In His Arrogance...

[Archangel]

[OoC: Just 'cause I'm tired of board politics and want to post something story-like.]

Cesher Marr, Shistavanen male, leaned over the comparatively small human at the bar. "Do you have a problem with me, human? Because I could swear by the Emperor's Black Bones that you don't. Especially since a problem with me equates to a problem with my friends here..." he trailed off, gesturing to the three creatures standing behind him.

Going from left to right, the first was a Trandoshan by the name of Liressik. Large and tough, he was the grunt of the group, and had earned a reputation as an unstoppable force. The lizard had numerous scars on his scales, each indicating the strike of another being's weapon, and now, his feral grin shook the human to his core. The second creature was a Bothan named Zeyim, the eyes and ears of the group. He had been branded as dishonorable and as such, had the "Fey" prefix from his last name removed; disgusted with being called "Zeyim Lya", he shortened his name and never mentioned the last name again. He worked as a spy and informant, but he worked just as well as the sinister interrogator. The third and final creature was the least understood and the most dangerous: a Felacatian called Cree Griao. Griao was the killer of the group, but no one expected it from the tall, thin humanoid with short fur and a long tail - under stress, or at will, Griao could turn into a large, predatory cat, barely able to differentiate between its allies and its enemies. The rest of the group was smart enough to stay out of the way whenever that happened.

Cesher leaned forward over the human again. "So... are you sure you want trouble?" The human, staring at the sharp, bared teeth in Cesher's mouth, swallowed visibly. He shook his head, stammering a negatory; Cesher let him up and he ran from the cantina.

The Rodian bartender, Reeald, shook his head disapprovingly. "I wish you wouldn't run off customers on a whim, Cesher. He hadn't done anything to you," he said.

Cesher chuckled. "Sure he did! He insulted my fur," he replied, stroking his head-fur gently. The two laughed, and Cesher motioned for his "associates" to return to their seats at their booth. "So, Reeald, you have any information for a bounty hunting team like mine? Anybody that somebody wants killed?"

Reeald shook his head in disbelief, wiping down glasses stereotypically. "You're always working, Cesher. Why don't you take a break?"

Cesher laughed again. "Can't, Reeald - someone might get away with a crime, and we can't have that. Besides, the boys're happy to work. We're always ready to earn a little cash for that big prize we've each got our eyes on."

Reeald sighed. "Well, there is this one bounty... but it's for a pair of sentients, and I don't know if you can take them out that easily," he said slowly.

Cesher looked at him incredulously. "Us? Unable to take care of a couple old geezers?"

Reeald looked at him, something like amazement mixed with incredulity in his eyes. "Only one of them's an old geezer, Cesher. The other's a pretty young guy, but the Empire wants him dead just the same."

Cesher sat there, growing steadily more impatient. After a moment of silence, he demanded, "Well, tell me about them!"

Reeald glanced around furtively, then leaned across the bar and said, "One's a millennia-old Gen'Dai Jedi, and one's a Ryn refugee. They've been assisting in rebellious activities, according to the bounty office, and they're wanted dead. The Jedi's called Verrige, and the Ryn's called Freyel."

Cesher grinned. "This'll be a pinch. See you around, Reeald. No doubt we'll be back," he said, standing and slapping a few creds on the bar to pay for the drinks. He motioned to his crew and they departed from the cantina.

Reeald looked after them and shook his head yet again. "Frankly, Cesher, I'd be surprised."

[OoC: I might continue this later, but for the moment, it's just, erm ... here.]

[Archangel]

Music was such a subjective art. To the human ear, the music playing in the locale was pleasing - even evoking of emotion. To the typical alien ear, it lended its various notes to create a harmonic that reverberated rather roughly, but still somehow pleasantly. To the musical ear, it was simply dreadful. To Freyel the Ryn, there was little that could be worse - though he was certain that a Hutt's taste would be considerably less pleasant than the Devaronian that seemed to be in charge of the exclusive club called the "Raindrop".

Freyel did not go to the Raindrop for the musical aura, nor for the taste of the sentients who did. Freyel attended the Raindrop almost every day (or rather, every night) to play Sabacc and to mingle with potential clients. The Ryn spy network rivaled (surpassed, if you asked a Ryn) that of the Bothans, though many often found them too "low-class" to relate to. The fact that he was considered an outcast and a homeless ne'er-do-well did not bother Freyel in the least; he enjoyed life outside of the Ryn compounds - as he referred to them - set up in the Corporate Sector and other such locations.

That was not to say that he did not miss his family. That was certainly true: his red-furred sister, Mina, and his brother Celid were both wonderful and he missed them dearly - but he had decided a long time ago to "take one for the team" and leave them in the Corporate Sector while he helped expand the Ryn spy network. A clever spy and informant himself, he was taken in one of two ways: those who knew him took him as a silent computer freak with no danger beyond what he aroused with his spying, and those who did not took him as a lowlife who ought to be out on the street instead of an exclusive cantina. Luckily for him, "the people upstairs" (as he jokingly referred to them) knew his connections well enough to let him in.

