Cel continued to walk down the road as she sang to herself and dodged person after person who was walking the other way until she stopped taking out the listening devices in her ear and her eyes widened. She was looking in a store and there was a beautiful red dress with a slight slit up the side of the leg. She quickly turned around and walked into the store. She was walking up to the person at the counter.

"Yes, I need to know how much that dress in the window is, and do you have any in my size?

The man at the counter spoke some form of native Mandalorian. Cel would nod before raising an eyebrow. "Founding day be damned, 6000 credits is insane for a dress..... fine... I'll take it."

Cel would walk out of that store a few hours later this time in a red dress that went down to just past her knees and a small slit up the side of it as she continued back towards the center of town. As she walked she decided to walk through a back alley, a path she knew was a shortcut and there would surely be fewer people. She would continue humming as she walked gingerly past a few guys who seemed to catch her walking by and eyed her up and down. " Both human, chances of being a threat, 30% based on looks and their sneers she thought to herself as she continued to move. It only was a few more steps before she heard a whistle in front of her as two Zabraks and a rather large Besalisk stood in front of her. It took not even a second to glance at them 90% chance of danger her head shouted. She didn't even talk to them or stare at them for more than a fraction of a second before she turned around only to see the other two humans blocking her way. "No, the odds were in my favor!" she grumbled as one of the humans gave her a strange look like he didn't understand what she was talking about.

"Listen, lady, the odds are still in your favor. We are just here for your protection! It's just gonna cost everything on you for us to let you through, you never know what's gonna happen here on Mandalore. Lots of imperials around, after all, I'm sure one of them may just try to mug you. Better we keep your stuff for safekeeping." said one of the Zabraks

"You can take your protection and shove it up your ass you should know that founding day is like the worse day to even try and commit a crime." Cel would say as her head ran through the numbers and she nodded confirming that it was in fact true. About 75% of crime ended in some type of death on founding day. Probably because the mix of different jurisdictions and people made for the worst combinations.

"Oh man." the Besalisk said. "Biff are you going to just take that? I mean we are trying to do her a favor."

"Right you are Trex" He would slowly walk up to Cel. Cel's eyes darted above and all over the place as she was calculating the best move to make to get out of this. She could feel her heart racing, she knew there was one way out but that was no guarantee either. She watched as the Zabrak pulled out a gun and smiled at her. "That's okay though, because she looks like she's pretty loaded, so it should be pretty obvious, your things, or your life." Cel bit her lip and her hands began to feel a bit clammy. She wished it was that simple, but chances were that if she saw their faces they weren't going to let her live, although if that was the case they could have just shot her already. Her brain was moving a thousand miles a minute at this point as she was trying to figure out the different odds the Zabrax looked at her confused as she wasn't responding. "HEY! I'm talking to you!" he yelled at her, "Do you want to die!?" he started to obviously get agitated.

She looked up at him for a moment, she seemed to lose her own temper as her eyes narrowed, "Listen, you filthy little man. I find it remarkable that you persist in entertaining the idea of deploying that firearm against me while seemingly disregarding the profoundly abysmal probability of your success, estimated at a mere 40%. I implore you to reconsider your ill-fated course of action, lest we both suffer irreparable consequences. It would be prudent for us to terminate this utterly futile engagement so that we may proceed on divergent paths, embracing tranquility rather than perpetuating this needless altercation." in her head she was certain she was right as the man seemed to look at her almost confused.

"Boss, let's get going, best not to draw too much attention!" Trex said

"Yeah I don't know what this lady just said, but just shoot her!" one of the humans responded.

"Yeah, listen here bitch this is your last chance." He pushed the barrel of the blaster now against her head. "Now make a choice I'll give you to the count of 5 before I blow your fucking brains out!"

"I am Cel O` Royal! One of the supervisors of the Mandalorian transportation department! And YOU- "

"I don't care who you are!" He would smack her face with the side of the blaster as she stumbled into the wall. "5!" he said as he pushed the blaster once again against her forehead.

Her hand reached for her vibro-blade for a moment as she heard, "4!" She stopped though, her head had solved the equation, there was an extra variable that she was missing. Her eyes shot up to the sky as she heard the man yell. "3!" It was at this moment that she seemed to have realized he was actually counting. Her eyes finally showed like she caught up to the situation. "2!" the man yelled out and she made her move as she screamed out loud. Loud enough that it made multiple people stop on either end of the alleyway as she ducked and pushed his hand above her head in a mere second as the man fired a blaster in the air, it was loud enough that people were screaming and now even more people were looking in the alleyway as Cel was screaming. And by chance, there was a thud as everyone stopped and turned on one of the streets to see that a Death Watch member had been shot from the back and had fallen onto the street. Everyone went quiet as Trex looked around, "Oh shit! That's not good, that's not good, that's not good!"

Biff looked at what just happened, "No... I didn't it was... her... she pushed my... I wouldn't... Oh no." He'd say with fear in his voice.

Koren entered the main compartment of his shuttle, acting as his executive suite during his time on the surface of Mandalore. He nodded to his two guards who filed out of the room, as he keyed in a code to the holocommunicator. A signal from Mandalore wouldn't be able to reach within the transitory mists usually, however, his ship was in orbit to relay the signal and there was another cruiser on the edge of the mists to relay the signal within. He bowed his head respectfully towards his Queen, before turning his head up, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

"My Queen."

She returned the bow, and the smirk. "My Prince. How is your diplomatic visit?"

Formal. That means that she very likely has company.

"My meeting with the Manda'lor was... postponed, due to tensions between himself and Empress of the Renkar Imperium. We were advised to leave while they, finished their discussion. He stood up tall, hands behind his back, feet at ease. "I have however conversed with a Jedi Diplomat known as Ro Nuul. He is a fellow survivor, like me. Koren composed himself. Deep breathe in, release. Allow his negative thoughts out with his breathe.

"He seemed hopeful, that whether through the Mandalorian Republic or the Renkar Imperium we should be able to form some form of alliance that will benefit us, to try and keep us safe from the Separatist Alliance."

"That is good news. Good news indeed...

Collab between Chev and webboysurf
Vorax
Guiding Light
Mandalorian Space

“Wake him up.”

Vorax was quite suddenly brought back to consciousness as he felt an armored fist impact the side of his face. His eyes shot open and he let out a loud hiss of pain. He looked to his right and saw the unwelcome sight of a massive grinning hutt holding his customized double barrel blaster pistol. “Obadah. What a surprise.” Vorax said in a deadpan voice. “Be careful with that blaster, it’s custom made.”

The hutt stared down at the trandoshan and his sadistic grin grew wider. “I think I will have your head mounted on the wall in my palace. If you wish, I can place it next to my throne at all times. Or better yet, perhaps I can blast your legs off before we leave the ship.” Torro let out a mechanical sounding chuckle. “If you blast off the captain’s legs, You and I will find out first hand if hutts can regrow their tails.”

The hutt turned his attention to the wookiee and pointed the blaster directly at his head. “You are in no position to make such a threat.”

Torro simply smiled at Obadah. “You’d be surprised what I used to do for a living before I joined the Silver Fangs and Captain Vorax. You wouldn’t be the first hutt I’ve gone up against.” The wookiee said with a smile that brought a chill to Vorax’s bones. He knew what Torro used to do and right now wasn’t the time for it to be brought out into the open.

“So Slug, You’ve captured Vorax Tezar, the Bane of the Hutts. What do you plan to do now? Show off your prize? Follow through on that ripping off limbs idea?” The hutt let out a booming laugh. “Little lizard, while you and your crew were unconscious I came up with a punishment that will suit your disobedience.”

