BC.org relies on donations to provide an environment for players of the Begeren Colony SWTOR Server. For those who wish to contribute in any capacity, a module is available to display what the site uses:


Author Topic: What Goes Around...  (Read 638 times)

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Offline Rivoso

  • Member
    • View Profile
What Goes Around...
« on: 02/06/18, 01:20:00 AM »

With the crisp air wafting down from the Alderaanian mountains, it was difficult not to pause and breathe it in. Despite the hurried nature of his errand, Ensign Nottewell fell victim to the enchanting breeze, the cool air filling his lungs as he closed his eyes, bringing about a refreshed feeling over his troubled mind. It was when the young officer remembered the datapad in his hands that his eyes snapped open once again, his pace briskly carrying him on once more. He stood tall as he walked, trying desperately to appear as though he were on official business while his legs began to ache as his strides proved to be just a bit too long.

If it wasn’t for the illicit nature of his errand, Nottewell might’ve taken a few moments longer to enjoy the orderly nature of House Thul’s main grounds, paired neatly against the magnificent snow-topped backdrop that the towering mountains provided. Yet, he’d already wasted enough time. More than he should have. A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead, hastily wiped away by his sleeve as he turned a corner, legs quickly vaulting him up the stairway before him. With a quick check of his chrono, the ensign darted around another turn, heading straight for the modest cantina that was his destination.

Several minutes passed after Nottewell had gotten a table, his fingers tapping anxiously against the datapad he held in his lap while he directed his gaze towards the entrance every few seconds. Something felt off, as the contact he’d been instructed to meet was supposed to have been where he sat already. With a slight tremble in his hand, the ensign reached for his glass, downing the rest of its contents very hastily before setting it down with a loud clunk. The ensign let out a shaky sigh, doing his best not to let the anxiety swelling up in his chest take control of the situation.

The effort was menial at best, given that the ensign nearly fell out of his seat when a figure sat down across from him unannounced. The clothing he wore was reminiscent of his contact, yet the face was entirely different. Gray streaks of hair weaved through black, combed back in a casual, almost bedraggled fashion. Most notably though was the cybernetic eye, Imperial design given away by the piercing scarlet glow that emanated from it’s center, and the perpendicular scars that lay underneath.

“Y-You’re n-”

“Not your contact? ‘Fraid not.”

The stranger smirked slightly, pulling out a small device and placing it on the table between them before leaning back quite comfortably in his chair. His gaze, while appearing quite casual, sent a shiver up the young Imperial’s spine. Something was definitely not right.

“Now then,” the newcomer began, “Nottewell was it? We’ve been tracking you for quite some time. I must say, I’m rather disappointed honestly. Tell me, what are you doing here exactly?”

Nottewell could feel his ears burning, the lump in his throat nearly cutting off the air from reaching his lungs.

“Meeting someone.” he murmured.

“For what purpose, exactly?”

“Trading station schemat-”

A hand came up instinctively, nearly knocking the datapad it had held to the ground. The fact that the ensign nearly blurted out an answer so easily made his eyes widen in fear.

“Come now ensign, trading schematics? They wouldn’t belong to the Empire now would they?”


“Tsk. That’s a shame. And your contact, SIS I’m guessing?”


The stranger shook his head, letting out a sigh as he leaned forward. When he looked at the ensign once again, the casual facade had all but disappeared, replaced with a damning glare the bore right through the young man.

“It seems your situation has taken a turn for the worse, Ensign.” a low growl rumbled in the back of his throat as he spoke, “Sith Intelligence is on the way, and I can promise you that what they’ll do to you is far worse a fate than you can imagine right now. Afterall, the traitors the bring in don’t tend to see daylight ever again..”

Nottewell let out a shaky breath, this is not how he imagined this meeting would turn out. His fingers flexed and unflexed while he stared back at the mysterious figure.

“That said, seeing as you’re young and nothing more than a fool, I’m willing to give you an out.”

The Stranger slipped a hand into his coat, pulling out a small holdout blaster and placing it on the table.

“There's enough power in the cell for one lethal shot. Do yourself a favour and use it.”

The explanation was a chilling one, requiring no further elaboration. Nottewell went pale, his eyes staring down at the weapon, completely ignoring the other man as he stood up and left.


The crisp, cool air swept up into a light breeze as Rivoso exited the cantina, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. He had missed Alderaan, to some extent, as it had often served as tranquil haven in his early service days. But that had been years ago, now, the smell of the mountain air brought back bittersweet memories of colleagues long gone and rivals now forgotten. The Agent ran a hand through his hair as he casually strolled away, the sound of a single blaster shot followed by several screams bringing a menacing smile to his lips. His holocomm chirped once before he unhooked it from his belt,

“C’mon Rivvy what’s the hold up?”

