Legacy Lost [Isley Verd]

[Lief]

Silence - was it really a concept until one has heard noise? By that it's not encompassing static or explosions, but true sound - the voices of sentients, the animal-cries of beasts, the therapeutic lullabies of the wind and rain, of birds and insects, the rushing waves of water. If silence is the absence of noise, then surely it cannot exist to one who lacks an understanding of what noise is. The child who walked through the stalls within the Slave Market of Orvax IV heard nothing: no cries of outrage from slave or slaver alike, no desperate pleas or sobbing voices, not even the overpowering din of ships which whooshed by overhead. Instead she allowed her eyes to paint a picture for her, filling in the blanks like a silent orchestra. The scents, likewise, enabled her world to expand - but never did she hear a single word spoken.

The tug upon her shoulder woke her from her daydream, forcing the child to blink and look up. As ever her first port of call was not the eyes of the individual, as many had a habit of doing, but instead her gaze slipped expertly to his lips. The man had a face which resembled some great cat, the likes of which she had seen in cages back at the store. It was tattooed in a much richer sense than her own cheek -marking, the colours more vibrant, the pattern spread across it entirely. With soft eyes he stared at her, and for a moment said nothing. Then he made a brief, sweeping gesture toward one of the stalls, housing several young prisoners, would-be-slaves. He gave her just a moment to glance over their skinny little frames, lips trembling in a way which would suggest displeasure, sadness, perhaps worse. Then he snapped his fingers in front of her face, redirecting her attention to his person - or more appropriately, his lips.

"What do you think of them?" She read of his lips, the way he moved them was like second nature to her by now - she had noticed the oddity when comparing it with others. Truth be told he barely moved them at all, which had been difficult for her to adjust to. "They're... Skinny-looking" she responded, scrunching up her nose, although her Basic was extremely broken and a little off in terms of the tone of her words. His expression turned to one of mirth, eyes alight as she spotted the signs of humour. "You're skinny-looking, girl." However he soon turned serious once again. The expression was one she knew well, so much so that it forced her to take a meek step backwards. "Will they be up to the job?"

This one took her a moment longer than before to comprehend - after all, the words weren't plain and simple, they had random connotations, the likes of which confused her in her ignorance. Tick-Tock, time passed by, before she slowly nodded her head. "Y-Yes, Master - I... I think so." She could tell it wasn't a good enough answer, that he had expected her to be more assertive, yet what could he expect? Assertiveness was often something that would land her a backhand or worse, as was over-confidence. She was nothing to him, just someone to work his shop, do his bidding and keep quiet unless he required her attention. In the end he simply turned from her and gestured for her to keep up.

Obediently she scurried after him, like a stray dog at the heel of a budding butcher, as they made their way toward the pit which held four young slaves. They were older than she was, and it was clear they had been taken from their homes at a later stage in their life than she had. Not that it would matter in the end, she knew - she had seen this process several times before. They always broke, especially to this one. He made good money out of training and re-selling slaves once they were fit for their purpose... But never had he attempted to do the same with Ancora. Perhaps he had taken pity on her for her deafness, knowing how ill others would take it. Or maybe there were other, unseen and unknown reasons.

Either way, Ancora knew that the Master she presently had would prove the best a girl such as she could ever hope for, especially in a market such as this one.

@[member='Isley Verd']

 

[Darth Metus]

The question as to why the Mandalorian bothered with Bounty Hunter was one met with a unique response. Simply put, he was not hurting for credits in the slightest; nor was he lacking at all in terms of work. However, Bounty Hunting fulfilled Isley Verd in a way that was seldom understood. In the present era of his life, the Mandalorian could be considered an important individual in his neck of the woods. He sat upon governing bodies, he led troops, he trained apprentices...he even had a wife, child, and several others living with him at his estate on Krant. As such, the concept of "alone time" was simply non-existent these days. Isley would literally bounce from the meeting room of a diplomatic venture to a battlefield to a home bustling with people.

Yet Bounty Hunting provided him with those few short moments of silence. Time to relax the mind and to focus on other things aside from politics, campaigns, or doodles on the refridgerator. It was not that the Mandalorian did not adore his life and the people in it; but every man needed that one thing they did to wind down and to keep themselves sane. For Isley, putting two slugs in the rear of someone's head, and then getting paid for it, was his method of "finding zen". And so, this eternal quest for "relaxation" led him to a sordid hole in the wall. It was a slaver den outside of Confederate space, and the job called for hunting down the man of the hour. Apparently he was wanted for overseeing a kidnapping ring. Men, women, and children would be plucked from their beds in the Outer Rim, then sold into slavery; all because of a single man.

By default, the Mandalorian had a deep-seated aversion to the very concept of slavery. Add kidnapping children and the recently-made-a-father part of Isley comes out. Though the bounty called for the Slaver to be either dead or alive, Isley was going to make sure that he was dead. Very. Much. Dead. So, with the hood of his cloak up in order to veil his physical features, the beskar-clad warrior strode calmly through the slaver's den. Finally, after strolling about for a few minutes, the Mandalorian caught sight of the man he was to eliminate, standing over the edge of a pit. Within this space were four individuals, chained to posts. They were to be "broken" by Isley's understanding, which was a disgusting affair in of itself. Quietly, Isley stepped forward, reaching for his holster and producing his CZ-835 Machine Pistol, which was silenced just for this occassion.

