The cantina was filled to bursting, teetering on the precipice of revelry and lawlessness. Smoke clung to the close air in a grey shroud like cordite after a firefight, and it reeked of unwashed bodies and sour liquor. A young Twi’lek woman crooned on a corner stage, singing in a patois of Basic and Mando’a. Her voice was garbled and warped, sounding as if she was underwater. The band accompanying her played with frenzied desperation to be heard over the raucous crowd.

L4’s Place. That’s what the sign outside said. Proudly droid owned and operated.

A strange lot in these parts. Foreigners mingling with beskar-clad warriors of Mandalore. Some helmeted, others not. They spoke in a dozen tongues not native to this world. Aliens with peculiar shapes ill-suited to this planet, struggling mightily to stay upright with the strong gravity and stronger alcohol. Some didn’t, resigning themselves to the floor as booted feet trod over them or ontop of. Humming neon lights overhead painted the celebrants in sickly hues of blue and pink, distorting faces into something far divested from their true forms. The 25th anniversary of the Founding brought diplomats, military officials, and other notables to Mandalore, but they would not be found here amongst these rude forms. A tall man stepped in from the busy street. Too tall to be a native. Any other day he would be instantly singled out as an outsider, but today he was just one off-worlder among many.

The man’s narrow eyes swept through the crowd. Too many helmets. Too many hats. He pulled off his own and swept a clawed hand through his hair. He’d sought refuge from the besotted revelers in the streets, so-called New Imperials now crazed with drink, but found this place little better. The Marshal, now two months on the job, had been planetside for a week chasing down dead end after dead end. He was out of leads now and exhausted to boot. The gravity was heavier than what Rask was used to, and he’d spent too much time in low-g these past weeks of travel. Soft. Slow. Thirsty.

He slipped through the crowd, a noticeable hitch in his step. Rask nodded to patrons as he went, exchanging a brief smile with a Devaronian woman who was right and truly drunk. One of the musicians grinned at him hideously with iridescent eyes fixed on long stalks that peeked over his canted instrument, at which he sawed viciously. The Marshal did not return this smile.

Rask ducked under a low beam and bellied up to the bar, slotting himself between a Trandoshan armed to the teeth and a helmeted Mandalorian kitted out in a similar fashion, as were many of the patrons. The scaly alien scowled at him and sidled away, leaving him with the stout Mando sitting on his left.

“Marshal.” The voice came out tinny and mechanical, but was directed at Rask. He turned to face the armor-clad man. Rask searched the flat black visor for any sign of humanity but found none. He felt like he was staring at a droid. The hairs on his neck stood on end. An old reflex.

“You got me at a disadvantage, sir, as many do these days. Do I know ye?” Rask spoke smoothly and slowly, his Outer Rim drawl contrasting the Mando’s quick, clipped military cadence.

“No, you don’t. But I know that badge.”

Rask ran a long finger over the smooth piece of metal pinned to his ragged poncho. The badge of an Outer Rim Regulator. It’d been a long time since he wore it. Long enough to forget it was the first thing people saw.

“Surprised you Inners ever saw one.” A subtle joke accompanied by an easy smile. Mandalore was on the Outer Rim, but with its rapid development since the fall of the Republic, many on the galaxy’s fringe considered it a Core World. Culturally, at least. The Mandalorian chuckled.

“Hope we’ve still got enough of that Rim charm for you, Marshal. Here for the Founding anniversary?”

“Here to find someone.”

“I see. How’s city life treating you, Marshal?”

“I keep waiting for it to take, but it ain’t done it yet. What do you people drink on this rock with minimal risk of death or blindness?”

”We might have something for you. L4.”

The Mandalorian rapped his gauntleted knuckles on the metal bartop. L4, a bulky protocol droid, golden outer casing dented and rusting from abuse, wheeled around. The Mandalorian held up two fingers and two drinks were poured from a glowing blue bottle into chilled glasses, which were pushed forward carefully by robotic hands like pieces on a chess board.

“Here you are, gentlemen. Jajeeg. Please enjoy,” it said in a voice so pleasant it almost seemed sarcastic to Rask. He felt the protocol droid’s yellow eyes follow him. The same lifeless mechanical eyes he’d seen in most every machine throughout the galaxy.

“You’ll put a crick in your neck, you don’t stop starin’ at me, droid,” he said, his voice cool. The bartender curtly nodded and turned to attend to some other patron.

The Marshal thought he’d be drinking alone, and was surprised when the Mandalorian set his helmet down on the bar. Rask was even more surprised by the face revealed in doing so, though he shouldn’t have been. It was a face he’d seen a hundred times on the Outer Rim. Fought with, bled with against the Separatists on the Rim’s frontier. A little older now, but not as old as Rask expected.

“Who do we drink to?” The clone of Jango Fett asked. Half his face was a twisted mess of scar tissue, plasma burns or some other grievous injury long since half-healed. One piercing brown eye looked into his, the other milky white and wandering as if seeing another world beyond their own. His hair was long, longer than Rask’s, matted from the helmet and swept back on his head.

“To your fallen brothers,” Rask said, raising his drink.

“We’ll be here all day if we drink to them,” he replied, taking in the contents of his cup in one swallow. Rask followed suit. The liquor was rank. It tasted of creosote algae. It burned all the way down his gullet, and then burned some more. Rask knew he’d drank worse hooch before, but he really couldn’t remember when. He stifled a cough as the clone smirked. Revenge, maybe, for Rask’s earlier joke.

“I reckon your brothers saved my life when we was about done in on the Rim more times than I can remember. I’ll spare a day or two of drinking for’em if need be,” Rask said as the droid filled up their glasses again. He kept his eyes fixed on the battered robot as it hobbled away, as did the clone. Another veteran with little trust for droids, Rask assumed.

“You said you’re here to find someone.”

“That’s right.”

“Anyone I’d know?”

Rask studied the contents of his glass. The Jajeeg was bioluminescent and he watched as glowing shapes swirled in the bottom of the glass like living tea leaves. The pulsing music wasn’t doing much for his headache, but another drink might.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe. Fella about your height. Ain’t so small you’d be like to miss’em. Changed their name, maybe face too, so I ain’t got much to go on but memory. That fails me more oft’ than not as well,” He downed another round of the bitter liquor.

The clone looked around the crowded bar as he drank, as if half-expecting to find someone matching just that description. “Well, I hate to say it Marshal, but that doesn’t narrow it down much on Mandalore.”

“No, it does not. Seems like I’ve got some ground yet to cover.” Rask turned back to the bar and looked into the mirror behind rows of liquor bottles that sat on their shelves like the concoctions of some demented alchemist, or a madman’s preserved specimens crudely pickled for future study. Some bottles contained just that, worms and insects from distant reaches of the galaxy perhaps meant to alter the consumer’s mind or mood. Rask saw his reflection in the glass behind, gaunt face warped as if by a funhouse mirror in the neon lights. His stare was broken by the bartending droid who shuffled into view.

“Another drink, Marshal Coburn?”

Rask relaxed as he leaned against the bar sideways, one arm resting on the countertop. Perhaps the local liquor was getting to him. “That’d be fine. I’ll get this round, friend.”

The droid jerked a stiff nod and turned to grab a liquor bottle from the back bar. The clone spoke, but Rask didn’t hear him.

“I don’t remember tellin’ you my name, droid,” Rask said, his voice meandering, almost playful. Barely audible over the din of the crowd and the music, which was more feverish than ever. He studied the droid’s back. Its outer carapace was crudely stretched over the robot’s inner workings and secured with metal cables, like some metal insect grown too big for its exoskeleton and caught mid-molt. The droid paused as Rask spoke. As if it were thinking. Weighing options. The droid’s upper body spun around 180 degrees lightning fast, bottle in one hand, blaster in the other.

It happened all at once.

A single shot seemed to ring out. An explosion of bottles. The clone dropped from his seat and hit the floor with a metallic clank. Screams. Patrons flared like frightened birds and ran for the door. Then everything was quiet. Rask and the droid stood like statues in the still and hot air, eyes locked. A heartbeat passed. Then two.

The droid staggered back, hydraulic pistons pumping, stumbling into the liquor cabinet behind them. Their arms flailed to steady themself but the droid’s immense weight brought the glass shelves down on top of it as it fell to the ground. The smell of astringent liquor filled the room, mingling with ozone and burnt plastic.

If it looked like a thing the Marshal had practiced many times, it was. Shooting from the holster without drawing was considered a dirty trick by some, but that low-down move had saved his skin more than once. It left a smoldering blaster hole in his poncho.

Rask slowly walked around the bar and kicked the half-door open, briefly flashing his badge to the remaining patrons. The bartender looked like a crab on its back, scrambling for footing. He planted his boot on the fallen droid’s wrist as a metallic hand desperately grasped for its fallen blaster. The cheap carapace snapped and bent like ancient and brittle bones, but the metal beneath was hard and battle-worn. Pieces of shrapnel littered the floor from where Rask had fired his blaster through the bar and into the droid’s logic processor. A small beam of daylight shone onto the wrecked droid where Rask’s shot punched through both the robot and the wall behind it. He frowned at this. Rask would not have fired in such a crowded area, but there was no help for it.

“Not a bad disguise, H1. Better than your aim, anyways,” Rask said as he looked down at his former comrade, H1-VOK. “Real early on the trigger pull there. What was that about? You gettin’ rusty?”

“R-r-rematch?” The droid stuttered, voice now rugged and human-like with an accent not unlike Rask’s. “I t-think J-Jak messed with my s-servos. Barely operating at 75% capacity these days.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Jak alright,” Rask sighed. He knew just how paranoid old Brassteeth was; he had a ragged blaster scar on his stomach to prove it. The former gang leader likely tampered with H1’s logic center to make him slower, give himself the upper hand if the droid ever felt like it was time to make a change in leadership. 20 years ago, H1 would have punched five holes in Rask before he could even blink, and the Marshal hadn’t gotten any faster since then. He’d just been lucky.

“Tell me where he is,” Rask said coolly, now drawing his heavy blaster. He had little love for droids these days, and H1 was no exception. A CIS-built assassin model that Jak pulled off the assembly line and upgraded with a new personality matrix. A facsimile of Voss Wren, famous Outer Rim frontiersman with a love for liberty and hatred of droids. Perfect for killing Confederacy forces on the outskirts of the galaxy. Also conveniently at Jak’s beck and call. Rask remembered the powerful droid picking him up like a child and tossing him from their stolen ship after Jak shot him.

“Why sh-should I?” H1 replied as he clawed for the dropped blaster a foot away, his attempts growing more feeble as coolant leaked from his inner workings and mingled with spilled liquor and broken glass on the floor to create a foul paste.

“I’ll do ye a favor. You tell me, and I shoot you dead. Right here and now,” Rask said, leveling his heavy blaster at the droid’s head.

“That’s not much of a d-deal,” the failing mechanical voice replied.

“Or I let you live. Throw a restraining bolt on ye. Drag your sorry frame back to the Confederacy. Let’em poke around inside, pull out that fancy personality of yours and drum you back into service. I’m sure they’ve missed you sorely. How’s that sound?” Rask asked, already knowing the answer.

The droid stopped pawing for the blaster and slowly swiveled its head round to stare down Rask’s gun barrel. “Sounds like sh-shit. But it looks like I don’t h-have a choice, do I?”

“Always a choice, my friend. Like when you chose to kill all them people. Or when you left me for dead.”

“I d-don’t know where Jak is. Haven’t seen hi-him in years since he cut me loose.”

Rask pulled a restraining bolt from his utility belt.

“B-but I know w-where to find Zi’Aii.”

Rask paused. “Let’s hear it.”

“She's here. On Mandalore. She’s some hotshot diplomat f-for Ryloth’s Confederacy faction. H-here for the Founding.”

Rask let out a bitter laugh. Zi’Aii, the ever-faithful Republic saboteur, now with the CIS. He wasn’t too surprised. Fortunate she was on Mandalore though. “That didn’t take much to pull from ye. After all Zi’Aii done for you?”

“I’d rather d-die than l-live as a slave. Not like you, Marshal. Even when you rode with us, you never kn-knew what it meant to really live free.”

“Ah, you’re just a droid. You ain’t livin’ at all.”

He fired a single shot into the droid’s central processing unit. H1’s head jerked once and there was a great pneumatic hiss, a killing machine’s death rattle. Its yellow eyes dimmed like dying candles until there was nothing left in them but Rask's reflection.

He could have pumped the droid for more information. Could have asked why he was shacked up on Mandalore, how he knew about Zi’Aii, why he stopped pirating ships and started pouring drinks. But frankly, Rask could intuit most of that out, and he was sick of talking to the droid anyways. Best guess? Bounty got too high on his metal head, so H1 reached out to Zi’Aii to help him lay low. She grafted the protocol droid carapace over his hull and he bought this dingy cantina as a cover. Zi’Aii always had a soft spot for droids. Organics, not so much.

Rask looked over the bar as he broke open his pistol and pulled two spent power cells from their chambers, replacing them with fresh ones from his belt. “You take a hit there, friend?”

“Ever heard of beskar? It’ll take more than some holdout blaster to get through this,” The clone coughed as he stood up, patting his armor. There was a fresh scorch mark on his breastplate under which lay his heart.

“You Mandos got stones, I give ye that,” Rask said with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“How’d you know that was your man?”

“Oh, I deduced it. When he shot ye. But that’s them alright. Metal bastard’s been piratin’ shipping lanes the past eight years. Blowin’ unarmed ships full of holes and crawlin’ onboard to loot what’s left after everyone’s either spaced or suffocated.”

“Sounds like you knew them.”

“If one can ever know a droid, then, yeah, I known him. Used to run together in the 86th Irregulars fightin’ Seps on the Rim. Things took a turn, and now here we are.”

Rask looked down at the shattered remnants of his old comrade-in-arms. He thought of all the droids they’d scrapped together. All the Separatist ships raided. All the innocent people killed. His hands curled into fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palms.

“Empire placed a hefty bounty on’em, alive, after he killed some diplomat of theirs. Number’s probably dropped since he’s been layin’ low. You turn this scrap heap in though, might just get somethin’ for your trouble. Enough to polish that armor of yours, anyways. I don’t want nothin’ to do with it.”

The clone laughed as he returned to his place at the bar like nothing happened. “Getting shot’s no trouble for me, but I appreciate it, Marshal.”

Rask looked around the cantina. The patrons with less grit, mostly tourists, lit out with the gunfire, leaving him with a smaller crowd mostly of armored Mandalorians. Regulars, probably. All finally relaxing their grip on blasters and returning to their drinks. They looked relieved the riff-raff had cleared out. The Twi’lek singer started singing again, a more downbeat song now. The band hesitantly followed her lead.

“‘Nother round? Looks like I’m tendin’ bar now, and drinks are on the house. This swill’s growin’ on me,” Rask said with a wry grin as he picked up an unshattered and shimmering bottle from the ground. The clone chuckled and nodded, pushing his cup forward.

