The Veteran plucked the grapes from the vines in her back yard. Each went into a large bucket next to her, five in total.
Slowly but gradually, in the hot sun, each bucket filled with fat red grapes as the Veteran plucked away at the rows of supported vines on posts. Sweat ran down the Veteran's brow, and her back ached she worked her organic hand raw, hefting all five of the heavy buckets one by one, carrying them over to her home made wine pressing shelter, a self-built shed with a recessed large, double layered metal pit with a screen fitted over its second layer's inner surface in the bottom. She dumped the grapes into the pit, and then went over to a pulley crank, lowering a heavy metal drill from above over the pit. There were latches on the sides that fixed to the drum screen the grapes had been dumped in.
She fixed the latches to the second layer and then went back to the crane, hefting both the drill and the secondary drum containing the grapes upward. The secondary drum stayed within the bounds of the pit due to a track built on four sides of the drum. Its bottom was close to the point where the lip of the primary drum met the floor. The Veteran went to a secondary hand crank built into the floor that controlled the drill.
The drill sank into the grapes, the juice flowing from the perforated bottom of the secondary drum and dark red juice spilled into the pit in the floor. After adding the sugar, wine yeast, and covering the drum, The Veteran had left the shed and went to the primitive cone shaped three story stone structure that served as her icebox at the farthest end of the backyard and went to get some meat ready for lunch. She had retrieved a sack of frozen deer meat and was about to head back inside when she noticed the Marshall she had met earlier, Bonny Vor, waiting just outside her property, on the other side of a chest high metal chainlink fence she had installed around the back.
"How's it going!" He called out, waving.
The Veteran approached the fence, hiding how she was clenching her teeth.
"Marshal," she said evenly.
"Wow, you sure got yourself a hell of a farm here!" Bonny spoke, amazed. "Must get lonely, all this wilderness and wheat around you."
"It cleanses the spirit, and pleases the Gods when its put to labor."
"No doubt," Bonny replied, whistling. There was the sound, at last, of birds tweeting in the distance, to break the sheer silence of the empty land.
"Helping the military conduct their search?" she asked.
"Oh, heavens no. Thats completely hands off. I'm just tasked with enforcing the curfew in these parts, warning civvies to stay off the roads unless necessary. I'm a lot friendlier than these military types, so they keep me around."
"Well, I hope you don't encounter too much trouble. I should be going inside, I need to fix lunch."
Bonny smiled cheerfully. "By all means, don't let me keep you."
The Veteran nodded to him and began to make her way to the back porch.
"Although..."
The ex-soldier stopped in her tracks.
Bonny scratched his head thoughtfully. "Bear with me, its probably nothing, maybe I'm overthinkin' it..."
"What, exactly?" she wondered, voice going hoarse slightly.
"Well, it's just...its the craziest thing, its been bothering me all morning...you fired three shots."
Stillness settled over her body.
"What's odd about that?"
"Well, you have a double barreled rifle. That's good for two shots. You wanna know what drew me to the area I found you in? That first gunshot. But there was a pause. And then, half hour later, two successive shots."
"I missed the deer the first time."
"Yeah, I know, but you put two in it second time around, and I got the craziest idea..."
"Of?"
"That your gun had already been fired. And that's the thing I couldn't figure. That gun of yours is pretty short range. Them Corellian deer, they're fast on the distance, but they take a while to build speed. Why didn't you try a follow up shot?"
"Bad angle, plus, I...was distracted."
"You, uh, load another round into your gun?"
"Yeah, while I resumed chasing it."
Bonny blinked for a moment then laughed.
"Eh, I suppose its nothing. Well, I won't take any more of your time. You take care now!"
"Likewise," the Veteran replied in an even manner, heading back inside. She immediately headed to the kitchen and unwrapped the meat, setting it inside a large blue pot on the wood fired stove, which she made active by lighting the small amount of wood inside with a match.
She added thyme and sage to the meat, along with crumbling sea salt from her spice cabinet. She'd let the meat cook in its own juices.
She heard the step of a sandal onto hard wood. She turned around.
