Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Don't Poke the Mynock Nest

Jak Skirata

Guest
J
Slavers. The scum of the Galaxy. The Outer Rim was full of them and they seemed to think that out here they were safe. With Judges roaming the space lanes though it was more likely that the Slavers would leave the Outer Rim with a few new holes in their face rather than an underage Twi'lek girl.

The Silken Asteroids had a lesser known shadowport frequented by these slavers and lowlifes. Pirates, human traffickers, organ harvesters and other Galactic filth drank and refueled here and so it was a great place to blend in. The Mynock flocks that nested here made it difficult for official action from local governments to be effective, but individuals could make it here without much issue.

A tip from a contact in the Wardens of the Sky had brought him here to catch a particular group of slavers.
 

Runi Verin

Two pounds shy of a bomb.
[member="Davin Skirata"]

The electric neon signs sputtered and flickered in time to the rolling power shortages that afflicted the shadowport, distorting and warping the salvager's shadow in all the varying and intermittent hues of a garish rainbow. The incessant squirks and chirbles of the local mynock population, booming with the breeding season, covering the sound of her footfalls as she strode through the cavernous streets. Her hand never once straying too far from the heavy beskad that hung lopsidedly from her belt, the weathered and cracked hilt rarely more than a finger or two from reach. A fair warning for those looking to take advantage of a lone traveller; a subtle promise that any thoughts of violence would be most assuredly repaid in kind.

Her mind was on far bigger problems than simple cutthroats and pirate press gangs, however. A recent run in on the edges of Coalition and First Order space had placed the woman on the trail of a particularly nasty and cruel band of slavers operating almost brazenly throughout the Rim. Either completely ignorant or simply undaunted by the factions that sought to keep peace in the area, they were quickly establishing quite the profitable pipeline from Kathol to Kessel, no doubt taking full advantage of the distinct lack of competition brought about by the Galactic Alliance's efforts and those of the ORC Judges.

And Runi had seen first hand the price of their unchecked ambitions. Dozens of corpses drifting through the empty black void, lives cut painfully short in the name of simple greed. Her arm twinged at the memories, phantom pain spiderwebbing through her damaged nerve-endings, curling her lip into a scowl as she shook her head. No, the Thaggothi Cartel had a red-stained ledger that needed balancing. A message needed to be sent and sent hard. The Outer Rim wasn't a place for slavery anymore. Not now, not ever.

The door to the Cantina clattered open with a protested jangle of bells, the Mandalorian salvager pushing through without a second glance for the crowded den of shadowport scum and low life dregs. Cutting through them like a shark through a shoal of fish, making for the bar with a will and a purpose. "Tihaar, chilled." She ordered, slapping down a handful of creds. Enough to pay for her drink several times over, but perhaps enough not to cater for her second demand. "I also got a need for information on a crew that supposedly operates out of the docks on the eastside. Local color. Nasty sense of fashion. Got themselves a rep for violence. Heard anything?"
 

Jak Skirata

Guest
J
https://soundcloud.com/childish-gambino/baby-boy

The mood in the cantina was very relaxed, despite the rough company present within and outside. Dimly lit, the low rumble of a back up generator accompanied the sound of the small band played in the far corner of the bar. Male Pa'lowick, Bith, Wookie and several Twi'lek dancers and back up singers set the mood and kept the attention of most attempting to whether the Mynock migration.

The bartender, an exceptionally tall Glaucus looked down at the credits as he poured the strong Mandalorian beverage. His beady eyes widened and the mandibles surrounding his jaw flared out, the Glaucus' version of an impressed whistle and show of surprise. He eyed the girl up and down and shrugged, his voice low. It would have been a handsome human voice if not for the flanging effect of his species' vocal shortcomings.

