Era of Rebellion - Navigation

Christopher Levy and Anonymous.
Zero years after the Battle of Yavin (35:8:9) in the Horuset system: Moraband (Imperial garrison and Spaceport).
Jargel Bogg and El-Nay Darr.

Jargel Bogg, a member of the culture known across the galaxy, but has dwindled in strength and influence. With the various clans fractured it left much to be desired. There was no, right or wrong when it came to the basic need to survive. The facts were to live and to die. A man who had been stripped of his armor for what some believed was treason. He had become a Dar'Manda or rather ... no longer Mandalorian. It was not a clan but a state of exile. Now this narrow faced man had stepped into the shadows to hide what he truly was. With one eye large golden starburst in the depth of darkness eye covered on this Nautolan, he had much to still give. His sandy tan skin had small splotches of a deeper brown to bring out his features and other tones. He was Mandalorian after all, he had kept up the physique in his departure. His thin face, had a very sharp jaw into a pointed chin of more of a diplomat than a warrior. His tendrils were pulled back into a low ponytail to keep them free in that black leather tie. His clothing was simple, a black leather flight jacket, mind you it looked tighter than a normal pilot version, the collar was high and full of fur. The fur was this strange orange hue with patches of some sort of animal print, a mark from a kill. Pants loose, but conventional with his high boots with metallic protection over them and his knees. He carried three weapons, a knife that rested at the small of his back, with the handle sticking out a bit from above his right left hip. There had been a blaster strapped to his left thigh with the strap to keep it in place was undone, for quicker response time. Lastly there was an old fashion slug-thrower. Yes, it actually didn't fire any sort of heated round, but rather live ammo that force users tended to have a much harder time to absorb, seeing as it was solid matter. He stood about six-feet, three inches tall and his build was more slim-athletic than macho man. Now how did he end up here, well that was definitely going to be a story for another time. An obvious scar ran from behind his left ear, down over his jaw and back over towards his throat. It used the windpipe as a means to guide down to his chest, which of course disappeared by clothing. He wore a single metal wing, it looked to be normal unless looked at closely, once again another time. The footfalls were light, but they had firmness to them. He was a soldier, that much was evident. However, here on Korriban, it's where he had found a chance to be forgotten. The only real standing establishment was more of a port, which he had docked recently, now he was needing to locate his target for export. Yes, his goods happened to be ... people. As he entered the main sector of the spaceport, his single eye was looking over each face, he studied them quickly as if cataloging each expression, look and the feel he got from that momentary glance. He had to be vigilant, because if not it meant his own death.

When El-Nay Darr accepted the contract on Jargel Bogg she had been provided with limited information, and scant details on his true identity. All she knew that it was a particularly high paying job, and due to her inexperienced she felt his advanced age would make him easy prey. Unfortunately for her, she had thus far been unable to find any information on his whereabouts until a Rodian trader had reported a sighting on the outer rim world of Korriban ... a location the young Mandalorian had never heard of. A more seasoned hunter would have declined the contract based on the scarcity of information, but for her it was yet another opportunity to prove herself and escape the enormity of her father's shadow. By the time her starfighter landed in the small spaceport of the barren world a sense of unease came over her, and she hesitated in the cockpit for a moment as she attempted to steady herself. She thought that it was simply her nerves, as she had failed to do the requisite research to learn of the dark aura that cast itself over this former Sith stronghold. Her hands reached for her buy'ce, or helmet, which she had painted a distinct orange like the remainder of her beskar'gam to express her shereshoy, or lust for life. She had left the Nite Owl symbol her mother had placed upon it more than 20 years ago, despite having no connection to the group. This was her mother's armor, a hand me down, as the Imperial restrictions imposed upon Mandalore would never permit her to return to her ancestral home to forge her own suit. As the helmet was placed upon her head she exuded a confidence she did not possess when it was off, as she felt she was not taken seriously because she was a woman. The helmet concealed her young, some would say attractive, facial features that were accented by piercing grey eyes and topped off with short blonde hair, with shaved sides that revealed her natural blonde hair. Most of her equipment would be considered relics ... her JT-12 jetpack was badly in need in servicing and her primary weapon, a DT-57 heavy blaster pistol, was older than she was. As she climbed out of the cockpit of the starfighter she began to look over those in the immediate area to begin her search for Jargel Bogg ... if we were even there.

