Private Hunting the Hunter

Ronhar Tane · May 8, 2026

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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Paila Dalle

Paila Dalle · May 8, 2026

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?”

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Ronhar Tane

Ronhar Tane · May 11, 2026

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

Though it had taken Ronhar longer than he had anticipated, he finally managed to track down Iavys Thif to some hole in the wall shop nestled right smack in the middle of Ambaril. Now he had to figure out the best way to approach the target.

Ideally, Ronhar would have preferred to have gone in quietly, eliminate Iavys and recover the stolen item before anyone noticed, but that option was currently impossible for Ronhar to attempt. For starters, there were way to many people, and if Ronhar was caught attacking someone unprovoked, there was no telling how the local population might react. They might panic, they might attack him or otherwise attempt to take advantage of the chaos, or run off to alert the local planetary defense forces, none of which Ronhar could afford to let happen.

Instead, he decided to go with the more direct route.

"Surround the building, but do not enter until you receive my go ahead", Ronhar radio'd to his forces, who were currently scattered around the city looking for Thif. It would take some time for them to arrive, but Ronhar could wait no longer. He instead unsheathed Burnblade from its back scabbard and calmly walked into the shop, letting the weapon drag on the floor as it hissed and scorched the ground beneath it.

The reaction was immediate.

Anyone still inside immediately stood up to leave, deliberately walking passed Ronhar as they made their way toward any available exit. The shop's owner took one look at Ronhar and ducked behind the nearest set of curtains. It seemed that the people of Ambrail were more than used to their fair share of trouble, and clearly wanted no part of what Ronhar was about to bring. Smart.

By now, the shop was empty except for Thif and his companion, someone Ronhar did not recognize. Ronhar could just barely make up the faint outline of the Holocron that Thif had taken with him when he had fled the Imperial Remnant. To someone like Ronhar, the device was utterly useless, little more than an exceptionally elaborate paperweight. But to the right people, people who were force sensitive, the device was quite literally priceless, and the knowledge stored within it could prove to be the key to allowing the Imperial Remnant to defeat the Sith once and for all...assuming Ronhar could get it back undamaged, of course.

Ronhar slowly sauntered his way toward Thif and

Paila Dalle , before coming to a stop a mere few feet away from them, blocking the exits as he raised Burnblade toward both Thif and Dalle.

"You're a hard man to find, Thif", Ronhar hissed as he stared down the traitor to Mahporeem. "But not that hard. Did you really think you could flee to Mandalorian space with what you stole from us? Now I'll be honest, I don't care about you that much, but I can't let you leave without taking a look at what's going on inside your head. I'm sure you already looked at the Holocron, didn't you? Such information...could do a lot of damage should it fall into the wrong hands. Which is why you'll be coming back home with us", Ronhar concluded at he took another step forward, blade held aloft. He then glanced in

Paila Dalle 's direction.

"You best get out of here while you still can. Imperial reinforcements will be here any minute, and it would be rather...unfortunate if you got caught up in the crossfire", Ronhar threatened.

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Paila Dalle

Paila Dalle · May 12, 2026

The shop changed the moment that Ronhar entered. Not through the weapon alone, nor the hiss of scorched flooring beneath it's weight, but through the reaction that followed in it's wake. Fear moved quickly through the room. Quietly. Instinctively. Customers abandoned half-finished transactions without protest, the proprietor vanished behind hanging curtains, and the restless rhythm of the salvage quarter seemed suddenly very far away.

Paila watched it happen in silence. Beside her, Iavys had gone rigid. Not surprised. Resigned. Her gaze lingered briefly upon the blade dragging molten lines through the floor before lifting toward the man himself. There was purpose in him. Discipline. The kind forged through long familiarity with violence and obedience alike. Dangerous, certainly. But not uncontrolled. That distinction mattered.

She listened without interruption as he spoke, allowing the weight of his words to settle naturally into the space between them. Imperial reinforcements. Crossfire. Recovery. Extraction. They were not requests, but expectations.

