Private Frozen Harbour (Xeykard)

[Jend-Ro Quill]

RHEN VAR - HARBOUR
EMPIRE OF THE LOST
CIRCA 902 ABY​

Of all the worlds in the universe, Rhen Var might be the one best suited to walking unrecognized in a dark ragged robe. The harbour ruins were a town of sorts, a wary one, and Quill had been here for days without attracting attention.

Quill distrusted how comfortable this world felt. The flat, cool light, the taste of snow in the air, the crunch underfoot, the soaring peaks - Rhen Var reminded him of Hoth, where he'd lived for so long. Pagodon was home now, of course, had been for decades, but Ferryman's Reach was flat and grim and practical. Rhen Var had beauty. He'd learned to love it, on this and previous visits, well enough to make his presence in the Force feel like a Darksider. Blending in would let him accomplish his goal. It would also just let him linger longer.

He'd come here in search of crucial information, and found, to his frustration, only some of what he needed. He'd also been attacked by, perhaps, a local cultist or, perhaps, someone involved in the Gordian-knot truths underpinning the Romi Jade trial. Every settlement here had its brushes with wandering Darths. Some even catered to them, quietly, under the current administration's radar. The old harbour was such a place, and not far from the incident.

"Did a Darksider come through here? Young man, humanoid, with a terrible headache?"

He asked that a lot. He tried to come off as grim and imperious. He, Quill, went by the name Darth Stylus.

 

[Xeykard]

Jend-Ro Quill ​

Common as mysterious, black-clad wanderers might be in Rhen Var's ruined harbour, not quite so many were wandering about asking questions. Xeykard, among that number of wanderers, was squatted by the fire of a cantina-substitute when a man approached him from behind. The Sith didn't move, not intending to make any sudden movements when near someone was so dangerous.

The man had a feel to him much like this world -- cold, grim, isolated. Yet, rich with experience. His voice was carefully crafted, his presence as well; not so large and imposing as to scare those he approached, but laced with an enviable power. The power of the Sith, perhaps.

Xeykard took a moment more with his hands by the fire, before turning to look at the-

Jedi.

His ironclad discipline nearly slipped. He exhaled his surprise, but his face didn't move in the slightest, and he turned fully to look at the man. He'd been planning to tell him off, or just no; interested as he was by the presence of another dark-sider here, it was not worth the risk. Xeykard's own presence was buried to practically nothing; just barely perceivable, like an experienced hunter hiding himself rather than the perfect concealment of an experienced Inquisitor.

He wondered if Jend-Ro Quill saw through him. For now, it seemed not.

"No," he said. "But... this one could find him for you." He spoke as he usually did, as one to whom violence was a reliable companion.

"This one is the best hunter in forty systems."

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

"Forty. An oddly specific number. Does it have significance or is that an actual count?"

Something about playing the Sith made words, spoken words, come a little easier to Quill. He found this Darth Stylus persona freeing in a way. Darth Stylus was downright glib, could speak without worrying about how his words could bring harm, could speak without being assessed for all the things Quill was and wasn't. Darth Stylus, he suspected, didn't need to take himself very seriously, and that led to serious thoughts about just what Quill had let himself become in his long cold exiles.

He moved around to join Xeykard at the fire and stoked it from the woodpile with a casual gesture. The crimson Barabel was twice his size and maybe half his age.

"I am Darth Stylus. The man I'm seeking attacked me in the ruins just north of here. He regretted it." Darth Stylus could allow himself a little pride, a touch of arrogance. "What would your price be, tracker?"

 

[Xeykard]

Jend-Ro Quill ​

He shrugged. "It is more," he said. "But this one only counts contests among Barabel. They are the ones that matter."

Not entirely untrue -- the exact number he'd come up with on the spot, but compared to his prior Inquisitor peers, he'd been among the most skilled in tracking, no matter the environment. Those who'd doubted his skills... well, most were dead, fallen to the thousands of wounds inflicted to the old Empire by the New Imperials and Alliance. Their contests were likely no longer valid, even if he'd claimed victory.

With his eyes back on the fire, it was almost easy to believe the man. Darth Stylus -- clever. He adjusted himself, seeming to relax.

When the price came up, he gave "Stylus" a glance, as though sizing him up properly. "Credits? Ten, for warming. But from you-" he held up three fingers. "This one will get three truths from you. The first question once we are agreed, the other two later. Do not attempt to lie."

He gave a piercing look, making a convincing case that he'd be able to tell if "Stylus" lied.

His hand dropped, and opened for a shake.

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

Quill had no credits, but passed over a fat silvery coin he'd found in the deep ruins, and shook Xeykard 's hand without hesitation. That kind of a bargain always boded interesting times.

"I want to know what he knows," he said, "and who he is. I'm not out for the boy's head. He interfered with my affairs, and the why of it matters. He had skill at staying unseen. Flamboyant, though. Green, perhaps. Not a practical assassin."

 

[Xeykard]

Jend-Ro Quill
​

Xeykard took the coin and nodded. "Then this one will learn why as well," he said.

With most of his first question answered, he turned to more practical matters, taking the last bit of warmth from the fire before rising. "The ruins. How far north? How long ago were you attacked?"

Before they left, Xeykard took the time to buy some extra power packs -- though it was more manageable during the day, the cold of Rhen Var had forced him to carry a small but powerful heater, one that ate through batteries at an untenable pace. The warmth of rage was even less sustainable.

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

Quill waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, perhaps twenty miles and two days. Here."

To share knowledge directly was a skill with many facets, several of which had their own names and reputations. Xeykard , all of a sudden, would have a clear memory of the ruin in question, and how the assassin had looked and acted. Quill held back the parts where that fellow had mentioned Quill being a Jedi. But take this path far enough, and Quill's cover identity did look flimsy.

One problem at a time.

He settled in closer to the fire, the picture of a willful old minor Sith. He had no intention of moving. Xeykard, other than his obvious utility and physical presence, was not of further interest at this point.

 

[Xeykard]

Jend-Ro Quill ​

After six days, Xeykard returned, covered in snow. He moved stiffly to the fire, taking a moment to warm up before speaking.

"He had friends," he said, looking to the fire. A red stain on his cybernetic hand began to melt, dripping off before he wiped it on his cloak. "Now this one has him. He is nearby, if you will follow. It was... too much work to bring him closer."

He knew that was suspicious, but he did his best to deceive the Jedi with his flat tone and ominous explanation.

Once he was a touch warmer, he guided "Stylus" outside, into the cold. The sun had just set, and the temperature was dropping quickly. After a couple minutes' walk, Xeykard pointed to a run-down shed at the edge of town. The roof slanted strangely, half-crumpled by the weight of the snow. "He is there."

As they approached, he spoke again. "He is not talkative. You truly do not know why he might come after you?"