Captain Bogg, a man who had the means and the knowledge to execute very intricate plans. After all the target he was trying to get a hold of was an Imperial Agent who was placed here within their security lock up. There were troopers here that offered the security, and force needed to keep everything in order here. Now, the Sith Purebloods have practically disappeared from the world. They may in fact be hiding or they were bred away into other species. The day was nice, it was only blistering hot and not boiling. This temperature for a water based life form, was far from a pleasant experience. His skin would become dried out soon enough he lingered out in the sun too long. Without an over the top covering, many would normally scatter to get under cover. They would come to do their business then depart. That was what Bogg intended to do, he needed just one chance to get this done. He had some intelligence on what his target's normal routine was and he naturally thought about any slight variations. He just simply had to execute this without alerting the authorities. What he didn't know is that someone had placed a bounty on his head, because he had taken this job from someone who had placed a bid. It was far from a cheap tag, but they needed someone with some unique talents. Each Mandalorian had their own skills, his happened to be extraction. Having contacted to guards who were actually former Mandalorians themselves, who turned to the Imperial power to keep active in some capacity of the ancient traditions of the Taung who would leave their home world and establish the world of Mandalor'e. So, being one of the few out and braving the heat, he was waiting on some return intel from his men on the inside, but how long could that take, how would he get it? Well that was worked out as well because just then it happened. A soldier clad in black armor slammed into him with enough force it made the Nautolan stumble back and to the side. "Hey..." But that was all there was, as he would just turn away and feel in his coat pocket ... it was time to work.

"How difficult could it be to find a Nautolan on a place like this..." El-Nay said quietly to herself, as she moved through the spaceport to begin her search for Bogg. Her right hand moved to her left wrist where she activated a trio of seeker droids that would assist in her search. The three black spherical droids had been pre-programed with imaging on the target and it only took several moments for them to emerge from her starfighter and begin their journey throughout the surrounding to area to look for their prey. She was not being the least bit stealthy in her search, as subterfuge was a lesson that her mother had not imparted to her, and each time she came across someone in the spaceport she quickly got in their face with a holographic image of Bogg. One by one the diverse denizens of Korriban told her they had not seen the man, and she began to wonder whether her information was merely out of date or inaccurate to begin with. There was something about this place that felt out 'off' to her, and her gloved hands found themselves awkwardly intertwining with one another as she attempted to alleviate her unease. While she was not having much luck in her haphazard search in the spaceport, one of the seeker droids believed it had positively identified the man. Her hand quickly moved to descend the targeting scanner in front of the T-shaped visor of her buy'ce, which she was able to use to mark the distance between herself and the droid. Given the distance she felt the need to activate her aging jetpack, and without any concern for those around her she lifted off and began to close in on her target. She did not believing an older Nautolan hiding on this remote Outer Rim world would be of any concern.

He had noticed something off, something strange in the last few moments he was out in the open. He knew that he was on a clock and had to execute his extraction of this Imperial Agent. As he rounded a corner he was soon heading into the shade of the two large structures. He didn't hear the jetpack clunking along to try and carry the woman in his general direction. As he moved to pull out the data he collected from his inside source. Time, time was always a factor, so he would quickly go through the small holocron. As each small bit of data was flipped through, he would be cataloging the information within his mind. This tan Nautolan was definitely going to have to move fast. Any mistake, any hold up that would be in his way would throw off his entire coarse of action. When that pad was put up he would stop in the middle of the alley way. Alright, not it was all about waiting for his time to depart. He had already made arrangements to depart in the next three hours, but would that be enough time? Propped against the wall, his shoulder against it so he didn't fall over, he just seemed to wait patiently. Seconds ticked on as minutes, but the minutes would start to add up. He needed that Agent to step out, he needed to be making his way to his barracks, along with other officers or troopers. Being a smuggler was different, he wasn't use to going into battle without his armor, but he knew that being dressed as a Mandalorian, marked him as a target and for the Mandalorian culture to live on one must blend in until it was time for their kind to come forth again.