The hutt leaned closer to Vorax until Vorax could smell his breath which nearly caused the trandoshan to vomit. “I know you sent the non-combatants away. Even now I have slicers at work retrieving the data on their hyperspace routes. I will find them, bring them to hutta and have them executed in front of you. And then, little lizard, we will see how much pain you can endure.”

A loud, guttural humming sound resonated through the Guiding Light. It was a sound known far too well by those who flew the cold emptiness of space: the ship's generators powering down. All lights in the ship blew out, leaving only the sparse emergency lights to provide any source of glow. With a deafening silence present… The sound of a single blaster bolt rang through the mostly empty corridors.

Over whatever radio signal Obadah's men were using, a voice rang out. ”Sorry about that… must have cut the wrong wire… You should probably send someone down to fix that. Your last mechanic…” The voice paused for but a moment. The sound of another blaster bolt filled the silence. ”He didn't make it.”

Vorax and Torro looked at one another in confusion as the lights went out. As far as they knew, all the survivors were on the bridge with them. Obadah on the other hand let out a loud roar of fury as he looked at his eight remaining mercenaries and pointed towards the corridor that led to the engine room. “Get down there and kill whatever or whoever you find!” He shouted at four of the mercenaries who grabbed their blaster rifles and ran down the corridor. “The rest of you, make sure your blasters are pointed down that corridor at all times.”

The hutt turned and looked at Vorax and Torro and the rest of the surviving bridge crew and narrowed his eyes. “Do not think this will save you, little lizard. I don't know what you are up to but it will not work.”

Vorax let out a hissing chuckle. “I’m in the dark as much as you are, Obadah. I have no idea what’s going on but it’s pissing you off so I’m all for it.”

---

In the enclosed, dark corridors leading to the engines, the mercenaries filed in two by two. They stuck themselves back to back, heads on swivels as they desperately checked around each corner carefully. Down one of the narrow passages, one of the mercenaries stopped dead in their tracks. Lying face down in the middle of the hallway was a single mercenary lying limp. The pairing that discovered the body moved over towards the corpse quickly, one checking for a pulse while the other stood guard with blaster aimed down the hall. The body was still a little warm, and the two quickly rolled the body over onto its back. Clear blaster burns scorched the corpse’s torso armor, and magnetically attached to its front was a small detonation pack. As the body moved, small red lights on the device rapidly beeped to life. The explosion radius wasn’t particularly large, but it was enough to send the two mercenaries flying back. They were dead before they hit the ground. The last two mercenaries sent to investigate came rushing over, blasters primed and at the ready. The three very charred corpses were enough to send the two into full panic, as they turned their heads rapidly to search for any sign of the intruder that caused this disturbance.

One of the mercenaries, a Duros, turned his gaze upwards momentarily in his panic, looking back down the hall. But something made him stop in his tracks, frozen in fear. The other mercenary took a moment to catch on to his partner’s panic, realizing something was wrong. The two were panting in the dark, deathgrips on their blaster carbines. Finally, the Duros screamed and lifted the blaster up towards the ceiling, where the Clone Commando was clinging to the ceiling. Several blaster bolts flew at the armored figure, who took this opportunity to drop onto the Duros mercenary. Blaster bolts pinged off the Beskar, bouncing off and shooting sparks in the surrounding walls. A loose tube of gas was ruptured, clogging the area with a bit of opaque smoke. Crossfire had managed to wrestle the blaster carbine from the Duros merc, pinning him down with his body weight as he slammed the butt of the blaster into the mercenary’s head several times. It lacked finesse, but a kill was a kill. The other mercenary, blinded and coughing, began running away from the scene, firing blaster shots behind him. He fumbled for his communicator with his free hand, but seemed unable to hold on to it as it slipped from his grasp. It fell down into the grate flooring, but the hutt’s thug didn’t have time to stop and search for it. A primal desire for survival overrode every other base instinct. It wasn’t quite enough, though. Crossfire’s whipcord fired out from the darkness, wrapping around the mercenary’s foot. The helpless gun-for-hire fell on his face, losing grip of his blaster. He reached for it, only to suddenly be pulled back into the dark red smoke behind him. The sound of dragging and screaming gave way to a single gross squelching sound, as the soldier drove the vibroblade embedded in his vambrace under the mercenary’s collar. Silence once again filled the majority of the Guiding Light.

---

Vorax let out a small chuckle as he heard the sound of blaster fire and a small explosion down the dark corridor. Obadah on the other hand was shaking from fear. “Report!” The Hutt bellowed fearfully with a small touch of anger into his communicator. Of course, there was no answer. The Hutt looked at his last four mercenaries and motioned them down the corridor. Three of them obeyed the order while one of them looked as if he would rather take his chances with Obadah. The Hutt pointed Vorax’s blaster pistol at the mercenaries head and motioned again for him to move forward which the mercenary cautiously did.

Vorax and Torro both smiled fang filled smiles at Obadah. “What’s the matter, slug? Afraid of the dark?” Vorax asked ominously. Obadah stared at the Trandoshan and then slowly turned his gaze back towards the darkened corridor.

The corridor was pitch black, even the emergency lights seemed to be nonfunctional as the mercenaries began to move slowly down the hall. One switched on a headlamp, and a single beam of light pierced through the inky black. Dust particles filled the space, dancing in front of the light as it didn't do much to fill the space, instead only showing a patch of wall or flooring as the mercenary carefully scanned the environment from the front of the pack. The light shone up, facing down the hall, and briefly illuminated a single figure in blue armor. The second the light illuminated the figure, the mercenaries started opening fire. Crossfire winced at the sudden light as it disrupted his night vision, and recoiled as several blaster bolts hit his armor and knocked him back a step. He quickly moved into the nearest doorway, pressing himself up as flat as he could in the small alcove, as blaster bolts continued raining in his direction. He blinked away the white spots as he grabbed the blaster rifle from his back.

The hallway was filled with intermittent red glows from blaster fire and the golden light of a single headlamp. The trained soldier sighed and steeled himself, cursing the cocky attitude that forced his back against the wall. But this was nothing compared to the hell his brothers had put him through. The aim of the mercenaries was sloppy, and their formation weak. He could work with that. Crossfire plucked a single grenade from his belt, pressed in the activation trigger, and tossed it blindly down the hall. He counted out the seconds.

”Three… two… one.”

BANG!

As soon as he heard the explosion, Crossfire pivoted around his impromptu cover and fell to one knee, lifting his rifle. Using the flash of light from the explosion, Crossfire fired off two quick shots into the closest mercenaries. He tapped his vambrace quickly, switching to thermal vision. He aimed his rifle at the two glowing figures left standing. With a couple shots each, they were down before their wits were even about them. Though, the one at the rear still seemed alive and breathing, desperately trying to drag his injured form back towards the bridge. Crossfire slowly walked up and fired a single shot in the back of the merc’s head. He then turned his gaze back up towards the hallway.

”This is your last chance to beg for mercy, Hutt. If you apologize, you will hardly feel your death.”

Obadah reeked of fear as the last of his mercenaries were killed. He stared at Vorax and Torro and back towards the hallway and the armored blue figure. He briefly looked down at Vorax’s blaster in hand and pointed it towards the darkened hallway. Vorax couldn’t help but notice Obadah’s hand was shaking violently and he smiled. He knew he could possibly be next on this guy’s list after the Hutt but at this point he didn’t care. He had liberated countless slaves from the Hutts and had been a thorn in their sides for years. If this was his time to die, he could die content.

