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Thread: Recalling the Guild

  1. #1
    Darven
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    Recalling the Guild

    "What we need is the Guild back!"

    It was an odd thought to have at 4 o'clock in the morning. Especially whilst in the middle of a space chase in which his ship, unfortunately, was not equipped to catch up with his quarry. Resignedly, Darven watched the sleek shape of his bounty's starfighter gain distance, then finally disappear alltogether into hyperspace. No point continuining this - there were better ways to catch this one. Let Ptürz think he'd won; the Baragwin was too shallow to worry about all the other ways he could be caught. The alien had no idea his hunter had penetrated his ship's computer logs and knew where he was going to be the next few days. Eventually, Darven would catch up with him in some seedy cantina, and bring him in: the SNFT Consortium fortunately was a patient client, and wouldn't mind a day or two longer.

    The bounty on Ptürz wasn't big enough to bother getting frustrated over it. Which was the crux of the matter on his mind.

    Things were too disorganised. Anyone these days could post a bounty on whoever they liked, for whatever reason they wanted, and find some di'kutla piece of trash calling himself a bountyhunter to do his work. It was becoming more and more difficult to survive on taking bounties that were set too low just because the market was flush with these idiots. The days of Fett, Bossk and their likes were long since gone, and there hadn't been any proper work ever since.

    And all the big bounties might as well not be posted, because they usually were Force user types and off limits to anyone but the Inquisitoriate; to cross paths with them by going after a high-profile bounty meant adding one's name to the list of their enemies, and no one on that list seemed to have a long life.

    He well remembered the days of the old guild under Cradossk's leadership - too bad he'd ended up as a snack for his own son, Bossk. He'd actually almost liked the old lizard-face. At least Cradossk had managed to keep things organised. In his days all that rabble wouldn't have dared dream of trying their luck in this profession.

    The Mando bountyhunter leaned back in his seat and sighed. The guild ... old days... with her by his side they'd had some good results, but all that was over now. Had been over for a long time. She'dnever even met Cradossk. He'd always half expected her to show up for one of the Guild meetings and claim membership of her own, but that had never happened, and later he'd found out that she'd hired on with some merc army during that time. It had been for the better, but... he still missed her.

    Checking the file he'd swiped off the Baragwin's system, he found his next destination would be Bespin, and set the navicomp to work on plotting a course there. Cloud City didn't have enough cantinas for Ptürz to stay hidden for long. A few minutes later he jumped into hyperspace.

    ************

    A week later he was returning from his meeting with the Consortium on Mokio. He was well fed up and angry, feeling swindled and his work unappreciated, his bank account a mere 9,000 creds richer after all the additional expenses which had he had not been reimbursed for. They'd tried to debate paying him at all since he'd not brought back that shabla ship Ptürz had run off with. So much about the Consortium being an easy client.

    Well, to haran with them all!

    It was then he remembered what he'd thought of the week before. And, in the silence of his ship, and space, and with the experiences of the last few days freshly on his mind, the thought sparked something like a wild hope in his mind, and he wondered if it could be done.

    **************

    Several weeks later, the thought had taken on shape. He'd successfully caught two bounties in the meantime; while they'd not been as disastrous as the SNFT bounty, they'd not done anything to make him stop wishing for things to get a bit more organised, so he'd started to carefully put out his feelers.

    He didn't really want to be in the spotlight, for obvious reasons; so on Bespin he'd left a message for Ecks - the only bountyhunter of note that he'd come across over the years, apart from her - with a request for a meeting; so far it had been unanswered, but these were early days.

    In the meantime, he'd do his job.
    Last edited by Darven; Feb 16th, 2009 at 09:14:37 AM. Reason: changed tags

  2. #2
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    He leaned back in his seat, leather armor creaking against leather upholstery. The big Falleen scratched under the edge of the metal chest plate, a heavy, Mandalorian iron piece that had cost almost as much as his ship.

    Checking his holonet node on Cloud City for messages, he'd come across something... interesting. Another bounty hunter, Darven, wanted to meet. Wanted to talk about the old guild.

