Naboo's Open Terrain

Nodding to accept Vartouhi's thanks with more solemnity than might seem necessary, Trisada smiles when the lone Crusader at last succumbs to sleep. Her smile fades after a moment, her expression more somber as it sinks in that being owed a life debt by Vartouhi tethers their fates together. "Are you sent by Nododo? Trisada wonders aloud as she watches the woman that has been brought into her life by the gods for some as yet to be learned reason. Nododo, the trickster god, spends his time playing tricks on mortals and even other gods, and Trisada has often felt that she was set upon the path that led to her exile for Nododo's amusement. Or has Dobbis brought you here instead, so that I might wash away the sins of my past?" Her face troubled, Trisada shakes her head as she moves to her own sleeping mat, her fingers reaching for the pendant of Dobbis, the Gungan goddess of rain and new beginnings, she wears as she remembers turning away from vengeance in the past, and swaying others to do the same . . . and remembers too the consequences of her decision, the memories stirred up keeping sleep from her for some time.

Waking, feeling unrested and unsettled, Trisada distractedly prepares a simple breakfast of gumbols for her and Vartouhi, whom she looks at with a troubled expression from time to time while wondering if the life debt between them has been forged so that she can sway the lone Crusader from her path, or so that Trisada can walk it with her as a way to atone for her past.

Even though it had been apparent enough the night before that the lone Crusader was more than likely not bound and determined to exact vengeance on those that feel her comrades, Vashity feels a sense of bitter disappointment when Vartouhi's question left no further room for doubt such was the case, much less hope that it might have changed.

That the lone Crusader would find a way to return to where she and her comrades were ambushed without Trisada's help being so obvious, Trisada feels there is nothing to be gained in not answering the question, and so replies, "An hour's ride, maybe less. I can show you the way, she adds with a sigh, the life debt Vartouhi owes her binding them and their immediate paths together. Rest, Trisada says, and gather your strength, her tone becoming more confident and certain as she speaks. In two days time, we will go and scout out the area. Smugglers often have hidden lairs, one of which you and your comrades must have been very near to. It may be abandoned for now if your foes have had time to load up and depart, but with some work and a bit of luck, we will find it all the same."

Patting the neck of her Kaadu mount, Piknab, Trisada sighs in resignation, having harbored some small hope until now that Vartouhi would realize the hollowness of pursuing vengeance, and nods while placing her Cesta in a saddle scabbard. As she prods Piknab forward, Trisada says, "We're in Lianorm Swamp, and takes a hand from the reins to point in the direction they will be heading as she goes on, The Great Grass Plains is where I found you, and the smuggler's base must have been nearby if they felt it necessary to . . . engage you and your companions. We should leave our mounts behind when we get close to where the ambush took place, and look for the base on foot."

Lifting a hand to clasp the pendant of Dobbis, Gungan goddess of rain and new beginnings, she wears on a cord around her long neck, Trishna asks, "What will you do if the base has been abandoned? Do you have any family that will be worrying about you?"

Only half listening to Trisada as they ride, Vartouhi clenches her jaw as she tries to set her anger and grief aside so that they do not impair her ability to do as she feels she must, to track down the schutta responsible for the deaths of her fellow Royal Crusaders so that she can repay them in kind. Feeling a not entirely uncomfortable sense of cool detachment blossoming within her, Vartouhi shakes her head as she tunes into what her companion is saying in time to hear her questions. "No family worrying about me, she says, knowing it to be a lie but not wanting to risk the distraction thinking of her twin sister or parents might bring. Even if it's abandoned, there might be clues left behind I can follow, Vartouhi says stubbornly, resolved to do whatever it takes to find the scum that killed her fellow Royal Crusaders, adding as much to herself as to Trisada, And if there aren't any clues, I'll just wait for the bastards to come back. They aren't likely to just abandon someplace they were willing to kill for."

