Private In the Shadow of Prophecy

[Finley]

Serina Calis

Finn sat in his usual corner at The Midnight Oasis, a haven for the lost and the desperate amidst the chaotic underbelly of Nar Shaddaa. The dim lighting cast shadows across the room, creating an atmosphere of both mystery and concealment. The flickering neon signs outside cast eerie glows through the window, adding to the cantina's otherworldly ambiance. The air was thick with the scent of smoke, spilled liquor, and the ever-present hum of whispered deals.

In front of Finn sat a glass of firewhiskey, its amber liquid catching the light as he lifted it to his lips. The burn of the alcohol was a familiar comfort, a momentary escape from the constant tension that followed him. Beside the glass lay a deathstik, its faint aroma mingling with the other scents of the cantina. Finn's vice, as some might call it, was a reminder of the darker edges of his life, the parts he couldn't quite let go of.

Picking back up the smoldering stick, he perched it between his lips and took a long drag off it, the smoke curling around him like a shroud. The red glint of his sunglasses reflected the dim light, hiding his eyes and his thoughts, even from his two companions. All this noise, all these faces—it never changes. Everyone's out for something. At least here, I get a moment's peace. For now.

Finn's attention shifted as he decided to move to the bar. He stood up, the sound of his spurs ringing ominously against the floor, cutting through the cantina's murmur like a blade through mist. Heads turned, but Finn ignored the curious glances, making his way to the bar with a measured pace.

Dusty, the grizzled bartender, approached with a knowing look. "All's been quiet since you last swung by, Finn," he said, his voice a gravelly mix of experience and fatigue. "No one's been askin' too many questions, and the usual troublemakers have been keeping to themselves."

Finn nodded, taking another drag off his deathstik. "Good to know, Dusty. The last thing I need is more heat." The smoke filled his lungs, giving him a moment to gather his thoughts.

Dusty chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "You know how it is, Finn. Trouble's always lookin' for you, whether you're ready or not."

Before Finn could respond, Lyra Synn, the enigmatic Twi'lek, sauntered over to join them. Her bright blue skin seemed to glow in the dim light, and her violet eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and intelligence. She leaned casually against the bar, her tone playful, a sly smile tugging at her lips. She reached out, her fingers lightly playing with a strand of Finn's hair.

"Finn, you should hear the story Dusty just told me," she began, her voice dripping with flirtation. "Apparently, a Hutt decided to throw a lavish party to celebrate his latest acquisition—a rare artifact from the old Sith Empire. Of course, things didn't go as planned."

Dusty rolled his eyes but grinned nonetheless. "That slimy slug invited all the wrong people. Bounty hunters, smugglers, even a couple of rogue Jedi. It was only a matter of time before someone decided to make a move on the artifact."

Finn raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He took another drag off his deathstik, the smoke swirling around him. "And then?... what happened next?"

Lyra chuckled, her voice filled with amusement. "A full-blown brawl broke out. The artifact went missing, and by the time the Hutt's goons managed to restore order, half the guests had vanished, and the place was in shambles. Rumor has it, the artifact's still out there, waiting to be found."

Finn couldn't help but smile at the thought. "Sounds like a typical night on Nar Shaddaa." He removed his sunglasses, revealing his eyes for the first time, and looked directly into Lyra's violet eyes. His natural charm shone through, making her pause for a moment, a self-satisfied grin forming on his lips. Then, with a casual flick, he put his sunglasses back on.

Lyra leaned in closer, her voice now dropping to a sultry whisper. "Maybe you'd like to go looking for it with me, Finn? Just the two of us."

Finn smirked, shaking his head. "You know how to keep things interesting, Lyra. But I'll pass this time."

Dusty nodded, his expression turning serious. "Just keep your wits about you, Finn. You never know when a story like that will come knocking on your door."

As Finn took another sip of his firewhiskey, he allowed himself a moment of levity, appreciating the camaraderie he shared with Dusty and Lyra. In a galaxy filled with danger and uncertainty, The Midnight Oasis was a rare refuge—a place where he could gather his thoughts, share a laugh, and prepare for whatever challenges lay ahead.

