The Middleman (Ask/Invite)

[JM76]

Abregado-rae

Remiel Vaern awoke from his slumber with a start; the deactivation signal blared as his ship exited hyperspace. His personal starfighter, Indignation, had been bought on a ten thousand credit loan from Vortha the Hutt, a criminal who had only recently begun to expand his holdings on Ryloth. Indignation was an experimental prototype, able to travel in hyperspace for very short distances in exchange for a bulkier exterior compared to most starfighters. However, because it came equipped with a hyperdrive, the ship lacked a working navigational and targeting system, making travel tedious and combat impossible. However, Remiel hadn’t flown the Indignation here to fight; he came here on a transportation mission.

In an effort of good will and an attempt to pay off his loan, Remiel had offered to take part in a slaving mission for Vortha. The mission itself should be rather easy, or so Remiel had been told. He simply had to meet with Vortha’s lieutenant, Arbos, and escort the dozen or so slaves to Indignation and bring them to Coruscant to sell on the planet’s Black Market.

The mission was exceedingly simple and could have been completed effortlessly by almost anyone. The only problem was, Remiel had a price on his head. He had joined The Skeleton Guard rather recently, though he had been assigned the task of Slave Master. Before he was able to do anything of explicit notoriety, he and the rest of The Skeleton Guard had been marked with a five thousand credit bounty as ‘Alsakan sympathizers and co-conspirators’. This made his task much more difficult because he could be have been followed by anyone – whether they be bounty hunters, mercenaries, rival faction underlings, or Republic soldiers – looking for ‘easy’ credits.

Landing his ship in docking bay one thousand thirty-eight, Remiel paid the forty credit docking fee and headed out into the Capital City. Though it was risky, the Miraluka knew that if he didn’t get help, the escort mission would be much too difficult. Besides, there was safety in numbers, something Remiel didn’t have the benefit of having; the rest of The Skeleton Guard and Alsakans were spread thin across the galaxy, the former especially trying to avoid Republic detection. He had ignored a stern order from Commander Venator by traveling alone, and he expected to be reprimanded when he returned to Trandosha, but he needed these credits.

Entering the closest cantina, the “Mariner’s End”, Remiel quickly strode inside, closing the door behind him. The alcohol from the drinks and the blood from the frequent barfights filled the air with an unpleasant odor, and Remiel gagged as he approached the western end of the cantina. Though he knew swaggering into a random cantina and giving a message to a barkeep wasn’t exactly the best way to keep a low profile agenda, he decided there was no other way to get help around here.

“Bartender!” Remiel called. The barkeep, a grisly-looking Human male probably in his late forties, approached Remiel as quickly as he could.

The Miraluka motioned for the barkeep to come within whispering distance before speaking. “Now listen,” began Remiel, speaking quietly, “I want you to spread this message to every cantina and every guildhouse in the city; the message must be perfect and shan’t be misquoted, so listen carefully.”

“I’m listening,” muttered the bartender.

“All bored explorers, skilled adventurers, veteran warriors, and common criminals: if you are looking for some easy credits, come to the fountain in the town square of Capital City at high noon in three days time; I have a mission that you can join me in, if you don’t mind getting your hands dirty. From, Cratus Irvin, merchant and trader.” finishing his message, he asked the bartender to repeat it several times to ensure that he had memorized it wholly and faultlessly.

Assured that his message would spread around the city like wildfire – it was, after all, one of the seediest cities in the Core Worlds – Remiel left the “Mariner’s End” satisfied and unworried. If there were Republic or bounty hunter forces tracking him, he hoped using an alias would make him harder to pursue. For now, Remiel headed to a nearby hotel to spend the next few days in relative peace and quiet. He would return to the fountain in three days time.

 

[Storm]

Sunlight poured down upon Abregado-rae, the planet chosen especially by Remiel Vaern to conduct the business he'd organised to take place, earning credits on behalf of The Skeleton Guard. Venator had received his orders from above not to antagonise the Republic whilst being a member of the Alsakan Union, but this was different; this was one of the cases where the Alsakan Union and The Skeleton Guard was totally different. Business and war, merged yet separate, and this was one of the cases where they weren't intertwined. It was important to show that The Skeleton Guard weren't privateers for the Alsakans, despite what many thought. The rumours that tended to perpetuate the Republic saying to the contrary were mere propaganda.

