Fearless and Inventive (bounty hunters)

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Bomis Koori
Middle Rim - Corellian Trade Spine


The ravages of the Clone Wars had hit this world especially hard. The damage was easily seen from orbit - massive craters of impacted warheads that left once-thriving city centers as graveyards. A sole lambda-class shuttle swooped down from above, penetrating the oily, smog-stained clouds to survey a landscape of grey and rust. Surrounded by a sea of rubble and shantytowns, a city came into view. It's grey, spartan contours were unmistakably of Imperial design, rising proudly over the ruin that surrounded it. As the slope-winged shuttle settled over a landing pad adjacent to the Governor's tower, a few companies worth of stormtroopers began to assemble in parade stance. They parted in the middle of the pad, marking the walkway that would carry the shuttle's occupants to civilization within.

This was all so irregular, Moff Skoreni groused, looking as if he were bothered by the mere inconvenience of coming outside to greet his unannounced guest. Unannounced and uninvited. He'd gotten word of this visit the moment the Star Destroyer above had appeared in the sky - not a moment before.

"Envoys from Coruscant, sir?" Adjuctant Daro looked out of breath. He'd been caught as equally unawares of this visit.

"Even Coruscant knows how to knock, Daro."

"Then who? ISB?"

A distinct possibility. The Security Bureau's apparatus of terror preferred not to give advance notice to the potential subjects of it's investigations. Of course, Moff Skoreni wasn't a fool. Any systems governor who wished to one day become a sector governor assumed and expected their inner circle to contain at least one ISB agent. The trick was learning to reasonably eliminate from suspicion the men who likely weren't undercover ISB. Daro, for instance. The man had the ambition of a carrot. He was dull and unimaginative, and sought to rise in his station no higher than the second man on an Imperial backwater. What Daro lacked in big picture thinking, he made up for in plodding efficiency. He was a well-trained lapdog, when properly incentivized.

Skoreni watched as the lambda shuttle thumped down on the deck, releasing sequenced hisses of pressurized gas from it's repulsor drive.

"The ISB coming here openly means they either have something damning, or they want to bark up the tree, to see what's scared enough to fall out."

Bomis Koori had it's issues. Corruption. Crime. But it was a subject world that met it's quotas without fail. The indentured reclamation workers moved through the remains of the cities, turning destroyed skyscrapers back into durasteel and components for the Imperial war machine. If that meant cooperating with a few unsavory elements to press and bully the population into hard work, that was simply sauce for the goose.

Then what? As the gangplank lowered, it annoyed Moff Skoreni that he was no closer to an answer than he was ten minutes ago. Waiting another few minutes for this surprise to play out now seemed unavoidable.

"What is that?" Daro queried, offering a useless question to mirror the one in Skoreni's mind. Rather than a retinue of tan-uniformed ISB agents, a single thing exited the ship. A thing that trotted ahead on four legs like some kind of swamp hound. Only...

...only that this thing wore a set of blue-tinged armor.

An Imperial Knight.

Well, this was new. Skoreni had gone his entire career artfully avoiding the sinister agents of the Imperial upper echelon. He'd never crossed paths with Lord Vader. Never once had the burden of dealing with the Inquisitorius. While the Knights were somewhat more forward-facing than either of the former, it was understood that the presence of a Knight was one degree of separation removed from the Empress Herself.

This could be a great opportunity.

Skoreni gulped.

Or an unmitigated disaster.

The thing stopped before him, bunching it's flexible spine, then rolling it upward to stand on two legs. Moff Skoreni did his best not to gawk. The beast was massive. Hopefully, it was intelligent enough to reason with.

"Well." The Moff cleared his throat. "Welcome to Bomis Koori, Sir Knight. I'm..."

"This introduction is pointless, Governor Skoreni," the beast rasped as it looked down on him. "I have no business with you. I am here to see the Pasha."

"The..." Skoreni started, before recollection dawned on his face - trailing to disgust. "...ah. Him."

He could feel Daro's gawking expression turned in his direction.

"A petty criminal at best, Sir Knight. One that is overly-fond of titles. Not worthy of your distinguished presence."

The beast growled.

"I alone will judge the company I keep. Take me to him at once."

Skoreni could feel the hairs on the back of his neck starting to raise, an unconscious warning of an invisible line he knew he was quickly approaching.

