Prologue (Invite)

[Ols]

The floor was cold against his face. Hard metal. His head was throbbing. Had he hit it on the floor and been knocked out? He felt like he was lying in a puddle, maybe he had slipped. Awkwardly he slid his arm up to rub his head. His hair was damp. And he was cold. He was wearing nothing, lying on the cold metal floor. He risked cracking his eyes open, ready to slam them shut if it was bright. There was something familiar about cold metal floors and bright lights, but he could not quite put his finger on it.

He cracked his eyelids. It was not bright, the room he was in was lit dimly, low light with a red hue. His eyes slowly began adjust to the room and he widened them slowly. Gingerly, groaning he pushed himself up off the cold floor. He felt weak, his muscles ached all over. He managed to twist and prop himself up so he was sitting on the floor, rather than sprawled across it as he had been. THe light was low enough that he was struggling to pick out detail. There was a dull humming in the background, and it was not the ringing in his ears.

His head throbbed, but other than aches and pains he seemed rather uninjured, no breaks, no wounds. Nothing, except for a few piercing pains in his torso and thighs. He rubbed his hands over them and a few shards of glass slid out, trickles of blood following them. They were not serious, but mysterious. At least until he glanced around. Shards of glass littered the floor where he had been lying unconscious, like spilled diamonds, glittering in the reddish light. His gaze travelled up a little and he saw a glass structure, like a tube or a tank, with a jagged circle broken out of the front. Had he been in there? If it was full, and he had broken the front it certainly explained the glass, water and lack of clothing.

Yet he still had no idea where he was. He was trying to remember how he had got here, what had happened before. Pictures flashed, blurry, nothing he could piece as a memory, flashes of colour, light, darkness, places, buildings, rooms, forests, jungles, grasslands, beaches, deserts, rain, thunder and lightning. A mesh, dancing in front of his eyes, nothing he could pick out as truth or memory. He couldn't remember anything. Not even his own name.

* * *​

One week earlier...

"Hurry up!"

Joran watched his men go about the devil's work, they did not have long. The bounty hunter and the Jedi would not be the only two to come looking for the creature. It wasn't a man that's for sure. It talks nice at the start and then, it turns, it attacks, it kills. Joran had seen his people attacked by the the thing too many times now. It was not right. His own daughter lay in their small medical facility, plugged into machines that breathed for her, beat her heart for her, fed her, then digested what she was fed. She would be better off dead, at least she would not be in pain.

They had been excited when the Jedi had arrived. They were saved from the beast. But the Jedi had no intention of killing the beast. Maybe, she had said, maybe she would take it away with her, but not kill it. It needed to be studied. Helped. It was beyond help, Joran implored her to cull it. She had insisted no. He could not risk the thing escaping again. They had offered the Jedi food and shelter. She had graciously accepted. Now she lay on the floor in the metal shell building, a shed-like storage facility, empty but for the people. She lay, her eyes wide and staring, her mouth slightly ajar in surprise. Her face lacking a glow, her green skin taking an odd deathly hue. She was a twi'lek.

"We're done, Joran."

The man handed Joran her lightsaber. They could salvage the buckle, and the leather from her belt and boots, the supplies on her belt, perhaps some of the cloth from her robes, all of which had been put in a plastic sack. The green corpes lay, naked, wide eyed, unblemished, but for the rough blackish red bullet hole on the side of her head. The bounty hunter lay next to her in much a similar state. They had been excited when he had arrived shortly after, sure he would be here to kill the beast for his money. Again, he was being paid to take it alive. Joran had to see the creature dead. His armour and weapons would be more useful than the Jedi's effects, although next time he went to the spaceport he was sure the lightsaber would fetch a hefty price. He put it into a pouch on his belt, out of sight.

"Good," he said, grimly, "take whatever wood and kindling you can find. Build a pyre, get some fuel and burn the bodies. Do it in here and leave no trace of what has transpired. I am sure that both will have friends searching for them before too long."

He turned on his heel and wandered slowly away from the shelter. It was almost sunrise, the village was quiet, the noises from the surrounding jungle all that stirred, other than Joran's footsteps and the shuffling of the men in the shelter. It would take them a while to build the pyre, but the bodies should be no more by midday. How had it come to this? Murder and deceit. The arrival of the beast had changed this peaceful people. In the Thyferran jungle, away from the wars of the galaxy, they had been plunged into their own hell from which Joran saw no escape or catharsis lest the beast was killed.

 

[Demiurge]

The humming of the engine was pacifying, like a peaceful lulling. A single light lit a dark room onboard a dropship, as a man gathered his armaments. A series of tranquilizer rounds were fitted into a laser diode module-enabled slugthrower, and fitted it onto the man's holster. Taking two blaster pistols, the man switched them both on to 'stun' settings and fitted them near the back of his utility belt, and locked together the parts and gears of a blaster rifle. The sound of metal scraping against a hard surface echoed in the empty room, as a songsteel blade slipped into the sheath fitted onto the man's back. Kolta sprays were slipped into his side utility pocket, as the man fitted tactical combat goggles over his head.

"AGENT-274/A, this is EvE Command. Do you copy."

"Command, this is AGENT-274/A, I read you, over."

"274, mission's zero hour is approaching. Are you preparations in order?"

"As much as they'll ever be. But it'd help if I had more information on my target."

"According to command, you've been briefed on everything deemed necessary. Your target is an unidentified Force sensitive who possesses an "unknown factor" status. In times since to approximately one standard galactic week ago, he's been living in open society, but dropped off the radar since then until now. Recent reports from Republic Intelligence and ADIM have confirmed his presence to be on Thyferra, but we haven't pinpointed his active location."

"You're objective is to track down the target and subdue him for retrieval. As a Force Adept, he's considered to be train, and potentially extremely dangerous. If you cannot take him down quickly, engaging him will be at your own risk and discretion. However, command is not endorsing open combat. Covert tactics are to take the priority. Also, be prepared to stay on high alert. Reports also confirm Jedi and bounty hunters to be on this task."

