Private Absolutely Swamped

[Wonderworker]

Dagobah

He had been complacent.

Years he had spent in a hundred ports across the Outer Rim, and in each one he had found at least some modicum of success. In some he had performed his miracles, gathering sycophants and gifts and amassing what had been a credit reserve which he had only recently begun to dig through. Where gifts and followers did not come, there came connections with various organizations; the legitimate and the illegitimate could all utilize his services, and he was a useful ally to those in dire need. Finally, in those ports where he had come away with nothing but wounds and weaknesses he had at least gained knowledge. Knowledge of procedures, knowledge of the Force, knowledge of how to do better next time.

Faramond had learned much in the absence of his old chaotic allies, but he had not learned the importance of retaining ambition until recently. He had grown bold, too bold, and the threat that he presented to the local power dynamic had proven reprehensible to those who held its reins. They'd come down on him and his cult with a fervor that he had not suspected, and which could not be quelled with promises of miraculous healing. When the smoke had cleared and the ash had fallen, he was alone, wounded, much of his treasure seized, and all of his followers dead.

A month had passed as he restored his health, reacquainted himself once again with what it was to be nomadic, and gradually collected the asset stashes he'd left throughout the dark places of the Rim.

And now - the choice: To return to the squalor of a planet no one cared about and hope to do it all again, or to finally make something of himself. He'd gained knowledge from the sudden purge, and he'd hate to see so vicious a lesson wasted.

Gathered funds bought him a ship, sleek and new and with its own droid pilot to ferry him to and fro. It had bought him tools and gadgets, useful adventurers hand-me-downs and a wardrobe of muted grey and black and a spare ceramic mask for when his own inevitably cracked and shattered. It had bought him whispers and secrets and rumors among the ne'er-do-wells of a galaxy at war, and consultations with sages and keepers on all he ought to know when dealing with wicked souls. It had bought him a Sleen, bred and raised from the stock of Dromund Kaas, though it had never once seen that horrid world and though its mouth had been stripped of teeth to keep it polite and tame. His funds had brought him much, the fruit of past labor.

But it was ambition that brought him to Dagobah. It was ambition that let him sneak through the monitoring satellites and stations, and to find himself disembarked along with the lizard beast and with a captive womp rat kept in a cage at his hip.

Somewhere on Dagobah, there was a Sith, a Lord of Korriban. One in possession of a strange relic, some manner of biological tool which had caught his attention. Faramond intended to find her wherever she had sequestered herself in the swampy mess, and to see if he could not gain access to the relic so that he might understand it. Beyond that though, it was apparent - it would not do any longer to make friends only with small-time gangsters and local politicians. If he was going to be something, it was time to make mighty acquaintances.

Even if he had to track them down himself.

Madrona A’Mia

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Outer Rim Territories
Dagobah
Desolate Eastern Swamp
Tags: Wonderworker ​

In continuation of previous work wrought on the swampy and nexus rich planet, A'Mia toiled somewhere deep in the gloom. She needn't trudge through what would be chest high murk for the average human, nor was she much bothered by the cloying humidity. No, the botanical woman felt very much at home on Dagobah. Particularly given what awaited her in the remote quagmire and network of dark pools which she'd initially planted fell sorcery. The woman found her way back to the place on many long spidering limbs, clambering adeptly with uncanny movements well above the bog as she used the twisted canopy as leverage to propel herself. Just before reaching her destination though, she sensed another life-form. One more powerful in the Force than any mere spotlight sloth or swamp slug. The signature she sense was distinctly sentient. So the woman paused on her journey and thought to camouflage herself amonst the backdrop to see if perhaps she might spot the being she sensed.

 

[Wonderworker]

In thinking of the galactic conqueror, the black-boot of tyranny and imperialism always rose to the forefront. Throughout a thousand generations, boots such as the ones on the Wonderworker's feet had stamped down on rebellion, insurrection, and worthwhile conversation with an almost equal animosity. It wasn't hard to conjure the thought of a boot stamping down on virgin soil, the very image of dominion.

