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Moving Forward and Looking Back

Azrael

RETIRED
Character
PHAEDA
477px-Balosar_NEGAS.jpg
One Week Earlier...

A holo-recording parcel had been intercepted by the Mandalorian fleet aboard a trade vessel that had landed on Mandalore. The parcel had been locked with the Rally Master's name engraved on it along with his native home-world identifying him as the intended recipient. The holo-recording went as follows:
The image of a young Arkanian woman in a simple dress flickered into existence in the default blue glow.
"Azrael. The last thing I had planned to do was to contact you after what happened with Rizer. Part of me doesn't even know why I'm telling you this, but after you left - things have gotten..worse."
Lahswee chewed her bottom lip for a moment contemplating her next sentence before looking at the recorder again.
"The scrap yard business attempted to hunt you down, and they questioned me and my Father for weeks it seems. Everyone thought we...well that I was hiding you somewhere, but we both know that is not the case. Anyways, the past few months have not been good. The people loyal to Rizer and the others that died, they wouldn't leave me alone."
The girl choked back a cry and cleared her throat.
"To put it simply, I left. I've been on my own now, and I've gotten into a spot of trouble. I'm on Phaeda, but I'm not sure how long I can stay here without things getting worse. Father doesn't know where I am, and I'm not asking you to bring me home. I'm just...I'm hoping that....well I don't know what I'm hoping, but you're the only person I know that has got off of Ord Mantell and isn't in league with them. If you can - if you would see me again, I need your help."
The image looked with soulful eyes at what would be Azrael's face and then the holo-recording ended.
Presently on Phaeda

He hadn't thought about her in weeks. At first that girl was on his mind day in and day out since he left Ord Mantell to arrive on Mandalore. He had essentially wiped the slate clean, but she had never left his thoughts. The image blurred a bit in the last few months, and slowly but certainly memory of her faded, as did the events that led up to his bionic arm, the betrayal, and the deaths the followed. All of that had been pushed down, as a distant but faded scar that remained only tangibly in his bionic arm. Lahswee's message though had changed all that, and a flood of memories, painful and otherwise rushed back into his brain. Every part of the tragedy, the brief triste, and the betrayal was something he was forced to re-live within minutes after hearing those words. She was the first girl he'd ever cared for, and that didn't leave a person, that stayed with them no matter how much they attempted to forget. This was just opening up an old wound that had scarred over. It may of been true that a Mandalorian never forgets, but this pre-dated himself as a Mandalorian.

In the week that transpired Azrael had prepped for a journey of his own to Phaeda. He could of asked for help, and he was offered it, but he turned it down. This was something he had to do for himself. This was a loose end that he never had tied up, and this was someone that despite everything that happened, he still cared about. She needed his help, and he knew now that he was a different person. A person that could stand up for himself, that could fight, and that could protect her if necessary. He had changed so much, so quickly that anyone that knew the Mandalorian would be hard pressed to believe that he'd ever take a beating and not fought back till his dying breath. The Night shadow was taken with supplies and food stuffs in the day and a half journey to a system outside of Mandalorian territory to a place that made Nar Shaddaa look classy.

It had been a full day on Phaeda moving through the cities and looking for information where he could. There were no coordinates, no rendezvous meets setup to find her on the planet. It made it decidedly harder to track someone on an entire planet when you didn't know the first place to start. The only resource he had was a holo-image that he assumed had to be recent, and the intimidation of his Mandalorian armor and personality to sway residents to give him accurate information if they had seen her or not. After several cold leads that brought him back full circle in vain trying to locate her, one tip did happen to surface that seemed to be more promising than the rest. There had been talk of an abandoned loft that was on the edge of town near the Collo Fauale Pass. A few civilians had recognized movement in that area recently, and had figured someone was trying to live there for free, or at least survive.