The droid dealer sent out a randomizing pulse and, even with his extensive use of his Sabacc-face, Freyel had trouble containing a smile. "Call, no betssss," said one of the three other players, a Trandoshan, laying down a Pure Sabacc, consisting of a Master of sabers and an nine of staves. A "no bets" call was not in the normal rules of Sabacc, but the Raindrop allowed for personalized rules, provided all players knew these and agreed to them before starting a game.

Freyel grinned now, placing his three cards on the table: a two of flasks, a three of coins, and an Idiot. "Idiot's Array, gentlebeings," he said, the musical tones of his first language accenting his Basic slightly. "I'm afraid the Main Pot is mine." He almost bit his tongue to keep from saying "again".

The calling Trandoshan stood from his seat, leaning across the table, his claws snatching the young Ryn's collar. "You're using a skifter, you Sithspawn!"

Freyel's face suddenly became very serious; being accused of cheating was not something he would stand for, no matter what the situation. He pried the Trandoshan's claws from his collar and stood, placing his own hands firmly on the gambling table. "Are you accusing me of cheating, Mr. Vessik?" he demanded.

The Trandoshan stood to his full height, towering a good thirty centimeters above the Ryn. "You had better believe it, sssssscum! Your kind doesn't dessssserve to be in here anyway! I sssssay get out, before I thhhrow you out!" he hissed in response.

Freyel leaned forward slightly and would have given a quarreling retort if not for the Maître d' grasping his shoulder firmly and leading him away from the table. The Trandoshan shouted something after him, but he did not hear it clearly. "What about my winnings?" he demanded of Sierra Lyn.

The blue-skinned Twi'lek woman turned to him when they were far enough away from the gambling tables and the enraged Trandoshan. "I'll make sure you get them, Freyel - but a man wanted to see you, and I wanted to make sure you were still around to see," she explained.

Freyel eyed her curiously. "Someone wants to see me? What about?" he asked, his interest suddenly piqued - a job from anyone in this joint meant plenty of money, and that was always a good idea.

Sierra rolled her eyes and twitched her lekku toward the bar. "The human at the bar over there. Try not to cause any trouble, would you?" She moved him gently toward the bar and returned to her duties, leaving him striding confidently toward a well-dressed human male.

* * * * *

Verrige the Gen'Dai mumbled something about the music in the small, grungy cantina he was in as he sipped his caf. "Back in my day," the sentence began, as almost all from Verrige did, "music was an art form." He swished the caf around and took another sip as he glanced over the cup's rim at the young Ryn. "So, Freyel, what can I do for you today?"

Freyel grinned. "You know I just want to know about you, Verrige - you've got to have some extensive knowledge in that old cranium of yours!" he jested.

Verrige laughed half-drunkenly. "You've got to be kidding me!" he exlaimed, "I'm as crazy as the next fella what lived this many years! Just 'cause I can live this long doesn't mean I'm any good at it!"

Freyel chuckled light-heartedly. "That only makes the stories that much more enjoyable, old friend," he said softly. He started to wave at the waitress for the bill, but the Gen'Dai slapped his arm down.

"One more round!" Verrige announced, trying his best to appear like a drunken idiot - whether on purpose or otherwise, he succeeded with flying colors. The bartender came over himself and placed a strong hand on the old sentient's shoulder.

"I think you've had just about enough to drink, Mr. Verrige," a strong voice accompanied the strong arm. "And Kieeracca won't be pleased to have raving drunkards in his cantina. I'm going to have to ask you gentlebeings to leave."

Freyel looked up at the bartender and smiled. "We were just on our way out," he said gently. He took the Gen'Dai by the arm and led him out.

No sooner were they on the street than Verrige shrugged off the younger being. "I can walk by myself, thank you!" he stated clearly, and without any hint of inebriation, "And I didn't need you to take me out of there. What if I did want another drink?"

Freyel chuckled again. "I don't see why you have to act like a drunk every time we go in there. It only attracts attention," he wondered aloud.

Though the two had been walking back toward Verrige's home on the fringes of town, Verrige presently stopped in his tracks and spun on the Ryn and placed a finger in his chest. "And that," Verrige explained, "is exactly why I do it. If people think you're a drunken lunatic, they take less notice of whatever else you might do - or be able to do." He turned his back on Freyel and continued walking.

Freyel shrugged. "I still don't understand," Freyel said softly, "but whatever you say. You're the maestro, apparently." Verrige glanced at him and nodded as if to say, "And don't you forget it."

* * * * *

Cesher stood and watched the two leave the cantina. "Those are our targets? Those two? You've got to be kidding me, Zeyim!" he demanded of the Bothan.

Zeyim shook his head, as full of disbelief as his leader. "That's them, all right. I can't believe that old one's a Jedi. Must be one of those 'fallen' ones."