Only when he finished did Paila move. Slowly, she reached toward the reliquary still held tightly within Iavys' unsteady grasp. For the briefest moment he hesitated, his eyes searching hers with exhausted uncertainty before finally relinquishing it into her care. The instant the object settled into her hands, the Force stirred again; ancient impressions brushing softly against her awareness like distant voices half-lost beneath water. Not now. Later. Carefully, Paila wrapped the reliquary once more within the cloth before securing it beneath the folds of her robe.

Only then did she look back toward Ronhar. “You speak as though possession grants understanding,” she said calmly. No anger touched the words. No defiance. Merely observation. “This object is older than your conflict with the Sith. Older than your Remnant. Whatever knowledge it contains; reducing it to a weapon will not make you wiser for holding it.”

Silence settled briefly. Beside her, Iavys remained motionless, though fear still clung tightly to the edges of his breathing. Paila noticed. “You are correct about one thing,” she continued softly. “He cannot leave with you.” A slight shift of her staff against the floor accompanied the words; subtle, measured, and grounding. “But neither can this.”

At last, her gaze lifted fully to meet Ronhar’s. Steady. And present. “If your reinforcements are truly moments away,” she said, “then I would suggest we decide very carefully what happens next.”

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Ronhar Tane

Ronhar Tane · May 14, 2026

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

"You speak as though possession grants understanding. This object is older than your conflict with the Sith. Older than your Remnant. Whatever knowledge it contains; reducing it to a weapon will not make you wiser for holding it."

Ronhar raised his eyebrows at

Paila Dalle 's statement. Though most of the shop's patrons had exited the establishment the moment he had entered, she hadn't, staying right by Iavys Thif's side even as Ronhar had approached the pair. Moreover, she knew exactly what the item
Ivays stol was, and Ronhar was willing to bet money that she was a Jedi or at least some sort of force sensitive. He should have known Ivalys was conspiring with others when he had stolen the holocron!

More to the point, her presence complicated things, and Ronhar's attempts to intimidate her into leaving had failed. He subtly activated the "Kitetsu" Force Energy Cycler that was attached to his blast vest as he fully turned toward

Paila Dalle , his right hand squeezing the grip of Burnblade in anticipation of what was to come. Granted, turning away from Iavys was certainly a risk, but at the moment, seizing the holocron was the priority, and Ronhar was again willing to bet money that Ivays would not attack him but rather take the opportunity to run, after which his men could track him down and capture him as Ronhar dealt with the Jedi before him.

"If your reinforcements are truly moments away, then I would suggest we decide very carefully what happens next."

Ronhar could afford to wait no longer. Attacking someone who had yet to act violently or draw their weapons was, in Ronhar's humble opinion, in rather poor taste, even if the people before him were traitors and criminals. But the item they had taken was simply far to valuable for Ronhar to give up, and

Paila Dalle had been warned by Ronhar what would happen if they didn't comply with Ronhar's orders.

Scarcely had those final words left Paila's lips that Ronhar lunged forward, without any sort of warning or indication that he was going to attack. Holding Burnblade in his right hand, Ronhar executed a series of slashes at

Paila Dalle before returning back to a neutral position, adapting a Form I "ready stance" as he prepared his next set of attacks against his adversaries!

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Paila Dalle

Paila Dalle · May 14, 2026

Paila felt the shift in the Force the moment Ronhar turned fully toward her. It was subtle. But wrong. It wasn't absence. Nor suppression. But consumption. The sensation curled strangely through the cramped salvage room, drawing at the ambient currents of the Force like heat pulling air toward flame. Artificial and deliberate. The kind of thing designed by those who viewed the Force less as something to understand and more as something to survive. She noticed it. And quietly set the observation aside.

Then Ronhar moved. Fast. Far faster than the weight of his weapon should have allowed. The first slash came without warning, the heated edge of Burnblade hissing through the cluttered room in a wide arc meant to overwhelm through sheer aggression and force.

Paila did not meet it directly. Instead, the beskar staff rose smoothly through the narrow space between hanging cables and stacked scrap crates, catching the strike at an angle just long enough to guide it's momentum past her shoulder rather than stopping it outright.

