#pracses

Starter for @pracses

The Jedi were gone.

Quinlan would be lying if he said that he hadn't seen this coming. Perhaps, not in his lifetime, and definitely not to such a degree, but somewhere between the torture he'd faced by Dooku's hand and his own master turning his back on him, he had been invaded by the gut wrenching feeling that the time of the Jedi would come to an end. The thought hadn't left him, even as he was brought back to the light by the efforts of his stubborn old friend, Obi-Wan Kenobi. He'd simply chosen to ignore it, chose to live in denial and live in the moment without thinking of the future, and actively fleeing the past– ironic, considering psychometry was the one skill he was known for the most.

Now, there was no fleeing the facts: the Jedi were no more. Hundreds of lives lost to the very soldiers who the Jedi had trusted more than they did anyone else– at times, more than they trusted each other.

But he didn't lose hope. He couldn't. He owed it to the dead to honor them, since he couldn't avenge them without risking once again spiraling down a path he would rather avoid. A rabbit hole he'd sworn to never fall into again. One he'd been oh so tempted to embrace back on Kashyyyk, with his skin burnt and his ribs broken, just a little over a week ago.

Villie had found him, rescued him, and now they were off to Bracca because of this gut feeling that pushed Quinlan forward. Just before he'd been shot down and left for dead by Master Luminara's troops, he'd sensed another. As the lights that were the lives of so many Jedi he'd shared a temple with practically his whole life had been snuffed out one by one, he'd focused on the one stationed in the Bracca system: Jaro Tapal. For a moment, they'd been in tune with each other, clinging onto each other with something akin to desperation, before Quinlan was rendered unconscious by his injuries and now, he believed that connection with Master Tapal to be this gut feeling that kept telling him there was a Jedi still alive on Bracca.

It'd taken them some time to get there due to the distance and the freshly stationed imperial ships that sought to find any leftover Jedi. But finally, they made it to the dumpster of a planet.

Quinlan wasn't sure where to start looking, but he had Villie stay on the Skorp-Ion, keep the engines on in case they had to get out fast.

[ 𝚌𝚊𝚕 ! ] an eagerness in the binary was prominent as the droid shifted on the back of his human, optic lenses scanning the area ahead of the two of them. [ 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚔𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚢𝚢𝚢𝚔. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚔𝚘𝚋𝚘𝚑. 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚗 ? ]

the droid had really grown fond of the community in pyloon during their adventures to reach tanalorr, particularly the crowd that hung out at greez's saloon. he could only hope they were planning on stopping by for a visit.

luckily, his grandfather is quicker than he is, plucking the stone from the depths of the galaxy's waters with ease and deriving it's location. had urgency to find the cause and reason for this disturbance not become paramount, matt might have basked in the awe of his master's command and skills in the force, but the why and what lingers heavily in the air.

his own curiosity hurries his steps, along with orders to locate the cause of said interest, as matt makes his way to his personal ship. it's only a matter of minutes before he's space bound with his astromech and security droid as aboard as his only crew. the coordinates given to him only add to the questions buzzing in his mind. an old outpost used, destroyed, and then abandoned during the clone wars. what could be there? for some reason the location alone troubled the emperor enough to send him muttering about his old clone captain rex.

with hyperdrive activated matt has enough time to briefly comb through archives of the clone wars for any and all information about the rishi moon outpost that can aid him in this fetch quest. but an alert to an upcoming meteor shower has any information seeking cut short, only gaining warnings of dangerous creatures lurking in the shadows and cervices of the moon before both matt and dent ( the aforementioned astromech ) are sent haphazardly dodging the first signs of said space debris. the blond mutters a quiet thanks to the force for blessing him with not one but three skilled pilots in his family who have taught him nearly every trick there was to flying ( and landing [ and crash landing; which thankfully he doesn't have to do today ] ). and finally matt's planet-side - moon-side? either way, he's made it. and the force all but sings to him, whispering and guiding him to his destination, but it urges him to caution. danger lurks on the surface and he must be on guard if he's to find this compelling mystery; yet with every step towards the decrepit outpost matt feels such a of a past he knows nothing of, as if something - or someone - had been drawn towards the present.

@pracses

It was still quite a novelty to have humans on Ryloth, like they'd leaped right out of a HoloNet drama or something. Young Hera couldn't help but be fascinated; she'd always wanted to know what the galaxy outside of Ryloth looked like, and now here it was on her literal doorstep! So, ignoring her father's instructions to leave the clone soldiers alone, she put her best innocent smile on and approached.