Teth // Baxel Sector // Separatist Space

The shuttle rocked as it flew through incoming fire, swinging down in an arc it landed in a clearing just out of range of the compound. The door hissed as the cabin was depressurized to equal that of the native atmosphere. The humidity was the first thing to hit the Lasat at the front of the pack. He stretched himself, reaching back pulling his Bo-Rifle from behind his back and into his arms. He raised it into the air. "FORWARD!" He charged forward, as the two cruisers swooped in overhead. Their cannons firing at the compound, their shots bouncing lazily off the shields as they finished their downward arc and landed. Their ramps dropped as more mercenaries spat out of the bowels of the ships, blaster fire continued to rain towards them as Vorkro jumped from cover to cover, occasionally firing towards the enemy's position.

A trio of Z-95s swung overhead in pursuit of a squadron of Vulture Droids, who in turn were chasing a Kom'rk fighter. There was an explosion beside him as he jumped over a fallen log, tucking in behind another nearby tree. He peered around, in the distance he could see the B1 and B2 model droids marching towards them. In between his people and the droids he could vaguely make out one or two Mandalorians. He shouldered his rifle, closing his right eye as he aimed down the sight. A blast hitting a B1 and blasting its head off. The droid continued to walk for a couple of steps shooting wildly until it fell to the ground. Vorkro lowered his blaster and raised his right arm up, activating his commlink.

"Teams two and three break and try and capture them in a pincer. Team one, you're with me. Right down the middle." He received some clicks confirming his order before he spun around the tree, blaster raised. Shots rang out as he advanced, he started at a walk but after the first couple of shots, the droids became aware of the incoming threat. Fire erupted around him as his mercenaries started to exchange fire with the droids. The Mandalorians spurned on by their fresh support started to push their advantage. Moving out of cover and charging the droids.

Vorkro rolled his eyes as he continued to speed up, his powerful legs meant he was leaving all but his fellow Lasat behind. Jumping over obstacles, pushing himself off trees to keep up his momentum he never slowed. Twisting as a B2 fired a rocket past him. He winced as he heard the telltale screams behind him. He couldn't worry about that now though, he trusted the medics to do their job. He had too.

He switched the rifle to his right hand as he got in close to the droids, it expanded out into an electrostaff as he smacked the blaster out of the hand of a B1 before he skewered its chest. At this point a woman in red armour moved up beside him. "I thought you said there were eight droids-" pulling his staff back in he fired a series of bolts into the body of a B2 that was bearing down on him "-where'd you learn to count?"

Vorkro heard Moriha laugh beneath her helmet. The helmet making it metallic and tinny sounding. "Mandalore. There's only about 8 Mandalorians worth of droids. I wasn't far off."

Fired rained above as the fighters made another pass. Vorkro let out a grunt in frustration as he took a knee and fired in a wide-sweeping motion. Ducking back behind cover as a couple of bolts got too close for comfort. "If there are only eight Mandalorians worth, why did you need me?"

The Mandalorian launched herself into the air, as she came crashing down to her knee a series of mini-missiles lanced out knocking the heads off nearby droids. "I only brought three Mandalorians."

Vorkro pulled a thermal detonator from his belt, primed it, and tossed it over to her. She threw it into a wide arc. Landing in the middle of a group of approaching droids. His comm chimed and he raised it as he pulled himself tighter into cover. Bolts scoring the tree, throwing splinters into the air. "Go ahead"

The garbled voice of his Mon Cala XO came through the communicator. "Captain. We're picking up Separatist reinforcements on long-range scanners. They'll be here within thirty minutes."

"Karabast. Any idea what we're dealing with?"

"At least two cruisers and a frigate." The subtext being obviously, more than we can handle..

"Copy that. We should still have some mines in storage, deploy them as you see fit, and keep me appraised." It wasn't the best plan, but all they had to do was slow them down enough to allow Vorkro and Moriha time to finish down here and pull back. Lowering his communicator he popped his head up above the log, raising his voice to be heard over the blaster fire. "You get any of that?"

The Mandalorian didn't reply, as she continued to push forward with the support of her own people and his men. Twisting in a roll he brought himself back up, firing at the remaining nearby droids. "Whatever you're hiring me for better be worth it!"

The Tuk’ata settled into the cliff side hanger with a thump, while various readouts flickered in Elam’s eyes as the computers reported a successful landing and shut down. Climbing out of the pilot’s seat he yawned and stretched before stepping into the Captain's Quarters, which were just off the bridge, to retrieve his helmet and cloak.

Gathering up his gear he headed for the stairs down to the main deck, but he wasn’t exactly hurrying. His ‘mission’, really a bit of slicing and thievery, had gone decently and the payout was going to be pretty good…assuming things went well; Since he’d dropped in system he’d had a nagging feeling that this was all going to go sideways, and he’d learned from a young age to trust that instinct; especially at a time like now when his ‘client’ was one of the Galaxys innumerable wannabe warlords masquerading as a ‘loyal and stalwart leader of the Confederacy’. Locking his helmet in place, he dropped the boarding ramp and walked down to the hanger floor.

Reaching the foot of the ramp, he was greeted by a B1 battle droid. From a distance it looked clean and ready to go, but with his mix of enhanced optics he could see crude welds where it’d been inexpertly repaired and then heavily re-painted to try and hide said repairs.

”His Supreme Magnificence, The Benevolent and Undefeated Grand High Protector Halleto Thi, The restorer of Order and Democracy, Lord Archduke Marshal of the Confederacy, First and Only Grand-Warden of the Asuktal Sea, Liberator and Supreme Administrator of Katarr requires your presence.”

Sweet karking krik…must’ve spent the time I was doing the job thinking up new titles for himself. Outwardly, he simply nodded to the B1 who simply turned about and headed towards a set of side doors, while inwardly he started to do the math on the chances of this meeting ending badly; the odds seemed to be worsening exponentially. And here I was thinking this’d be a nice little payday before I took some time to just relax…

To less wary observers, the show being put on by Thi was impressive and intimidating as intended. Dozens of Vulture and Hyena droid fighters hung from ready racks, a flight of Porax-38 fighters with suited pilots stood by on alert and an immaculate Sheathipede Type B, guarded by a pair of menacing looking B2s. To Elam however, it was much less daunting. The sensor suite in his helmet was tied into the passive sensors of his ship, and through them he could tell none of the hanging droid fighters were even on ‘standby’, and some of the racks showed heavy corrosion. While the ‘38s were at least powered most of the ‘alert’ crews were anything but, many showing signs of various types of intoxication; the only legitimately threatening things in the hanger looked to be the B2s and as he looked at them, they seemed to be as patchwork as his B1 guide. Only the shuttle seemed to actually be regularly maintained.

Leaving the hanger, the wafer thin veneer of intimidation continued; he’d been through here before down the corridor to the ‘Throne Room’. Last time it’d simply been a tall but well lit utilitarian hallway, indistinguishable for any other CIS facility he’d been into; now every second light had been disabled, probably in an attempt to make things more menacing, and under each light stood another B2. Unlike the two on guard in the hanger, these seemed to have more in common with the fighters he realised as he walked passed. Most showed rough repairs poorly hidden under layers of paint and none of them actually appeared to be working.

Finally reaching the end of the corridor where another B1 stood off to the left of the door, his escort stopped and turned to face him. ”The Undefeated Grand High Protector will see you know. Any hostile actions will be met with lethal and overwhelming force, this is your only warning.” It said before turning and taking up position on the right side of the door. Give me strength, He thought to himself. I’ve seen more intimidating primary schools. Stepping into the throne room, it was exactly what he was expecting. Slovenly thugs who preyed only on those much weaker than themselves lounged about in stupor while a pair of very young and terrified looking twi’leks ‘danced’ to the music from a holo in the corner. At the centre of the room a fat weequay fondled a pantoran woman who looked only slightly older than the twi’leks. Seeing Elam, the weequay pushed the pantoran aside and heaved himself upright in his seat. “AH! Elam my boy, good to see you! I take it that since you’re here, things went well?”

”Well enough Grand High Protector Thi,” He replied, loathing the fact that he needed to pander to the fat karks ego. The man was everything Elam detested, but it wasn’t his place to take sides. ”There were a few complications, but nothing that couldn’t be managed.” Reaching down, Thi slapped the pantoran in the back of her head and then pointed to Elam.

“I take it then you have something for me.” ”I do,” He replied much more calmly than he felt, slowly reaching under his cloak and retrieving a datadisc and handing it to the slave girl before she turned it over to her master. ”So,” Thi said, twisting the datadisc back and forth in the light over his seat. ”This is all of it?” ”Yes Grand High Protector Thi,” Elam replied. ”A full map of Burras the Hutts smuggling network as well as access to three of their major accounts.”

”Excellent, excellent!” Thi exclaimed, while several of his more lucid ‘retainers’ laughed and congratulated their boss. ”Now, grab yourself a drink and a girl. We’ll load up the gunship in an hour and go claim what is mine.” Elam sighed to himself. I knew he was greedy and stupid…but not this bad…kark it, here we go. A murmur rippled through the room; he’d been dismissed by the Grand High Portector, but he was still standing in front of him. ”I don’t think so.” The room went still, the only noise from holo recording, and the mood rapidly turning foul; at the edge of his perception he saw the two dancers scurry for cover under a table while the pantoran got behind the throne. ”What was that?” Thi growled. ”I thought it was clear. I’m not one of your jumped up gutter scrapping, and my ship is not yours. Now pay me so I can leave and scrub the filth of this cesspit off.” Rage flared in Thi’s eyes as Elam smiled behind his featureless faceplate.

”KILL HI-”

A message floated in the corner of Elam’s vision.

Protocol GREEN: ACTIVE

Elam hit Thi with a Force throw that launched him out of his seat before he could finish his order. Launching himself away from where he was standing, Elam drew his pistol as he rolled, opening fire as he came to his feet and blasting two of the vaguely more with it thugs before Thi had even hit the wall. The explosion of violence actually managed to rouse the most comatose ones, which did leave him out numbered about eight to one…if one were to ignore the fact that they were vastly out classed.

The room itself wasn’t overly large, and being conscious that there were in fact non-combatants in there as well, he dropped his blaster as he dodged the first wild return fire, losing his cape as well in the process. Pulling the two wickedly curved fighting knives from his belt he let his emotions flow while focusing his connection to the Force into his blade. All of this happened in the span of a few heartbeats, before he launched into a true attack. Between his Force powers and augmentation he was faster than the third rate muscle could comprehend and his blades tore through durasteel with minimal effort. This was a more one-sided fight than a nexu versus a pack of sleeping bark rats.

None of them had time to run…most didn’t even have time to scream before he was tearing into them, a Force augmented blade ripping through armour, muscle and bone with ease, leaving behind nothing more than so many kilos of rapidly cooling meat. As the last mad died the main door finally opened as the pair of B1 ‘door guards’ finally reacted. While they were across the room, giving them the range advantage, especially considering his knives would be all but useless for deflecting blaster fire; but he had plenty of other tricks up his sleeve. Raising his right hand, he let the knife in that hand dangle off his index finger, before closing said hand in a tight fist while selecting one of the droids.

The droid in question managed a surprised squwak before it was compacted into a mass roughly the size of a humanoid's head in a shower of sparks and smoke. The second droid actually jumped at the sight, distracting it just long enough for Elam to pull its crushed companion to him before launching it back fast enough to smash the second droid to ruin. Like that the fight was over; somewhere in the confusion the holo emitters were damaged and the band silenced, the only sounds now the occasional sparking from said emitters and the terrified sobs of the slaves.

Sheathing his knives, and retrieving his blaster, Elam went to check the hall. As he suspected, the B2s were entirely decorative as none of them had moved…except one that appeared to have fallen over after the crushed B1 slammed into it. With no further signs of threat at the moment, he made his way back to where Halleto Thi was still laying in a dazed pile after getting tossed. Reaching out with the Force he picked up Halleto and slammed him against the wall just hard enough to wake him up.

”You DA-urrkk” His indignation was cut short by Force pressure on his windpipe.

Protocol GREEN: INACTIVE

”Be silent, you disgusting waste of matter.” Elam took a deep breath, letting out slowly. ”Despite my distaste for you, I was content to leave you be; take my pay and then go about my business…but you just couldn’t keep your greasy karking mitts to yourself.”

Holding Halleto with one hand, he pulled his communicator out with the other and placed a call. A few moments later a hutt appeared, who immediately became livid upon seeing Elam. <”You have some nerve THIEF! My men WILL find you and you WILL pay for daring to steal from the Great Burras the Hutt!>” Once the hutt stopped, Elam bowed his head. ”Peace Great Burras. I know I wronged you, but I bring you an offering…to at least bring us to neutral ground.” Burras glared at him through the holo. <”Peace? Offering? You have the guts to say such things El-Rud, especially after what you did..but speak.”> ”Thank you Great Burras. I offer you the one who hired me, living and whole; as well as what was stolen and how it was done to prevent such matters again.”

Silence dragged on while Burras thought, occasionally punctuated by muted gasps and gurgles from one increasingly frantic Halleto Thi. <”Very well,”> Elam’s comm chimed with an incoming message. <”My agent will meet you at those coordinates so you may return what is mine.”> The call ended before Elam could reply. Though unable to speak at the moment, Halleto’s eyes pleaded with Elam, he knew what horrors awaited him at the hands of an angry hutt; Elam simply drew his blaster once more, set it to a heavy stun and shot Halleto before letting him crumple to the ground once more.

Sighing, he rolled his neck before turning to face the closest of the slaves, the pantoran woman. He could see she’d been tethered to the throne, and while he’d been dealing with Halleto and Burras, she’d moved once again to put it between him and herself. Reaching up to his helmet he released the seals with a small hiss and ‘pop’ as it disconnected from his suit. Immediately he was struck by just how badly the room stunk, though surprisingly it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Setting his helmet on the floor, he regarded the woman. ”My name is Elam, Elam El-Rud.” She shied away for a moment, or at least as much as she could. ”K-Kele Seki.” ”Okay Kele,” He said calmly; understandably she and the two twi’leks were extremely on edge, especially after what he’d done to everyone else in the room. ”I’d like to come over to you and see if I can get that collar off. Is it okay if I touch you?” Kele was still eyeing warily, but after a few moments she nodded. Kneeling beside where Kele was still crouched, he could see marks from the casual brutality of her former captors, and he had to take a moment to re-center himself. The restraint itself was almost laughably simple, a heavy leather collar that closed over a D-ring and a physical lock that held the collar closed and connected the collar to a length of durasteel cable. No shock compliance regulator, no anti-tamper sensors, none of it; the set up was so simple it was almost baffling.