The Demon was finished, a curvy, smooth figure tastefully concealed by a white dress. Even the Veteran could not ignore the beauty now, which was considerable, and breathtaking. She was holding a bottle of red wine, the bottle, like everything else, crafted by the Veteran. A glass was in her other hand.
"I found your answer to cooking sherry. I have to say, it's got a hell of a bite. Heh. Get it? Hell?"
The Veteran stared before fixing her attention on the cabinets for a plate.
"Do you eat, Demon?" She asked stoically, trying to focus on cooking and not the terror of being alone with this creature.
"Only when the mood suits me. I'm sustained by...other means."
The Veteran set out a plate for herself. She got out a glass and poured herself a small glass of water from the sink.
"You're a deeply unhappy woman, aren't you?"
A fork was set next to the plate, which the Veteran carried over to the round wooden table set to the sparse kitchen.
Sangraal glanced at the label.
"Flaming Sword Merlot," she said out loud, eyebrow raising at the name. "Why that name?"
"It was a good name."
Sangraal pulled out a chair, nestled into it.
"What did you do in the military?"
"Kill or help kill."
"Not what I meant."
"I led people to their deaths."
"So, leadership position?"
"Not that I was good at it."
"You were good enough that captain was honored to meet you."
"That 'Captain' was a gorram spook."
"Oh?"
"My gut says he saw action in the Hosnian System. Possibly Ossus, but his age is right for when the Krath invaded."
"How much of a problem do you think he'll be?"
"He's a spook. Always trouble," the Veteran responded quietly, sipping on her water.
"How do you know he's a spook?" Sangraal asked.
"Because he has the look of a man who shoots you twice from behind," the Veteran answered cynically.
"Ever done that yourself?" Sangraal asked with an intrigued grin, leaning forward.
"When I want to screw you, I do it to your face."
Sangraal's grin grew wider still, the beauty of the perfect grin somehow repulsive and unsettling in its perfection.
"Really...do go on..." she trailed, her voice going silken.
The Veteran took only another sip of water and stared, her gaze one of stone.
Sangraal pouted. "My word, dear, you ARE a tough nut to crack."
"Never was good at conversation."
"You don't trust me."
"Would you? In my place?"
Sangraal pulled back.
"No. But think about it. I have nothing to gain by harming you. Why should my surrogate hate and fear me? I am not unsympathetic to the burden I ask you to undertake. I am not unsympathetic to the risk you are taking in concealing me. Is it so wrong to wish to know you better in the process?"
"I know what a Sith is. I know how your kind thinks."
The Demon angrily slammed both fists on the table and the fists scorched the table underneath black.
"I am nothing like those madmen Exar led," Sangraal hissed passionately. "I do not thoughtlessly destroy suns and slaughter civilians."
The Veteran stared at the scorch mark, then at her. Her expression was deadpan. Pyrokinetic. Not surprising for a Demon. And she had gotten insight as to what would set her off.
Sangraal took a deep breath and withdrew her fists.
"My outburst was...unfortunate..." Sangraal said, placing her hands slowly on the table. "I apologize."
The Veteran raised an eyebrow, then rose up, checking the deer meat in her pot. She grabbed a large wooden spoon in a rack nearby and stirred the chunks in the pot.
"Did you believe?" Sangraal asked.
"Hmmm..." the Veteran muttered absently, adding more spice to the pot.
"Your war. Did you believe in your cause?"
"Yes," the Veteran replied, smelling the broth.
"So did I, Simple."
"It ain't me you gotta explain it to."
"I know. I just don't like assumptions being made of me. But I'd rather be nice to the woman birthing my child than not."
"This child. Will it be a Demon, like you?"
"No. Its strength in the Force will be great however. I'll oversee things once it is born, you need not further be involved once you have done your part."
The Veteran shrugged at this. "Okay."
"Is it just because I'm a Sith you don't like me?"
"I don't like anybody, Demon. Don't take it personally."
"I don't believe that."
"Why?"
Sangraal leaned forward again, and the Veteran studied the soft, voluptuous face, the body that scratched the brains of even the most stoic with lust. The Demon had crafted its visage well, the ex-soldier admitted to herself.
