Shadrach

Shadrach started from his sleep; a dream of something dark and intangible. He glanced around, noticing at length a small blip on the edge of his ship's sensors, and drifted farther from the planet's orbit to confirm it. Excellent. After double checking his encryption protocols, he sent a quick message: Greetings, Mr. Onnd. There's yet another complication, and I'm afraid I must leave you. No doubt Mr. Furion will be all the more impressed if you manage to complete this mission solo. Attached are my docking permissions (valid for two ships, including yours), and some translation files on post-Rakata linguistics. The book in question is ancient, leatherbound, with dark blue metallic script. It is in a derivative Rakatan language; while I am not sure which, I have provided a good variety in those files. I do not have to remind you that Mr. Furion prefers civility and subterfuge to violence and bravado. Good fortune to you, and if you find that any other ancient tomes are available, you should consider bringing with you; Mr. Furion is a bit of a history buff. - Shadrach Fenri The itch had returned, and he had to get out of here. Shadrach sent a comm to Julio as he positioned himself in the hyperspace route.

Shadrach reset his targets. Two in front, one behind. "Begin." The timer began to tick. At a random interval, between 3 seconds and 3 minutes, it would chime. Until then, he must maintain combat readiness, ready to strike the instant "combat" was signaled. He knew all the particulars of these targets, of course. Roughly humanoid, with articulated limbs, armed with whatever he had given them, in this case a blaster, a knife, and a club, in that order, starting forward left. Rather boring. Two minutes and 4 seconds passed. *Ping* Shadrach shifted left as he struck the wrist of the blaster-armed target, directing the weapon toward the club wielder behind him. If the real life corollary was going to fire, this would eliminate one target already. In the same motion he clasped around that wrist with his right hand, pulling the target off balance and striking the straightened arm at the elbow with his left. A real arm would be broken. He completed the movement by releasing the target into the club wielder, and both targets sprawled clumsily to his right as he assumed the side stance against the knife target. *Beep Chirp Beep Bop* The Fenris I was closing on Gala. Shadrach trapped the knife arm left, and struck the throat hard with his right. He rather missed real knife fights; they were so much more dynamic. He snorted derisively at his humble training facility and stowed the mats and targets before jumping in the refresher. --- "Gala Jedi Temple, this is Shadrach Fenri, captain of the Fenris I, seeking permission to land. I'm here to visit the Archives for research and information retrieval, and will be accompanied by one associate who should be joining us shortly." Shadrach sat idly in the cockpit, waiting for word from Silas Onnd and the planet below.

R8 chattered inquisitively. "Yes, I got another job. Two, actually, one on station, which went well, and another that will take us to Gala. I've got to do a little research, so if you can boost the holonet signal a bit, I'll take any comms in my study." The "Study" was a spartan console in the part of the Fenris I cargo hold that served as his training room. Unforgivingly thin mats and a variety of plasteel and durafoam targets were stacked along the wall, waiting to be bludgeoned. He let them lay for now, depositing his new finery in his room before returning to the Study more comfortably dressed. The Holonet proved fairly helpful. Shadrach brought up a knowledge base on the Rakata language. It was mostly academic papers, but at length, he managed to find a visual database on the Rakata language and a few dozen of its derivatives. He logged each character set and the translation packets into his neural link, so that he would have it on hand for later. Glad that's done. Fightin' time. Shadrach threw down a few mats and began placing his targets. He had a little repressed aggression and a few standard hours to work through it.

"Indeed. My ship is the Fenris I. Comm me from parking orbit." Shadrach offered a cordial nod and strolled off for his ship. "How's the ship, R8?" The ship resumed its familiar hum as its engines warmed up. The docking clamps released with a tired groan, and the Fenris I drifted lazily out of the hangar before blasting its way toward the Gala hyperspace route. ----- A note to Zara Nargal, encoded in the docking permissions file: Dear Ms. Nargal, I wanted to compliment you on your accommodations, and thank you for a wonderful time. I hope my next visit proves less taxing for you. Take care of yourself in the meantime, and keep an eye on that gorilla of yours. Ta-ta, Shadrach Fenri

"Well, this is an interesting twist, Mr. Onnd. I've just received a communique from Mr. Furion: he'd like us to swing by the library and pick up a few books... Have you ever been to the archives at Gala temple?" Shadrach increased his pace toward the hangar. By their own code of conduct, the Jedi had an open door policy with this sort of thing, but he vaguely recalled that all data must be copied. Taking a hard copy on loan, if that was even possible, would presumably require vast amounts of paperwork, and if his prior meeting was any indication, Furion preferred to minimize the attention and paper trail of all his activities. "When we complete this task, he has offered you further employment, to be discussed upon delivery."