"Second person to ask me about that, a lot nicer about it too." He graciously took the credits and placed her drink in front of her before looking from side to side suspiciously before leaning closer to the young woman. "Heard they're ex-One Sith. Soldiers gone rogue after the Alliance knocked them off the map. Gerosian fellow is leading them, nasty reputation, even around her. He had a few more girls with him than usual today so something big must be going down...But you didn't hear it from me." He turned away and bussied himself with cleaning glasses.

"Also a Mandalorian bloke looking into it. Things are bound to get messy here soon..."

In the corner of the cantina a figure in a brown cloak made his way towards a side exit.

[member="Runi Verin"]
 

Runi Verin

Two pounds shy of a bomb.
[member="Davin Skirata"]

Runi toyed with her glass as the bartender spoke, absently swirling the amber coloured liquid in loose circles before knocking it back with one smooth, practised pull. It tasted like it had been brewed from bitter urinal cakes, but at least the burn it carried was the right shade of pleasant to distract her too much from dissecting its ingredients. She tossed another credit on the counter and spared the man a curt nod, "Thanks for the drink, pateesa."

So she wasn't the only one looking for these karkers, nor the only Mandalorian. A fellow self-exile, perhaps? She doubted it. More likely a two-bit Bounty Hunter looking to make his bones. Collectively, the ORC wasn't the richest major power, but there tackling a slaver ring would still bring in quite a few creds from the powers that loosely be. To say nothing of the doors their goodwill would open.

A cold rush of stale, recycled air greeted her as she stepped back out on the street, pausing only to adjust the collar of her jacket to ward against the chill that was rapidly threatening to set in. The little mutt that had rushed away during her conversation with the bartender should have discounted any pursuit by now. No doubt running back to his employers, wagging his tail and his tongue to anyone that would listen. Anyone that could and would pay to know someone was looking for them.

Such as a certain gang of slavers, for instance.

She snorted softly and let her senses reach out within the force, pushing them past all the chaos and hubbub that swirled in the collective life energy of the shadowport, focusing on tethering herself to a singular anxious little thread. Less than a few minutes old, the trail was still fresh and clear enough that it required very little coaxing.

"That's it, shabuir. You lead on now. Right back to your masters."
 

Jak Skirata

Guest
J
A blaster clicked behind the young spacer and pressed itself into her back, a nudge with the Force beckoning her to walk forward.

"Watch your language and walk. Don't turn around. Don't try to run away, because I will kill you." The voice was grating like sandpaper on beskar and had a thick accent from speaking in Mando'a. Davin eyed her up and down behind his T-shaped visor. She didn't look like one of the slavers he had been hunting. What was this woman following him for? He decided to take the first move.

The crowd moved around them, either ignoring or oblivious to how closely he was standing behind her. Just another girl swept up in the awful tide of this station. He smelled of cigar smoke, ozone, and Red Sand. He had killed recently, but his presence in the Force was minimal. There was no malice or intent to kill, just unsettling quiet behind the mask. The blaster shifted, less from him pressuring her to move and more from him looking up to the sky.

Black creatures jumped from makeshift roof to makeshift roof.

"Why are you following me?" More statement than question, but he expected an answer nonetheless. The Force nudged again, urging her to walk.

[member="Runi Verin"]
 

Runi Verin

Two pounds shy of a bomb.
[member="Davin Skirata"]

Fierfek.

The Warden stiffened as the barrel of the blaster dug into her back, scarcely requiring the distinctive whine of a charged power cell to know that she'd royally karked up. So engrossed in picking up the trail that she'd missed it looping back, finding herself at the opposing end of what had to be the oldest trick in the book. The fact he was the Mandalorian the bartender had attempted to warn her about was simply insult to injury, with the sole consolation to her pride stemming from the fact the crowded street had simply begun to melt away at the first sign of trouble.

"Easy, now." She intoned, raising her hands slowly to avoid any misunderstandings. In contrast to the inherent roughness of his voice, hers came out surprisingly calm and soft given her normally clipped tones. While his accent bore the hallmarks of Mandalore, hers was of a much more culturally diverse upbringing. Her Mando’a tinted by the regional accent of Kol Atorn, while her basic was woven from a life on the deep Outer Rim and the inescapable creep of Huttese. "Ain't no profit to be found in vapin’ my shebs, Beroya."