Keeping quiet for the remainder of the ride, to better cultivate the will to follow through with her plans no matter what awaits them, Vartouhi feels a strange combination of anticipation and dispassion when they dismount to continue on towards the hidden smuggler's den on foot. Motioning for Trisada to stop and get behind cover when she spots a sentry on a rise in the distance, Vartouhi smiles predatorily unbeknownst to herself as she says quietly, "Looks like they haven't left after all. Good. Drawing her vibrosword from its scabbard, Vartouhi points to a cliff where a second sentry is visible, You take that one, I'll take the other," and does not wait for the Gungan's reply before she begins to stealthily make her way towards the Gungan she had initially spotted, watching his movements to better time her movements from one cover point to the next as she begins to circle around the rise to get behind the sentry.

The 'Red Nine' touched down on a grassy hillock outside Theed, surrounded by trees and a busy river. The dirty, purposeful-looking ship seemed terribly out of place in this paradise, as did it's lone, pale occupant. He padded slowly to the river's edge, and drank from the cool, refreshing water. The figure remained crouching long after he had finished his drink, scenting the air, searching. Seemingly satisfied in finding what he wanted, he stood, looking up at the city on the hill in the distance.

The walk took twenty minutes, but the terrain was excellent, and he made tremendous progress, moving far faster than any baseline human would. The ville was active, busy as it approached mid-morn, and the Hunter walked down the main street, heads turning as he passed. Approaching a fruit stand, he spoke to the young boy sitting beside the small baskets of goods. Applessssssss. How much for one, boy?

The boy, who couldn't have been more than ten, and a full 30" shorter than the Hunter, merely looked at him. The Hunter waited. And waited. Finally he spoke. It'ssss not polite to keep ssssomeone waiting, boy... He smiled warmly, which sent a chill down the young boy's back as sharp, pointed teeth, unnaturally white, were exposed.

Half a Credit, mister... the urchin stammered. The well-dressed man fished in a pocket, and produced a cred note for two hundred fifty credits, handing it to the boy. Now... I want to get your very besssssst apple for thissss. The young one handed him an apple, clearly the prize of the bunch, and Kaarn bit into it, the juice running down his chin. That, is a good apple. One other thing, my boy. The Wayward Son. Have you heard of it? a shake of the head. it's a ship. I want you to find it for me. A resourceful boy like you... I'm sssssure you can do that. Find it, and tell them that I am here, with information they need. he held up a long, graceful finger, silencing the boy before he could speak or protest Another two hundred and fifty when you return, with news that the crew have received the message. You needn't provide a name. Jussssst describe me.

The Hunter smiled once more, with no more mirth than the first time he had done so. Run along, boy. And be back before nightfall. I'm sure your Mother and two sisters will be worried about you if you dally. But don't fear... I'll keep them company.

Kaarn folded his arms across his chest. Adieumus Matango, I presume. You look different from your portfolio. Lost a little weight? No... something in the eyessss. You're younger than I expected, too. The Hunter held out both thumbs and forefingers in an L shape, making a 'box' at arms' length, as if to say *I'm taking a mental picture of you...*

As those of your somewhat rarified profession go -- I should elaborate -- those in your profession who last any real length of time, you're a handsome one, you are. And the way you hold yourself, Mr. Matango... a fighter. Such poise... You really are an enigma. He unabashedly looks the smuggler up and down, sizing him up, appraising him with grey eyes. Tying his long black hair back into a ponytail, the man levers himself off the fruit-stand where he had been leaning, and extends a hand in greeting, though both of them know full-well it is a formality neither requires or desires. I'm terribly sssssorry, allow me to introduce mysssself. I am Kaarn. Today, I bring you greetings from the assassin's guild. And information. Information you might find worthwhile, lucrative, even.

Kaarn nodded, clasping his fingers together contemplatively in front of him. A man who wastes little time with wordstuff. Very well. My information concerns a fellow pilot in your line of work, but indirectly also involves you, and your crew. Are you familiar with the name Galdaart Fel?

