The strange bearlike creature goes willingly into Qot's arms.
Braxen gestures to the other prisoners "Come on then, unless you want to stay here?"
Qot holds the creature as one would hold a very heavy toddler, and then looks at the others with a sense of urgency.
Taking the transport from the prison complex it is a few hour drive back to the city. The bear-like creature continues to talk in broken single word fragments, cooing, and purring the entire time.
When you arrive at the address you find a secured door which a small droid eye pops out of when you approach.
"Bedorlgerperg. it says in some strange language you don't recognize and retreats into its hole, the door opening.
As you enter the room, the creature's demeaner quickly changes. He looks up at you and says, "You can damn well set me down now."
When you do, he immediately walks to a desk, takes out a pipe and t'baac, packs and lights it.
As you look around the room, you see a jumble of weapons, armor, explosives, an old battle droid, and many other, often highly illegal things.
Several more of the bear-like creatures step out of the shadows and speak.
"Thank you for restoring us," one says
"to ourself." another finishes.
Returning to speak with the Duke, he listens to your report.
"Excellent work, excellent indeed. Bennie is an. . . unusual sort- a Bilar, and one of the smartest creatures to even call this planet home. The supplies he will provide will be invaluable."
"We will need more help than this small group though, and I fear that it may be. . . wise. . . for you to get out of the city for a while after this escapade."
"I'd like you to go and speak with some friends. Some potential allies. Are you up for a different sort of challenge then?"
"I am all about laying low, but we are still gonna get paid for this little excursion for you, yes?"
"Yes, yes. Por has your payment; don't worry about that."
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Por Kandino squeals as he delivers a case with 8,000 credits in it to you, chattering in Gamorean faster than his translator can keep up.
"Well then- to the next. I have leads on four possible leads on allies-- one to the East, one to the West, one to the North, and one to the South. The four points of the compass packaged neatly on this data stick." The Duke holds out a data stick to you.
"What say you? Will you hunt down more rebels to the cause?"
Braxen takes the data stick and nods. "I see no reason why not."He then looks to the rest questioningly.
"If you have no other questions?" the Duke offers as he holds out the chip with the coordinates.
"Or any supplies you require?"
"Well, now that you mention it, we are in need of services to disguise our shiny new armor. The Empire is not going to be happy if we wander around town in them either way, but white is so last era."
"You can trade them in with Bennie- he has armor sets that are disguised and can have more made from the Trooper armor you took. If you need weapons, explosives or else wise- contact Bennie and he will supply you."
"I will be sending Por along with you on this. He will guard my speeder while you are in town, but if you need his skills in other ways just ask."
Looking at the information on the chip, the first location you are supposed to check (to the West) is a smuggler's haven known as the Freeport. . .
"Sounds good to me, you guys wrap up here, I am gonna go see the Bennies about some BOOM"
At Bennie's. . .
"Yes, yes- armor we have-"
"Pick you colors, pick your type- ah you desire you--"
"Shall find. But what type of--"
"explosives do you mean to find?"
Four of the Bilar's bodies speak to you, while several others sort through the assortment of items fitting you each for armor after your desires. . . you know there are at least a few more bodies for Bennie around here somewhere as well- just how many, you cannot say. . .
"I need two kinds, the kind that makes small work of people and the kind that will put a hole in the side of a battlecruiser, or whatever you got laying around back there will do fine..."
Sl'P marvels at the Bennies work...
Qot thanks heartfully. At this point, the young Miraluka already wrapped her saber back to look like a common hunting staff. She is extra shy: in her heart, she knows she did the right thing in revealing herself to save her teammates, but now she has to deal with the consequences of it.
"Oh, wow, you have quite the selection Bennie. I tried on that Stormtrooper Armor, but it is a little too stiff for me, so I will stick with the Scout Trooper armor. I can definitely use one of the decked out helmets to go with it, though. Duros eyesight is not very hardy in bright conditions, you see?" Sl'P gives a bit of a chuckle at his own joke and when he notices no one else gets it, "Well, ahem, two of the poppers and a pack full of the linked stuff for the explosives. Just keep the bag of EX here for now, I doubt we have need for it while performing a recruiting mission. I will just add the two poppers on a, this, um, oh, and throw in a utility belt, please. That should do the trick, yeah..."