"Also, be on the lookout for any 'local resistance'; the Shade Order. They are like the Jedi, but use powers like the Dark Jedi within the Bogan Empire. Whether or not they may be a direct threat is unknown, but command trusts them even less than the Jedi. They may be a no name organization, but don't take them lightly. Command has been watching them carefully since their formation. The indigenous natives shouldn't be a problem, but to avoid carelessness, don't count them out either."

"This guy sounds like unnecessary trouble. And he uses the Force, so why hasn't command given the elimination order? Shouldn't he be considered a PDE?"

"That a negative, 274. Command has made it explicit that they wants this target alive, no exceptions, no excuses. Someone high up in EvE wants to "acquire" the target. If I had to guess, it's for a scientific study of his biology. Force sensitives are a prize for scientists in experimentation, especially EvE's."

"Study him? What's command thinking? Any nerf herder could tell that would be a dam-"

"Cut the chatter, 274. You mission is to drop to the planet's surface, acquire the target, and await further orders after contacting us. The pick up location will be transmitted to you once command is updated on the pursuit."

"Roger that. Deploying now, ALPHA-274/A out."

Suddenly, the quiet dark room began to vibrate violently, as if going through turbulence. A crack of light penetrated the room as the loading ramp opened to reveal a mass of trees, rivers and jungles. Thick bushes and towering plants were as ubiquitous as air, and the humidity was like being in the mouth of a Bantha, hot, sticky, and simply put, uncomfortable.

Caelus the leapt out of the low flying dropship, descending into the jungles below. Psionically strengthening himself, the operative came to a "soft" landing on one of the powerful branches of Thyferra's skyline trees, just outside of the village the target was last seen. Psionically cloaking himself, Caelus headed toward the village to find a clue to his target's whereabouts. No matter how cold the trail may be, Caelus was determined. He would not fail.

 

[Snuffalupagus]

VVVVRRRRRRRRRRR
Check ion engine!
Check ion engine!
Check ion engine!
VVVVRRRRRRRRRRR

“Tch-kai-on ennjinn, I gotcha.”

Arch wiggled his moustache in frustration. He knew the engine needed to be checked as soon as it shot a plume of smoke when he had landed. Stupid computer. The humid climate of the planet was probably a shock to the ship’s engine, which had gotten used to the cold, dry vacuum of space. Hopefully it would be the only oversight on his trip to Thyferra. The bounty hunter batted the black cloud out of his face and sprayed ice-cold coolant on the engine. It hissed and steamed, but began to settle down.

Unlike fixing an overheated engine, it was not going to be an easy job – by any means. Arch had faced his fair share of troubles: soldiers, mercenaries, beasts, but never anyone Force sensitive. Actually, the fact that someone Force sensitive was involved might have been a subconscious factor to taking this job; a sort of “notch on the belt” of Arch’s self-proclaimed illustrious career. From what Arch had heard from various intoxicated bar partrons, war vets, and criminals, Force sensitives – be they Jedi or otherwise – were a whole other level above normal bounties. They could know what punch you’re about to throw, where your next slug would be shot, or sometimes even what your thoughts were. So how do you defeat someone who can think ten steps ahead of you?

Plan eleven steps ahead.

Another thing to think about was all the other people that would be coming after the Force sensitive amnesiac. Pay enough money and you’ll even get pacifists to fight, and this was more than enough money to attract some very dangerous people. It’s a good thing that Arch loved to plan – well, except for that minor engine mistake. Oh well, you’re allowed one, right?
Arch needed to modify a lot of equipment for this. He had to buy an entirely new heavy repeater just so he could attach a grenade launcher onto it. He packed fifteen concussive ‘nades in his pack as well. He also had a couple special magazines, nicknamed “spotzeens” because of the odd colouring of the bullets. They contained three different kinds of rounds that would be shot rapidly at the target. The first bullet was a plastic shell that contained a knock-out gas, so if it struck the target it would expel the gas to send the person into a deep sleep. The second bullet had a leathery casing that carried small pellets – really good for a bruise. The third bullet – commonly known as a bola – would split mid-air, with each half of the bullet acting as a weight at the end of a three-foot long cord, and wrap around the target. Unfortunately, the bullet was rather ineffective, the cord was incredibly thin and easy to cut and escape from. Arch was hoping that the three different rounds fired consecutively over and over again would be too overwhelming for the Force sensitive and cause him to make a mistake. And if none of that worked, he had packed four concussive proximity mines. As well, he brought his regular non-fatality weaponry: stun gun, bean bag slugthrower pistol, and a tranquilizer dart gun.

One must also account for the heat of a place like this. Arch ripped off his sleeves. That would be adequate enough.

Arch made his way into the spaceport. Inside, there was a very small bar with several tables around it and six wooden seats at the bar counter. After sitting at the counter, Arch waved over the barkeep.

“’Scuse me, sir. Know any settlements nearby?”

 

[Sreeya]

Silence. Nothing more. No thoughts, no visions, nothing. It was as if she had suddenly gone blind and deaf at the same time. She had staggered where she had stood, attempting to breathe as air abandoned her. There was a sudden break in connection, as if a lamp had been doused, thrusting her into darkness. It took her a moment to collect herself, regain her vision and her senses. She did not understand what had happened, but she knew she had to see her master right then.

---​

"What's your name?"

Thoughts of her master left her for a moment as she glanced down at the child inquiring her name. The Pantoran had to smile. It was refreshing to have someone look at her without suspicion. There was something very odd about this village. Her master had told her she planned on venturing through this area in search of...something. The twi'lek had told her that it was important business and rather dangerous. That had been a while ago. As soon as she had felt that abrupt, shuddering loss of sense, she knew something had gone terribly wrong. She had arrived at the village a day prior, looking for answers regarding her master. Right away, she had sensed something was amiss, especially with the way the villagers all looked at her as if she were a criminal.

She did not wear her Jedi robes today. As a result, she already noted that the villagers weren't as antsy around her. The mystery plagued her mind to no ends. Perhaps her master had given up on the search and had gone elsewhere? Regardless, it meant she had to speak with the local authorities to find out her master's whereabouts. At the moment, she sat on a bench where a little girl had promptly joined her, plopping down and curiously looking up to ask her name. She had hoped to have a meeting with Joran, the village chief.

