Roark Garnett
Character
The ocean world of Manaan shimmered like a sapphire under the pale light of its twin moons as Roark Garnett guided his beat-up Starlight-class freighter, Max Rebo's Two Step, through the turbulent atmosphere. The Max groaned and rattled, protesting the damp air that seeped into every rusted joint, but Roark's steady hands – trained by necessity to keep his beloved rust bucket flying more than by natural skill - on the controls kept her descent smooth.
From the viewport, endless waves stretched to the horizon, broken only by the floating city of Ahto—gleaming durasteel platforms perched atop the water, connected by bridges that swayed with the tides.
It looked beautiful and serene – as long as you did not come close enough to see the dirt and squalor of the harbor district and spaceport area.
Roark's lanky frame was slouched in the pilot's seat, his brown coat with its shiny brass buttons hanging loosely over his spacers jumpsuit. Fizz, his Loth cat, perched on his shoulder, purring softly as her sharp eyes tracked the flickering lights of the city below.
Roark scratched under her chin absentmindedly, muttering, "Alright, girl, let's keep this quick and clean. No slime trails, no trouble."
No trouble, sure thing. The boy was whistling in the dark forest at night.
He was here for a smuggling run—kolto, the cheaper cousin of bacta, was in high demand on the black market now that the galaxy was going crazy – again - and Manaan was the source.
But the whispers of Black Sun Syndicate tightening their grip on the planet made his skin crawl. Roark wasn't one for tangling with syndicates, not after his brush with the Hutts. Still, with Leebo the Rodian's 25,000-credit debt hanging over him like a death sentence—and word of Thrandoshan enforcers sniffing around - he didn't have the luxury of being choosy. The Max settled onto a weathered landing pad on the outskirts of Ahto City, the hum of the engines fading into the constant roar of crashing waves.
Roark grabbed his comlink, medpack, and tucked his DL-18 blaster into the shoulder holster beneath his coat. He slung his Kloo horn case over his back—just in case he needed to blend into a cantina and took a swig from the casket of moonshine brandy Hawk had gifted him years ago. The burn steadied his nerves.
Stepping onto the platform, the salty tang of the ocean hit him like a slap, the air thick with moisture that clung to his hair and made his old navy boots squelch with each step.
Selkath, the amphibian natives moved through the crowd, their bulbous eyes scanning him with mild curiosity as they chattered in their guttural tongue. Roark tipped his head in a friendly nod, keeping his expression neutral. He took note that quite a few Quarren were around, humans and near-humans much less so.
He made his way toward a seedy cantina near the docks, a place called Tide's Edge, where his contact was supposed to meet him. The interior was dim, lit by flickering blue hololamps that mimicked the ocean's glow, and smelled of brine and cheap ale. Roark scanned the room as he leaned casually against the bar,
Fizz still perched on his shoulder, her tail flicking with alertness. A Selkath bartender, his skin sagged by old age and his posture slouched, slid him a drink without asking, and Roark raised it in thanks before murmuring, "Just a honest trader lookin' for a friend."
The bartender's webbed hand paused mid-wipe of a glass, his eyes narrowing. Roark kept his tone light, but his fingers twitched near the edge of his coat, ready to reach for his blaster if this went south.
"There ain´t no many human friends around here." he uttered, his vocal cords clearly not made for Galactic basic.
The introductions were made.
Roark swirled his drink around as he kept a close eye both on the bartender and on Fizz. The cat had better instincsts then him. Perhas more brains too.
"I´m doing my best to qualify."
The old Selkath nodded.
"We could some friends off-world. For a pribate business."
"So I heard on Tatooine." Roark nodded.
"Did Gliwan tell you more about it?"
"I don´t know no Gliwan. Nothing personal friend but I have to protect my contacts. It´s about moving klotho. That´s what I know."
The Selkath let out a blubbering sound indicating he was satisfied with the answer, not that the trick with the random name as a bait had been too subtle.
"Who is Gliwan anyway? Your hairdresser?"
A gurgling laughter, "My nephew. Alright Hoomon. We discovered a secret kolto current and we are almost ready to mine it. Then the fluid needs transport off the planet. No formalities and no questions asked."