"Certainly, Sir Knight. I only wish to caution you that this...person...they live well outside of the city perimeter. In the favelas. It could be dangerous."

One of the beast's small ears flicked as it looked down at Moff Skoreni. A broad, clawed hand reached up to the governor's uniform, slowly grasping enough hold on the fabric to allow it to pull Skoreni up by his jacket. Vivid dismay registered clear on Skoreni's face as he was hoisted to eye-level with the creature.

"If you fear the Pasha, you would be well served to fear me even more."

It was an unsubtle threat as any he'd heard. Skoreni tried not to wither under the creature's noxious breath as he was lowered carefully to his feet again. The Governor fastidiously smoothed over his jacket - and his equally-crumpled authority in front of his men.

"I can arrange a visit. This...Pasha...and I, well, we have an understanding."

The beast's eyes remained fixed and unblinking as it raked it's muzzle with the pass of a tongue.

"See that it's done."

With that, the creature pushed past Skoreni and Daro alike, leaving both men to exchange a moment of bewilderment. It would have been much better for this surprise to have been the ISB.





* * *



Tooqa Town




The reaches beyond the Imperial sector was virtually lawless territory. Out in the wastes of the ruined cities, the symbols of Imperial might appeared less and less. Where once great buildings had stood, in their wake a honeycomb of ramshackles, huts, and junk structures rose in their place. The people of Bomis Koori were resourceful. A spiderweb of power lines ran overhead, connecting dozens of buildings to each other with basic amenities.

The Imperial Troop Transport pulled to a stop where a puddle-dotted street dead-ended at a scrap corrugated durasteel gate. Along the rudimentary ramparts, at least a half dozen men stood ready with blasters. The transport's hatch opened, allowing the driver to climb halfway up through the vertical opening.

"Imperial envoy here to speak with the Pasha."

The man at the leading rampart tilted his rifle up on his shoulder, a sign of relenting.

"See 'em in."

The heavy gates began to part, pulled open by a team of pack animals on each side. Large rusty wheels spun in rutted earth as they glided the gate into an open position. The transport glided through, and the gate began to close once more.

Within the junk fortress, an old man carried by a four-man litter chair could be seen gliding along the courtyard. He, like most of the natives, was a Koorivar, noted by the high spiraling horn jutting atop his head. The old man's wrinkled face was shrouded by a white beard that ran down the middle of his chest. His legs, crippled by a wasting disease, lay curled and shriveled, dangling uselessly off the chair's edge.

"Which of you is the one called Matatek Sel Vissica?"

The transport's doors opened, disgorging a single occupant. The Selonian slinked up to her full height as a half dozen tough-looking minders closed the distance. The old man kept a genial look on his face.

"Will you take tea with an old man?"

Vissica met the Pasha's geniality with a stony expression.

"I will take tea with you."

The Pasha made a gesturing motion as his litter was turned about to return from where it had come.

"Come, come."



* * *




The Pasha's stronghold was one of the few large buildings not razed entirely to it's foundations. The signs of the original opulent architecture were plain to see, though diminished somewhat by the decades. The old man's litter was set at the base of a flight of stairs. Two men hoisted the frail man up the flight, where a much larger chair awaited. Carefully, the Pasha was seated upon what counted as a throne on this world.

"You make an unusual request of me, Matatek Sel Vissica, Knight of the Imperial Throne."

Vissica stood at the base of the steps, her arms clasped behind her.

"You wish me to hire a bounty hunter against someone. Why?"

The Selonian's whiskers bristled.

"My motives are my own."

The Pasha dipped his horned head in deference to Vissica's point.

"Yet you do not enamor me to help by your secrecy. If I refuse?"

The Knight's flews raised slightly to reveal her hidden teeth.

"Then I will put an end to your comfortable understanding with Governor Skoreni."

The Pasha ran a frail hand through his beard.

"You would break the peace on this world? The Empire needs us. We make you productive. Without our permission to reclaim the ruins, the Empire will find itself in a quagmire trying to go it alone."

Vissica considered the Pasha's own threat, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"You forget yourself, Pasha. The control you exert is an illusion that we have allowed to continue. We can just as easily recover your resources after bombarding the half-dead remains of your planet into slag."

"You're bluffing."