"Azaria."

"Oooooh pretty!"

Azaria laughed softly. The child suddenly frowned.

"Are you a...jedi?"

Azaria did not miss the abrupt change of expression. It irked her, and she wished she were more established with the ways of the Force to be able to discern exactly what was going through the minds of the locals. For now, Azaria remained silent, looking away. The child remained seated for a moment before rising and running off. There was definitely something wrong here...

 

[Ser Gregor]

The Concerto, a matte-black ship somewhere between a starfighter and a light freighter in size, dropped out of hyperspace a few million kilometres away from the gas giant Iqobal, 4th planetoid in the Polith system and nearest neighbour, at the current position, to Thyferra, Issan Tanoor’s ultimate goal.

The lights above her cubby-hole, no more than two feet in front of her up-turned face, turned on, blasting Issan with a face-full of bright light. A digital readout on the wall informed her that the ship had dropped out of hyperspace.

Cursing, the woman rolled out of the cubby and stood to near-full height; the ship was not quite big enough to let her walk with less than a hunched back. Grabbing the dark-navy flight suit, she wormed her way in to the jump-suit in the small space before opening the cockpit door and crawling in to the bucket-seat pilot’s seat.

Falling in to the chair with a thump, Issan let her feet slip in to the control pedals, and her hands slid over the smooth yokes. Currently the Concerto was floating dead in space, waiting for further instruction or manual takeover.

“Begin haling Thyferran Port Authority,” Issan issued to the simple interface AI integrated in to Concerto’s systems. Within a minute the channel was life with the guttural accent of a native Fondorian.

“Thyferra Port Authority, this is Bradock speaking. You are giving off a Jedi Council Transponder Code, request verbal verification of legitimacy,” spoke the Fondorian, his voice slightly mechanical over the comm channel.

“Port Authority, Council codes are legitimate. Verbal authorization Zulu-Golf-Romeo-Five, Alfa-Lima-Kilo-Seven, Whiskey-Hotel-Delta-Three.”

A moment of near-silent static filled the channel as the Port Authority official ran the authorization codes through the current set-list.

“Council vessel you are cleared for unobstructed flight for the next seventy-two hours; confirm.”

Issan smiled. Hopefully 72 hours would be enough. “Roger, Port Authority. Tanoor out.”

-=+=-​

Issan landed the Concerto in the middle of a wide field of grass stretching out south of the village and, she believed, the thing that had drawn her here from half-way across the galaxy. It sat as a black spot on the field from the village she was headed for, security systems prepped.

Unclasping the stiff collar of the flight-suit, pulling the front of the jacket open to reveal the plain-white undershirt she wore beneath, and the heavy flight gloves, Issan tried to get used to the humid heat of the planet.

Her hair was tied up in a loose yet efficient bun to keep it from her hair and to cool her neck in the heat. The leather of the flight suit was baking her.

Her silver-plated lightsaber hung at her left hip, plainly visible against the black of her pants, and as she made her way past the first buildings of the village proper and made her way in to the heart of the settlement, could feel the mistrust the sight of it brought on her.

The trail was cold. Whatever had brought her to this place had happened at least two weeks ago, and hadn’t happened again. It would take more than just the force to figure out what exactly was going on.

The place to find answers in this kind of place was straight from the top.

Approaching on older woman tending to a broken power cuplink, Issan unconsciously let her hand hover near her blade, a force of habit from years long past.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the mayor, elder, chairman, whoever leads this village. I have some things, important things, to discuss with him. Could you point me in the right direction?”

 

[Ols]

((If you get lost, see my last post here...I know it's a long'un))

Joran walked back into the main part of the village, where the housing and amenities were. The shelter he had just left was one of a few large looking tin like constructions. Usually they were used to prepare and store their Alazhi crops, bagged and ready to be taken off to the Vratix's refining factories, but none of them were nearly full, and the one that he was using as a makeshift crematorium was completely empty; since the arrival of the beast, and the consequential increase of activity in the area, their underground xoorzi vats had been disturbed, much of the fragile xoorzi had withered and consequently their expected alazhi crop, which grew on the xoorzi fungus, had been decimated. Another reason the beast was close to the complete ruin of Joran's small farming village.

As he walked across the village, knowing he would need his best poker face to be in place upon on his tanned, weathered face, he heard the rumbling of what sounded like an engine. More outsiders drawn to the beasts growing scent. He paused as he walked by the domicile buildings on the edge of the village centre and looked up.

In the high sky, past the tall trees that encircled their village and the southern fields (from the treeline at the bottom of the fields to that at the top of the xoorzi vats, at the north of the village, was no more than two kilometers), he could see a ship. It was coming lower and closer by the look of it, as it appeared bigger and bigger in the sky.

The noise became deafening, seemingly taking no qualms about the delicacy of the crops and the strict atmospheric flight rules on Thyferra and apparently having no impetus to slow down or land. The ship zoomed across the treetops by the village, as if on a flyby, before continuing off into the distance. Joran did not like that. On another day he would make a report to the authorities, describing the ship, so that it would be reprimanded. But today he had bigger problems, and he guessed that the ship's purpose there would compound them.

He let his worry fester at the back of his mind. He had to meet with the Pantoran now.

* * *​

"I know things for paying customers," the barkeep replied to Arch, topping off the glass he was filling from the tap and serving a pint of the local brew, a Thyferran lager with a rather herby tinge in its taste, to the newcomer.

"That'll be three-fifty," he continued. In the more sparse Thyferran towns, in the localities the same beer would be served at only two credits, or perhaps two-fifty, but such was the case with inflation surrounding the larger urban areas and spaceports that it was on par with trendier establishments in big cities, at least in terms of price. As he waited for the money, he added, "You're not a regular visitor to Thyferra, eh? 'Course not, I'd recognise you if you were."

"As for settlements, in this region of the planet you're not looking at much I'm afraid. The capital's in the other hemisphere, and, although it's not as far, Xucphra city is a good flight from here. There's a few Alazhi farms spread throughout the forest, and of course the Vratiz hives but I doubt they're what someone dressed so...battle-y is looking for," looking the man up and down, "Hunter are you? Best be warned, even if you are dressed up like you could nail an entire laigrek nest yourself, there're dangerous beasts out there. The Thyferran jungle has claimed more lives than entire battles in the wars."