    He wanted to bring back the glory days.

    Ecks put his head to one side, and then the other, popping the fluid between his neck vertebrae. His long black hair trickled down his neck from his topknot high on his otherwise bald head. Slowly... painstakingly... the Falleen tapped out a short response.

    Pressing Send, the electronic message disappeared from his screen, the information divided and parceled out to a server in one of Kuat's ring stations, and then rerouted to Bespin. No one would be tracing its origin any time soon, and if this Darven bothered, he wouldn't be here any longer.

    Bounty hunters in a guild again. He scratched his arm. That'd be the day.

    let the bodies hit the floor

  3. #3
    Darven
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    By the time he got Ecks' reply, he'd thought of someone else he could try and get in on this.

    It had been a long time ago, back in the days before the guild even - the days she had been around - when they'd crossed paths with a pair of bountyhunters in curious circumstances: Aurelias Kazaar and his partner Ashley. The man - and his partner - had left a lasting impression on him, and over the years Darven had tried to follow his career.

    Of late, there was a weird rumour going around about Kazaar. Scuttlebut had it that he'd traded Gorgja the Hutt's patronship for something a little more political, although no one he'd asked had anything definite on it. Maybe scuttlebut was wrong, especially because it seemed Kimiiki Crei was it - known as Kazaar's very own nemesis, the albino crimelord of Imperial Center was capable of anything to discredit his enemy. And last he'd heard, Kazaar was playing bodyguard to someone from Russard Industries, and that family was so staunchly Imperial that there was no way they would employ Kazaar if he had other tendencies.

    Exactly why he was playing bodyguard these days instead of his proper job, Darven had no idea; but he was going to contact the man and see what the response would be.

    Not knowing how to contact the man - Gorgja would have been an option, but Darven didn't want to let that foul slug in on his plans - the Mandalorian decided to ask around in Cloud City once his meeting with Ecks was over. There usually was someone who knew whoever he was looking for.
    Last edited by Darven; Jan 8th, 2009 at 05:40:07 PM. Reason: Fixed Scuttlebut's name

  4. #4
    Darven
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    Three days later, twenty past eleven at night


    The night had been productive - and a little bit surprising.

    The meeting with Ecks had gone by better than expected. The other bountyhunter had responded to his request well, and even taken to the suggestion to lead the new guild. Without asking his reasons for abstaining from the task.

    It would have been too difficult to explain, anyway.

    The meeting with Kazaar - that had been something else entirely. He hadn't expected to find him straight away, and there was still something that made him uneasy about the man, but at least some of his silent fears had been allayed by the fact that in the end Kazaar had proven himself to be no more or less the same man as the one he'd known years earlier. Whatever the other bountyhunter was hiding, it wasn't something he was going to get out of him in one evening; and despite all his paranoia, deep down he had a gut feeling that it wasn't anything that would harm her. And that, in the end, was all that mattered to him.

    So he'd send him an invitation to the meeting. And whether he'd show up at it or not - Kazaar would be a member.

    It would be four weeks from now - that much he already knew. All he needed to do was to find a good location and send out invites.

    He still didn't know what to make of the oddest meeting of that night: bumping in the woman he had once known only as A15.

    He was back in his ship, resting in his cabin; stretched out on the lower bunk of two in his black fatigues, with his head propped up on a foamshape and his hands clasped over his chest, covering the length of a thin object. The parts of his armor were lying neatly arranged in the bunk above him, scrupulously clean and dimly shining in the low light of a single glowrod on the bulkhead above. His helmet, however, was sitting on the floor underneath and to the right of him.

    Of course, now that he'd gotten this far, he knew there was no way he could ignore the next course of action any more.

    The HUD inside the helmet wasn't switched off, but turned sideways in such a way that at a mere glance to his right he could see the tactical display inside it.

    He spent a while wondering whether he hadn't just started all this guild business as a means to an opportunity, before finally accepting that it had in fact been one of the deciding reasons. The way the conversation with Kazaar had taken should have told him that already.