And so, with such a predisposition toward stomping and stepping and grinding underfoot, it seemed altogether unforgivable that no one had warned Faramond about how the dirt and muck had such a vulgar habit of fighting back.

An hour of walking had managed to fatigue him more than he had imagined. Every lurching step meant spending the energy of five as the swampy earth tried to drag him down, refusing to yield to a simple walking gait.

He'd had to slow down the Sleen. The beast had far less difficulty than he did, but he didn't particularly want to make his acquaintance on his back, and if he didn't restrain the lizard it would likely drag him along without regard for his well-being. He eyed the creature again, the reptilian features of its body, and wondered for the umpteenth time about the decision to sell such beasts as pets, or whether the teeth were removed at birth or carved when it was an adult.

There had to be some moral debate about the topic, but in the miracle maker's mind, it was a far greater crime to let your pet eat you than to take out its teeth.

It had caught a scent a while back which he had hoped was their target. He was aware that the Sith was something floral in nature, so it couldn't have been easy for the Sleen to track amidst so much vegetation. Nevertheless, foliage did not often move, which must have helped at least a bit - and perhaps there was some olfactory giveaway that just couldn't be perceived by humanoids.

He reached out gingerly into the Force, feeling the air around him, the corruption that permeated Dagobah and which prevented his meek senses from scanning at a great distance doing their best to combat his attempts. Nevertheless, he felt that he was on the right track and that they would soon find his quarry.

The Wonderworker didn't bother to conceal himself in the Force. If he couldn't sense her, he presumed that she might also be unable to sense him. Besides, there was no reason for her to be alert to being followed, was there? Comforting thoughts regardless of their reality, Faramond picked up his feet and continued his march, not bothering to conceal himself overmuch with the mighty Sleen beside him breaking every tenth branch regardless.

Madrona A’Mia

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

A traveler, perhaps two. Slogging and squelching through muck, accompanied by telltale sounds of a larger less humanoid creature. A beast perhaps, or a Sithspawn the likes of which served A'Mia herself. Those were the only real details she could pick up from afar and well in hiding. Though the arboreal woman surely could allude a few trackers, why would she? It would be far more satisfying to know what they sought and to sate her own curiosity in turn. So she made the decision to set a trap with herself as the bait and her loyal snares well disguised in their favored terrain.

As Wonderworker approached, A'Mia lowered herself to the side of one murky pool and tucked herself to provide partial coverage beside a large tree in case her pursuers were the kind to shoot first and ask questions later. With a silent command, two of her largest spawn were released from their farrus spheres and they each slipped into murk with barely a ripple upon the surface of the water. There she waited, looking with rather genuine curiosity at one particularly impressive bundle of moss near the base of the tree- as if she were merely there to study plant life.

 

[Wonderworker]

It was always a bit strange to stumble upon someone amid their work. You could seek them out, but it never felt quite like you were really getting close until they were finally right there in front of you. The Sleen slowed to a crawl as the Miracle Maker outstretched his hand, stroking its flank in slow rhythmic brushes as he calmed it from its hunt.

The Sith appeared completely invested in something, but from his angle, he could see little more than the occasional frond of vegetation. Perhaps there was an artifact here that he had failed to sense? Perhaps it was an experiment? The Force tickled his nervous system, and a hint of pressure in the skull oriented his senses to another alternative: that she was lying in ambush.

He felt the presence of an unnatural entity, a creature of flora compressed into locomotive life. He felt as it crept around at the outskirts of this most fortuitous meeting place. It was likely a servitor of hers, bound to her will, perhaps a guardian of her person or a vicious hunter of the Light. It was impossible to tell without more information, and the Wonderworker had little reason to seek trouble.

"Greetings, exalted Lord." He hoped the address was correct. There was nothing quite so dangerous as misremembering honorifics with Sith.

"I am the Wonderworker. I have come to seek your wisdom." He patted the Sleen once more, seeing as it slowly lay on its belly in anticipation of their conversation's outcome; and more likely in anticipation of being rewarded for its tracking work.

Unarmed, undefended by anything but a toothless lizard, Faramond hoped that his bold gambit would pay off.

Madrona A’Mia