* * *​

By the bench, Joran bowed his head slightly, in a polite greeting.

"I am Joran, I run the village and farm administration," he paused, "apologies I could not meet you immediately upon your arrival, miss...?"

All the while he spoke he took in the girl, for she could not have been older than twenty or so, wearing simple clothes, her sleeveless top showing off the silvery tattooed markings, glistening in the Thyferran sunlight, drawing the eye instantly. She did not look like a bounty hunter or a Jedi, light or dark: that left two options, either she was a wandering traveller, or she was in disguise.

Before venturing to this colony, some decades ago now, Joran and his companions (of whom Joran and one other in the village, named Davros, were the only remaining survivors) had been mercenary soldiers. The wars had driven every ounce of fight from them, and the squad of them, under Joran's command, had retired here, some with spouses. The twenty-odd of them had more than doubled the original population of the farming village. The second generation made up the farmers and majority of the village people, along with a few newcomers, and the third generation's children were well along.

In his mercenary days, Joran had been a wily man, indeed he had had to be, and his instincts were usually right. And even if they were not, there was no harm in assuming the girl was here with her own agenda: if he was wrong she would simply leave; if he assumed she was harmless and he was wrong, he risked the lives of his people.

Joran, turning to a nearby building, looking very similar to all the buildings in the vilage, bar the tin sheds and xoorzi vats, indicated for the Pantoran to follow him inside, saying, "Come inside, there is refreshment, and if you are not hungry at least we can get out of the jungle humidity for a little. Inside you can tell me what brings you here."

Despite being in a rather open area, the village was still subject to the closeness and intense humidity of the surrounding jungles, despite it not being quite as bad as it was in the jungle itself. The door of the nearby building opened; it was the administrative building where Joran had his office, when he needed to use it, which as it turned out, more recently, had been less and less.

As he stepped up to enter the building, he heard the unmistakeable hum of a starship engine, although not nearly as large or fast-moving as the one that had just flown-by. As he watched, completely distracted from the Pantoran at his side, he watched as a small black ship came in for a landing on the far south fields. He sighed and walked inside the building. Someone would greet the newcomers and let Joran know their business.

"Sorry about that," he said to the Pantoran, walking through the entrance hall to his own office, "now where were we? Ah yes, you were just about to tell me what brings you to our small village."

Within only a few minutes of entering the office, Joran having sat and offering Azaria a seat at the other side of the desk, a man entered, slightly breathless.

"Joran," he wheezed, completely and rudely ignoring Azaria, "the woman who's come, she wants to see you...she looks like a spacer, but she carries a lightsaber."

Joran shot him a look that would have killed him if it had been possible. He was annoyed about the rude interruption, but that was not why he looked at the man as he did now. Things were already way out of hand, the last thing he needed was this Pantoran, whatever she was here for, being plunged into their wary approach of Jedi and the deeds that had transpired.

"I will come in a few minutes, once I have finished this meeting," he replied, coolly, the man disappearing out of the door. He continued, his face morphing into a friendly smile once more, "My humblest apologies once more, I'm afraid it seems a busy day today."

* * *​

He had awoken after only a few hours of sleep. It was hard to sleep on the ground, the noise of the jungle never ceasing, the heat unrelenting. He pulled himself to his feet and leaned on a tree, breathing deeply. He was always moving, trying to stay away from the fearsome predators that roamed the jungle, and away from whatever it was that had caused him to be lost in the first place.

He had opted to take his short nap when he was unable to go on, having little clue as to the time of day, or even if it was day or night in the forest. He was hungry and thirsty, and still tired. He had little clue for how much longer he could go on. Pushing himself on, he followed the trees to a small clearing, no more than around three meters across, but in the centre of which was a small pond. The water inside did not look clean, with some kind of algae or fungus growing upon it, but as he staggered into the clearing he was so thirsty he did not care if it was poisonous, the thought of poison releasing him from this hellish nightmare even slightly relieving.

He plunged his dirty, coarse, rough, cut, scraped and bruised hands in, expecting it to be cool and refreshing. The pond, however, was warm and thick, gloopy through with the fungus. He did not care, simply bringing his hands again and again to his sore cracked lips to hoover up what little of the thick, sickly-sweet water he could. It tasted bad and was not the most refreshing of drinks at first, but as he drank more, he definitely felt better. He barely noticing that the constant throbbing of his cracked lips and cut hands had stopped.

He paused, licking his lips to try and get rid of any excess of the sickly taste upon them, he frowned, puzzled. His lips felt soft and smooth, not dry and cracked as they had been moments before. He brought his hands out slowly, looking a them carefully. His cuts and bruises had shrunk, he was sure of it. They hurt less as well. He warily looked at the pool. Extending his left index finger, which had a thin scratch running most of the way along it, he immersed it once more in the pool. As the cut had stopped stinging before immersing it, he could not be sure if anything was happening. He pulled his finger out and his eyes widened. The cut was half the length, if that. His eyes widened.

"Wow..." he whispered to himself, more awake than he had been in quite some time, feeling like he had the energy to go on, "wow..."

* * *​

"You'll be looking for Joran then," said the woman, looking up from the coupling, "I expect he's busy at the moment, I'll send word to let him know you're here, in the meantime you should come inside and get out of the humidity for a bit. Just coming off the starship I bet you're hungry too, no doubt. Come."

The woman stood up and called out to the building behind her, gesturing to Issan to follow here walking towards a side door, from where a young man appeared, no older than his late teens, answering the call.

"Fetch Joran would you dear? There's a newcomer to the village who seeks him," she said, her tone odd for her words. Looking at the man, rather than Issan, she seemed to be gesturing with her eyes, not that Issan would see of course. She was of course indicating the visible lightsaber hilt at Issan's belt, although if the woman was worried, she did not show it.

They walked in through the door, and she offered Issan a seat, before bustling around grabbing cups and plates.