    Currently the helmet's systems were running a search. A pinging noise would announce the search to be over. It had been running for most of that day, in the background, even though he'd only really become aware of the fact after the meeting with the Falleen was over. He didn't have any conscious memory of setting it, yet he must have, or it wouldn't be there now.

    The fact that he'd only given it a moment's thought before letting it continue had spoken volumes about his true intentions.

    It seemed the meeting - even if it had been nothing but a short conversation over the holonet - had sparked something in him. Something he hadn't wanted to acknowledge, but his subconscious seemed to have a will of its own.

    As usual.

    It had been almost 10 years. Seeing her again in the dim blue light of the holonet message had brought something home very sharply: He missed her. And he'd do anything to be given the chance to see her again.

    Yet he still wasn't sure, after all he'd set into motion in order to bring that day by, that he was going to contact her.

    Some things should not be stirred up. It was never a good thing to wake a sleeping krayt dragon, for it might devour the waker.

    The soft ping brought him out of his reverie. He raised his head, turned it right:

    Imperial Center. Aree Ankarta.

    Now he had no more excuses but the fear in the core of his own heart. And a ten-year-old scar that still hurt when thinking of her.
    Last edited by Darven; Jan 24th, 2009 at 04:56:57 PM.

  5. #5
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    Ecks sat in Razor's Edge, flipping through several names on the ship's computer. A guild again... with him at the head.

    Who would have thought.

    But then, he couldn't think of anyone better to lead. The Falleen looked at a single name, frowned his one eye, and moved onto another one.

    Zephyr. He sent a message.
    Last edited by Ecks; Feb 13th, 2009 at 04:12:48 PM. Reason: ttt

  6. #6
    Darven
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    The answer reached him more promptly than he'd expected. And hit him more deeply, too.

    Usen'ye.

    Frack off.

    For galactic basic standards that might be a mild invective, but its Mando'a equivalent was the worst possible way of telling someone to stay out of their lives - permanently.

    Perhaps he shouldn't have put that addendum in there. It was too personal.

    Part of him felt bleeding and raw at the thought of the hurt she was probably feeling right now; but the other part just wanted to stay detached from it all. He should have not woken up the krayt dragon.

    Sighing, Darven took up his helmet and switched off the internal systems. He'd got his answer.

    Then he set it back down onto the floor, and turned around on his bed; and spent the rest of the night wondering if she'd show up for the meeting. He was still clutching the hilt of her saber, the only thing she'd left him with - even if he was sure she'd tossed it away out of her hatred for him - even if she'd just about killed him then - it still was a piece of her.

    It wasn't a good night.
    Last edited by Darven; Jan 24th, 2009 at 05:02:16 PM.

  7. #7
    Darven
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    ..//..send.multi.message.././..attach.file..././..ruhe.or.nh4...//.

    ..//..transmit.via.server0011001..././/..100110110101...//../

    ..//..reroute...//./..10011011.../../

    ..//..identify../..identify..//..server.10011011.../../

    ..//..reroute...//./..send.zz#34hJby#%!Hhoz.//.

    ..//..transmitting... ... ...

    Bounty Hunters' Guild reformed. Membership mandatory to all bounty hunters. First Council meeting Camp Grenchikit, Nar Shaddaa, 25:2:10. 8pm local.

    ..//..message.terminate..//..
    Last edited by Darven; Feb 21st, 2009 at 11:28:25 AM.

  8. #8
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    There was a jolt, a burst of light, and the world was suddenly normal again. No longer seemingly lost in the the disorientating realm of hyperspace, the YT-1300 light freighters sensors began to realign themselves to their new location. On the main navigation panel, a readout flashed: jump successful. The pilot tapped a button beneath the notification, dismissing it almost immediately. At that moment, a voice whispered into his helmet: “You made it... Congratulations.”

    Electing to ignore the Voice for the time being, the pilot continued to run through the post-jump checks, his gloved hands moving across the control console with habitual familiarity. Short-range sensors brought up multiple vessels in the vicinity, though the electromagnetic radiation generated by Camp Grenchikit dominated the freighters readings. As the opaque tint of the main view-port faded to transparent once more, the station became visible to the eye – a hodgepodge of metal in all shades, lashed together like some space-faring rat-king.