Not exactly true, but it was hardly the time to get into that. Instead she allowed herself to be prodded into a begrudging and slow amble, the simple act of placing one foot in front of the other a welcome excuse to keep them both preoccupied while she tried to formulate a plan. She just had to keep him talking. Maintain the reasonable façade long enough for him to drop his gua---

Kark it.

She gritted her teeth as he pressed into the small of her back for the second time, a flash of anger surging through her veins and causing her caution to evaporate like the morning mists beneath a midday sun. "In case you ain’t noticed, I’m tryin' to be reasonable here, burc'ya, but you shove that blaster one more time an' you'll find me holsterin' it somewhere mighty uncomfortable, tayli'bac?"

She halted abruptly, still keeping her hands raised yet refusing to take another step.

And since we’re clearin’ up matters, I wasn’t followin’ you. Not exactly. I figured you were with the local gang an’ hand mind to let you lead me to the higher ups… "

There was a beat.

“…Admittedly, hindsight being what it is, not exactly my greatest work."
 

Jak Skirata

Guest
J
Mando'a? All the way out here? He lowered his blaster after listening to her growl at him. She had fire that was for certain. He would have put it down earlier but listening to her grumble at him was amusing. He didn't know a single Mandalorian that worked in human trafficking so it was safe to say she was telling the truth.

<What are you doing so far from home?> Mando'a, it wasn't always the prettiest language but it was a chance he hadn't had in a long while, to be able to speak it fluently with someone who also knew the language. He holstered his blaster and looked up towards the rooftops again. His vornskr were on someone's trail, he felt their excitement in the Force.

He wasn't wearing beskar'gam, at least not in any standard way. A fur collared cloak sat on his shoulders and bits of armor sat on top of spacer robes and leathers. A patch job to be sure. The armor seemed like it hadn't been serviced in too long and the helmet even had a small dent on the upper right side.

[member="Runi Verin"]
 

Runi Verin

Two pounds shy of a bomb.
[member="Davin Skirata"]

Runi shifted uneasily as the threat of the blaster was abruptly removed. The eerie phantom sensation that the barrel had left behind in the small of her back doing little to ease the embers of irritation that still sputtered and sparked. She reached up and adjusted the hem of her flight jacket, the faded and distressed spacer leather so past its prime that it barely made a sound in protest. Much like the rest of her attire in that regard. A worn yet durable flight suit tapered at the waist, undershirt smeared with engine coolant and scorched from one too many impromptu welding jobs, she would have vanished in a spaceport crowd without a second glance.

"<Home is wherever my ship is.>" Which was a fancy way of saying she subscribed to good old fashioned galactic vagrancy, having never found a port of call or planet worth putting roots down on longer than it took to take on supplies and refuel. Kol Atorn hardly qualified. The harsh arid scrap heaps might have helped shaped her, in many more ways than she could count or even begin to comprehend, but it had never been home. Not really. "<Never set foot on Mandalore. Not got any plans to, either.>"

The ancestral Halls of the Clan that she could have laid claim to where long since destroyed in any event. Vanished in the cataclysmic events that had ravaged and scarred the planet surface, twisting it into a mocking reflection of the current state of its people. Broken, lost, surviving in name only. Something she could more than relate to.