"I am a Selonian," Vissica reminded her host, with the calmness of a cup of water, "we do not bluff."

Backed into a corner, the Pasha's pace of beard-fussing increased somewhat.

"And if I accept your request?"

"Then the Empire continues to see the convenience of this present understanding."

The Pasha sighed.

"Very well. I have already called upon the best bounty hunters my credits can buy. You are free to use them with the blessing of my name and my money."

Vissica's dark, almond-shaped eyes widened.

"Show them to me."

[Volk]

To say that the massive Shistavanen looked out of place in the tarnished opulence of the Pasha's stronghold was a severe understatement. In truth, Volk's appearance only truly corresponded with a heavily forested environment, his timber fur suited for the craggy cliffs of Uvena II where he was birthed. This, coupled with the chiseled musculature of his entirety and the scant coverings adopted only for ease of assimilation, assured that he stood out among the other hunters gathered at the trifling behest of greed; or, in Volk's case, the drive for survival and betterment in a world very dissimilar to his own.

Incredibly sharp nails protruded from the toes of his forefeet, threatening to carve deep furrows into the ground where he stood poised, patiently awaiting whatever factor that might determine his heading. His bushy tail swished idly from side to side, occasionally brushing the elongated hocks that supported the impressive girth of his thighs; concealed in part by lizard leather greaves and a fauld of dull grey armorweave that fell just above the knee. He rolled his shoulders, causing the timeworn Mandalorian Iron plating adorning his left shoulder and arm to thump against one another noisily.

His stature was concealed in partial shadow, the crimson glow of his irises made infinitely more unnerving by the darkness and the occasional revelation of serrated fangs; that made an appearance with each huff of breath. A scent on the poorly circulated air prompted a thorough inhalation from the wolf-like hunter and the steady thump of his paws heralded his entry into the overhead light that spilled into the dilapidated courtyard where he and his fellow hunters had been assembled. A clawed hand, comprised of five digits and padded palm expected from his kind, stretched out and supported a leaned position against one of the porous pillars lining the perimeter of the courtyard. Double doors pushed open and conversation ground to a halt, his hackles on the rise as a number of individuals were admitted entry.

It was high time their purpose was discovered. A row of teeth were flashed again, a long tongue tracing their gumline in anticipation.

[Alanie Herleva]

Music pumped from the large alcove entertaining more the Pasha that ruled this last bastion of anything standing on the otherwise tortured city, and possibly world for all she knew. Alanie, dressed in a casual outfit of dark blue tunic and black pants nursed a tumbler of whiskey as she continued sizing up the competition. Most being overly zealous, young hunters looking to make a name for themselves would be easily removed from the equation, she mused with judgmental, blue green eyes. Others, like the Shistavanen near the far corner as well as another quiet, armored human seated not far from them on a stone rail also made her curious. Keeping to themselves instead of boasting or trying to entertain themselves while still trying to look like they were in charge here were sure signs of lack of time in the field.

Sunlight beat coolly on the open aired courtyard as some danced, drank or wove tall tales of their supposed exploits until their host entered. Music immediately quietened which gained everyone's attention, then guided their eyes to the Pasha as he glided in on the hover throne. Now they would learn why they were all here. Moving through the mix of alien and human hunters in a wide array of attire, Alanie chose an empty stool near the long bar that commanded the northeastern corner of the courtyard and sat down, placing her drink on the polished wooden counter.

[Blacktung]

The shink of stone on metal filled the courtyard, annoying the ears of those standing above in the battlements. The lone man paid them no heed, continuing to run the stone across the edge of the vibroblade in his hands. It was a large blade, the size of a bastard sword, and designed to look more like a weapon of legend than the piece of modern technology that it was. A pronounced crossguard and a long hilt wrapped in rich leather. The only thing that established it's vibro-capabilities was the mechanism block at the start of the blade above the crossguard. It's matching dagger sat beside him, already sharpened and glistening in the smoggy sunlight.

The groan of the gate opening drew the man known as Blacktung's attention. Looking up he watched the Imperial Transport hover inside, and from it's depths a single occupant departed. He knew who she was. Knight Vissica. He had heard of her from the Imperial soldiers he often worked with. While a loyal, card carrying Bounter Hunter he was not beyond giving his assistance to the government body that allowed the Bounty Hunter's Guild to exist in the first place. Without the framework created by and the cooperation of the Empire bounty hunters would have a much harder time finding jobs. It was a mutually beneficial agreement.