For now, at least, I'll enjoy the calm, Finn thought, taking a final drag off his deathstik, the smoke trailing into the air. Because in this line of work, the storm is never far behind.

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Finley
​

The cantina's dim, smoky air shifted subtly as the door swung open, a faint creak that barely registered against the hum of voices and the clatter of glasses. A figure stepped inside, their presence unassuming yet carrying an unmistakable weight. Draped in a flowing, dark robe, the figure moved with measured precision, the edges of their garment trailing like shadows spilling across the floor.

The intricate patterns etched into the fabric caught the faint neon glow that filtered through the cantina's grimy windows, revealing floral and geometric designs that seemed to shimmer and shift as they walked. The hood of the robe was drawn deep, shrouding their features, while a metallic mask beneath reflected the cantina's sporadic light. The mask's sharp, angular grooves and faintly glowing lines gave it an otherworldly quality, as if it belonged to a time and place far removed from Nar Shaddaa.

The figure's steps were almost soundless, save for the faint rustle of their robes. They moved with an unnatural fluidity, weaving through the cantina's chaotic energy without disturbing it. Whispers—inaudible yet pervasive—seemed to follow in their wake, like echoes carried on a current that only the most attuned might sense.

The figure stopped near the bar, their presence subtle but undeniable. Dusty's gaze flicked toward them, his jovial demeanor faltering for the briefest moment before he returned to his conversation with Finn. The bartender's hands moved a little faster, his motions a touch more deliberate. It wasn't fear, exactly—it was the quiet tension that came when something foreign entered a familiar space.

The masked figure turned slightly, their attention settling briefly on Lyra. The Twi'lek's playful smile faltered, her vibrant violet eyes narrowing in confusion. She leaned closer to Finn, her voice dropping lower, though she said nothing of the figure that had joined them.

The whispers began then, soft and layered, a thousand voices speaking at once yet forming words that could be understood by all who cared—or dared—to listen. The sound seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere, threading through the cantina like a chilling draft.

"Storms gather where the reckless tread," the voices intoned, their harmony haunting and deliberate. "Secrets unearthed, chaos unfurled. What price will you pay, wanderers, to dance in the shadow of ruin?"

The figure did not turn, did not move, their posture unyielding and poised. The whispers continued, winding through the air like smoke.

"A relic of the old empire stirs. Greed and ambition will draw you to its grasp, and the fools who seek it will find only the truth they fear. Beware the call of the past, for the echoes of the Sith are not kind."

The words settled into a moment of stillness, the cantina's usual noise subdued, as though the weight of the whispers had momentarily suffocated it.

 

[Finley]

Serina Calis ​

Finn managed to down yet another glass of whiskey before the Cantina air shifted into something entirely different.

Dusty exchanged glances with the newcomer and then steeled his gaze back to Finn. Words unspoken, clearly understood.

As the figure made their way through the Midnight Oasis, Finn's eyes flicked over, observing them from behind his glasses. His body was steeled against the counter as he took a long drag from his deathstik. He'd never seen this person before, but that wasn't what caught his attention. No, it was the darkness that seemed to surround them, an aura that felt thick, toxic, and tumultuous.

Who's this? Finn thought, his mind racing to assess the potential threat. The air around the newcomer seemed to ripple with malevolence, a stark contrast to the usual clientele of the cantina, and Finn -- feth, he'd been around all different sizes, shapes and colors -- and coupled with his own understanding of the force? This isn't just any ordinary stranger.

His emerald gaze fixated on them from behind his glinting glasses. The whispers of the unknown danced around, gently caressing his ears. The words echoed in his mind, causing his jaw to tense. Whistling ever so softly at Dusty, Finn's hand came up to motion for another shot glass. He took yet another long, hard drag from his deathstik, the smoke slowly pouring from his nostrils and dancing around his body.

His voice purred into the open air, addressing the newcomer. "Pretty bizarre shit, huh? One might start to think they've had one too many drinks when they hear something like that go on. Got a name...friend?"

Finn's head tilted down just slightly to reveal his vibrant eyes from behind the lenses. The tone of his voice emphasized the end of his sentence, making it clear that "friend" was a very loose term.

