Shadows forged in a trial by fire

[Calder Rathborne]

Outer Rim Territories
Varada System - Planet of Dyspeth

"The influx of outsiders has bolstered crime rates near the starport. I suggest we send at least four more to stand sentinel during the peak hours." A feminine voice intoned from the center of the Disciple's meeting hall, her form swathed in darkness and her slim silhouette only visible by the firelight pouring from the immense, brick hearth. The smell of wood smoke was prominent, not only within the room itself but also clinging to the air that flowed sluggishly through the cobbled streets beyond.

It was the smell of home and Calder took comfort in it, drawing in a steadying breath before flipping the knife he clutched high into the air. Metal's song rang out as the incredibly sharp blade cut through the stagnant air, the hilt of the blade landing without ceremony in his calloused palm. "I can take Astor, Incton, Flux, and Ambrose for a test run tonight. They're fresh from Hagaan Monastery but Indra seems to think they are ready for assignment." There was movement in the darkness of the room, Calder had shoved the blade into the worn leather sheath at his hip and was on the move toward the fire. The crimson glow spilled over his features, now a healthy tan from his recent venture away from the moon.

He wore the typical garments of the Disciples; a long, brown leather duster overlaid with belts supporting his weapons, a hood with a steepled point that jutted over his forehead, buckskin breeches tucked into knee-high boots sporting buckles and a row of slim throwing knives on one leg and a hold-out blaster on the other. His facial hair was trimmed in a goatee with a stubbled layer spanning his cheeks; hiding a number of scars amassed from brawls in Dyspeth's city streets.

"That will suffice. Ready the Hawks, then, Calder." The shrouded woman said agreeably, her slim hands extending in the firelight to unroll a timeworn blueprint of the city on the meeting hall's round table. There was a sound of striking flint, a flicker of sparks, the illumination of a candelabra, and then a number of other figures emerged from the wings of the room. "Shall we discuss the borders then? Artorus, you mentioned activity in the eastern quadrant.."

Calder excused himself with a curt bow, wending his way through the cloister and alighting upon the city's rain slicked cobbles. It was drizzling lightly after a full blown storm that had been battering the township for the last several days. He pulled his hood lower and set off at a steady gait toward the Aerie; a pub of sorts where members of the Disciples often loitered in between jobs. Spotlights occasionally swooped down across his path from their perches overhead, accentuating the patter of raindrops as they bounced off of the dark stone.

He became aware of another's presence as he passed one of the alleys where the blaring, swirling spotlight did not reach. Immediately, he spoke. "Seen the Hawks?" He asked the shadows, never breaking stride.

"Oh, have I..." A snake-like voice hissed in amusement. Tene, one of the order's Crows, slid into a matching gait at Calder's side. He wore black, to Calder's mostly brown attire, and was easily a foot and a half shorter than him. "Last I saw, Astor had one of the offworlders out in the streets and he was clobbering him. Good show, really."

His steps faltered only for a moment, his eyes narrowing beneath his hood. "Oh?" He murmured, trying not to sound surprised by this revelation. "Any particular reason why?"

"I rather think it had something to do with the bloke trying to flirt with Flux. Ah, here are your Hawks." Tene laughed as they rounded onto the main boulevard.

Calder came to a halt, tilting his head back and raking an annoyed glare over the circle of both citizens and offworlders who had gathered to observe the fistfight well into commencement, just as Tene had said. The jeers of the crowd were loud, louder than the occasional thump of fists hitting flesh.

"Perfect." He growled under his breath, picking up the pace and pushing his way past the growing circle of onlookers. Blood sprayed across the front of his duster as Astor landed a fist against the stranger's nose; causing the clearly drunk individual to stumble into him. Calder grasped the man's arms and thrust him behind him, narrowing his eyes on the newly promoted Hawk.

"What the devil are you doing?"

[Calder Rathborne]

Astor's chest heaved as he both tried to catch his breath and rein in his anger. Calder had never known to the man to fly into a rage over just anything but, at the same time, knew that he was incredibly protective over Flux. He waited patiently for a reply, his arm held out to prevent the drunken fool from lumbering back into the fray.

"That outsider is trying to peddle spice." Astor finally managed to reply, his teeth gritting together at the punctuation of the revelation and his fists clenching at his sides as he tried with some success to restrain the rage boiling within. Ah, well that explained a lot of things. About ten years back, a freighter with a pair of offworlders had brought some kind of spice into distribution on Dyspeth and it had eventually brought about the downfall of many of the city's citizens, changing them beyond recognition. Flux and Astor had lost their families to the incident and thus, a general mistrust of 'outsiders' and even the mere mention of spice was enough to launch them into action.

"Well, you can't just-"

His reply was promptly cut off as a glob of spit was ejected at the back of his head by the dealer in question. He wore a smug leer until Calder smoothly pivoted and fastened his icy stare upon the man. Faster than a blink, the Hawks' leader slammed his gloved fist into the man's face and knocked him out cold upon the rain slick cobbles. The crowd inched back several paces as he reached up and wiped away the spittle from the back of his head. "Do your damn jobs and keep your emotions in check or I am going to send you back to the Monastery. This should have never escalated to this point. Take him to holding and then assemble at the starport."