”Okay Kele, the simplest way is for me to simply cut this.” He could sense her heart rate start to rapidly spike. ”Please Kele,” He said softly, deliberately slowing his own breathing. ”I need you to stay calm. I know you have no real reason to trust me yet, but I will get you all free…okay.” It took a bit but eventually after she took a few deep breaths Kele had calmed enough for Elam to work. Drawing one of his knives he carefully hooked the tip under the leather and slid the blade forward, the madog steel alone being more than up to the task. As soon as the collar was cut Kele’s hand went to her neck, just to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. As he stepped back, Kele stood and immediately went to the two twi’leks who were still huddled behind what was left of the holo emitter.

All three of them hugged each other fiercely. As he got over to them, he could see the twi’leks and realised two things, one from the looks of things they were likely sisters and two he’d probably overestimated their ages. ”This is Zi’ki and Ozri.” Kele said, still holding them tight. ”Hello Zi’ki, Ozri, my name is Elam. I’m going to do what I did with Kele and get those collars off. Alright?” Zi’ki, the older of the two nodded. ”Alright, just be a moment.” A little bit of knife work later and all three were free.

”Kele,” Elam said, standing and heading back over to the unconscious Halleto; she was the oldest of the three, he figured about ten or so years younger than himself. ”Do you know how to fly a ship?” ”Y-yes.” She said hesitantly. ”I used to crew on a freighter be-befo...” She took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped the tears from her eyes, and nodded to Elam. ”Perfect, there’s a ship out in the hanger and he’s not going to need it anymore.” As he spoke, Elam was rifling through Halleto’s pockets, retrieving the datadisc that started this whole mess, as well as a small controller.

A few button pushes showed that they simply controlled the lights and audio in the room, while the last one he pushed opened a hidden doorway in a corner of the room. As the door opened all three women shuddered. ”I’ll be back in a moment.” He said, pulling his helmet to him and putting it on. Stepping through the door, it was exactly what he’d figured and made his new companions' reactions understandable. Stepping into Halleto’s ‘bedroom’, he used the Force to pull the place apart, eventually exposing the hidden security safe. Another laughably primitive thing, he had it open in moments. Inside he found what he wanted, a master controller that was linked to the Sheathipede in the hanger. A simple reformatting slice reset the ship’s systems to default and awaiting the authorization of its new owner; as well as that the safe had a sizable stack of credits. Pocketing what Halleto had owed him, he returned to the trio and handed the controller to Kele and told her to add her thumb print. After some reassurances to the sisters they all set off back to the hanger, Halleto slung over his shoulder. Reaching the door he dumped the weequay and then told the others to stay where they were until he called, with that he stepped into the hanger.

Rushing the two functional B2s with his lightsaber, he made short work of them, while simultaneously he remote activated the defences on the Tuk’ata, the beam turrets and laser cannons wiping out the ‘alert’ craft and their crews before they realised they were under attack. Once that was done he gathered up his bounty and the ex-slave and pointed them to the shuttle, handing Kele the rest of the credit.

”The ship is yours, go where you will, though if I may make a recommendation, make for Mandalore. The GRM and the Jedi have good programs in place to help folks like yourself.” Kele looked at him for a moment before enveloping him in a hug that was surprisingly strong given the state she was in. ”Thank you.” She said quietly as she pressed her face against his chest; moments later both Zi’ki and Ozri latched onto him from either side. ”Will we see you again?” ”Maybe, I come and go from Keldabe City somewhat regularly…we should really be going.” While the sisters let go, Kele actually gave a small chuckle. It was a bit hollow and sad, but a good sign. ”Thank you again Elam.”

With that the three ran past the hacked apart B2s and up the ramp of the shuttle, the ship taking flight after a minute or two. Elam had done the same with the Tuk’ata, tossing Halleto into his holding cell as he went. He was airborne right behind the Sheathipede, just on the off chance that there might have been ground fire. With the shuttle jumping to hyper, he did the same, heading to meet with Burras’ agent to turn over the datadisc and one very unfortunate Halleto Thi.

---

Dropping out of hyper, Elam almost did a double take at the sensor readings in front of him. What in the ‘verse is going on here? The Mandalore system always had its fair share of traffic, but this was getting a little ridiculous; it almost looked like you could walk from Concordia to Mandalore with the amount of shipping he was seeing. On top of that his sensors highlighted a few unusual sightings like a whole flotilla of Imps, including one of their Star Destroyers, holding station mid-system and Hapes of all things. He continued to be baffled, right up until he thought to check the local extranet. Founding Day…of course...great Keldabe is going to be PACKED…

Eventually he connected with astro control and got clearance to land at the private pad he rented. Once down, he did a bit of clean up and had a shower before donning his gear; he took his helmet with him but used a built in carry strap to attach it to his belt. Walking down the ramp, he headed into the city to see what this year's Founding Day had to offer.

The ship glided lazily through the serene background of Hyperspace. Rorwoorr sat in his quarters, his legs crossed as he sat in the middle of the floor. He could sense the plant life he had all around his quarters, the various small insects that scurried around the small ecosystem he had formed. As he cast his mind out he could sense Kaura beyond, her nerves rolling off her in waves. Her frustration as a blown fuse on her X-Wing continued to elude her. He did =is best to project calm and serenity before he continued to push his mind and his focus outward. All he caught was the orchestra of hyperspace, the cacophony of life as they sped along the hyperspace lane.

The general feeling soon changed as he felt the shift out of hyperspace into real space. There was joy below. Much joy. The celebrations for the 25th Founding ceremony were already well underway. It wasn't long until there was a metallic knock at the door. [Enter*] He growled. The door hissed open as he opened his eyes. Standing in the door way was a B1 Pilot Droid, which was just a B1 droid with a blue paint job and slightly different programming, from the 2 denoted on its chest it was Blue 2.

"Sir. We have entered a stable orbit. Ground control sends their greetings and requests after dropping you off the ship should return to orbit to free up space."

Rorwoorr nodded his head slowly in understanding. [Very well. Take us down. I will inform Kaura.] He pushed himself up onto his feet, his bad leg paining him slightly as he did so. Reaching out he grabbed his staff and after straightening out his 'robes' he walked out of his quarters and through the halls of the ship. He placed his hand on the door of his 'greenhouse' and allowed the feeling of life to fill him with comfort and warmth. Pushing on he entered a room devoid of life beyond one very frustrated blonde padawan. She hit her head and swore as she pulled herself out from underneath her fighter, handing a hydro spanner to one of the Wacs. "Finish up here for me would you?

The little droid chittered as it nodded its head, walking underneath the fighter and pulling itself up and into the opening Kaura had just been struggling with. Face covered in grease, hair tied back in a ponytail. She bowed her head at the Wookiee Jedi, dirty hands behind her back. Rorwoorr bowed his head in response. [We have arrived in orbit, and the festivities are underway so they have requested once we land that the ship returns to orbit. I have agreed.]

Kaura nodded. "Understood, I suppose all that is left for me to do is get ready." She sighed, and he reached out a large hand and placed it on her shoulder.

[Worry not, this is a joyous day. We will take part in the celebration before making our way to the Council of Mercy. You are ready for this my apprentice.]

"I'm just nervous Master, what if I fail? What if they won't test me? What if they don't let me travel with you after?"

He shook his head. [You are ready Kaura. You are a wise young Jedi, I have known many in my time and few have displayed as much worth as you have. The council will test you, and like myself, you will be free to follow your own destiny from there. Should you wish to travel with me, I will welcome it. If you wish to forge your own path then I will support you in whatever capacity I can.]

He could feel her nerves settle, they were still there. Bubbling beneath the surface, there was also a sense of excitement for what was going to come next. Rorwoorr cared for her, and felt a responsibility to her more than any other Padawan he had before her. However, if she were to grow as a Jedi and as a person she would have to push herself to new limits and discover her own way forward. Trees could only grow so tall in the shade. [Go get ready Kaura. We'll be there soon.] He flashed her a smile. [Don't worry. I'll make sure the WACs don't do more damage than good.]

Kaura chuckled as the WACs stuck their head out from within the Starfighter and rattled off curses in binary towards the senior wookiee. Rorwoorr let out a low chuckle as he just turned away and headed to the cockpit of the transport ship. The Blues ignored him as the ship brought itself into low orbit.

Rorwoorr recognised many of the different vessels in orbit, while mostly Mandalorian designs dominated he noticed some sleek Corellian designs, Imposing Imperials and he even thought he spied some Confederate designs.

---

Rorwoorr drew in on himself as he left the safety of the transport, Kaura at his side. A Jedi could easily become euphoric on Mandalore today with the waves of joy and excitement radiating from the flurry of excited people. Taking a breath to center himself, he felt a slight welling of pride as Kaura did the same as they went forward into the crowd.

Now many people were accustomed too moving when a giant Wookiee came walking towards them. Rorwoorr tended to part crowds even easier, and get even more second looks when they saw a Wookiee walking towards them wearing Jedi robes and carrying a lightsaber. He walked through the streets, there was a joyous ruckus from Mandalorians all in varying states of uniform. Rorwoorr gave a nod of respect to those he saw wearing Clone armor, and various other Jedi. "It's become much more... crowded. Since we were last here."

Rorwoorr nodded to his apprentice's assessment. [Indeed it has. The Paladin has truly accomplished much in his tenure. The Mandalorian Republic is truly a force to be reckoned with.]

"I don't remember much from when I was young, but it was nothing like this."

[A collective vision to restore Mandalore in the wake of Knightfall, the will of the Mandalorian people is truly a marvel.] He took a deep breath in. [So my apprentice, what would you like to see first?]

Keldabe, Mandalore
Cel walked graciously down the road while eating a piece of Uj'alayi in one of her hands, while in the other she held a book written in Omwatese. If anyone was able to read it themselves, they'd see that it was titled ' Physics and Black Holes: How can hyperdrives help us understand black holes. A response to "Hyperdrives and Blackholes" ' She would easily move back and forth dodging different beings of different sizes without even looking up. She seemed to be totally entranced until she heard the screaming of the starfighters above her. That was enough to sort of startle her and look up for a moment before she took a deep breath and a huff before she started walking.

She would sort of grumble slightly to herself about 'improper use of flying lanes, and how this place is going to make her drink herself to death with the lack of bureaucracy' She had to be here now as it was the best place for a job in the area that she could get. She worked herself out of a job in Eshan, then Coruscant had too many... bad memories, and then of course Chandrilla had a different set of issues. Which was new to her, she never had another diplomat be such a hassle to deal with. For people who are supposed to be pacifists, they really could play hardball when it comes to the bureaucratic side of things. She seemingly dodged a Mandalorian who she could feel his gaze upon her as she spun around him. She ignored it though, there was no point in opening dialogue with anyone at the moment. It would waste her time. Besides, the book she was reading was very interesting.

"Happy Founding day!" A human man said as Cel approached him on the side street. She simply smiled at him and kept walking. "Hey!" The man said as he started to walk next to her, "Do you want to grab a drink?" he asked.

"No thank you, I'm not interested. She would say looking up from her book to give him another smile.

"Oh come now, maybe just a quick bite or drink everyone's partying and your reading a book."

"That would be a correct observation." Cel would say as she finally finished her Uj'alayi. She smiled as she now had a second hand free to read her book.

"Look, you just finished your Uj'alayi, let me get you another at least."

Cel stopped obviously annoyed at this man by this point. She could feel the blood rushing to her ears, and her hands. She could hear her heart beating in her ears as well. Her eyes darted up and down the man's body for just a moment. Before sighing. "Fine...

"Awesome! Come this way I know exactly the place! It's a vendor not far from here!"

"Yes, of course. Now I just need to make sure you aren't a criminal of course. Do you have form 58J-2 and form CV-29 to prove that you got here appropriately and have nothing from off-planet that got held up in customs or got through customs? Of course, you'll also need form 38-21X which will tell me that you aren't using this as a work expense, so I know you are actually taking time to spend with me." She'd give him an innocent smile as she kept a thumb in her book as she closed it and gently put her hands behind her back. Her smile was wide and closed, her eyes lifted up as she smiled as well and closed for a moment before they reopened showing her blue eyes.

"Uh...Uh... I think I forgot something and need to go." the man said before walking away.

"Heh, fool, all those forms are so out of date that they probably nearly pre-date space travel." she'd say to herself before beginning to read and walk again. She finally got to the place that was suggested to her by a Gammorian. She raised her eyebrows as she thought about her encounter with the Gammorian, "I'm surprised they allowed Gammorians here, though. I guess they allow the Corellians too... so that's kind of one in the same." She would laugh at her poor taste in jokes and the horrible joke that it was.

Upon entering L4's place, she would confidently make her way to the back of the circular bar, ignoring any stares. The place smelled horribly, it was dirty and caused her to wrinkle her brow for a moment after entering.

"What can I get for you." A droid asked her as she looked up and gave another smile.

"Yeah, can I get Cheedoan whiskey?" She'd ask kindly as a glass was put in front of her with ice cubes as the droid poured a whiskey into it. She sort of looked at the glass and the countertop before taking out a cloth and wiping down the glass before sipping it down.

It didn't take long for another person of note to walk in, a human. Scruffy, approximately in his 40's but very tall. In fact well over a foot taller than herself. Cel would simply shrug and continue to read before she brought out a notepad from her satchel and began to write notes from her book.

A few minutes later she heard blaster fire as her eyes widened and she looked up for a moment, the tall man and the bartender had just shot at one another, and the human had drawn faster. Her eyes examined the room taking into detail each and every face, as she determined if they'd stick around and be a threat or if this was a one-time thing. Of course in Mandalore shootings happened all the time. But it still paid to make sure you knew who seemed excited versus who was outright terrified. She watched carefully watching each person's movements and determining what they may or may not do next.

It took a moment but it appeared most of the crowd had left after the. It was then Cel realized, "Oh there was music, I couldn't even tell." She'd chuckle to herself before going back to her book.

She assumed that the tall man did not mean to harm anyone else from his demeanor and discussion with the clone. It only took a moment for her to go back to reading and writing again before pulling out a form and started to write furiously in it.

She moved her empty glass forward again showing that she wanted more to drink. She sighed as she finished the form, in case anyone had questions she would have the correct form to hand them. She went back to reading again as a man sat next to her.

"So... Tell me, pretty, what are you reading? What got you writing so-"

"I am not interested, I'm here to drink because of the lack of control in this world, and you smell... Sorry, I don't like dirty things." she paused as she looked at the place and seemed slightly disgusted by it but shook her head. It's nothing you can control, know the things you can and can't control, don't panic, this isn't a place for you to be upset about cleanliness. Not in a random bar you've never been to. "I'm sorry, that was very rude of me." She said sounding very sincere

"Oh that's alright sweetie I know you're only jumpy because you aren't sure of being in such a mean place like this." He would put his hand on her back as she seemed to twitch at the touch.

"Just know that I can keep you company and protected." The man would say as his hand slowly started to move down.