Sl'P continues to marvel at the Bennies' customer service during all his wishy washyness....
Por jabbers at you in Gammorean, his translator box working hard to keep up, "I have the ship outside; better leave. ur grunt gkkly."
As you exit the building, new gear in hand, you see the sail barge hovering there.
Aboard, you all have quarters on the lower decks. Por drives or pilots (though the term is rather loose, the pleasure barge moving mostly by autopilot) from the deck.
The first location you are heading to is the smuggler's den known as Sapphire City.
It takes a day to travel there, and when you arrive Por hovers the Sail Barge about a half mile out of town, "Got to walk from here."
You trudge through the fields to the smuggler's port, and find a likely cantina. The information from the Duke suggests your here to see if there are any mercenary types who might be willing to join with your cell. . .
You've been trapped here on Hijantis now for three months. What was supposed to be a simple in and out, has turned into a seemingly permanent stay-- your ship destroyed when Moff Tay'doon destroyed the spaceport near the Capital. Since then, you've been laying low in Sapphire City, waiting for a chance to get off world, or to make a score. . . when a strange group, new to town, walks into the saloon.
The tenth Empire Day has just passed, commemorating the Founding of the Galactic Empire, and the ceremonies on Hijantis were as rousing success. Officially, at least, that is. But all is not quiet in Sector 887, despite the assurances which the newly installed Moff Barris Tay'doon has been sending to his superiors , insisting he doesn't need any assistance to deal with the situation on Hijantis.
But after an explosion rocked the official celebrations in the Capital, killing a commander of the local Imperial Garrison, Moff Tay'doon issued an edict reminding the Imperial Citizens of Hijantis that their aristocracy had been dissolved years ago, that the King, now an honored guest of the Moff aboard his flagship Rememberance, is merely another Galactic Citizen, and that there simply are no Princes, Dukes, Barons, or Counts in Hijantis.
Moff Tay'doon went further, destroying the only spaceport on Hijantis, and interdicting the orbit to ensure that no outside aid gets in, and no one gets out of Hijantis. Three months later, and the rebellion is simply simmering beneath the surface of the Hijantis streets, when you receive a mysterious message inviting a man, woman, creature, or droid of your own particular talents to a meeting in the Slepwig Salloon on the outskirts of the Capital . . .
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Anya was bored.
Ever was she the kind of being that craved new excitement and fresh experiences. Such a lust for life got her many dirty looks back home...well, in most places, really. But it served her later in life and she just sort of assumed the track of fire would ever continue.
Alas! Much of this had been waiting, or patiently making sure that the Imps didn't find them and ask too many questions. There was a certain measure of thrill in such close calls, but with no way to respond it was hardly a way to live.
Now it seemed that they were...waiting for friends? Well, that sounded promising.
Never sure what to expect she was dressed for work, and that meant dressed pretty much like a Twi'lek. Her leather vest was well made but brief, showing plenty of trim stomach and soft, heavy chest. Her cargo pants are snug, almost painted on. And her jean-shrug was full sleeved, covering well arms and back, but stopped well short of the front.
She had meant to keep a sharp eye, but three months of no kills had dulled her edge. She sighed and took another sip of...okay, she honestly has no idea what this thing is called, but it has a fine kick and that's good enough.
"You see anything interesting?" she asks her companion Toral.
A Zabrak man sits at a cantina table, his feet propped up on another chair, staring off at nothing in particular. He appears to be quite young, maybe in his mid-20s. He wears dark boots and trousers and a light brown jacket over a white shirt -- nothing that would draw all that much attention to him. One of his hands idly fiddles with the flap on a jacket pocket.
Toral blinks a few times, pulled from his reverie by Anya's voice. He turns his head to look at the Twi'lek woman who had been his constant companion for the past few months. His eyes sweep over her body, pausing in a few key places, before moving back up to her own. "Oh, I can see plenty that I'd call interesting," he responds with a teasing smile.
He laughs and waves one hand in front of him, as if brushing away his own joke. Grabbing his own drink, he takes a long swig from it before looking back out at the rest of the cantina interior.
"Nothing so far," he says with a shrug. "This better work out soon, or we really have to start considering ways to get off this rock."
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Anya giggles and responds with a playful wink. After all the things that had happened to her at...her past...it was nice to just be appreciated on her own terms.