"Because," the Demon cooed. "Your face is too full of hurt for you to not be capable of liking anybody. It's a face that knew happiness, once. That's why there are no trinkets here. Because you cannot bear it. The memory of when you were happy."
There was a silence quieter than the wilderness outside.
The Veteran sat there, stone faced.
The response that came out of her was a strained whisper.
"We're done here."
The Demon rose, taking her wine with her. "Enjoy your meal."
It was night time. The Veteran peaked out and saw a small team of soldiers in white plastoid armor standing out side on the road, on a quickly set up security booth with what looked like a small barracks behind it. The soldiers looked tired, but alert. They had spent most of the day setting up the pre-fab walls and floor and roof. The Veteran knew this would probably be the best time to get by them. They were tired, and new to this security detail. She had to go now, if she was to take advantage.
She headed upstairs, retrieving from her closet a sand colored BDU, the same color as that of the wheat fields around the house, mixed with some grays and dark greens for the local plants. She took out some green and gray face paint from a small set of cannisters on a nearby shelf in the closet. She took out a blowdart pipe, handbuilt by her as well. Hopefully she wouldn't need it.
She applied the face paint to break up the shape and outlines of her visage and took a few tranq-darts in a pouch with her uniform.
"Hot date?" Sangraal called out, leaning against the bedroom door with a look of concerned, faux-scepticism. "It could use a dash of peach to the face, if you don't mind my saying. And no offense, but you are a fashion nightmare."
"Don't light any candles or make any noise. As far as anyone knows, I'm in bed," the Veteran told her, putting her boots on.
"When I've got all this entertainment to look forward to? I wouldn't dream of it," Sangraal replied, her near constant good humor more unsettling to the Veteran than just that of a typical wrath filled Sith. It made her even more wary of her.
The Veteran said nothing at this, pulling out a glowstick, snapping it, and heading downstairs. She went into the panic shelter's entrance.
"If anyone knocks, don't answer," the Veteran told the white-clad Demon. Her voluptuous caramel skinned face smiled and nodded, one of the red eyes hidden by a tuft of jet black hair that never seemed to reflect any light.
"How are you going to get whoever you are taking back here?" The Demon asked with an intrigued smile, clearly enjoying scheming for its own sake as the Veteran hit the hidden switch by the wall, opening the tunnel entrance.
"This tunnel was made large. I won't have an trouble," the Veteran answered as she went inside. "Have your ink ready. Wait...what ARE you using for ink?"
"Those old bottles of iron gall I found in your downstairs closet while you were outside picking grapes."
"Oh, those. Forgot about those."
"May the Force serve you...that's how we Sith wish someone good luck," the Demon added. "Also, I don't suppose its too late for a late night run to the convenience store? Ice cold chocolate milk is something I have been craving."
The Veteran stared up at her. The Demon sighed in annoyance.
"Can't you smile? One time?" Sangraal asked pleadingly, drawing a smile in the air over the Veteran's face with her finger.
"No," the Veteran answered bluntly, shutting the entrance above her.
She proceeded through the dark, fully supported tunnel, the stone supports holding beautifully. No chance of it collapsing.
The Veteran proceeded through the tunnel, the light of her glowstick warding off the shadows of a barren stone intestine built under the earth.
She breathed hard. It was cold down here yet she sweated from nerves. Finally, after a while of walking, she found the tunnel opening on the other end, a stone door with a twist lever on a pedestal set to the side. She turned the lever, hearing clicks of a mechanism as the lever turned. With all the effort she had put into making it, it had BETTER work.
The stone door clicked open and the Veteran stepped forward, tossing her glowstick behind her. It opened into a small chamber, with a ladder on one wall. She had worked her way all the way to the house from this point. It had taken her a year to construct it in secret.
She climbed the ladder, which led her to a small, bare stone room with another twist lever, a stone door ahead of it. She twisted the lever until she heard a click in the mechanism. The door slid open.