Roark necked his drink, "Almost ready sounds like I´m stuck here for a while."
The Selkath poured him another one, "I hope you like fish for breakfast, dinner and lunch."
Makai Dashiell
From the viewport, endless waves stretched to the horizon, broken only by the floating city of Ahto—gleaming durasteel platforms perched atop the water, connected by bridges that swayed with the tides.
It looked beautiful and serene – as long as you did not come close enough to see the dirt and squalor of the harbor district and spaceport area.
Roark's lanky frame was slouched in the pilot's seat, his brown coat with its shiny brass buttons hanging loosely over his spacers jumpsuit. Fizz, his Loth cat, perched on his shoulder, purring softly as her sharp eyes tracked the flickering lights of the city below.
Roark scratched under her chin absentmindedly, muttering, "Alright, girl, let's keep this quick and clean. No slime trails, no trouble."
No trouble, sure thing. The boy was whistling in the dark forest at night.
He was here for a smuggling run—kolto, the cheaper cousin of bacta, was in high demand on the black market now that the galaxy was going crazy – again - and Manaan was the source.
But the whispers of Black Sun Syndicate tightening their grip on the planet made his skin crawl. Roark wasn't one for tangling with syndicates, not after his brush with the Hutts. Still, with Leebo the Rodian's 25,000-credit debt hanging over him like a death sentence—and word of Thrandoshan enforcers sniffing around - he didn't have the luxury of being choosy. The Max settled onto a weathered landing pad on the outskirts of Ahto City, the hum of the engines fading into the constant roar of crashing waves.
Roark grabbed his comlink, medpack, and tucked his DL-18 blaster into the shoulder holster beneath his coat. He slung his Kloo horn case over his back—just in case he needed to blend into a cantina and took a swig from the casket of moonshine brandy Hawk had gifted him years ago. The burn steadied his nerves.
Stepping onto the platform, the salty tang of the ocean hit him like a slap, the air thick with moisture that clung to his hair and made his old navy boots squelch with each step.
Selkath, the amphibian natives moved through the crowd, their bulbous eyes scanning him with mild curiosity as they chattered in their guttural tongue. Roark tipped his head in a friendly nod, keeping his expression neutral. He took note that quite a few Quarren were around, humans and near-humans much less so.
He made his way toward a seedy cantina near the docks, a place called Tide's Edge, where his contact was supposed to meet him. The interior was dim, lit by flickering blue hololamps that mimicked the ocean's glow, and smelled of brine and cheap ale. Roark scanned the room as he leaned casually against the bar,
Fizz still perched on his shoulder, her tail flicking with alertness. A Selkath bartender, his skin sagged by old age and his posture slouched, slid him a drink without asking, and Roark raised it in thanks before murmuring, "Just a honest trader lookin' for a friend."
The bartender's webbed hand paused mid-wipe of a glass, his eyes narrowing. Roark kept his tone light, but his fingers twitched near the edge of his coat, ready to reach for his blaster if this went south.
"There ain´t no many human friends around here." he uttered, his vocal cords clearly not made for Galactic basic.
The introductions were made.
Roark swirled his drink around as he kept a close eye both on the bartender and on Fizz. The cat had better instincsts then him. Perhas more brains too.
"I´m doing my best to qualify."
The old Selkath nodded.
"We could some friends off-world. For a pribate business."
"So I heard on Tatooine." Roark nodded.
"Did Gliwan tell you more about it?"
"I don´t know no Gliwan. Nothing personal friend but I have to protect my contacts. It´s about moving klotho. That´s what I know."
The Selkath let out a blubbering sound indicating he was satisfied with the answer, not that the trick with the random name as a bait had been too subtle.
"Who is Gliwan anyway? Your hairdresser?"
A gurgling laughter, "My nephew. Alright Hoomon. We discovered a secret kolto current and we are almost ready to mine it. Then the fluid needs transport off the planet. No formalities and no questions asked."
Roark necked his drink, "Almost ready sounds like I´m stuck here for a while."
The Selkath poured him another one, "I hope you like fish for breakfast, dinner and lunch."
Makai Dashiell