    “Fascinating place, isn't it?” the Voice inquired, as if it was leaning down over his shoulder to see exactly what he saw. “One must admire the ingenuity of it all. There is a.. cunning and craft to be found in the beggarly that one so rarely sees in those with ready access to wealth and resources.”

    The pilot gave no verbal reply, though silently he agreed. When he did speak, it was on a more pragmatic note. “I'm not a bounty hunter. What makes you think they'll accept me?”

    “The Bounty Hunters Guild is still in a fledging state. Like a woolly moth newly emerged from its cocoon, bleary-eyed and sluggish in limb, it will be some time before it learns its own nature, let alone the nature of those that might prey upon it.”

    With his ship drifting ever closer to the ramshackle station, the pilot transmitted the hail code the Voice had provided him with. If the code was correct, the freighters computers would be rewarded with the co-ordinates and clearance necessary to land in the camp's ever shifting hangar decks. “Is that what I am to them.. a predator, a threat?” he asked, in an impersonal tone.

    Sure enough, within moments a response signal came and the pilot keyed in the necessary data which would bring his ship to dock. When the Voice offered a reply of it's own, the pilot thought he heard a smile in it's words. “For their sake, Peregrine... I hope not.”

  9. #9
    Zephyr
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    The quiet of space was not anything. Some gawked at it's emptiness, others wondered, while Zephyr did neither. In the dark of the cockpit, Zephyr sat, stared, and waited. The sensors on the panel shot with activity, yet the hunter went unphased. Motionless behind the guise that kept gender, species and understanding blank, there came only life through the ventilation on Zephyr's ever-present mask. The helm pushed out louds of air, letting the clouds suspend before being dispensed with by the artifical air. No words slithered out of the helmet either, just total silence.

    Total silence just like space.

    Already one had docked. Zephyr only observed. In all of this the unnamed vulture was simply a spectator. The message had been sent to the contractors, and all had been planned, but caution was also required. The Bounty Hunter's Guild had once been prominent. However, that was all once upon a time, and much had changed since it's days of greatness. The galaxy didn't function in the same way it had, and nothing was more of a product of that fact than Zephyr.

    Zephyr was an armor. A mask, a phenom, without name, person, or any true identity. The times called for a being like Zephyr, and so the vulture came.

    In a push of a few buttons, the armored beast shot down. The coordinates had long been directed, and Zephyr had been waited on. A standard hour had passed since the ship had exited hyperspace, but it made no difference. Not many had come yet. There would be more, yet Zephyr didn't want to be the first.

  10. #10
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    Razor's Edge was hidden away, and Ecks was already at the meeting place. Had to be, he was the figurehead of the Guild. He'd just finished up bagging a runaway husband for an irate wife. She'd paid well, selling the husband's shiny ship to do so, but the job had been too easy.

    Although, not without its finer points. It had been an opportunity to practice stealth and recon in a delicate situation, with little on the line. Although the husband had taken a few pot shots at Ecks with a blaster.

    Free of synflesh, Ecks reached up to scratch his cheekbone out of habit, but stopped himself. Where was Darven?

  11. #11
    Darven
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    Hutts were beginning to irk him. First, there had been the incident at Progga's dive of a bar, and now this one here was giving him an attitude.

    Darven was in the trash-and-crate-filled backroom of the former pirates lair's bar. It was stuffy and dusty, nevermind the filth, and he was sharing what little space there was with a Hutt named Blarga who seemed to have some difficulties figuring out his new circumstances in life. Truth to be told, Darven was beginning to have doubts about them, too - he was getting dangerously close to the point of simply pulling his blaster and killing the worm.

    The Hutt was currently fussing about the amount of beverages destroyed in the cleansing of the place. Its high warbling synchronised voice that made Blarga able to speak Basic had an intensity that the bountyhunter found extremely annoying. He'd let the Hutt whine on for too long.