Shadrach smiled as Silas seized his winnings. "Excellent." Shadrach walked leisurely as he queued up the comm on his neural link, and sent a brief text message to Julio Furion. I believe I've found the man in question. Silas Onnd. Bit of a card shark; but most of the people worth meeting around here seem to be. If this is indeed the man to whom you were referring, I will bring him to you at your convenience. If not, I can dispose of him however you see fit. "Well, Mr. Onnd, was it business or pleasure that brought you to the Link?" Shadrach made casual conversation as he waited for a reply, winding his way slowly toward the hangar.

After a complicated montage of scanning hotel visitor logs, docking data, tapped security vids, and a close encounter of the drunken Rodian variety, Shadrach pieced together the name and a suitable physical description of Silas Onnd. He made his way to the Casino to begin the search. Second time's a charm. Spotting the mark at Sabacc tables, he approached casually, waiting for the hand to end before introducing himself. "Silas Onnd, I presume? I'm Shadrach Fenri, legal consult to our mutual friend, Mr. Furion." He extended his hand Silas, a little past halfway between them. "I've been asked to direct you to Mr. Furion --" Shadrach glanced at his chrono. "-- within the next hour."

Shadrach sighed lightly. "Excellent! Well, I'm glad that went -" Shadrach glanced at the cracked and dented surface of the table. "- Smoothly. If you'll excuse me, I have other business. Mr. Furion, Ms. Nargal." He offered a curt bow to each as he named them, then strolled from the room, grinning broadly at the door guards. Hah! I should have business cards! As a consultant (and specifically not a lawyer), he was not obligated to present or even possess credentials, but he still liked to have his props in order. It was a non-issue now; she had agreed and the process was legit. Shadrach's purpose had been merely to grease the wheel.

(OOC: Alright, enough of this "whatever that is" business: For your perusal. Also, Shadrach's not on record anywhere IC as a force user; though he is force sensitive, he has not yet developed, and it is improbable that anyone would know.) Shadrach gritted his teeth behind a tight smile. For a moment, everyone in the room had gone mad. Force users were confusing. When things settled down somewhat, he permitted himself a slightly sardonic grin. "You misunderstand your position, madam. 'What is advantageous for the Link' is our concern only as a courtesy; we are not beholden to you in the slightest. We came to you only as a professional gesture." Shadrach snorted at the mention of Slicer. "Perhaps Mr. Slicer should be thanking you. If he had committed such a farce as this, suffice it to say that my client would not have hired a legal consult to settle the matter. I'm sure you're familiar with the traditional means of 'conflict resolution' among the Sith. I suggest you take what you've been offered and count yourself fortunate that my client holds you in such high regard." Shadrach's smile relaxed again, then his eyes widened at his client's closing concession. Though his face quickly calmed, his thoughts were perturbed. She should be paying you rent! If she's too I am a racistrdly to take this offer, you should just wipe Roon clean and start over. It'd be cheaper!

