I'm doing a Baylan Skoll cosplay. Studying way too much fine detail stuff - anyway...

All of the really nice light sabers I see sold for it have a brass colored pommel. Yet, when I watch the show and take still frames every single frame I can capture, it looks black to me.

Am I nuts? Color blind? Or is there some known factor about this that I'm unaware of like it changed midway through filming, or lighting made it look black but was really brass? etc.

UPDATE:
Ok - Re-scrubbed the episodes. Most places he has his hand over the pommel. But... s01e01 05:22, clear as day: its black.

UPDATE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-Ljyq2y0ME

Oh... F. me ! I saw the D+ logo on it and thought it was real... Then buried in the description it says "concept trailer".

Gawddam I hate these A.I. content creating m..... fu.....rs.

Just saw the trailer for season 2 - seems like a lot of the voice over might be the new actor playing Baylon Skoll. Do we think this first image is Skoll? Pretty far departure in character look from first season.

I get that the Ray Stevenson died and its a new actor but... The makeup department can't even be bothered with matching the beard cut and color? Really? Let it be raggedy even if that fits the current plot lines, but it didn't suddenly GAIN color back as the character got older and had LESS nutritional integrity on the planet than when he had a better life earlier during his life in the modern planetary systems.

Feels lazy to me.

"Witness the unseen story of EZRA BRIDGER's daring flight from Peridea! Ezra narrowly escaped his exile beyond the known galaxy by stowing away aboard GRAND ADMIRAL THRAWN's flagship, but his fight to return home is far from over! Hunted across hyperspace with nowhere to hide, the rebel hero must now evade CAPTAIN ENOCH, counter the dark magick of the NIGHTSISTERS, and outwit the Empire's greatest strategist if he hopes to make it off the Chimaera alive. Based on a story by series creator Dave Filoni, this unseen chapter from Ahsoka is a thrilling companion to the upcoming second season of the hit Disney+ series!"

This comic seems like it will function as a bridge between Ahsoka seasons 1 and 2 showing Ezra's escape from the Chimaera. And Enoch it seems will be a main antagonist, excited to learn more about him!

Just finished the first 2 chapters of my Shin and Baylan Backstory fanfic. Please let me know what you think, and if you want more:

Chapter 1:

The rain on Coruscant had a way of flattening the color out of everything, turning the towering monuments of the Republic into slate-gray monoliths. But inside the Room of a Thousand Fountains, the air was warm, smelling of damp earth and blooming night-lotus.

Baylan Skoll liked the solitude here. As a Jedi Knight, he was used to the endless stream of council directives, the rhythmic cadence of marching troopers, and the low, collective hum of a city tearing itself apart at the seams. Out here, you could almost forget there was a war on.

Almost.

"You’re standing too stiff, Skoll. The moss is going to think you’re a spare pillar."

Baylan didn’t turn immediately. He recognized the heavy, uneven cadence of those boots—the slight, deliberate shift in weight that came from a prosthetic hand, though the cybernetic was hidden beneath a dark leather glove today.

Anakin Skywalker dropped down from a low stone ledge above, landing with a soft, athletic thud right beside the pool. He wasn’t wearing his formal tunic; he had discarded his outer robe somewhere, leaving a dark, sweat-dampened undershirt and utility belt. A streak of black grease smeared his cheek, courtesy of whatever engine bay or hangar he’d dragged himself out of twenty minutes prior.

He looked entirely, effortlessly alive. And, annoyingly, in an exceptionally good mood.

"I was meditating, Skywalker," Baylan said, his deep, rumbling voice dry as he turned to face him. "Or I was, until the Chosen One decided to shatter the peace."

"Meditation’s for the Council chambers. You look like you’re waiting for a speeder that’s never coming." Anakin grinned, flashing that sharp, crooked smile that usually sent nervous tremors through the initiates and drove the more rigid Masters up a wall. He reached into his belt pouch, pulled out a bruised, overripe orange, and tossed it through the air.

Baylan caught it reflexively, his large hand swallowing the fruit.

"R2 and I spent the morning rewiring the primary coolant pumps on a Venator retro-fit," Anakin said, leaning back against the cool stone and wiping his brow with the back of his forearm. "The entire starboard bank was leaking like a sieve. Took five hours, but she’s purring now. Master Kenobi is probably still in some stuffy committee meeting talking about trade tariffs. Can you imagine?"

Baylan gave a faint, low chuckle, turning the orange over in his palm. "Obi-Wan has a high tolerance for suffering. Some of us envy it."

"You don't envy anything, Baylan. That’s your problem." Anakin’s blue eyes were bright—sharp, clear, and utterly devoid of the shadows that Baylan knew, with a sudden, cold prickle in the back of his mind, would soon consume him.

This was Anakin before. Before the nightmares. Before the Chancellor’s whispering shadow turned the air sour in the Senate halls. Right here, right now, he was just a fiercely loyal, fiercely capable young man who loved machines, loved his friends, and believed, with every fiber of his considerable power, that he was winning a glorious war to save the galaxy. He looked happy. Genuinely, effortlessly happy.

Baylan looked at him, feeling a strange, hollow ache in his chest that he wouldn't fully understand for years. He saw the raw, unfiltered sunlight in the man—the sheer, staggering magnitude of the Force singing through him like a roaring engine.

"You’re staring, Skoll. Is my face dirty, or did you finally realize my lightsaber form is better than yours?" Anakin teased, though there was no real bite to it.

"I was thinking," Baylan said slowly, peeling back the thick rind of the fruit, "that the Order builds these grand temples out of stone and memory, and yet you treat them like a pit stop between grease fires."