Sparks burst violently through the dim shop as heated metal screamed against beskar. The confined space immediately became apparent. The burnblade's length carved molten scars through dangling machine parts and clipped the edge of a suspended salvage rack as Ronhar pressed forward into his second strike. Heavy. Relentless.

Paila yielded ground without surrendering control of it. One measured step carried her sideways through a narrow aisle cluttered with dismantled droid components while her staff rotated fluidly through her hands, one end intercepting the descending blade while the opposite end struck lightly against the floor to stabilize her balance within the debris-strewn space. There was no wasted movement. No panic. Only timing.

The third strike tore through the air where she had stood a fraction of a second earlier, she having already pivoted inward rather than away; close enough now that the length of Ronhar's weapon became increasingly difficult to leverage cleanly between crowded shelves and hanging scrap. Still she did not ignite her lightsaber. Still she did not lash outward through the Force.

Behind her, she could already hear Iavys moving toward the rear of the shop. Good.

Paila's breathing remained calm as the staff settled once against the scorched floor between them. “You expected the Force to overwhelm you,” she observed softly. The worn beskar rotated once through her hands with quiet familiarity as she shifted carefully within the cramped aisle, never quite allowing Ronhar the open space his weapon preferred. “So you prepared for power.” A brief silence followed beneath the hiss of damaged machinery and drifting smoke. “But not every Jedi fights that way.”

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Ronhar Tane

Ronhar Tane · Monday at 11:06 AM

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

Ronhar wasn't surprised that

Paila Dalle rose to defend herself, but he was surprised by the weapon she used to do so. He was positive that he would had heard the unmistakable snap-hiss of a lightsaber being ignited, but instead his weapon encountered the unmistakeable form of a Beskar staff instead. Just further proof that Iavys was in league with the Mandalorians after all, and that he was planning on selling the artifact to them through this interloper. Ivalys had, naturally, bolted the moment Ronhar and Paila started fighting: it would be up to his men to find him and track him down. More important to Ronhar was the fact that Paila now had the Holocron on her person, and seemingly had no intent to return it to Ronhar.

His flurry of blows from Burnblade had been deftly parried at each opportunity, Paila defending herself with the practiced movements of someone who had gotten into their fair share of scrapes and engagements. Each time Ronhar moved to strike, Paila easily swatted his sword aside or simply moved out of the way, and though Ronhar had chased her around what seemed like the entirety of the store they were fighting in, he had yet to land a single blow on her.

"So you prepared for power. But not every Jedi fights that way."

The comment stung Ronhar to his very core as he continued to circle around Paila with his sword raised at her. She was right, of course, as Ronhar had fought nothing but Sith Lords and Mandalorians lately, and so he had adapted his fighting style to better fight against those types of enemies. His opponent today, however, was far more slippery, and if Ronhar wanted to defeat her, he would need to improvise.

Glancing around, Ronhar couldn't help but notice furniture scattered all over the place, knocked down from the previous occupants who had stood up to leave in a hurry. Ronhar continued his clockwise movement around Paila before reaching for one of the chairs on the ground, flinging it toward Paila with far more speed and force than the average person should be able to muster up. Ronhar then charged forward once again, aiming to strike low as the chair he threw went straight toward Paila's head. While she defended high, Ronhar would go for her legs....

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Paila Dalle

Paila Dalle · Monday at 5:23 PM

Ronhar adapted quickly. Paila noticed that immediately. The chair left his hand with enough force to crack apart a hanging salvage lamp as it hurtled through the cramped shop toward her head, fast enough that most opponents would have reacted instinctively upward. Exactly as intended. At the same instant, Ronhar surged forward beneath it, Burnblade carving low through the narrow aisle in a vicious sweep aimed for her legs.