“I’d be lying if I said it was a pleasure knowing you, Obadah.” The trandoshan said with a faint toothy smile. The Hutt stared at him for a moment before deciding on a course of action Vorax knew was coming. The slug decided to turn and run, perhaps hoping whoever had slaughtered his mercenaries would kill Vorax and Torro and the remaining bridge crew and give him enough time to get away. “Typical.” Vorax hissed. Torro nodded in agreement.

The two looked at the approaching armored figure. The hands and legs of the bridge crew were still bound and Vorax had a feeling that they weren’t exactly high on the kill list. Obadah was clearly the one the figure was interested in.

The matter was over rather quickly. There was no spectacle, no further one-liners or tricks. As Obadah attempted to slither away, Crossfire simply opened fire. Several blaster bolts riddled the Hutt, before the slug slumped motionless. Crossfire's approach was measured, as he took a quick scan of the room. He did linger on the prisoners, but kept marching towards the corpse. Once there, Crossfire's motions were quick and simple. He moved the corpse around like the carcass of an animal, and cut its tongue out like he was simply taking a trophy. He secured his prize in a compartment on the side of his Jetpack, before turning finally towards the prisoners. he scanned the expressions and body language as he approached, before finally settling on Vorax. He wiped the blood coating the blade sticking out of his vambrace before quickly using it to cut free the Trandoshan's restraints. It was only then that he spoke again. ”Are you the captain of this ship?”

Vorax watched as Obadah’s tongue was taken, most likely as a trophy and let out a hiss of relief as his restraints were cut. “I am. My name is Vorax Tezar, Commander of the Silver Fangs and Bane of the Hutts. My thanks to you for killing Obadah, I only wish I could have shot him a few times myself.” He grabbed his modified blaster pistol Obadah had dropped and put it back in his holster. He motioned at his wookiee first mate. “This is my second in command, Torro.”

Crossfire nodded, his expression hidden behind his helmet. He stood rather stiff at this point, arms crossed as he appraised the situation. After a moment, he spoke up again. ”I can put some calls out to get a ship out here and lift this ship back to Mandalore, since I doubt this ship is flyable in its current condition. But you and your crew will have to deal with the… cleanup.” Crossfire motioned towards the fresh corpse of the Hutt. He then looked back towards Vorax and Torro. ”Before all of that, I'm also going to need an explanation why your ship dragged a Hutt into Mandalorian territory. I'm not ungrateful for the opportunity to put my training to use, but I am going to need details for my report.”

Vorax nodded in understanding. “We’ll space the Hutt as soon as we can. The Silver Fangs were an anti-slavery based organization operating out of Hutt space for the last year at most. We were attacked by Obadah the Hutt as we were preparing to leave Hutt space, we lost most of our space forces and most of our personnel while trying to escape.”

Vorax pointed at Obadah’s corpse. “What we didn’t know was that Obadah had managed to board the ship before we went into hyperspace. He used slicers to take control of certain systems and he and his mercenaries managed to knock us out with stun grenades and that’s when you came in. We were heading to Mandalorian space since it’s well known you and your people don’t care for Hutts.” The trandoshan paused for a moment. “Pretty much every galactic faction we know of considers us pirates but we are not. Everyone in the Silver Fangs is expected to pull their weight but in return they are protected and fed until they are able to find a place to call their home. Four ships full of civilians were sent ahead into your space earlier so they would be safe until the battle was over. If you want, I can try to get in contact with them and inform them the danger is over.”

Crossfire once again paused to consider this information. The mention of being pirates caused him to lower his hands to rest on the two DC-17s Pistols on his belt. After a moment of reflection, Crossfire simply shook his head. ”The rest of your crew can clean up. You can come with me and make some calls to who you need to. I'll contact my CO and report that the situation is handled.” He turned on his heels, and began walking towards the dark hallway, reaching up to his helmet to turn on a small headlamp. They had a bit of a hike to make it back to the airlock.

Vorax turned and instructed Torro and the remaining crew members to get a cargo loader and space Obadah’s corpse. He turned and followed after Crossfire. He was hoping he would be able to get in communication with the refugee ships. He knew it would take a while to repair the Guiding Light and get in contact with his remaining forces. He didn’t bother Crossfire with pointless questions or small talk but he was interested in learning more about Mandalorian culture.

Crossfire remained silent on the way back, moving with purpose in each step. Once they reached the airlock, he quickly tapped a button on his vambrace. The hatch between the ships opened, and the Mandalorian was through before it was finished opening. He motioned for Vorax to follow as he climbed a ramp on the left of the rear hold, moving swiftly up towards the cockpit. He took the pilot’s seat, tapping a few buttons on his controls. As the ship’s systems roared back to life, he plucked a spare headset that was gathering dust on its mount and plugged it into the co-pilot’s console, holding it out to Vorax as he finished bringing the ship back online. [color=0aeef]”I only have it set up for audio… if your ships are in Mandalorian space, you should be able to reach them. I’m going to step into the command room, make a call to my Captain and report in.”[/color] He stood back up and began to walk towards the exit of the cockpit, pausing momentarily in the doorway. ”Don’t mark up my console, while you’re at it. I just had it polished.” He opened the door into the command room, stepped through, and closed it behind him.

Vorax nodded his understanding and began to input a series of commands. For a few moments there was nothing but static, but after a few moments the static began to clear up. “-ilver fang vessel Hound’s Charge. I repeat: Please Identify yourself. Vorax smiled in relief, the non-combatants had managed to reach Mandalorian space. “This is Captain Vorax. Security authorization: Zero, Seven Beta.”

“Captain! We feared you were among the dead.

“There were a few moments I thought I was going to die.” Vorax replied with a hissing chuckle. “I need a status report on all remaining silver fang vessels.”

“All four vessels with the non-combatants are safe. We’ve managed to meet up with the other surviving combat vessels. Five in total. Most of them are pretty beat up. The Hutts did a real number on them.”

“You have new orders. All vessels are to regroup at Mandalore. From there we will decide the future of the Silver Fangs.”

“Aye Captain.”

---

The Mand’alor’s Tower stood at the center of Keldabe. It was the heart of the city, of the entire planet, and from it everything grew. A massive, ancient spire of stone and metal and glass that dwarfed everything else on the planet. A source of pride to natives and fear to outlanders. Its shadow stretched to the horizon in these moments before twilight. A seat of power for the entirety of the Mandalorian people, a symbol of their leader’s immense power.

With the coming of night, celebrations intensified. Fireworks shot off at random into the darkness, lending bright and evanescent stars to the constellations passing east to west above. Drunken revelers formed impromptu feasts and parades in congested streets. There were fights. It was Mandalore, after all. Fights for honor, fights for wagers, fights for fun.

Inside of the Mand’alor’s Tower was a different kind of fight. No blasters fired or punches thrown, at least not yet. Diplomats from around the galaxy, locked in verbal combat. They fought for influence, for mercy, for trade or for alliances. It was more vicious than any cantina brawl or battlefield melee.

The immense stone doors to the dimly lit great hall swung open, and those close to the entrance turned to see this newcomer. Instead, there was a shadow. A loping beast on all fours with a sharp and narrow head, black fur and black eyes. If it were not for the brilliant bioluminescent quills on the creature’s spine, they might not have seen it at all by the brazier’s faint light. The congregation near the door grew hushed, some knowing what the arrival of this strange form meant, others simply baffled by the beast’s appearance.

“Lady Ellia Errant, of the Corellian Hegemony,” The herald announced.

Ellia strode into the lion’s den, not with any particular grace or elegance, but with confidence. A small smile on her lips as eyes fell upon her. She looked a far cry from the others in the dark chamber, all dressed in fine clothes or polished armor. She wore an unbuttoned fur-lined parka and dark pants bearing the Correlian bloodstripe tucked into with heavy shin-high boots, a decidedly casual fit for the occasion. Her clothes were coated in fine red and white powder. Ellia’s left cheek was freshly bruised and cut, as if struck by a gauntleted hand. She looked to the herald.