"I'm Dinara, by the way, and that young lad is my son, Nate. Would you prefer water or something a little stronger, miss...?"

 

[Demiurge]

Sweat rolled down Cealus' temple and cheek as wind resistance pressed against his face and body, all the while he dropped down on another branch near the tree tops. He was suppose to locate a village boardering the wild grounds he was on. It wasn't truly that difficult, the pilot who brought him close enough for the drop practically skimmed the village. Caelus couldn't help but see it.

As he remained cloaked in the trees, Caelus adjusted his goggles to scan for identification purposes. Despite being in the Inner Rim, Thyferra was about as backwater as they came. Untamed terrain, technologically underdeveloped society, and for all he knew, socially secluded. It didn't surprise him that none of the villagers appeared in the databanks for identification. Adjusting the goggles settings, Caelus focused his goggle HUD settings on detecting electromagnetic waves. In moments, Caelus percieving the world through darkness and signals. He'd already gathered that electronic usage was likely to be non-existent, and for the most part, it was.

Jumping down to the ground, Caelus entered the village, remaining cautious. As he entered, he felt a sensation in his head, almost akin to a throb or pulse. And it was a feeling he'd felt before and recognized. Caelus instinctively looked about and over his shoulder, despite the fact that he knew he could not find who the source was. However, he did know this, that there were already Force sensitives within the village. As to where they were or how many, he could not know, but he did know they were there. It could even have been the individual he was actively seeking. With caution, Caelus entered deeper into the village, using his psionics to propel himself into the air and onto one of the many rooftops to get a better picture of the things happening around him. Once there, Caelus closed his eyes and reached out with his mind to examine the area around him with clairvoyance.

Searching traditionally would take up too much time. This way, he would be able to search out a broad area, and "listen". If there were others here already, as Caelus suspected there was, they there would be an exchange regarding it, information being passed. Jedi, bounty hunters, the Shade individuals he'd been cautioned about, or anyone else, would be seeking information on the target the same as him... or would have some. And if that was the case, it would be all he needed. All he had to do was wait, and listen.

 

[Snuffalupagus]

There must be one bartender in this creator forsaken galaxy that doesn’t want money for answers; a bartender that just wanted to freely give information to everyone that asked! That was a dream that every bounty hunter had. Or at least Arch had. But sometimes you have to grease the gears to get what you want. Bribery, seduction, beguiling, blackmail – they were all tricks of the trade that anyone who wanted to make it had to learn.

“Perfect. I love beasts and their kill-to-death-ratio.” Arch inflected sarcastically. But, beasts in the jungle couldn’t be that tough if an amnesiac can deal with them, then a machete should be enough to deal with those creepy critters crawling through the copse. Not that it’s common practice – and not that it’s a good idea, Arch assumed that the forests wouldn’t have more than a few giant insects and big birds. At least, that’s all his research had brought up. Vratix, the native species of Thyferra, were much like the antz of Kubindi – just much, much bigger. And probably more dangerous as well.

Well, it’s a good thing Arch brought bug spray.

After coughing up more credits than he was willing to – just to get a map of some areas to avoid in the jungle – Arch was ready to set off. He grabbed his pack, made sure his weapons were in functioning order, filled his bags and pockets with enough food and water for the trek, and left. On to the wilderness of Thyferra.

There was a lot of forestation on the planet, huge tracts of trees, reaching into the sky, eating the sunlight and rain. Arch thought this planet would make a killing for mining companies. He took note of that and thought of speaking to a carbon corporation when he finished the mission – not that he’d need much more money after capturing this Force sensitive man.
This paycheque would put him waaaay into the positive side of money. And if the money’s right, the job’s right.

Most of the time.

 

[Sreeya]

"Just Azaria, thank you."

Her tone was polite, betraying nothing. There was a kind smile on her face. If one looked too deeply into it, they would be disappointed to find nothing hidden behind it. There was no facade she wore, though she was strongly aware of the general distaste of her kind around here. Whether it was because of her species or being Jedi was yet to be discerned. However, she knew the best way to avoid making matters worse was to be as honest and upfront as possible without overdoing it.

Azaria did not miss the sounds of the starship engine, also glancing up to observe the surroundings. The similar nagging at the back of her mind gave another gentle nudge. This village was getting far too much attention. Something terrible had happened here. She could sense it in the air, like the stench of a rotting carcass. It hung all around them, the energies that emanated from the villagers harboring negativity. There was a festering wound underneath that everyone was collectively attempting to cover up, a shame or secret that would unravel everything. It laced Joran's every move, something only picked up due to her heightened perceptions. Azaria mentioned nothing of it, putting such thoughts on the backburner. She patiently awaited him, not offended by the constant interruptions. When he finally arrived, she smiled again.

"It's...a bit embarrassing really. I had a friend come this way on some business a day or so ago and we've lost touch with her. I was simply wondering if you could perhaps point me in the right direction? I don't know exactly what she was doing here, but she's needed once again so I decided to go fetch her."

The delivery was less than perfect, amateur, but it had its merits. There was no dishonesty, as in truth Azaria did not know her master's objective of coming here. She sat there patiently, hoping Joran would at least aid her somewhat or perhaps accidentally drop a clue.

 

[Ser Gregor]

Issan followed the woman in to the small, tin-walled building, stopping as she conversed with the teenager. His eyes flashed to her, and then to her sabre at her hip, only for a moment. A palpable tension could be felt coming off the young man, but it did not alarm Issan. There were so few Jedi in the galaxy, and meeting one on your front porch would be an alarming experience for most anyone.

As he excused himself to run off to find and inform Joran of her presence, Issan let herself in to the building proper, seeing the mismatch of primitive and modern woven throughout the small house. A modern refrigeration unit was wedged in to a corner flanked by simple wooden counter-tops, a simple comsystem sitting in its cradle beside a well-worn cutting board.

“Water is fine, thank you,” Issan said as she took a seat at the kitchen table, taking in her surroundings with an idle interest.

“My name’s Vannozza Arnaud,” she offered when Dinara brought her a glass of water, sipping from it before placing it on the table.

“Joran is a busy man, I take it?”

