Private The Mad Merchant of Atrisia

[Cerys Dyn]

Atrisia
Core Worlds​

Tanilvar Hokvin used to be a good man. Or at east that is what Cerys had been told. Any time she had seen someone say his name though, it was always with a snarl, or a spit of disgust to the side.

Cerys was wiping a small amount of errant spittle from her shoe. “Sorry miss,” said the wizened older man, “my aim is not what it once was.”

“You could try just looking unhappy when I say his name,” Cerys said, looking down as she contorted her foot to, in the end, wipe successfully.

“Aye, that I could miss,“ said the droidsmith, “do accept my apologies.”

“Apology accepted, Gax,” she said, smiling mostly due to the success in wiping off the spit, “now back to what I was saying…”

“Ah, Miss Cerys…please don’t go up there. That Estate is cursed. No good will come of you venturing up there, no good at all,“ he said, pained expression taking Cerys aback.

She sighed. These people lived in fear of the Mad Merchant. Hokvin had apparently only left his Estate and entered the township a half dozen times each year for the past five years. Each time he had, there had been problems. He had ’recruited’ young many to his fleet of trade ships. He had caused a stir at the local temple, claiming the priests were trying to con the people. He had come down from his high hill, the man had burnt a building to the ground. He had claimed it blocked his view of the river. The last time he was in the town his behaviour was erratic, fevered and his words made no sense. Many in the town said he had gone mad, thus his relatively new nickname.

“He must be put in his place,” Cerys said, defiant in her desire to fix the matter.

“So long as his place is up in that house for most days of the year…we are OK spitting on the ground,” the old man said, his face growing stern. He seemed worried about what she might do.

She looked unconvinced. He looked outright frustrated with her. “Leave him be, miss.”

As Cerys walked out of the droidsmith’s shop, she looked up to the high hill and the looming estate house. Someone had to do something. She turned in the opposite direction, until she was out of sight from the front door of the droidsmith’s shop. She took a left, and a few blocks over, before turning toward the Estate.

She would do something.

Sote Thenoti

 

[Sote Thenoti]

The Streets of Atrisia
Core Worlds

"Sir, in all the fine galaxy you cannot find anywhere better to rest your head than Archibold's cantina!" Exclaimed a finely dressed Rodian at the sight of the hooded traveller passing its doorway, "Come rest your weary head, drink away your problems and find som-…"

The advertisement was quickly halted by the Rodian losing his balance and staggering backwards, as if someone had pushed him. His green skinned face looked confused – no one was there to have done so, but to him, it felt like two hands had been sharp upon his chest. He got lost in the confusion and turned to retreat inside the cantina's flashing lights.

The stranger smirked under his hood. Sote had come to understand his abilities as a gift and, though his former Master would not have been pleased with his use to agitate cantina staff, he knew that there was nothing wrong with a little inoffensive use from time to time. Besides, Sote had information to find about the recent reports of this Merchant's estate and he had no time for simple indulgences. That and should any local security stop him for an identification check, he did not want to explain that he had been smuggling himself cross borders for the past few weeks; since leaving his home planet of Fresia. He owed quite a bit of haulage credits to some local system freighter pilots.

Sote found his way to a local bazar – where he had always had his best luck asking around for information. Mind you, these places always made Sote feel somewhat claustrophobic; being from a planet of woodland and survival, the man grew up in a land very abstract from his current situation.

"Pardon me," the hooded man threw at the nearest basic speaking vendor (a Twi'lek) in earshot, "I wonder if you could assist me, I'm looking for a Tanilvar Hokvin. I was informed that h-…"

The Twi'lek spat on the ground by Sote, narrowly missing his shoe and causing his instincts to dodge to kick in, a small amount of the force coursing through his muscles.

"The nut-job on top of the hill? Ya'know, he burned down my cousin's house a while back," the persona of a budding tradesman leaving him, as an aggressive rant began, "You a friend of his or somethin'? No one ever asks about him."

"Rest easy, friend," Sote responded, with a calming tone, "Just someone chasing some stories, nothing for you to worry about."

"Well, if you find the old karkin' waste of hyper-space, then send him kickin' for me, yeah?"

Sote gave a nod of appreciate to the Twi'lek, turning his attention away and to the mansion resting atop the hill in the centre of the city. Wealth was something Sote had only seen a couple of times in his travels and never to the extent before him. Mighty estates were definitely new on his list and this one surely did not disappoint.

It took him an hour or so to make his way to the estate gates and follow the path up to the exterior gardens. Before him was a durasteel security fence, making out the perimeter; manned at one corner by a security checkpoint of local militia and some droids - all armed with quite ferocious looking blasters. Military grade was usually a sure-fire way to get yourself begging for bacta at the local medic, so Sote began by giving the checkpoint a wide birth.

