Deadly Island Getaway

[Joza Perl]

“I thought you hated places like this.”

“I do.”

“Then why are we here?”

A pair of figures crouched in the tall grasses surrounding a slave compound, a good hundred meters or so away from their target. Still, they spoke in hushed tones to be sure. Their never-ending and occasionally ridiculous quest to end slavery took the pair to the far corners of the galaxy, and it was nice to get a break from the dirty, smoked choked streets of Nar Shaddaa. Their latest venture had landed them on Scarif, currently hiding out on one of the little islands that dotted an archipelago across the vast sea. Joza had been searching for this particular place for months, knowing it to be but one piece of a puzzle in a long and purposely drawn-out route to contain and distribute slaves. The more she worked in the underworld, the more disgusted and inspired she became.

Some crime lords certainly knew how to run their business.

At times she felt like she was in over her head.

“Because justice never rests.” Came the hastily whispered response. Ivan, her dry-witted pilot ducked next to her in the foliage with a pair of macrobinoculars. “I think that was the lamest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Maybe you’ve just been working for me for too long.” She glanced over, clearly annoyed. Her skin had oiled up in a record 45 seconds after disembarking, and her hair was a damn frizzy mess from the humidity. “I should trade you in for a nicer, younger, cuter model.”

Without missing a beat, Ivan grunted. “Guard change in 10 minutes. We should make our move soon. And you know I’m the only one who'll put up with you, Perl.”

[member="Caspian Rekali"]

 

[Caspian Rekali]

​Remote Compound, Scarif

​"How many did they take?"

"Three"

"I'll handle it personally."

​A brief exchange occurred between the Young Warlock and the clan elders about the kidnapping and enslavement of Rekali clansmen. The clansmen were attacked and captured by a small group of pirates after briefly leaving the Rekali Home Fleet. One was seriously wounded in the struggle and three more taken by these brigands who escaped into the shadows. Caspian hadn't been back a week from his enlightening journey through the planes of the Netherworld and already tragedy reared its ugly head. The young man had some hope that his journey through the nether guided by the careful hand of his mentor and grandfather Ember would've provided some solace, some understanding to all that has struck the clan after all they'd lost. In some ways the journey was very insightful allowing him to refine his techniques and strengthen his resolve, his understanding of the force and the world around him and more, but in the way he desperately needed he found no closure. Just seeing and learning from his grandfather again "in the flesh" only brought the pain of loss back again, only this time it was once again fresh.

​Even the famous Warmaster hadn't discovered the secret of acceptance, the seeming eternal damnation on his family. In his dreams he could see the faces of everyone they'd lost one after the next from family to close friends. Each time Caspian was left to dwell within the dark realm of his own thoughts when sadness began to rear its head, it quickly converted into anger and hate. While witches used the darkness in their own unique way, never did Caspian fall as his grandfather did from a Jedi. After so much time away this problem was just what he needed to vent his deep seated frustrations: a target. More of his brothers and sisters his family were unlawfully taken, and the Young Warlock was on the hunt. Caspian was hot on the heels of his lost clansmen for months following the trail of the three witches. One piece of poodoo after the next who were involved found them and their pirates hunted down the last surviving member interrogated to find the next piece. The group were always brought and sold as a bundle, and always somehow they seemed to be one step ahead of him. Finally he had found a location for them in a remote compound on Scarif, owned by an intimidating cathar Warlord named Skarrj. ​Weeks of planning went into researching this warlord breaking into the criminal underworld through his powerful slave operation.

​Skarrj was so successful he carved out a slave compound turned fortress in the remote island chains of Scarif. Remote, well defended and hard to find on scanners. Immediately he descended upon the compound....

​Anti-Air.

​The young warlock scythed through the sky a trail of thick smoke billowing from his craft while crimson laser fire raced through the sky after him. Blasts across the craft left it in rough shape. He forced the craft down in a field of tall grass roughly a hundred meters away from the compound blasting through the top of jungle trees kicking up waves of dirt before finally grinding to a halt. Caspian vaulted out of the transport wearing his unique eukgar'gam elaborately adorned with vahla, mando'a, and dathomiri markings, symbols, and bones the telltale appearance of a Rekali warrior. He glided across the field and slid right into a nearby patch of grass away from his small craft. The pirates were descending on the small craft now, and he'd be ready.

[member="Joza Perl"]