Her tunnel led out of a humanoid statue wearing the helmet of the senate commandos. It stood atop a great brick rest where the tunnel entrance was built into. It was close to the woodland, vines overgrown on it. The moonlight was out, shining pale light overhead.
She crouched low into the wheat, surveying the area. She saw lights from a house in the fields beyond. A small hut, with what looked like a fire going gently inside. She saw lights moving in the hills.
She crawled in the wheat. Whoever was in the house would be an easier target than whoever was in the hills at this time of night. Last thing she needed was to get spotted. The house wasn't too far. She could make it.
She crawled through the wheat for fifteen minutes, careful as possible to reduce noise she made. She almost didn't hear the footsteps until she was right on them. She went still, letting the wheat cover her.
Her body seized when she heard the click and chirps of comlinks. She froze, the panic attack coming, but not daring to whimper as the smell of ozone filled her. The left side of her face was flat against the dirt.
"Command, this is Omega-5. Sweep complete in east section. Beginning evaluation of tree line."
"Roger. Report when complete," a man's voice on the other end replied.
"Roger. Making my way to forest monument..."
Her blood went to ice. She had been sloppy, forgotten that she couldn't close it from the outside.
And that bastard had electronics on him...
She heard the footsteps creep by her, her dread of the electronics freezing every muscle as the soldier walked by. Then she heard barking. Kath hounds.
She had to get out of here. The area was too hot. She had hoped to grab a stray, but the dogs would smell the panic sweat from being attacked.
She heard the footsteps move further away, heard the barking come closer. She forced herself to move stiffly through the panic, preparing her blowdarts. She quietly rose, forcing herself to focus through the utter panic she was experiencing. She spotted the soldier in black moving towards the tree line. The barking dogs were closer. She could see a four man team judging from their silhouettes in the moonlight from far away. They were covering the roads leading to the rivers a few kilometers out.
Icy terror gripped her as she spotted the comlink, spotted the night vision goggles and fired a dart at the back of the neck.
The dart hit the back of a cloth balaclava, the soldier swooned, pulling the dart out and had about three seconds for it to register before he keeled over.
The Veteran had a decision to make. She hadn't intended to take a soldier, just escape, but she had him.
She weighed her odds carefully. She had five seconds.
Forcing terror frozen muscles to move, she fought back thinking about the ozone smell as she scooped the unconscious man up with her natural arm and was running with the soldier in a fireman's carry. She could make out the statue in the distance, some fifty meters beyond. The sound of barking dogs from behind grew closer.
The comlink blared with a static crackle and the Veteran's muscles locked. She collapsed, the man tumbling from her shoulder.
"Omega-5, please respond, over."
The comlink. She took deep, hyperventilating breaths, unable to fully control herself as she managed to rip the radio away with all her might with her cybernetic arm from the man's shoulder harness, tossing it far away. She struggled up, felt like she had been running for hours and scooped him up again, shuddering badly as she heard the voice over the comlink in the distance. She reached the statue, practically hurling herself through the door and shutting it behind her.
She dumped the man on the ground, climbed back down to the tunnel below, and ran, sprinting all the way back to the other entrance, picking up her glowstick on the way.
She climbed back through the entrance to her panic shelter and found Sangraal staring at the entrance from a corner, leaning against the wall.
"That was quick. When you guys say thirty minutes or fewer you aren't kidding. So, what's the tip?" The Demon asked. "Tell me you remembered the shrimp fried rice."
The Veteran was rushing up the ladder to the living room. She ignored the joke. Of all the Demonic Sith she could have gotten, why did she have to get the one that was a troll?
"There's a man at the other end of that tunnel at the top of the ladder. Make sure he stays unconscious," the Veteran ordered her as she headed up.
Sangraal sighed, and hopped down into the tunnel.
The Veteran wasn't long in retrieving a small, primitive transfusion kit from under her bed and quietly headed back down the stairs, into the panic shelter through the utter darkness of the house. Not wanting to leave that soldier alone with the Demon more than she dared, she did not pause to catch her breath as she hopped back into the tunnel and ran all the way back to the other end.