Footfalls crunched over the rocky terrain as he had by now exited the city a good twelve kilometers back, and had only passed a few homesteads on the way to the described place. The loft was large enough, and seemed to have been created for the purpose for residents of border patrols in the past, when the city was smaller. The pass itself was open and free to use, but certainly had rumors surrounding camped out scavengers who might pick at the dead that made that place their final resting place. The loft however seemed to have been un-used in sometime. Stopping feet before the metallic stairwell to the door, Azrael paused to survey the scene. His readouts weren't getting much other than some residual heat from their local star, and about a half-dozen worn prints on various surfaces. Not even a vehicle in-sight. Switching to infrared, he scanned the loft portion to find a source of heat, and something that looked like a lifeform, but it was too faint to tell. Still, it was a lead and it was the best one he'd had in a day.

"Let's hope you're in there."


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
INFORMATION FOR ALL BOUNTY HUNTERS
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Your client; Nevill Tomrak has posted a 20,000 credit bounty on Azrael of Ord Mantell. The terms are as such, that his body must be presented either dead or alive to Nevill on Ord Mantell to claim the prize. Below is the information you would have been given on the bounty itself:

Target: Azrael of Ord Mantell
Price: 20.000 credits
Conditions: Proof of body (dead or alive)
Last known whereabouts: Azrael was seen fleeing from Ord Mantell with two un-named Mandalorians
Current Location: Sources have indicated that Azrael can be found on the remote world of Phaeda
Likeness: (See profile avatar)
Distinguishing Marks: Azrael had his left arm replaced with a prosthetic bionic arm. The crest of the Mandalorian Mythosaur is on a plate capping the shoulder.
Preference: If possible I would like to see the fugitive alive, to answer for his crimes.

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@[member="Mr. Ash"] @[member="Desmond Voralis."] @[member="Tyger Tyger"] @[member="Skye Mertaal"]
 

Amarant

Dead Men End All Tales.
Character
Ash couldn't help himself as he adjusted his photoreceptors, a dim red glow coming briefly as he "scoped" his target. A simple plan, really. Wait until he got the girl, chase him down, agree to let the girl run for if he turned himself in. Fun stuff. Still, he was staying low-key. A faded leatheris jacket to match the crappy soil, dusty, faded jeans. He had a pistol, some slicewire, and his black shock-boxing gloves in his pocket. The armored tough-guy had scanned for lifeforms, but he wasn't one. The stealth-coating on his laminanium armor wouldn't show up on heat scanners.

He focused, staying still, staying on a nearby hill, a rock providing him cover until he made his move. After all, it wouldn't suit the least wanted hitman in the galaxy to jump in first, guns blazing. Besides, if he got a bounty for a side-job, the Vigo would shove an electrospear in in his spine and make him dance. Well, know that's what he would do, were he Vigo. He was one of the cruelest Black Suns, by his own estimate. But he watched the obvious emotions play out in the armored man's actions. Even covering his face, he had tells. The way his shoulders tensed up at random intervals the arm movements--it was obvious he was upset. He had been asking around about the woman, according to his sources. The woman was eager to get off the rock, and he seemed to want to play dashing hero. Well, that was his loss. Still, he probably wouldn't hurt the girl, unless she did something stupid. Then again, he'd want to hurt somebody for all this. After all, all work and no pain makes Ash a dull bot...
 

Tyger Tyger

The Clinging Fire
Writer
Phaeda - The Vindicated
A tapcafe in outer Chinesti


The bounty was a bit daunting, but desperate times had called for desperate acts. A string of bad luck had devastated their finances, the incident in particular being when Milo went to collect on a target’s corpse only to find that Akk Akk had mistakenly eaten it.

C’est la vie.

This cultural misunderstanding had left the pair eating nothing but grilled bell peppers until the very notion of meals had made them queasy with exhaustion, and a diet of chewed fingernails and starvation became all the more appetizing. Trapped in space with an 8-foot man-eating rat, Milo had begun to fear for his safety.

They were able to flip some vintage Huttese pornography, discovering that the greasy mating of the hermaphroditic fatties fetched a pretty penny amongst the curious perverts of Chinesti’s Red Light District. Additionally, it was learned that Akk Akk’s disturbing countenance and even more disturbing stench (when coupled with Milo’s general intensity)made for a formidable bargaining team, the customer so frequently woozy with growing nausea that Milo was basically able to tell them exactly how the negotiation was going to go. Having garnered enough money for a decent meal and then some, the two had set off to the city’s fringes to conduct a stake-out, choosing the cantina Milo had felt most likely to house hungry Mandalorians.