Wiping down his blade, he gave the edge a quick test with is thumb before returning to running the wetstone over it's edge again. In addition to the twin blades he also had a heavily modified Wookiee's bowcaster, a balanced throwing axe, and his pouch of herbal remedies. The foul odor it produced had secured him his isolation at this edge of the courtyard. His wardrobe of leathers, furs, and the occasional metal piece made him blend in with the impoverished locals, with their dirty clothing and jury-rigged technology. His own skin was smudged with dirt and grease, and dotted with scars. Finally satisfied with his blade, he wiped it down for the last time and returned it to it's scabbard.

Grabbing the bowcaster, which was cut down from it's original Wookiee design to make it usable by a sentient that was not a eight foot tall hair monster, he began to check it over for damage; sighting down the scope and making adjustments to the crosshair, all while keeping an eye on the Selonian and the Pasha. He could feel the large Imperial Knights aura. It was... confusing. Her spirit had a pureness to it, but it was flecked red and darkened. The stories said she was a devoted but violent creature, and that none of the battlefield were her equal. Truly a beast of Tyth if there ever was one.

Occasionally he would look up from his weapon, and away from the ongoing meeting, to glance at the others that had gathered. Hunters, he mused. Their purpose was not yet revealed.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Surveying the hunters called to his court, the Pasha gestured to each with a teacup.

"The large, beastly one. It's name is Volk, I believe. Fearsome specimen. Unsubtle. The woman, I do not know her name. She comes with recommendations from several underworld cartels that do business with Black Sun. The man, he has fulfilled Imperial contracts in the past."

Lady Vissica separated herself from her host, as the three called-out hunters approached, forming a rough semicircle close to the Knight. The Selonian's tapered muzzle glided from one face to the next as she inspected the potentials. She came toe-to-toe with Volk.

"State your proficiencies, Shistavanen."

[Volk]

Unsubtle.

An amused huff escaped the Shistavanen's moist, black nose. That depended entirely upon the environment. While a specimen of his stature, one that was notably larger than others of his kind, was bound to stick out in a courtyard containing varied hunters and limited locations to disappear; Volk had learned to move with the utmost subtlety in the woodlands of Uvena II, where shadows and the camouflage of copses clung to his earthen timber fur like a cloak. Further more, his training in the Force had imbued his senses and augmented his already considerable physical prowess, making him a hunter not to be trifled with, particularly to other hunters which he held no qualms about dismantling should they get in his way.

He inhaled slowly, his crimson-ringed eyes landing upon the Selonian that approached and finally came to stand directly before him. His master had taught him to attune his senses to the ebb and flow of the Force, enabling him to track adepts as easily as a scent on the wind. This individual smelled particularly interesting.

I primarily hunt Force adepts, my lady. My proficiencies revolve around tracking, trapping, neutralizing, and from there, whatever is required.

[Alanie Herleva]

Listening to their names being called, the hostess motioning to the cinnamon toned assassin-turned-bounty hunter, Alanie rose and casually moved toward the tall, furred Knight and stood there. Taking in the two largest of the group, she smirked at the obvious sizing up between them and wasn't sure which of the two she would put her money on. Neither would be someone she would wish to meet in a dark alley, at least not without a head's up and a grenade or two. The higher pitched voice of the Selonian was one that she wouldn't forget either, it's toothy, almost hiss added a unique sound to it, as opposed to the Shistavanen who was quite the opposite. Both had impressive muscle tone and strong upper bodies and there was no way she would beat either in a foot race, that was for certain. But, sometimes quickness and agility trumped strength.

Hazel green eyes also noted their chosen weaponry and then glanced to the icy blue eyed fourth in their small semi-circle. His stance and obvious confidence also made her wonder which of them may win the bonus for anything extra gained during this mission.

[Blacktung]

Blacktung listened to the short exchanged between the two bestial creatures. It would seem that this man beast, Volk the Pasha called him, had much the same expertise as he himself possessed. A redundancy that was no doubt unacceptable. It might require him to be the better man in order to nudge Volk out of the selection. However, he found no honor in competition among Bounty Hunters. As a Brotherhood, they should work together and not against the other. While he could play the trump card that was his shamanistic powers, he did not want to reveal their existence in front of the Imperial Knight, lest they conscript him into their ranks thinking he had something they could harness and abuse.