Her attention flickered up to the rooftops as black shadows bounded along the corrugated durasteel rooftops, lips pursing into a thin line as she felt the flickers of excitement born from such fierce hunters instincts. Seemed like they were having better luck with their own quarry than she had. "<Looks like they've caught the scent. Man behind the bar, the Glaucus, mentioned we might be after the same prey. A slaver gang.>"

She turned fully now, still keeping her hands out to show that she wasn't a threat. Not in that instance, anyway. Any grudge she might have been entertaining could be shelved for a later date. "<I ain't askin' the specifics of the bounty or lookin' for a cut of the prize, but... Maybe we could help each other out on this. Enemy of my enemy an' all that.>"
 

Jak Skirata

Guest
J
"Bounty?" He tilted his head to left slightly and reached up with worn crushgaunts and clicked the release on his helmet, releasing a short hiss as the environmental seal was broken. This was the first time in a while he had smelled the station without a filter. The smell of musty desperation mixed with the musk of stale beer and engine fuel filled his nostrils without giving Davin time to protest.He removed the helmet, revealing a mess of greasy hair and an untrimmed beard that covered his face in a rugged sort of way. His eyes pierced hers.

"I'm a Judge. Here on business."

He hadn't chased a bounty in years, but he supposed the Mandalorian armor did give off the vibe, no matter how worn and tired it looked. But it was something he just couldn't get rid of. It was his culture, his only reminder of home when he was off on long missions like this and he was forced to jump from ship to ship. He would eventually have to make his way back to his freighter and basilisk, but for now it was just him and his hounds. He shook his head and tapped his helmet rhythmically, as if he was tapping to an old tune he could only hear in his own head.

"But you're right. It does seem like they've found something. Are you after their bounty?" A question he only half cared to hear the answer to. "We should get moving though. If you want to tackle this together just don't slow me down Ad'ika."

[member="Runi Verin"]
 

Runi Verin

Two pounds shy of a bomb.
[member="Davin Skirata"]

A Judge?

The word caught her almost as off guard as the blaster pistol had before it, the thin silvery scars around her mouth causing her lips to form an uneven line as she pressed them together. The term was a familiar one. Only the most remote, backwater regions of the Outer Rim would have missed the rumours and exaggerated tales that persisted in the cantinas about their deeds and seemingly unchecked mandate. They were the closest thing to justice out here that you could hope for, yet so few and far between that she'd never expected to run across one - least of all here of all places.

"I ain't a Beroya, I'm a..." Runi hesitated, the words stalling on her tongue and turning bitter to the taste. She was what, a Warden? Could she even lay claim to that mantle, after shunning it for so long in favour of chartering her own course. Throwing in her lot with the higher factions and powers that wove through the galaxy, trying to find a sense of belonging that had eluded her since childhood, yet finding nothing but conflict and loss in return. She gave a disgusted shake of her head, her loosely tied locks straining against the simple twist of electrical wire that valiantly tried to restrain them in place. She could concern herself with that potential internal crisis later, when she was back onboard the Boracyk and preferably at the bottom of a bottle or two of Tihaar.

"I'm a Warden." She concluded simply, matching her dark eyed gaze with his as if challenging him to question that assertion. "Money for blood ain't my goal here, Ori'Jag. I've been at cross purposes with these karkers for a while now. Can't seem to find a stretch of stars that ain't feelin' their greasy grip around its throat." There was a roll of shoulders with the rough approximation of a shrug, "Figured if no one else was gonna do anythin', might as well handle it myself."
 

Jak Skirata

Guest
J
Warden? He had heard that name before, but he couldn't quite place his finger where. Regardless, it seemed she was in the same line of work as him. Her conviction was strong, unsurprising if she really was of the Mando'ade like she said she was. She also had a strong sense of justice, rare this far out in the Outer Rim. Outside of the Coalition it was rare for people to actually give anyone struggling the time of day. A bark in the distance pulled him away from the conversation he was having in his own mind.

"Well then I hope you know how to use a blaster," He paused suddenly realizing what a Warden was, "Or...whatever else you've got on you. We've got to get going, they're on the move." He reached out in the Force and tapped the mind of his Vornskr. They were getting excited. The smells and sounds of their world filled his mind. It seemed the Slavers were using some condemned waste shutes to move something across the station unseen.

Well, it had been seen now.

"They're moving something, looked like bodies, through some old Garbage shutes, we've got to go, now." He didn't wait to see if the girl would follow him. He didn't leave in a sprint, but his steps were quick and his feet moved with purpose.

