Morkan Shuva
Character
| Location | Cardia, Colonies
Beyond the regimented formations of the Imperial Academy, where banners unfurled like wings in the wind, the streets of Reith bore a striking resemblance to the teachings they upheld. The Empire's ideals had nested within the very bones of the city—a disease turned terminal, uncaring of how deep it burrowed, where the individuals were rendered irrelevant, and only the system remained. It mattered not who oversaw them, placed upon thrones of black and white, only that they existed and the allure of their shared dream remained.
Wide avenues spread like the veins of a living organism, interrupted only by the imposing silhouettes of towering skyscrapers that loomed above, casting vast shadows that engulfed whole blocks in a twilight gloom. The remnants of a recent storm clung to the surfaces of gunmetal-grey buildings, causing the brutish steel to shimmer like grim faces streaked with tears.
Newcomers lingered in the streets, their gazes fixed upon the orderly procession of the crowd, which moved with an impressively efficient scale—a drumbeat of clacking boots and heels echoing through the air—purposeful in a way that was difficult to ignore and even harder to grasp their attention. The stores lining the streets stood as quiet observers, their façades austere and unwelcoming, yet imbued with a sense of quiet dignity. They bided their time, confident that their quality and craftsmanship would eventually draw the gaze of passersby, where others would flash their goods or dazzle in an array of adverts and neon signs, they merely existed.
For that was enough.
Personally, Morkan thought they would have been more successful with a balance of both, but as he reminded himself with a sigh, he wasn't in a position to claim any compensation for his opinion. A shame, really, given the wealth of insights he'd accumulated over the years.
He chuckled darkly at the memory of past encounters—how many times had he encountered a fool who bristled at his wisdom, blinded to their own ambition as if success would come merely because they demanded it so. How many of them had he so kindly ripped the veil from their eyes? How many of them had snapped back not with words or even violence, but a sudden attempt to decline what he was due? Experience had taught him the lesson far too late; always ensure they signed the contract before unleashing scathing remarks of what their foolishness deserved. That was yet another morsel of wisdom he would have gladly shared, if only someone were willing to pay for it. But alas, the crowd parted around him, and so the cycle of fools continued.
It was hardly a hardship. After all, fools were always so much more likely to chew more than they could swallow, and when consequences came, he was there either to help pick up the pieces or shatter them for good—for a price, of course; never agree to do something for nothing.
Now, it was just a matter of finding where the fools and their hunters had scurried off to.
And so, with another glance at his holocomm before he turned into the shadow-filled alleyway between two buildings, the heavily armoured Besalisk continued until his steps came to rest at the front of an iron barrier, its small viewport slat covered with steel bars. Three harsh thuds bashed against the metal, shaking the silver-rusted slab, but despite all odds, the hinges held on for dear life. Seconds later, the slat opened, and green eyes stared out into the alley, swiping left, then right, before they closed and the door opened.
Morkan strolled through, with barely a glance for the humanoid that sank back into the darkness, a small stool placed near the entrance, while his heavy footfalls descended deeper and deeper, the passage illuminated by a sequence of swaying lights that flickered on their journey down. An assortment of toxins identified by sensors in his beskar'gam flickered over the screen of his visor; most of them he recognised, a few he swore not to touch, even as he stepped into the bar, a faint trill of some singer in the corner luring patrons closer to the aged wooden structure, where fortunes and woes spilt in streams of bitter drink. His Buy'ce twisted from side to side, in search of his purpose here.
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Tags: OPEN
Tags: OPEN