    Finally he shoved his index finger against the Hutt's bulky chest, and advanced on to him with a scowl. The Hutt scrabbled for an escape and started backing out of the room, tail first - which could not be an easy feat for a gastropod. But Blarga wasn't much like other Hutts Darven knew - for one, this one was skinny. And he wasn't quite sure whether it was female or male either. There was something slavish about Blarga - yet Darven had serious doubts that the Hutt had been unwillingly tending bar for the pirates who had inhabited this hovel before he had raided it.

    "Listen, shag, I do not care a strill's backside about the damages done to your stock. If you do not get out there and do what I hired you to do for this occasion, then you might find that I can be quite zealous at investigating your role within the pirate hierarchy. I can be very imaginative when it comes to finding places to stick uncooperative prisoners. So if you do not fancy a stint on Mustafar, you'd better get out there and start serving!"

    The threat had its desired effect. Blarga backed out further until he had space enough to turn, and vanished out of his sight. Darven followed, wiping some dirt off his armour's shoulder plates.

    Inside the bar proper, he found Ecks - the new Guild Master - waiting for him.

    "Productive month?" he asked, by way of greeting.

  12. #12
    hüdbfüü'Ädunkniwnäknöö
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    dunkni swore.

    dunkni wasn't liking this hole scrap. And dunkni wasn't liking having to get his ship through the scrap, in one piece.

    What dunkni was liking was the bar at the end of it. That was good. Gizzer ale was good. Good for dunkni.

    dunkni was bountyhunter. Not right now. Now dunkni was at bountyhunter meeting. dunkni was proud of being invited, proud of being invited bountyhunter.

    "Gitther ale pleath!"

    The Hutt was looking at dunkni stupidly.

    "Gitther ale!"

  13. #13
    Nya Halcyon
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    She'd been hoping to lose herself in the crowd, but so far there weren't enough ships attached to the hodgepodge assortment of docking platforms to ensure there was going to be any sort of crowd. The Shereshoy was docked to what looked like the remnants of an old boxy shuttle that someone had sawn in half and welded to something that looked like an outsized snubnose of an X-Wing. She didn't know if leaving her ship where it was would be a good idea; the shuttle's docking structures didn't look like they would hold out much longer, and she had no interest in finding her ship drifted off after the meeting.

    The Meeting.

    There were still some doubts in her head whether she should really go to it. It should have been clear, really: if she wanted to continue as a bounty hunter, she would need to join the Guild. Otherwise she might as well just give it up and go back to playing soldier in backwater merc armies. And she didn't like that option all that much.

    But joining the Guild would mean going to the meeting. And going to the meeting would mean seeing him again.

    Nya had been pacing the cramped interior of her ship for the last two hours now, unable to make up her mind. The air was stale, and she could smell her own sour perspiration permeating it. She'd certainly need to freshen up first if she were to go.

    She'd calmed down a lot in the recent weeks. Her new job kept her busy enough and her mind off thinking about Dar. And over the weeks she'd come to live with the new turn of events, to accept the fact that he was still alive. In some way it had brought relief - to know she was not responsible for his death, that she hadn't killed him. But in another, more disturbing way it brought back the reason she'd thought she'd killed him over. That, too, had been something she thought was long done and dealt with. But along with him being alive the fact remained that he had been responsible for the murder of her father, and she wasn't sure if she could ever forgive him for it. He'd lied to her all those years that she'd thought he was the only one she could trust to be honest with her. That was unforgivable.

    In truth, she was afraid of her self, her own actions. She didn't know what she would do if this meeting would bring her face to face with him. Accepting the fact that he was alive had been one thing - seeing him was another. She was afraid her anger would resurface and she'd do something stupid in front of all the others at the meeting. She wasn't at all sure if she'd be able to keep her anger in check.

    Abandoning the pacing, she sat down in the pilot's chair, her mind almost made up not to go.

    But the thought of her life ending in some senseless war on a planet few had ever heard of, as it had almost done before when she'd hired on with Marma's mercs on Zorot IV - it wasn't appealing. She had enough of army life, and enough of playing mercenary. She'd certainly been convincing when telling Caran of the need to take time off to get herself registered as a Guild member. It would be stupid to return without having done so.