[member="Runi Verin"]
 

Runi Verin

Two pounds shy of a bomb.
[member="Davin Skirata"]

"Blasters ain't really my speed, pateesa." The ancient looking carbine-turned-heavy pistol strapped to her thigh seemed to suggest otherwise, but the weapon was more for show than actual use. In the less civilized stretches of the galaxy such as this, its mere presence was enough to remind cutthroats and footpads that there were easier targets out there. For everything else, there was always her trusted beskad. "But I ain't got this far without being able to hold my own."

Runi turned her head at the distant sounds of the Vornskr. She might have lacked the innate affinity with the creatures that he seemed to display, but with the excitement of the hunt flooding their veins it wasn't difficult to pick them out even at this distance. Sense their interwoven energy as they moved with one purpose, one intent, almost one mind in the pursuit of her quarry. It was almost intoxicating as it was disorientating - and this was only a scattered half-glimpse of what had to be churning in the Judge's mind.

"There's an old recyclin' plant half a level down that connects to the old service docks." She called out to him as she fell into his wake. She'd noted it on her way in on the Boracyk, more of a curiosity than anything. One that had grown quietly with the obvious state of disrepair and lack of sanitation that seemed prevalent on the station. Now they knew why garbage lined the sides of the dirt-laden streets. Lips curled back, teeth bearing. Karkers. Her pace quickened to bring her along side him. "Smart money is that's where those chutes lead. If we cut them off there, your hounds can drive them right into our hands, 'lek? Less risk of any of them slippin' the noose."
 

Jak Skirata

Guest
J
"Good deal. You lead, you seem to know the station better than I do." He said it very matter of factly and whistled loudly, calling of his Vornskr. Excited yips and barks echoed in the distance and became fainter and fainter as they dashed away. He hated going down recycling chutes and trash tunnels. He always ended up finding things that didn't belong in them, usually homeless children who took their play a little too far. On a station like this, he didn't want to know how many were lost to the ducts and chutes.

He shifted his cloak slightly.

[member="Runi Verin"]
 

Runi Verin

Two pounds shy of a bomb.
[member="Davin Skirata"]

She didn't need to be told twice.

Her pace increased a second time as she took the lead, heavy combat boots sounding the advance as they dashed through the winding labyrinth of twisting alleyways and crumbling access points with a breakneck speed. In truth it had been years since she'd been on the station herself. Arriving here as nothing more than a slip of a girl, an underfed waif drifting aimlessly along in the wake of her then mentor. Fortunately, it seemed not a lot had changed in the years that stretched between then and now, however. Shadowports by nature were unfailingly static in the grand scheme of things. Stations even more so.

And if all else failed, she would only need to follow the waft of unrecycled trash. The stench drifting through the asteroid with eye-watering results, only intensifying as they neared the disused plant the slavers used as a front for their operations. Footfalls abruptly coming to a stop at the edge of a broken warehouse, the warden shifting her inertia to allow herself to avoid overshooting the lip of their cover.

"We're here. Your hounds say the same?" Was say even the right word? She didn't know how the bond worked through the force. She was far more a creature attuned to the voices of machines and wires and broken parts than those of men and beasts. Her beskad rasped against the leather sheath as it was drawn by a practiced hand, "We doing this fast and loud or you aimin' for a quiet resolution for this?"


Given what she'd seen of their operations, she had a noted preference for the former.

These karkers had a reckoning overdue by her count.
 

Jak Skirata

Guest
J
Hard and loud or quiet resolution? Did she even need to ask? Some judges preferred to not make a scene, keep their identities not necessarily a secret, but keep themselves on a low profile. But sometimes, groups were just so heinous that they needed fear to keep them from the shadowports and stations. Today, a heavier hand was needed.

Plus, he was Mando'ade. It was time to crack some skulls.