Two guards outside, one hulker of an enforcer, and the "contact," a female human. Probably more security in the halls. It would seem we have visitors. I'll just take a little seat here in your head in the off chance they want to take a peek. I, er... Okay. This is... Um... "Mahri had a little wampa, little wampa, little wampa..." Very much like Viktor. Shadrach recentered himself. If the prime enforcer was leaving two cronies in his wake, he was probably going to monitor them remotely. He had seen several likely places for cameras, but wasn't sure which, if any, was actually equipped. It didn't matter of course; Shadrach simply couldn't help but question these things. Shadrach reseated himself once she sat, and smiled, nodding congenially as he was introduced. "It's a pleasure to meet you. We intend to not take too much of your time... My client has documents here proving his prior claim to the planet Roon, as willed to his friend and mentor Exodus by its original owner, the late Trowa Barton. As you can see, in Exodus' absence, Mr. Furion is legal guardian and custodian of Exodus' entire estate, including the planet in question." Shadrach slid the datapad with the relevant information over to Zara, highlighting Trowa Barton's will. "It was a private will; so your ignorance of the planet's complex ownership status is entirely understandable. My client has no intention of pursuing legal action against you for your efforts to develop his planet; he only wants to formally secure what his mentor had coming to him." He punctuated the last line by pointing to the appropriate sub-clause, naming Julio Furion everything up to and including heir and successor to Exodus.

"Excellent." Shadrach allowed the matter of future employment to rest. Let's resolve this business first. He sat, attentively awaiting Ms. Nargal's arrival.

"Of course." Those things'll kill you. Shadrach watched his client smoke, passively identifying patterns in the resultant fumes. He could smell it from where he was sitting, and while it was not unpleasant, he had an aversion to unduly weakening his body. "So, do you expect you'll need further assistance from a legal consult in future?"

Shadrach looked at Julio incredulously. It seemed unlikely that his current client would work for Viktor; from his posture alone he seemed more potent a man than that of his old master. Perhaps Julio meant that he had worked for Viktor's master, a woman to whom he had not been introduced. If that was the case, then perhaps his client knew even more of the Force than Viktor had. "Small galaxy." Shadrach stashed the pen and glanced at his chrono. "She's late. I expected better from her. If we're to be snubbed, what's your course of action?"

Do you? Shadrach spun a pen through his nimble fingers. "So, how did you know Viktor?"

Shadrach raised an eyebrow as Julio seemingly drew his old master's name from his mind. Freaky. I only want what's coming to me. "Oh? And what, beyond the planet in question, is that?"

"To crush my enemies, to see them driven before me, and to hear the lamentations of their women." Shadrach chuckled. "That's one of those questions with no good answers." He sat quietly for a moment. "Well, I guess I'd like to be able to live comfortably, but choose not to... To get stronger, learn more, and generally improve myself..." Another moment passed. "And there was this man I worked for once... You remind me of him, actually... He said he knew of the Force. I guess I'd like to find him again; see if I can pick up a few things." Shadrach looked over at his client, tapping away on his data pad. "And you? What do you want?"

Shadrach had just managed to piece together exactly what he had already been told when the datapad chirped with a new message. Knowing better than to peer into his clients' personal lives, he immediately passed the pad back to its owner. It's probably encrypted anyway. "You've got mail." Shadrach glanced around the room again, familiarizing himself with the exits, the potential cover that would likely stop blaster bolts, and the locations of improvised weapons he could press into service as necessary. It's not that he expected a fight, only that he had developed some fairly practical habits in his line of work, and he often defaulted to tactical analysis when bored.

Shadrach again sized up his employer. Not as strong as he wants people to think, but that's typical. Wiry though. Probably a finesse fighter. A Prosthetic arm, well articulated but a little larger than expected. The predatorial sense was there, albeit mostly retracted. The handshake was firm (and he hadn't bumbled to grip palms like a merchant might). Good. He downed his drink a little faster than he'd have liked and followed. His strides were short and rhythmic to keep pace without looking rushed, and he wove through his client's wake with ease. --- As he approached the meeting room, he felt the air change. It was pleasant but subtle: things were clearer and it was easier to think. This air must be circulated separately from the rest of the station. What a difference fresh air can make. Shadrach sat where Julio had indicated and listened to the briefing wordlessly. When it was finished, he smiled confidently. "Should be no trouble. While I'm sure Ms. Nargal has developing interests on Roon, they're probably not yet worth the court troubles it would cause her to keep them. As you say, she's an important woman, so I'm sure she's above claim jumping and grave robbery. Friendly and reasonable people neither need nor want a court to prove otherwise. May I look over the documents?"