 

[Ols]

"I must confess, Azaria, we do not get many visitors here. We're quite remote in the jungles, and our business is simple, even our contractors rarely visit," Joran replied. Who could her friend be? The last two visitors to the village were the Jedi and the Bounty Hunter, both of whom were, as they spoke, resting as ash in one of the barns. Of the two, the Jedi was the she. If she was a companion of the Jedi either she was a good liar, or she did not know the quarry that they had sought. He continued, thinking fast, "most people who do journey here, at any rate, move on shortly after, and the jungle is easy to get lost in, and is full of dangers."

There was a further knock on the door and a young man poked his head through. Joran nodded in apology to Azaria once more and stood up, hurrying to the door. He did not close the door, speaking in hushed tone to the man.

"Joran, we've just received word from the scouting group that was sent out at dawn," the young man said, excitedly but nervously, "they've found the trail and are awaiting instruction."

"Sooner than I expected," Joran muttered, "get the hunting party together, and tell the scouts to watch from a distance, and to await our arrival."

"Our, Joran?"

"Yes, our," Joran replied a little exasperatedly, "I may be getting on a bit, but we need everyone able. Now go, ready the hunters."

He turned back into the room where Azaria still sat, "apologies, our scouting and hunting parties do a great job of keeping the village safe from predators, and in bringing food to the table, but as I mentioned, the jungle can be a dangerous place so we are very stringent with the groups checking in...there aren't many of us and we do our best to not lose our people in the jungle."

He paused a second, "where were we again? Ah yes, your friend. Well if we can help you at all in finding...her (was it?) we shall do our best. What did she look like? As you probably heard I'm required on one of our scouting parties...all hands on deck and all...we can keep an eye out if you'd like?"

Joran was tentatively probing. And although he was clever, even he made mistakes, although referring to her in the past tense was not hard evidence of anything. However Joran was beginning to formulate a plan. If this girl was a friend to the Jedi, she might be of use to them if he could manipulate her to his aims.

* * *​

The scouting pair were completely silent, lying in the undergrowth, covered in green and brown clothing to camouflage them in the jungle. They each carried a rifle with them, the weapons usually used on beasts that they needed to take down. The rifles themselves were geared towards stunning only, but with a scale that could be increased so the charge would not only knock out even a large, strong human, perhaps even a Jedi in one hit, but that it may even cause some lasting damage. Either way, it was unlikely to kill.

They both had their weapons shouldered, pointed squarely at their quarry, a man in his mid twenties, unkempt and dirty, drinking from a small pool. This was the vile problem that had plagued them and led to such dire circumstances. And he was seemingly unaware of his imminent danger. The message came through silently, in text form, to the elder of the two scouts, Davik. No attack. Await back-up. He swallowed and showed it to his partner, Rogan. The younger of the two, Rogan was probably a better scout than Davik, although both of them had grown up on Thyferra, tending the farm and hunting beasts, learning how to make their attack without alerting the animals that had better hearing or eyesight or smell than any human.

Rogan frowned when he saw the message. They could end it here and now. And they had to wait. His heart was thumping in his chest. His finger gently stroked the safety of his rifle. He clicked the safety off. Davik heard the click and saw the finger moving. His left hand lashed out and grabbed Rogan's wrist.

"No!" he spat, through a whisper. Quiet. No man would be able to hear his voice from the distance they were at. But this was no man. He was as any other beast in the forest. And his eyes narrowed and he looked across from the pool, right at the hiding place of the two scouts. He stood up and tentatively took a couple of steps forward, towards them, warily. Rogan had made his choice. He batted Davik's hand away and steadied his rifle. He squeezed the trigger, the shot aiming square for the man. The flash of elextric blue wizzed across the clearing, smacking into the beast's and knocking him off his feet.

He lay, unmoving, a stream of smoke rising from his chest. Rogan frowned and tentatively stood up.

* * *​

There was a knock on the door, and Dinara turned on her heel to answer it. She greeted the newcomer and welcomed him into the room.

"This is Erol, Joran's administrative assistant and essentially his second," she introduced, before turning more to the man, "Erol, this is Vanozza Arnaud."

"Miss Arnaud," Erol said, bowing politely and taking a step closer, "I am afraid Joran is extremely busy this morning. He will come and introduce himself personally I am sure, as soon as he can, but in the mean time I can offer some assistance with your visit. What brings you to our humble farm in the Thyferran jungle?"

He spoke confidently, though his eyes conspicuously roved over the lightsaber hilt upon her belt as he did so. He was a young man, in his late twenties, although his dark hair was receding. His face was weathering, a constant tan from the environment in which he lived, and he was dressed in simple attire, as most of the villagers were.

* * *​

Rogan, never taking his rifle's muzzle away from where it pointed at the beast's chest, approaching him slowly. Davik did likewise. They grew closer, until they both stood above him, each aiming square at his chest. Rogan squatted down next to him, for a closer look. He was breathing, slightly raspily, his chest rhythmically moving up and down however.

"His eyes are open," Rogan said, quizzically as he peered into the man's face. Indeed they were, but they were glazed over, his pupils were out of focus, darting, looking quite odd. His breathing seemed to get louder, heavier, more deliberate. If Rogan had not been so mesmerised by his eyes, he would have seen his hand twitch.

It happened fast, faster than either of the two scouts thought possible. Rogan dopped his rifle and clutched his throat, he felt himself leave the ground and he flew through the air, smashing into a tree, bones breaking with the impact, dropping to the ground in a heap like a rag doll. Davik felt a stab of burning pain, as a flash of white hot blue electricity washed over him and he was thrown backwards, smoking and unconscious. Feral, snarling and fast, the beast smashed away from the clearing off into the undergrowth.

* * *​

The attack would feature in the force like a small bomb going off, a burst in the midst of nowhere. And as if he had been thrown into the door, the messenger burst into Joran's meeting room, out of breath once more.

"Joran, we've lost contact with the scouts!"

"We're leaving now," he replied, standing up and walking to the door. As he walked out he was handed a rifle by another member of the hunting party.