Cel would cough before taking a deep breath. "I am inclined towards maintaining a cordial and compassionate demeanor, and hence, it would be quite favorable if I am not compelled to fill yet another form. Therefore, I propose a proposition. You may occupy a seat at a fair distance from me, while I proceed to carry out my activities. Additionally, I shall even extend a friendly gesture of farewell to you when it is time to depart. However, I must emphasize that I do not require any form of security, company, or assistance. It is of utmost importance to me that you maintain a considerable distance from me." She would say calmly as she moved his hand away. "I understand that you may be too inebriated to understand me, so I'll say it like this. Leave me alone. Or I'll scream."

The man looked around realizing that a couple of the other patrons had noticed that something was going on. He would cough and slowly stand up and walk away from her as she turned back around to see if there was anything poured into her glass before going back to her book still ignoring the stares of others and the regulars.

---

---

The slight shudder of a ship settling onto its landing gear drew her attention away from the full-length mirror that adorned one side of her cabin. With a small twitch of a lengthy lekku, the blue-skinned woman moved quickly over to tap a panel that turned an entire side of her quarters into a 'window', which in truth was just the view screen displaying the image outside her ship as captured by one of the myriad of cameras built into the Orca's hull. The girl felt a a smile grow across her face, and her lekku twitched in eager little spasms. It'd been forever since she'd been home, seen her family again. Kada could barely contain herself, even as she looked over towards the Holo Projector showing a Lethan woman in midnight-black Beskar. "We just landed, Tali, anything ya want me to say to the fam'?" The Togruta asked, as she finished putting together her outfit. "Tell 'em I miss them, and I love them." The voice came back, a warm tone easily flowing through the speakers of the projector unit. "Softie. I'll tell 'em, but you gotta stay safe out there. We'll call tonight, if we can, once the lines are secure." Kada said softly, even as her lekku twitched in a small motion to convey the words 'Love you' towards her sister, whose own Lekku made the same motion. "Will do, little sister. Now go, they're waiting for you." Talik responded before the comm unit cut off.

Kada then turned back towards her mirror, inspecting her outfit once more. It was a more typical casual look for the Togruta, one that many of her fans would already be familiar with. Tight, black leggings with brown stripes running up the sides ended in a matching pair of boots. A little hint of her midsection was on display under a black jacket that ended just above her core, with pink stripes running along the edges and on each arm. Her head was adorned with a golden 'crown' of jewelry, with a little point on her forehead as a piece of her species' own cultural identity. Then around her neck were a loose pair of headphones, more akin to what humans would wear but would work fine when worn on her own montral. Plus... it was more of a fashion statement than all else. Giving a little twirl and deciding she was satisfied with the look, Kada then collected her blaster pistol and slipped it into the hands of the IG Unit standing near the door to her cabin. "Carry that for me, IG, will you? I don't expect you'll need to use it but my father would kill me for being unarmed." She said softly, as the droid wordlessly into a holster on its hip.

With that, the Togruta set off while humming a little tune to herself while using the droid's heavy footfalls as a beat for her song. It wasn't long before she was coming down the boarding ramp to the Orca, and noticed a few figures standing just by the door leading back into the spaceport. In the middle, stood a very familiar man in dark red armor. In a mere few seconds, Kada had crossed the distance between them and threw her arms around the man in a hug that practically caused him to stumble back off his feet. "Heya, Dad. Missed ya." She said softly, holding the embrace for a long few moments as even her lekku shifted to hug the man how they could. Stepping back only after a few minutes, she then moved to hug her grandfather and uncles who'd also come to welcome her back home. The exchange was sweet, bringing out a warm smile and bright look in the girl's eyes as she looked over her family. "Tali says she loves ya all. Typical 'I don't say much else' kinda thing from her, but she meant that she misses you too." Kada said softly, giving a light shrug as she filled in the extra words for her elder sibling.

"Either way, how bad are the crowds out there? Am I gonna have to do some meet and greets before we can head home?" Kada asked, peeking her head around the group as she noticed a small crowd of fans already gathered on the other side. " 'Kay. Lets... take a few moments before we head out there? I would like some time with my family before its back to work!" The girl said with a pleasant note in her voice, turning her attention back towards her family and away from the crowd.

It was good to be home.

---

Two more glasses filled. Two more glasses drained.

"Never did catch your name, Mando."

"Don’t think you asked."

"Well. What's yer name?"

"Zeke. Was that droid right? You’re Coburn?"

"Yeah, that's it. Rask Coburn."

Zeke laughed. A harsh sound more like a bark, but warm enough.

"Like the holodrama?"

"Like the holodrama."

"Any relation?"

"I like to think not."

Rask watched as a familiar scene played out on the opposite end of the bar. Young woman. Drunk man. Rejection. As long as there’d been drink in the galaxy, there’d been this dance. He’d studied the woman when first walking in. Her and everyone else. Taking notes of who was carrying what kind of firearms, how many, and gauging just how besotted they were. This woman seemed unarmed. In Rask’s estimation, that meant she was either very green or very dangerous. Her weapons could be hidden, but most on Mand'alor didn’t bother. Offworlder, then. He chuckled when the scorned drunk wandered off into the crowd. Least she knows how to handle fools. He thought of the first time he saw his wife, in a scenario not unlike this one. Mina decided on a less tactful approach, though, and headbutted the offender so hard their nose shattered.

A second droid arrived at the bar, some poorly maintained service model. It chirped at him in binary, gesticulating wildly with creaking arms like some demented mime. Rask watched this show before turning to Zeke.

”What this one’s saying?”

“I think its not too happy you just scrapped the owner, and wants you out from behind the bar.”

”Well, I guess I can oblige.”

Rask knelt down and with a practiced motion wrenched the head off H1-VOK’s body and tossed the severed hardware to Zeke. The hands never forget. He thought of how they used to pick through battlefields after a raid, tearing the heads off of CIS droids for the Republic bounty placed upon those twisted pieces of machinery.

”Sure you don’t want to split the reward? You did most of the work.”

Rask shrugged. ”Scrappin’ him was reward enough.”

The service droid’s beeping and squawking intensified as Rask bent down to pick up another intact bottle from beside H1’s wrecked carcass. Several MSE-6 droids wheeled around working to clean up the mess, but they shied away like little animals from Rask as he stepped out from the bar. Broken glass crunched beneath his boots.

”’Nother round?”

Zeke shook his head as he tucked H1’s beneath his arm. ”I’ve got a shooting competition in an hour. I can handle seeing double, but triple’s no good. See you around, Marshal.”

”You just might, Zeke. Galaxy ain’t that big these days.”

The two men shook hands and the clone left just as the band regained their confidence. They played louder and louder, emboldened by the crowd trickling back into the cantina. Newcomers, as if nothing had happened. Among this throng were several New Imperials, crisp uniforms now wrinkled and stained and reeking of booze. Three swaying recruits leered at the reading woman with wide and hollowed out eyes like nocturnal creatures surprised by day. Crazed with drink or drugs or both. In a few long strides, Rask cut the advancing recruits off and posted up next to the woman, leaning on the bar with one arm.

“If ye don’t mind me sayin’, ma’am, I think we’re kindred spirits of a sort,” Rask began with a faint smile as he set the bottle between the two of them on the bar. His long fingers fully wrapped around the bottle’s base and obscured the label. He uncorked it and refilled the woman’s empty glass with amber liquid. Rask kept a wary eye on the New Imperials who now averted their course with his arrival, like water breaking on a river stone. They slinked off to pester some Mandalorian, demanding a free round of drinks for having single-handedly defeated the Great Enemy.

“I think trouble follows us wherever we go. Like some kinda hound hot on our heels. We ain’t lookin’ for it, but it always seems to find us just the same. All we can do is keep an eye out for it, be ready for it when it comes, and hope our luck don’t run out.” Rask reached over the bar and produced another glass which he filled. The bottle’s label read “Cheedoan Gold Reserve”.

”Helps to have an extra set of eyes on the lookout though.” He raised his glass to her.

The smell of smoke wiggled its way into her nose. The Twi'Lek shot upright with a jolt, sweating and panicked. She looked around her bedroom and saw… nothing, just her empty room. She let out a sigh of relief and wiped her forehead with the blanket before flopping her head back down onto the pillows. "Just a dream, Alanna, just a dream. she muttered to herself, wiping the sleep from her eyes as she did so. She sighed again and glanced to her right to check her alarm, 07:15, half an hour before her alarm was meant to go off anyway. Alanna sighed again and swung her legs round off the bed, freeing herself from the blanket as she did so. These dreams of hers were becoming far too common an occurrence to be normal, but that was a problem for later. She stood from bed and turned her clock off so the alarm wouldn't ring out into her empty room later on.

Standing beside her bed she surveyed her room, everything was bathed in a deep purple glow as the sun shone in through the curtains. Alanna's bedroom was open and spacious with the purple curtains covering a wall of glazed windows which opened onto a balcony overlooking the River District. Everything in her bedroom was large and spacious as well; from the en-suite, to the walk in wardrobe, the (too)many cupboards and cabinets which lined the wall connecting to the windows and then her bed itself which, if she was honest, could probably fit three or four of herself on it comfortably. Her therapist called it "compensating for her having to sleep rough for most of her formative years." Technically he used fancier words than that but that was the message Alanna got from it.

Taking a few steps forwards, Alanna drew back the curtains and let the early morning sun bathe her room in light. In truth it was all too big for just her, but she didn't use her money in any other way; didn't wear the fanciest clothes, have the fastest or shiniest speeder or really mix with wealthy society at all. She just lived comfortably, never wanted for anything and wasn't afraid to close the workshop for a few days when she wanted a break. Stepping out onto the balcony Alanna took a few moments to look out over the city. She could tell it was going to be a busy day, below her people moved in a hurry, stalls being set up and performers going over the last few details of their routines. "Ah… Founding day, I'd almost forgotten about this." Alanna thought to herself. Never had a single day been able to make her feel so… alone. It had been over a decade since her meeting with the Paladin, and just under that since 'Nanna' had offered her the room above her restaurant. Yet she had never quite managed to fit in, not so much an outsider anymore but still an arms length away from the locals at most times.

A knock on her door took her thoughts away from her loneliness and she turned to see Sable enter the room holding a tray with a fresh mug of tea on it. "Greeting: Good morning Master, my sensors indicated you had awoken so I believed a hot beverage would get you ready for the day." Alanna smiled slightly and re-entered the bedroom, closing the balcony door behind her as she did so. "Thank you Sable, that's very kind. Just leave it on the dresser and I'll get it when I've showered." Sable nodded, placing the mug onto the dresser and departing from the room. "Statement: Breakfast shall be ready for when you come downstairs Master, enjoy your Tea." He said before closing the door behind him.

Half an hour later Alanna emerged into the kitchen fresh and ready for the day. Hot toast and a fresh Tea awaited her on the island as she sat herself on the stool. "Thank you for this Sable. It was very kind of you." "Statement: I do the same thing for you almost every morning Master, your thanks is not necessary." Alanna rolled her eyes and took a bite of toast. Sable was still a strange sight to most; Protocol droids, R-units and even recommissioned Battle Droids were something most people around the galaxy were used too, but to see a real life Assassin droid walking around so freely without a restraining bolt or anything did put some people on edge. Yes he could be a pain, a menace to society and was the cause of most of Alanna's headaches but seeing an HK droid standing in front of a sink with a Pinny on washing dishes from the night before, was something you truly had to see to believe.

Sable turned from the sink and removed the Pinny, carefully and precisely folding it into a square before storing it away in a drawer. "Query: So what are our plans for today Master. Shall we go and enjoy the travelling acts or browse the stall for souvenirs?" He asked while taking his own seat on the island, his voice almost sounded hopeful behind the robotic overtone of his speech. "No Sable, unfortunately that is not the plan. We have work to do, still have to finish up the repair on the 3PO unit for… what's his name… the Weequay… Horne, something Horne, I think… Anyway, we're behind on his order and Nanna dropped off a few of those old repaired B1s yesterday, the ones she uses as dishwashers. She thinks their motivator unit needs work, I think her Grandson just blew them up too much and she'd actually save money by melting them down instead. Not that I'd actually charge her for the work mind, but I did promise her it'd be done by next week. Sable let out a robotic sigh and placed his head into his palms "Statement: If I had eyes to roll they would have fallen from their sockets by now Master. You did the same thing last year Master and the year before that and so on and so on. You are still so young Master, the spitting image of your mother, surely there is someone you can go and spend the day with instead, a friend or even a date perhaps? Let Vex and Vax run the shop for the day, it's what you pay them for isn't it?

Alanna glared at Sable over the rim of her mug as she took a sip. "Oh yeah great idea, I'll just give one of those many friends of mine a call. And as for dates? You scare them all away by opening the door with a blaster in your hand like you're an overprotective dad or something. So those options are out the window. And as for Vex and Vax, I've given them the day off. They're young and actually have families to go and celebrate the day with. I have you Sable… and that's it." She sighed softly and finished her toast. "So no, I think I'll be spending the day elbow deep in Droid guts as usual. If you want to go out and enjoy the festival go ahead. You have your own money and we can always take a trip to Hoth soon to deposit anything you buy. Just please don't cause trouble ok? The Deathwatch will be out there I can guarantee it and you know damn well after what happened in the bar last month they'll be watching you.



"protest: Master the only reason that fight happened was because that man put his hands on you. He made you uncomfortable. I am programmed to step in and ensure you are unharmed. And no amount of Beskar and testosterone is going to stop me doing that.” Alanna chuckled slightly at the Memory of Sable using the mans’ own helmet to beat him into the floor. "Yes and I appreciate it, Sable. But not everyone sees it that way. That guy's going to be eating out of a straw for the foreseeable future, it doesn't matter if he grabbed my Lekku or not. So I can guarantee you, you or me or even both of us are being watched." Alanna placed her now empty mug down on the counter and rose from her seat. "I have a business to run so if you're saying you'll be too bored to spend the day helping me then you have my permission to go off and enjoy yourself. Be sure to check in regularly and be back by four. Or you could head to Viks and work off what you owe him for cracking his floor and getting blood on his furniture? Either of those work. Good. She turned from the island and proceeded back up the stairs to get her work overalls before heading out the door. "Obvious statement: You know you are rather depressing sometimes Master." Sable got one final quip in before she shut the door behind her.

The shutters to The Magic Mechanic opened on time at 08:29, Alanna was nothing if not punctual with her timings. Her shop stood in complete contrast to the street outside, outside there was an abundance of people of all different cultures going back and forth to stalls and stands of all shapes and sizes, inside her shop was… empty, apart from her anyway. It was just droid racks and an oil pit for the occasional speeder inspection. It was just how she liked it, she could focus on her work with no distractions. Fulfilled orders meant happy customers, happy customers meant repeat customers and word of mouth advertising, which meant more money, which meant happiness and fulfilment…right? Right? She thought to herself, peering out from the guts of a 3PO unit towards the crowd of happy families passing by her enjoying their day.

