A slaver underground. That’s all Mytaranor was. There was even a council born from the booming slave trade that happened on the planet. Param was after the head of the snake; she was after the council and it’s hordes of slavers that refused to see the lives they were taking.
Param exited her ship, clad in her hooded tan poncho, black long sleeve shirt and brown, tight leather pants. At her left hip sat an echani war sword, the only weapon on her person. What she would give to wear a dress again. The dyed brown hair she had draped over her shoulders and down her back, kept by pins from her silver echani eyes. They were the only thing to give her away; her skin was tanned, her hair was dyed, and even her clothing was no longer monochromatic.
“I don’t see an appoint for your ship,” the port woman said. She looked both at Param and the datapad in her hand frantically. Param understood. One mistake under the wrong influence could mean death. Param was determined to not let that be a reality. A warm smile spread across Param’s lips.
“I don’t have an appointment, but I really need to see the Mytar Crew,” Param said. The dock woman looked shocked for a moment, gaining her composure before speaking.
“Um, I don’t know what you-“
“Let’s pretend you do,” Param said, keeping her warm smile. Her silver eyes fixed on the woman’s blue eyes and said anything but what Param said. “I need to speak with them, and for that I need to get into the settlement.” The woman was taken aback for a moment, but resigned to realizing Param was much more than she appeared to be and let her through.
Param made her way down the halls, trying to pick up any sense of the Mytaranor Council, or crew, as she had mentioned. They were a secret sort, so she resorted to reaching out with the Force. Slaves where brought, kept, and sold here, and she was determined to end that line. Even if it took scouring the entire planet by foot.
@René
Param exited her ship, clad in her hooded tan poncho, black long sleeve shirt and brown, tight leather pants. At her left hip sat an echani war sword, the only weapon on her person. What she would give to wear a dress again. The dyed brown hair she had draped over her shoulders and down her back, kept by pins from her silver echani eyes. They were the only thing to give her away; her skin was tanned, her hair was dyed, and even her clothing was no longer monochromatic.
“I don’t see an appoint for your ship,” the port woman said. She looked both at Param and the datapad in her hand frantically. Param understood. One mistake under the wrong influence could mean death. Param was determined to not let that be a reality. A warm smile spread across Param’s lips.
“I don’t have an appointment, but I really need to see the Mytar Crew,” Param said. The dock woman looked shocked for a moment, gaining her composure before speaking.
“Um, I don’t know what you-“
“Let’s pretend you do,” Param said, keeping her warm smile. Her silver eyes fixed on the woman’s blue eyes and said anything but what Param said. “I need to speak with them, and for that I need to get into the settlement.” The woman was taken aback for a moment, but resigned to realizing Param was much more than she appeared to be and let her through.
Param made her way down the halls, trying to pick up any sense of the Mytaranor Council, or crew, as she had mentioned. They were a secret sort, so she resorted to reaching out with the Force. Slaves where brought, kept, and sold here, and she was determined to end that line. Even if it took scouring the entire planet by foot.
@René