"Sir." The man replied smoothly, shouldering his way past Calder to pick up the limp frame of the dealer.

He espied Flux in the crowd, canting his head after Astor in an unspoken order to keep an eye on him. Then, he urged the crowd to disperse and headed inside The Aerie, where the rest of his charges were probably up to no good, as well.

[Calder Rathborne]

Sabacc. He might have known. His eyes rolled beneath the cowl he had pulled up over his head, his long strides bringing him to the worn wooden table occupied by Ambrose and Incton, as well as two other people he didn't recognize. From the look of things, the two freshly promoted hawks were cheating. This hardly surprised Calder, the twins having always possessed a penchant for mischief in all the time he'd known them; mischief that had a tendency to tick people off and considering that the pair of them grew all the more puckish under the influence of another's annoyance, situations typically escalated. What a group of hotheads Indra had sent him! He would tease her about it later, maybe even mention something about how Tess would approve.

Thinking about her still set him on edge. He probably wouldn't mention her at all.

"Incton, Ambrose. Duty calls." He stated from behind them, prompting the pair to turn simultaneously and afflict him with those vexing looks of disappointment. There was a great cacophony as the credit chips they'd swindled off of the spacers were scraped along the table and their chairs were shoved back as they rose.

"Things were just getting good, mate."

"Your timing is poor as usual."

They chastised playfully, to which Calder riposted with a firm shove at their backs to move them along toward the door. The bar keep, Iris, was busily buffing a glass but looked up from her task long enough to cast a wink his way. His index and thumb touched on the jutting hem of his hood in an imitation of a hat tip before he turned to exit the Aerie, himself.

Outside, Incton and Ambrose were loudly arguing with one another about the credit sticks they had 'won' and the way they had carelessly scraped them into their hands had mixed their winnings.

"Are you two really arguing about credits that you stole?"

"Stole? I'll have you know I didn't cheat until... at least the third hand!" Ambrose said in mock hurt, hastily shoving his winnings into his pockets before Incton could drudge up the argument again.

"Yeah, we didn't steal. If they are stupid enough to gamble, they are stupid enough to be had. Your words."

"Not ours." This was said by both of them together, prompting Calder to press his fingers into his temples to alleviate the rapidly quickening thump of his pulse.

"Starport. By roof. Now."

"But, Cal, it's raining akk dogs and reekcats out he-"

"Now!"

And they scattered, clambering up the rickety metal stairs affixed to the residential building parallel to where he stood. He was after them not a moment later.

[Calder Rathborne]

Coarse, calloused hands fastened around protruding metal. Substantial muscles, hidden beneath the weathered garb of his station, flexed as he heaved his sizable frame along the outer structure of the building. His breath huffed out in great whorls of steam, the rain having brought with it a bitter cold that permeated the wax slicked overcoat clasped horizontally across his chest. He hiked a leg up, flattening the thick tread of his boots against the sturdy brick and then pushed up with a grunt, finding more favorable handholds on the landing above. All the annoyance, all of the anger, flooded out of him as he simply let his body work; let his mind decipher the next path, the right path.

When he finally reached the rooftop, his second wind was already in full swing and he broke out into a run; the twins falling into a breakneck pace at his either side. Incton easily cleared a chimney, bracing his hands against the rim of it and launching over, landing with a roll and continuing to speed toward their destination. Ambrose delicately picked his way across several pipes jutting out of the spillway running along the center of the building, landing on the next roof over soundlessly. Once Calder reached the fringe of the building, he jumped short to clear the lip and then used it to spring board into another flip that landed him between the twins once more.

They continued on in similar fashion until they reached the larger, willowy trees leaning over the starport's largest hangar bay. He took a row of branches cautiously, his boots biting into the moist bark. Then, he reached up and swung himself onto the fire escape that wound up the structure itself. By now, his chest heaved with oxygen debt but he made it onto the flat surface of the stone scattered roof without qualm. Incton and Ambrose alighted behind him, shoving each other playfully before they noticed the other guardsmen assembled.

"Brought some baby birds with you, Cal? Better than nothing, I suppose. Ava should be here shortly." This came from another man, clad completely in black with only his mouth untouched by the shadows. There was a faint smirk there, another pair of crows emerging at his sides.

Calder returned the smirk. "My guess is she is already here. What's the plan?"

[Seiji Han]

Personalities were often cultivated by those an individual surrounded themselves with. Seiji considered himself mostly adaptable. He could be prone to his own bouts of showboating in the proper company, but he usually withheld that when around his instructors. Presently he was intermixed with his mentor Indra, another new arrival he hadn't gotten to associate with much yet, and another boy shorter and leaner than he that made every effort to flourish and show off as they traversed the rooftops.


