilt in his hand, the business end pointed away from them both.<br/><br/>It was a surprisingly elegant weapon, personalised, not one of the stock sabers the Sith tended to favour when there were none to plunder from Jedi corpses; at a guess, it was probably not even red. Words were carved in the metal in the ancient Sith language. Procion made a small beckoning gesture with his empty hand. "Together," the Sith suggested, to alleviate suspicions that this was just some ploy to disarm the opponent.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>