Right?

The city teemed with life and jubilant celebrations. Young Imperials ran around the streets, many enjoying their first dose of alcohol on a world with more relaxed rules. Rorwoorr watched as a group of highly intoxicated youths attempted to act sober as an officer passed. The act quickly fell through, the Youths were reprimanded and ordered to report back to their ship. The aging Wookiee chuckled to himself as he saw a group of Imperials dart into what was clearly some form of pub or club titled only L4s Place. They may have done so to avoid the officer, but Rorwoorr doubted that they would cease their drinking now. Kaura looked at Rorwoorr with a quizzical look on her face.

[No matter the people, it seems that youth always embraces some form of rule breaking.]

A group hailing from the Corellian Hegemony walked past, led by a smug-looking individual sporting red bloodstripes. Walking backwards as he regaled his cohorts on his tales of heroism and bravery he walked squarely into the over six-foot-tall Wookiee. He turned on his heel, ready to fight, ready to shout and tear down whoever dared to challenge him. "Hey! Watch where you're-" The colour drained from the Corellians face as he realised that the subject too his rage was a Wookiee.

His eyes darted to the lightsaber at the end of Rorwoorrs staff. Not just a Wookiee, but a Wookiee Jedi. He flustered for a second or two, unsure of what to say. What possible excuse or reason he could give in order to resolve this situation, most importantly in a way that would allow him to save face with his gang.

Rorwoorr merely laughed, and he slapped the young man on the shoulder, he stumbled with the shock of the hit and winced slightly. Rorwoorr had put just enough force behind it to throw him off balance. [It is okay friend. The streets are crowded today.]

The Corellian just looked between Rorwoorr and Kaura with a look of confusion on his face, before Kaura finally chimed in. "You're good, but you better scram. He says he's hungry." Without any further motivation the group quickly moved on, as Rorwoorr cast a look of disapproval on his apprentice.

"What? They're a bunch of jerks."

[That doesn't mean-]

"Oh lighten up Master. It's just some lighthearted fun."

As they continued to walk something began to gnaw at Rorwoorr. An uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He smiled at his apprentice as he could feel her probing at the edges of his mind. "Everything okay Master?"

[Yes. Just remembering something I have to do.] The two of them looked up as two fighters raced overhead inbetween the cacaphony of buildings. [Perhaps while I take care of this, you can go watch the races?] He raised his hand as she went to argue. [It won't take long, don't worry.]

She nodded and left, albeit reluctantly. Rorwoorr watched her leave until he finally closed his eyes and pulled in on his senses. Sounds and smells dulled as he focused in on the disturbance that called to him. It was a warning. No. That wasn't right, it was definitely a call. It pulled at him, a call for help? He focused on it. Felt its tendrils surround him in the Force and nodded to himself. A call for help then. Opening his eyes he didn't drop the sensation, and allowed it to guide him through the streets and markets. It took him gradually farther and farther away from the centre of the city and the bustling port district. The air quality suffered slightly, he could taste the pollution. It was nothing compared to the pollution on other worlds, but it was noticable to the Wookiee.

Here the plants grew in the crags and gaps of the ferrocrete and plasteel of civilisation. It wasn't purposeful, it was nature trying to find a place amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. They didn't have a home, so they made one for themselves. Eventually he came to a run down looking building, a big red sign on the door read CLOSED. A sales notice hung lazily below it. Windows broken and boarded up.

Rorwoorr walked up to the door and placed his hand on it, he could feel the sickness and the pain that lingered within. Hesitating no longer he pushed the door, it resisted momentarily before it gave way to him.

@Sep

---

"I do believe the green compliments you well, sir."

"Now now, Hawks, save all the compliments and flattery for our guests. You're in charge."

The aging clone sighed as he stood at a polite attention in the doorway while Ro Nuul adjusted the sleeves and collar of a sharp green robe with gold trim and accents. While somewhat similar in feel to his normal Jedi robes, he never quite got comfortable with the feeling of wearing something so expensive. It was a decadence that was lost on him, but it was a necessity. Willha had taught him decades ago about the importance of presentation. Ro Nuul gently lifted a finger towards a decorative golden mantle, and it gingerly lifted into the air over his head and settled down over him. The clone seemed unamused, quite used to the parlor tricks the old Jedi master employed in his daily tasks. "We've gone ahead and prepared everything to your specifications, sir. Keldabe ATC has confirmed Willha's yacht has arrived, ETA on her arrival is about twenty-seven minutes."

Ro Nuul gave a small nod. "Excellent. Have you-"

"We have an air-speeder ready at the balcony for you, sir."

Ro Nuul gave a small nod, stepping out from his second-floor bedroom in the penthouse suite, admiring the well-dressed clones setting up tables full of hors d'oeuvres. Two clones had set themselves up at the fully-stocked bar, preparing ice and setting up glasses. The food and spirits came from across the galaxy, and it had taken Ro Nuul five months of preparation to ensure he could source local ingredients to prepare dishes from the homeworlds of every member of the Free Horizons Fund's board, as well as a few notable donors. He took a bit of pride in the preparations they had made. Ro Nuul gave a small smile to the Director of Recruitment and Engagement. "I believe we've outdone ourselves, Hawks. I leave them in your care. I'm afraid I'm needed somewhere far more... dangerous."

---

Ro Nuul always hated events like this. Too many variables, not enough control of the environment... too many masks, so to speak. And that was not even getting started on the feelings in the room, reverberating through the force. Looks of contempt and a distinct tenseness formed knots in the pit of the Kel Dor's stomach. In the peripheries of these chambers, aristocrats and diplomats held uneasy stares as two of the most powerful individuals in the galaxy were engaged in a rather tense dialogue. Ro Nuul pushed the thought of that conversation to the side, quickly looking in the direction of several of his... compatriots, for a lack of a better word. A young Jedi and a proud Mandalorian, each engaged as well by foreign dignitaries seeking to gain the favor of the Mandalorians. Ro Nuul always made sure to be home for these occasions, offering his services as a member of the Enclaves to help divert some of the attention. Though, he was quite regretting that choice at the moment.

"Oh darling, you must come and enjoy a swoop race in my box. I insist."

An older woman, middle-aged with grey streaks in her auburn hair, hung from Ro Nuul's arm. She wore an extravagant blue robe adorned with a variety of jewels that sparkled in the light. This was, of course, Senator Sera Rashila of Corsin. She was about Ro Nuul's age... and like many in Keldabe, was very much day-drunk far too early in the morning. The Kel Dor gave a polite bow of his head. "I would be honored, Senator Rashila. I believe I will be travelling to Corsin within the next few months on business... I will make sure to bring a bottle of that Alderaanian White you enjoy." A lie, of course, but an acceptable one to keep the peace.

Ro Nuul's eyes wandered around the room. Specifically, his eyes focused in on a certain middle-aged man in finer robes. His research suggested this was the Prince Consort of the Hapes Consortium, which had only recently begun to stick its head out from under its shell to acknowledge the wider world. More specifically, though, the Prince Koren's name came back as a potential match to a Padawan from the time of the Clone Wars who had been declared missing during Knightfall. Given the slightest notions and feelings of discomfort radiating from Koren Omi-Ren from the fine clothes, Ro Nuul was fairly certain he could recognize a fellow Jedi.

Of course, all conversation ceased when the Paladin spoke. The sudden outburst and public disagreement had sent ripples of whispers throughout the assembled crowd. The tension had somehow intensified even further than it had before. Several politicians at the periphery began vacating the area, and Ro Nuul was certain now would be the best chance he would get to abandon his post here. Especially if he continued his work with a more focused approach.

Ro Nuul briskly strode through the assorted guests, stopping before two armed Hapen guards standing before Koren. Ro Nuul gave them a curt bow, before making eye contact with the Prince. "I will be frank, your highness... I do not believe this moment is opportune for making friends of the Mand'alor. If you are willing to heed the recommendation of a local... I would suggest a more jovial spot to oversee the Founding celebration. If you would permit my company, I have great interest in learning more about the Hapes Consortium." Ro Nuul looked away for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought, before nodding quietly to himself and lifting a fold to his robes to reveal the electrum-plated lightsaber hanging from a sash on his waist. "Perhaps we could reminisce about the old days as well."

Koren was due to speak to the Manda'lor. Hapes had had contact with Mandalore. His two royal guards stood at the door amidst the various other guards. He noted one or two Jedi, from what he understood the Khaleesh was from something known as the Shadow Council. All the guards stood silently at attention, while various delegates in the room spoke to one another. He himself had had a brief conversation with Zailled Mertha from Coruscant while he waited until he moved forward to speak to the Mand'alors secretary. Koren eyed the Emperesses people. He had to admit he was intrigued by the Empire. He wasn't entirely sure what to think of them.

Then the pin dropped.

"Do not mistake my patience for ignorance, nor my hospitality for submission Empress Elara Renkar."

The behemoth of a man, though Koren wasn't sure from here if he was actually large or if his presence was just imposing, stood up and walked towards the Empress. Who, to her credit, didn't back down when she was facing down the Mand'alor. Individuals throughout the room started to file out as there was a lull in the conversation. People trying to get out, before the fight turned... bloody. He had never experienced Mandalorian culture in person, and only had his teachings at the Jedi Temple to guide him.

Koren turned his attention to his two guards as someone approached. Like him, this Kel Dor was dressed in Jedi Robes that had been made far more ornate and decorative.

As he made his way too his guards Koren sent a general nudge in his guards direction allowing the man to approach. Koren bowed his head in a move of respect.

"I will be frank, your highness... I do not believe this moment is opportune for making friends of the Mand'alor. If you are willing to heed the recommendation of a local... I would suggest a more jovial spot to oversee the Founding celebration. If you would permit my company, I have great interest in learning more about the Hapes Consortium."

Koren chuckled. "I... did pick up on that. Come, let us leave." He nodded at the reveal of the lightsaber. "Honestly when I first began to make contact with the Republic I was worried about meeting other Jedi." As the two walked out of the room, flanked by his guards he placed his hand on his own lightsaber. Out of habit, or comfort, more than anything. "It's not as if I have spent my time outside the Order living up to the Jedi Ideals." As the left the Throne Room and out into the corridor he turned back to face Ro Nuul. "I suppose, not many Jedi match the Jedi Ideals of old these days."

Koren allowed his cloak to billow around him as he stopped. His guards moving to a respectable distance, but still, within reach should things turn... sour. "So, Master Nuul. What do you wish to know?"

---

Location: Orbit, Mandalore -> Keldabe Spaceport, Mandalore -> Keldabe, Mandalore
Mentions: N/A

There had never been a comfortable journey. That was the truth for the singular flesh-and-blood occupant of the cabin, as far as he could state a truth to be. He still found the journeys to lightspeed to be disconcerting, strange, the blue streaks about the ship unnatural, the lights…different. The idea had been explained several times to the figure, the concept that they moved at such speed that objects became a blur, which then became a streak, and he knew that such explanations were likely true. He was still uncomfortable. Others had said the same, and their solution to such discomfort was as simple as could be. There was a reason Urh’otrr’kur sat alone in the cabin, only the pilot droid to keep him company. The other occupant, a guard he had brought along, said in the rear with the speeder bikes.

A look edgewise, at the droid, told him little. It sat at its work silently, just as every other time, only announcing when they were about to enter a system, when they were ready to exit, and so on. All other aspects of its work were done silently, obediently, simply. There was something discomforting about the droid, too. It had no face, and also no real language. Could he tell what it thought behind a mask, the same as he could tell what a Tusken thought behind a mask? No, not at all. He had been assured that there was nothing behind the droid’s mask, no capacity to hide secrets from others. The assurances reminded him of the old tales, the ones clung to by so many others, by the resolve of it. They said it was, therefore it was. He knew revolts by made beings had happened before, though, knew it by their old tales from the homeland, knew it by histories of other worlds. They knew the histories, too, and dismissed it easily. The Tusken was not so sure.

His son assured him, too, but he had taken a different route. He said that any task a made being can perform, so too can the flesh and blood and, thus, so too can the Tusken do the task. He wanted them to be able to do everything the others did, the outsiders. He wanted them to be able to navigate, to fly, to fight in the black sea. Then, his son said, they would not need to rely on the made beings. Then they could do as they wished, whenever they wished. The chieftain was not so certain. There was much to be said about self reliability, much to be said about independence, but he had seen how the dregs of the outsiders’ technologies had already shackled his people. They needed to trade for parts they could not make and, to achieve the ability to make those parts, they would need to discard much of what made Tuskens Tusken. It was a balancing act between enough technology to ensure strength, for there was much to point towards at home that spoke to their struggles against encroachers, and enough simplicity to maintain their own. His son didn’t believe in the latter. There were times Urh’otrr’kur thought his son wanted them to go to the stars entirely, as though it was the Dune Sea, and travel it as they had back home. There were times…as there always would be times. Questions upon questions upon questions, never a time for true answers. He snorted out at the thought.

“Entering Mandalore System,” the droid suddenly sputtered-out, its voice crackling amid the announcement, and the ship shuddered in its entirety. The hull flexed and shook as they exited hyperdrive, the Tusken stock-still before he released his grip on his seat that he hadn’t realized he had taken. There had never been a comfortable journey, true, and the exit to it was always the least comfortable. Of course, the sight which greeted him was far different to the usual other few times he had visited Mandalore, though not at all unexpected. After all, he was under the impression that it was scheduled to be some sort of celebration for the founding of that republic. What had been lost on Urh’otrr’kur had been the exact scale of everything there. Multitudes of lights danced across his sight, as well as the massive triangular shapes of…well, he wasn’t quite certain. It was a Mandalorian ship, though, as the Tusken had seen it before. Smaller shapes moved here and there, some three that he didn’t recognize keeping a far distance from the planet for some reason.

“Answering Identification Request…Query accepted by Mandalore Traffic Control. Standing by for landing coordinates…” A pause followed the droid’s speech as it clicked away, the ship slowly coming to a crawl of sublight speed. The Tusken sat up just a tad more, his gaze passing from the ships in the distance to the droid before him. Oh sweet dunes, don’t fail now, he could only think. “Standing by…standing by-y-y…standing by…received coordinates.”

And off they went, the hum of the sublight engines soon filling the cabin like a Sketto swarm. Good, good, was the thought, though the reminder of such vermin from home was not at all welcome. None enjoyed the sound of Sketto swarms. He wasn’t quite certain what he’d have done if the droid had failed at that moment. The hiss of the cabin door announced another’s curiosity.