They had found The Vindicated, a boisterous tapcafe for the braggadocious. The walls were dressed in trophy flare, from mounted animal heads to homoerotic paintings of heroic legends, such as Mandalore the Vindicated, and it really came as no surprise that the first patrons Milo had noticed was a long table of Mandalorian scavengers, clad in beskargam and gripping Tihaar.

Milo gnawed away some flesh from his cooked animal leg, the grease from the meat adding shine to the stubble around his mouth as it did the fingerless glove that gripped it. Old Imperial habits dying hard, he waited to finish chewing before speaking. When he finally did so, he did in Kaalese, his voice taking on a nasal whine. “<Metal-Mauls, but no Metal-Claws. Me no noggin we can eat all of ‘em…>”

Milo slipped into the more comfortable Basic, resting his arm on the table, revealing from under the short-sleeve a black tattoo of I haven’t quite decided yet (Though I assure you, it is very cool)

“…But, I don’t know. We’re strapped for leads,” he stated flatly.

He took a swig of kri’gee (without even flinching at its bitter taste) and turned his free hand over in a gesture resembling a shrug.

“<Any noggins>?”


@[member="Akk Akk"]
 

Akk Akk

Character
Character
A building almost as tightly packed as home
With Tyger Tyger

The idea of needing to bring a body back in order to be paid for it was something that didn’t translate well to the Kaalonian. Whenever he had killed someone before they stayed where they had fallen to be consumed or to be carted off for later. The notion of carrying that body back to put on display for someone in exchange for shiny bits of metal was absolutely absurd. There was no morality involving corpses for the Kaalonian culture and it was just another pile of food to continue feeding the subterranean warriors in their eternal conflicts with one another. So for Tyger Tyger to have expected him to be able to keep himself from taking food when it was available didn’t make any sense to the Kaalonian.

Space itself was still a strange thing to him and all the cultural, rules, and other differences from what he was used to were only compounded in difficulty in comprehending by the language barrier that existed between him and his friend. Akk Akk wasn’t well educated, he was from the bottom tier of the castes on Kaalonian and had been taught how to fight. That was the extent of it. So first was the difficulty of conveying what was what, then there was the issue of chunks of his vocabulary just not existing for many things; whether they’re new because of space or he just didn’t know the term for what Tyger Tyger was looking for. So their relationship was interesting to say the least. He adored the human for the rescue and for being taken aboard the floating metal box, but it was still very alien to him. A lot of the time it was an alone feeling not being able to communicate with anyone and there being so few of people around, so it was almost like coming home when there were a lot of bodies around.

Their current situation wasn’t quite endearing him to Tyger Tyger, but he also knew it was partially his fault. Plus, now that they were actually planetside he had been able to find some food in the alleyways to put aside his hunger; which carried over well because it left the money that would have been spent on the Kaalonian available for his human companion to spend instead. Akk Akk wasn’t going to be too pick about what he was eating so long as it was actually some kind of food and he wasn’t just trying to scarf down plastic or other substances just to have something to remove that painful stomach sensation.

So Akk Akk rested in his seat with a free glass of water as the young Kaalonian, young compared to the rest of the galaxy not his own kind, was just looking around the room. The various glowing lights still drawing his attention, strange aliens he had never even dreamed of existing, things shaking around with exotic colored skin exposed, it was all so strange to him. So when Tyger Tyger initially spoke up, it took the large male a second to catch on to the fact that he was being talked to and turning his attention back to the human in front of him.

Akk Akk’s eyes immediately scanning for metal and coming upon the series of tin heads that were sitting in a corner, his thoughts beginning to churn as to how to deal with them. Large hands lifted up from his lap to come to grab onto the edges of the table. His grasp tensing a moment as he tested how well it was into the ground and it felt rather stable. The Kaalonian could probably yank it out of the ground if he stood up and put more force into it but he was just looking to convey an idea here rather than rashly do something. He was young but he knew from growing up as a grunt that he wasn’t there to make important decisions, he just followed what he was told to do. Tyger Tyger had asked for his opinion more times in their short span together than anyone had ever done so before hand.

