Zsoldos 44 ABY
The old watering hole had been quiet for too long a time.
Erick Alehands stood alone at the center hearth, his hands numb from the cold that had been allowed to settle in. With so few visitors lately it made no sense to heat the entire hall, so management said, but the bitter winter outside had managed to snuff out this flame in the dead of night. Yet, Erick knew his regulars wouldn’t settle for such a chilled atmosphere after spending days and weeks in space so he had to get the hearths roaring and the bartop candles lit.
Several laborious minutes later, Erick stood back from the last hearth and took a moment to listen to the old timber crackle to life. With the hall now alight, he could see the smoke stains that clung to the rafters like fond memories that refused to fade. Beside him, stood long tables that had been stained by the bloodied fists and waving tankards of past nights while patiently waiting for the return of their patrons.
This hall had once been the drinking hall for ancient warriors who sailed great seas and raided distant shores only to return home with either gold or glorious song of such adventure. While right now it was only a place of echoes, snow pressing gently against the heavy doors, the world outside holding its breath. The spirit of these warriors, who roared their victories late into the night, could still be heard today on particularly loud, celebratory nights when the Mandalorians and Mercenaries of Vizsla visited.
Erick rolled his shoulders and set the first barrel into place behind the bar he’d built with his own hands. Oak, iron-braced, solid enough to survive a siege. He ran his palm across the wood, feeling the grooves where his axe had slipped, where mistakes had become character. They called him Alehands not because he drank the most but because he brewed while others bled - because he believed a good drink bookmarked a job well done.
He lit the lanterns one by one.
Warm light spilled across carved pillars depicting glorious deeds, beasts riden, and armoured men locked in eternal struggle. The glow softened them, made the hall feel less like a monument to war and more like an epic story spread across its wooden decor. It was from these carvings that the drinking hall got its name, Saga.
Tonight, there would be no stories of shield walls or shouted oaths to die gloriously. Tonight, there would be stories told about blasters and modern tactics, laughter earned by the Vizsla creed, and silence broken by the clink of cups instead of steel. Erick tapped the first cask and let the ale flow.
“Let this hall be loud again,” he murmured to the empty room, before continuing under breath. “But not with screams.”
Erick smiled at the sound of crunching snow, lifted a polished horn, and waited. Outside, footsteps approached and a heavy hand pounded the great wooden door open. Snow and wind poured in around a figure draped in Sith Armour who promptly slammed the door shut and shook the snow from his shoulders.
Erick didn’t need to wait for the helm to be removed before recognizing it was Raiju Kang. The mottled green tentacles that also shook from his shoulders was a sure giveaway of the Nautolan.
“Welcome back, Raiju!” Erick shouted while returning the polished horn to its shelf.
Before he continued, Erick was quick to mix a serving of dark rum with a spicy ginger beer. As the Nautolan slipped into a seat at the bar, Erick placed a lime wedge on the glass rim of the Dark & Stormy and pressed it forward while the Nautolan immediately slapped a nights worth of credits onto the counter.
But before that drink could be finished, another arrival pulled their attention to the door.
Slipping into the hall and opening the door no more than was necessary was a figure fully clad in Mandalorian armor. As the heavy door closed behind him leaving the snowy exterior behind, he pulled off his helmet immediately and took a deep breath. His demeanor made it clear he was relaxed with his guard down, familiar with the establishment and feeling safe in his surroundings.
“Lord Nezsa,” Erick announced, clear he recognized the human who had just entered the establishment but obviously not as familiar as the Nautolan working on his first drink of the night.
“Are you sure this couldn’t have just been a holomail Raiju? The weather out there is the worst,” Evio commented as he closed his distance to the bar itself and set his helmet down on top of it, taking a seat.
Not even worried about the fact Raiju hadn’t even acknowledged his existence, he turned his attention to the vast collection of bottles on the wall behind the bar. His eyes scanned a mixture of shapes and colors that rivaled that of any other he’d seen in his galactic travels. A testament to both the reach of Clan Vizsla, whose mercenaries helped most the bottles find their way there, and the reckless determination of that same Clan to bring them back. The human hadn’t even considered having a drink when he answered the call to meet at the drinking hall though he started to ponder making an actual decision.