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Finley ​

The figure paused, their presence a dark smear against the cantina's muted chaos. The shadows around them seemed to grow heavier, pressing against the dim light of the room as though unwilling to relinquish their claim. The hooded head tilted slightly toward Finn, the metallic mask catching the faint neon glow, its angular grooves casting fragmented patterns across their obscured face.

For a moment, silence filled the space between them, thick and expectant. Then, the voice came—soft at first, a whisper, but layered with the resonance of countless others. It carried an unearthly quality, as though it didn't simply emanate from the figure but from the very air itself.

"Names are for the known, for those tethered to the light of familiarity. I am neither."

The figure's voice remained calm, almost conversational, but it lingered, each word wrapping around the edges of Finn's thoughts like a creeping fog. The whispers seemed to pull the cantina into a pocket of stillness, drowning out the background hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses.

"And you…" The voice dropped lower, richer, each syllable a thread of the Dark Side woven through the air. "You watch with eyes that see more than most, yet you wear a mask as well. Behind that charm and bravado lies something… more. Something waiting, perhaps."

The figure turned slightly, their attention fully on Finn now. They moved closer to the bar with a deliberate grace, their robes whispering faintly against the floor. The faint light of the cantina played across the ornate patterns etched into the fabric, floral and geometric designs shimmering like faint starlight. When they spoke again, the words felt intimate, as though meant for Finn alone.

"You call this bizarre, yet you do not turn away. You ask for a name, but what you truly seek is understanding. So tell me, child." The given name, child, lingered on their tongue, tasting of the air between them, both recognition and challenge. "What is it you hope to find in this haze of smoke and fire? Do you drink to drown your questions, or to silence the answers you already know?"

The whispers softened but did not fade entirely, clinging to the edges of their words like a haunting melody. The figure stood still now, a tower of shadows amidst the flickering light, waiting. The gem tucked into their palm pulsed faintly beneath the edge of their sleeve, its glow hidden but present—a heartbeat of power ready to erupt should it be called upon.

Finn's question had been met, but the figure's response had thrown the game back to him, the weight of the encounter resting firmly on his next move. They would wait, patient as the abyss, ready to draw him deeper if he dared.

 

[Finley]

Serina Calis​

Finn watched as the figure moved, their presence a dark smear against the cantina's muted chaos. The shadows seemed to grow heavier around them, pressing against the dim light of the room as though unwilling to relinquish their claim. The hooded head tilted slightly toward Finn, the metallic mask catching the faint neon glow, its angular grooves casting fragmented patterns across their obscured face.

A seductive, hypnotic voice would draw Finn in, as the whispers would caress and penetrate his very mind.

Her voice captivated Finn, drawing him in far more than he cared to be, but all the while, he kept his composure.

Finn took a slow, deliberate drag from his deathstik, letting the smoke curl around him like a protective shroud. He exhaled, the smoke mingling with the shadows, and set his glass down on the bar with a soft clink. His vibrant emerald eyes, sharp and expressive, never left the figure's mask.

"I've been through a lot of strange places and seen a lot of bizarre things," Finn said, his voice steady but edged with a hint of defiance. "But you, you're a whole new level of strange."

He shifted slightly, leaning back against the bar, his posture relaxed but his senses on high alert. "Understanding? Maybe. But understanding doesn't come easy. It comes with pain, sacrifice, and a whole lot of questions that don't always have clear answers."

Finn's eyes narrowed as he considered the figure's words. The whispers of the Dark Side tugged at his mind, reminding him of the darkness he had faced and the scars he bore. He had walked through fire and shadow, emerging stronger but not unscathed.

"I drink to numb the pain," he continued, his voice dropping to a more contemplative tone. "To drown out the ghosts that haunt me. But every glass I empty just brings more questions to the surface. More doubts. More fears."

The figure's presence was like a black hole, drawing him in, challenging him to face the darkness within. But Finn had learned to navigate that darkness, to use it without letting it consume him. He was a survivor, forged in the fires of hardship and betrayal.

"So, you want to know what I seek?" Finn's voice grew firmer, a resolve born from years of struggle. "I seek purpose. Meaning. A reason for everything I've been through. I want to know that all this pain has a point."

