Public Matchsticks Are a Girl’s Best Friend

[Scherezade deWinter]

. : Ukatis : .
A field. Somewhere. Could be anywhere. Precise location is not the point.​

The breeze swept her long tresses away from her face. Glowing green eyes surveyed the horizon, where sky met a bunch of trees, giving off an impression that some failure of a beginner artist was probably trying to paint, thinking it would somehow show talent or get them ahead on the field.

The air smelled… Well, to be frank, it stank. Because today was fertilizer day, and the stench hung heavy in the air. Scherezade was breathing very carefully. Her nose wasn't getting accustomed to it.

And yet, that was perfect. The stink was an omen, if you asked her. Fertilizer meant growth, meant crops, meant all the boring stuff farmers dedicated their lives to. Things meant to nourish, sustain, and provide. The exact kind of stability Scherezade had a bad habit of ruining.

Her boots sank half a centimeter into damp soil as she walked. Each step pressed against the order of this tidy little patch of High Republic peace. Somewhere behind the pastoral charm, behind the neatly plowed fields and whitewashed homesteads, the Republic banner probably fluttered from a flagpole. Safety, security, guardians in the stars. All of it.

She snorted. "Guardians don't smell like bantha poodoo."

The point of Ukatis wasn't in its crops or its peace. The point was that she was bored, and boredom with her was combustible. She hadn't come here with a plan. Plans were for politicians, merchants, and the kind of Sith who needed their conquests mapped out like holiday cruises. She'd come here because the Force had whispered, go somewhere green. And fire looked better against green than it ever did against durasteel or sand.

All it would take, she had calculated, was one small spark the matches she had ready in her hands.

---

Tags: Open

 

[Aiden Porte]

Ukatis
Scherezade deWinter

Aiden Porte paused along the dirt path, letting the breeze wash across his face. Fertilizer. Heavy, clinging, natural. And yet, beneath it, the Force carried something else. A wrongness... Not danger in the immediate sense, but tension, the feeling of breath held just before a flame caught. His gaze swept the horizon. Rows of crops stretched into the distance, a tidy quilt of green stitched together by hard hands and hopeful hearts. This was what the High Republic promised people: order, stability, the simple chance to grow. But the longer he stood there, the more he felt that order strained, as if one thread pulled, might unravel the rest.

The Force whispered again. Not in words, but in unease—an impression of fire against green, destruction poised like a hawk above the fields. He drew a slow breath, centering himself against the disturbance.


"Not here," he murmured to himself, though he wasn't sure if it was hope or warning. His hand brushed the hilt at his side, not in readiness but in reassurance. He had been on Ukatis to find an old friend, he succeeded in that task. Only to know he was looking for his own peace. So he opted to remain and help him find that. Whether that be at his old friends side or from a distance. He let him be the judge of that. And know as a pledge to Roman Vossari and Corazona von Ascania he would be here on Ukatis to ensure peace, yet peace was rarely so fragile as when it seemed most serene.


There was someone out there. He could feel it. Not the farmers in their homesteads, not the workers in the fields. Something sharper. Someone with intent. And the Force was leading him straight toward them. Aiden let the unease sit in his chest a moment longer, then started forward. Each step was measured, his boots sinking into damp soil that whispered of rain and growth. The fields should have been a comfort. They weren't.

A spark waiting for fuel as he adjusted course, leaving the path for softer ground, tracing the feeling like a hunter might follow tracks. Birds stirred in the distance, their wings beating into the sky, and Aiden noted the way their flight curved around one stretch of the horizon as if even they chose to avoid it. His hand brushed the hilt of his saber once more, not drawing it, only acknowledging its weight. He prayed he wouldn't need it. Peace was always the first choice. But the Force rarely gave warnings without reason.

He slowed at the rise of a small hill, eyes narrowing. Beyond it, he felt the disturbance stronger now, closer and more defined. Whoever it was, they stood against this world's calm, like oil on clear water.

Aiden breathed in, let the Force guide the next step, and began his silent approach.

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

A field.
Could be anywhere.

In the middle of it, between rows of crops and the stench of fertilizer, stood Calyx Sundrift. Dark pants, loose and muddied white shirt, hands shading his eyes. No shoes, no bags, and absolutely no sense of direction.

Could he be blamed? Aside from a treeline on the horizon, everything looked the same. Flat, bland, desolate.

Still, it was nice, in a way. The place had a different kind of stink than Troithe, Denon, or Niamos.

He just would’ve preferred something to shield him from the sun. Or that mean little breeze that cut through now and then.

Or, well- his bags, really.

Waking up in a field was one thing. Getting robbed blind was another.

Not that it had come as a total surprise, of course. He had made a few ill-advised comments about his pilot’s pin-up girls before realizing they were, in fact, pictures of the man’s daughters.

But his boots? Really? At least leave a man his dignity.

He squelched onward through the mud. Somewhere out here, someone had to be willing to help.

Scherezade deWinter Aiden Porte

 

[Alana Calloway]

Tags: Open Calyx Sundrift Aiden Porte Scherezade deWinter
Gear: In Bio

Alana adjusted her duster as she looked about at the gathering, and fiddled with the cigarillo she had in hand. Currently, she was doing her best to not reflect back to Dantooine.

She was trying the whole listen to the Force routine, and now it had led her-

Right to the middle of nowhere.

