A S C E N T
RYLOTH
Luna Evanstance
Another routine afternoon..
There was one combination that the Knight found absolutely abhorrent. The glaring heat of Ryloth's sun, combined with a starport's plethora of metal. No matter where Abel managed to situate himself, there was no shortage of heat being blasted upon his flesh. Such conditions worked to make the Obsidian warrior quite irritable, though he did his best to keep himself in check. Given the shortage of able bodies of late, the duties of the Knighthood were shared between an increasingly diminished pool. Therefore, Abel had to work longer hours, upon many more worlds. He did so without complaint, though he wouldn't say no to a week or two off in the near future.
Feth it, maybe three.
In the moment, his gaze was settled upon a datapad. Though spice was no longer illicit within the southern systems, thanks to some liberal legislation on the part of the Confederacy, it was highly regulated. Essentially, Ryloth and the remainder of the nation would get their cut from any bad habits - which meant it fell to the enforcers of law to ensure policy was adhered to. For a change, smugglers could actually come out in broad daylight, but their paperwork had to be in order. That in of itself was a nightmare, and one that had fallen to Abel to sort out.
Pausing to mob sweat from his brow, the Knight scoured the list of names upon the pad. Nothing out of the ordinary, until he came upon one in particular. He paused. Squinted. And chuckled aloud. "Well no chit." he breathed, shaking his head. It seemed a blast from the past had landed in his neck of the woods - which meant, he has the unalienable right to feth with his old "friend." If one could call her that. After all, did smugglers even have friends? Chit, back in the day, did Enforcers?
Close enough.
Abel strode confidently to the unremarkable rig. He assumed that it had been chosen as to not arouse suspicion wherever she landed. Not too rich. Not a rust bucket. Somewhere in the middle. At this point, the cargo bay was open, ramp extended. The Knight welcomed himself aboard and smirked.
"Hands where I can see 'em."
There was one combination that the Knight found absolutely abhorrent. The glaring heat of Ryloth's sun, combined with a starport's plethora of metal. No matter where Abel managed to situate himself, there was no shortage of heat being blasted upon his flesh. Such conditions worked to make the Obsidian warrior quite irritable, though he did his best to keep himself in check. Given the shortage of able bodies of late, the duties of the Knighthood were shared between an increasingly diminished pool. Therefore, Abel had to work longer hours, upon many more worlds. He did so without complaint, though he wouldn't say no to a week or two off in the near future.
Feth it, maybe three.
In the moment, his gaze was settled upon a datapad. Though spice was no longer illicit within the southern systems, thanks to some liberal legislation on the part of the Confederacy, it was highly regulated. Essentially, Ryloth and the remainder of the nation would get their cut from any bad habits - which meant it fell to the enforcers of law to ensure policy was adhered to. For a change, smugglers could actually come out in broad daylight, but their paperwork had to be in order. That in of itself was a nightmare, and one that had fallen to Abel to sort out.
Pausing to mob sweat from his brow, the Knight scoured the list of names upon the pad. Nothing out of the ordinary, until he came upon one in particular. He paused. Squinted. And chuckled aloud. "Well no chit." he breathed, shaking his head. It seemed a blast from the past had landed in his neck of the woods - which meant, he has the unalienable right to feth with his old "friend." If one could call her that. After all, did smugglers even have friends? Chit, back in the day, did Enforcers?
Close enough.
Abel strode confidently to the unremarkable rig. He assumed that it had been chosen as to not arouse suspicion wherever she landed. Not too rich. Not a rust bucket. Somewhere in the middle. At this point, the cargo bay was open, ramp extended. The Knight welcomed himself aboard and smirked.
"Hands where I can see 'em."