He gestured vaguely around the cantina, then at himself. "I want to find my place in this chaos. To understand who I am and what I'm meant to do. And I won't shy away from whatever I have to face to get there."

Finn's fingers tightened around the glass, the leather of his gloves creaking softly. He was ready for whatever came next, unflinching and resolute. His scars, both physical and emotional, had made him who he was, and he would not be easily swayed or intimidated.

"So tell me," Finn said, his voice low and intense. "What do you want with me? What's your game?"

The ball was back in the figure's court, but Finn was ready. He had faced worse and come out stronger. Whatever this figure had in store, Finn would meet it head-on, with the confidence and determination of a man who had nothing left to lose.

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Finley ​

The figure tilted their head slightly as Finn finished speaking, the metallic mask catching the dim light as if mocking the cantina's flickering ambiance. The whispers that had previously clung to the air grew softer, but not weaker—each word now carried an undercurrent of something richer, a licentious undertone woven into the myriad voices. It was a sound that both enticed and unsettled, threading through the tension like a blade hidden beneath silk.

"You speak with conviction, Finn," the voice began, a blend of seductive charm and dark resonance. The air around them seemed to pulse faintly in time with their words, the weight of their presence pressing closer. "It is a rare thing, to find one who does not flinch when the shadows reveal their claws. Rarer still to find one who looks at their scars and sees not weakness, but strength. You are… intriguing."

The figure took another measured step forward, the intricate patterns of their robes catching the faint light in subtle, shifting glimmers. The cantina seemed quieter now, the usual hum of life subdued as if the room itself were holding its breath.

"You seek purpose," the whispers continued, layered with that unsettling yet compelling undertone. "A place in the chaos. Meaning in the pain. Such desires… such needs… are what drive the galaxy, Finn. They are what forge men into legends, or break them into ash."

They paused, the stillness between them almost unbearable. The faint red glow of the gem in their hand flickered, casting a brief, eerie light that danced across their mask. When they spoke again, their tone shifted, carrying a note of curiosity, a challenge wrapped in velvet.

"You say you will face whatever lies ahead to find that meaning. But how far would you go, I wonder? Would you reach into the abyss if it promised you the answers you seek? Would you dirty your hands in the fires of war to carve your place in the galaxy's shadowed halls?"

The whispers seemed to grow closer, the licentious tone wrapping around the words like smoke. The figure leaned in slightly, their presence overwhelming, though their movements remained slow and deliberate.

"Perhaps we can find the answer together. There is… an opportunity. A smuggling operation. Large scale. Arms and armaments, the kind that turn the tides of wars and topple empires. Dangerous, yes, but with danger comes reward. Purpose, perhaps."

They straightened, their voice softening slightly, though the layers of suggestion and intrigue remained.

"You have the skills, the instincts. I have the need for someone who knows when to listen and when to act. This is not a task for the faint of heart, nor the short-sighted. It is for those who understand that the galaxy's true wealth lies not in credits, but in control. I offer no details now, only a question."

The figure's gloved hand extended slightly, the faint glow of the gem illuminating their fingers. The crimson light danced along the bar, casting fleeting shadows across Finn's face.

"What is it you value most, Finn? What drives you to walk the line between light and shadow, to survive in a galaxy that gives nothing freely? Answer that, and perhaps you will find what it is I truly want from you."

The figure stepped back, the shadows around them thickening once more, though their presence remained undeniable. They waited, patient as the void itself, their mask tilting just enough to suggest the faintest trace of amusement, maybe even the giggle of a young girl—though whether it was admiration or something darker, Finn could not yet tell.

 

[Finley]

Serina Calis​

The whispers did not relent, Finn noted. She spoke about conviction—yes, that was one word some would use to describe him. But what really defined Finn was a sheer force of will and perseverance of human spirit. He refused to be put down, to back down, to relent. She spoke of his scars, and his jaw clenched. They were his strength, trophies that he'd been born in the darkness and arisen from it. Yet still, he kept his own agenda.