“[Crush tin heads for food?]” He questions in Kaalese as he turned to look to the metal covered people, “[if we move quickly, can dead two together in surprise attack. Then you eat one.]” It seemed like a good plan to him, that was three down before the conflict would even start. The Kaalonian, however, didn’t have any idea what a mandalorian was or what sort of metal they were covered with. His knowledge of such things was nonexistent and to him they were just other humans that happened to be wearing some metal over their bodies. Metal or not, however, the shock value of a blunt strike would still disable the two that he would go after if the plan was approved by Tyger Tyger.
 

Desmond Voralis.

Soldier of Fortune
Character
Desmond checked over his gear for what must have been the third time now, but waiting always made him prone to reviewing his kit. Client wanted non-lethal, so he'd gone as close to non-lethal as possible. A DC-15, already set to stun; a couple small hold-out blasters scattered about his person; personal shielding, fully charged; his vibroknife; wrist and ankle binders; and finally to round it all out, flash-bangs, gas grenades and a single ion grenade. You could never be too careful with cyborgs.

Even so, he still felt under-equipped for this.

His contacts had reported a man matching Azrael's description leaving the city proper and heading out into a more rural environment. Taking Mandalorians on in more open ground was far from the best idea, but it was the only lead he had so far. It was worth checking out, at least. He could probably get close enough to take a look without pissing anyone off, and plan from there. He climbed onto a rented speeder bike and gunned the throttle, heading out past the city limits in search of his quarry.
 

Azrael

RETIRED
Character
The inaudible sigh of resigning himself for what he suspected to be future disappointment, Azrael stepped forward, his first step onto the bottom of the staircase. Tell-tale signs of age lay scattered on the durasteel structure. Rust discolored the metal, and bits and pieces of it looked more worn than others. Paint only held in chipped fragments and the entire set of stairs gave a metallic groan as it supported his weight. Climbing forward with one hand on that of a fire-arm on his right thigh, his left hand pressed to the guide rail while he ascended step by step up towards the doorway. The infrared signal came in stronger, but seemed obscured for some reason, and not as focused as a life-form should appear. There were no sounds stemming from the loft, aside from the creaks and squeaks of the metallic staircase shifting beneath his weight. Planting his feet sturdy on the landing that jutted out from the doorway, Azrael slowly removed the mark II Ripper from his thigh holster and checked the door for access. The unlocked state was cause for alarm until he noticed that the lock itself was non-functional. Barrel of the gun went in first as he turkey-peaked into the room. Another smooth but quick motion caught him stepping into the loft and keeping his trained eyes on the source of the heat.

A space heater next to a make-shift bed rested in the corner. The sheets were disturbed, and there was a small open bag of clothes resting against the frame. Blaster pointed towards the bedding for the next few moments as if waiting for something to move. In truth it was just the scans on his HUD that he cycled through to understand a few things about the scene before he lowered the side-arm and slipped it back into the holster on his thigh. Someone had been here, it has all the signs of recent activity and a pseudo-dwelling set up for a night's rest. It could however belong to any number of beings living on the fringe of the city and trying to get by in the Galaxy. Upon closer inspection though, it was certainly that of a female about the same size and weight of the one he was seeking. Within the passing minutes, he found himself crouched onto the ground and sifting through the pile of clothes on the bed, looking for any clues as to who owned this. Deeper in the bag though, the former scrapper pulled free a metallic device in his right hand. His breath caught in his throat as his fingers traced over the metallic shell. It was hers, Lahswee was here, these were her effects.


"What is it?" The Arkanian asked with wide-eyed interest. Her hands held the metallic object nimbly for closer inspection. The three ton durasteel tube that the two sat in giving the pair a bit of privacy as Azrael showed the girl the trinket he'd designed. One part chrome, two parts titanium and in the shame of a winged insect he's seen often on Ord Mantell. Lahswee rotated the devices in her hands back and forward running her pale white fingers over the surface before she glanced up in Azrael's direction with a curious and thoughtful expression written on her face. A ruddy and amused visage returned her gaze with his own gray eyes before he held out his left hand and took the device back for a demonstration.