<We’re not there yet, are we?>

<Close, at least. Here to watch?>

<You know the answer to that.> He couldn’t help but snort at that sort of statement. It was true enough and he had been poking fun. <He knows you’re coming?>

He’d considered it. There was something about the other being, Ro Nuul, that disposed him to secrets. He didn’t like things which connected him to others in such ways, especially things which could be tracked. As Urh’otrr’kur understood it, sending messages would be a trail for others to observe and track. He had no interest in leaving an easy trail back home, similar to how Ro Nuul had no interest in leaving an easy trail back to his home. It was understandable, though it provided for slight difficulties. <Not precisely. Meeting was set for some nights in the future. He dislikes signals. I dislike signals. Couldn’t warn him.>

<And if he’s busy?>

The planet loomed soon enough. They had passed by many of the other ships, some new and some as old as theirs, the viewscreen turning a red-tinge from the heat at the ship’s entry. He paused at the question, simple as it was. It was more likely than not that they’d have to wait for him, to talk over the possibilities of gaining more voices to support the clan settlement on Ambria, and it was something he’d asked himself before. The worst case scenario would be that the pair would need to wait at their ship for an appointed time. <Then we find something to do in the meantime. Did you want to do anything specific?>

A snort from behind. <Dunes, no. This place is too green. I want to go back home already.> Home. He wasn’t sure if Roh’okr meant Tatooine or Ambria, though in the end he didn’t want to ask. Contemplation for such concepts seemed to always lead to darker places than Urh’otrr’kur wanted, places where Tuskens mourned for things that would take time to come back, places where they didn’t appreciate what had been done for them. Was he right in that? Blind leading the blind, he supposed, though the full meaning of the phrase was lost to him.

<Shouldn’t have volunteered, then.>

<I was asked to. You know how Zigh gets. She wanted the urtya to herself.>

He couldn’t help but laugh at that statement, a harsh and braying laugh from the deep core. There was something to be said for such times, even if it spoke to how things normally went for Roh'okr in his urtya. Amid his laughter, he could hear the other snort in his own derision, and soon enough it died away. <Don’t feel too bad. Borders can be good, sometimes.>

A pause. He could tell that the conversation wasn’t quite wanted. <Should I bring the rifles?>

<Dunes, no. But bring your gaderffii.>

The door hissed shut, leaving him back to his thoughts and the silent piloting droid. The Tusken felt the slightest strain of thirst, though he knew it had been not too long before that they’d had a hubba gourd each. It wouldn’t be so soon that they would need another. What would they do in the meanwhile? He was somewhat certain that they would find one thing or another once they landed. The spaceport loomed before them, a bustle among it now far easier to see as ships landed, moved off whatever they had, before setting off into the air again. In the distance, among the buildings, he could see dark shapes flit between the buildings in quick pace, almost like Sketto in their motions. Speeder bikes, he thought, bikes and races. He could remember the years when they would shoot at those for sport.

Well, now he just hoped Orh’ruruur wasn’t one of the racers. Strange how times were.

They found their landing spot easily enough, the droid maneuvering the transport with the finesse of something designed for only that action which…well, it was. Lowering, lowering with the rest of the city disappearing from sight to instead be filled with the sights of cargo-movers, droids, and landing crews, the landing legs extended out to give way with the ground before the ship finally came to rest. The sublight engines came to rest, too, as the thrumming reactor dialed itself down slowly, the droid making preparations to slumber until it was needed again.

He rose from his seat, the door hissing open again as the two Tuskens made their way out of the transport. Nothing had been disturbed too much by the journey, not the rifles, not the speeder bikes, and that was a good thing if there ever was. The exit ramp closed on their disembarking, and as he knew the landing spot already paid for in advance with the Traffic Authority the pair soon were out of the spaceport.

The city was more active than he remembered. Some seemed out of place, groups here and there that kept to their own. Many of them seemed quite young, in uniforms Urh’otrr’kur didn’t recognize, though they spoke in tongues different to that of the Mandalorians. He didn’t know the languages, but he could tell the difference. Above, the hum and scream of speeder bike engines seemed to fill the very air with their presence, their movement, while in the distance the sounds of blaster fire and yelling seemed to periodically visit. Yes, it was more active than he remembered.

Roh’okr was less calm about the whole thing. He gripped his gaderffii tight, holding it close as his gaze whipped left, right, left on the whole of it. Looking back at the chieftain, he leaned in closer to speak more quietly with his fellow. <I would feel better if we weren’t out here.> Looking about as well, Urh’otrr’kur couldn’t help but agree. His free hand had already made its way to his belt, just beside his holster, in a small effort of comfort.

<I’m sure there are quieter roads. Let’s go.>

---

---

Location: The Magic Mechanic, Keldabe, Mandalore
Mentions: @ASDAValueMilk

He hadn’t noticed the preparations for the day. He hadn’t noticed such things at all, nor really the meaning of the day itself. Twenty-Fifth Founding of the Mandalorian Republic, something that seemed to warrant to the common Mandalorian a day of drinking, shooting, and…other activities. They seemed fixed to remember the day well, too, and to celebrate it every time with no decrease in their merriment. He couldn’t recall any of the cities on Tatooine doing the same, nor the settlements, nor even any of the Tusken clans. No, Orh’ruruur had not noticed the preparations for the day and was quite annoyed by them.

Every single mechanic’s shop seemed to be closed for the day, and probably some days after if they drank as much as he thought they were. He wasn’t much interested in joining them, considering how much drinks cost and how little Orh’ruruur was used to drinking such. It didn’t take much to know that he wouldn’t remember the night except by how many credits he’d lost during it. He didn’t have enough for such spending.

Ah. There was one. He could see the owner through the window, among half-constructed droids and equipment, a…Twi’lek, if the Tusken knew his species as well as he thought he did. Well, at least they were open and, doubtless, the owner wouldn’t have high hopes of getting all the business that she would normally get. The crowds outside seemed too drunk.

Orh’ruruur opened the door, entering the shop with a short, brief little bow. It helped to show some sense of respect, he thought, as he drew out the translator dome into one hand. True, he could speak in fairly passable common tongue but there was always the possibility that he would come across a word he didn’t know, or want to speak a word he didn’t know. Approaching, the Tusken spoke in rough-hewn Basic, an accent that didn’t entirely exist following every word as well as disconnected emphases. “Good morning. My name is Orh’ruruur.”

---

From the moment we popped out of our test tubes, every moment of our lives was oriented for war. Every lesson, every second, facilitated our future as soldiers for the Republic. Of course, we live in memory of our forebearers, a testament to the sacrifice of countless of our brothers in the waves of our old homeworld. Everything we do is for the Republic. When I was deemed ready, I could have picked up a blaster and beskar and fought on the shores of Arkania like so many of my brothers... but instead, I chose duty over my own glory. I chose to become something more, so that I could better serve the people who gave us a second chance. Now, I stand ready for when my Republic or my Banner calls me. In the meantime...

Crossfire's fist met fur as an armored fist connected with a Bothan, sending the thug flying across cracked pavement. Crossfire turned his head slightly to his right, the HUD of his helmet locking in on a Jawa slowly shuffling towards a corner in the alleyway with a large bag of jangling metal. The Clone Commando lifted his right gauntlet and flicked his wrist clockwise in the windup, triggering the firing of his whipcord towards the fleeing suspect. With a delicate movement of the arm, the end of the whipcord swung around and coiled back around the Jawa, synching in to restrain him. The sudden shift in momentum knocked the suspect back, causing the bag to get tossed into the air. Crossfire tilted his head up, watching almost in slow motion as an assortment of cheap plastoid novelty buckets shaped like the Mandalore's helmet rained down around him. They clattered around the pavement as Crossfire flicked his wrist, the whipcord yanking the Jawa along the ground to his feet. Crossfire's movement was swift as he slapped durasteel binders on the Jawa and Bothan. He couldn't understand a thing the Jawa was saying as it screamed a variety of what had to be insults, though the Bothan seemed much more docile as he phased in and out of lucidity. His HUD quickly scanned and identified the two thieves, syncing up with Crossfire's datapad to allow him to quickly tap away an incident report. He tapped a button on his inner wrist, opening up a comms channel with the rest of Mynnock Squadron. "I've got two, for petty theft, Captain. How do you want to proceed?"

"Tag and release, Lieutenant. Regs will catch them at the spaceport before they leave to collect their fine."

Crossfire nodded to himself, releasing the two thieves from their binders. They quickly scampered to their feet to scurry away. "Hold it... You've still got to return the merchandise, tourists."

---

Crossfire gently landed on the patio of a local Clone bar called The Pods that overlooked the Avenue of Fallen Kings, situated on one of the middle floors of another one of Keldabe's many high-rise buildings. The Bar itself was still manned by a more middle-aged clone called Chip, plagued with battle scars and a robotic arm. The only other occupants of the bar were Crossfire's fellow commandoes, sporting the same blue-painted beskar'gam. They had all taken off their helmets, showing off each of their strange haircuts and tattoos. Most of the Commandoes were laughing and drinking, watching the crowds and festivities below as Starfighters raced overhead. At the bar itself, one of the younger commandoes was nursing a drink. Crossfire took a seat next to him, sitting upright stiffly and keeping his helmet on.

"You shoot any of the little imps running around yet?" The young commando took another swig of some strange blue concoction.

"We were briefed to not interfere with the New Imperials unless otherwise ordered by-"

"It's a damn joke, rook." Crash rubbed his half-burnt left ear with his fingers before setting his drink down and removing Crossfire's helmet off for him, tossing it haphazardly aside. Crossfire immediately got up and grabbed his helmet, setting it down on the bar and returning to his seat. "You don't have to take everything so seriously. It's Founding day... get a drink, play cards with your brothers... Ah, you know what, no. I've got it." Crash quickly stumbled out of his seat and wandered over to their Captain. After a shrug from the latter, Crash returned and pulled a small pass from a pouch on his belt. "Here, take this."

Crossfire raised an eyebrow as he grabbed the holographic pass that read "Security" in Aurebesh. "What's this for?"

Crash smiled, placing a hand on his comrade's shoulder. "We got a contract to provide extra security for a concert tonight, working under Clan Skirata. You're coming with me... cause if Shiri's music won't loosen you up a little, nothing will."

The air was stale and heavy. There was a distinct aroma of death and rot in the air. Walking through what appeared to be some kind of reception area, a rusted and broken-down droid sat behind the desk. Its eyes attempted to flicker to life as Rorwoorr walked past, there was a faint clicking noise and a whirr as whatever power systems the droid had failed to restart the antique droid. The light was orange and dirty, coming in through stained and dirtied glass. There was an occasional patch of true sunlight where a window, or even a wall or roof had been broken down by the ravages of time or ill-tempered youth. Plant life started to creep in through the halls.

He crouched down and touched one of the roots. They all appeared to be part of the same network of life, however, something about it felt off. Tainted and sick at the source, which just happened to be in the direction he was currently headed. Perhaps it is this life that has called to me. He gripped his staff as he felt a presence ahead. He could feel the plants sickly presence, but there was someone else as well. Someone who was using the plant to call to him, mask their own presence in the Force. Grasping his staff more firmly Rorwoor continued with more caution, using all his senses to attempt to figure out who the mysterious figure was.

Rorwoorrs mind outstretched, he pushed and pulled at the mysterious individual's mind. Though they had strong defenses. Walking into the central room of the building, he stopped and faltered for a moment.

Before him stood a Zabrak, dressed in dark robes with armoured vambraces. A silver and black lightsaber was clipped to his belt. Rorwoorr instantly recognized him even before he stepped into the light as his former apprentice. Ishtil.

The Wookiee loosened the grip he had on his lightsaber, though did not drop his guard entirely. [Ishtil. It is good to see you.]

"And you, Master." The Zabrak bowed his head slightly and used the term master. While many of the subtleties of Galactic Basic were lost on him, Rorwoorr would place good credits on the fact that there was no actual respect used in the honorific.

[What has brought you to Mandalore?] Keeping his mind open, and his senses primed, Rorwoorr walked over and crouched next to the plant in the middle of the room. He placed his hand upon it and connected with it. He could feel its pain and suffering. He concentrated on the Force, on the individual cells within the planet. His mind reached out, acting akin to antibodies within the plant. Targeting the sickness, rooting it out.

"Oh, just taking in Founding day. Same as you and everyone else. I'm part of an official delegation." Pulling back on his focus the Wookiee nodded.

[You have done well for yourself.]

As the plant thanked him, Rorwoorr stood and diverted all his attention to the Zabrak that stood before him. There had been a time, much like with Rorwoorr and Kaura now, where the two of them had been in perfect sync. There would have been no way possible for him to even appear in system without Rorwoorr being aware. For a time, after Knightfall, this connection had remained strong. He would get vague feelings and impressions of conflict and chaos through the Force as his former Padawan engaged with the CIS on behalf of what would become the Empire.

Then one day, with no pain. No sense of fear or doubt. That connection was gone. [You are the reason I am here?]

The Zabrak walked around the room, like a predator eyeing prey. "I felt that it would be good for us to have a catch-up. Since I missed you on Brath Qella."

Rorwoorr raised an eyebrow. [There was a crisis that demanded aide, I felt that the Empire would not mind-]

"No. You misunderstand, the Empire would never turn down aid for our citizens, especially not from allies." Ishtil touched the plant that Rorwoorr had just healed, the Wookiee felt a jolt of familiarity before they both withdrew their hands. "I came to ask why you waste your time, and your talents."

Stepping away from his landing pad and into the crowds it felt like all of the GRM and two thirds of the rest of the galaxy had descended on Mandalore. Much of the crowd was dressed in traditional Mndalorian fashion; a full set of durasteel or beskar armour and a blaster or two, along with any innumerable more hidden implements tucked away on their bodies. The rest of the cacophony were either at least armoured as much as Elam was, or in a dizzying variety of cuts and colours from various worlds. The ones that stood out the most in their uniformity were the shoals of young Imperials, some of them almost looked like they were young enough to be one of his!

Moving in groups, the younger ones seemed to be trying to take in everything all at once, while many of the slightly older Imps seemed to already be intoxicated. Weaving his way through the masses he simply let his feet, and the flow, carry him; he had nowhere pressing to be, and anyone he knew planet-side was likely to be caught up in Founding Day stuff for a while. Eventually he did catch something on the wind as he neared an open plaza dotted with stalls of various types; spices that made his nose twitch and sweet wafting that made his mouth water. Must be hungrier than I thought…

Largely following his nose through the crowds he eventually made his way to the source of the spices, a collection of vendors selling all manner of traditional Mando foods. A couple of the busier stalls had the look of corporate beige with a ‘Mandalorian’ skin painted over it to appeal to the non-Mandos…unsurprisingly the only customers weren’t locals; he kept moving. A little further back he found what he was looking for, a stall made out of repurposed materials, the air rich with the smell of tiingilar, and several off-duty Deathwatch sitting nearby eating heartily.

Making his way forward, he nodded to the man running the stall. Though like many, he was in full armour and helmeted, he build suggested he was an older fellow…and that he took his cooking seriously; as the old saying went ‘Never trust a skinny cook.’ “What’ll y’ ‘ave?” The Mando asked with a bit of a chuckle. “We got tiingilar an’ tiingilar.” Elam laughed and replied in Mando’a. <”Well that’s a tough choice…I’ll have the tiingilar.”> The fellow paused for a moment, surprised. <”My name is Elam…I’ve been coming and going from Keldabe for a few years now.”> He said by way of introduction.