For the first time since the fight began, Paila moved directly into the attack. The staff spun sharply through her hands in a tight horizontal rotation, one end striking the incoming chair hard enough to deflect its path into a nearby shelf where it exploded into splintered wood and collapsing scrap metal. But the motion did not stop there. Using the momentum already in motion, Paila pivoted inward on her leading foot rather than retreating away from Ronhar’s low strike. The lower half of Burnblade hissed beneath the trailing edge of her robes close enough for heat to flare sharply across her calves as she stepped across the attack line instead of away from it. Close now. Too close for the length of his weapon to comfortably recover.

The center of her staff snapped downward immediately afterward, not toward his head nor throat, but against Ronhar’s weapon arm just above the wrist in a precise, compact strike meant less to injure than to disrupt control and positioning. It was a correction. Not a punishment. The impact rang sharply through the crowded salvage aisle.

Then she was moving again. The opposite end of the staff caught against the edge of a tilted shelving unit as Paila redirected her momentum backward through the debris-strewn corridor, creating space before Ronhar could fully retaliate.

Around them, the salvage shop groaned under the violence of the exchange. Hanging cables sparked overhead. Loose machine parts rolled noisily across the floor beneath drifting smoke and scorched air.

Still Paila had not ignited her lightsaber. Still her breathing remained steady. “You adapt quickly,” she observed calmly, staff lowering once more into a grounded guard position. There was no mockery in the statement. Only an acknowledgment of his efforts thus far. “But you are still trying to overpower the space around you.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward the cramped maze of wreckage surrounding them before returning to him. “You do not have enough room here for the kind of fight you want.”

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Ronhar Tane

Ronhar Tane · 2026-05-21T14:23:48-0400

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

Ronhar was starting to get seriously annoyed with

Paila Dalle .

His latest attack had failed to meet its mark, with Paila moving in to intercept him rather than stepping away, the sign of an experienced and well versed fighter. In less than a fraction of a second, Paila had not only deflected the chair heading her way but also managed to deflect Burnblade away from her legs, giving Ronhar a sharp rapt on his arm in the process. Not hard enough to cause any real damage per say, but still hard enough to mess up the timing and movement of his attack. Was this Jedi...toying with Ronhar? Playing with him as if he were some impertinent child throwing a temper tantrum? Did she seriously not understand the gravity of this situation?

"You adapt quickly. But you are still trying to overpower the space around you. You do not have enough room here for the kind of fight you want."

Ronhar grunted as he reset his footwork, once again holding Burnblade aloft as he looked for any kind of opening on his rather skilled opponent. Of course he didn't have the room for the kind of fight he wanted! What he really wanted to do was burn and dissolve Paila's stupid Beskar Staff with his shoulder mounted Mahporeem Acid Rifle, but he dared not to do so for risk of accidentally destroying the holocron in the process. Even the slightest bit of stray acid could irrevocably damage the holoron beyond repair, as could a poorly timed blast of sonic energy from his Prototype Sonic Pistol. The use of his Model 216 "Big Game Hunter" was naturally completely and entirely out of the question, forcing him to rely on Burnblade to get this job done.

Paila Dalle hadn't used any force powers either, and the latent force energy leaking from her body wasn't nearly enough to give Ronhar any benefit from his "Kitetsu" Force Energy Cycler. For the moment, things were looking rather grim for Ronhar.

But someone like him wasn't quite out of tricks yet.

"Then I will make this room give me the type of fight I want!", Ronhar retorted as he grabbed a Mk II Viral Bomb hanging off of his vest and threw it on the floor with as much force as he could muster. The Viral Bomb exploded into a cloud of Accudrop Stun Gas, and quickly began to fill the room, threatening to envelop both Ronhar and Paila within its gaseous confines. Ronhar's helmet would allow him several minutes of clean air, meaning that he would mostly be unaffected by the gas floating around him. But as for Paila? Ronhar hoped she could hold her breath for an extended period of time. Because if not..

Bolstered by a surge of fresh confidence, Ronhar now came at Paila with an overhead strike into a feint, suddenly reversing the direction of his blade at the last second as he swift flipped his hands downward and executed a horizontal slash of his own toward Paila's throat, aiming to end this battle in one swift blow while keeping any damage to the holocron as contained as possible!

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Private Hunting the Hunter

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