Cesher snorted derisively. "It doesn't matter. He'll be no harder to kill than a womprat, and we'll be thousands richer!" he said decisively, pleased with himself for hunting them down so quickly.

The other three would have rolled their eyes if they weren't aware of the Shistavanen's short temper. Cesher did hardly anything anymore, it seemed. Still, the three followed him as he stormed from the cantina after the targets.

* * * * *

Music. Its sweet, sweet sound echoed through the ears of the slowly aging man. Its origin was not the cantina at all. Very few would have recognized the man as being a Kiffar, instead of human, and most would therefore have had no knowledge of what he held in his hands. It was a medallion, a simple piece of jewelry, but he clung to it like an infant to its mother's breast. To him, there was something in it, something of it, that nothing else held.

Reilin Sar licked his lips lightly, trying to keep them from drying out. The music he heard was accompanied by a vision before his eyes. He saw her, his beloved wife, Annalei Zior Sar, playing a small instrument by placing the small, horizontal, metallic object to her lips and moving it side-to-side. It was very similar to a human harmonica, but its music was smoother, gentler, and it was designed specifically for Hapan women like Annalei. Her ability with the instrument was only surpassed by her stunning beauty. Reilin saw himself, smiling fondly as he watched his wife.

But then the vision changed dramatically. It leapt forward in time, to a grim, dismal night in Reilin's past. Blaster fire could be heard whining through the space in front of him, and then silence as Reilin dropped the medallion into his pack. It landed quietly next to the musical instrument from the vision and an object shaped rather like a hydrospanner. Reilin closed the pack before further observation could be made of this last - rather peculiar - object.

Reilin stood and walked toward the bar entrance, following the four bounty hunters and the two targets. Those two would need his help, he supposed. After all, as one of the last Jedi, it was his duty to help his fellows - and he had felt the Gen'Dai's power and wisdom, even through the raucous cantina. Still, he had stopped thinking of himself as a Jedi a long time ago - ever since his marriage to his wonderful wife, he had been essentially banned from the Order as a follower of the Dark Side. He was further shunned when her death led him on a decade-long quest of vengeance, which was never truly resolved as he had wished - it was the kindness of another that had brought him back to the Galaxy of the living.

Presently, however, Reilin had duty to attend to. The Kiffar reached back into his pack and, careful not to touch the medallion or musical instrument (called a "resa"), withdrew the peculiar object. He sped up his pace as the four bounty hunters broke into a run. He rounded a corner to find an activated lightsaber and five blasters blaring. He thumbed his own lightsaber and a golden blade issued forth. He thought to himself, It is time I returned to the Galaxy...

[Archangel]

[OoC: This is open, by the way. I guess that's a new development. ]

The second hum surprised Freyel, but he did not pause to think about it; his blaster was on and firing away as he ran for his life. He did not know why the Empire wanted him dead, but that is what the leader of the bounty hunters - the Shistavanen - had claimed when they began using him for target practice. When Verrige activated his lightsaber and began deflecting blaster bolts, Freyel ceased his attempts at attack and merely took flight, with Verrige backing away from the battle, still sending any bolts that neared him off into the dusty air - he vaguely noticed the presence of another Jedi, and that the blaster bolts aimed at him were slacking off.

The second hum surprised Cesher twice as much as it surprised Freyel, and he did pause to think about it; he turned and opened fire on this second Jedi, ordering Zeyim to do the same. Now only Liressik was attacking the prey, while Griao was kneeling on the side of the dirty street, meditating. The second Jedi was younger, more agile, and more powerful than Cesher's prey, and he knew it instantly - he also knew that they more than likely would not be able to win with blasters. "Alright!" he shouted, "Griao, take care of this second Jedi; Liressik, Zeyim, support him - keep that lightsaber busy long enough for Griao to tear him apart! I'm going after the prey! Move!"

The second hum, the hum of Reilin's own lightsaber, brought him back to a state of readiness that he had not felt in years; he was as clearly connected to the Force as the day before he met Sara Crest, the young woman who brought him back to a life of peace, despite his thirst for vengeance. The lightsaber itself had memories of those dark days, but Reilin used his connection to the Force to keep those at bay while he focused on protecting himself. He easily deflected the bolts, even accurately enough to send them back in the general direction of their source. It was not his intention to kill the attackers - not yet; all he wanted at the moment was the escape of the other Jedi and his protege.

Suddenly, one of his opponents let out a howl that would have chilled the blood of a less willful man. It attracted his eye from the corner of his vision; it knelt on the roadside and - to his surprise - reformed from a feline humanoid into what appeared to be a large predatory cat. Griao's meditation had paid off.

The creature leapt toward him, covering the distance in a single bound. He called on the Force and propelled himself skyward; Griao tore at the ground beneath him, then moved away to lunge more effectively again. Liressik and Zeyim tried to keep their weapons targeted on Reilin as he leapt through the air, and found it easier once he landed. His concentration was beginning to falter; he was having to deflect two sets of blaster bolts as well as dodge the ferocious attacks of a large beast, all intent on his demise. He cursed under his breath as he began looking at his options.