"I’m no lady. Just rich. Close though, right?” Ellia said as she patted her vulpine companion’s large head. Dasri, her four-legged shadow. Before the partygoers descended upon her, Ellia felt an arm loop into hers and tug her away from the limelight, with Dasri trotting close behind.

“Where have you been?” The harsh, whispering voice belonged to Green Jedi Bren Bastra, a nephew of Lord Jaster Erelen. Her escort for tonight, or the other way around if Hegemon Novar was to be believed. Correlia’s leader had assigned her this inauspicious task personally.

"Apologies, your eminence, I was held up at Crait. Pirates.” She pointed to her bruised cheek with a grin. A lie.

“Crait?”

“Crait.”

“And why were you at Crait, pray tell?”

”Why do I go anywhere? For the sake of going.”

Bren sighed. “Is that why you’re covered in… What is that, salt?”

“Salt and rhodochrosite.”

“Salt and rhodochrosite,” he muttered in disbelief. “You couldn’t have cleaned up?”

Ellia shrugged. "Did you want me here, or did you want me cleaned up? Besides, I know you don’t care for these Mandalorians, but this,” Ellia said, sweeping a hand over her dusty outfit, "is far more interesting to them than that,” she nodded to his crisp, clean robes. Ellia knew the Mandalorians were a people of action, not words, who bore their deeds and battles proudly in the form of battle scars. Some dusty clothes weren't on the same level, but perhaps a step in the right direction, anyways.

Bren sighed. “Fine, fine. But you owe me after this, leaving me with these… People,” Bren said, almost shivering in disgust.

"Of course, I owe you one, Bren. I’ll let you buy me a drink tonight. That seems fair, no?” Ellia looked up into his face through hooded eyes. Bren paused for a moment, mind churning. She knew what he was going to say before the words came spilling out of his mouth.

“You wouldn’t catch me dead at one of these cantinas. We'll have a nightcap at my quarters. The view is quite nice, actually. This city looks beautiful once you’re high enough to not see any of these barbarians.”

Ellis giggled and hid her revulsion well. Bren wasn’t an unattractive man; quite the opposite, despite his many failings. But he was a Jedi. A particularly weak Green Jedi, but still a Jedi.

“And what will your wife say about this nightcap, Lord Bastra?” He wasn’t the lord of anything. His uncle was. But Bren always smiled when she addressed him as such.

“My wife. My wife thinks whatever I tell her, the sow,” he scoffed.

Ellia let out a laugh that didn’t sound forced in the slightest. “Well, I'll see you tonight in your room, my lord.” Another lie. She would not see him tonight. Something else would come up. She’d make sure of it. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to mingle. Believe it or not, but some of these Mandalorians actually like me.”

Ellia slid her arm out from Bren’s, giving him one last fleeting smile before striding towards a group of Mandalorians who’d been watching her anxiously, waiting to be recognized.

“Ori, Mav, I was hoping I’d see you here! I just got back from Crait; you’d love it there, whole aquatic world under the surface just waiting to be explored. They do have a bit of a pirate problem in that sector, though I don’t think that’d be a problem for you two...”



Ellia stood on the balcony like a woman come to the end of something, starbursts of fireworks coppering her dark face and a cold wind blowing out of the west. She looked out at the city below and leaned on the sweeping balcony’s ledge. Ellia took a drag from her cigarette, watching the wisps of smoke drift into the wind. Thasero Konnar, the Sunrider’s eccentric linguist, hand-rolled them himself. Inside was a concoction he refused to share. His own “special blend,” probably harvested from a dozen different systems. Whatever they contained, Ellia couldn’t get enough of them. The smoke was sweet, almost floral.

Her hands were shaking, and not from the cold. She could still feel her bruised palms pressed around the metal bars, the steel biting into her face. It was as though she’d be turned into some beast, caged and left to tear itself apart. And Ellia had. Just a taste of what she deserved, what she felt coming around the bend in every waking moment.

Ellia braced herself against the stone railing as if to steady herself or to slow the world that was rushing around her. She watched as rockets exploded into ephemeral blossoms of light and sound below. They started to taper off, preparing for a grand finale. She watched speeders pass by. Ellia took another drag of her cigarette.

She reached down and idly stroked Dasri’s soft head, and the four dark eyes looked into her face in response. Ellia saw in the strange vulpine being what she did not possess within herself. Honesty. Dasri wore no mask. He told no lies. His feelings and desires were shown plainly on the luminous quills that lined his back. Dasri allowed himself to feel everything fully. Ardenthearted. She envied this.

Ellia knew she'd have to go back in soon, or they’d come looking for her. Despite being Corellian, she was a great favorite among some of the Mandalorians and the other diplomats. Perhaps because she wasn’t a diplomat, something novel among their circles. The star power helped too, she theorized. For maybe the first time in her life though, Ellia wanted to be alone.

---

---

Kada had been mere seconds away kicking her Uncle from the brazen flirt he fired off as they entered the shop, yet stopped herself as the noticed the Twi'lek's slight blush. Oh, she likes it. The Togruta thought to herself as a thought flickered across her mind for a brief moment, but was quickly quelled as she forced it to not even show a hint on her expression. She did, however, play-up a devious grin as the Twi'lek approached them. "Uncle, I'm starting to understand why you talked about her the whole way here~" The Togruta teased, ensuring her voice was just loud enough to carry to the approaching woman. The comment, of course, causing Artak to shoot her a look and his own cheeks to color a bit themselves. "Ah, ignore the runt's comment, I merely sold your incredible work as a mechanic to her... and maybe a little about how you looked good doing it." The man said quickly, caught slightly off-guard by how his niece had so easily jumped in to tease him. Yet still, the clone wasn't safe. "You also mentioned taking her dinner as a tip for her work." Kada lied, but knew she put the man on the spot. If her read on the Twi'lek was anything close to accurate, the Togruta was willing to wager it'd work in Artak's favor anyways.

As Alanna finally stopped her approach before them, Kada gave a friendly little wave. "Ah, he was just bringing me over." Kada said to the Twi'lek, slightly annoyed that the woman had seemed to miss her previous request. Still, she didn't let the expression show as she continued to speak. "IG here has damage to his right wrist actuator, I believe. I... might've hit him a few too many times when he was teaching me how to defend himself." The Togruta admitted with a bashful expression being played upon her features, before continuing. "I'd fix him myself, but I don't have the proper parts. Nor the time with my schedule today. I was hoping you might have the part and be able to help?" Kada asked softly as she looked up towards Alanna with a pleading look on her features.

"Query: Why maintain an antiquated model? Recommendation: Upgrade to something more effective."

As IG's deadpan voice broke the silence, its question directed towards Alanna while its gaze stared openly at Sable; Kada stood there with an expression that could only be described as utter shock and horror upon her features. IG did not typically act out or speak in such a disrespectful manner, not towards strangers or when they were out. Kada stared between the two droids, uncertain of what model the other unit happened to be or why it had seemed to bother her companion so much. This time, however, the Togruta did kick. Her boot glancing off the Magna's leg enough to cause a clang but avoid causing harm to the young popstar. "IG!?! What was that about?" She demanded of her droid, before turning towards Alanna and speaking in a rather pointed tone. "Maybe you need to look at this one's behavior controls as well." She said, before letting out a little sigh.

"Sorry about him, I don't know what caused the outburst."