    The thought of her recent turn of good luck made her smile. And that was enough to make her forget, at least temporarily, her fears of meeting her ex-partner. With a conscious effort of will, she pushed herself up off the pilot's seat. She picked up the helmet lying on the console, and slammed it over her head with more force than necessary, then did up the fastenings with determination.

    She'd be cool, and calm, and detached. The image of a Mandalorian.

    And with that thought firmly fixed in her mind, she slammed her hand on the access hatch release, and walked out into the long, winding tunnel towards the meeting point.

  14. #14
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    Adia strode forward with a square shouldered confidence, but her footfalls were nearly silent. Her boots had been custom designed to fit her slightly differently shaped feet, and were easy to resole. The grippy, sound absorbent material made for perfect shoe soles. She wore much the same clothing as the last time Darven had seen her: dark grey jacket, light grey blouse, and many-pocketed black pants. At her side was a large vibroknife and a DE-10 blaster pistol. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. The establishment had the proper scent of Nar Shadda scum.

    She quickly regarded all of the bounty hunters. Many helmets, each different, each intimidating to most people. The frustrated... thing asking for Gizzer Ale. She exchanged a silent nod with Darven. The skinny hutt behind the bar looked equally confused. Eager to serve a customer it could understand, it slithered up to the bar stool where Adia sat.

    "Corellian Whiskey, one ice cube." She instructed. "Gizzer ale." She pointed at the mishappen thing halfway to the other end of the bar.

    She was probably a little early. No one else was in a rush for introductions.

  15. #15
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    Docked and boarded, Peregrine soon found his way to the meeting point – a bar that looked as if it had seen better days. Its current customers were a salty mix, most sitting in a dour silence, whilst any conversation that was shared was spoken in hushed breath. The bar was, with its peculiar choice of 'tender, wasn't busy, but having no desire to remove his helmet Peregrine abstained from buying himself anything. As it seemed the meeting had not yet begun, he found a stool at an empty table and sat down, to study the room and its occupants until their official business began.

  16. #16
    Zephyr
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    Time had been lost. Moments ago the ship had docked, and Zephyr was forgotten to the dark. Then, the hunter leaked back out. The bar was the place, and the phantom was soundless. As always, Zephyr was quiet as kept. Smooth, natural, but calculated, it sat. No words, no looks, just simple motions.

    Behind the golden head was a being with thought. Few to none of those thoughts would be known. Instead, this being would work tirelessly to remain as so...silent. Time awaited the chance for things to blossom around the hunter. This was a rare moment, indeed. A beginning of sorts, and it was most interesting that Zephyr would be involved.

    Yet, the hired hand did not celebrate with a drink. No request had been put in, or even a wave. If a man's eyes were not of any worth, they wouldn't even know the masked crusader was there. It was how Zephyr liked it to be.

  17. #17
    The Brothers Veir
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    When the door next opened, two men entered, looking a bit different than the other bounty hunters there present already. One was slightly taller than the other, with short cut dark brown hair; the other had light brown hair worn slightly longer than his companion's. They both wore dark clothing, obviously of good make though not new by any means, and both wore dark shades over their eyes.

    The taller opened the door, and the shorter entered quickly, but with a relaxed air of supreme confidence. Both of them looked around a bit, but seeing Darven, the shorter of the two broke out into a wide grin.

    "Well!" he exclaimed, walking over to the old clone. "Lookie here, Fid. Darven! It's been a while."

    The man's accent was distinctive and odd; not many others pronounced 'while' like 'wael'.

  18. #18
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    Chir'daki watched the assembling masses with a sense of vague detatchment. Ordinarily in situations like this, he would appraise the arrivals; note which ones were armed, which weapons he might be able to wrest for his own use, and what avenues were available should he need to escape. He already knew that the answers today were most, few, and not many.

    Instead, Chir'daki nursed the class of green, steaming, ice-filled drink that the Hutt had provided him with. The vintage was painfully recent, and you could tell from the flavour. No doubt the Hutt had decided to shave a few extra credits into his pocket. From the look of the assembled thugs around the place, he couldn't blame him - few of them looked like the sort who would notice that he'd done so.