For now he kept his mouth shut, and waited for the Imperial Knight to call his name. His only exchange was a sideways glance behind Volk's back to the fair skinned Hunter on the other side.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

The Shistavanen was broader at the shoulders than Vissica, but she retained height advantage on him. The Selonian took Volk's claim seriously enough. There was something about him. Her senses remained unclear on the matter, but she doubted the Shistavanen was making an empty boast.

"A force adept is a hard target to claim."

Vissica's attentions remained on Volk a moment more before she pivoted away two steps to face Herleva.

"What of you, huntress?"

[Alanie Herleva]

Now in the limelight, Alanie straightened a bit as she looked up to the Selonian. "Assassin by trade, but I've learned many helpful ways to find a mark and either capture or retire them as required." She knew the Pasha had been given little on her background and it would remain that way. No one here needed any more fuel to try and find a weakness in the human female. She was now even more intrigued as to why they had been gathered together as she watched the large, furred alien then glance to the icy blue eyed male.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica wouldn't abide in vaguery, and with Herleva's brief resumé spelled out, the Knight accentuated her preference in case there was any doubt.

"Your task will be a capture. Make certain you are more mastered than learned in that particular skill, assassin."

Already, the Selonian was moving down the line to the sword-slung barbarian.

"You. I recognize your face. You served Captain Orgern faithfully on Wayland, crushing savages in revolt."

Vissica raised an upturned palm to Blacktung.

"Your sword. Show it to me."

[Blacktung]

"Yes, Knight Vissica."

Nodding his head, Blacktung acknowledged her words. Yes, he had served on Wayland. It was not out of the ordinary for him to work for the Empire. They were reliable client that paid decently for sanctioned work. That opened a lot of doors as much as it made him enemies in the criminal underground and rivals within the Guild. The other Bounty Hunters liked to think they were above the Empire, that they didn't have a symbiotic relationship, but it was the Empire that allowed for them to coordinate and work within their borders. The benefits of Guild Membership far outweighed the uncertainty of working solo.

Reaching to his side he grabbed the hilt of his blade and drew it smoothly. The large blade was cumbersome to draw but once it was unsheathed it fit nicely in his hands. The hilt was designed to hold with a hand and a half, with one firmly holding the blade while the other controlled the pommel. Turning it sideways he held it at the hilt and blade and presented it to the Imperial Knight with his head bowed. Blacktung did not know what to expect from the Selonian, but if she had a matching interest to his pride for his blade than they would have no quarrel.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica curled a broad-knuckled paw over the grip, the stacked leather grip audibly crackling as her calloused digits tightened around it. Cradling with her other paw, the Selonian cleared the weapon from Blacktung's grasp, taking a half step back before allowing herself the license to test the weight and balance. It was a large weapon. Not as large as her greatsaber, but large enough that a single grip could arrest the momentum of a swing only with some difficulty. The Knight allowed herself a few strong swings to acquaint herself to Blacktung's instrument, then held the blade up for inspection. The barbarian had obviously taken good care of the weapon. It's surfaces gleamed with whatever light it gathered in the courtyard. The leather was supple, showing no cracks. The blade itself held an edge that was sharp, but not overtly-so. This was a weapon intended for striking with mass. A vibromechanism at the head of the hilt stood pronounced from the half hand rest, providing extra lethality.

Vissica inspected the blade closely, her eyes noting the striations in the metal that hinted at it's forged foldings of composite grade durasteel. The pass of a digit along the flat of the blade disturbed it's mirror patina, leaving only the faintest residue on the fingertip. The Selonian sniffed at the blade, then flicked her tongue lightly over the tip of her finger, divining something unsaid over the quality of the honing oil. Her last arcane test of the blade was to clamp her jaws over the flat of the sword, clamping down with force for a moment. Unsurprisingly, the durasteel passed the test unmolested.

Satisfied, the Selonian straightened her stance, presenting the weapon back to Blacktung in a mirror of his own previous offering.

"An impressive weapon, barbarian. It will be of no use to you on this mission."