Option number one: die. Not the most pleasant option, but certainly the quickest and easiest. Plus, he would get to meet Annalei again. But something - not of himself, but of the Force - denied him that allowance. He could not die - not yet - there was too much else to accomplish with his life.

Option number two: focus on the beast. It would be a simple task to eliminate the cat, but that would leave him very open to blaster fire. He could survive the burns of a few bolts, but those injuries would not assist in his escape - or in his attack on the remaining two enemies. Again, not a pleasant option.

Option number three: focus on the blasters. If he could eliminate them, he might be able to get rid of them both before the cat could bear down upon him. But this option was removed as Liressik and Zeyim separated to opposite sides of the street; attacking one would leave him open to the other, and vice versa. No more option three.

He settled on one last, thin ray of hope: incapacitating the blaster-wielding opponents with the Force, and then focusing on the cat to allow for his own escape. He decided it was the best option, and enacted it; he called on the Force, pushing the enemy on the left - Liressik, the heavier and more dangerous of his enemies - into the wall, knocking him down and dazing him thoroughly enough that it would be a good minute before he could once again bring his weapon to bear on the Kiffar.

Reilin was forced to wait a moment before acting against the Bothan on the other side of the street - Zeyim - because Griao was once again charging the Jedi; he leapt to one side and the cat leapt past him. Reilin took advantage of the cat's confusion and used the Force to lift Zeyim off the ground; he tossed the Bothan against the wall, knocking him out cold.

Presently free of distractions, Reilin turned to face the feral feline. Griao knew he would be facing an unhindered lightsaber and waited before attacking. The two circled each other slowly. Griao snarled at the Jedi; Reilin entered a combat stance, tipping his lightsaber slightly toward his opponent.

The two combatants charged.

* * * * *

Zeyim awoke to see Liressik standing over him. He cursed at his weakness and asked, "What happened?"

Liressik pulled him to his feet; he replied, "Griao isssss dead. The Jedi essssscaped. No word from Cessssher."

[Archangel]

Bacta can be a wonderful thing. An allergy to bacta can, therefore, be a terrible thing. Between that and the rarity (and subsequently, the high cost) of the more raw kolto, Reilin was out of luck when it came to his new scar - and the loss of the sight in his left eye.

Most of the battle with the Felecatian had been in Reilin's favor - the lightsaber had helped tremendously to that effect. Unfortunately, one of those sharp claws had raked clean through Reilin's left eye, leaving a bleeding gash where once was a striking green eye. He had used the force to stop the bleeding and the close the wound, removing the infection, but he did not have the ability to remove the scar - or heal the eye itself, which was almost completely destroyed. It would be a gruesome sight to any who would glimpse it until he could get it covered, but he did not particularly care.

He ran a hand through his short dark brown hair, rubbing lightly at his forehead, where the yellow colorations of his family were planted permanently into his skin. He leaned back and looked around the small hotel room where he was boarding for the moment. He had just spent the last four hours in a healing trance to recover from the fight with the Felacatian - who would not be recovering at all. He vaguely wondered how the other Jedi had fared; he was too weary to try and sense him with the Force. He quickly fell into a deep sleep.

[OOC: I was going to write more, but I lost my momentum. Huh.]

[Archangel]

Freyel tried to soften his ragged breaths. After running for a good ten minutes to escape the bounty hunter, he had ducked into a shop to hide. With luck, the Shistavanen would take a look around and decide to hunt him down later. Freyel was hiding behind the main counter; the shop was closed, but he had broken in. Luckily for him, it was too small and too poor to have an alarm system. He had his blaster out; the energy pack was at half power, but he suspected that was enough to shoot the Shistavanen. Verrige had run off in the other direction; they had decided to split up since there was only one hunter chasing them.

Cesher was upset. His prey had split up, first of all, making the entire ordeal that much harder. The Shistavanen was getting tired, so he had decided to chase the weaker, easier prey, even if it was younger. Now, that prey was hiding in this accursed shop and was not showing his furry face. Cesher walked around the shop again, trying to find some evidence of the Ryn's location; he had decided that the Ryn had sneaked out while Cesher was searching the shop and was headed toward the exit when movement caught his eye. He looked to it and saw a tail flick back behind the counter. He grinned, his teeth bared in a feral expression of success.

Freyel listened closely as the door hissed open and then, after a moment, hissed closed again. He sighed audibly with relief. Finally, the hunter had left. He stood and leaned against the counter—

—Only to be confronted by Cesher's yellow eyes and ferocious grin. "Got ya," the Shistavanen said. He raised his blaster and leveled it right between the Ryn's widening eyes. Suddenly, a sharp whistle from his musical prey made him wince, and the subsequent hum of a lightsaber made him turn around and face Verrige, who stood at the opposite end of the nearest aisle.