As she continued to close the gap, an electricity filled the air between them. Finn's body responded to the stranger's presence, moving with her like magnets drawn to one another. She spoke of legends. Finn had heard once what got other smugglers and pirates: gold, glory, and girls. It wasn't necessarily vanity that intrigued him. But when she spoke about getting his hands dirty, his features shifted, a rejection to the situation. If faced with the abyss, would he succumb and change? Feth no. Finn was steadfast, unyielding. He was who he was, flaws and all, but he would never cross the line he had set. There were those Finn believed deserved justice, but also retribution at times could come into play. But outright malicious bloodshed never entered the picture. He danced and walked the grey areas of life, for that was Finn—several shades of grey.

He took a step closer, the electricity between them palpable. "I am who I am, flaws and all -- I've never once tried to make excuses for any of it... that, and -- I never break my code, my word, no matter how hard things get."

Finn's interest was piqued. He never said no to credits. When she spoke about knowing when to act and when to listen, he nodded in agreement, his tone serious. He was working on building a network, expanding his resources, and the offer was too good to resist. But he was still wary of the too-good-to-be-true scenario.

Then came the bombshell question—what did Finn value the most? His face showed a flicker of being caught off guard, extreme inner introspection at play. Until ultimately, a smug grin spread across his face.

"What do I value most?" Finn's voice was low, intense. "Freedom. The freedom to make my own choices, to carve my own path. I've been a slave, I've been betrayed, I've faced death more times than I can count. But through it all, I've fought for my freedom. That's what drives me. The need to be free, to live on my own terms -- to do what I deem right."

He leaned forward slightly, his emerald eyes burning with determination. "So if you're offering me a chance to find purpose, to gain control, to carve my place in this galaxy, then I'm in. But know this—I won't be a pawn in anyone's game. I play by my own rules." Finn's voice softened, but the intensity remained, a now ornery grin spreading across his face. "Now, tell me more about this opportunity. What do you need from me, and what do I stand to gain?"

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Finley ​

The figure remained still as Finn spoke, the shadows around them seeming to ripple faintly, as if responding to the energy of his words. When he finished, the faint, hypnotic whispers of the Dark Side filled the silence once more, resonating with an undertone of intrigue.

"Freedom." The word lingered in the air, spoken in a voice that seemed both amused and contemplative. "A noble pursuit, to carve your path, to live unbound. But freedom, like all things, comes with its price. The galaxy conspires to shackle the free, to cage them within rules, borders, and expectations."

The figure leaned slightly forward, the faint crimson glow of the gem tucked beneath their sleeve catching the light as they gestured slowly. "This opportunity is more than credits, Finn. It is a test. A challenge for one who claims to be unbound. To act where others falter. To succeed where others fail."

Their voice softened, the whispers taking on a tone of almost conspiratorial trust. "The shipment lies in Sith space, a cache of weapons intended for the Sith Empire's war machine. Blasters, disruptors, explosives—enough firepower to level entire battalions. But this is no ordinary haul. These weapons were stolen from under their noses, meant to disappear into the void before anyone noticed."

The figure took a step closer, their presence almost tangible now, the weight of the Dark Side pressing down as they continued. "Your task is simple yet perilous: retrieve the shipment and deliver it to Rakata Prime, a world on the edge of Galactic Alliance space. There, it will find its purpose—not in the hands of bureaucrats, but in those who know how to wield it. Those who are enthralled to my will."

They paused, letting the weight of the words sink in before continuing, the whispers deepening with a note of assurance. "The Sith, as powerful as they are, will be preoccupied. I will see to it that their gaze is turned elsewhere, their hands tied with matters far from your path. The route will not be without danger, of course—such is the nature of freedom. Pirates, informants, and those who see opportunity in disruption may stand in your way. But the path will be clear enough for one as resourceful as you to succeed."

The figure tilted their masked head, their voice dipping into something almost enticing. "And the reward? More than credits, though you will be compensated handsomely. What you also gain is leverage, influence, and a reputation among those who understand the value of a man who keeps his word, who delivers even in the face of chaos. That is power, Finn—freedom's greatest ally."

They took one final step back, their presence retreating slightly, the oppressive aura lifting just enough to allow Finn a breath of clarity. The whispers softened, fading into a near-silent hum, but their tone carried a faint note of finality.