[Blacktung]

Blacktung watched nervously as the Selonian handled his weapon. He would be the first to vouch for his choice of weaponry. His large collection included all manner of blades, bows, and blasters. He used only the best, modified them to boost performance, and cared for them as the sad mother Scyva cares for all her children. He was not sure what he was afraid the Imperial Knight would find; perhaps a missed nick or a bit of tarnish. Something that would discredit him as a warrior and a bounty hunter. When she bit the blade he felt his heart seize in his chest, his fists grip into tight balls, and his entire body tense. It was not until she removed the blade from her maw and presented it back to him that he finally allowed himself to relax and breath.

"I have a great many weapons, Knight Vissica. You will not find me wanting for anything." Blacktung replied as he returned the blade to his sheath, but not without looking at the blade as he put it away. No teeth marks. Good. Lifting the Bowcaster from his side he cradled it in both arms against his chest. "What is the mission, mighty warrior, if I may ask?"

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Fixing her eyes upon Blacktung a moment longer, as if thinking something unsaid, Vissica retrieved a holodisc from a small utility pouch on her armored cuirass. The mechanism turned over in the grasp of her broad fingers before finally floating in the air seemingly of it's own volition. When it occupied a space equidistant from all candidates, a woman's image (https://theholo.net/forum/member.php?2882-Loklorien-s-Ilancy) appeared in shimmering blue light.

"Your target's name is Loklorien s'Ilancy. Captain of the Alliance, and former Jedi Master."

[Alanie Herleva]

Alanie watched the unique display and wondered what the Selonian's teeth were made of that made her think that she would mark the sword's blade. Brow furrowing lightly, she then listened to the mark they were to capture and her stomach tightened at the mention of the woman being a former Jedi master. This was going to take some subtlety and care. Anyone using the Force wasn't to be trifled with and Alanie's mind immediately began sifting through a host of approaches that might work, but the situation was going to be a true test of their abilities. Glancing to the other two hunters, she had a feeling that neither male was going to fare that well with this contract, though she had been surprised before.

Blue eyes turned back to the large, feline alien. "There a time limit on this? Do we bring her back here or to you elsewhere?"

[Blacktung]

The mark was finally revealed, and Blacktung looked on in curiosity. He had expected the hunt to be a traitor to the throne, but instead was confronted with instructions to acquire an Alliance Captain and Jedi Master. Two qualities that, on their own, would make for a difficult hunt. Together they created something altogether more dangerous. A piece of flimsi pad was pulled from a pocket and notes jotted down on it's worn surface. From his stylus erupted the dead language Zakuureen; so cryptic and ancient that he doubted there were many in the galaxy who could read it, thus ensuring the secrecy of his notes.

Already he was making plans; informants to contact, weapons to use, possible companions to get involved. The two other hunters did not strike him as the sort to want to work together. One was a rippling animal man, feral and dangerous, and the other was an assassin.

"Do you know if this... Loklorien, possesses a lightsabre?"

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

The Selonian's little ears twitched at Alanie's question, and Vissica fixated on her with her bullet-shaped head.

"The mark on Captain s'Ilancy has no time limit. Don't let haste blind you or inure your failure. Your quarry is resourceful and dangerous. You should hoard every advantage you can if you expect to succeed, much less survive."

Vissica paused, her whiskers splaying on her blunted muzzle.

"If you do, you will make contact with me. I will instruct you where to bring Captain s'Ilancy."

She surveyed the hunters, eyes narrowing.

"It matters not if you work alone or together, but if I discover that you have actively worked against each other and jeopardized the hunt, I will kill you."

As she laid bare her grave warning, the barbarian to her right brought forth another question. Vissica's sinewy frame pivoted a quarter turn against her planted feet to face him.

"She does, barbarian. I have faced her in combat, and she is capable in using the weapon. Her apostasy from the Jedi Order has not diminished this fact."

[Alanie Herleva]

Nodding, Alanie knew the more time she had to study the mark and work out a plan, the better. There was no argument from the trained assassin as she then turned her attention to the icy blue eyed hunter, then back to their employer on this hunt. An interesting choice of words in the Selonian's reply, Alanie mused. A Jedi wouldn't ask bounty hunters to hunt one of their own, so.

