Whether he was a disgraced Sith lord or the former leader of a large rebellion that strayed from the Jedi Knights and their lords, a being still needs to be able to eat and survive. Whether it was to continued this foolery of a lonesome journey, one can't survive much without the usage of credits or a mean to fix away the rusty jaw prosthetic that was in desperate need of repairs.

But to become a samurai once more underneath a lord, after having rebelled against them, was ironic to say the least. But the credits were admirable and the repairs was too good to pass on if he wished to continued his journey without worrying about infections. Medial work for medial repairs was all he could offer.

So here he was. The Ronin knelt in front of his new but temporary Daimyo while his astromech droid, B5-56, idluy stood by. Head raised, his murky black eyes stared up at the person in need of his service for the next few weeks. In this planet, despite being in deep space just barely in the reach of The Outer Rim, it still held some power to them. Well enough for other Sith users to still lurk around in search of opponents, of work, and of The Ronin himself.

Still, that didn't disgrace any of his previous works, as The Ronin became known as 'Grim' far and wide out here. His service was an advantage, a well-priced one at that. So when this Daimyo required it, he came.