“What will it be?” Erick asked as he approached the Mandalorian. Unlike Raiju’s predictability and consistency, Evio seemed to order based on his mood which was hard to read.
The human’s eyes moved from the wall of choice to Raiju’s drink of choice, realizing it was clearly going to be that type of briefing and figuring it must be a good drink if it had him so captivated he hadn’t even acknowledged him. Then he decided he may as well take the edge off the annoyance he had reading over the details of the mission on the way in.
“Jet Juice.”
Without hesitating, Erick reached under the bar and pulled out a glass to pour the drink. As he set it down on the bar with a clank it nearly masked the sound of the heavy door opening again.
The door to the Saga drinking hall flew open as Siorc ducked just a little to not hit his helmet on the top of the door frame. It was unseasonably cold and blustery, and the trek from the spaceport had left him wishing he had put a heater module in his armor. The snow that had collected on it immediately began melting as he entered the relative warmth of the wooden structure, small water trails forming across the black-and-gold beskar plates.
He was getting used to the armor that had once belonged to his mentor and former leader of Clan Vizsla. Having died aboard an attack on the Respite, Vizsla’s own repair yard, Korvis’s body, along with the damaged space station, had drifted into the gravitational pull of Kant and crashed to the moon’s surface. Along with Zxyl Bes'uliik, Siorc recovered his mentor’s body and armor. The body set off into the sun while Zxyl Bes'uliik repaired and fit the armor to Siorc’s standards. A master armorer, Zxyl Bes'uliik fit the beskar plates to Siorc impeccably but he still felt odd about them having been previously owned by Korvis.
“Erick” he said without even acknowledging the other two Vizslans. “The usual.”
Ever the professional and skilled bartender Alehands was already ahead of Siorc and had the glass and bottle out before the words even left the Evereni’s lips. A double shot of Correlian Whiskey, neat, was the standard order, and Erick had it poured before the giant of a man reached the table.
Removing his helmet with a quick release, Siroc set it down on the bar and ran his fingers through his hair, somewhat putting it back into place. While he followed the Resol’nare, he wasn’t a zealot and would remove his helmet in front of his clanmates and those loyal to Vizsla. He raised his glass and took a sip of the amber liquid, then placed it back down on the bar. A quick nod to the others let them know he was ready, but conversation could wait.
The door opened once more, letting the freezing wind in as it blew in passed a hooded figure. Kora quickly stepped through the door, shutting it behind her, as her gold eyes darting around as she surveyed the mostly empty hall from beneath her hood. Once she was satisfised, her shoulders relaxed and she pulled the hood down off of her multi-coloured montrals. It was mostly out of habit than any real fear. She felt safe here, probably against her better judgement if she was honest with herself and considering she was typically surrounded by more bounty hunters than probably wise. But if her mother was using bounties to find her, Kora hadn’t seen them and she had felt nothing but welcome in the ranks of Mandalorians and Mercs since her arrival in the clan.
“Ughhh…You know what the worst thing about winter is? I have to wear shoes.” The Togruta made a face at her boots before shaking the snow off herself. “Sorry we’re late. Kindle will be in in a moment; he was talking to Scylla after we landed and I was getting cold.” Kora called out as she made her way over to the group of Vizslans at the bar. “Hello, Erick.” She grinned at the bartender.
“Miss Kora, what can I get you today?”
Kora stared at the array of drinks and liquors along the wall for a moment, before perching on a barstool. “A Fiery Mustafarian, thanks.”
Erick nodded and turned to quickly make the drink, deftly handling the vial of lava extract that went with the drink. Turning back, he placed the drink on the bar in front of the Togruta.
“Here you go. And no painting the hall this time.” Erick held onto the vial, as he eyed the Baobab airbrush on the Togruta’s belt.
