>>5512402>>5512414>>5512415>>5512416>>5512427>>5512452>>5512454>>5512518>>5512551>>5512591>>5512624>>5512709>>5512714>>5512723The trail to Sia-Lan Wezz leads into a shantytown towards the edge of Kessendra, away from the heart of the spaceport. Ramshackle huts and houses dominate the landscape, with an equally ramshackle populace prowling the streets that have long since ceded from steel to sand. There aren’t any beggars per se, as much as a gaggle of disheveled, suspicious persons that walk from one side of the street to another.
Most, if not all, look entirely local. The flow of traffic from the heart of the city into what the locals call Lowtown isn’t quite nonexistent. Workers move to and from the areas, and there are a handful of cargo haulers that bring Force-knows-what from one site to the next. Some carry men and women from their jobs in the mines no differently than a taxi. Others carry goods such as foodstuffs, water filters, and demonstrably, spice siphoned for the black market.
“Coins on the chip that there’s more criminals than miners living here,” Ma’kis mutters.
“Sucker’s bet,” you reply off-handedly, “And that half of these run-down stores are syndicate fronts.”
Between the training of the Jedi Shadows and that of the Morgukai, both Jedi Knights are able to blend well enough among the general flow of traffic. With your lightsabers hidden, and Nomi’s blaster situated firmly on your hip, you both play the parts of whatever the people wish to imagine. Smuggling captains, Black Suns enforcers, freelance skip tracers, Hutt bounty hunters – the roles you play are only limited to the imagination of the locals. It’s all about selling the fact that you belong here, in the seedy, criminal hives of scum and villainy across the galaxy.
But it’s a fine and delicate balancing act. Act the part too much, and people start asking questions. Commit to the role too much, and people <span class="mu-i">remember</span> your face. And that’s a big no-no after all you’ve done to make it onto Kessel without paying your berthing fees.
The Nikto coughs, taking a noisy sip from a fresh canteen. “And you’re certain that she’s here?”
“Positive,” you answer. “There were three I felt here, one of whom was a master. Last I checked, you or Lann aren’t masters.”
He grunts at that. “And our mystery master?”
More likely than not Koffi Arana, if only by checking Potkin’s list of Jedi who were en-route, but hadn’t yet made contact. However, that’s a landmine of a confrontation you aren’t eager to have soon. Even without Master Larid’s notes all but writing him off as an arrogant hothead, his presence in the Force was clouded with dark, brooding thoughts.
(cont.)
