Roll for Dignity
The fellowship was never meant to last, yet here they were, fates bound by chance, as an unlikely bunch. They weren't a company, nor an order, nor even a crew in the proper sense. But together, for now, they were moving in the same direction, carried forward by tangled circumstance and fragile trust.
Okuma Milogen
, a mercenary with debts to settle, had received instructions from his client on where to deliver his acquisition. Unfortunately for him, the acquisition seemed to attract unprecedented and unwanted attention in the form of friendly faces and wandering strays.The route to Takonda, where his payout previously awaited, lay barred by the Blackwall .
Returning to Veridia was presently his only viable option. Accessible still but dangerous now. Too many eyes still searched for him there as the trail of blood he left behind had not yet grown cold.
Braze, at least, played the part of willing help and remained silent on the truth of their arrangement, calling Okuma "Boss" with an unprecedented sentiment of obedience, seemingly happily taking odd jobs to keep credits flowing. But beneath that fragile trust lay the knowledge that with a change of heart of or a touch of will, the mercenary could turn him against anyone he cared about.
Truth be told, Braze didn't want to be left alone with Okuma and his plucky new charge. Having Saram along would set his heart at ease, and perhaps a Jedi idealist like Kyric could help break down the walls Okuma had built, and serve as a role model for Leos. There was time still before Braze's own fate would catch up with him, and he'd rather stave it off.
He hadn't finished his weapons testing project yet, so after their shared meal aboard the Mud Duck, he turned to
Saram Kote
"This might be asking a lot,"
Braze
had started in earnest. "But… you kept me alive once. I think you could do it again. And… I'd sleep easier knowing you were out there with us. Please... come with me to Veridia?"Later, to
Kyric
he was just as direct, though his tone carried a note of hope."I know of a Jedi temple hidden away in the Land of Flowers. It's at our next destination. I think both you and
Leos
could benefit from the Jedi who still dwell there. It's an enclave, a school built in the ruins of an older order's sanctuary… and they have a medical retreat besides. Please, come with us?"
Leos
had a simple enough means. Braze would make him his apprentice and give him exactly what he wanted.That left one problem. How to placate Okuma, and convince him to allow 'more strays aboard'. Braze knew better than to speak of trust or companionship. Braze wouldn't win Okuma over by pleading for friendship, he'd do it by speaking Okuma's language: pragmatism, utility, and risk management.
Okuma thrived on cold pragmatism, and it was that same weakness, the instinct to use people , that kept Braze in check. Silence had its power, but this time carefully placed words were needed.
He approached him in private simply, laying out the risks without embellishment. "The Core's fallen. Criminal syndicates are clawing at the scraps, and the Sith are pushing in wherever they can. Travel's not safe anymore, not in a galaxy this fractured. Pirates don't raid for plunder alone; they smash hard and fast, overwhelming whoever they catch. If we're caught short out there, it won't just be me you lose… it'll be your payout too." His eyes held steady, tone calm, matter-of-fact. "Extra hands aren't a luxury now. They're the difference between being picked apart in some nameless void and actually making it to Veridia. "
Braze had learned just as much with his recent travels along side
Zee Caromed
.Now, the path was clear but the long road from Ossus bent toward Veridia once more. Between them and that flowering world stretched only the unknown regions of space, and the last crooked lantern before the dark: the Gloam Spoke Relay: A rusted freeport lashed together from salvage, it was the final chance to refuel before the final stretch of trip ahead.
The Gloam Spoke Relay hung in the void like driftwood on a black tide. Quiet was expected here, so far beyond the Rim... but this was a different sort of quiet.
No beacon lights swept the approach lanes. No docking signals chirped across the comm. Stations this remote usually at least barked clearance codes, if only to remind travelers there was still someone listening. Here, there was only static that answered.
As the Mud Duck closed distance, the Relay's shape took form: a crooked lattice of welded freighters and salvage hulls, patched together with mismatched plating. The place should have glowed with running lights and rusted floodlamps. Instead it looked muted, its windows dark, with its exterior lamps either shattered or dimmed to embers.
The docking arms extended outward like skeletal fingers, but no tugs moved to guide them in. The freeport breathed no life. Just the Relay itself, waiting in the cold stillness of space.
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