If Jargel was intent on blending in, El-Nay seemed just as intent on standing out. She jetted through the alleyway where the seeker droid indicated she would find the waiting Nautolan. Cutting the two thrusters on the back of the jetpack, she roughly and awkwardly touched down on the dusty surface of the alley with her gaze intently focused on the Nautolan. Why was he hiding? she wondered silently to herself, as he seemed not the least bit concerned with her ... and that is when she realized where they were! "Oh crap," she muttered to herself from beneath her buy'ce, as her targeting scanner came to life with an untold number of Imperials in the surrounding area. Thinking it best to withdraw and wait for her target to not be in such close proximity to the Imperial garrison, she steadied herself and prepared to reactivate her jetpack. When she triggered it, instead of blasting off the surface of the planet, a series of sparks emanated from the thrusters. "Haar'chak!" she cursed in her native tongue as she realized she was not going anywhere soon. The jetpack had been damaged during a recent conflict with a bounty hunter on Esseles, and while she thought she had the skills to repair it ... in fact, she did not. "You are lucky this day, Nautolan!" she announced to him, before considering her available options of retreat. Well, I still have my feet, she thought to herself, before giving one final glare to her target, before sprinting in the opposite direction. While the Nautolan had been subtle, she had been anything but, and the presence of a woman in orange beskar'gam had sent the facility into a state of alert, and a squad of Imperial Stormtroopers was quickly dispatched to deal with her. "Halt!" she heard being yelled at her, but there was no way she was going to do that. "These guys are serious!" she yelled at herself as a deadly bolt of crimson energy nearly impacted the side of her head. She had no choice but to take cover between a series of ubiquitous cargo containers, returning fire as best she could with her old DT-57. Fortunately for her ... Stormtroopers had terrible aim.

The clattering behind him from the armor clad skitter. She was really more of a pain than she was probably intending to do something he wouldn't be much of a fan of. "Children." Was the only word he said as he turned to peer over his shoulder to see just what was happening. He wasn't going to worry because unless she was insane and had a plan, trying to take him down where there were many troopers and other agents in the area, that was foolish. "Do-" That's when he fully turned to the side and watched as he quickly took off from him. He noticed the armor type, he even understood what it meant and how foolish she looked in it. He could tell it was clunky and not meant for her. Had she killed ... no not with her lack of tact and clumsiness. Then there was that alarm. "Stupid girl..." He turned completely and knew his chance to get his target had probably just been tossed out the window or in this case soiled by blaster energy. Right now was not the moment to offer any aid to her, he would use his naturally dense body muscles and he leapt up against that wall and as he planted his foot he kicked up farther into the air. Those fingers of his gripped the edge of the first ledge and he swung himself up and over to land down. Taking a couple steps back he would then rush forward to kick off. As he got to about four stories up, she was still under that suppression fire and not dead yet. She was a Mandalorian or at least attempting to be, he had an obligation in saving her life. Moving finally into position he would keep himself generally hidden from sight. Without fancy sights or the help of a targeting system he was preparing his slugthrower. The butt of the rifle moved up and he tucked the carved rancor tusk into the crook of his shoulder, right where the muscles of the shoulder met the chest. It offered some cushion to prevent too much direct recoil. His fingers had curled into stock, one hand right at the curve of the hand grip and the other up on the stock. Letting his rifle tip move around as he was placing his first target in it's sights. Letting his elbow rest down at the front to prevent too much sway. A single eye closed and he looked down the top of his tool. Allowing the floating bead to move as he was drawing in slow breathes. Finally it lined up where he wanted on the gap at the front of his sights he would hold his breathe. A gentle stroke of his finger and there was this moderate bang. The rifling in the barrel would cause the slug to instantaneously start to spin to increase it's accuracy and potency. Where had he aimed? When she looked over it would be in that moment it ripped through the helmet of the trooper. It wasn't a burn mark, but rather it caused the head to explode within the helmet and when the actual helmet fell to the ground that caused enough of an array of confusion!