He didn't even respond, he just walked forward, his hand outstretched. The old, rusted doors wouldn't hold, even with a chain holding them in place. A concussive wave blew the doors from its hinges as the Force rammed into it, sending it clear across the warehouse. It wasn't just people they were trafficking. Red Sand, packed in body bags. Sentients from a dozen different races were clad in white cleansuits, as unconscious or dead bodies laid bare on tables.

They were stuffing them to transport the drug. The corner of his mouth twitched in anger as they all looked at the broken door in surprise. He didn't give them a chance to figure out what was happening. His double barreled blaster carbine found the closest being and erupted, its scattershot energy bolts planting themselves in its chest, sending it flying over the table it was working over.

"Don't just stand there! Kill them!!"

From the rafters and on the work floor thugs with cheap spacer's leather armor and illegally modified blasters trained their blasters on them. Davin's free hand fell on his lightsaber, the red blade erupted to life with a distorted snap-hiss. Blaster bolts flew at them from every direction.

Back at the bar this odd partnership started they began playing a higher tempo song.

[member="Runi Verin"]
https://soundcloud.com/childish-gambino/riot
 

Runi Verin

Two pounds shy of a bomb.
[member="Davin Skirata"]

Hard and loud it was. Solid choice.

She moved with all the force-attuned grace of liquid silver, darting in from behind the judge to fill the void that was opening on his right, beskad in hand as she neatly sliced through the first trafficker without breaking pace. A crimson red line beading at his throat as he fell to his knees, his attacker already pressing towards the huge recycling machinery that dominated the room as the bolts began to fly.

Fortunately for her, the unspoken benefit of working with someone with a lightsaber is that they always seemed to draw the worst of the fire. Like moths to a flame, all eyes were invariably drawn to the seemingly mystical humming blade of wanton disaster. By comparison to that and the armoured, force-using Mandalorian warrior that wielded it so freely, a veritable slip of a spacer trash girl seemed hardly worth noting.

Any other circumstances she’d be obliged to correct that viewpoint, but given the situation and the amount of blaster bolts currently ionizing the air all around them, she was willing to let that pass.

I’ve got the fethers up top,” Runi called out as she slipped between rusting columns and broken pillars, lashing out with tightly controlled, pinpoint micro-bursts of telekinesis to unbalance and topple her opponents as she continued to cut through them. Buckling knees, crumpling ankles, jarring wrists. It wasn’t nearly as flashy or impressive as the stunt with the door. It was almost as effective, however. “Don’t go throwin’ your back out handlin’ the rest, Ori’jag. I'll be back to hold your hand 'fore you know it.

Without waiting for his response she was already throwing herself into motion once more, quickly cutting across the floor and bounding up the machinery to launch herself into the rafters with a purpose. Crashing into one of the thugs even as they attempted to draw a bead, inadvertently sending another tumbling to the charnel house scene that was unfolding below with a truncated scream.
 

Jak Skirata

Guest
J
"Right," he managed to blurt out as his attention shifted to the onslaught of blaster bolts headed his way. His blade danced this way and that, a red ark that lit up the dingy warehouse. Blasterbolts flew wildly from his jig scouring the walls and landing in the chests of a few unlucky gangsters. He sucked his teeth and grimaced behind his helmet as a blaster bolt hit him in his shoulder. He ignored the searing pain as best he could, gritting his teeth. He shouted angrily and thrust his hands forward sending a shockwave through the warehouse causing some of the light fixtures to shake or with crashes to the ground.

"Enough." He flipped a switch and his lightsaber extended into a lightsaber pike. With form that would make most athletes green with envy he pulled his arm back and threw his weapon like a spear into the rafters, narrowly missing Runi but cutting down the Twi'lek behind her who was ready to strike. With an open hand he called the lightsaber pike back to his hand. It returned in time to deflect another volley of blaster fire. Another bolt hit him square in the chest, knocking him on his arse. The bolt smoldered and darkened the beskar where it landed but Davin was fine.

He sighed, still lying on the ground.

Why were there so many.

[member="Runi Verin"]
 

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