"Just keep sharp. Otherwise we might have to rely on something other than your looks and intrinsic sense of style."
The prospect of this not panning out and having to look for alternate means for their future was not a good picture.
"The planet is going under some kind of crazy lock-down, and you can't keep a lid on a pan of steaming ochra-nuts and not have something start on fire.
Of course I'm not very good at cooking, so maybe that's just me.
Well I can steal it if you can fly it.
You are good at flying, right?"
As the team arrives at the designated location, Sl'P offers to go in first and "check it out", while the others wait on the vehicle ready to bail him out if there is trouble and to join him if there is not. He snags a floppy hat laying around in the vehicle and heads out the door.
Feeling a bit thirsty, Sl'P heads straight into the cantina. He pauses at the door and clears his mind, nothing like the present to practice some of his new talent:
Never having been in this particular joint, he throws the doors open so everyone can see he is just another patron and performs the requisite scan of the room:
After the scan, he walks straight to the bar and signals the bartender. when he approaches, Sl'P leans in real close, "Sarsaparilla, neat" , then leans back and awaits his drink.
Well done, Sl'P! Focus, and feel the Force in everything. None of your other senses matter. We are not swimming in its waves, we are part of the water. - says the young Miraluka, an entire life raised in the Force.
Braxen would wait, and after a few minutes if the cantina didn't go up in flames, he'd head in after Sl'p. As he walked through the door, he'd shudder, not used to such hives of scum and villainy. He'd quickly looking around, for anything more suspicious then average.
The new comers enter- looking essentially like three humans, one with her eyes bandaged, and a Duros.
Inside, there is a Twilek woman & Zabrak man sitting at one table, and a half dozen other patrons.
Two Devaronians talk with a human in the corner. Another pair of humans drink in silence at a table, and a Gungan sits at the bar.
The Bith proprietor nods, and gets SI'p his drink.
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"There they are," Anya says pointedly to Toral, finishing off her drink. "See that guy? The Duros who just came in? He cased the joint like a pro. And now...um, a lady with bandages over her eyes just came in and -congratulated- him on looking around? And now they're joined by some stuffed shirt that reallllly does not belong here. If that's not who we're supposed to meet then I'm Jabba the Hutt." She sets her empty glass on an adjacent table and runs a quick hand over her head's lekku.
"Imma go mess with them. Be right back." The tosses a playful wink at Toral, gets into character, and advances on the newcomers.
The Twi'lek gets up and gently approaches the newcomers. Her clothing is simple, yet durable and designed to display her figure. Her hands are clasped before her, as a symbol of helplessness, in the universal way of good slaves everywhere.
"The happiest of days to you, special friends!" she greets them cheerfully. A mega-watt smile is welded onto her plastic-perfect face, and never wavers as she speaks. "My master, Lord Toral Voth, Slayer of Lions, King of Men, Breaker of Chains and Fixer of Swords, and First Lord of the Star League, deigns for you to share a welcome drink at his most humble table. If you would most kindly follow my unworthy person?"
She waits for their response, as if waiting upon persons of their import were the only thing that gave her joy in life.
The girl is sincerely trying to be friendly, and wants to have a drink with all of you, but the act is all bantha poodoo. She's as much a slave as you are. She's good at what she's trying to do, but you're better at sniffing it out.
Braxen looks satisfactorily at the slave girl, happy to be finally treated as his heritage calls for.
Qot gets fascinated with the gungan for moments - what a strange creature. Some would say it looks quite dumb, but the miraluka knew better not to judge a book by its cover. She tied her staff to her back, pulling a chair to sit near Sl'P and Braxen.
As the twi'lek approaches, Qot looks with curiosity. She was way too humble to understand the complexities of what the arriver had just spoken, or who the slaves or masters were. She limited herself to smile, shake her head negatively, and go back to look childishly at the gungan.
As Qot watches, the gungan finishes eating the froglike creature, gulping it down, and stands, looking obviously drunk, "Ohhh, meesa head hurtey. Meesa go night night now." he drops a few credits on the bar and stumbles out of the cantina.
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Anya smiles and bows low to the appreciative glances from the obviously well-bred (and possibly out-of-place) noble.
