Private Scenic Mountain Getaway

[Haliat Kryze]

Beskar'gam
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| Location | Elom, Outer Rim
| Objective | Render aid
| Focus | Assess the problem

Most, save the occasional mercenary turning an envious eye to the quality of his gear, would not likely describe Haliat Kryze as a wealthy man. But in view and his experience, most people knew nothing of true wealth.

True enough, only a fool would deny that coin or credits or precious gems were useful. They could shield the one who held them from many woes, and were of particular comfort to the body. They could keep your belly full with delicacies that bewitched the senses. They could provide thick blankets atop soft beds to keep you warm in tandem with sound walls to block the wind and rain. They could ensure access to the finest doctors, that the creeping inevitabilities of mortality might be held at bay a little longer.

But all of these boons to the body would amount to but shallow comfort if the mind which animated it was not in harmony. Bruallki and menkooro whiskey might become indistinguishable from nutrient paste and water if a mind was in turmoil, and if that mind in turmoil made sleep elusive, then it mattered not what bed you slept on. And if a life ended with regret hanging over you, it made no difference whether that life was long or short.

But to know, both in the moment and upon looking back, that you’d not have spent it any other way, that you lived a life of purpose and significance? That sort of contentment was worth any cold, any hunger and any malady. That was wealth. And if you could find it in service to others, so much the better. If you could become known as one who could help those in need, one to be sought out for such a thing…well, there were always those in need. That was like unto the fabled treasure which would periodically spawn yet more treasure.

Haliat Kryze had, at the cost of some sacrifice, lived just such a life. And so Haliat Kryze was a wealthy man. He had made many contacts in his untethered journey through life and the stars, people he had helped and left with the means to contact him again if such aid was ever required in the future. In time, as those people went about their lives and word of his deeds spread, the need to go looking for a situation requiring his intervention had diminished. Sometimes, people sought HIM out. And now, it had happened again, but one thing had changed.

These days, he was in a position to spread some of that wealth around a bit. Word had reached him via his private holo frequency about trouble in the Outer Rim. The war which had ravaged the Core Systems of late might finally have found its way to the icy and remote world of Elom. Imperial soldiers had arrived and begun to make many demands of the Elomin; troublesome on its own for a populace of tradesfolk and lommite miners even before his contact, a local engineer by the name of Ty Kulan revealed that there was more. On at least one occasion, they had been led by a figure not decked out in any traditional military kit, but in black robes and wielding a crimson blade. Dire as this news was, he’d once have headed out alone to seek out and confront this threat. But he was no longer alone.

And if House Kryze, its hands full simply trying to secure Onderon, was hardly in a position to intervene militarily at the far ends of the galaxy, a mess like this had the makings of fine training if one survived it. Thus, it was not alone but with a pair of promising Hastati trailing down the ramp after him when Haliat finally stepped off his ship to contemplate the stunning views and bracing mountain air. The tranquility was not to be wasted; it was likely fleeting.

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| Friendly | Itzhal Volkihar ​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Elom, Outer Rim
| Objective | Render aid


Telvir Village, by most reckonings, was an unremarkable settlement. Nestled among the other sparse villages that dotted the surface of the Elom and climbed the rugged mountainside of the Ghoran mountain range, it was neither larger nor significantly smaller than its neighbours, each sharing a similar mixture of rustic charm and well-worn affability. Its lack of grandeur was matched only by its absence of storied history; there were no legendary figures to speak of nor ancient creatures that lurked in the shadows of its past. Instead, Telvir stood quietly, a humble place for those who wished to settle down in peace and tranquillity.

At least, that had been the case for hundreds of years. Cruel as it often was, the Galaxy rarely settled for such a status quo, and unfortunately for the inhabitants of Elom, they were no exceptions. In hindsight, the first signs had been a couple of local miners gone missing on their way to one of the estranged mines, initially assumed to be the result of wildlife and then after the discovery of humanoid tracks, bandits or pirates of some form had been the reasonable assumption. The rumours of Imperials had been quiet then, easily dismissed as demons in the blizzards and snowfall that often settled across the planet. Eventually, however, as the weeks passed and more disappearances occurred across the villages, the first confirmed sightings of the Imperials arrived, with reports of intentional contact shortly afterwards.
That was when the situation went from a troubling mystery to something much worse. Villages turned into examples, mines found under new management and the most worrying rumour of all, a nightmare cloaked in the glow of a red blade, followed by shadows dressed in black.

It was nothing more than a fluke that led Itzhal Volkihar to the job, an errant whisper from a nearby table in a spaceport bar that could have been easily ignored if he hadn't been waiting for a quote on a customs update for his new ship. He'd found himself curious when he'd heard the pleads, desperate as they were to get someone to help, far away from their home and where ears might pass on the news. Rel Attelo, a pink-skinned Elomin woman in her mid to late twenties apparently related to one of the village elders, hadn't wanted to reveal much at the time, wary of his intrusion, but desperation had a way of reaching people that even words sometimes didn't.

Unwilling to let the situation spiral further out of control and jeopardise his potential job, Itzhal had offered her a flight off-world and back home the moment he'd got the report of his ship's transfer of ownership. Eventually, with potentially more days stuck waiting for something to happen, she'd accepted.

In stark contrast to the typical residents of Telvir, where conflicts were uncommon and grievances were usually resolved before they could fester into something deeper, leaving most to walk unarmed and with a warm smile on their face, the armoured figure accompanying Rel Attelo was a striking anomaly. An obvious outsider even from a glance, the Mandalorian's hands never strayed far from the blaster pistols holstered on his hips, attached to the heavy armour that cocooned his body and concealed much of the bodysuit, which held only the barest of similarities to the locals own thicker mixture of furs and synthetics.

"And I know I've said it before, but still, I really appreciate you coming out here," Rel said as she walked by streets and passageways that had been built only because they were needed, rarely planned ahead, they formed a labyrinth of twists and turns that made the village feel larger than it had any right to be.

"It's a job," Itzhal responded, glancing over the few people he passed and their lack of weapons, the few he'd seen on patrolling militia men and hunters of the local wildlife. "Someone would take it."

She snorted loud enough for one of the others passing by to turn around, leaving her cheeks dusted, though she barely raised one hand to cover her expression before she waved it off. "Sure, reach far enough, and someone's always going to bite, but that doesn't mean they're all qualified for it."

Itzhal conceded the point with a small nod as he looked over the nearby huts and their intended destination, where he could hear a power tool whirling away from an open side door, "Sounds like I'm not the only one."

"I guess. If Ty isn't trying to float without repulsors again. Verdicts still out on that one till I see what he brought," She shrugged, the weight of her parka barely shifting as Itzhal heard the ruffle of padding underneath more than he noticed the shift of her shoulders, faint as they where underneath everything else. The next moment, she stomped through the doorway. "Oi! Ty! The Calvary has arrived. Hey, where's your guy? I swear if your Merc decided to back out, I'll tell Auntie about those aftermarket deals you were trying to make."

Tag: Haliat Kryze​