"This is no game, Finn. This is a door. Whether it leads to purpose or peril depends on the man who chooses to walk through it. So tell me… will you carve this path for yourself, or will you let it close and wonder what might have been?"

The figure stood still, waiting, the faint shimmer of the crimson gem casting the subtlest of glows, like a heartbeat that pulsed in time with the tension hanging in the air.

 

[Finley]

Serina Calis​

Finn felt the weight of the figure's words pressing down on him, the hypnotic whispers of the Dark Side mingling with the energy of the moment. Freedom—a noble pursuit indeed, but one fraught with challenges. The idea of retrieving a shipment of stolen weapons from Sith space, of all places, was as dangerous as it was enticing.

For a moment, he let the figure's voice wash over him, considering the possibilities. The allure of influence, leverage, and a reputation among the powerful was tantalizing. But more than that, the opportunity to stand against the Sith, to undermine their war machine, was a challenge he couldn't resist.

A slow, confident smile spread across Finn's face, a spark of mischief glinting in his emerald eyes. "You know, you've got a way with words," he said, his tone both impudent and spirited. "Freedom's greatest ally, huh? Sounds like something you'd find on a motivational poster."

He took another drag from his deathstik, the smoke curling around him like a protective shroud. Exhaling slowly, he let the smoke blend with the shadows, creating an ephemeral barrier between him and the figure. "I've danced with danger my whole life," he continued, his voice steady and charismatic. "Pirates, informants—they're just part of the scenery for me... but it always comes down to the Gambit. Moves... and countermoves."

Finn's eyes locked onto the figure's masked face, his resolve hardening for just a moment. "Retrieving a shipment from Sith space and delivering it to Rakata Prime?" he paused as he took yet another draw, the smoke lingering in his mouth. " And here I thought you said it would be hard? Act where others falter?... where others fail? I'm not like the others...."

But then, he pushed back from the bar, the haunting melody of his beskar spurs echoing as he moved. Leaving the figure behind, he walked through the cantina, his mind racing with thoughts and doubts. Was this masked stranger trustworthy? Was the risk worth it? His hand stroked his chin -- lost in his own mind-space. He relished the adrenaline high, the feeling of being bound to no one. But he couldn't ignore the ever-present danger, the potential for betrayal.

The sound of his spurs rang in the air, Finn contemplating his next move. The promise of freedom and power was enticing, but he knew there was always a catch. The galaxy was a cruel place, and trust was a rare commodity.

His thoughts turned back to the figure's words, the mission ahead. This wasn't just about credits; it was about leverage, influence, and carving his own path. The allure of standing against the Sith, of striking a blow to their war machine, was almost too tempting to resist.

With a determined stride, Finn approached the bar once more, his resolve evident as he spoke. "Alright -- this chit sounds fun," he said, a roguish grin painting his face as his glasses gleamed in the low lighting -- his voice steady and filled with confidence. "I'm in. Let's roll the dice and see just how crooked the house is."

He had faced worse and come out stronger. Whatever lay ahead, he would meet it head-on, with the confidence and determination of a man who had nothing left to lose

 

[Serina Calis]

Tag: Finley ​

The masked figure remained still as Finn spoke, their presence unchanged, but the shadows around them seemed to ripple faintly in response to his confidence. When he finished, their voice returned—soft, layered, and resonant. The whispers carried a weight that seemed to wrap around every word, demanding attention even as they crept into the recesses of his mind.

"Your resolve is admirable. Confidence tempered by pragmatism, daring sharpened by experience. It is the blend of traits that makes you suited for this task. And so, the dice are cast."

The figure's head tilted slightly, the faint crimson glow of the gem beneath their sleeve flickering like a pulse as they continued, their voice steady and precise.

"The operation is vast, as it must be to succeed. Fifty ships will be deployed, each carrying critical cargo bound for Rakata Prime. Your vessel, the Stellar Gambit, waits for you at Dock Seven in the Nar Shaddaa yards. It is a fast ship, lightly armed but equipped with advanced countermeasures to ensure its survival in hostile space. The cargo has already been loaded—state-of-the-art weapons and gear designed to disrupt, dismantle, and devastate. These are not ordinary arms; they are meant to shift the balance of power."