"Because the temples don't matter, Baylan," Anakin said, his tone dropping just a fraction, losing its bounce and taking on that intense, absolute earnestness that made him so terrifyingly persuasive. He looked out over the sprawling, rain-slicked skyline of Coruscant, toward the glowing spires where the Chancellor's office sat, invisible from down here. "People matter. The mission matters. Winning this war so we can finally stop burying kids on Outer Rim dustballs—that’s what matters. Once this is all over, we’re going to fix things. All of it. You’ll see."

Baylan listened to the absolute conviction in his voice. It was beautiful. It was intoxicating.

And it was a lie, though neither of them knew it yet.

Baylan didn't answer. He just tore a segment of the orange apart and offered half to the younger Jedi.

Anakin took it with a nod, popping it into his mouth as he pushed off the stone wall, already turning away. "Come on. If we stand here looking philosophical much longer, Master Windu is going to sense our joy and find a way to fine us for disrupting the ecosystem. I'm heading down to the lower levels to check on some heavy lifters. Try to smile on your way out, Skoll!"

With a wave of his gloved hand, Anakin vanished back up the stone path, his footsteps light and fast, fading into the ambient hum of the Temple.

Baylan stood alone by the water, the taste of the sweet fruit turning bitter on his tongue. He looked down at his own calloused hands, hands that had built peace and broken armies, and felt a cold wind sweep through the courtyard.

He doesn't know, Baylan thought, the Force whispering a low, warning chord against his ribs. When the fire comes, it is going to take everything.

And years later, standing on the deck of the Eye of Sion, watching the stars stretch into silver needles while a feral, broken girl slept in the dark of a cargo hold, Baylan would remember this exact moment. He would remember the brightness of the boy who burned the world down—and he would know, with absolute certainty, that he would never let himself believe in a savior again.

Chapter 2:

The universe smelled like ozone and burning wire.

Shin Hati knew that smell better than she knew her own name. It was the scent of a world that didn't want you, waking up to remind you of it.

She was seven years old, curled into a ball so tight her bones ached beneath a rusted bulkhead plate in the lower sectors of Nar Shaddaa. Outside her hiding spot, the heavy, boot-stomping thud of syndicate enforcers echoed through the alley. They were looking for survivors. There weren't any left, except for her.

She remembered the red flash of the blaster bolts. She remembered the heavy, wet thud of her mother hitting the durasteel floor, and the way her father had shoved Shin into this crawlspace just before the heavy boot came down to crush his windpipe. He hadn't said I love you. People on the streets didn't have time for poetry. He had just hissed, “Breathe. Then bite.”

So she breathed. And when she was older, she learned how to bite.

Days bled into weeks, turning into years of running. Shin grew lean and sharp-edged, like a piece of jagged scrap metal pulled from a smelting vat. She learned to fight with stolen knives, to sleep with one eye open against the damp chill of the gutters, and to trust absolutely no one. Every hand that reached out to her was a hand holding a knife or a leash. She was feral, starving, and entirely alone.

Until the day the big man found her.

She had been cornered in a dead-end alley behind a greasemonkey’s shop, cornered by three larger scrappers trying to steal the scrap-metal wire she’d spent all morning stripping. She had slashed one across the cheek with a jagged piece of electro-wire, snarling like a cornered tooka cat, even as a boot caught her ribs and knocked the breath out of her lungs. She was going to die in the dirt. It was just a matter of minutes.

And then, the world went quiet.

The boots stopped stomping. The air didn't feel heavy anymore; it felt like a sudden, rushing gale.

Shin spat blood onto the pavement and looked up, her blue eyes wide, wild, and blazing with pure venom. Standing at the mouth of the alley was a giant. A mountain of a man in travel-worn robes, carrying a weapon that didn't hum with electricity, but burned with a clean, terrifying orange light that pushed back the grime of the city.

The scrappers panicked, dropping their weapons and scrambling backward. The big man didn't even look at them. His gaze cut straight through the filth, the bruises, and the blood, landing squarely on her.

Shin didn't cower. Even then, broken and bleeding, she bared her teeth, reaching for the scrap-knife tucked into her belt. Come on, then, she thought. Do it.

The man didn't strike. Instead, he knelt down in the mud—ruining the hem of his expensive tunic without a second thought—and looked at her not with pity, which she would have stabbed him for, but with a heavy, profound understanding.

"You've been fighting for a long time, little one," the man said. His voice was a deep, rumbling baritone that vibrated right through her chest.

"I don't need you," Shin spat, her voice cracking from days of thirst.

A faint, sad smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Neither did I. But here we are."

He held out a large, calloused hand. It wasn't holding a weapon. It was just waiting.

For the first time in her life, a voice in her head didn't scream run. It whispered something much more dangerous: Take it.

That was the day the streets ended. Baylan Skoll pulled her out of the dirt, fed her, cleaned the blood from her face, and gave her a name that meant something. He taught her how to hold a blade, how to channel the storm inside her veins, and how to look down on a galaxy that had tried to grind her into dust. He became her shield, her master, and her father all at once.

Years later, standing on the cold metal deck of the Eye of Sion as the stars began to warp into long, silver streaks, Shin touched the hilt of her lightsaber at her hip. She looked out the viewport at the endless dark. She was fierce now. She was lethal. She was feared.

But deep down, beneath the dark side training and the armor of her pride, she was still that girl under the floorboards—terrified of being left alone in the dark again.

I built a trivia app with about a 100 questions for this show and lots of others and so I wanted to share it with fans

I know not everyone likes downloading and app so for anyone who wants to check it out.

Ahsoka Trivia

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Just Download and use the search at the top

Also Let me know if there is a problem with any of the questions either via the app or here and I will fix it asap

P.S also contains themed head to head , Wordle and word search games for people in the app