Cesher opened fire on the green blade, frantically wondering how he had been trapped by his own prey. The blade, shining in the darkness of the shop, did not advance; it merely deflected the bolts into the walls of the shop. Cesher thought it seemed foolish to be able to kill him, but to just stand far away where a stray bolt might find its way through.

That, however, was the next to last thing to pass through his head. The very last thing to pass through his head was a blaster bolt from Freyel's weapon, placed at the base of that canine skull. The late Shistavanen bounty hunter slumped to the floor with a short series of thuds, as his knees hit the floor, his head hit the counter, and then as all of him met the duracrete tiles finally.

Again, Freyel found himself breathing a sigh of relief. He placed a credit chit on the counter worth a considerable amount of money, as payment for the damages to the shop, and then looked up at his Gen'Dai friend. "About time you showed up," he said irritably, "Do you think you could have taken a little longer? I might have gotten a decent blaster wound out of this."

Verrige rolled his eyes, though no one could tell in the darkness as he turned off his lightsaber. "Oh, shut up, poor baby," he replied, then started for the door. Freyel chuckled and followed him. It was time to lay low for a while.

* * * * *

Zeyim cursed as he and Liressik surveyed the scene as best they could through the crowd of people. The media was all over the scene: someone had had a shootout in a store, resulting in one dead, unidentified sentient - shot from behind, no less. The two hunters had not heard who the dead being was yet, so they were hoping Cesher had succeeded (at least partially) - but they had not seen him since he took off after the prey, so they were unsure. "Any sign of the prey?" Liressik asked his observant companion.

Zeyim did not respond; he did not even seem to hear the question. He was staring at the body that was presently being taken to a nearby landspeeder via a hoversled. The body was covered, but the Bothan's quick eyes could make out the shape: it was clearly Shistavanen. "I think we're going to need backup," he said softly. Liressik followed his gaze and nodded solemnly. Neither liked the dead Shistavanen, but he was one more gun that could have been useful in taking out the prey. Both sentients cursed simultaneously.

* * * * *

Several hours later, Freyel was back in the Raindrop, talking to a human at the bar - the same that had hired him. "You're never going to believe my luck..." the Ryn began.

[Archangel]

Zeyim and Liressik looked across the grimy table at their new compatriots - or potential compatriots, more accurately.

The first had dark, smooth skin; his nose was wide and pressed against his face, as if someone had flattened his face while it was still developing and the semi-gruesome picture before them was the result. His skull, apart from his flattened face, had flecks of darker skin across his bald head, with knot-like protrusions from his temples. He had small but dense spikes jutting from his shoulders, elbows, and wrists. He wore a type of body armor, but it was less plated and more cloth, and it was all black. His gloved, four-fingered hands were toying with a blaster carbine, and his two-toed feet were clothed in their own specialized boots, hiding that tiny detail. He was Iotran, and a Braceman at that - not to be trifled with by any stretch of the imagination.

The second was covered in a green, scaly exoskeleton that looked as strong and resistant as ferrocrete - or even duracrete. This natural armor removed the need for any armor such as the Iotran wore, and all that this creature wore was a bandoleer and belt, in which were housed his blaster and force pike. He had four horns curving out from his head; that head seemed almost bestial, between the snout-like nose and the crooked teeth showing through the salivating mouth. The Makurth's eyes were almost wild with anticipation of the hunt, and call of war with someone as powerful as the prey these two described certainly seemed to be able to satiate that appetite.

Zeyim leaned forward slightly and said, "We're willing to split the bounty evenly with whoever's left alive when this deed is done - and before you two get any bright ideas, I'm the only one here who knows where to collect the money from, and I won't tell anyone until it's time to pick that money up. Deal?"

The Makurth, Melrok, was the first to nod and accept the proposition with a chuckle of delight. The Iotran, more militaristic than warrior-like, nodded slowly and smiled thinly. Jerladrin was in. Zeyim grinned and glanced sideways at Liressik, who nodded. It was time to hunt, and this time, they would not be so easily defeated.

[Archangel]

It was twilight. Freyel watched Verrige as the old Gen'Dai meditated on the floor of their meager lodgings. They had taken refuge in an abandoned apartment in the slums of the city, and now Verrige was working to find the other Jedi. Freyel had just returned from the Raindrop. Freyel was going to speak, but he did not want to interrupt the trance.

Verrige remained motionless for what seemed like forever - at least to the impatient Ryn. Freyel wanted to find this other Jedi, because as soon as those bounty hunters attacked again, Freyel was not sure that old Verrige could hold his own, and there was no telling if the bounty hunters would have backup. To that effect, Freyel was very pleased indeed when Verrige stood and turned to him; the Gen'Dai said confidently, "He's not as far as you would expect - which is good for you, I suppose, because otherwise, we could have been here a considerable amount of time."

The Jedi headed for the door as Freyel exclaimed, "You mean it could have taken even longer?"