She ignored the clinging of mud to her boots, feeling the suction as she went forward. Still having not lit up the cigarillo in her hand, she directed her attention to the bystanders before her, and felt that maybe if she still had her hat, she’d look like she’d belong her.

She did have a capacity to look like a ranch hand, long as she kept her tattoos hidden. At the recollection, she tugged at her duster, trying to cover up the Nar Shaddaa gang tattoo on her collarbone.

She would need to get that removed sometime, probably wasn’t the best look. One hand in her pocket, the other still holding her unlit smoke, she trudged on ahead, glancing back and forth to see how many other suckers had gotten conned by the Force to show up.

Or maybe this was just some round about way for some Jedi Master to host a bonfire party.

She wasn’t going to complain if that was the case.

Well actually, if no one brought any alcohol, she’d take a pretty big issue with this.

Seriously, who the hell hosts a gathering out here and doesn’t pre-plan a party?

Damn lack of hospitality is what that was.

What if it was invite only?

Would they make her leave?

The thought crossed Alana’s mind, and her expression shifted to one of annoyance.

Oh, there would be hell to pay if they turned her back now….

 

[Roman Vossari]

​

LOCATION: Ukatis
TAGS: Scherezade deWinter | Aiden Porte | Calyx Sundrift | Alana Calloway

​

The morning broke as it always did for Roman now: quiet, steady, with enough work to fill the hours before the heat settled over the land. He rose with the sun, shaking off sleep, pulling on his familiar worn shirt and boots. A shag of unruly red hair fell across his eyes, he brushed it back. His hands were already rough from days of labor, and he welcomed it. These were his anchors now, simple, solid things Ukatis had given him.

He had learned to appreciate the quiet. The endless green fields, the rhythm of tending cattle, the sound of his horse's steady breath. This was a different kind of survival from the one that had haunted him before. There were no knives waiting in the dark, no traps sprung on city streets. Here, danger didn't wear a face. It might be a storm on the horizon, a drought, or perhaps nothing at all. He preferred it that way.

Aiden had been lingering lately, lending a hand when the mood struck, and Roman didn't mind. In truth, it was good to have his oldest friend close, even if the Jedi's reasons weren't entirely spoken. Still, this morning the fields were quiet. No trace of him at the corrals, no quiet remarks over the fence rail. Roman smirked as he swung into the saddle. Perhaps the knight had finally been driven off by the labor: pitching hay and mending fences felt far less glamorous than lightsabers or battle meditations.

The horse shifted beneath him, strong and familiar, as Roman guided it toward the pasture. The herd needed grazing; simple, good work. But halfway across the field, something snagged at him. A pull. It was low in his gut, sharp enough to draw his eyes up from the cattle. The Force. A faint, steady disturbance pulsed, like a ripple moving under calm water.

He nudged the horse onward, letting instinct guide the way. Cresting a rise, he slowed. There, across the stretch of farmland, he saw him: Aiden, moving carefully, tense in his stride, as if expecting danger where there shouldn't be any. Roman sat back in the saddle, squinting against the light, watching. The breeze tugged at his shaggy red hair, and the horse stamped once, impatient.

"What are you up to now, friend..." Roman muttered under his breath. For the moment, he stayed at a distance, perched on his horse, wary but watchful. He would let Aiden's unease tell its story before deciding whether to ride down and join him.

 

[Hanna]

Location: Field - Ukatis
Objective:

• Set a field on fire.
• Do anything that Scherezade deWinter says.

Tag: Scherezade deWinter Aiden Porte Calyx Sundrift Alana Calloway Roman Vossari

The Agents of Chaos were defunct, and had been for years. Hanna was a mercenary now, working primarily with the Mandalorian Empire as a Writ of Iron signatory. A position that entitled her to generous stipends, benefits, salvage rights, and certain legal protections with the Mandalorian Empire. In general, she had little reason to venture outside of Mandalorian space beyond what was required for her missions.

But for this, the Qilin had made an exception.

For one, Scherezade was a friend. A sister of a sister. A fellow Wild Huntress. That alone was enough reason for Hanna to be curious, if only to see what the Blood Hound was up to after so long, and perhaps to help her find Madalena, if she was still alive.

However, there was also the promise of chaos.

Hanna had never truly abandoned her faith in Discordia. However, it had certainly undergone a crisis. She hoped that this excursion—or sacrificial pyre—would trigger a reawakening within herself. Something that would reignite her fervor after years of deprivation. In that, she didn’t need the Agents of Chaos to come back. She just needed to feel a breath of the same passion she had felt during her time in the Wild Hunt.

And what better way to achieve that than through casual arson?

Thus, Hanna worked quickly as she finished setting up the acid covered glitter explosives which had been set at various points across the field. While potent and dangerous, the glitter was ultimately a distraction for the true course, which would come next.

Iadrium.

“The glitter is set. It's ready to go off on your signal.” Hanna transmitted to Scherezade deWinter over their ghostwave-concealed, encrypted comms as she glanced across the field. It was only then that the Qilin caught sight of movement from various figures. A redheaded man seated on a horse. A white-haired woman clad in a duster. A disheveled man dressed in a muddied white shirt, who seemed to have woken up from a dirt nap. And then, another man standing on the rise of a hill in the distance.

Hanna frowned.

“I think we have company.”