Shadrach sat, curtly requesting a tequila sunrise before turning to look his client in the eye. My name is Julio Furion. I'm looking to make a business transaction with the owner of this Casino, but I seemed to have... misplaced my lawyer. How much do you know about both Imperial and Republic Law? Why does everyone think I'm a lawyer? Is it the cravat? Hold it, I didn't get pinstripes, did I? Shadrach resisted the urge to glance down at his jacket. He'd looked over every inch of it before buying it, and there was no need to appear self-conscious in front of the client. This is dumb. Focus. Fortunately for Shadrach, his inner monologue was exceptionally fast, and nearly no time had passed. Even more fortunately for Shadrach, he had studied law among the many subjects he found in his ship's database whilst self-educating on long voyages. He was by no means an expert, but he knew enough to bluff competently. Wait, misplaced? "How... Fortunate. I happen to be well versed with Imperial Law, and thereby much of the Republic Law. My name is Shadrach Fenri, and I'm pleased to meet you." Shadrach extended his left arm for a handshake, slightly past center to offer the more classical "bracer check."

Shadrach strolled into the first store he found, a relatively upscale department store with live models in the windows. After passing a wink to the twi'lek in an evening gown, he made his way briskly to the menswear department, and began to examine suits. He emerged shortly thereafter, not being one to dwell too long on fashion. His preference for body suits and loose, removable outerwear made buying such finery an ordeal. Still, he cut a rather dashing figure in his new deep navy corellian business suit and crimson cravat. He fussed with his new neckwear, pausing to grin as the twi'lek model returned his wink. By the time he had returned to the ship, his cravat was retied to come away if pulled. He deposited his old clothes in his room, and swung by the cockpit. "Make the necessary inquiries, R8, I'm going to head by the casino." The astromech droid spun its dome around from the console to face him, then made a rather flatulent squawk. "What do you mean, 'I look like a lawyer?' This is fashionable business attire!" R-8 returned an incredulous series of beeps. "Yes, I know Corellia is dead. But that makes this suit... nostalgic!" Rusty pile of Jawa junk! Shadrach made his way to the casinos, settling in front of the Denebian Holochess tables. He'd never bet a credit on it, but it was fun to watch and internally critique. --- After his first favored champion inexplicably sacrificed his Kintan Strider without the capacity to counter attack, Shadrach suddenly felt cold. It was that sensation in the nape of one's neck, when an unseen predator sizes one up on the roadside. Shadrach glanced toward the exit casually, noting out of the corner of his eye a vaguely familiar figure chatting with a sleazy zabrak across the floor behind him. Shadrach tried to recall where he had seen the man... Was it in the clothing store? Passing in the halls? Or a distant memory of an ostentatiously dressed children's Holovid character? He wasn't sure, but the predatorial gaze, however brief, seemed to come from him, despite his eyes' concealment behind yellow glasses and the brim of a large red hat. Shadrach glanced back to the tables, knowing better than to peer too long at such people, even indirectly, for this man had the same indescribably violent air about him as Viktor. If the man had business, he would come to him. If Shadrach was just overly paranoid, they would mutually ignore each other until one them left. --- Not long after, he'd completely abandoned his prior champion in favor of a new one, a young girl who was disarmingly innocent, and yet she carved a swath through the more casual players. As he watched her tear into an overconfident rodian, a man sidled up to him with a proposition. Business it was. Shadrach made his way to the bar and his new employer.

The Golden Link casino would be a good place to fritter away the earnings from his latest job, but Shadrach was not a gambling man. He was here to find a job. As his ship pulled into its allotted space dock, he rummaged through his quarters, looking for appropriate attire. Nothing. By the time his docking codes were validated and accommodations reserved, Shadrach had donned his best: an outfit that might be charitably described as "Business Casual." It would have to do, but his first stop would be a shopping center. High class business requires high class clothes, and besides... Every girl's crazy about a sharp dressed man.