Beneath the safety of her buy'ce El-Nay flinched as the slug connected with the trooper, creating a ghastly sight that momentarily stopped the barrage that was keeping her pinned down. How in the nine Corellian hells did he get up there, she wondered to herself as she arched her head upwards to look at the Nautolan who was also firing at the troopers. For a moment she considered taking a few shots at him in an attempt to collect the bounty, but she reluctantly realized she would need his help if she were to make it out of this alive ... although she would never ask for it. As she sat there crouched behind the cargo crates she wondered what the Nautolan's motives for helping her were, but then a series of blaster bolts impacted around her and her mind rushed back to more pressing concerns. Although the orange color of her armor was deeply significant to her, she had failed to understand just how easy of a target it made her. She popped her head up and her rangefinder focused on the nearest trooper. She squeezed down on the trigger of her DT-57 and the heavy blaster pistol unleashed a deadly bolt of crimson energy that easily penetrated the white armor of the Stormtrooper, leaving him dead before he hit the ground. Before she had time to celebrate her relatively minor accomplishment, the remaining troopers returned fire on her location. An instant later she was overcome by the most excruciating pain she had ever felt in her life, and she found herself falling backwards into one of the crates. She discovered that one of the bolts had impacted her right shoulder, tearing through her suit between the armor plates. She let out a primordial scream beneath the helmet as she quickly became overwhelmed ... she had never been shot before. She grit her teeth, her cheeks flushing deeply red, while several heavy beads of sweat began to form on her forehead and matted what little hair she had. Weakly, she lifted her DT-57 with her left hand and began firing wildly from her covered position. Of course none of the wild shots hit the mark, and sensing their prey was wounded the Stormtroopers began to advance forward towards her. She looked up again at the Nautolan from behind her distinct T-visor, wondering if he would help, or leave her to her fate.

And down she was going. You see in this time he had taken out two more targets. He didn't shoot and shoot. He took his time, he kept his breathe calm and with his slugthrower, one had to disengage the bolt, jerk it back load another round, crank it forward and lock it in before firing. It took time, but the thing was, energy was relatively easier for force users to absorb than that of a solid object coming at such intense speeds. He learned long ago, one did not need the will of the force to bend to them, but rather be smarter and more resourceful than the one who can. She was within his sights and as he turned the weapon from one target he would release the bolt and draw it back. This time he reached inside of his coat and pulled out a different round. The end seemed to be this florescent orange and all around bulkier than the slugs he had been using. The moment he put it in and latched down the bolt he would move the rifle again. "Damn it child, you better run..." He was speaking to himself and in that instance he once again was trying to cause a distraction. There was this stronger sound as the weapon was triggered. The tip lit up with sparks and almost like a baseball size fireball shot forth from the tip. The moment it hit it's mark which happened to be a pain of shipping crates that exploded from the .. explosive round. How likely, right? The shrapnel went all over, there had been a fire started and the plastic flaks were on fire. Quickly he hooked the rifle by the strap over his shoulder and he moved. He moved and without slowing down leapt across to another building and when he made it to the third or forth he was low enough that he made that fateful jump. He fell two stories to the ground and hit it firmly, luckily his muscles were stronger and denser than a human's. "Move..." With that he would clutch her by the arm and sort of push, toss her forward. Would she follow him? Well if she did, she would notice he ducked into an open door and he quickly pushed it close after he and she made it in.

Despite the fact that she was wounded, El-Nay was still incredulous at the fact that her target was in the process of saving her life. Of course she followed him ... what choice did she have? Clearly, she was not up to the task of taking on the vast Imperial forces that had pinned her down, but it seemed he was. She was learning a valuable lesson in how not to prejudge people, as the old Nautolan had made easy work of those that had threatened to end her just moments ago. When the door was closed behind them, giving them a momentary respite, she shifted her attention to her shoulder wound. Fortunately, it was a blaster bolt and the wound has cauterized immediately ... had she been shot by his projectile weapon she likely would not have been alive at this moment. Still, the pain was considerable, but she did her best not to reveal her discomfort as she did not want to come off as a hut'unn, or coward, in front of the man. "Thank you," she muttered, begrudgingly, as she attempted to rotate her wounded shoulder to gauge the extent of its use ... or lack thereof. She surveyed him silently for several moments, her steely gray eyes trying to asses him, to little or no effect. "Any thoughts on getting out of here?" she asked reluctantly, not even sure where 'here' was at this point, after arriving so haphazardly and then retreating in disarray. There was still that temptation in the back of her mind to blast the man and try and collect the bounty, but she understood now that she was no match for him, and only an underhanded tactic would allow her to succeed.