It's fire mode was in the three-round burst setting, and upon holding his arm aloft he began to draw attention from the slaves adjacent to him. They gawked, for never had they seen a slugthrower having been pulled on the man who held their fates in his hands. There were no words, of course. No verbal condemnation, no accusations, no nothing. Instead, Isley waited once more until he could see the full face of the Slaver, confirming that the identity was correct, and then pulled the trigger...a few times...The spray of FLARE slugs was relentless, peppering his upper body with pieces of metal. In an instant, the smug Slaver was robbed of his very existence and flames began to consume his flesh. Of course, Isley was recording the whole thing on his helm and uploading it to the client as proof of a job well done.

Holstering the slugthrower, Isley then spoke aloud whilst jumping into the pit. "This man was wanted, dead or alive, for kidnapping and general 'bad behavior." began the Mandalorian, embellishing the charges with his textbook sarcasm. "I am a simple Bounty Hunter going about my work. I'm here to verify the deceased and I'll be on my way..." Apparently, this wasn't the first time the den as a whole had a Bounty Hunter in their midst, or had seen a hunt go down, for Isley wasn't the subject of an immediate hail of blaster fire. But, things could change in the drop of a dime. Coming to a halt, Isley lowered to a squad and flipped the burning man over to his back...yep, he was dead...and upon looking up, a pang of guilt erupted in his stomach.

He had just gunned down a man...in front of a child.

@[member="Ancora Lorr"]

 

[Lief]

The man reached down to grasp the wrist of the girl: it was becoming difficult to navigate the maze of people without risking losing her. That wasn't something he was willing to do. Ancora tensed at first, but it had become a custom amongst them and as such she dealt with it without protest. Quickening her pace to keep up with the man she wandered with him, until finally they made it down into the pit. Even there he did not release her grip, he did not want her to be seen as another slave up for auction. She could see his lips moving, but from the angle she was stood at it was impossible to understand the words themselves. As such she figured they were meant for someone else, and instead she directed her attention dead ahead, on the poor children.

She wished, at this point, that she had lied to him and told him no. But he had a knack for picking up on falsities, and she knew the punishment for doing so. "I'm sorry" she whispered, and the man didn't seem to hear her. Had she said it aloud at all? With a small frown she hung her head in shame. It was horrific, to be made to choose new children for him to break and sell on. It was immoral, unjust, yet she had little choice in the matter.

Suddenly there was a tug on her arm, causing her to stumble down. Looking up she saw some sort of chaos ensuing, only she could not hear anything to accompany it. Instead all she saw was the dead visage of her Master, lying there in the sand. Blood soaked into the sand, turning it a ruddy crimson colour. The sight of blood was nothing new to her, but she felt nauseous all the same. His hand was tight around her wrist still and as she began to panic she tried to tug against it. Try as she might, Ancora could not break free from the grip, and in the end she sank back to her knees in the sand. Her eyes were wide and unfocused as she tugged and tugged against the grip of the dead slaver. What was she without a Master? What was any slave without one?

@[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

"Kark..." muttered the Mandalorian as he witnessed the heart shattering scene. The child before him was locked in the grip of the deceased man and was tugging and tugging as hard as she could to release herself from his hold. Isley, first, reached for his helmet and nestled it in the crook of his arm, revealing his face to her. He then squatted, slowly and calmly, in front of her and raised his hand up non-threateningly. "Little one." he said very calmly and slowly, as if to attempt to calm her down, "I am not going to hurt you. I'm going to help you." With that said, he reached out towards the arm of the fallen man and took hold of his fingertips. Then, he pried them free so that the little one might escape; but all the tugging would result in her falling on her bottom.

"Were you this man's slave?" he inquired, allowing his mind to wander as to why a full grown man would have a child around as a slave. The results caused his stomach to turn and he found immense joy in the fact that he had put a slug through the mongrel's head. "You don't have to be frightened." he added, gently, "You're free, and I'll help you." With that said, the Mandalorian offered the little one his hand and waited to see if she would take it. Trust was, of course, something that had to be earned and was not freely given; but hopefully his gestures of good will would be enough to encourage the little one to allow him to help her. "My name is Isley, by the way, what's your name?"

@[member="Ancora Lorr"].

 

[Lief]

Only Ancora could not hear the words spoken. Her gaze was set upon the dead man, her panic not ceasing. Suddenly the hand released her and she stumbled backwards, landing on her backside in the dirt. She rocked back and forth slightly, looking down at the blood on her hands. What had she done? What had she done?! "M-Master" she whispered, her voice a little flatter than most childrens, a byproduct of her deafness. All she could do was stare, she couldn't hear Isley, she couldn't hear anything; she didn't even notice that several of the slaves in the pit had begun to run away, attempting to gain their freedom while mayhem ensued around them.

But suddenly a hand was held towards her, making the girl jump. It was clear at this point that she hadn't noticed him there, and that she had not heard him. Her wide, terror-filled gaze lifted up to stare at the Mandalorian Bounty Hunter. Her gaze caught his lips during the latter half of his words, catching only his question. But she couldn't speak, instead she backed away on the ground, away from him and his offered hands, away from his questioning gaze. Instead she ended up bumping into a scary looking slaver, and it all got too much for the sensory-deprived child. She lowered her head into her hands and tried to block it all out, breathing panicked.

@[member="Isley Verd"]