* * * * *

"Not far" from Verrige was, as it turned out, an overstatement - Reilin was practically on the other side of town, still asleep in his hotel room. He was awoken by the incessant beeping of the door console; someone desperately wanted to be let in. Reilin stood groggily, but used the Force to clear his thoughts. His hand slipped down to his lightsaber as he moved slowly to the door and tapped the pad, opening it.

It was good that he was ready with his lightsaber, because it was activated soon after Reilin dodged the stabbing force pike of Melrok the Makurth. Reilin was surprised to see such a beast in this part of the Galaxy, but he did not take the time to ponder it. He swung the lightsaber out, catching the chest of the bounty hunter. To Reilin's surprise, the lightsaber made but a small cut as it scraped the natural armor of the Makurth, and it only succeeded in angering Melrok. The bounty hunter let out a tremendous battle cry; Reilin clamped his free hand to his ear inadvertently, temporarily losing his concentration.

That lapse in focus was more than enough for Melrok's Iotran partner to make his move; he stepped in beside the Makurth, who was furious, but knew the plan well enough not to get in the way. Jerladrin let fly with his carbine, one bolt catching Reilin's left thigh before the Jedi managed to bring the battle back into focus and blocked the next three shots, sending them into the duracrete ceiling.

Melrok sidestepped, moving toward the bunk to get a better angle when it came his turn to attack again. Jerladrin kept firing with the carbine, making his shots wide enough to cause a hassle for the Jedi to defend, but close enough to put the Jedi on edge - making sure he tried to block every shot.

Reilin was not staying put, though; he spun twice, making two long horizontal gashes in the duracrete wall of his hotel room with his lightsaber, and only picking up one more blaster wound in his left shoulder blade in the process. Using the Force to count the blaster shots from the Iotran's carbine, he timed his next move perfectly. Several things happened at once: Jerladrin's blaster carbine made a resounding click, indicating an empty carbine; Reilin spun again, cutting the thrusting force pike from Melrok in half; the Kiffar extended his injured left arm, calling on the Force.

The wall cracked and broke, the two lightsaber slashes assisting in its disconnection from the building; a large chunk flew outward, falling two storeys to the ground outside and shattering with a crunch. Reilin leapt through the new hole and disappeared into the shadows of the night.

Jerladrin cursed as he looked out the hole, trying to find the Jedi; but Reilin had deactivated his lightsaber, and the planet's prominent moon did not cast enough light to highlight the runaway. Melrok, still angry about the cut on his chest, and more wroth besides about his destroyed force pike, let out another blood-curdling battle cry.

Jerladrin turned on him, removing the earplugs from small holes in the sides of his head; he may have had no visible ears, but he could still hear, and the last thing he had wanted from this bounty was the loss of that due to his overeager partner. "Will you stop that?" Jerladrin demanded.

Melrok snorted indignantly as the two bounty hunters left the hotel room. As they passed the front desk, Jerladrin slapped a credit chit on the desktop and apologized for the damages. Hopefully, their two compatriots had engaged the real prey with better luck.

* * * * *

They had, indeed - or at least, they had successfully attacked the Gen'Dai. The millennia-old Jedi was taking injuries left and right, but he was not yet worried. As a Gen'Dai, he could take a real beating before he was at threat of death. His lightsaber was active and deflecting many of the bolts, but quite a few were still getting through, puncturing his muscles and nerves clean through. His robe was removed, now, and Zeyim and Liressik were surprised to see his natural form.

Unfortunately for the two bounty hunters, they were completely unaware of the Gen'Dai ability to heal over time, so they were happy to keep the Jedi pinned down from both sides in the alley. Zeyim had some advantage of height, attacking from the roof of a one-storey structure, and Liressik was on the ground; Verrige was stuck in a corner of the alley. Zeyim was disappointed that the sneaky Ryn had escaped, but if the other two bounty hunters were doing their job, he would probably be easy enough to track down and defeat without Jedi protection.

Zeyim was amazed that the old Jedi was taking such a beating. It seemed unnatural to be hit with so many blaster bolts and still be standing. He grinned maliciously as the Gen'Dai finally fell to its knees and, with a yell of pain and anguish, collapsed to the ground. The Bothan dropped to the ground from his perch and nodded to Liressik. Just to be sure, neither moved too close to the body. "Looks like we got the Sithspawn!" Zeyim announced after a moment's pause. Liressik chuckled in reponse.

That chuckle was cut short as someone grabbed the Trandoshan's flame thrower and set the still form of the Gen'Dai alight. With the flames lighting his face, Zeyim recognized the perpetrator as Jerladrin, the Iotran. He could also see the Makurth, Melrok, standing back near Liressik. Liressik was indignant that his weapon was being used to mutilate a corpse.

Or what they thought was a corpse. Much to the surprise of the other three bounty hunters, the Gen'Dai's "corpse" began to writhe and spasm, screaming its death cries to the night air. For one full minute this continued, until the creature stopped its yells; still Jerladrin persisted, until finally, he deactivated the flame thrower, satisfied that the Gen'Dai was dead. It could be construed in no other way: the body was but charred remains of its former self.