"Mir'osik!" He was so tempted to just rip into her over how stupid she was. He knew she had been hired to take him down and then she foolishly got herself caught. She made way too much noise and caused too many problems. He could easily land his mark, kill her and get out of here before anyone would be the wiser. He was now delayed and that along irked him tremendously. The armor was not right, she may of worn it, but one could tell it was not created to be the one suited for her. "Next time you put on beskar'gam of another I will shoot you myself." How would he even know? Did he know the person who first wore that armor? Had he known her mother before the downfall and decline of their people? It didn't matter, right now they were stuck in this small hideout and were needing to come up with a way out. "Ill trained, unprepared and clumsy. My son by the age of seven was more of a warrior than you." He was angry and he was really going to let her feel it, she was going to endure what she brought on. "Out of the armor, you aren't a Mando and you are lucky I am in a mood to not kill you for the dishonor you bring to my people. To the people who created that armor." That's when he would look over his shoulder back to the door for a moment before his attention moved to her again. "We wait...we will be in here for days they are on high alert and you are a foolish girl." Captain Bogg was not a friendly Nautolan at the moment.

Unfortunately, El-Nay suffered from an uncontrollable temper and even the slightest of insults resulted in a fierce response. From beneath the helmet she clenched her teeth and let out an audible growl as she listened to the alien use her language and chastise her. "Ni verd!" she shouted, as she lifted her arm and pounded on the piece of beskar that covered her heart. Unfortunately, the pain was severe from her blaster wound and her display only served to injure her further. Somewhat dejected, she lowered her arm and brought her other hand up to check the extent of the wound. "How do you know our language, aruetii?" she asked, somewhat perplexed by the fact that he seemed to know so much about her culture ... perhaps more than she did. "This beskar'gam belonged to my buir and I do her honor by wearing it," she explained proudly, before moving both of her hands to the side of the helmet to begin the process of removing it. In a moment she revealed her young human face, with steely grey eyes and cheeks that had flushed red from the combat and the injury. Her hair was cut short to be more practical in combat, and while the top was blonde, her closely shaved sides revealed her natural brown hair color. It was matted down from the sweat that had accumulated on her head. "Verd ori'shya beskar'gam," she stated to him defiantly, as she placed her helmet down upon a crate, and revealed her true self to him. "What are you doing on such an inhospitable world anyway?" she asked, being quite frustrated by her current situation. "There's quite the price on your head ... but it's not worth all this," she said, shaking her head at herself, before she took a seat on the ground next to the crates and did her best to calm herself in hopes it would lessen the pain. Her hand moved to a pouch on her belt and she quickly removed a cigarra, placed it between her lips, and ignited it. A quick drag was taken, before she blew a plume of toxic smoke skyward ... it was the best way she knew to relax.

Jargel Bogg, the tan skinned Nautolan with the freckle like dark brown spots over his body seemed to just be watching the girl for a moment. She wished to know how he knew her language, how he knew how to speak such an ancient dialect that has long since been forgotten by the world except those who have learned the way of the ancient warrior species. "None of your concern, but what concerns me is how you find you bring it honor? My people see what you are doing as a sign of disrespect and slander." With that he just shook his head and turned to move towards the door. As he pulled it open a crack, he noticed a patrol passing by and then moments later another. They were still on high alert in the area, which meant they were not going anywhere anytime soon. Letting out a defeated sigh he turned to look at her again. "From now on, you will answer to me as sir. When I ask you to do something, you do it and without question." What was going on? Why was he giving her orders like she had become his slave, no she had become his ward. "Your father would be laughed out of the clan long ago if you would of made such a bumbling mistake when we were strong." That's when things came a bit more clear. "You will earn your armor, piece by piece you will earn it. Once we make it to my ship, we will leave here and you will get out of that bucket of sad memories and your training will begin." Who was this guy and why did he really seem like he was some sort of no joke type of guy? Like the type you really just didn't want to see flip a switch, she had witnessed what he had done while calm and collected, how he had perfectly executed and aided in extracting this child, yes ... child.

