Private Port Murishani

[Jonah]

There were some things that anyone remotely adjacent to the criminal Underworld knew. There were simple things, such as never trusting a Rodian to keep his word. There were nuanced things, such as knowing which Hutt worlds were good for business. And then...there were the obvious. Such as: don't kick an Imperial hornets nest. However, when it came to the obvious, a Hutt cartel boss who was low on the totem pole decided to try and make a name for himself.

You see, the world Sakiya was always a part of Hutt Space. However, the boss didn't like how close the nearby Imperial powers were getting to his backyard. So...did he negotiate with them? Did he try to work out a way to co-exist peacefully? Far from it! Instead, he thought it was a great idea to attack a few supply convoys. In his mind, this was a harmless way of getting back at the "big bad" Empire (which was ironic coming from a crime lord). What the boss didn't expect was the immediate reprisal.

Seemingly overnight, Sakiya found itself the target of one nasty bombardment. The attack wasn't enough to completely devastate the planet...but it sent a clear message: don't touch our boats.

Now, why would Jonah, leader of the Haxion Brood, give a single feth about the misfortune of a dumb Hutt? Well. Given the ambitions of his own syndicate, it was only natural that his people would rub elbows with the Hutt Cartel. They weren't allies by any means, but they knew how to co-exist and to collaborate when profitable. One such collaboration was taking place on Sakiya. And then it got bombarded. Suffice it to say, Jonah quickly descended upon the world to see if his people made it out alright.

Where once there was a base on the ocean, dubbed Port Murishani, now there were smoking ruins. It was so bad that mercenaries and medics were being flown in to help the injured and to dig out the survivors. As Jonah walked around the scene, frustration was boiling in his blood. He knew that Hutt could be dumb, but this was a whole new low. But there would be time aplenty for dealing with that problem later. First, he had to make sure his people were alright.

So it was that he sought the crimson colors of his subordinates' armor - and luckily enough, found a couple survivors in a tent. They were due for another round of medical treatment and Jonah had no end of questions, so he was perfectly happy waiting for the medics to come back through. As he did, he conversed with his men, trying to get a better feel on the situation. And as they painted the picture...well...none of it sounded good.

Tag: Ezorea Zethussaln

 

[Ezorea Zethussaln]

The roar of the shuttle engines reverberated in Ezorea's chest as it descended toward Port Murishani. The once bustling port, now a scene of devastation, lay sprawled beneath her. Smoke spiraled upward, the acrid stench of burnt metal and scorched earth filling the air as they landed. The sight was both heart-wrenching and galvanizing. She had come here to heal, to bring some semblance of relief to the chaos that had engulfed this place.

The shuttle settled with a soft thud, its ramp lowering to the ground. Ezorea took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead. She slung her medical bag over her shoulder and stepped out into the turmoil. Around her, the remnants of buildings stood like ghostly sentinels, and the cries of the wounded pierced the air.

She navigated the wreckage with practiced efficiency, her mind focused solely on the mission. As she approached a tent, the crimson armor of the Haxion Brood's survivors caught her eye. It was a stark contrast to the desolation around them, and a beacon guiding her to those in need.

"Excuse me," she called out as she entered the tent, her voice cutting through the noise. "I'm here to help."

Inside, the scene was grim. Men lay on makeshift beds, their bodies battered and bruised. Ezorea's heart ached at the sight, but she pushed aside her emotions, focusing on her duty. Kneeling beside one of the injured, she quickly assessed his wounds.

"This will help ease the pain," she murmured, her hands steady as she administered a dose of pain relief.

Her attention was drawn to a man standing nearby, his presence commanding and his gaze intense. He was deep in conversation with the others, frustration etched into his features. She didn't recognize him, but it was clear he held authority here. The Arkanian woman gathered her strength and approached the man. "Excuse me, are you the one in command here?" she inquired. From what he could tell, she was a medic; her pupil-less purple eyes gazed at him curiously, if somewhat eerily. Her four-fingered hands—a distinctive trait of her Arkanian heritage—were poised and ready. "My name is Ezorea. I'm a medic, and I was wondering if you could tell me more about the situation here."

 

[Jonah]

It was a tough sight to behold.

Though the men had been mustered in the tent, intent on receiving aide, it was clear that some of them weren't going to make it. One man was missing a limb and had chosen to cauterize the wound with a pilfered lightsaber. Another had an injected hole through his thigh. All had burns from the explosions. It was enough to make Jonah's blood boil.

He was no bleeding heart, mind. They all knew the nature of the business they signed up for. They all knew that death could await them around the corner. However. As their leader, he felt responsible for not throwing their lives into needless danger. And he had done his part. Everything leading up to the bombardment had been on the up and up. But that one fething Hutt.

Jonah was half-way through speaking with one of the more coherent enforcers when a medic walked in. He looked up and regarded the woman as she announced her intention to help. That was a relief. At least it wouldn't take long for the boys to get assistance. She moved, professionally administering pain killers to one of his subordinates before drawing near.

"Yes. These are my men." Jonah answered, motioning towards the Brood's soldiers with his chin. He then extended his dominant hand to briefly shake the medic's before continuing. "The situation here was caused by our partner's utter stupidity." he began, venom in his tone. "The Port used to be where our organizations collaborated. But that damn Hutt thought it was a good idea to go messing with Imperial ships. We're a stone's throw from their backyard and he decides to-"

Jonah paused, releasing a huff to compose himself. "To put it simply, our partner went after some Imperial ships and they decided to pay him back by blasting the port to hell. We're lucky they didn't decide to glass the planet." He then motioned towards her with his dominant hand before folding his arms.

"I appreciate the help. We all do."

Ezorea Zethussaln​

 

[Ezorea Zethussaln]

Her experience in the field had taught her to maintain a calm demeanor even in the face of chaos. "I understand the frustration," she replied softly, her eyes scanning the room, taking in the sight of the injured men. "Hutts have always had a knack for getting themselves into trouble." She shook the man's hand in return, meeting Jonah's gaze. "We'll get your men stabilized. The important thing now is to ensure they make it through this and can regroup."

She continued her work methodically, her hands moving with practiced precision. "Once we have everyone stable, we'll need to assess the long-term impacts. If the Imperials are this close, we need to consider our next steps carefully."

Ezorea's gaze hardened slightly as she continued her medical work, trying to tend to those she could and ease their pains. "The galaxy's a tough place, but as long as we stick together, we have a fighting chance." She straightened up, offering Jonah a resolute look. "We'll make sure they pay for every drop of blood shed here." Ezorea carried herself with the poise of a seasoned Arkanian, exuding confidence as she went about her work. Her hands moved deftly, utilizing mundane medical tools and the last of her bacta vials to treat the most grievously wounded. If Jonah could sense other Force sensitives, he might have noticed the subtle waves of energy as Ezorea discretely used Force healing. Her touch was gentle, a hand brushing lightly over a wound, seamlessly integrating healing techniques while wrapping bandages with precise care.

Jonah