"It's a keep-sake. Crafted it from a few pieces of left-over scrap and designed it to keep something inside." Pressing his left fingers against the wings and shifting them apart, he bent the head part down and it released a hidden latch that opened up to reveal a small alcove inside. A miniature holo-recorder lay inside, and when activated by the opening latch, it showed Azrael's face with a smile on it. The blue holographic image flickered to life and faced her, playing in a four and a half second loop. "You can record a fifteen second feed, I just did this as a test run." Azrael said as he offered the girl the trinket back. Lahswee's bright smile was offered as she took the object back and watched Azrael's holographic image give her a smile.

"It's perfect. I don't always get to see you smile. And now I can whenever I want." It was a cheesy thing to do, but sometimes cheesy went a long way. "Thank you." The distance between them vanished as she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and offered him a small kiss on his ruddy hued cheek. Azrael's gray eyes closed as he held onto her for that moment in time. A moment in time that he'd not soon forget.


"She actually kept this." The Mandalorian muttered as he preformed the unlocking procedure on the metallic shaped bug and opened it up. The holo-recording blinked once and briefly showed Lahswee's face instead of his own, but then immediately burnt out. The battery compartment was small, and must of needed to be replaced. He was close - very close to her. If he could just wait, just stay there long enough it was possible she might return. Then again it was also entirely possible that she might be in real trouble and wouldn't return. Decisions had to be made - and made soon.

@[member="Mr. Ash"] @[member="Desmond Voralis."] @[member="Tyger Tyger"] @[member="Skye Mertaal"] @[member=Akk Akk"]
 

Amarant

Dead Men End All Tales.
Character
Mr. Ash sighed as he slowly walked towards the building, hat drawn low. He staked the outside of the building, waiting calmly for his prey--or his competition--to make the next move. After all, no sense pushing his luck. It was a lousy building, fit for squatters. And to be frank, he had no idea why this man was chasing after the woman. His sources had been unhelpful, although based on the tone, he guessed they were lovers or family or one of those other things people get sentimental to. He didn't know, he really never developed much sentimentality in his circuits.

He sighed as he waited for the mournful being to keep sulking about--at least, that's what he assumed the lower heart-rate was for. He slipped a hand inside his coat pocket, handling his heavy pistol. He would have sighed, if he had lungs. As it was, he looked about, doing his best to stay inconspicuous while standing near a ruined building. After all, he was in no mood to play nice. Not that he ever was. He switch to his bio-scanners, waiting for the hero to make a another move for the door.
 

Tyger Tyger

The Clinging Fire
Writer
Phaeda - The Vindicated
[background=#080808]A tapcafe in outer Chinesti[/background]

Milo had turned around in his seat now, looking at the row of Mandalorians without subtlety. “Yeah, okay. Then you flip the table, and I’ll…”

He shook his head, and the silly idea from it. These were Mandalorians, and were no one-shot, one-kill slouches. He was outmatched, even with the faithful Kaalonian by his side. “Yeah, okay,” he stated again, echoing his prior effort at speaking. “ I’m drunk.”

Setting the mug of kri’gee off to the table’s fringe, he then gestured to the passing waitress, “Waitress – I’m switching to water, please…!” Milo turned back around in his seat and took another hungry bite from his animal leg. Chewing thoroughly, he would wait until his mouth was clear before he attempted to explain to his savage compatriot the situation at hand.

“Any one of those guys over there is more than enough bad news for either one of us, buddy – <I’m scared eating two, forget a handful, may be a tad bit outside our capabilities…>

Milo took a final bite from his animal leg, his brow furrowing in preponderance in the last noble chews. Having picked up on his friend’s penchant for garbage, he slowly offered the finished item in Akk Akk’s direction, unsure if using him as a rubbish bin would be seen as kindness or insulting.

Should Akk Akk take the bone, he’d find an unusual amount of gristle and meat remaining on the edges, speaking to Milo’s life of privilege in being able to waste the “hard-to-reach” and inconvenient bits of his meals.