For her part, Kada was already staring down the Magna Droid again. Seemingly taking him apart in her mind and trying to understand the cause of his sudden outburst. Had he truly taken that much offense to the other unit's joke as it had entered? Was there some kind of programmed distaste between whatever model that other droid happened to be and the Magna Droids? Kada wore a slight frown as the thought that there might be something off with her friend's strange behavior sat heavy in her mind, yet knew that there wasn't much she could do about it right now. "If Miss Alanna decides to still help us, IG, you better behave. I do still remember how to activate your mute function." Kada threatened the droid, though both she and IG knew it to be a hollow threat meant more to express her frustration.

"I'd have muted him already."

Then Kada was wheeling back towards Alanna once again, but not before shooting a slight glare her Uncle's way for his comment. Then studying Alanna's face carefully to see if the Twi'lek was irritated at all by IG's outburst. Kada's lekku twitched slightly, a subtle movement that was really only understood by other species with similar features. A gesture to express her apology earlier for IG's outburst had been genuine. She flashed a little smile towards Alanna before speaking up again. She knew some owners were very overprotective of their droids, so Kada wanted to try to smooth over the incident in hopes she wouldn't get more fees tacked on.

"Can you fix him?" She asked softly.

In one hand, Rae held a datapad. Still pouring over the data on the TIE defender. It was a logical next step in the TIE Program, faster than a standard TIE. More heavily armoured, shielded, and weaponised. It was a flying tank. It far exceeded anything that the Separatists could throw at them. In her other hand was some form of sandwich, the droid that dispensed the food had informed here it was some form of nerf dish. She could almost swear it was bantha though. She didn't look up as she heard a clatter of two trays as FO.Jahrand Linsken and FO.Marfin Jersco sat themselves down. Eleven and Twelve.

"You still studying Fussy?" Rae looked up and scowled at Linsken. The Empire didn't use traditional callsigns that came from nicknames given by other pilots. That didn't stop the pilots from coming up with nicknames for each other, and this one had followed her since her time at the academy. She still wasn't entirely sure how it had got onto the Endurance, but had learned that to fight it was to already lose.

"Just making sure I'm ready for next time."

"You sure you're ready for round three?" The voice came from over her head, as they were soon joined by Anders, more affectionately known to Two-Ten flight as 'Control'. He was their tactical officers. While the Republic in its heyday had relied on astrmomechs aboard ship, the Empire instead preferred the human element.

"I've got the highest kill count so far, don't I?" She flashed a sneer at the Lieutenant, though it didn't travel to her eyes, which instead stayed warm.

"Careful Anders, she's still in attack mode."

Putting down her holopad as Anders sat down to join them. "I wouldn't harm our Tactical Officer-"

He opened his mouth as if to speak, though before he could Rae interrupted him. "-it is way to time consuming to break another one in."

Linksken slapped him on the back as he laughed. "See. Doesn't she just make you feel appreciated?"

"Completely."

"He's also a valuable source of intel."

"Talking about that..."

Anders shrugged. "I have no more idea where we're going than any of you do." Rae waved her hand.

"I don't believe that for a second. Surely you took a peek at the hyperspace co-ordinates being relayed to the Defenders."

He reached over and tapped the top of Raes datapad.

"You need to work on your reading. The Defenders have fully fledged Nav-Computers. They don't need co-ordinates relayed to them."

"Boo."

Rae mulled it over. "Well. Something is going on."

Jersco nodded. "Running silent for training missions, then called away during an exercise?"

Linksken chimed in. "Not to mention that our new-toys are flying point. We're either going somewhere to make a statement, or an Imperial site."

"I'd guess a blacksite."

Rae turned to Anders and arched an eyebrow, he merely shrugged his shoulders. "If I was a betting man."

Rae mulled it over for a second before nodding. "True enough, if we were flying to combat you'd be in non-stop briefings-" Picking up on her train of thought, Anders chimed in.

"-and if we were going anywhere in public the Defenders wouldn't be flying point. Since right now they're clearly in development."

"Oh look at you two-" Jersco hadn't even finished before the daggers stared at him by two superior officers quickly shut him down.

Linksken, to his comrades rescue picked up his cup. "A toast then, to secret operations!

---

Tybren | Mandalore | Keldabe, Administrative District

_{Mentions:@Quest Abandoner}

---

Tybren gazed intently at Rask as he offered up a scant explanation of his presence on Mandalore. The warrior kept his expression and posture as carefully neutral as he could to mask the tiny worm of anxiety squirming in his gut. He was no closer to determining his old comrade's intentions, and, like so many times before, was painfully aware of how close he could be playing this to his own demise. An awkward reunion on the street corner or a quick, brutal shootout - the two options now balanced on a vibroblade's edge, and failure to call the right cards here could potentially bring negative consequences not just to Tybren, but to whomever in the city the gunman was out to get. His mind flickered quickly to the young Jedi sprawled on the training mat this morning: red-faced and determined, but helpless.

"Hell, I'll be honest, I forgot about the Founding. I'm planetside lookin up old friends is all, just worked out that I ended up here at the worst damn time for it."

Tybren hadn't known Rask to let things like that slip by him, but at the same time it seemed a ridiculous thing to lie about. Either senility set in at an earlier age on those high-grav worlds or the old drifter had more important things to worry about than disrupting Founding Day. Tybren eased up, just a bit - took the hand off of his beskad and placed them both squarely on his hips. It was a relief to know that Rask wasn't openly running with the Irregulars anymore, too, and it sounded like he hadn't heard from them in a long time. Still, seemed to Tybren that the only reason he decided to switch sides was the cred-well had run dry. Hopefully there was more to it than that.

"You weren't on the itinerary, but I'm happy I ran into ye."

He smiled, mouth compressed into a thin line, and nodded slightly. A cheap sentiment easily given.

"You look like you done well for yerself, Tybren. How'd a merc like yourself come into retirement? That don't happen every day. Make it big, or you got a side gig goin?"

He had to chuckle at that, smile widening a bit. No, it didn't happen every day. Not even most days. He was damn lucky to make it this far, in fact.

"Didn't quite win it all; just got out at a good time. When Mand'alor called us home, I offered my services to my people instead. Somehow I found myself promoted. Now I oversee training, smooth things over between the different moving parts of our... unusual government. Not typical jobs for an old soldier, but they can be rewarding." He patted the pommel of the beskad slowly. "No one's hired my sword in a good bit of time, now."

Tybren slowly let out the rest of a long breath that he had been holding. Much as he tried, he had never been great at reading the types of people he came across in the day-to-day. Politicians, Jedi, the like, they all seemed maddeningly inscrutable to him. Soldiers, though... mercs, outlaws... marshals. These were people he knew a little better. And though he wasn't inclined to trust Rask, there was something about him that seemed different than way back in the day. Much different. He seemed sad, or tired somehow, in a way that Tybren felt an inexplicable affinity for.

Then the drums began, and the murmur of his thoughts and the vague anxiety all dissipated gradually as the beats picked up from a scattered call-and-response to an uninterrupted canvas of sound, a perfect harmony rising into the heady air of the crowded streets. Like a man suddenly stricken by a trance Tybren half-turned away from Rask and lifted his head slightly to look into the middle distance just above the rooftops, feeling a surge of emotion grip him. It had been a long, often times confusing, sometimes painful road to get here for him, and he suspected the same for many of his kin that walked the streets around him. And yet, here they were, strong as they had ever been. As the deep baritone refrains of Vode An began to join the drumbeats from somewhere in the city, Tybren found himself quietly mouthing along. An otherworldly confidence now had him in its grip; feeling invulnerable, he took a massive risk and turned his back completely to Rask. Time to call his card. If he was wrong, this was where it would all end. But he had a good feeling it wasn't quite time yet. He bent briefly to pick up his helmet and turned back over his shoulder to regard Rask.