 

[Demiurge]

"Listening" and watching a village wasn't overall most effective way to gather information in most cases, and being honest with himself, Caelus wondered if it were not the same case in his situation. He'd only been doing if for moments, but no individuals had stood out among the rest, no individuals above the rest. It was simply common people doing common things.

For a moment, Caelus had begun contemplating a new tactic. However, the EvE operative soon became aware of an event somewhat near the village boundaries. Cealus's ESP had gripped his mind, as if a psionic explosion has echoed outward. His target, no doubt, and he was not far off.

Some moments later, Caelus heard the exasperated words "Joran, we've lost contact with the scouts!", followed by the other man called Joran replying "We're leaving now." The timing of these events were too close together for it to have been happenstance or mere chance, and it was the closest lead he'd thus far had recieved.

Caelus wasted no time, believing his presence would be safe due to the presence of multiple psionically-aware individuals in the village, and chased after the armed man called Joran. If all went well, he very well could lead him to his target.

 

[Snuffalupagus]

A dense collection of rocks came across Arch’s path. He continued jogging through the forest up to them and immediately stopped when he saw what was past them – a twenty foot drop deep into the forest.

Obstacles.

The bounty hunter fed a heavy-duty, thick rope through the rocks and tied it around the heaviest – based on Arch’s guess – one. He tied the other end of the rope around his waist and stood at the edge of the cliff, preparing to repel. A loud crack echoed up through the forest beneath his feet to his eyes. Arch assumed some scouts or village hunters had come in the way of one of the legendary “beasts” of this Thyferran jungle. Then there was a loud crack as a tree shook. A gaggle of birds flew from its branches out of fear.

Suddenly Arch felt less interested in repelling down the rocks and into the forestation. Unfortunately, it’s one of the places he had to investigate. Hazardous job, bein’ a head-hunter. Arch thought about scouting the area, but it’d be almost impossible to see through the trees, and thermal imaging would be useless in this humidity and heat. There was only the one option of moving on foot. At least he knew that there was something down there.

With both hands gripped firmly on the rope, Arch walked down the rock wall down to the ground.

The hand-radio buzzed in Arch’s backpack. A crackled message came through. “We’ve lost contact wi-- sc—ts!” Well, that settles it. Arch put down a proximity mine, but didn’t prime it. He didn’t want to knockout the wrong people. Besides, he could easily prime it with a remote.

Now it’ll be a party. Gotta bring the fireworks.

 

[Sreeya]

Azaria's disappointment was visible when Joran displayed no immediate signs of recognition. This was to be expected, she mused, as this village had been quite the hotspot of activities, contrary to what Joran said. Azaria kept her thoughts to herself, despite how contradictory they appeared. She was now sure that Joran was hiding something. However, despite her suspicions, she was still a young padawan and not well equipped to deal with conniving men such as him. She keenly observed as there was yet another interruption, her heightened senses offering tidbits of their conversation. The prospect was grim, her curiosity perked even more. Joran returned, this time asking for a description of her master. Azaria hesitated for just a moment, but she quickly attempted to cover that up.

"A twi'lek. She is a green twi'lek. Very kind for the most part, though can be a bit nosey, if I do say so myself. Something here must have caught her interest and she came around to investigate. I only wish I knew what it was.."

She was speaking the truth, though once again it was conveniently dressed to keep any significant details out. Azaria felt nervous in Joran's presence. She couldn't explain it, but something about him made her uncomfortable. Was it her Jedi senses tingling?! She couldn't be sure, but she knew there was more to him hidden behind that all too friendly smile. Azaria may have been a Jedi, but she had been around the galaxy enough to be able to read people to a degree. She did not probe into his mind, nor did she attempt to find hidden meaning behind his words. She only hoped he would ease up around her and eventually reveal what had this town all hot and bothered. Azaria abruptly perked up, remembering Joran's conversation with the man earlier.

"I don't mean to pry..but do you require any aid on this scouting mission? It sounds rather dangerous and I wouldn't mind helping out. If that's all right, of course.."

 

[Ser Gregor]

Issan got up to greet Erol, offering her hand. When he released it she nodded.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Issan said with her best business-happy tone. Something was awry, that much was apparent. The village was barely worth mentioning, possibly unaccounted for in planetary maps, and the village elder was too busy to visit with a Jedi?

“Truthfully, I don’t know why I’m here. I came here because I became aware of something on Thyferra through the force. It was powerful but fleeting. I came to investigate and, if needed, to deal with whatever is causing these manifestations. Your village has a part in it, I’m sure of it.”

 

[Ols]

Joran stopped dead as he was checking his hunting rifle when he heard the words 'green twi'lek'. That confirmed it, this girl was a friend of the Jedi. He did not know the Jedi to have many friends outside of their order at least, unless they were related or lovers, yet Azaria was not the former, and he doubted the latter.

In his life, Joran had been a risk taker. Taking risks often gained big rewards, and shying away from them could lead to missing out on success entirely. And as he slowly flicked the release mechanism on the side of his rifle, absent mindedly checking the safety catch was still on, he turned to face Azaria. The rest of the scouting party, comprising of six villagers, four men and three women, all dressed similarly in browns and greens, carrying supplies and the same rifles as the scouts, was standing at the treeline. Joran and Azaria were some ten meters away, behind a tin shed, out of their sight. Although they needed to move quickly, he listened to her offer of help. He could work with this.

"The beast we seek this day is not a common predator of the jungle," he said in a hushed voice, barely inches from her, "it is far more dangerous. A horrific terror, the scourge of our village and bane of many a hunter. A green twi'lek passed this way with the intent of seeking out the beast. She was a Jedi," he was still cryptic, not describing it as a man, "she ventured into the jungle," he fumbled with a pouch on his webbing and pulled out her lightsaber, "we found this in the jungle yesterday. From what I understand, Jedi rarely just misplace their lightsabers. We fear the beast has claimed another life."

He paused, offering the lightsaber to Azaria. Joran had little use for it after all, he would not sell it and was not trained to use it. And this act should convince the girl of his feigned sincerity.

"I know this is unfriendly news, but it is this beast we go to hunt now. If you would like to help us, then I would be happy to have you."