“I had to buy the kid a drink first. It was the least I could do.”

“Sheesh, aren’t you the generous one..”

“Leslie, you and I should both know it better than anyone. He was lucky I found him first.”


Several droids held a perimeter around the cantina while a small group of Imperial troopers moved about within. It had only been about twenty minutes after the incident occurred, just enough time for Sith Intelligence to show up. A trio of agents followed behind their leader, Watcher Thirty-Five, who’d insisted upon seeing to the scene personally. Sharp blue eyes took in the scene before him, gazing at the corpse that lay atop the dining table. Without a word, he held out a hand, an agent quickly retrieving a datapad and placing it within the outstretched fingers. On it’s screen was a picture of the former Ensign Nottewell, accompanied with a list of information along its side.

The Watcher’s brow rose slightly as he scrolled along the screen, his gaze focusing on the list of suspected crimes that popped up with small warnings.

“Can we confirm this?” he looked to one of the agents.

As if on cue, one of the troopers handed over the datapad that the former ensign had held. As it powered up, the Watcher turned his attention to the trooper.

“What about witness testimonies, did anyone see who he was meeting?”

“Yes sir. Witnesses report a man with a scarred face and cybernetic was sitting at the table with the victim.” the trooper traced a finger along his helmet in the shape of the scar described, moving from brow to jaw, and then another overlapping line across the cheek and nose.

A frown formed on the Imperial’s lips, his brow furrowing tightly into a scowl. Already he had his suspicions, but a small part of him was hoping he was wrong.

“Sir? We also found this on the table.”

With a low grunt, the Watcher turned and took the small device in hand, his thumb pressing the power button quickly. The small text that appeared on the screen made him curse under his breath. ‘Still playing by the rules, Watcher? -R’. It was enough to make his face go red, fingers curling tightly around the small device until his knuckles went white. For the former agent in question, the Watcher knew that making his presence known so blatantly was nothing short of deliberate.

This is the third time in a row, why come out of hiding now?!
Forever caught in this deadly dance, no rest or end in sight. Carefully now as the tempo rises, can you keep up my dear?

Offline Rivoso

  • Member
    • View Profile
Re: What Goes Around...
« Reply #1 on: 02/23/18, 12:17:21 PM »

The neon glow that emanated from the lower depths of Nar Shaddaa pushed upwards as it fought against the coming night. Speeder traffic was dying down as many denizens were preparing to retire for the evening. And upon a landing pad at the Mezenti spaceport, Rivoso looked over it all with a stern gaze. Each breath of the polluted air brought a hint of a metallic taste, yet even with the unpleasant sensation, it did little to distract his mind.

Nearly two weeks had passed since his confrontation on Alderaan, perhaps the most brazen of his appearances of late. While he’d expected his presence to be made known to his chosen target within Sith Intelligence, the notion that another party of interest approaching him hadn’t occurred. Moreover, the ease with which they had tracked him down was somewhat alarming, which caused his scowl to deepen.

It hadn’t been more than an hour since the unscheduled meeting. An entourage of two Sith and an Agent is no insignificant party, despite one of them appearing to simply be partaking in the same chosen establishment. However, the message that their presence sent was all too clear to the former Agent, the name of House Moros carried influence enough to have such a grouping heed their call, perhaps controlling even more behind the scenes.

This is certainly no coincidence, you show your face after a period of silence and within two months, you have a house of power track you down? They’re collaborating with Sith intel, maybe even Sector Seven..

Yet they proposed an offer promising amnesty from our current status while under their employ. This could be a blessing in disguise, something that would allow you to live amongst your people once more..

Both options seemed quite viable, which made the gamble of a decision all the more risky. If their offer and terms were upheld, amnesty would lead to a great deal more maneuverability, as being smuggled into the Imperial capital was no small feat, nor cheap. Rivoso flexed his fingers as he let out a low hum. He knew all too well what could happen if the offer was mere bait. His hand came up to the cybernetic eye he now utilized, fingers brushing along it and then trailing down the accompanying scar as the memories of his capture resurfaced.

With a sigh, Rivoso turned from the smoggy cityscape, his legs beginning to carry him into the spaceport. Everything that he’d built over the last ten years was being put at risk, but the matter deserved to be investigated. The quest for vengeance against his dear Watcher friend could wait for now.

I’ll bite Moros… Let’s see what you have in store.
« Last Edit: 02/23/18, 04:40:22 PM by Rivoso »
Forever caught in this deadly dance, no rest or end in sight. Carefully now as the tempo rises, can you keep up my dear?