<”Tell me, is TRUE tiingilar, or that ‘safe’ stuff being pawned off to the off-worlders.”> <“Cets,”> The fellow replied with a laugh. <“An’ that mass produc’d crap I wouldn’ feed t’ my massifs! This,”> He said, scooping a serving into a bowl. <”Is a Clan Twyr recipe tha’ goes back to the days of the Uniter hisself.”> The smell washed over Elam. After paying he took a mouthful and let out a satisfied sigh even as the sweat began to bead in his hairline. <”Cets, this is exactly what I was hoping for.”> He said between bites; he was about to ask about finding a drink when a female Mando with the same Clan markings as Cets waved to Elam. <”Y’ be want’n a drink wi’ that?”> She called out from a stall across from the tiigilar seller. <”My sister, Uvo.”> Cets said. Elam nodded a thanks and turned around. <”Just so happens that’s exactly what I was looking for.”> He replied with a bright smile before eating another mouthful. <”You wouldn’t happen to have any ne'tra gal would you?”> Uvo laughed much like her brother as she reached under the simple counter of her stall and brought up a bottle and a cup. <”Oh I like y’ Elam, y’ know th’ real stuff.”> Shea said, laughing once more as she poured. Paying for his drink, he nodded to the Clan Twyr siblings before moving off the sticky sweet of the ne’tra gal doing what it could to counter the heat of the tiigilar.

Fed and with a pleasant alcoholic buzz forming he set off once more into the crowds.

---

Ro Nuul's footsteps matched the Hapan Prince's, trailing a polite distance to appease the two royal guards who were watching him closely. He made sure to straighten the folds of his robe to keep the lightsaber concealed once again. It was a subtle sign of peace to the guards, but even moreso it had no use being on display for this conversation. The novelty was not one that would in some way impress the Prince Consort, and Ro Nuul had no intention of putting it to use or comparing sabers. There were far more pressing concerns.

"I... did pick up on that. Come, let us leave. Honestly when I first began to make contact with the Republic I was worried about meeting other Jedi. It's not as if I have spent my time outside the Order living up to the Jedi Ideals. I suppose, not many Jedi match the Jedi Ideals of old these days." Ro Nuul pondered these words for a moment, letting them ruminate. It was hard to measure if there was a slight in these words. Even if there were... Ro Nuul could not entirely disagree. Koren continued, "So, Master Nuul. What do you wish to know?"

Ro Nuul folded his hands behind his back, looking out towards Keldabe from a nearby large window. The streets and skies were full of color and cheer. It was a welcome celebration, and a testament to the life and hope left in the galaxy. One that needed to be preserved. "I have a great many questions about the Consortium, but I feel as though many of them can wait until we are better acquainted. At present, what I am most concerned with is a personal question and a professional matter." Ro Nuul turned his gaze away from the celebrations, instead meeting the Prince Consort's eyes carefully. "I will start with the less formal of these, for both our sakes."

Ro Nuul's facial expression softened. His eyes briefly lingered on the lightsaber at Koren's waist. Ro Nuul's voice became somber, unable to mask the momentary sorrow that permeated the question. "As for my personal inquiry... I merely wish to know how you have fared since the sacking of Coruscant, and if there are any others who survived with you. Whether we live up to the old ideals or not... it is hard for an old Jedi like me to ignore the gift of reassurance that Grevious took less of us than we expected."

Ro Nuul quickly looked in the direction of the throne room, reaching out through the force to ensure there were no prying ears. He did not leave much room for an answer, before he let the sorrow pass and his voice instead resonated with its usual stoic tone. "I know very little of the Hapes Consortium... its affiliations, desires, means of governance... There are very few political entities within this galaxy that I am distinctly unfamiliar with. Standing as a voice for the Hapes Consortium... I must inquire as to your affiliations and desires in the new galactic landscape you find yourselves." Ro Nuul's eyes returned to meet Koren's, and his brow furrowed slightly. "I suppose more plainly... how do you wish for the Consortium to fit into this fractured Galaxy we find ourselves?"

Koren followed Ro Nuul heading towards a nearby window, the two Jedi looked out at the expansive city beyond. Beyond the confines of the Palace they could see the denizens of Mandalore and many other worlds gathering in a celebration. Koren just hoped that with celebration came remembrance. The weight of the loss came to him heavily, for many years there had been too much unknowing. That had gnawed at him, no matter what he did. No matter what was going on in the Consortium. From his training of the Royal Guards, to his romance and marriage. Some part of his mind lingered on the past. Ro Nuuls filtered voice brought him back to the present. "As for my personal inquiry... I merely wish to know how you have fared since the sacking of Coruscant, and if there are any others who survived with you. Whether we live up to the old ideals or not... it is hard for an old Jedi like me to ignore the gift of reassurance that Grevious took less of us than we expected."

Koren chuckled. "Other than the droid, there was a group of Younglings with me when I was first lost, and then captured- it's a long story. I did however eventually manage to barter for their release. I don't know where they are now, but I hope they made it.

It had been years since Koren had thought of them, he hadn't dared risk thinking about them. The worry of the fall of the Jedi and Republic had been enough for him. As things slowly became more and more complicated, the survivors guild weighed heavily on him. He brought himself out of it in time for Ro to speak again. "I know very little of the Hapes Consortium... its affiliations, desires, means of governance... There are very few political entities within this galaxy that I am distinctly unfamiliar with. Standing as a voice for the Hapes Consortium... I must inquire as to your affiliations and desires in the new galactic landscape you find yourselves. I suppose more plainly... how do you wish for the Consortium to fit into this fractured Galaxy we find ourselves?"

Koren bowed his head. "My affiliation in the Galaxy is to my Queen, and my desires are hers." He smiled kindly at the Kel Dor. "Right now, the Separatists have probed our borders. We have a strong fleet, but I doubt we could withstand a sustained attack." Koren shrugged. He signaled to one of his guards who moved away to call down the shuttle. "I suppose we are in need of friends."

He sighed. "How do I wish for the Consortium to fit in? That is not my place to say. I'm here too make contact and report back. I can advise my Queen, I can't make decisions on her behalf." He raised his hand, his tone shifting to jovial as a smile crossed his face. "It's a marriage thing."

Cel looked up momentarily as the Imperials walked into the bar. Her eyes moved to the man as he approached and stood beside her. At first, she was about to tell him that she had no interest until she looked behind him and saw the saddened New Imperials walking away. ‘I guess it’s not so bad having a tall man nearby to deter others.’

“I think trouble follows us wherever we go. Like some kinda hound hot on our heels. We ain’t lookin’ for it, but it always seems to find us just the same. All we can do is keep an eye out for it, be ready for it when it comes, and hope our luck don’t run out. Helps to have a second set of eyes on the lookout, though.”

“Believe me, I don’t think anyone could be a kindred spirit with me.” She gave a slight grin as she spoke, writing down a final note in the journal she had.

Rask chuckled. “I don’t doubt you’re right, ma’am. My mistake.” He gave a slight nod and tip of his hat.

When she looked up she noticed that he was pouring her another glass. Cel seemed wary, though, and her eyes darted like a fly dodging getting hit. She saw the percentage of chances of this being a trap in her head, determined based on his demeanor and how he approached her that the chance was less than 3%. A 6-foot 11-inch man would be obvious as the last person to be seen with someone, even on Founding Day. There aren’t too many 6-foot-11-inch humans on Mandalore. Not to mention he had a scar… She began to recalculate the numbers in her head, less than 1%. Safe.

She took a drink from the glass, smiling as she felt the warmth of the drink go down.

“You aren’t wrong, trouble does seem to follow me. But I think your observation is just slightly off. You see, I don’t run off of luck. I run off of calculations. That and proper channels.” She chuckled at her joke, not realizing that this man had no idea she was a bureaucrat. Which meant he had no idea she just made a joke.

She slightly turn to him as she did, her eyes darted to the man whom she had just rejected. He seemed upset that she wasn’t treating this man the same. She leaned forward towards, the tall man giving him a grin. “So tell me. What do those extra set of eyes see?” She asked before taking a sip, and nodded to show approval of the drink choice without words.

It'd been too long since Rask had banter like this. Playful, unserious. So much of his life was serious.

"Well," Rask began, "For starters, I see you ain't a Mando. The lack of beskar kinda throws that idea out the window. So, not a local. But you're lookin pretty comfortable with this lot of scoundrels. My guess? You been planetside for a while. Live here, maybe. Don't come to this joint often, though."

Rask drank before continuing. The whiskey was top shelf compared to the swill that clone had been feeding him.

"I reckon that ain't just a hat rack you got there." He gestured with his glass towards her book. "Nobody reads somethin that heavy for their health. I would say you’re some kind of scientist, but those types don’t wrangle fools well as you.” Rask tilted his chin towards Cel’s jilted lover. "And since you've a workin brain, that rules out politician or diplomat. No, I'm bettin you're behind the scenes somewhere, though. Be stupid not to."

The band struck up another tune, this time a cover of local pop phenom Kada Skirata's hit song "Devil." An energetic and synth-laden dance number, lyrics dripping with venom. It was a not-so-veiled takedown of General Grievous and massively popular outside of CIS space, where it was banned from the airwaves. Rask found this cantina singer's interpretation lacking. Few, in his estimation, could match Kada's vocal prowess.

He looked back to Cel. Meeting his eyes was easy for most. They were dark and narrow and one eyelid sagged from a cut long ago, but there was a softness to them behind the craggy skin and scars.

"Last thing. That vibroblade." His dark eyes ran across the sheathed weapon tied to the woman's hip. "You see a man with a blaster, he might know how to shoot it. Might be all mouth. But a lady carrying a knife like that? You ain't strappin that on every day because it looks pretty. I wouldn't wanna tangle with you, that's for damn sure."

Rask idly tapping his wedding band against his glass as he drank, which made a small clink that was drowned out by the band and the crowd. "And that's all I've got, for the moment. I'm figurin it'd be a day's work or so just to guess your mind. Maybe I've lost my touch." He seemed close to pleased with himself, but unwilling to speculate any further for fear of stepping on his new companion's toes. Rask considered himself a good judge of character, but it'd been long since he had any characters to judge. Four years, give or take. A little rusty. Still, he welcomed the challenge.

"So, what'd I miss?"

Cel hummed as she sipped her drink, listening to him break down who she was based off of what she had and how she looked. She giggled as he mentioned guessing her mind and maybe losing his touch. “I will admit you’ve got a good eye on you. I am not a scientist, and this.” She patted her book. “This is just what I read for fun. So not a scientist, but I am a bureaucrat. Just a simple paper pusher.”

“You’ve an interesting idea of fun. Well, I weren’t too far off. Bureaucrat, huh? Everyone’s gotta make a livin, I don’t begrudge you that.”

She gave him a playful smile as she listened to the song that the band struck up. Her eyes darted as his looked around quickly, but she moved her eyes back to his to make sure she didn't lose eye contact with him. “Some say I’m really smart but very good at remembering things. Eidetic memory is what I believe it’s called.” She said playing coy.

“But that’s beside the point, you did get one other thing right.” She patted the vibroblade at her side.

“This definitely isn’t just for show. While I cannot claim expertise on this matter, I can attest that my father had instilled the notion of self-reliance, especially when it comes to safeguarding oneself, in a universe that demands it like the one we are in now.” She gave a smug grin as she looked down at her sheathed vibroblade.

Rask pulled up a stool beside the woman and sat down. ”Your father’s a smart man. This galaxy’s a mean place. That’s true everywhere I’ve been and gone. Gotta depend on yourself if you wanna live to see the sunset.”

“I must admit that I am impressed by your perceptiveness. I definitely didn’t expect someone from a place like this to be able to determine all that, let alone determine what I am reading. Well… I hope all that means I’m a solid character from your eyes and judgment. She took another sip before her eyes darted again around the room. She didn’t seem worried, or in a rush, but she was double-checking her surroundings, checked the windows and doors, and recognized everyone was basically still normal and not seeming to be in a hurry to jump into the conversation or approach them. There was a slight moment she thought that one of the Imperials were going to cut in but he quickly just kept walking by. Huh, he seems to keep the trouble away, I’ll keep entertaining him a bit longer… we can see where this goes… I don’t…. Hate him after all like most people.

”Not to spoil too much, but I ain’t from here, ma’am, and I take that as a compliment. These Mandos are too serious for my liking.” He made a sweeping gesture with one long arm at the cantina’s patrons, as if to point out each dour-faced and solemn Mandalorian in the otherwise energetic crowd.

”But readin folks just comes with the occupation I guess. Speakin of, I must admit, I’d be curious to hear what your eyes make of this old salt before ye. Shouldn’t be too hard; I’ve been told before there ain’t too much to see. How bout it?” He set his half-drained glass away from him, as if the small distance would stop him from reaching over and finishing it. With a large hand, Rask playfully covered the Regulator badge pinned to his poncho as if to prevent Cel from ascertaining his occupation.

“Hmmmm, I’m not sure you’re ready for this, tall dark and scruffy,” Cel shrugged before taking another sip and her eyes moved up and down his body. If anyone could see what was going on in her head they’d see numbers and percentages moving through her eyes.

”Believe me when I say I’ve heard it all, and then some.”

“Okay,” Cel said, taking a deep breath. “As you walk, there is a slight limp in your gait that you try to cover up with each step. It seems that you might have sustained an injury in your leg, or perhaps it is a remnant of an old childhood affliction. However, the presence of that blaster on your hip suggests that it isn't the latter. In fact, the blaster's appearance implies that you may have been a combatant in the Clone Wars, or you might have acquired it from someone who was. Considering the blaster's origin, which would have to be from the outer rim, I presume that you belong to that region. Your confident stride into this establishment despite every Mandalorian's attention on you since you walked in and shot that droid, suggests that you are not intimidated by such surroundings. Furthermore, the fact that your friend referred to you as Marshal supports the notion that you might have served a term.” She took another sip, her eyes moving up and down his body still.

“Upon observing your movement since you arrived, it appears that you have not ceased from leaning, which suggests that you may not be from a planet that has a similar gravity pull as Mandalore. This could mean that you are either compensating for the difference in gravity or it could be due to a previous injury. Furthermore, I noticed that your boot protrudes slightly on one side and remains rigid when you move your foot, which leads me to believe that it could be a concealed weapon of some sort, as you have been caught without one at an inopportune moment in the past. Based on my estimation, you appear to be in your mid to late forties, and judging from the way you drew your gun on the droid earlier, it seems that you have not been practicing your shots lately, which was somewhat sluggish, at least to your standards since you seemed a bit disappointed. However, you approached me with great confidence, which indicates that you were either bored, attempting to save a damsel in distress, or driven by curiosity. In any case, as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.” She gave him a playful wink as she spoke and chuckle at her own joke.