He did not add it out loud, but he was sure the possibility of finding her friend alive, however unlikely, would also push Azaria's decision. If Joran had played the situation correctly, they would potentially have a Jedi on their side.

Whatever her decision, he walked over to the scouting party, and the seven of them, he hoped with Azaria on his heels, set off into the jungle.

* * *​

His head was spinning. Where was he? The jungle began to come into focus. The clearing he had been in was not where he was now. He was in thick trees. He must have blacked out. But he had come to standing up. His blackouts were getting worse, but he could not remember a thing. Sipping the water, his hand and then...nothing. He was light headed, and his body ached as if he had run a great distance.

Looking around he tried to get his bearings. He was breathing heavily and walking a little gingerly, but otherwise he felt fine. Whatever was in that water, it must be good for the body, even aching he felt better than he had in days. He crouched and began to walk, looking for...he did not know what. Another clearing, another pool, anything.

He just hoped that havoc had not once again followed his fainting spells.

* * *​

Davik tried to pull himself up again. Every time he attempted to stand he fell back to the ground. Everything ached and stung, burning in pain. His breathing was heavy and raspy and moving was too painful. He was as good as cannok feed in this state. He remembered it all. And from where he lay he could see Rogan lying, propped against the roots of a tree, his neck at an unnatural angle, his chest not moving up and down as it would if he was breathing. The boy was completely still. Dead. Davik would be too if he did not pull himself together. But he could not.

Slowly and carefully, he reached for his comlink and managed to unhook it and bring it to his mouth. His voice was low and raspy, but he could speak a little. He spoke into the radio, broadcasting openly to anyone in the village.

* * *​

"Our village has little part in any goings on," Erol replied, "especially with force workings and Jedi business."

He smiled as he spoke. He knew exactly what she was referring to. The beast that had plagued them, yet the last Jedi who had come to 'help' the beast had been met with Joran's fist. It had been the eve of the day when Joran's daughter had been crippled by the beast, and helping the thing was the last thing any of the villagers wanted to do. They wanted it dead and buried.

"Perhaps Joran will know of what you speak. He is dealing with a hunting party at the moment but once he's do-"

Erol was cut off by his radio crackling to life. He cringed inwardly as the message played out, Davik's voice speaking pained, loudly and clearly.

"The demon has struck us. Rogan is dead...he threw him into a tree, and he electrocuted me. I'm barely alive..." his voice was getting weaker, breathing more and more between words, "...he can't...be far away...come...quickly..."

The message ended in static. Erol looked across at Issan.

"I suppose the hunting party has not been entirely successful," he said, not trying to cover anything up to the woman, speaking matter of factly given the situation. Erol was good with composure. And he had not been caught in a lie. He was not to know this beast was a manifestation of the force. He added, seriously, "perhaps it is the demon that has drawn you to us."

* * *​

The message crackled through on Joran's radio as they hurried through the forest to the clearing. It was not too far, the journey had only taken a few minutes at most. He saw the carnage, Rogan's body wrapped around a tree, and in the center of the clearing, Davik lying face down on the ground.

He was dead. But the beast was in their clutches.

 

[Demiurge]

Caelus closely followed the hunting party led by Joran, trailing behind them from above. Although he was invisible, he still interacted with the environment. Travelling above was not only easier and more practical, but also minimized his interaction with the environment, making it also more effective for stealth.

Caelus did not have to travel long before he noticed the hunting party stopping, and followed suite. Because he was several dozen meters from the proximity of Joran and his camouflaged team, Caelus had to focus his energies into psionically enhancing his sense of hearing, so that he could listen to any developments happening beneath his notice, and had to tap into his spectral sight, to keep an eye on things and track the hunting party.

As Caelus listened to the conversation below, his eyes sharpened as he focused on Joran and the Jedi accompanying him. Another Jedi had already been killed by the so-called 'beast'. With Joran's invitation to the Jedi to aid in the target's capture, an oppertunity presented itself. An age-old tactic of taking the spoils from a weakened party; the target was a user of psychic powers, or the Force as most called it. If he could kill a Jedi once, he could do it again, and the other villagers were more or less non-factors - for him or the target.

Nonetheless, Caelus quietly drew his traq-rounds slug rifle, cocking it in preperation, and made sure his other weapons were handy. He was not going to rely on the chance he wouldn't somehow be drawn into the conflict - life never worked out that well. No plans ever went that perfectly. After he did so, and the group was once again on the move, Caelus heard muffled sounds of static and electronic speech, likely a transmission. Quickly cycling his spectral sight to perceive radio wavelengths, Caelus immediately began to psionically "eavesdrop" on the transmission, which mentioned a 'demon' attacking another party.

Following the group, Caelus finally arrived at the location. Ah, damn..., he though, upon viewing the gory remains of a scene that was something akin to a battlefield. 'Force' user or not, nothing Human could have pulled something like this off, or so he thought. The men were dead, but Caelus' ESP was telling him something else. This 'beast', his target, was now closer than ever.

 

[Sreeya]

Azaria was livid at the sight of the lightsaber. The act she had been putting up seemingly melted away, though without being attuned to the Force Joran wouldn't feel anything outside of spotting her expression. Azaria couldn't speak for a moment, reaching for the hilt with a shaky hand. Her slender fingers wrapped around it as she drew it closer to her face. Azaria closed her eyes, immersing herself into the warmth that still lingered within the hilt, falling into the last traces of her master. Azaria knew she was gone, the fact that her hilt was found was a testament to that. Her eyes flashed open, an abrupt surge of anger coursing through her veins.

"I..I see.. thank you for this."

She put the hilt at her hip. Azaria looked into Joran's eyes, realizing that he had never fallen for her ruse. He wouldn't have brought up the saber if he hadn't suspected her of being a Jedi. However, now was not the time to worry about explanations.

"I will accompany you to slay this...this monster.."

The last word came out in a harsh whisper. There was an emotional turmoil raging within her mind. Why would her master not have told anyone about this? Azaria quietly followed behind Joran, joining the scouting party. It was difficult to suppress her emotions, as she hadn't quite achieved Knighthood yet. There were still a few things to fix, and she was not beyond letting her anger and sorrow get the best of her.