"He wasn't dead," the Iotran explained, "Gen'Dai will fall into a sort of trance - especially Jedi - to heal once they have taken a serious amount of injuries. And he would have lived, too, and probably killed all of you as you took his body to whoever's paying for this as proof. Now, though," he said, pointing at the blackened cadaver, "he's dead for sure."

The other three bounty hunters stared dumbly at the carcass. No one expected the aged Jedi to be so resilient - not even Verrige, in his last moments of life, truly thought he would live so long.

[OoC: I've got some specific plans for this, so... it's semi-closed now. PM me before entering, with whatever idea you have.]

[Archangel]

Freyel was running scared, and all his energy was from adrenaline. At this point, he was just plain terrified. He still had no clue what the bounty hunters wanted from him, and now they had killed Verrige. The old Gen'Dai had told him to run, to flee, to scratch gravel and get the blazes out of there - but Freyel could not leave his friend alone without watching, holding on to the hope that their other Jedi friend would come swooping in to the rescue at the last second, like the last time they found themselves outnumbered and outgunned.

But that had not happened. Verrige had fallen, and not only that, the enemy had mutilated his corpse until his remains were completely unrecognizable. He might as well have been ashen exhaust from a quick take-off, to the casual observer. Only the closest inspection would reveal the humanoid qualities once so obvious.

Freyel was presently rounding a bend when he ran into the man part of him had hoped was dead - if Reilin were dead, then that explain why Reilin did not rescue Verrige. But Reilin had not died from his injuries, though his pain was plainly visible in his limping gait. Freyel's face contorted in anger at the Jedi for a moment as he exclaimed, "Why didn't you save us?! Where were you? You could have stopped them!" He trailed off as the Jedi stoically took the faint pummeling the weary Freyel was trying to land on him.

"They tried to kill me, too - I barely escaped myself. And I had little doubt that my attackers were headed for you, so I knew that they - combined with whoever remains alive from the original group - would overpower me if I intervened there. So I sought you out instead, knowing Verrige would not let you stay in harm's way. He thought much of you, you know," Reilin told the Ryn. It was mostly nonsense - something Reilin had made up to make the spy feel better about the entire ordeal. Reilin know far too well what it was like to lose a friend.

Freyel nodded. "Yeah," he replied, "I know." He began to walk with the limping Jedi, his mind pondering a moral dilemma. He finally came out with it, stopping the Kiffar by placing a hand on Reilin's shoulder. "Reilin - it is Reilin, isn't it?" A nod from Reilin let Freyel continue, "I have to tell you something, something which might - in some way - be related to this whole thing. You know the Raindrop? That exclusive club on the other side of town? Well, I was hired there, and it was a job I did not particularly expect to come to fruition anytime soon... but it did, much to my surprise. I suppose, in retrospect, the Force had something to do with it. But this human that hired me - he wanted me to find out everything I could about..."

When the Ryn trailed off, Reilin prodded, "About?"

That seemed to collate the spy's thoughts. "About you," he said quickly, quietly. It was hurried out in a tone so rapid, so low, that Reilin was not sure at first that Freyel had said anything at all. After a moment, he realized that his ears were not deceiving him.

"Someone hired you to find out about me?" he asked doubtfully. It did not seem a likely story - no one he could think of knew him, and anyone who did had no knowledge of who he really was. If anyone remembered him, it was as a smuggler, a pirate of sorts, no more.

Freyel nodded solemnly. He was obviously confused about the whole thing, and for a Ryn spy to be confused was no small thing. "I guess," he said finally, "that I should have had the human checked out, but he seemed a decent enough type - and when I had you checked out, I figured this man must merely wish to know your whereabouts. His description of you and your background fit perfectly with what my informants could tell me - and what my eyes put before me, as well."

That struck Reilin as odd - even more odd than someone knowing him. "He knew my name? My background? In the Jedi Order?" he asked, his voice taking on a nervous quality that was not particularly complimentary to his personality - but it was true nervousness, unlike any he had felt in some time.

Again, Freyel nodded. "He knew all about it, actually. He said his name was Jerald Krem."

Reilin set his jaw and nodded slowly, his mind made up. This would have to be resolved. "Lead on to the Raindrop. I need to have a little talk with Mr. 'Krem'."

* * * * *

Zeyim could not shake the eerie thought that he was being stalked. He had double-checked and even triple-checked his path up to this point, but he had caught neither sight nor sound of anyone. The other three bounty hunters were in their hotel rooms, waiting for his return; he had gone out to the local shops to collect meals and drinks for everyone, given that he was in charge of the collective purse and that he did not want to be caught unawares in a cantina by their prey.

He neared the hotel, and an idea popped into his mind; it might just let him catch the stalker, if there was one. He slipped into a building near the hotel - by the looks of it, it was an office building of sorts, all but closed for the night. There was one person at the reception desk, a young woman. Zeyim motioned for her to be quiet and ignore him as he moved behind a column that made seeing him from the door impossible.