"Joyous blessings upon, O Man-of-Men. A kitten's growl would not come near the plights of your spoken voice. May the fruit of thy loins spawn for a hundred generations!"
She obediently turns and leads whoever follows her to Toral's table.
"Master, I have brought you sublime company of transcendent wisdom to share thy exalted presence!"
She folds herself and kneels on the floor at Toral's side, as any good slave would do.
'I think I still got the knack of this,' she thinks.
Oh, this should be good, Toral thinks as Anya makes her way toward the group. He takes a sip from his drink, but nearly chokes on it when he hears the Twi'lek announce his name clearly for anyone who cares to listen. He casts a furtive glance around the room, hoping no one else seemed to be paying much attention.
We've really got to coordinate this kind of thing better. Maybe I need a fake name. Oh blast I think it's working.
He watches Anya -- and those who followed her -- as she makes her way back to their table. He takes another long drink, eyeing them over the top of his cup, doing his best to compose himself. It wouldn't be much fun to give away the game that quickly, would it?
"Ah, yes, uh, very good," he says to Anya, doing his best to sound as important and in charge as he imagines the "First Lord of the Star League" should. He sweeps out an arm, gesturing to the open seats at the table. "You will join me for a drink, won't you? Come, sit."
Qot opens her mouth wide, indescribably happy with the image of the drunk gungan. For moments she thought he was going to swallow his own long ears! She keeps following him with her head as he leaves the cantina.
Although still injured, she manages seals the synthskin around the site before running over the spot with her laser welder, making the area smooth as porcelain.
The noble, the blind woman and the Duros are joined by a human (or near human) woman, pale, with eyes an unnatural electric blue, and thick, flowing red hair. Milady again overdresses, wearing a silver dress that displays her shoulders and cleavage, thick straps connecting the body of the dress to a tight black collar at the neck, coiling its way up to her chin. Her dress is tight at the top, but below the bust becomes loose and slinky. It is short, her hands easily reaching to patches of skin on her long pale legs, where she wears black tights with diamonds cut out of them, a fashion trend long fallen out of style. Her black boots are sensible, with a short wedged heel and a pointed toe.
At the bar, she asks sarcastically for "Battery acid," not having slept the night before.
She watches the slave dispassionately, saying nothing as the Twi'lek speaks to Braxen. The woman simply crosses her legs one way, and then the other.
She does not immediately rise to follow, waiting for Braxen or Sl'P to do so. However, Milady nudges Qot as she follows the gungan with her head. "People think you're blind, remember?"
After the Gungan leaves, everyone joins each other sitting at a table in the back.
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"Ha! That was fun," Anya says, getting up from the floor and taking a seat. She waves at the waitress for another stand of Correlian ale. "Hee, sorry about the slave act but I needed to know you guys were legit. Good job, team! Good job all around.
I'm Anya. WhiteAngel. But people call me Wraith 'cause in kinda blend in. Not look myself. But I'm sure got all that. Me an' Toral got in a hair before the shutdown. Cost us a ship for our troubles, an' we been traipsing three months just to get here and we're itchin' for some action.
So what's the next dance?"
Milady extends a hand, delicate and smooth all around. "Call me Milady. You claim you were waiting for us?"
"Waiting for somebody, at any rate," Toral responds to the pale woman with a shrug. He gestures to Anya with a thumb. "She was apparently already on her way here to hook up for work with a bunch of rabble rousers. I kind of, uh, got roped in. Let myself get roped in."
He pauses a moment. "Anyway, yeah, we got in just before the spaceport got blasted. Been lying low since then, waiting for someone to show up. I was about to start arguing that we just steal a ship and try to leave, honestly."
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Anya stares agog at Milady's proffered hand. "Whoa. This is smooth. Like, really really smooth. If you took porcelain Endorian hide-glass and slathered it with lard you couldn't get something this smooth."
To Toral's data she follows, "I still think we could try that stealing a ship thing. I think we could pull it off, if that was a thing that needed doing."
"You exaggerate, but yes. My skin was expensive," Milady smiles, thrusting her chin upward in pride and accomplishment, quite conceited. "Clone grown, and naturally healing, to an extent."
She glances at the rest of her party at the talk of theft. "You talk so brazenly about these plans. The two of you must be very brave to fear the Empire so little. I take it you have fought them before?"