Seiji, in the presence of Indra, opted more to be methodical. He didn't make a wasted movement. His hands planted on the lip of a rooftop, where a small gap and drop to a lower rooftop awaited. Muscles across his forearms tensed as he grasped and thrust his body forward, legs trailing behind. He emerged in a shoulder roll. A stretch of piping obstructed his path forward in part, his long limbs grasping an overhead one and his core tightening to push his frame through the gap between it and the lower stretch of piping that would have tripped or hindered him completely. He came out with a drop to a knee and slight skid across the gravel, before moving forward once more.


The next building would have required a climb, which he didn't stop to see if others would go that way. He knew they were nearing the spaceport, able to see the structure just beyond the rise of the building. He instead dropped down to a stone window sill just opposite, kicked back to an opposing sill at the building he had formerly been in, than took a diving roll into an open window. He paused within just a minute, his pace slowly. He was no Crow, but he knew enough about walking lightly. His pace was quick as the balls of his feet carried him through the apartment to an opposing window, where he slipped out and clung to the building.


He kicked back, twisted, grabbed a limb and swung directly off it to the opposing rooftop just high enough that he couldnt land but had to grasp the lip. He pulled up, then pushed down, his triceps finishing the extension out and his right leg pulling up to put his foot atop the ledge and push him the small jaunt the rest of the way. He paused to catch his breath, heart hammering so hard in his ears he couldn't even tell if there were footsteps of those arriving after him, or whether he was first. All he knew was that when he looked up, everyone was present.

[Bron Korso]

He had once been of the close-knit Royal Guard, resplendent in finery and armor. He had been a protector of the High Family that ruled Cathar from the mountain city of Mara'Lien. Given accolades and honor for his position. Given responsibilities and respect. He had risen from the lowest ranks of Palace Protector to captain the elite force pledged to protect the royal family. And yet, even those with the best of intentions and moral convictions fell from grace, and Bron Korso had fallen from a mighty height. He had been forced to flee for a crime that he would never be able to forget. Leaving Cathar had been painful, but necessary. His departure was for the greater good, and he had vanished into the vastness of the galaxy at large.

From planet to planet he wandered, working to pay passage further away from the world that he had once called home. Despite its' desert vistas and harsh landscapes, Cather had been his hearth. It was a land of constant trials yet so beautiful. His home that was no longer.

On Dyspeth his luck had seemed to run out, and Korso found himself in the employ of the agency that ran the starport. He'd been here for three months now, relegated to the position of janitor. An inglorious existence that seemed to wear upon him with each passing day. The small one-room apartment that he had rented out was pitiful at best, and only gave him a place to sleep. Food was purchased from the many vendors that littered the area. One day he might eat nothing but an Ithorian noodle bowl, and the next his funds allowed for little more than a Corellian cheese loaf.

But, he was a free man regardless, and in the here and now that was what mattered the most. To die would be to end his life of shame unfulfilled. At the very least if he continued to live, he could work for the rest of his days in the attempt to atone in the privacy of his own mind.



The Cather slowly made his way down a long corridor between berths, his grease-stained jumpsuit hanging from a wiry frame whittled down by lack of both food and sleep. A clipring on his beltloop held a myriad of keycards, and they takked against each other as he walked. A datapad in one hand, he kept a half-lidded gaze ahead; seeing yet not seeing. He'd had orders to repair the coolant siphons in one of the bays, and the rest of his docket for the day was just as full of such excitement.

Still however, it was nothing to complain over.

Bron Korso was paying the price.

The price of regicide.

[Trice]

They called her quiet, peculiar, and circumspect; certainly not unwanted traits for a member of their order. She handled her missions with all the efficiency expected of a lower ranking taxon, foregoing the customary social banter and camaraderie embraced by her peers at their conclusion. Because of this, and the mysterious circumstances of her induction, she was oftentimes considered an outcast; pair in the cybernetic replacement for her right forearm and the multitude of scars on her person, she was basically a rumor mill. All of their whispers, all of the supposition, faded away when a task was laid before them. While they were young, untried by many of life's trials, they could flow around one another like an undeniable current as they surged toward one purpose.

Her natural fingers had grown cold and numb from finding handholds in the rain slicked buildings' composition, her arms were already sore from training earlier that day but she pushed through the minor discomfort to keep up with the others. While they were all flourish and grace, she merely ran through the motions and kept them in sight; only executing acrobatic maneuvers when the situation called for that extra bit of momentum to hurdle an obstacle. She huffed as she stumbled once, her ragged boots skidding in a puddle that had gathered on a flatter surface atop one of the roofs. It all screamed desperation but in these moments, she felt free. She was improving, she was faster than she was yesterday, and she was alive.

She strained to lift herself atop the last rooftop where the others had gathered, catching her breath with her hands on her knees. Movement caught her attention from somewhere to her left and she shrewdly swiveled her attention that way as her superiors chatted. Indra motioned subtly and that was all the direction she needed. Steadying her breath, she moved along a pipe system to follow after the civilian below; her features shrouded in the customary dark cowl and accompanying ensemble. Never endanger the innocent, protect them at all costs. But was this individual innocent or no?