En route to First Order space, aboard the Vagabond
The distant stars danced around the YU-410 light freighter as it emerged from hyperspace with a rumble. The bronze colored spacecraft was marked with scoffs and rust, owing to its long history with its owner, Deonor Arkmer. The veteran merchant had been enlisted by the new Separatist movement for a 'less than legal' job. A band of eight heavily armed mercenaries were smuggled aboard his hefty freighter, each soldier for hire seemingly more well armed than the last one. Deonor sat alone in the cockpit, humming along to the melodic jatz music playing over the speakers which masked the pulsating sounds of the ship's engines. He had been paid handsomely by Union, if the Order were to discover the smuggled Separatist aligned warriors stowed on his ship then he was certain to face the harshest of criminal penalties. Back in the cargo bay of the Vagabond
the assembled mercenaries waited impatiently.
Two Trandoshans brothers relaxed near a side-turned crate as they played pazaak, while a scarred Mirialan watched their game silently as he puffed upon a cigar. A trio of humans, two men and one woman chatted on the opposite side of the cargo bay, all three eager eyed for the dangerous job they'd all signed up for. A particularly wicked looking Palliduvan warrior sharpened a sword few meters from the human trio, seated on a metal box as he drew a curious eye from one of the humans. Across from the warrior was Vurs, the heavily armed Weequay leaned against a wall as he watched the blade sharpener as well. A faint smirk dotted his grizzled features as he waited for their 'taxi' to arrive, it had been a long, tense ride. He had no qualm with any of these other guns for hire, hell, he didn't even recognize any of them. It was a big galaxy after all, the fellow mercenaries he'd known well enough had either died or wisely gotten out of the game. Stubborn old Vurs loved the work (and the credits) too much to retire.
The former slave continued to watch the Palliduvan, as they glided the sharpening stone across the blade near obsessively. It must have been some sort of ritual for them, a vibrosword like the one Vurs carried required no such maintenance. Unless this merc's sword was customized in some other fashion he wondered truly how useful such an old fashion weapon was against armor and blasters. The smile remained upon the Weequay's expression as the heavily tattooed Palliduvan looked up, inadvertently making direct eye contact with Vurs. The constant sharpening stopped as the two locked eyes for a brief moment.
"What are you smiling at?" The Palliduvan's tone sparked with fire, seemingly offended at Vur's smirking. Then the other mercenary popped up from his seated position, his ponytail rocking behind him as he stepped towards the taller, more experienced hired gun. "Something funny?"
"Just your little ritual. How really good is that in a fight? It ain't a vibroblade. One bad swing and it'll snap like nothing." Vurs replied firmly, in better control of his emotions than the cocky Palliduvan. He was not frightened of this insolent little dirtball.
"How about I show you, old timer? Could slash you right in half through that rusty armor of yours." The younger mercenary exclaimed as he stepped even closer to Vurs, nearly face to face with the elder warrior. A few inches separating them height wise. The interaction had drawn the attention of some of the other hired soldiers, who watched quietly, unsure if they were about to witness a pre-fight brawl.
"Don't make threats you can't back up, you aren't the brightest star in the sky, are you?" Vurs inquired tauntingly as he clenched one of his fists. The smirk having widened on his wrinkled, leathery face.
"Look at you, bet you aren't even any good at merc work. Still doing this instead of retired on a farm somewhere quiet." The Palliduvan spouted back as he raised the point of his sword, nearly at Vurs' chin. With a near sigh the Weequay thought for a second before he slammed his right knee forward into the younger mercenaries' gut, then with a powerful hand grasped the man's wrist and knocked the sword from his grasp. The weapon clanged against the durasteel cargo bay floor. A sudden twist followed, as a startling scream erupted from the cocky warrior for hire as his wrist was expertly broken.
"Because I love this damn job, kid. You still got one good hand, sit down and relax til we get there. Or maybe I start chopping off pieces of you and send them out the airlock one by one." Vurs stated as his tone grew more menacing as he looked directly into the Palliduvan' eyes as he held a vice grip upon the mercenary's shattered wrist. Then he released the hold as he pushed the cocky little nerfherder to the floor.
The Palliduvan scrambled to his feet, embarrassment evident as he quickly scooped up his fancy sword with his one good hand. Then speed walked to the opposite side of the cargo bay, the only sounds his boots against the floor and the raucous laughter emitting from the two Trandoshans. Vurs returned to his previous position, as he crossed his arms and went once more silent. The hulking soldier could've done more, but he didn't need to explain why they were down a blaster before they even got off the ship. Not that he particularly cared, in a way he felt he'd taught the Palliduvan a few work lessons and some manners.
"We are on approach, I got all the clearance to get you folks onto the world. From there you are on your own." The freighter pilot chimed in, the sound of music in the background behind his words as they filled the cargo bay.
The mercenaries had a general location of the First Order aligned pirates base of operations, due to their benefactor’s impressive intelligent network. It was now simply a matter of them getting the job done. Vurs was eager for some action after the long flight.