"Walk with me, if you've got the time. I'll have to be at the Citadel soon, but we can catch up on the way - maybe I can help you find the friends you're looking for."

With that, he lifted his helmet back over his head, exhaling a bit as the pressure seals popped into place, and turned his gaze back towards the bustling street ahead.

"Oh I am enjoying it greatly," Minah Saden smiled. "I'm no stranger to these sort of public performances, but being a guest of the Republic has been a welcome diversion." The guardian mulled over her words carefully, as though she was plotting a move in an intense game of dejarik. "So many of the ingrates I deal with have such base desires. Wealth, power, subservience, another meaningless title to plaster their names onto, but the Republic...they have higher ambitions. Ambitions I find engaging, and even admirable..."

She takes a measured sip of her glass, moving a bit closer to try and get this odd general to warm up to her. "And to think some would rather us be enemies. A shame, really. I like to see such maneuvers with more nuance. I hope, for instance, you don't consider me an enemy, do you?" She smiled up at Kzaye, taking another sip.

The bustling streets of Keldabe, had a life and energy to them that was so different from the core worlds Varina might even call less cramped or at least less dense. Though others might be baffled by that idea growing up among Coruscant and the other major core worlds where trillions lived right on top of one another places like this seemed... Peaceful even in crowds, she thought she might even convince Airus to wander the streets and window shop. Though she was hunting rare metals, gems, even just design inspiration for her crafts, Mandalorian's under the pacifist's had quiet the artistic side less of the pure practicality. Not to say it was bad more so that it was boring, like the Jedi who looked at a lightsaber as just a tool!

It was a badge of office, a weapon, a tool, a piece of your very soul and few gave it that respect but artifice of lightsaber crafting was a dying art. How many could still make an artificial crystal? Know which wood could take the heat output of a standard long term battery pack? What metal's were conducive to the force and those that were not? These thoughts roamed her mind as Varina peered in tech shop windows and stopped by merchant stalls to ask questions. Nothing had caught her eye yet... Well more called to her, empaths like her and Airus rarely cared much for the appearance of things, though Varina would admit she was more vain in that regard. She preferred the styles and designs to flow, even lacking a perception of color she could appreciate the scope of beauty in a gradient, texture, and more. Airus couldn't fathom it, no matter how many documentaries on cultural art she put him through.

Emotion's ran high everywhere, hard enough to focus but she had to, yet as she reached out with the force attempting to feel something from the emitter arrays in the merchant had left out. To see if any of them called to be added to her already overstuffed drawers and cabinets of parts, she felt something tug at her. Distress of someone in an alley not to far from her... She could also feel a boiling anger and fear... No, dread worse than fear. Pulling herself back up straight she turned weave through the crowd trusting in the force, as a second later a piercing scream filled the air as the crowd began to stampede away from her destination as she tried to push against it. She cursed and took a moment leaping upwards with a push of telekinetics for moment as she spun in the air, rolling to a land in the alley in an impressive acrobatic display. Her robe flowing around her showing the simple tunic and trousers she wore beneath.

Her hand went back for her saber, as she caught herself remembering this was not her jurisdiction, she took in the situation in an instant. A Mandalorian in full Beskar lay on the ground at worst lightly injured at best inconvenienced, she knew how a Mando would want handle this... And she had no authority here, so perhaps it was time to let criminals pay the local price. "Well, quite the commotion you stirred up..." She kept a hand hovering next to her saber for a quick draw, as she advanced towards the hapless young woman. "I'd say run... You have really stepped in it... Maybe beg for your lives?" She spoke trying to draw the two's attention as she moved herself towards Cel extending a hand towards her. "And you... Young lady why don't you and I go find somewhere to talk... Maybe see if we can get a report filled out about all this?" She decided not to betray who she was at this moment, better to just take the girl and slip back into the crowd. Maybe the goons would make it easy? She did not want to be here the Mando got up...



To Airus this might have been the first real break he'd taken in years, at his sister's behest no less. Mandalore was not his first pick for a vacation but with so many Jedi, tourists, and more having been flocking to the planet for founding day it made sense. Varina had of course wanted to drag him to markets and to visit places, packed city streets and loud noise were something he could get any day of the week in the Core. No, he wanted to explore... To visit the places of history, perhaps write something based upon the storied legends of Mandalorian's many, many wars. But before any of that it would be a good time to check in on an old friends, Alanna and Sable had been here for years. Rarely did he make the time to trek all the way to Mandalore, a surprise visit would do them some good the old droid would certainly be up for a verbal sparring match and perhaps the real kind as well, he made a good change of pace from the simulated combat.

The Magic Mechanic was certainly easier to find than he remembered, perhaps it was the intuition of force sight? Freshly pressed robes, a new blindfold, his heavy outer robe, a dull brown if his friends were to be believed with a set of black and beige underneath it. The heavy brown robe worn and ragged, an easy way to hide away traditional Jedi garments. Though he'd been confused for an outer rim farmer as many times as he had been known as a Jedi. He froze as he reached the door, already sensing the presences inside. A crowd had already gathered, perhaps it would be best to return later? Yet... Alanna might be busy or have plans for the festival, it would be rude to expect her to drop those for a surprise visitor.

So cautiously, the red haired Miralukan stepped through the threshold and into the chaos of it all with a deep breath to center himself as he tried to search out the emotions of the room. Certainly an odd mix no doubt... And power force presences to boot perhaps Alanna had begun dealing with the local Jedi? "I do hope I am not intruding... If I am I could always come back later?" He spoke tilting his head towards Alanna with a slight smile as he scanned his head back and forth. Though obviously it meant little with the lack of visible sight as he gave a polite bow towards those assembled. For those unaware of the species and their unique gifts it looked as if the blindman had just wandered in off the street and tried to look them over. To Airus he now had a clear view of all them assembled though as far as he could tell none of them gave him pause to speak openly.

@Sep @Queen Arya @apollosarcher



Considering it was supposed to be a public holiday, it was certainly busier than Sable had been expecting it to be when he walked in. He still had no idea about the Tusken fiddling with the Speeder bike in the back but figured that his Master wouldn't let him?… she?... it, yeah ,it, that was good enough until Sable learned otherwise. Master wouldn't let it do work in the shop if she wasn't at least somewhat clued in on what it wanted.

The Togruta actually seemed familiar to the droid, apart from being accompanied by his Master's most persistent suitor, and a quick run of facial recognition showed him why. If his database was right, which it usually was, she was some sort of famous PopStar. Not that Sable had heard any of her music and given the flustered expression on his Master's face she was more focused on Artaks flirting than on whatever the Togrutas problem was.

Sable turned to Rorwoorr and gestured for the Wookie to follow him deeper into the shop. Mostly to get away from the dumb IG droid and its stupid comments, yeah Sable would prove he was the better droid by not starting a fight in the shop again. Master would certainly reward him for that ”Statement: B-1s you say, Hmmmm. Sable pondered for a moment. On one hand their parts were cheap and readily available across the galaxy. On the other hand he knew how much Master hated working on them.

He lifted the reservations book out from under the counter he was behind and flipped to a page with a few spaces on it. ”Information: Parts notwithstanding, you'd normally be looking at roughly 250 credits per droid for labour. But since you're a repeat customer we can do it at 200 per droid instead. As for the cost of any parts that may need replacing, we would go over any additional charges when you came to collect. Though you would be notified about the parts and their costs before any work actually took place. If my Master has kept the book up to date then you can bring the units down today, but it would be roughly a week or so before they would be ready to collect.”