El-Nay flashed the Nautolan who moments ago had been her intended target a very agitated glance as she remained seated on the ground, ineffectively trying to relax as she puffed neurotically on her cigarra. "Do not speak of my father," she said, sounding quite annoyed, as she uncomfortably broke eye contact and instead looked at the ground below. "...and who do you think you are to be talking to me like that?" she snarled, as she became increasingly annoyed by the man and the situation. She never should have taken a contract that drew her so far out of her comfort zone and she silently cursed herself for her foolishness. She stubbed out the cigarra on the ground below, before rising from the ground to confront the man. She was quite smaller than him, but her attitude made her feel quite larger ... foolish as it might be. "I have only called one man 'sir' in my life ... and a lot of good it did me," she said mournfully, biting down on her lower lip to stifle any negative emotion. The mention of her father, who she had become estranged from giving her choice to pursue work as a boreya, always brought out the negative emotions in her. Dejectedly she lowered her gaze, shaking her head at the man as she awaited more information. Perhaps it was fate that had led her to this forsaken world to be caught up with this Nautolan who seemed to know so much about her people and culture. The description of her beksar'gam as a 'bucket of sad memories' did much to displease her, as she had worked hard on coloring it to identify it as her own. "So is your plan for just to hide in here like hut'uun until they tire of looking at us?" she asked, doing her best to change the subject to something other than her heritage.

She was questioning his plan of action and wanting to know what he would be doing to get out of here. "Your arm is wounded, your pride is shattered and your honor ... well you have disgraced my clan ... my family." With that he only shook his head as he moved to sit down. His backside pushed back and he moved down the wall some. "Let me tell you a story." That's when he would just begin to let his mind wander just a bit, thinking back about the days of old. "Before the purge of our kind, your father had saved my life. He was about your age. Young, he was filled with pride. On my native planet, we were under siege and my birth father had been killed in the attack. My mother taken. I was probably ten standard years and your father decided to save my life. You see it's what we do ... as Mandalorians we don't kill senselessly." With that he shook his head as he let his eyes rest on her. "That day he gave me one of his pistols to protect myself and I did. I used my knowledge of our homeland and from that I earned my place among my new family." The story was only brief, but the meaning was the importance of proving yourself and what you can offer to the clan. She took up her mother's armor in hopes to bring it honor. Her mother did not seek honor, no this girl was like most children trying to find themselves, but going about it horribly. "I will survive, it is my greatest gift. I am going to teach you to survive and when we are no longer hunted, we shall become the hunters once again." With that he would just move and adjust. "We wait it out, it is not always wise to rush into battle. Our greatest strengths are family and knowledge. Brute strength will only get you so far without the other two." So, as he sat he moved to pull the old carved tusk slugthrower. "It made this after my first hunt. It was a ritual, a rite of passage and one day ... if you prove you are ready. You will be sent to see what you truly are made of." That or she could continue to whine and bellyache about things and stumble through life alone.

El-Nay listened to the story the Nautolan told, and there was a truth to it that she could not deny ... it was very much in the vein of the father she had heard of, but never got to know. The Odell Darr she had known had drifted from that path as Mandalore had been rocked by civil war and then persecuted by the Empire ... he had never been kind to her and dissuaded her every attempt to follow in his footsteps in order to protect her from the kinds of situations she now found herself in. She was not caught up in mysticism, but she felt there was a larger force at play that had brought the two together. Perhaps he would be able to provide her with the knowledge and training that her father refused to give her. She tilted her head downward to shield her eyes from him as she felt the tears began to well, becoming overwhelmed by the cold memories of her father. She turned, and quickly placed her helmet back upon her head in the desperate hope that Bogg would not see her cry. Beneath the safety of the helm she was a wreck, with her cheeks flushed a dark red, and both her eyes and nose beginning to run. At that moment she did not feel like a warrior ... she felt like one of the blubbering Corellian girls who she grew up with in hiding. Her gloved hands clenched tightly into fists, and her teeth bit down on her lower lip so firmly that blood began to flow. She would do anything to transfer her emotional pain into the physical realm so that she could regain her focus in front of this Nautolan who unexpectedly revealed himself to be a member of her aliit. "Very well. I will do as you command..." she said after a noticeable pause, her voice somewhat softer than her previous tone. "'vodu," she added, before stiffening her posture, and standing in a more formal presentation in front of him.

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