“So how’d I do?” she asked, batting her eyes for a moment before taking a final sip of her glass and leaning back into her chair.

Rask studied the woman, his eyes narrow and focused. He adjusted his stance, squaring up to her. Then he relaxed and laughed. “You missed out on a good career in law enforcement, I’ll say that. Got everything but my name, and I’d bet you could figure that out too with a second run.” He didn’t answer why he’d approached her. Truth be told though, Rask was more worried for the New Imperials, really just kids, who strode into the cantina rather than the woman before him. By his estimation, he probably saved them a couple broken limbs.

It always compelled Rask to see himself through the eyes of another. His wife painted his portrait once, years ago now. Hers was an amateur’s hand, but to see how she viewed him fascinated Rask to no end. He had a low opinion of himself, and seeing his likeness painted in a favorable, if not downright heroic light made him realize people saw what they wanted to see. Both in themselves and others. Cel's appraisal of him felt true to the mark, if a little sparse on detail.

"Us Rim folk like to think we're full of secrets, but truth be told, what you see is what you get." In direct defiance of this statement, Rask set his hand down on the bar and his half-drained glass slid across the metal countertop directly into his palm, as if pulled along by some invisible string. He drained the glass of its contents.

"But I'll save ye the trouble of guessin my name. Rask Coburn. Marshal Rask Coburn, Outer Rim Regulators. Been a while since I held that particular title, but circumstances have conspired against me and here I am again."

“Cel O`Royal, it’s a pleasure.” she said, putting a hand out gently to touch his for a moment like she was almost owed a handshake.

"Well, Ms. O'Royal, I must confess that Mandalore's changed since last I was here. I been lookin for some bad folks the past few weeks, and have found little but trouble. Save for that heap of metal over there." Rask stood to his full height and threw some credits on the counter. Enough to cover the drinks. Not enough for the scrapped droid.

"I could use someone with a lay of the land to help me out. You’ve a keen eye, and I’ll bet you know this city better than most. Regulators'll compensate ye for your time, though I admit it ain't much. Could make for a good story to tell your fellow desk jockeys back at the office though. Think of yourself as a... Guide, of sorts. How's bout it?" It was a common practice among Regulators; their jurisdiction spanned so wide that they were often better off hiring locals. These impromptu deputies were typically security forces, but often included frontiersmen, diplomats, street urchins, and others with expansive knowledge of local conditions. Bureaucrats, not as much.

“Hmmm, well I guess it would not hurt to do so. I don’t really have much going on… I had only the plans to come in here and read until it was time for more favorable moments of the celebration. Possibly something that makes all the streets less crowded and rather everyone focused on one point… in other words, the main event.” Cel made sure she put everything away in her bag as she zipped it up. She put some of her own credits on the bar as well.

”Nothin better to do, huh? Hell, I’ll take it,” Rask said, shaking his head. ”Think it’s about it time we leave this dump. Gettin a bit too rowdy for my liking.”

As they were about to walk out, Cel turned to the original man who she had turned down who seemed seething that this man had not gotten the same treatment she did. She stopped and waved to him like she promised as he got out of his seat and began walking towards her as she started walking out. She figured she’d let Rask or any of the other patrons handle this man, and if not, well it was going to be a mistake for him.

Rask watched as the man loped towards them. He knew the type. Known them all his life.

This particular gentleman’s ears were missing, giving his already narrow head an even slimmer and weasel-like profile. There was an ugly burn on his neck, letters burned into the skin. It was impossible to read them now, the hot iron having been left too long against the flesh and the symbols were now splayed and jumbled. Rask knew what they meant though; not many people wore that brand. He’d been a guest at the prison moon, Reku, a hell reserved for the most depraved criminals within the Renkar Imperium.

As the man stood swaying before them, his mouth working to form some string of insults, Rask reached behind him and grabbed the half-full bottle of whiskey.

”Happy Founding day, friend. Drink up,” Rask said amiably as he shoved the bottle into the man’s hands. Before he could respond, Rask led Cel through the crowd towards the door. A new song played now, rife with heavy and dark synths under which the singer yowled. It hurt Rask’s ears and he was glad to be leaving. He looked behind to see the thug slouching after them. Rask thought of the predatory six-eyed Halcorr that stalked the plains of his homeworld, vicious beasts that killed without thought.

Well, I tried.

With a slight flick of Rask’s arm, the thug off his intended course, as if shoved by some invisible phantom. Not much, but enough to send the drunk reeling into a circle of New Imperials. He spilled whiskey on one young woman’s uniform, which was enough to invoke their collective and already pent-up rage. Words were said that could not be unsaid. In a matter of seconds the cantina exploded in a pandemonium of violence as punches and kicks were doled indiscriminately, just as Cel and Rask stepped outside and into the bright and lively street.

10 days prior to arrival on Mandalore

Sirens sounded and lights flashed throughout the corridors of the Aurora, a Venator 1 warship currently traveling through hyperspace. Platoons of stormtroopers were amassing in the ventral hangar near a fleet of transport ships. Around them Tie Fighters are finishing their final checks before launch.

“All hands to battlestations. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.”

Young deckhands and engineers alike sprinted throughout the maze like passageways of the capital ship, accomplishing some last minute tasks. In the command center one figure stood unmoving throughout the chaos. Lorn was staring deadpan at the hologram of Admiral Kalatin, commander of the 7th fleet, who was pacing dramatically in and out of the projector.

“I requested reinforcements and they send a lone Venator that was in the middle of repairs! I don’t care how great your reputation is, I need more than one ship.”

The 7th fleet had recently been caught in the midst of a resupply by a considerably larger separatist force that was probing the Empire’s borders. Being so far out into the frontier, the only nearby force had been Lorn’s ship that had been under repair a few systems over. While other ships would get here eventually, they would only get here in time to search the wreckage for survivors.

“I understand your concern Admiral, but as for now I am all you have. If you follow my instructions I may be all you need. Now I will ask again, have you mo-“

“Yes I have moved my Interdictor where you have requested, even if you refuse to explain why.” Kalatin was visibly irritated with the young Rear Admiral, even if he didn’t come out and say it.

Lorn knew while the Admiral was competent, too many questions would be asked if he took the time to explain his plan. Kalatin would likely become unnerved by all the unknown factors, and Lorn only needed the Admiral to play his part. “All in due time Admiral, maybe over some drinks after this battle. I have some last minute preparations, so I will speak to you next after our victory.”

The Admiral took a second to stop pacing and stare down at Lorn for a moment before giving a curt nod. “May our deaths please the Emperor.” The transmission was cut abruptly leaving Lorn looking up at a now empty space. Hidden by the chaos around him Lorn clenched his fists tightly and let a vicious scowl flash across his face momentarily before being replaced by his typical uncaring glare.

The doors to the bridge slid open as Lorn strode through them to a very similar, but much more muted kind of chaos. His officers were keeping a facade of calm up knowing that their commander despised panic. Even though they tried to hide it, Lorn could feel the unease in the air that existed before every battle. While looking over the bridge Lorn noticed a small clump of officers standing around a nav computer that was running a sequence of calculations. Lorn slowly approached unnoticed and listened to the whispers amongst his officers.

“Well it looks correct.” “But if it isn’t we all die.” “And if we just show up without a plan we all die that way as well.” “I’m just saying…”

The officers trailed off as they one by one noticed their commanding officer standing above them on the elevated command platform of the bridge. Lorns eyes showed nothing as he looked over the assembled crew before settling on the one sitting at the computer. “Lieutenant Hake, are your calculations complete?”

The young woman shot out of her chair and threw up a hasty salute. “Yes sir!”

Lorn just stood there silently with his arms crossed waiting for her to continue as confusion crossed her face. After a moment Lt. Hake seemed to realize he was waiting for her to tell him the result. “Everything should work in theory, but it is still only the-“

“Then we will trust your calculations Lieutenant. Everyone, prepare to enter the system!” Lorn knew better than to let the young Lieutenant doubt themselves, they were talented but lacked confidence.

The bridge became completely silent as the officers returned to their stations and stared out the viewport at the flashing lights of hyperspace fly by. Lorn made his way to the chair stationed in the very middle of the bridge and leaned against the side of it. The chair was installed to let him rest when his condition became too severe, but the adrenaline pumping right now prevented Lorn from being able to sit. As a countdown began to sound out on the intercom, Lorn could feel a growing anticipation beginning to build from deep within. A wolfish grin covered his face and he couldn’t help but lean forward slightly.

“5…4…3…2…1”

As the countdown ended the ship suddenly lurched and the lights of hyperspace quickly shifted into the green and red lights of turbo laser batteries. The Aurora had managed to come out of hyperspace right in the middle of the battle due to both the CIS interdictor and the Imperial Interdictor allowing for incredibly precise exit coordinates. Lorn quickly tried to get his bearing of the battle before he was nearly knocked off his feet as The Aurora jerked violently to the right along with the screech of metal being torn. The starboard wing of the capital ship was scraping along the edge of a Providence class dreadnought that Lorn quickly recognized as the enemy’s flagship.

“Divert power to starboard guns and fire everything!” There was a second of silence before the Venator’s guns released a withering hail of laser fire. The Providence seemed to be caught completely off guard and was only firing back with an assortment of smaller guns as the Aurora unloaded its full might into the enemy flagship. Lorn watched on as his grin grew even bigger and he felt a surge of confidence flow through him, he won.

---

4 days prior to arrival on Mandalore

“...you will receive new orders as the 7th fleet repairs and reorganizes in preparation for you taking command. Congratulations on your promotion Vice Admiral and glory to the Empire.”

The hologram of Wildan Braste, the Minister of Defense, faded out in front of Lorn’s kneeling form. The newly promoted Vice Admiral stayed kneeling for a moment with his coat draped over him with a stony look on his face. He had taken another step in his ravenous ambition, but all it did was make him hungrier for more. It was as if he was trying to reach an apple hanging from a tall tree, but for every branch he climbed the fruit got even further away. At this point he feels as if he will reach the top of this tree before he can sate his hunger.

Slowly Lorn rose from his kneeling position, with his cloak hiding just how difficult the act was for him. He took a pause before turning around to face the hangar before him. Around 3,000 of the personnel stationed on the Aurora stood rank and file throughout the ship’s ventral hangar. This ceremony was also being projected for the rest of the 7th fleet which was now inhabiting one of the empire's secret shipyards in the midst of heavy repairs.

“To those aboard the Aurora who have served me faithfully, or those of the 7th fleet who will come to know me soon, I owe this promotion to you. If it was not for your heroism in the Battle of Maltha Obex, the separatists would have been able to once again push on Vinsoth. The citizens of the Empire sleep safe tonight because they know that they are protected by heroes such as yourselves.”

Lorn took a moment to let the silence fill the air before he continued.

“If it was not for us this galaxy would have long fallen to ruin at the hands of separatist dogs. We are the only ones who carry on the will of the republic and fight to save this galaxy!”

SLAM, a loud sound rings out as Lorn’s stormtrooper contingent slammed their fist against their plasteel armor.

“It is on us to free this galaxy from Grievous and his bloody rampage!”

SLAM

“To liberate the people of the core from his Alsakani puppets!”

SLAM

“To stand against Corellian corruption and perversion of the ideals of our once great republic.”

SLAM

“And to denounce Mandalorian cowardice, and their sham truce!”

SLAM

“We stand alone as the one true inheritors of the republic! The one true liberators of the galaxy! The one true Empire!”

SLAM SLAM SLAM

“And I promise only one thing to those who oppose our rightful place in this galaxy. DEATH!”

The once organized pounding of the stormtroopers devolved into a roar as Lorn held up his fist and the rest of the crowd erupted into applause. A chant slowly began to grow to fill the hangar and could be heard echoing throughout the shipyard below them.

“DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH”

---

Arrival on Mandalore

It didn’t matter how warm it was out in the market, Lorn still had his large coat wrapped around his shoulder to try and prevent the cold in his bones from spreading. The joy and merriment of the celebration was lost on the Vice Admiral stuck playing babysitter to the young New Imperials. It had been pitched to Lorn as a vacation by his father, but Lorn knew he was on timeout for his recent speech. While it likely didn’t get back to the other powers in the galaxy, his superiors did not like the tone of his voice about some of their supposed allies. So here he was, advisor to the Empress and mentor to the New Imperials during this trip.

Even though his mood may not have been the most celebratory, his presence was actually helping the Mandalorians in one strange way. Wherever the sulking officer walked, the Imperials in the area, New or otherwise, seemed to shape up for the time he was there. Women were suddenly free from drunken flirting, and bar tabs were mysteriously paid in full. Whether trying to avoid his wrath or gain his favor, his reputation amongst the Imperials created a bubble of safety for the other partiers.

Lorn was lost in thought while eating mystery meat from a stall vendor who had probably up-charged the Imperial Vice Admiral. He had found the Mandalore to be incredibly disappointing and nothing more than a common brute. Any armored idiot can threaten an unarmed mother inside his own palace. A part of Lorn had hoped to see something redeeming in the man who had united the Mandalorians and Republic, but he was unsurprised to be proven right. That the large warrior was just some coward hiding from the CIS in a layer of beskar. Either he was too weak to take the fight to the separatists, or he lacked the conviction. Lorn couldn’t decide which he found more disgusting.

Lorn finally finished his pondering with the quick realization he was completely lost. Looking around all he could see was more stalls and partiers with no end in sight. Lorn silently stood in place and looked for any noticeable landmark before he heard a door nearby him open. An incredibly tall man and blonde woman with a massive book stepped outside of a tavern that seemed to be exploding into a fight. Lorn’s eyes were drawn to the badge pinned onto the incredibly tall man’s shirt.

“He should at least know where he is.”

Lorn barely took a step to follow him before some of the fighting spilled out of the door and landed at his feet. A Young Imperial was on top of some ruffian mid, about to take another swing when the back of his hand hit the Admiral. The drunk youth looked back at Lorn prepared to let loose a string of expletives before he realized who he was looking at. The New Imperials mouth began to move, but no sound came out as he staggered to his feet. He stared mouth agape before taking off down the street at top speed, almost barreling into multiple bystanders. Lorn cocked his head and watched the idiot flee in complete silence before turning back towards the open door to the bar to see another New Imperial staring back at him. This Imperial acts faster than her friend, but in an even more extreme manner. She draws her blaster pistol and shoots the controls to the door, locking Lorn outside.

For a moment Lorn couldn’t even comprehend what he had just witnessed, as he sat there utterly dumbfounded. He couldn’t help but let out a long sigh as his palm rested against his forehead. What a great example the New Imperials were showing to the rest of the galaxy. Moving past his extreme disappointment, Lorn caught up with the pair ahead of him and called out.

“Excuse me, do either of you happen to know where we are?”