Sable looked up from the reservation book at the Wookie before him to gauge if he had taken in all the information that Sable was throwing at him. ”Query: Any questions?”



Alanna finished approaching Artak and the Togruta with a gentle smile on her face. She wasn't completely deaf and had definitely heard the Togruta say that Artak wanted to take her to dinner. Which wasn't a surprise since he was nothing if not persistent in his attempts. ”Thank you Artak, you're always such a charmer.” she shoots him a flirty wink before turning her attention back to the Togruta.

The comment made by the IG droid didn't go completely over her head, it was of course referring to Sable who seemed to have disappeared deeper into the shop with Rorwoorr. If Alanna was anyone else she'd have taken offence to the idea that Sable was antiqued. She'd spent most of her life keeping him in good condition and he could certainly scrap this poor imitation at what Sable excelled at. But still, these were customers and she'd always do her best to maintain her professionalism.

Could she fix him? Pah. Was a Hutt fat and slimy?

”Hmmm, wrist actuator you say? Well these IG models can get all sorts of little gremlins sometimes. Alanna holds out her hand and the IG unit places its arm into her grasp. Its arm hung loosely as she moved it around to inspect the wrist section and after a few seconds a little rattle caught her attention. ”Think I've figured out the problem.” Alanna reached for her tool belt and pulled out a small screwdriver and opened the casing of the IGs arm as easily as one would open a drinks can. ”Here's the issue.” she pulls a fuse out of the IGs arm which looks quite badly battered. ”Cheap parts like this just break too easily under the littlest amounts of force. Hold-over from Holowan making droids for the Separatists. Everything is as cheap and mass-produced as possible. But luckily I have a few spares somewhere, one moment.”

Alanna disappears behind a droid rack for a minute or so before coming back with a replacement fuse and then carefully places it into the empty socket inside of the IGs arm. ”There we go, if you try it now your arm shouldn't have any issues now. She turns from the IG to Artak and his guest. ”Should be good to go now and that new fuse should stand up to punishment a bit longer than the cheap original one did. And if Artak brings me some nice flowers I won't even charge you for it.” she gives him another wink and a smile.

As she finished with the IG unit another new person entered the store. On a supposed public holiday it was genuinely busier than it had been in the last week. She turned to face the new customer who said something she hadn't quite heard but she was happily surprised to see a familiar set of bandages staring back at her. ”Airus!” she practically squealed before running at her friend and wrapping him in a big hug. ”I've missed you so much, what are you doing here?”

Keldabe Mandalore
1 mile from the Mandalore Tower
@apollosarcher

Cel looked up when she saw out of the corner of her eye someone vaulting over the fleeing mob. A new person, she had to make a quick decision about who this person was and what chaos she may bring into this. Her eyes scanned her as she caught the Mandalorian slowly getting up, her eyes watched the woman's hand hover over her side, and in a faint moment, she saw it as the woman landed. A lightsaber, that means this is.... a Jedi, at least there was an 80% chance of it with the way she moved.

The people around her were backing up and began to try and run from the situation they had just caused as they saw the Mandalorian fully standing up. It was no use the Mandalorian put his hand to the side of his helmet as if to signal he was talking to someone and within a moment the only exit for these thugs was cut off by death watch members with blasters fully drawn. Damn it all, it's probably more than likely a 95% chance because no one else would be stupid enough to get involved in death watch business Cel thought to herself before she took the woman's hand.

She had just played a dangerous game, a game of chance, but it was her best chance and it looked like it had paid off. The Mandalorian who was shot down walked slowly and without a word, before he nodded to Cel and walked past her. Cel would look back as she made sure this lady couldn't see her as the man who fired a blaster bolt was trying to plead his case pointing at Cel. Cel would give him a wink before turning back to the woman who saved her. "Thank you so much miss, I really can't say how much you've helped me here" "I had it handled but this just gives me a good reason to get out of here.

Cel would follow her out of the Alleyway before dusting herself off. "So sorry about that miss, thank you for helping me there. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it there, I sure got lucky that that Death Watch guy was flying over the second he missed his shot!" She smiled as she scratched the back of her head.

"Oh you wanted me to fill out a form! she'd say as she pulled out of her bag a small organizer and pulled out a folder labeled 'Form 35-B' "Okay, you wanted me to fill out the form for a public incident? What about the one for the injury of a Mandalorian, I also have form 876-I9 but if you want me to fill out the form for you and me, and the incident, we will have to go back to the tower to get ahold of the form 752-9DL, as I am all out of that form." She smiled at the woman before making a small gasp and straightening out of her red dress, "I'm so sorry, I never introduced myself. I am Cel O'Royal. Supervisor, and next head of transportation here on Keldabe." She would stick her hand out hoping for a handshake as her brain went a thousand miles a minute.

I could also fill out form 45W but that form is way too easy, besides, most Jedi are not brave enough for politics. Her eyes went up and down Varina analyzing her each way that she could, from how she walked to the ease of movement of her feet.

"I suppose everything has its positives and negatives in this galaxy of ours." She certainly is enjoying herself, and he would agree with her, he thought as she talked. He did not become the leader of the Wraiths out of glory or wanting power. But because the Wraiths were his family and with his position as its general. He does not plan on wasting what he has. Plus, he hates people who do not have a spine, which some people in the Confederacy's military clearly did not have.

Every nation has its highs and lows, including the people in it and running them. I can certainly say that the Republic has its perks and its people, and..." He paused as if he was rethinking what he was about to say. "But I feel like the people of the Republic do and would not like me for obvious reasons regardless of my character." He sighed quietly and briefly turned to look around to see other people before turning back to Minah.

"Though, me personally... I think I would rather hate the nation than its people. Unless we are talking about the Hutts, in which case screw them." Kzaye felt like letting up a bit after saying that, but he was not sure about an Imperial he did not know. But he was curious to see where this conversation will go. "So I suppose I can say you are not my enemy for now, but who knows what the future brings. Though having a diplomat as an enemy would be a new one for me, however, not many carry what I see you have."

”If it’s all the same, I think I’m going to have a shower and get a few things done before I head back out.” Shaking Talnel’s hand, Elam took his leave. The Argent attack hadn’t been that taxing, but if he was going to be in a place as crowded as the Founding Day feast was, he preferred to be at his best, and the ‘interruption’ they’d caused had stopped him from a couple of minor things he’d planned on doing before the feast.
-
Now at the Tower, he filtered through the crowds, taking in the atmosphere, and here and there, greeting folks that he knew; though given the masses, those were few and far between. ”ELAM EL-RUD!” The voice bellowing his name cut across the din, as everyone’s eyes cut to the source of the noise. Said source was an Iridonian in Green Jedi robes, and built on a scale that reminded Elam rather forcefully of the Mandalor himself. Wading through the crowd to Elam, the Jedi loomed over him. “Six hours...you trapped us in that lift for six hours!” There were only a few beings in the galaxy that could intimidate Elam, and this fellow wasn’t one of them. ”Really?” He replied with a smirk. ”Then you should really get your credits back for the slicer droid of yours; I figured you’d be out of there in like two at most.”

The Iridonian took a deep breath, but continued to glare at Elam. “Just tell me why…why are credits so important to you that you’d help a thief like that escape? How much did she pay you?” Inside his helmet Elam blinked in surprise. ”Help her?” He chuckled, before breaking into outright laughter. ”Mancri Tvi my friend…I sabotaged and trapped you to stop you from taking my bounty!” Mancri stopped glowering and blinked in surprise. ”Aceshaa Heros was a woman of enough skill and audacity to break into your Order’s archives on Corellia and steal a whole host of things, and you do don’t think she’s made powerful and wealthy enemies elsewhere?” “I…I hadn’t considered that.” ”Of course you didn’t…but tell you what; let’s take our grievances to the exhibition ring and settle this, best two out of three…Hell, beat me and I’ll give you the location of her hideout. I managed to trap and bag her there, but was on a tight schedule so I didn’t look about. Whatever she stole might still be there.”