“They’re scrappers,” he hoped to shed further light on what they were doing there. “We’re hoping they’ll show us exactly what scrappers do all the way out here in Hell.”

@[member="Akk Akk"] @[member=Azrael]
 

Akk Akk

Character
Character
Phaeda - The Vindicated
A tapcafe in outer Chinesti

The large Kaalonian was all for the idea of flipping the table and giving it a good hurl at the tin men over at the table. He was from a world of total warfare, armor meant nothing to him nor was there even a concept of beskar and how unbelievably power the material was. A suit of metal was a suit of metal and even the most powerful armor wasn’t going to stop a shock assault form having an effect on the tin men. Akk Akk was ready to get over there and do whatever they needed to do in order to get what they had come from. With being born and having lived through the chaos that is Kaalonia that there was very little in the galaxy, aside from being uneasy from space travel so far, that was going to be intimidating at face value. A life in the dark and wading through and feeding on corpses on a regular basis while waging eternal war had a way of driving home the point that fear wasn’t in the appearance, but came to fruition upon finally being exposed to a life or death situation.

It was at those times that the Kaalonians were weak. They fought so often en masse formations that the enemy in front of you was less terrifying than the wave of weapons behind you. At least moving forward there was an opportunity to defeat something, those behind you were being pushed forwards by sheer weight of numbers. Here? Here Akk Akk was with a single companion. Not the most reassuring count but there were only a few more of those tin men and he had not yet been impressed by the strength of the humanoid races he had run across with his companion. These Mandalorians were no more terrifying than a band of homeless people in the street; just because they had metal on them didn’t prove anything to the great beast.

So he was a bit surprised when his human companion seemed to not be moving in anticipation of an attack. Instead Tyger Tyger was getting the attention of another humanoid in the room and then was going back to eating. It had the Atuli Kaalonian mutation looking at him with more than a little bit of uncertainty. Did Tyger Tyger know something that hadn’t been shared to cause the uncertainty in their assault. The explanation that followed had him looking to the tableful of the armored humanoids. His eyes narrowed in disdain to the situation before looking back to Tyger Tyger to voice a protest to the situation as he still didn’t understand what was making them so fearsome.

Though the argument was cut off as his hand moved to grab the extended bone and drew it to his maw. It wasn’t relieving the whole issue of the tin men but it was enough to distract him from the train of though. Akk Akk drew it up to his mouth and set half of it in before closing his teeth down and gnashing on it for a second to get a set of grooves cut into the bone and then he started to bear down on it before the sound of it cracking and splintering before he pulled down the half in his hand and then was crunching away at the half in his maw.

A shake of his head as he lowered the bone he was holding to point it at Tyger Tyger before speaking up again in Kaalese, “[there are not that many of them,]” his words were emphasized with flying bone, spittle, and fat as the accepted mannerisms of the human were not shared with the Kaalonian. The bone was then coming back up as he had gulped down the shards of the last one and then was tossing the rest into his maw to grind and break up what was left of it. With that finished, his large hand rested on the table, tapping broken and jagged claws into the table as he did so. “Scrap-ahr?” he questioned in galactic basic as the word didn’t make any sense to him. His head tilting and giving a shake as he was caught up on that word now and not thinking about just going and fighting the tin heads anymore.
 

Desmond Voralis.

Soldier of Fortune
Character
The engines of Desmond's rented bike roared as he made his way further and further into the outskirts, skirting along the edge of the city in the direction he'd been assured a large Mando had been seen heading in.

Alright, Des. Let's keep this simple. Flyby, assess and act. Don't even get off the bike til you can see what's going on. You can always double-back.

He shifted his shoulders slightly, feeling the reassuring weight of his blaster moving against his back as he did so. His bike cruised past squatters and gangers, but the number of other people around steadily declined as he made his way. He switched the scanner on his bike to watch for other life-signs as signs of habitation dropped away, eyes up for anything resembling a further lead.