The amount of plans set in the pipeline for The Skeleton Guard were mounting up, meaning a whole load of profit in the future despite the loss of stealing from the Republic. The ceasefire was bad for business, but the war? A time of prosperity for The Skeleton Guard. As Venator took the seat he'd assigned himself in the cantina, to watch and preside over the goings on, he surveyed those who he thought likely to join in on Remiel's mission. Although Venator would help, this was a test of what Remiel could do, and whether he was an asset in his own right, or just extra muscle, handy on a mission. Remiel's career had reached a bonus in being granted this mission, and could soar even higher if it went well. Pleasing Venator was a hard enough task, but, when pleased, credits tended to flow.

Remiel had already organised the mission, showing promise in itself, however it remained to be seen how he would react when all the action occurred, when the Republic, as they were sure to do, would turn up and attempt to put a hold on the activities and arrest The Skeleton Guard. A bounty wasn't to be sniffed at, but whilst The Skeleton Guard made any prospective hunters of the bounty too scared to try, all was well. As Remiel's voice cried out over the cantina, announcing the mission and commanding those interested to meet by the fountain, Venator smiled. The fountain was rigged, and would stop any unwanted guests from trying anything. Three days time, however, wasn't now, and now was what needed watching. Surveying who looked interested and staking them out could be critical.

 

[Rex Imperator]

The blue-green canals of Abregado-rae’s Capitol glowed under the high sun. They weaved a net of watery lifelines across the smuggler’s city, like veins pumping unsavoury toxins around the heart of a living being – the poisons here being of the more humanoid variety; off-worlders of all shapes and sizes that came to Abregado with half-hatched schemes in mind. All things considered, though, they were a pleasure to look at, almost still enough for dust to settle until disturbed by the rowing of the city’s ferry-traffic. Looking out across the canals made life on Abregado-rae seem slow and easy. The reality was far from it – the reality was hard, fast, and if not given the respect it deserved, quite deadly for those unwary souls that underestimated the backward planet. Abregado-rae had fangs; patient, cunning fangs that could devour a man whole, leaving nothing but rumours and sordid jokes lingering in his wake.

Not all portions of Abregado’s watery jewel were as busy or as beautiful as others, though. Some looked very much the part of a cutthroat’s haven – a little further south of the more prominent ship-holds, where cash ran significantly drier, there were alleys of half-submerged architecture that lead only into little dilapidated poverty-pockets, like tiny pimples on the otherwise healthy face of the city.

Celedam stood upon the shattered crescent of a disused bridge, swaying dangerously close to the jagged precipice of the structure. After years of disrepair it had finally caved, leaving only one half standing like a long, slender river-creature raising it’s head from the bluish murk, the rest of the bridge sitting in a crumbling pile that sunk just a little deeper every year. It was one of his mother’s favourite spots – the architecture overhead was tall and obstructive, arching over to blot out all but the finest threads of sunlight. There was little in the way of inhabitants, most of them having departed the crumbling district to beg for the pity of rich foreigners in other, brighter plots of the city. The place possessed a sombre, melancholic silence, as if something sacred and irreplaceable had died on its streets. The soul of the neighbourhood, maybe.

The boy stared down at his reflection as it curved and stretched with the water. That was him; twisting and turning to suit every whim of the woman chatting at the base of the bridge. Watching it too long made him feel dizzy, as if his brain and stomach were being churned in the same way that his water-bound doppelganger’s was. He didn’t feel like looking away, though.

“…You’re a real life-saver, O-Len, really…” He heard his mother chuckle at the comment. Her partner in conversation was an aging bluey-skin (that’s a Rodian, to you and me) who didn’t quite realise how cunning she really was. “I thought I’d have to get down an' beg before that mound of flesh…”

“It could’ve happened to anyone, my friend. I’m more surprised by how finicky Vortha is – he’d really make such a fuss over one slave?”