Blue-green eyes glanced to their benefactor and wondered if he had been well paid for this service, or pressured into complying with the alien. His face belayed little doubt that he wished he could be more involved in the hunt, but Alanie had a feeling that this contract was more personal than they were being led to believe. Turning her attention back to the Selonian, she had many questions. "What were her last known whereabouts?" It would be good to at least have a place to start, but she didn't have a problem with finding out on her own either.

[Blacktung]

Blacktung's stylus came to a stop after writing the word Lightsabre in old Zakuureen, and then circled it twice for emphasis. A smile had been creeping across his face the entire exchange, and was now showing in earnest. Tapping his stylus against the flimsi he thought of how he was going to overcome a Jedi Master armed with an energy sword. He had many weapons, many tactics, and was, if nothing else, adaptive. There were ways to overcome a lightsabre. It was not a perfect weapon. Enough firepower can overcome any defense. With just the three of them on this hunt, presumably, they hardly had the necessary firepower. That meant tricks, and traps, and Blacktung was good at the latter. Not quite the fight that he would prefer; a straight forward, honest battle, but in this moment he was incredibly outclassed by his prey.

"It will be a great hunt, worthy of Izax's gaze."

[Volk]

Loklorien s'Ilancy.

The name sent an otherworldly caress along his timber-hued hackles, causing them to heighten and contribute all the more to his unnatural stature. His keen, glistening nose sought to pull in any remnants of the former Jedi Master's scent from the Selonian's form, while his saffron gaze locked upon the image of the woman cast in translucent blue luminescence. Along with any details proffered by their 'employer' of sorts, Volk made a point of taking stock of his fellow hunters' accomplishments and skill sets. He was unaccustomed to working in tandem with others, despite having been born and raised in a once close knit pack. The taste of betrayal had not yet died on his tongue, the rot it had afflicted upon his soul appearing as murky flecks in his eyes which swept over the humanoids present.

What they required now was a starting point and the huntress had already asked the appropriate question for a heading. Choosing to maintain his silence, Volk slid his claw-tipped thumbs into the belted top of his cloth and leather fauld.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

"It will be a great hunt, worthy of Izax's gaze."

"If that is what motivates you."

The Selonian's voice rasped in dispassioned inflection as she glanced back to Blacktung and his eager affirmations. That was the gulf that separated her, a loyal servant of the true galactic sovereign, and those beyond the oath. It was said without rebuke, but with understanding that there simply existed beings with their own objectives. Money, glory, recognition. These were motives that could be exploited to create allies. It made no difference to Lady Vissica what compelled these hunters to do their task. All that mattered was their obedience.

"The last confirmed whereabouts of Captain s'Ilancy were at the ocean world, Manaan. I doubt you will find any trace of her there. Her warship was detected leaving the star system days after the Empire withdrew from the planet. However, it is known that this ship regularly makes port at a former Imperial deep space station called Jovan Station, situated at the border of the Hydian Way."

A pass of her paw in the air gave an unspoken command to shift the hologram, revealing a massive space station with eight capital ship docking spires radiating from a central core.

"There is more," The Selonian continued, "the Captain is a known associate of a Jedi Master named Zem-El Vymes. He is likely to be found on the Jedi sanctuary world of Ossus. She may also have other comrades and associates who may prove useful. Feel free to exploit any compassion her attachments have engendered. I want the Captain alive. If others come to harm to deliver her, it makes no difference."

[Alanie Herleva]

Mentally cataloguing the names and places, Alanie was already formulating a plan as the others also chimed in. The large one was definitely intimidating and she had no time to be worrying about those she traveled with and the icy blue eyed one seemed rather straightforward which was a good thing. Nodding to the last details that their benefactor offered, the assassin prepared to leave as soon as they were allowed, though no doubt the three of them would then have to work out how they were traveling and then go from there. Jovan Station was familiar, but not a place that she readily knew. Yet.

The target being a Force user was still going to take some care to capture which meant specialized equipment which meant private contractors that she could trust, or that were expendable afterwards. There was much work to be done and little time to accomplish it, it seemed.

[Blacktung]

What was with the people of this galaxy and their newfound affinity for Space Stations? If it was not Jovan than it was Cloud City, or some other station throughout the galaxy. People gathered in these cramped spaces, isolated from the fresh air and hard ground of the natural born planets. There was something all together unnatural and disturbing about the space stations. Blacktung felt an extreme disconnect from his Gods and their power while aboard those floating metal monstrosities. There was a life force to be felt, but it was not the same primal one found planetside. It was wound up and agitated. The soul knows where it belongs.