A way down from the street, the hooded man found a small wooden bridge crossing a steady stream – a spot of harmony and peace, in mostly metallic city of trade. It was quiet and out of the earshot of the guards attending to visitors to the estate. Sote found his way to the end of the bridge and extracted a small addition from his pack – a Quadjitar.

Once there, the young man sat himself on the ground – lent up against the end of the bridge: a wooden column that began the banister. He plucked the strings a couple of moments, adjusting the pitch and tuning to make sure it matched up with what his ears expected to hear. He smirked, the plucking becoming more and more consistent, as he brandished off a small melody.

The force will show me the answer.

Cerys Dyn

 

[Cerys Dyn]

Her pace had not lacked intent and purpose. The problem was is that she did not know exactly how she was going to approach this situation. She needed to get into the Estate. She needed to talk to the Mad Merchant. How all of that would happen, when she assumed there would security, was quite beyond her. Still, she strode forward with faux-confidence.

She was not far from Estate when she found herself walking the length of a stream. It was not a hard jump, not for a Jedi Padawan on the verge of Knighthood, but she did not like to out herself as a Jedi. Not for something as small as saving two minutes on walking to the nearby bridge.

The sounds of the trickling brook were joined with melodies of a stringed instrument. Her eyebrows perked in delight. Villages like this always had travelling minstrels coming through, though they also had washed up musicians who had been thrown out of cantina for being too drunk and disorderly. The music that she heard would have to be played by an extremely adept musician if they were drunk, it was far too orderly.

”Minstrel!” She called out as she approached the bridge. Her steps seemed lighter. Music had a way of lightening her soul.

Travelling musicians were well known for two things. Secondarily, it was their music. Primarily, it was the way they spun tales, offered sage advice, or even spilled all the beans on the local gossip. If she could pick this man’s brain, then perhaps she would find the answers she needed, an idea on how to get inside the Estate.

”I would have words with you, minstrel,” she said, her boots clomping hurriedly onto the bridge, “what do you know of the estate of Tanilvar Hokvin? I wish an audience but find myself at a loss on how to proceed.”

Sote Thenoti

 

[Sote Thenoti]

On the cry of "Minstrel", Sote felt his head chirp up. It was common when he was practicing to be approached by strangers expecting him to be some prolific entertainer when, in reality, he was simply allowing the force to guide his movements into creating a steady tune. In this instance, the sound of the wind through a forest was echoed on the man's strings. This was similar to how Sote saw the force; his own unique perspective. The force to him was a great tree with branches that extended far beyond any mortal comprehension; the families and bloodlines of those that touched the force. Some were rotten and this is how Sote realised where the darkness lay.

However this stranger presented no such darkness. She approached kindly and questioning; a refreshing change to the normal brute rudeness of core dwellers. Sote was pleased to see some enthusiasm for his work - attempting to hide his rather enlarged ego on being approached. His master would have hardly thought it proper.

Sote regarded the stranger's question (firstly intrigued by her dialect) and stopped playing the instrument for a moment so she could hear him speak.

"I am afraid that I unfortunately do not have the answers that you look for," he advised her, rising to his feet, "However, I have noticed that unless you have an appointment then…"

Sote paused a second, nodding his head in the direction of one of the security droids manning the checkpoint. Almost on queue, the droid, a towering 8ft humanoid shape, grabbed the back of a tradesman's shirt and lifted him off the ground. Placing him haphazardly outside the perimeter wall, the droid was quick to make its way back to his position and role.

"I've counted two living security staff on duty at any one time and a team of four droids," Sote observed, returning his brown eyes to her, "If you're looking for an audience, I believe someone in town said the waiting list was a number of months. I'd get your name in there now."

It was difficult for the young man to hide his own mischief. It sounded as though this stranger was eager to see the tradesman and Sote could hardly hide his intrigue - was this well-spoken figure before him also on the trail of some sort of arbitrary justice. After all, Sote heard of the commotion and wanted nothing more than to rid the town of the menace that the merchant was - keep those at risk safe.

'Enough,' the young man thought to himself; realising that his concentration on his intention would put thoughts on the forefront of his mind and its underdeveloped senses. Such thoughts and emotions showed his sensitivity - revealing him before to those able to pick up on the same.

Cerys Dyn

 

[Cerys Dyn]

The music-man’s response was anything but what she expected. Her hope was for some local gossip at best, not a full breakdown of the security patrols around the estate. Her eyes narrowed, face changing from the open happiness of moments before and being replaced with reserved control.

”You are using your musicality as a guise to observe the Estate’s security detail,” she said bluntly. It was said in a low volume, just above a whisper.

”Why?”

Her hand hovered over her hidden lightsaber hilt. This man was purposely hiding something. She sensed him suppressing certain thoughts and emotions. Why would he do that if he did not suspect her of being able to empathically read him? Had he been following her?

She glanced around a little nervously. Were there others?

Cerys winced, pushing through the paranoia, and keeping her mind in the present where it belonged. The only problem was that the present was dictated by an increasing degree of suspicion.

Sote Thenoti