    The number of masked faces struck Chir'daki as odd. Granted, he too wore a mask whenever he conducted his work, but that was a matter of necessity: protection inside, the advanced optics within the unit were an invaluable aide in some situations. On the other hand, the convenience was far too easy to become dependant on, and where possible he liked to reply on his natural senses, and on the hunting skills they had taught him back on Ryloth. He liked to keep his skills fresh; one never knew when they might need to use them, and one could never guarentee that his technological aides would be available when he did.

    He wondered how often some of these people removed the helmets they hid behind, and wondered why they wore them now. Were their reasons environmental - did their species require special breathing aperatus? Had they suffered some kind of horrible disfigurement that they wanted to hide? Did they have an easily recognisable face that they wanted to shield from view; were they protecting their true identity, so they could return to their normal life whenever they chose?

    Or, Chir'daki mused, did they simply do it to distract anyone that met them with those sorts of innane questions?

    The Black Sun Lieutenant chuckled, and took a sip from his glass. Over-analysis had been a frequent criticism of his performance during his past life, back before he'd died and been reborn as Chir'daki. He pushed his musings aside, and settled back in his seat to continue his passive observations of the room; no doubt with so many aggressive and armed sentients confined in the same place, something interesting would transpire before long.

  19. #19
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    Ecks grunted in reply to Darven, but nodded. "Productive. Yes."

    The big Falleen looked around the dive bar as the bounty hunters he and Darven had contacted began to file in. "Nice place." Filthy place, more like it.

    Everyone was starting to look sideways at each other, and it was time to start the meeting. Ecks cleared his throat. "Guess we should get started." He spoke loudly, and the gathered hunters turned towards the pair at the bar.

  20. #20
    Darven
    Guest
    Feeling oddly detached, Darven was scanning the assembled crowd; the Falleen's comment about the location hardly surprised him. It wasn't a vacation spot. But at least it was safer than some.

    He took note of some of the people he'd met with previously - Chir'daki, Adia, the Veirs - but didn't return greetings with anything more but a nod.

    The one he'd most hoped to - she hadn't come. Not that it really surprised her, given the tone of her last message, but he'd hoped she'd be smarter than he gave her credit for and realised how important this was for her career.

    It took effort not to worry about it. NOT to care that she hadn't come.

    So he felt relieved when Ecks proposed to start the meeting, and move along with him until the two of them stood in the center of a semi-circle the other hunters made around them.

    Ecks was looking at him in a way that seemed to say 'your idea - you talk'. The Falleen had certainly taken to filling the role of leader - if that meant looking imposing and letting others do the work. But Darven didn't mind, as long as it kept him off certain other thoughts.

    "You are all here now because you have been invited to come. You all know something of the reasons for this meeting. Everyone in this bar has been invited because either Ecks or myself believe they are still living by the same rules that once bound us to the old Guild, or by a code of ethics that is in essence similar to that. Everyone in this bar is skilled at what they do. We are all equals."

    He was no orator, but he'd heard his share of speeches. Bringing back the Guild was a dangerous idea, in these times, but if everyone assembled here could be made to see that joining this new Guild was an advantage, then it might work.

    "There are plenty of faults to find within the structures of the old Guild. But we're not trying to bring back the old Guild - we're trying to build a new one.

    "With every small-time crook calling himself hunter nowadays, this profession is getting the worst possible reputation in the eyes of those who benefit from our services most, and the bounties offered are lower and lower as a result. High bounties come with the risk of angering someone at the Inquisitoriate, and not just the Imperials shy away from having us hunted down and killed if they see an advantage. That's the truth of the situation. It's everyone for himself, or kill or be killed.

    "I don't know about you, but I prefer doing my work without having to worry about who my client is sending after me to try and take me out once I got the merchandise just so they can save some creds by offering it to some low-life. That's valuable time wasted, and not the way to do business. But clients get away with it because there is chaos out there, and they know it only too well and make use of it."

    He looked around to see if he still had their attention.

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