(Edited for continuity) Shadrach woke with a lurch, sprawling from his bunk. The Fenris 1 hummed gently under him. "R8? What happened?" The room was silent. Shadrach pounded the console and repeated his question, becoming oddly aware that his fist was bandaged. R8-D8 chirped into the comm, but before his droid got past basic ship diagnostics, the details began to return to him. He'd been doing odd jobs. Courier work mostly, with the odd "acquirement" or "enforcement" gig when he could get it. All waiting in vain for word from Viktor. "R8? Did we get the money? Did we get paid?" The last job must have gone south. Running his hand through his hair, Shadrach discovered a rather prominent lump on the back of his head. How that little droid managed to get him onto the ship, offworld, and bandaged, all without arms was beyond him. R8 warbled positively. "Ah, well that's something. I'd hate to be adrift. Where are we headed?" The Golden Link Casino.

(OOC: Since now I'm just playing with myself , I seized approval to "Brock Samson" my way out for continuity and move on. Apologies for the absurdity of what must follow.) Shadrach stared up at his interrogator with a smirk. Behind his back, he was working his thumbs out of joint. "Nonsense. I've been working for Herdrich for years. Now are you going to shoot a random tourist on leave, or are you going to let me know what's going on here?" The man snarled and drew back to smack him again. As he did so, the pistol left Shadrach's temple. He lunged forward, catching the stun cuffs on the back of the chair. With his thumbs dislocated, they slid off, scuffing and shocking Shadrach's contorted fingers as they fell. His forehead slammed brutally into the interrogator's nose, breaking it. The pistol discharged wildly, putting smoking potholes in the chair and walls. With his arms now free, Shadrach drove an elbow into the man's trachea, roaring as he cracked his thumbs back into place. The guard was startled, and fired a few haphazard shots from the hip. Shadrach directed the staggered interrogator into the line of fire. When his human cover dropped, he rammed the frantic guard into and then up the wall with the heel of his hand under the man's chin. There was an awkward snap and the man went limp. Shadrach seized the blaster rifle as it fell and intercepted the second guard, answering his charge into the room with a rifle butt to the side of his knee. The man landed hard, and Shadrach was upon him. --- Shadrach quickly gathered his things from a table in the adjacent room and swept the facility. It was several interrogation rooms attached to a small safe house, otherwise unoccupied, and probably meant specifically for this kind of work. Massaging his seared wrists and sore thumbs, he made his way back to his ship. Where's Viktor?"

Mmm, right. Consequences. ”œHerdrich Industrial Supply Company, Thyrsus. I'm here on vacation.”

The target and one cohort drifted out the back door. A trigger went off inside Shadrach's head, and he was aware. The other two danced obliviously on the main floor. Shadrach made his way out a side entrance and circled around towards the back. The alleyway was dark, except for a red service light over the door, and the ambient light of the city, mostly held back by the height of the surrounding buildings. They alleyway was apparently empty, except for a scuffle behind the giant commercial waste bin. Fornication. Delightful. Shadrach crept towards his supine target and her paramour, keeping the bin between them. His footfalls were soft and easily drowned out by the lovers' rhythm. As he sidled up to them, he could see enough of their limb-flailing profiles to determine body position. He paused a moment, briefly touching the mask to make sure it still concealed his features. Then, as he heard a collective gasp from around the bin's corner, he spun, planting one hand over the prone target's mouth and the other on her perched lover's collar. With a burst of pressure he forced her jaw into her rear cranial nerves and her lover's face into the wall. The lover slumped back against the bin, face caked with blood. The target struggled limply, groaning softly into Shadrach's palm before passing out. He checked both for pulse: Weak in the bystander, but steady. The target was strong. She would probably wake up in an hour, but friends would be looking for her before then. He didn't have long. Shadrach drew his survival knife and went to work, carving multi-lingual obscenities about her sexual proclivities into her forehead, cheeks, chest, and arms. When that was done, he spied the contraceptive, still warm and slick with its recent use. His nose wrinkled as he delicately turned the device inside out, guiding it and its contents back into its intended destination. A lasting mark, indeed. Shadrach cleaned his knife on her coat and left the alley. Two blocks away in a private restroom he peeled the latex and feathers from his rebreather and returned his clubbing gear to the merchant's bag. He washed his gloved hands of any residual blood or seed his eyes might have missed and made his way back to the ship with a spring in his step. That was”¦ oddly liberating.