The door slowly opened, and the receptionist smiled at the incoming sentient. Zeyim's hand slid down to the blaster on his thigh and unclicked the safety. When the sentient reached his peripheral vision, the Bothan lunged, catching the culprit about the midsection, taking him to the ground. He placed the muzzle of his blaster in the face of his shadow, trying to identify the somehow familiar green-skinned creature.

Then a sense of uncanny recognition hit him, and he nearly dropped his blaster as he stumbled away from the prone Rodian. After a moment of stammering, he finally managed his follower's name: "Reeald!"

Reeald the bartender stood slowly, holding up both hands, as much in surrender as to dissuade the Bothan from attacking him. Fear and regret mixed on his face as he babbled out, "Look, Zeyim, I didn't want to get caught up in this - honest, I didn't! But he told me - he said - he said he'd kill me if I didn't follow you here! He had to make sure you didn't kill the real prey - some Jedi, named Sar! He'd never mentioned it before, but he was adamant that Sar was alive. Something about the past, the Jedi Academy, I don't know..."

As the Rodian continued on, almost indistinct in his words, Zeyim tried to silence him, to calm him. Finally, the Bothan just shouted out, "Reeald! Shut up, calm down, and tell me what's going on!"

Reeald's nerve failed him completely then. He stumbled for the door, saying, "Talk to Ilker, a Devaronian - he owns a place called the 'Raindrop'!" With that, he was out the door, running down the street. He could not have been so afraid of Zeyim, who - up until this point - had been decent friends with the bartender. He must, Zeyim surmised, have been frightened of retribution from his employer.

A few minutes later, Zeyim was knocking on hotel room doors, dragging his compatriots from their beds. When they were all out in the hall, he tossed Liressik his flamethrower. "We've got a Devaronian to talk to," Zeyim said, "The bounty will have to wait."

[Archangel]

Reilin entered the security checkpoint for the Raindrop. "Remove all your weapons and place them in this tray," the gruff Sakiyan said through the transparisteel protecting him from potential thieves.

Reilin smiled a greeting at him, waved his hand in front of him, and replied, "I'm already secured." The dark-skinned alien repeated the phrase and pressed a button on his panel, letting the Kiffar enter the main cantina. Freyel entered as soon as the inner door had closed, dropped his hold-out into the tray, nodded at the Sakiyan, and entered after Reilin. The door-guard did not even have enough time to greet the regular.

Freyel came up behind Reilin and tapped him on the shoulder, pointing toward the bar. "He usually meets me over there," the Ryn told his companion. Reilin nodded and they both went to the bar. "A Ruby Bliel," Freyel told the droid bartender. It was his usual drink - non-alcoholic and common enough, it let him stay sober for his work.

Reilin said, "An ale." The generic alcoholic drink was easy to come by and in every bar - Reilin preferred to drink that over drawing attention to himself by asking for a more obscure - but better-tasting - drink from a specific place in the Galaxy. When he touched the glass presented before him, he was inadvertently sent into a reverie: his psychometry was active.

He saw a human - and a strangely familiar one at that - sipping an ale from the same glass. He was tall and well-dressed; his skin was pale, and his bald head shone against the dim lighting at the bar. Reilin measured him up, taking in every detail until he saw something that made his own face pale: a lightsaber attached to the man's belt, its casing made of black metal. Reilin was suddenly filled with a sense of danger, of dread, of the Dark Side. He was about to move forward and find out who the human was, but he was dragged back to the present by his Ryn friend's gentle touch. "You okay?" Freyel asked him.

He dropped the glass of ale onto the bar; luckily, it landed upright and did not spill. He turned to the Ryn and asked, "This human - was he tall, pale, and bald? Wearing expensive clothing?" Freyel nodded rather dumbly; he was about to ask how Reilin had known when Reilin interrupted his thoughts, continuing, "We've got to find him now, Freyel. There's no telling how many lives could be at stake."

The sense of urgency and importance Freyel saw in the Jedi's eyes had him swallowing hard; he nodded quickly and downed his Ruby Bliel, standing up as he did so. "C'mon," he said, "I know the Maître d'. Maybe she can help us." He glanced around the room until he caught sight of Sierra's blue skin or typical green shimmering dress - she was standing near the gambling tables. He went to her directly, Reilin following behind him silently. "Sierra!" he called to her when he was close enough to do so without attracting too much attention, "Have you seen that human who hired me? Jerald Krem, he said his name was?"

She frowned and shook her head, saying, "No, I haven't seen him since two days ago - he was meeting with Mr. Ilker," referring to the Devaronian owner of the Raindrop.

Freyel nodded and glanced back at Reilin, who said, "Where is Mr. Ilker?" Freyel, nodding his agreement with the question, turned back questioningly to Sierra.

She replied, "Well, he's in his office, upstairs." As the two sentients turned away and headed for the stairs, she tried to call after them, "But he said not to be bothered! He's having a meeting!" but it was to no avail; they had already gone, and their minds resolved.