Well... that ISSSSSSS the C500,000,000 question, isn't it? The mirthless smile was back, exposing those perfect, sharp teeth. Otherwise, the Hunter's posture remained neutral, impassive, relaxed. Aside from the 'creeps' that Adi was feeling toward this creature, he certainly bore no outward threat to the Captain of the Wayward Son. Not currently...

The tale is a long one, and overly complicated for thisssss meeting, Adieumus Matango. And so, for your sake, I will be brief. It would seem "Captain" Fel's past caught up with him some time ago, in the form of a bounty hunter by the name of Erin Darkwell. She turned him over to Imperial -- or is it First Order? -- I can never recall from one day to the next.. custody, and he spent near two years in isolation, dying, I understand, of Blastonecrosissss. The smile returned, and this time, there was genuine enjoyment in the tale he told. It would seem, however, that simple death in a cell was too good for our friend Fel, and he was sssssprung by a faction of Imperial Intelligence, under none other than Lord Sssinistra herself, and was put to work, doing some very, very naughty thingsss for her Empire. Seems he was privy to some rather awful little sssecrets, too.

He paused, to take another bite of his apple, savouring the flavour. Noticing he had Matango's full, undivided attention, he laughed, a hollow, meaningless sound that was equal parts taunt and derision.

It was only a matter of time before our poor, gallant, misguided "Captain" escaped, and this happened very, very recently. Though he has not yet ssssurfaced... he will. And what's more, the First Order has taken a very keen interest in his crew, which, alassssss... has been whittled down to almost nothing, and his assssssociates, including Adrien Draykon et. al., Aedon Gavin Montrose, et. al., Ophelia Ashern, et. al., and one Adieumus Matango, et. al.

He very carefully dips thumb and forefinger into a jacket pocket, withdrawing a data-disc, and holds it up in the light, so that the sun glints off the disc.

The order to exterminate all known asssssssociates has not been given -- yet -- but it will be given. And soon. It would ssseem Mr. Fel has crossed a great many powerful individuals, and that sort of professional disrespect does not go unnoticed. holding out the data disc to Adi ...but don't take it from me, Adieumus Matango. It'sssss all here, in vivid colour. Now... if an individual, or a crew were to deliver Galdaart Fel into the handssss of his accusers, that individual might find himself some leniency in the eyes of the authorities.

He straightened his jacket, brushing himself clean -- ostensibly of the filth of peasant life -- and smiled once more, bowing his head ever-so-slightly toward Matango. I do hope that individual will be you, Adieumussss Matango. For the next time we meet, I will be under contract, not merely paying respectssss.

The Hunter accepted the smoke from the man opposite him, and let it burn down as he spoke. And spoke. He took it all in -- the man's obvious dislike for the First Order (who could blame him?) and the Knights of Ren (it was really of such little consequence, Kaarn could barely raise an eyebrow,) his blind assumption that the Hunter was in the employ of the First Order (or anyone, for that matter...) Matango mentioned a Soku Ren (who?) and his name-drop of a former group he championed, not that it mattered in the least. He took it all in. The threats. The broad and far too assumptive assertions about what the Hunter believed. This man... this Matango, mentions Jedi. Kaarn made no such mention. Mentions he might well be someone 'who could tear his head off with a thought.' His friendly suggestion was anything but. Poor man. Poor, little man. Doesn't he know, it's not him. He needn't worry about himself, though that time might yet come. It's everyone he loves. And the village he grew up in. And the ones he vows to protect. Those poor, insignificant souls would be how Kaarn chooses to act, should he have choice in the matter. The words rolled off his back like so much dew. He knew of so many ways to hurt this man. So many people who would open wounds so deep this man would be swallowed whole... but that was not for today. Today was for delivering information. His outward appearance was cool, calm. The Hunter stubbed out the smoke, which was 90% ash due to the wordstuff that poured from Matango's mouth, crushing it against the fruit stand cart.

Good day, Adieumus Matango. Until next we meet.