Elam waved to a large clear space in the center of the hall, where a member of the local law enforcement kept watch. Mancri hesitated for a moment before nodding, and the both of them walked over to the official. ”Greeting Gentlemen,” The officer said, looking them over. ”Sabers?” There was a tinge of amusement in her voice. ”Please,” Elam replied. ”A best of three match. Elam El-Rud and Mancri” The officer nodded, keying information into the comp on her wrist; at her feet a large case hissed open. ”Alright, please deposit any lethal implements into the case, they’ll be returned to you at the end. The arena rules are simple; anything goes but if I or any other official calls a halt you do so immediately. Aside from the non-lethals, no weapons are permitted as is the use of lethal Force powers. Failure to comply will result in immediate consequences, clear?” Both Elam and Mancri acknowledged the rules and stowed their weapons, before the officer handed them each a training sabre.

Training sabres in hand they both entered the small arena, Elam taking the far side; as soon as he reached his position and turned to face his opponent a ray shield activated and a countdown timer began.

”3”

”2”

”1”

”BEGIN!”

They rushed each other in a blink, meeting in the centre, their sabres crackling as the blades clashed. Mancri pressed the attack, trying to use his greater height and reach to force Elam on the defensive; unfortunately for him, Elam expected that. Meeting the strike with a high parry, he took a risk and cut inside the Jedi’s reach, rolling his upper body under the attack and with the tip of his own blade, caught Mancri across the ribs. The big Jedi yelped and they both broke and headed back to their starting positions; the first round lasted no more than five seconds.

”Point: Elam El-Rud!”

Mancri took a moment to massage where he’d been hit, before nodding to the official. Elam did the same and they saluted each other as the countdown began again. Elam pushed the attack this time, trying to overwhelm Mancri with a flurry of rapid thrusts and cuts. In a way Elam was handicapping himself for these fights, as he’d yet to activate any of his cybernetics, instead just relying on the enhancements provided by his connection to the Force…much like his opponent. Too many strove to win at all costs, no matter the contest, but without challenge stagnation was sure to follow.

Mancri managed to feint one of his strikes and counter with one that forced Elam to leap clear; landing he made to rush again, only for at the last moment to feel a powerful Push slam into his leading leg. Off balance for an instant, he twisted to compensate and in doing so, left an opening that Mancri capitalised on. In a flash, the Jedi’s blade sparked off of his helmet and they broke apart once more.

”Point: Mancri Tvi!”

Deactivating his own blade for a moment, Elam removed his helmet and inspected it. There was a slight discolouration above the left temple, but it looked like something that could simply be wiped off. Smiling, he tossed the helmet to the side. ”Nicely played Mancri, you’re more sneaky than I gave you credit for!” Mancri smiled back and raised his sabre. “If you ever get tired of grubbing for credits and actually want to do something worthwhile with your time you should join us.” He replied. ”But then I’d have to dress like…that...”. Reigniting and raising his sabre once more, they then both acknowledged the official once more and the final round started.

Both made to meet in the centre once more, Mancri coming in with a powerful overhand strike, while Elam moved in for a hard block. Meeting in a high clash they vied for the dominated position; just as Mancri began to force things, using his greater size to make Elam either back down or back off, Elam did the unthinkable, he deactivated his weapon. Caught off guard, Mancri stumbled a moment and fell forward, allowing Elam to sidestep and claim the winning blow across Mancri’s back.

”Point and match: Elam El-Rud!”

Mancri wheeled about, furious. “That was an under-handed and illegal move.” His sabre still blazing, the official stepped forward, one hand raised while the other rested on the grip of her blaster. ”It was a single strike with a non-lethal weapon sir; the match is concluded. Please deactivate and return your lightsabre.” Mancri still bristled, but he complied, glowering once more at Elam. ”It’s a move that’s only illegal in your world.” Elam replied, returning his own borrowed weapon. ”I was taught there is no such thing as an ‘under-handed’ technique. In the wider galaxy liming yourself in such a way is a good way to get yourself killed by someone who doesn’t think like you do”

As the ray shield came down and they reclaimed their gear, Elam keyed into his wrist comp; after a moment Mancri’s chimed. ”Here, the coordinates…I just wanted to see how you’d do.” Patting him one the shoulder, Elam left the stunned Jedi to his thoughts while he moved deeper into the feast hall, while all around those that’d gathered for the rather short show once again dispersed.

Vorax
Mandalore
Keldabe City

Vorax took a sip from his drink and looked over what remained of the Silver Fangs commanders. He wasn't surprised that the majority of them were understandably angry over having to leave Hutt space. Many of them had been slaves of the Hutts before Vorax had managed to liberate them and they were still hungry for blood against their former owners. The commanders were trying to keep from disturbing the other patrons with their discussion but the noise level was rising considerably. The captain of the Hound's Charge, a one armed Weequay named Xoren took charge of the discussion by slamming his remaining hand on the table to get everyone's attention.

"If everyone could please quiet down." The Weequay said politely as the noise level at the table began to go back down. Xoren was usually quiet but his skills as a tactician were nearly unparalleled and had made him an essential part of planning raids. Not to mention he was as respected as Vorax was among the crews, when he spoke, everyone listened. Vorax smiled a toothy smile at the Weequay as thanks and began to speak once he could be heard by everyone. "Friends, I ask you to put aside your thirst for blood long enough for us to decide on the future of the Silver Fangs.. Our numbers are at a fraction of what they once were. Our ships are badly damaged, I'm not even sure when the Guiding Light will be functional again and the rest of our vessels are in no shape for a fight. But most importantly, we have lost many of our comrades in arms, our friends and for some of us...our family. It is imperative we don't let our thirst for revenge impair our judgement. No good will come from returning to Hutt space in a blind rage."

The Trandoshan leaned forward over the table. "I have a proposal for all of you. During our time in Hutt space we managed to gather quite a bit of data from our raids, not just on the Hutts but on certain large pirate groups, Hutt mercenaries, even data on the Empire and the CIS." Xoren scowled for a moment as he recalled the raid that had allowed them to get the CIS data. "Captain, we lost good men in that fight, I hope you aren't suggesting giving them the data as a sign of our goodwill. We need credits and honestly, a new mechanical arm is the first thing on my list when I have enough." Vorax shook his head. "I'm actually suggesting we ally with the Republic of Mandalore."

The outburst of shock and confusion from the table drew a few eyes from the other patrons before Xoren slammed his hand down on the table a few times to silence the outburst. Vorax looked each of his remaining commanders. "Think about it, The Republic of Mandalore has already beaten the Hutts back once before and the Hutts are frightened enough not to screw with them. We have the opportunity to align with a major power that despises the Hutts as much as we do. I suggest we offer the data we gathered in exchange for being allowed to join up with the Mandalorians.

Torro, who was staying uncharacteristically silent finally spoke. "Captain, I think it's a good idea but I feel I need to ask: are you the one making this decision? As I recall, when we joined up you said each commander would have a say. Vorax shook his head. "Of course not, my friends. We'll take a vote and see what you all think. So what say you, my friends? Who is for and who is against?"

Each of the remaining commanders looked at one another and each of them raised their hands in a show of support for Vorax's plan."

"Excellent." Vorax smiled a toothy smile to his commanders. "Now we just need to find someone in charge." He said with a hissing chuckle.