@[member="Azrael"], @[member="Mr. Ash"]
 

Azrael

RETIRED
Character
Whatever could be done inside the loft was minimal, and waiting around wasn't an option given the current circumstances. He didn't know enough to understand why she wasn't here or if she was going to make it back to the loft. All he could do was hope that he'd be able to track her location, now that he had a frame of reference and location to go off of. Lahswee had been here though, and recently. It could only mean that she was still planet-side, and if that was the case, he'd find her - one way or another. Rising from the bed, he placed the trinket back in her sack of clothes and headed for the doorway. This mystery needed to be solved, and whatever cryptic issues she was dealing with on Phaeda would be uncovered. He still wasn't sure what he'd find though, especially with her.

Drawing back outside of the loft, he did a general scan of the perimeter to satisfy that he wasn't being followed before moving back down the staircase. He had yet to see markings of a swoop or speeder bike nearby that might of taken off. He could only assume that she had made tracks on foot from the loft. Logically the best place to go from this point was the town, though he had just come from there. He had to go with less logical means if he wanted to find her. Despite his lack of clues, and planet wide search ahead of him, finding her would be the easiest part of this endeavor. He'd left her on Ord Mantell, and after the incident he hadn't spoken to her or seen her at all. It had been weeks with no communication after the betrayal, and he had given no reason for his lack of presence at the meeting with her father. He had every intention of not seeing her again after he lost his arm. Was it selfish? Highly. He simply couldn't bring himself to face her after what had happened, and somewhere that part still remained in him.

Descending the stairs until boots hit the dirt soil, and he started to look for signs of movement in the topography. Flipping through a few various scans in his HUD, just trying to take note of anything with her shoe print that might lead him to another location, or possibly a transport of some kind. Transports would be admittedly harder to follow than footprints, but they would only be going certain places. Stooping down, at the foot of the stairs and activating the spectrometer filter, he formed a virtual grid over the surface of the immediate area and then looked for raised portions that were nearly invisible to the naked eye. Several pairs of foot prints led back and away from the loft, but they were scuffed and crossed over. Only two trails led clearly to the loft, and one that led away and curved around the rear. He'd have to take the chance, and follow any leads no matter how odd they seemed.

@[member="Mr. Ash"] @[member="Desmond Voralis."] @[member="Tyger Tyger"] @[member=Akk Akk"]
 

Amarant

Dead Men End All Tales.
Character
Mr. Ash watched as his target walked down the stairs slowly, keeping his scanners on the man. The man was in heavy armor, and was prepared for a fight. A big one. He debated how to go about handling this. He decided to try something novel--the direct approach. He walked over to the man, keeping his hat low. "Looking for something?" He asked, keeping his metallic din down to a low, jagged whisper. After all, no sense drawing any attention aside from that of the target. Thankfully, the stealth-coting on his armor meant infrared and ultraviolet scanners ignored him completely, he just looked like a rock. Plain old vision, on the other hand, would notice his rather jarring appearance, even in a poorly lit slum.

He eyed the man warily, keeping one hand near his blaster holster. After all, there was a chance he couldn't make a deal--in which case he'd make a corpse. He didn't want to shoot the guy, though. That'd be a waste. And it wouldn't be entertaining....

@[member="Azrael"] @[member="Desmond Voralis."] @[member="Akk Akk"] @[member="Tyger Tyger"]
 

Desmond Voralis.

Soldier of Fortune
Character
Desmond eased his bike around in a wide loop when he saw movement up ahead, a lone figure descending a staircase and a second person stepping forward to speak with him. Even though the whine of the repulsorlift and heat of the engines were sure to draw attention, he hoped whatever business these two had would keep them off his back long enough to formulate something resembling a plan. His hand almost twitched towards his blaster, but he fought down the urge.

Fly casual, Desmond. Fly casual.

This had just gotten interesting.

Especially if the big guy was who he looked like he might be.

