[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/2wSv1RH.png[/img][/center]
[right][b][color=darkorange]Keldabe Administrative District // Mandalore // Mandalore Sector[/color][/b]
[sup][sup]Mentioned:[@Bastian][/sup][/sup][/right][hr]


The sun faded in the west like an evil dream, its departure from this world hastened by the jumbled skyline that sliced off the sunlight like a ragged scythe. It was something Rask never quite grew used to in bigger cities. Early sunsets and perpetual twilight. Back home, when the sun went down, that was it. You turned in.

Home.

Rask turned his focus to the task at hand. The Mand'alor's Tower. There was little doubt in his mind that his quarry was inside. The fulcrum of power in this volatile world, an obelisk of dark stone that pierced the cyanic blue sky past pale clouds. No better place for a traitor.

Zi’Aii.

A Republic commando, once his gang’s lifeline so many years ago. She’d come to them during the Irregular’s heyday, when they were at their strongest. Sent by the Republic, she said, to provide assistance and intelligence. Apparently, Jak’s Raiders were getting noticed by Republic High Command. Zi’Aii, young as she was, certainly proved her worth. The Twi’lek had been a deadeye with a blaster, but her real skill was with explosives. With her, they’d probably blown up a system's worth of Sep supplies. The young woman also provided them with Republic intelligence, which, in the early stages of the war, was always accurate and actionable. Later, not so much. 

As far as Rask was concerned, she’d only slipped up once. She sided with Jak. Gunned Rask's mutineers down, left him for dead, and went rogue with the rest of the Raiders. For that, she earned herself a hefty bounty in nearly every system. Then, like so many Raiders, she just disappeared.

But Rask had her now. She was working with the Separatists, some sort of diplomat for Ryloth. Last Rask had heard, Ryloth was engulfed in civil war, so she was likely trying to curry favor with Mandalore. Trying to stop them from shipping supplies to the rebels, maybe. It didn’t matter to him. He wondered if she was ever true to the Irregular's cause, or if she was just in it for the money. As he got older, Rask suspected most of them were.

Rask worked his way through the throngs of revelers, studying the Mand'alor's Tower. He needed to know the building’s layout in case things went south. Rask looked for entrances and exits, windows and balconies, of which there were few. He looked for guards, of which there were many. There must have been a landing pad at the upper levels, judging from the whine of starship engines powering up from above the clouds. The front entrance was certainly an option, since he could just walk right through. But access to higher levels, where the important folks were? Not likely. Rask wouldn’t be granted landing privileges if he hopped in his ship, nor could he scale the sheer building even if he had the gear or inclination. They’d just gun him down. No, he’d have to figure something else out. 

[i]More than one way to skin a womprat.[/i]

Rask ordered caf from a stand and paid the vendor and idly stirred his drink with a small plastic spoon, although there was nothing to stir for he took it black. His sharp eyes remained on the tower, as if to unlock its secrets and will his way inside. Rask knew he’d find a way in. He always did. It might not be elegant, it might not be pretty, but he’d find a way. The celebrations were picking up in energy now as the sun faded, and he was offered drinks and food and company by carousers, but he just smiled and politely declined. Rask knew he would need his wits about him now. 

Rask peeled his eyes away from the tower long enough to spot a familiar face in the crowd. A strange one, at that. One he’d not expect to see ever again, and one he wasn’t sure he’d like to. Scarred green skin. More tattoos than he remembered. Gleaming white beskar. The last time their paths crossed was over 20 years ago, and it had not ended pleasantly. The Irregulars hired him and several other mercenaries for what was supposed to be a big blow to the Separatists out on the Rim. It didn’t work out like that.

Still, Rask had no choice. Cel, though helpful, was just a low-ranking bureaucrat, and an outsider on Mandalore at that. The mercenary, though, was a true Mandalorian. Perhaps he’d have enough pull to get Rask where he needed to be. The Mirialan was currently choking down some food, an embarrassing position for such a strong fighter. Rask opened, as he always did, with a joke. 

[color=darkorange]“Sometimes, I think starving would be preferable to Mandalore’s food. Ain’t never developed the taste for it, myself,”[/color] Rask said as he approached, armed with an easy smile, unsure of how the mercenary would respond. [color=darkorange]“Ain't seen you in some time, Tybren. How you been?”[/color]