"Jovan it is then. I have a favor to call upon there. Rejoice comrades, we have a beginning to our journey. Prepare your own craft or join me aboard the Izilith. Farewell Knight Vissica, we shall endeavor to not disappoint you." Bowing his head, he clutched his close fist to his chest before rising and turning toward the gate. There was no discussion of payment, and Blacktung was fine with that. It was not about the payment. As a successful bounty hunter with the support of the Guild he was not scrounging in the dirt for coins. His simple lifestyle was not difficult to fund, although his constant investment into new weapons for his collection was a major drain on his funds. He knew that the Empire was good for it, even if the payout was lackluster in comparison to what a private party would be offering. There was a reliability in taking contracts from the Empire.

He had yet to be stabbed in the back by them.

Just outside the compound his ship waited for him. Compared to the squalor conditions surrounding it the YV-666 looked massive and pristine. It was hardly so. It's hull was dirty and scarred, just like inside. The ship had become very lived in and he rarely had passengers that were not prisoners; and he was hardly going to clean up on their account. The ground level was a clutter of supply crates and cells of all shapes. The second level was his armory and boasted his collection of weapons as well as a very impractical shooting range for him to practice his less destructive weapons; such as his wide collection of bows and smaller arms. Lastly, the third floor contained the bridge, kitchenette, and several bunk rooms. All accessed by a singular turbolift, or the emergency ladder if you were in a hurry or lost power.

It was his flying home, and in an attempt to soften his dread of flying he had taken great pains to make it feel as earthy as possible; with fur pelts to warm the floors and images of his homeworld of Zakuul adorning the walls.

At his command the cargo bay door parted and folded down to allow him access. At the top of the ramp he turned and looked back to see if any of his fellow hunters had chosen to accept his offer of cooperation.

[Alanie Herleva]

Not quite as enthusiastic as the handsome, ice blue eyed one, Alanie followed him out of the large, open aired room. Leaving the plump benefactor and tall, cat-like alien behind also wasn't breaking her heart in the least. She enjoyed being independent and though this particular mission was meant to be in cooperation with at least two others, beyond the small group of quieter hunters gathered, Alanie would be able to keep an eye on them at least.

Soon, their trek exited the large, opulent palace and into the free air once more, though the sight that greeted the cinnamon toned hunter wasn't any better. Slowing her pace, a look of disgust replaced the normally stoic expression as Blacktung continued up the ramp. Blue-green eyes took in the battered and scarred vessel which had obviously seen better days. "You're kidding, right?" She wanted to laugh, but noticed the calm demeanor on the man and would hate to have him start crying.

[Blacktung]

"Nay. She's hardly a beauty, but she is home, and will get us to the Station of Jovan. I apologize for the mess. It's not often that I have guests aboard."

"Guests? Well, I must say I'm quite hurt that you do not consider me as such. First no clean towels and now this? One star out of five."

The voice came from within the vessel as it drifted out from one of the many cells. Blacktung rolled his eyes and yelled over his shoulder in response.

"Ack, I told ye you're a prisoner, Goren. And this ain't a hotel."

"I should hope not, otherwise the quite frankly disgusting floors in here would be inexcusable. You know I'm not one to complain, yet I must mention that something has certainly died here in the past. By the smell I would guess a Gamorean. No, it has more of a Weequay-Nikto dustiness to it. Perhaps a Hutt? I know you're an Imperial Boot Licker, Herr Tung, but surely even you would not cross a Hutt."

Stomping into the ship Blacktung delivered a swift kick to a particular cage door, which seemed to silence the complainer within, even if just for the moment. Between the bars and through the ray shield barrier a pair of eyes looked out from what had once been a pair of immaculately plucked eyebrows left to outgrow, and a beard that was slowly reclaiming his face. His clothing was luxurious, although ripped and dirtied now.

"By the all devouring maw of Izax, Goren, you will be delivered, dead or alive." Turning back to his new companions he beckoned them into the ship. "Come, we must make for the Station of Jovan immediately. With every moment Lokloriek S'Ilancy may move further from our grasp."