The figure stepped closer, the metallic mask glinting faintly in the dim light as they folded their hands before them.

"When the planet-wide revolt on the Susevfi begins, it will command the Sith's attention. Their forces will be drawn to the conflict, their resources stretched thin. This distraction will create the window you and the other ships need to traverse their space undetected. Timing is critical; you will receive your final signal when the uprising begins."

Their voice dropped lower, the whispers carrying a note of finality.

"Upon reaching Rakata Prime, you will rendezvous with soldiers of the House Calis Guard. They will meet you at a hidden storage bunker on the planet's surface. These soldiers are loyal to my designs, and they understand the importance of their role in this operation. They will take possession of the cargo and ensure it is secured for the purpose it was intended."

The gem pulsed faintly, the crimson glow casting fleeting patterns across the floor as the figure leaned slightly forward.

"The weapons are not to be touched. They are not meant for petty skirmishes or personal profit. They are tools for something greater—a design that spans far beyond the conflicts of the moment. Remember this, Finn: you are a piece in a much larger game. A vital piece, but a piece nonetheless. Your success ensures the survival of this plan. Failure… is not an option."

The figure straightened, their presence looming but no longer oppressive, their whispers softening as they concluded.

"The galaxy is cruel, as you well know. But it is also full of opportunity for those bold enough to seize it. This is your opportunity. To carve your name into something greater. To strike a blow against those who would chain the free. The path begins now. Dock Seven awaits you."

The shadows around them seemed to stretch and deepen once more, the crimson light of the gem fading into obscurity as they took a single step back.

"Am I understood?"

 

[Finley]

Serina Calis ​

Finn's emerald eyes flickered with interest as he listened to the masked figure, their presence and words weaving an air of mystery and gravity that demanded his full attention. He leaned back slightly in his seat, the red glow of his sunglasses casting an eerie light on his intense gaze. The weight of their proposition settled over him like a tangible force.

His thoughts churned, calculating every angle, every potential risk and reward. The Stellar Gambit, fifty ships, and the promise of advanced countermeasures—all elements of a high-stakes game that was right in his wheelhouse. This operation wasn't just a mission; it was a chance to strike a decisive blow against the forces that had once chained him.

Finn's voice, when he finally spoke, was low and edged with steel. "Understood," he replied, his tone carrying the confidence and authority that had earned him his reputation. "I thrive on opportunities like this -- disruption, dismantling, devastation? ...— well what can i say... it's what I do best."

He leaned forward, his presence commanding even in the dim light of the cantina. "The Stellar Gambit will reach Rakata Prime, and those weapons will be delivered to House Calis Guard. You can count on that. But make no mistake, I understand the weight of this task. Failure is not an option, and success will be delivered, no matter the cost."

His mind raced ahead, already mapping out strategies and contingencies. The distraction on Susevfi, the timing of the revolt, the precise coordination required—all pieces of a grand puzzle that he was more than capable of solving. This was a mission that demanded his full skill set, and he relished the challenge.

Finn's gaze never wavered from the masked figure, his eyes burning with determination. "I've faced the cruelty of this galaxy head-on, and I've carved my name into its darkest corners. This is just another step on that path. The syndicates, the Sith—they'll learn the true meaning of fear when they face the Crimson Fox."

With a final, resolute nod, he stood up, the sound of his beskar spurs echoing through the cantina. "Dock Seven, the Stellar Gambit," he repeated, committing every detail to memory. "I'll be there, and when this is over, they'll know that Finley Whitlock is not a piece to be underestimated."

He gave the masked figure one last intense look before turning on his heel, his mind already several steps ahead. The night was far from over, and the path before him was fraught with danger and opportunity. But Finn was ready. He was always ready. The Crimson Fox would rise to the challenge, and nothing would stand in his way.

As he strode out of the cantina, the shadows seemed to whisper his name—a name that promised retribution, justice, and a relentless pursuit of freedom. Finn Whitlock, the Crimson Fox, was on the hunt once more.