Private Hunting the Hunter

[Ronhar Tane]

CAPTAIN RONHAR TANE, TK-3301
CHANDAAR, AMBARIL
[REDACTED]

In a way, Chandaar reminded Ronhar very much of his home planet of Mahporeem.

Polluted. Overcrowded. Decaying.

Just like he was used to!

He wasn't, however, here on the planet for any sort of pleasure but rather because he had a mission he needed to carry out. Iavys Thif, a former Junkyard Knight of Mahporeem who had gone rogue, had stolen something of great importance to the Mahporeem Imperial Remnant and had fled with the item, taking it far away from Mahporeenin controlled space. For weeks, Ronhar and his men had tried to track down the fugitive, and had finally found them hiding out on Chandaar, where they were likely trying to make their way toward Mandalorian Empire held space. Should they be able to escape into Mandalorian territory, Ronhar would be unable to follow them, and the item that they had stolen would be lost forever, potentially even given over to the Mandalorians as payment for safe passage.

Ronhar could not afford to let that happen!

He had been ordered to retrieve the item at any cost, and to apprehend or even kill Thif if necessary. Though a powerful force user, Ronhar was confident in his own weapons, abilities and equipment, and he had the full might of Salvage Team Six backing him up for the mission. Even if things got hairy and the local planetary defense forces got involved, Ronhar would be able to deal with them.

As he made his way through the streets of Ambaril, most of the locals made a conscious effort to avoid him, staying directly out of his way as he stalked the area around him. It was only a matter of time before he found the traitor, and once he did...Ronhar would deal with him as swiftly as he possibly could!
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Spoiler: Ronhar's Loadout

• Burnblade
• Ion Slicer Vibroknife
• Model 216 "Big Game Hunter"
• Mahporeem Acid Rifle
• Prototype Sonic Pistol
• Rhydonium Grenades
• Mk II Viral Bombs
• Wampa-Pattern Industrial Exoskeleton
• "Kitetsu" Force Energy Cycler
• "Yugiri" Capture Nets
• Mk 45 Protective Vest
• Carapace Knitters
• ABC - Aerosolized Bacta Cannisters

TAGS:
Paila Dalle

 

[Paila Dalle]

The salvage quarter of Ambaril carried it's own kind of rhythm. Not the polished pulse of wealth, nor the ordered movement of disciplined industry; but something older. Looser. A constant layering of machinery, barter, exhaust, and worn voices blending together beneath flickering neon and tangled overhead wiring. Chandaar buried it's forgotten things here. Or sold them.

Paila moved through the district without drawing attention to herself; the soft tap of her beskar staff disappearing easily beneath the surrounding noise. The hood of her cloak rested low around her shoulders, weathered fabric stirring faintly in the polluted evening air as she followed the narrow corridor between stacked scrap crates and hanging machine parts.

The message she had received had been brief. No names. No explanations. Only a location, and a request that carried the unmistakable shape of desperation beneath it's restraint.

She found the shop tucked between two larger structures, half-obscured behind dangling cables and rusted plating. Dim light spilled through the front transparisteel, illuminating crowded shelves lined with scavenged components and relics whose original purposes had long since been forgotten. The proprietor barely looked up as she entered. A small nod toward the rear curtain was all the acknowledgement she received. Paila inclined her head once in return before continuing deeper into the shop, slipping past narrow aisles burdened beneath the weight of salvaged circuitry and broken droid parts until the noise of the street softened behind her.

The back room smelled faintly of oil, dust, and overheated wiring. And fear. Iavys Thif stood near a cluttered worktable littered with dismantled components, his posture rigid despite the exhaustion written plainly across his face. His eyes lifted the moment she entered, relief surfacing so quickly it almost hurt to witness. “You came,” he said quietly.

Paila studied him for a long moment before answering. “Yes.” Nothing more. The silence that followed was not unkind, though neither was it comforting. Her gaze moved briefly across the room instead, noting the half-sealed rear entrance, the humming ventilation unit overhead, the subtle imperfections in the walls that allowed the sounds of the neighboring structures to bleed through in softened fragments. Not private, then. Interesting.

Only then did her attention return fully to him. “You are being followed,” she observed calmly.

Iavys gave a short, humorless laugh beneath his breath. “That obvious?”

“You expected me to come prepared for danger.”

“That’s because there is danger.” His voice tightened as he spoke, and for the first time Paila sensed it clearly beneath the exhaustion: not greed, nor ambition. Fear. Not for himself.

Slowly, carefully, Iavys reached beneath the folds of his coat and withdrew a small object wrapped tightly in worn cloth. Even before the fabric shifted aside, the Force stirred faintly against Paila’s senses; old, layered, carrying impressions that did not belong to this place. A memory reliquary. Ancient. Fragmented. And deeply unsettled. “I need you to take it,” Iavys said, the words arriving too quickly now, as though speaking them aloud had finally broken whatever restraint he had left. “Please. If they recover it--”

Paila did not reach for the object. Instead, her gaze settled on it in silence. The Force moved strangely around the reliquary. Not violently. Worse than that. Quietly. Like something waiting to be remembered. After a moment, her eyes lifted back to his. “Where did you find this?”

Tag: Ronhar Tane