Noche, a black turkoman with a pale streak over his muzzle carried his burden faithfully towards the barn residence. His trot steady and pace even as he moved, trained well by the one he carried. She was unconscious, her coat tattered, and blood staining her sleeves and a more prominent smear blossoming against her side. She had vague sensation that someone had lifted her up, off her horse. 

She stirred for a moment, briefly opens her eyes to see a face, Oh... He was... ❝ ' aljamil. ❞ Shadows swallowed her, taking her to a land of darker dreams--of nightmares. She’d fought some crazed predator, a bounty who hunted young girls and drank their blood. Vampire. It blurred, and she could hear someone murmur ‘the cut requires stitching, hold her here.’. Pain--She was used to that. The telltale scar to her chest was evident of that, more prominent than the ones that littered her body from her usual dance with death. She had hissed, and someone held her hands down--and then nothing again.

Was she dead? Dark lashes fluttered, the woman stirring and cracking her eyes open. Sunlight streamed through the curtain, highlighting the gold of her eyes and faint tint of red of her dark hair. Her head throbbed, her throat felt dry, and her sides ached when she breathed. She saw movement, a man with silver hair caught her gaze. His face looked aloof, almost stern but over all he was handsome. Rare these days to find anyone beyond decent. ❝ m’ dead? ❞ The words leave her in a rasp and she winces. ❝ Not bad way to go. ❞ Waking up to a handsome man? Better than waking up half dead in a ditch.  

Starter for @pracses

What had begun as a common rainfall was quickly turning into a turbulent storm. Waves crashed violently against the multiple islands' rocky shores as lightning cut through the clouds, coming down upon the earth like a striking fist and finding a target in the multiple, carefully placed lightning rods. But the fact they didn't directly strike the ground didn't stop them from shaking every individual to their core. The flashes of light reflected on the dark surface of the ocean that covered most of the planet, offering quite a spectacle.

There was a point in her life where, if brought to Pamarthe, Kilindi could have been spotted standing on one of the flimsy rope bridges that connected the islands with each other, staring down at the water and coming up with all sorts of theories for the images the lightning created: sunken shipwrecks, nasty creatures, anything her wild imagination could have come up with. But that had been way too long ago, and there was no time to waste on admiring such a turbulent ocean.

No, she has work related reasons to be on Pamarthe.

Someone had made a terribly, SUICIDALLY stupid decision. It was common knowledge to anyone who set foot —or even knew someone who had set foot— on any Hutt territory that the Hutts wished to remain neutral in the seemingly endless confrontation between the Confederacy Of Independent Systems and the Galactic Republic. So, it was quite the shock when no other than Gundark, a known arm dealer all across the galaxy, went from stocking up the Hutts, to stealing from the Republic, to selling the stolen goods to the Separatists instead of to the Hutts. Needless to say, there were a few slugs back in Nar Shaddaa who were unhappy with this decision, enough to put a considerable bounty on Gundark's head. Bounty that Kilindi had been quick to call dibs on.

It led her to Pamarthe, one of Gundark's less known 'vacation sites' that Kilindi only knew of through her own deals with the Houk arm dealer. This planet was enough of a backwater skughole for a fugitive to hide at and wait until the wrath of the Hutts diminished– but THAT would have been bad for Kilindi.

The Hutts wanted him alive, most likely to feed to one of their many carnivorous pets, but it wasn't like she'd asked why he was wanted alive. She hadn't asked ANYTHING. Taking the job without asking questions was what separated good bounty hunters from those that sat on their ass back in the guild, barely ever seeing any action.

A tension settled on her shoulders as she did her best to shield herself from the rain making use of the narrow alleys and what little shelter the edges of roofs provided. Her scalp ringles as her tendrils picked up on the pheromones around her. Not many people found themselves outside during such a storm, having dealt with all their business beforehand in preparation for the ruthless weather. So, detecting someone else out there was noteworthy. It's a known rule among the guild that bounty hunters cannot steal game from each other once it is caught, but it isn't uncommon for more than one hunter to go after the same target. It brings some 'healthy competition' that more often than not results in deaths.

Kilindi is not in the mood for 'healthy competition'.

Better to put an end to it and fast, she concludes. With a newfound goal, she changes her direction and follows the tingling sensation in her scalp, breathes in the scent of rain that barely hides the scent of another being. She spots the cloaked figure and doesn't hesitate to aim her blaster.