What a tangled web we weave...(closed)

[Oleander]

Salty ocean air drifted along auburn sand. Wave after wave lashed out in subtle defiance to the peaceful shore that would master it. A scarlet sun faded beneath ripples of a sapphire horizon giving way to waking moons.

An elderly fellow, clothed in white stood as the sole audience for these picturesque surroundings. With every coming tide his feet sank beneath its cool depths. In turn, as the waterline receded, shallow indentions remained as brief memorials to his footing; soon to be swept away. His loose, flowing garments hung about an aged frame; like unto Grecian tunics. The right hand bore an ornately designed, silver goblet; now half drained. His time worn face, masked by a well trimmed silver beard, lie engrossed within the covers of a tattered novel; interrupted only by the occasional sip of wine. Thin, wire framed glasses hung on the very brim of his nose.

"Dr. Oleander...." called a voice, which lacked substance of body.

Looking from the book into a darkening sky, he answered, "Yes." A mild expression of annoyance warped his once placid visage.

"There are four gentlemen here to see you. They claim you sent for them." replied the voice, in a distinctly feminine tone.

The book was abruptly closed, then carefully lowered to the side.

"Send them in." came his simple reply.

No sooner had the doctor spoken when blinding light shot through a gaping doorway, revealing the true nature behind this beach side guise. The passage erected, void of any wall or support and possessing no dimension beyond height and width. This marked the entrance from the lifeless, dura-steel infrastructure of a Corellian research facility and the professor's blissful realm of holographic imagery.

He waited his guests arrival through this quasi-mystical portal.

[Zakatiel Rhinehart]

Stepping through the doorway brought Zak into another world. He abruptly stopped, stunned at the vista which opened up before him. Abruptly, his hand shoots out toward the side of the door way and toward empty space. A loud smacking noice of plam on wall confirms his belief. It was hologram, a very realistic hologram. Catching sight of a old man, Zak walks briskly forward, coming within a arms length of the man.

"Zakatiel Rhinehart, reporting as requested!"

Zak shoots a quick glance toward the door before continueing.

"In your Ad, you asked for some background info.
Well, I was born on Coruscant roughly 19 years ago. I do not know the exact date. I left when I was still very young, I had snuck on on a Trader's ship. From that point, I have lived the life of a drifter. Moving from ship to ship, sometimes paying, sometimes working my way on, and other times, on the larger ships, Just hiding. I have learned from every person I have shipped with, and every scum of the spaceports that I bartered with. I know how to shoot, how to fight, how to hide in a crowd. I have learned the suprises of the Smuggler, the tricks of the Con Artist, and the ways of the Mercenary. The weapons I carry are a standard Mercenary weapon, the MRT-Repeating Blaster Pistol
and my Father's Lightsaber. Which I learned he recived from his father. It is a family heirloom. I have no force training, but I rely on pure instinct, either it be in anger, or hope... "

Zakatiel takes a deep breath and looks at the Doctor.

"Well, that about sums it up Sir, when do we start?"

[Ishiva Ruell]

He entered immediately after Zakatiel, his eyes never wavered from the client standing in the center of the room. The assassin removed himself from the doorway and stood on the far side of the entrance away from the other hunter. Eyes narrowing with scrutiny, he observed the doctor's immaculate appearance and exemplary dress, typical of a man with enurtured wealth and prestige among the scientific academia and field of research.

Once Zakatiel concluded his verbel dossier, taking his cue, he spoke, "Dr. Oleander, I am Ishiva Ruell, professional assassin and bounty hunter. I am well-versed in all the necessary forms of combat, a specialist on clandestine and infiltration methodology. The various weaponry I command is not significant to note however I do openly wield two xiphos short swords..."

Pausing, his grey eyes dropping, identifying the pair of edged weapons in scabbards running the length of his thighs. Raising his emotionless gaze once again on the Dr. Oleander, finished speaking.

"... and also utilize an chameleonic BDU and ballistic vest."

[Hector Lien]

Clank! Clank! Clank!

Hector Lien was easy to hear coming into a room when he did not feel like being quiet. He was a bounty hunter, of course and that mean he had some toys. The biggest one being a half set of armor that covers his legs.

The man gazed over the room deciding who was in charge. It was obvious. "Hector Lein... Hired gun. I am versed in close range combat. Oh an the pants...they have a few tricks." He grinned.

[Sean Troy]

Troy walked in behind the others in a methodical manor, he had hardly acknowledged there existence till now, eatch of them were here to capture there prey,not discuss topics of interest. Once each of them had explained themselves and who they were Sean spoke in a dull almost uninterested way.

" I am Number 57...Hitman For Hire..." He announced clasping his hands behind his back"You are in need of my expertise?"

Troy was one of many from his agency, he was the one they happned to send out to the Doctors aid.

[Oleander]

A thin smile stretched its way across the doctor's time worn face.

"I thank you all for your promptness...." he paused a moment, glancing at each man as he studied them carefully, "...and enthusiasm. It seems that you already know who I am, so we need go no further into introductions. Unless you deem it necessary."

His soft, gray eyes shifted toward the last of the four to enter. "Yes, Mr. Troy, I have a proposal that I think will be of great interest to all of you, but first; would any of you care for some refreshments?"

Taking the spectacles from his nose, Oleander waved at the open doorway, ushering in an attractive brunet. The young woman, in her mid-twenties, was dressed in a spotless, white gown with a deeply, plunging neck line and a hem which cut off just above the knee. Her hair, pulled back in an elegant pony tail, allowed only for the bangs to fall forward in two separate strands just above either eye. She moved passed the new arrivals and directly to the professor's side.

"This is my personal assistant,..." nodding to the lady, "Ms. Abigail Thomas. She will be happy to supply you with any drink or food that you desire. All you need do, is ask."

[Ishiva Ruell]

Ishiva's grey eyes left the doctor's and fixed on Abigail. He shook his head, the assassin always refused food and drink while conducting business. The only acceptable exception being is if it offended a particular client's customs. His eyes fell back on Oleander.

[Sean Troy]

'No...' 57 said frankly as the cart weeled past him. Just like the masked man next to him, food was not an option at this stage in the breifing.

' Just get on with it doctor were busy people...' The bald 57 said sharply.