Rodia's Open Orbit

Bedrovelse Hevn's Sith infiltrator exits hyperspace. His hand falls to the right, flipping a switch to disengage his thrusters. He taps another down, engaging his cloaking shields. No visuals, no radars. He stares, coldly as ever through his pale sapphire eyes, at Rodia.

It was strange. Dead, cold, and mechanical as he was. Tropical planets still made what was left of his Ensolican skin and blood absolutely crawl. The air sticks like a cloud of vicious insects. His old self would have been strangled by the humidity and heat. Fortunately for his condition, he could survive conditions like these if only barely. His contempt for warm worlds had followed him for centuries, and it would seem had not yet released it's grasp on the Jen'jidai.

A second thought crossed his mind that brought a secondary flood of disgust to him. A sorcerer like himself he once crossed, the only Rodian he had ever grown remotely acquainted to. Cassus. A Sith, like most of those he traveled with on his crusade for the old ways of the force. A despicable ally, and treacherous foe. Respectable, perhaps to someone such as Hevn, for his deadliness and knowledge, but nevertheless an agonizing pain in his reinforced neck.

His intelligence on the Reavers and their leader was scarce. They were an effective private military company that served under the Mandalorians in their purge of the force users. The trails of bodies they left in their wake was qualification enough for Bedrovelse's attention. It was unclear whether the group still served Manda'lor in any specific way, or if they had broken free to make their own path, not so unlike Hevn. Like in his previous dealings with Mandalorians there were a few specific keys to communicating with them. Credits, and keeping force use on the back burner. In his personal experience, few of these great warriors were truly level headed. Most despised the force and it's potential. They didn't appreciate the grandstanding that came along with such displays of power either, and usually seemed quick to enrage or grow aggressive. He could only hope that these men were more the mercenary than loyal soldier type.

What was his name again....Skirata. A clan he had never encountered personally before, but knew well the stories of. Strong capable warriors descended from that blood line, and if they had any intelligence to accompany that heart and strength hopefully they would see the mutual opportunity he desired to present them.

His eyes slowly fall from the horizon of space to his dash. He jabs his thumb into the comm.

"Target the Wesessa Sea, An'yettu Islands. Broadcast the following message."

This is Bedrovelse Hevn, trying to make contact with the Reavers. Reavers please respond. I desire an audience with your commander that we may discuss enterprise.

In truth he feared little using his name. His identity was highly obscure in most circles. The Dark Jedi Order was gone. The Sith Empire was disconnected, and Sinistra with whom he solely operated had vanished into smoke. Other than being a freelance conquerer of planets and spice tycoon there was little save for first hand evidence that could incriminate him as a force user. A concern he was determined to keep hidden whilst dealing with bucket heads and their barbaric favoritism of bullets.