The Demon stood over the unconscious soldier, smiled as the Veteran climbed the ladder and immediately began rolling his sleeve up, pulling out a cannister from the kit to contain the blood. She looked at the soldier and back to the Demon. Why did it always smile? Did it actually believe it was easing her worries? Or was it the smile of of a shark?
"This reminds me of sticking a straw in a coconut for some reason..." Sangraal mused.
"He hasn't moved?" the Veteran asked as she fixed a hypodermic needle to the arm, which fed into a plastic tube that connected to the container.
"Not with little old me watching him," the Demon assured.
"How much you need?"
"Fill her up, I got a long trip ahead and the tank was nearly empty."
The Veteran stared...and raised an eyebrow.
Sangraal clasped both her hands to her face and her mouth dropped open in mock astonishment. "How scandalous! Dare I see it?! A reaction from you that isn't cold dismissal but just bordering on mild bemusement! What will the neighbors think?!"
"Do you want this blood or not?" the Veteran inquired in terse fashion.
Sangraal sighed and gestured to get on with it.
The extraction took a few minutes, but she had a full pint when she was done.
She handed the pint to Sangraal.
"Aww, for me?" the Demon asked. "I'm more of a candy person, but thanks!"
"I gotta get rid of this guy. Get the blood back to the house," The Veteran snapped, refusing to play into her response.
She went silent as she heard the sounds of dogs barking directly on the other end of the stone door.
Sangraal, still grasping the container of blood, leaned against the door, staring at the Veteran, smiling as the dogs barked on the other side and they both heard soldiers.
"Omega-5 is MIA. No signs beyond a comlink. Think the target neutralized asset?"
"High possibility. What's this statue doing out here?"
"That's not important," Sangraal whispered, closing her eyes, left hand running her palm against the stone door.
"That's not important," the soldier repeated on the other side.
"Probably not even worth mentioning in the report," the Demon whispered.
Another soldier on the other side repeated her words.
"We should go now, continue the search elsewhere," she said under her breath. The Veteran took a step back because the Demon was simply staring at her, grinning at her brainwashing.
"We should go now, continue the search elsewhere," the first soldier said.
Both the Veteran and the Demon waited until the sounds on the other side faded. The Veteran said nothing.
The Demon knealt down next to the soldier and whispered.
"In ten minutes you are going to wake up, and you're going to walk out of this chamber. You're going to wander and forget where you were the past five hours. Don't make contact with your men until dawn."
Sangraal then rose up, patted the Veteran on the shoulder which made the ex-soldier flinch.
"You're welcome," Sangraal sarcastically muttered, climbing down the ladder.
The Veteran did not sleep well that night, so unsettled by the Demon's ability to enter minds without even having to look at them like a normal Sith that her last thoughts before sheer exhaustion overtook her was little more than jumbled paranoia three hours before dawn. She woke up to the Demon standing over her, seemingly observing the sleeping woman.
"Good morning," said the Demon in a perky manner.
"Why are you standing over me?" The Veteran asked, almost frozen in her bed from fear.
"I merely came into the room to check on you. You were unsettled last night for some reason. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to make your day easier."
"How did you get in my room? I dead bolted it."
Sangraal turned her head to the wooden door, chuckled at the five different bolts on the door.
"Oh, those! Yeah, those don't stop me. Is that why you poured salt on the floor around your bed?"
The Veteran glowered at the Demon.
"I know, its a common misconception. Salt works, but the person pouring it also has to be spiritually pure. And you, my friend, are...not."
"Guess I'm out one can of iodized."
Sangraal snorted back some laughter.
"You were using table salt?" the Demon guffawed.
"What kind of salt should I be using?"
The Demon leaned closer, right hand clasping a bedsheet.
"Tell me, Simple. Why did you agree so quickly to aid me? When we first met? You clearly hate the Sith, you can barely stand me. So why? Why give me the time of day?"
"What need has a Demonic Sith for a baby?"
Sangraal pulled back. "I doubt you would understand," she replied haughtily, but the soldier spotted a nervous edge to the response. She decided to press the matter.