She was lying through her teeth. Celedam barely understood his ‘mother’, but he could tell when she was lying to other people. Unfortunately, however, it was a little harder for him to discern when she was lying to him, a fact that had lead Celedam to many disappointments.

“Yeah… well, I’m guessing he just likes to see his goons squeal. Anyway…” Celedam felt the bluey look straight at his pale back. It made him want to cringe. “I’m eternally thankful an' all, and there’s really no problem with the condition of the flesh as long as they’re on-quota, but… what’s wrong with him? He’s done nothing but stare at the water since we got here…”

“Who knows?” came the reply. Another straight-faced lie. “His friends probably got ground down for meat or something…”

“Heh, probably. Well, I’ll get him trussed up with the others. Any luck an’ I’ll be able to pay you back after this.”

The bluey wasn’t the same as him. He couldn’t feel the thick miasma of dark satisfaction that bloomed from his mother at those words. She was enjoying this.

“Believe me, my friend, you’ve done enough.”

She chuckled again. That sound never failed to make Celedam nervous.

 

[Rev]

Rev Ultor, Jedi Guardian, sent from the Jedi Order to the smuggler world of Abregado-rae by the Republic for a simple reason; observation. With a hiss of the vacuum seal on the transport shuttle's heavy durasteel doorway the Jedi Knight stepped out to look at the "smuggler planet." Taking in a deep breath the smell of 'rot' nearly caused him to gag. It still was pleasureable compared to some planets he had been on, Nar Shadaa's refugee sector to name one.

"Sergeant, you may do as you see fit, I'll com you when I am on my return... hopefully this isn't as bad as the Republic and Order made this out to be."

"We can only hope for as much Master Jedi. I'll be on the ship or at the Cantina... wont take long for me to get back."

"Be ready for anything Cort'ya, I sense... something different about this planet. There is much more to it than the Council had instructed me of."

"I'm sure it's nothing Rev, should be on your way, dont want to breath in these fumes for too long."

"You're right on that one, I'll com you if anything comes up, or if I get any new information."

"May the Force be with you."

Sergeant Cort'ya gave Rev a subtle bow before hitting the loading ramp seal that would close behind the Jedi. Moving back to his pilot seat he reclined back and closed his eyes, ready for a nap.

Pulling the dark brown hood over his head and tucking his hands into either sleeve of the cloak Rev Ultor moved through the starport. All the Republic would tell him is that the criminal activity was growing at a heightened pace in this sector, Abregado-rae specifically. The Jedi Order however gave him information on a certain syndicate, "The Skeleton Guard." His mission was to simply observe anything noteable on the group, or any other organizations that had made a base of operations on the planet. As usual, there was no better place to look than the Cantina...

 

[JM76]

After a while of scouring the city, Remiel had determined the safest and quickest route from the warehouses that Arbos and the slaves to the Indignation. The mission would have to be quick and discreet, if there were any mistakes, Remiel might not be living long enough to learn the consequences. Making sure his slugpistol was still concealed inside his long, brown traveler's coat, Remiel headed from the central bridge of the Capital City and entered the cantina yet again.

Glancing around the cantina, Remiel made sure there were no Republic or Abregado-rae security forces. Though Remiel would've been glad to check for Jedi as well, the Jedi were often wary in their movements and passed as commoners and travelers, only revealing themselves when their lightsabers flashed to life. Though his Force-empowered vision aided him in identifying individuals by their Force-sensitivity, there were many non-Jedi sentients who had a good amount of Force power.

Pulling up a stool, Remiel glanced around again. There were a fair amount of seedy individuals conversing and drinking, blissfully ignorant and enjoying themselves a good deal. The barkeep had passed along his agenda; many of the patrons knew that Remiel was offering a job for those that didn't mind bending the rules. Even those who had recently entered the cantina were quickly informed of the Miraluka offering a criminal mission, and all eyes were on Remiel, waiting for him to make a move.

"Alright. Everyone who wants to help me with a slave transport mission, follow me. Meet me near the fountain," Remiel finally spoke to the bar patrons. Taking the alcohol he ordered and placing several credits on the table - thus paying for the drink - he headed out of the cantina and toward the fountain, waiting to see who would follow.