@[member="Azrael"] @[member="Mr. Ash"]
 

Azrael

RETIRED
Character
Sweeping fingers over a pair of footprints and collecting a sampling of the disturbed dirt surface of Phaeda, he examined any stray particles that might of been picked up elsewhere, trying to use any resources or clues as to where he might track the location of the one he sought. Finger and thumb mulling through the course particles as his HUD examined and identified the various particles, but nothing came up of interest yet. The day was wearing on, but there were still hundreds of untapped wells of knowledge he could siphon from various sources to find his mark, he just had to keep looking. Doing his best at the moment to shut out emotion, and rely on simple logic and reasoning, trying to decipher any clue around as to where Lahswee had made tracks to. He found no sign of a struggle thus far, and that part at least let his mind rest that she was not in immediate danger. It wasn't an option he could completely rule out though, but it was more likely she had gone for supplies. That's when he heard the voice and registered a nearby target approaching. In an instant his Mark II Ripper was released and in hand aimed squarely at the neck region as he rose to his feet.

"That's far enough. Mandalorian business. Identify yourself." Azrael wasn't normally this jumpy, but the entire reason for coming to this planet had him very on edge. The handful of citizens he had tried to pull information out of were nearly accosted by Azrael as he tried to figure out where to begin his search. Anyone in the area here though was suspect as it was in a remote location far from the city limits. Securing his footing, and keeping that piece aimed at Ash, his right hand holding the weapon based on his bionic left hand in typical military style. The cycling of his HUD wasn't bringing much up, which gave a few guesses at to the origin of this stranger. Nothing concrete, but the face sure spoke volumes above the rest of his guesses. He hadn't answered his question, and likely wouldn't unless he had a very good reason to. If he hadn't told the Mando'ade about this mission, it was unlikely he was going to be upfront and honest with a stranger.

A side glance without turning his head was given as the background picked up movement on his scans. Another craft was approaching, but even with a zoomed in gaze, all he caught was a figure of a male. He'd have to deal with both of them before he could circle around to the other side of the loft and inspect where those footprints led. Complications aside, he wasn't about to draw any would be attention to that of Lahswee's identity. If they were the trouble she spoke of, he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of a foothold here. Azrael was once again ever thankful that his helmet hid his expressions, and kept the unreadable Mandalorian legacy intact.

@[member="Mr. Ash"] @[member="Desmond Voralis."] @[member="Tyger Tyger"] @[member=Akk Akk"]
 

Amarant

Dead Men End All Tales.
Character
Mr. Ash should've pulled his gun here. But he didn't. One shot wasn't enough to kill him. Besides, he didn't really have the leverage to play nice at this point. Not yet, anyhow. He considered his options. Feigning innnocents would be a pain. Beating the crap out of him would be a pitched battle, and although he could probably take the Mandalorian, the scavengers would claim the bounty after sneaking up and killing him. This was not his first bounty by any means. There were others.

So now the question was a matter of which approach to take. He couldn't start a fight, that'd draw too much attention. he didn't want to tip his hand about he bounty, either. Not yet. Okay, so the truth was out, direct confrontation seemed to make him surly. A simple inquiry? Play dumb? Sure, why not. Let's see if negotiations could be made.

The skull-like visage of the old droid gave a bit of a scowl. "Holster it, hot shot. If I wanted a fight I would've shot you. Your looking for somebody, that's pretty obvious. I'm good at finding people and things. So, how about you tell me who you're looking for, and I'll tell you if I've seen them. My name," he continued dryly, a slight rasp forming in his vocabulator, "Is Mr. Ash. I'm a criminal. Now you can take my help, or leave it. Your call. Or you could shoot me, which would start a fight. Can't promise I won't beat you with your own severed cybernetic arm," he mused calmly. "Honestly, I don't feel like leveling this slummy neighborhood jsut to see which one of us will drop first," he said with a glare.
 

Desmond Voralis.

Soldier of Fortune
Character
Ah, smegging hell... Desmond turned into a wide bank, swinging around past the pair of figures from a dozen meters away and proceeding on course. That was almost certainly him. A closer look had all but confirmed it. But how in the galaxy was he going to catch the son of a gundark.

Well, he was running low on time. Perhaps the direct approach was going to be necessary, competition or no. He counted out forty seconds, then yanked the speeder around 180 degrees and gunned the throttle, reaching down for the DC-15 as he rushed straight back at the pair.

@[member="Mr. Ash"], @[member="Azrael"]
 
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