"You come into my house. You crack wise at every opportunity. You pry, for no discernable reason I can tell beyond your own curiosity," the Veteran snapped, face twisting with anger for the first time. She rose off the bed and the Demon stepped back as she was cornered.
"Why do you need a baby, Demon? You could find any one of a thousand successors out there stupid enough to believe whatever you want. Besides, its not like you can truly risk creating a threat to yourself. So why? Why come and get summoned to the ass end of nowhere and hide with a lowly farmer?"
"Because I'm alone!" the Demon snapped back bitterly, face contorting in a hurt the Veteran knew wasn't faked.
The next thirty seconds were silent between them. The Veteran had never expected that kind of an answer from any Sith, let alone a Sith Demon.
"You want the truth?" Sangraal asked, still angry after the silence. "I'm on the losing end of a private war with the Jedi Order. In spite of all my power, I failed. Most of my allies are dead. My faction, the Sith Philosophers, is crushed. My summoning was botched after my previous defeat. And I have been coming back for the last few thousand years with the same mission...to merge the Jedi and the Sith back into one entity, so we can be brothers and sisters as we were in the beginning. And I keep failing. Keep dying and getting sent back to hell just as I'm on the cusp of success," the Demon snarled, stepping to the side of the Veteran.
"All that effort," Sangraal continued, looking exhausted for the first time. "All that sacrifice, and I am no closer to success than I was when I started. And the thought of spending eternity trying and failing without any reason to make it worth it...without anyone to at least...at least listen...could you bear the idea of all your effort being for nothing AND ending up alone?"
The Veteran did not answer, hiding her devastation and SEVERE discomfort at how much the Demon's question resonated.
To her own distress, when she again looked at the Demon, she saw it, having been too distracted by the Demon's beauty to notice it the first time.
It was the weariness, the stiff shoulders, the gaze that seemed too distant, the way Sangraal's stress piled on her face, despite it being as gorgeous as ever.
The Demon was a burnt out vet.
The realization made the Veteran turn slowly around, looking at the Demon with a new perspective that was both unsettling and too familiar.
Wishing to forget for a moment that they had something in common, the Veteran decided to switch back to more important points.
"This summoning of yours...how was it botched?"
"Not so fast," Sangraal countered, taking a step forward, making the Veteran step back.
"I want to know why you accepted my deal."
"I had a debt to pay. From the war."
"What sort of debt?"
"The kind that made me take you up on your offer," the soldier answered. "Let me put it to you another way...you end up in hell after all this, don't be surprised if you see me burning next to you sometime."
Sangraal gave a half grin. "Next to me? There's no one else in hell you'd rather burn next to?"
"You are the only one I know from Hell. Might as well."
"See? Honesty. Was that so hard?" the Demon asked, perking up somehow despite her prior outburst.
"That's why you took all this risk? Just to not be alone?"
The Demon stared at the plain mirror in the wall next to her bed. The Veteran didn't see any reflection from the Demon.
"Didn't you? Once?" Sangraal asked in reply.
"Once."
"Was it worth it?"
"No."
The Demon stiffened. "I suppose I will have to be more optimistic about the perceived benefits behind my efforts."
"I suppose," the Veteran responded neutrally.
"Why don't you believe it was worth it? Reaching out?" Sangraal asked.
"You see me with anyone?" the Veteran asked wryly as she walked past her for the door. "What else we need for the ritual?"
"Burl wood."
"Shouldn't be too hard to get."
"Also, I'll need a human skeleton."
"That will be harder."
"Was that sarcasm?"
"No."
"The skeleton doesn't have to be fresh."
"There's a comfort."
Sangraal snorted as a chuckle escaped her.
"So you do have a sense of humor," the Demon snorted.
"No," the Veteran said, going down the steps. "I don't."
A half hour after a breakfast with eggs and wine grapes, the Veteran was putting on an ankle length brown dress and brown boots. The burl wouldn't be hard to get. Plenty of trees had it around these parts. She would save the skeleton for tomorrow. She would take care of it now, get as much time away from the Demon as possible. She didn't like having anything in common with it. It was four hours after dawn. The sun was starting to get high into the sky. The soldiers at the checkpoint saluted her as she walked out of her house, a wood axe in a sheath on her back. Sangraal told her they only needed two pounds worth. She winced, angered by them being just outside her house. She'd gone to the country to flee this.
All she could think about was blaster-bolts when she saw the uniform. Blaster-bolts and lightning.
She was walking the opposite direction before she realized it. She exhaled, heading down the dirt trail, planning on diverting close to the woodland or perhaps one of the cypress trees growing here, getting the burl that way.
As she walked, she caught sight of a man in the distance, stiffened as she recognized the profile of the full body armor. It was Mandalorian. His armor plates, even his flight suit underneath those plates, were bright orange in color, His helmet was orange, and the T-shaped visor was a milky white color. He was carrying what looked like a golden, pump action scattergun, slung over his back. He looked as tall as she was.
She knew Mandalorians well, having studied them both in the field and captivity. She felt no empathy for them. Putting necks to the sword had been easy where they were concerned. She was bothered more by the Krath she'd slain. She still felt no empathy for them. They had gotten what they deserved, siding with Exar Kun.
But what was one doing here? No way the military didn't know he was on Castell.
She figured just to pass by him as he got closer. Not like they needed to interact. Besides, her sword had tasted too much of their blood for her to be intimidated by their mystique. Her hands had crushed or even bashed in their necks.
She wasn't expecting him to slow down slightly, then address her, wheatfields and Cypress trees whistling with wind in the distance.
"Fine morning you're having on Castell," the Mandalorian said, his voice a hard, rumbling timbre with a Concord Dawn accent.
"It is. Nice gun," the Veteran complimented.
"Thanks. My brother actually does some good work when I can get him off his lazy ass."
"Hunting?"
"Of a sort. I'm an independent contractor the Military hired. Got a criminal in these rural lands. Not surprised the perp ran to the country side."
"Why not?"
"Monsters have a disturbing affinity for the quiet of such places. Its where their sins can scream the loudest. Yet no one hears. The Gods would burn the wheatfields for the wickedness they hide were it not for the fact such places please them as well," the Mandalorian asserted.
"Monsters?" The wind blew gently through the Veteran's hair.
"Right. Monsters."
"Any idea where the monster could be?"
"Not in the deepwoods. Too obvious. Perp's too crafty. But they're paying me by the hour to search there, so I search there. Perp's probably hiding in some basement or something," the Mandalorian muttered off handedly.
The man reached into his pouch, pulling out a piece of flat, hard tack.
"Bread?" He asked, holding it out.
The Veteran took it. "Thanks."
"No problem," the Mandalorian replied casually, voice low, even with the helmet blaring it.
"Seen anything strange?" He asked.
"The Military Checkpoint outside my house."
"Huh," the Mandalorian grunted passively. "Tough break."
"Yeah."
"So," he asked, "What you off to do?"
"Getting burl wood."
"You like wood carving?"
"Yeah."
The Mandalorian reached into a pocket on his chest, pulling out a knife. It was small, pocket size, built for whittling. It was single edged, with a red handle, the blade about two to three inches in length.
"I got a ton of knives. I won't miss this one," the Mandalorian claimed. "Enjoy."
The Veteran stared directly into the visor. "Much obliged."
The Mandalorian tipped his helmet to her before preceeding on his way. "Catch ya' later."
The sherbet-colored Mandalorian walked off towards the checkpoint behind her. The Veteran placed the bread in a pocket, along with the knife, which turned out to have a retractable blade that sank into the sheath and continued on.
The figures watched from a distance as the Veteran headed into the small grove of trees, crossing the wheatfields to do so.
They could not be seen, of course. Their Force cloaks prevented that.
But they were moving ever closer to her. This was the one. The one they sensed the taint on, the one they had observed last night, kidnapping a soldier.
It would be easy to inform the military. Have her dragged off and leave the primary target alone, but it had been specified that the military was just to keep their targets movements restricted. The actual handling of the targets were to be carried out by them. If they failed, someone would take their place.
But it was too early to strike. It would have to be when the ritual was on the verge of completion.
So they watched...