“That was one time and it was a tiny spot!” Kora protested indignantly. “No one could even see it. It was in the rafters,” she added under her breath.
The bartender gave her a pointed look as he finally passed her vial; she rolled her eyes but graciously accepted it, pouring the entire contents into the drink. Taking a small sip, the Togruta closed her eyes feeling the heat from the lava extract warm her up. “Mmm…much better.”
One more time, the door was pushed open. Illuminated from the front, the bulky figure stood just outside the premises for a moment longer before his entire body shook violently. While the Barabel/Feeorin Hybrid enjoyed his large size, when it came to snow, it proved an annoyance - clearly shown in the sheer amount of white that was discarded to the ground from where it had collected upon him during the walk to the entrance. With his red and black Mandalorian armor visible once again, he stepped within the hall and closed the door behind him, making his way to the bar where he was expected.
“More important business Mister Kindle?” inquired Erick as he gave a glance between the gathered group before moving to his next customer.
A clawed hand raised up to unhook the horned helmet and pull it free, setting it upon the bar. “For myself more than the Saga as a whole tonight Erick, so you can relax.” the reply given as another seat was taken. “And I’ve told you, don’t fret the formalities, I’m not much for them most of the time.”
“Does this call for a drink of that concoction you brought me or shall I introduce you to another flavor tonight?”
“Time will tell if this fits one of the two occasions I told you. For now, surprise me.” Kindle answered with a grin to the bartender before turning his gaze over to the Togruta next to him. “Scylla needs to learn to understand that just because we’re going to the Saga doesn’t mean we’re drinking ourselves under the tables. Meetings can take place anywhere.”
The Proconsul glanced past her to the three sitting down the row of the bar, his own golden eyes focusing as he placed names and ranks to each alongside a respectful nod. “Evening gents.”
Two Weeks Later
The group of five all sat at a table in the Drinking Hall. The warm fires from the hearth filled the room with a dancing light. Nothing about the hall had been updated to more modern luxuries, save the alcohol and food served. Siorc raised his hand and made a circular motion, indicating he was ordering another round of drinks for the table. He took a long drink from his Gamorrean ale and slammed the tankard back down on the table with a loud thud.
The mission of course went just as they all expected, a complete fecal maelstrom. How they even survived was beyond him. It had gone bad from the start, with the submersible transport losing one of its thrusters. They nearly flooded the entire base, crashing into the docking bay. Though in retrospect that wouldn’t have been a bad thing, except the crash had rendered their own transport inoperable. Things only went downhill from there.
“Why did we even take that bounty?” the Evereni asked, looking towards the Proconsul. “It wasn’t even worth the credits.”
So. Much. Water.
Kindle sat at his chair with his head leaned back, staring up a the ceiling. He never really thought about ‘oceans’ before, they weren’t really a thing he had dealt with in his long life, but now having had extreme first-hand experience? Yeah, no, not his thing. They had barely managed to force the doors open before the bay had filled, letting them inside to safety before the emergency doors slammed shut behind them to prevent the entire structure from either imploding or filling.
“Because on screen, it sounded simple. Break into a building, deal with combatants that weren’t acting of their own free will and and a handful of enemies we could kill without worry, then turn off some stupid computer gone haywire. If anything, it sounded like the softskins in the Brotherhood were just afraid of getting themselves in a little danger - present company excluded of course.” injected the hybrid. “Get in, beat some people up, hit the off switch, get paid. Bonus points for Vizsla with us taking down some legendary group of enemy infiltrators.”
Groaning, he moved his head forward and leaned over the table, grabbing his drink and taking a large gulp of it. “Didn’t expect the people who were being controlled by the AI to still be capable of talking rationally while their bodies moved on their own…” he muttered, the scared pleas of the manipulated soldiers still ringing in his ear as they fought. He knew the pain of being forced to fight even when you didn’t want to all too well, but this was another level.
Kora downed the rest of her drink before setting it on the table and grabbing the next one from the row in front of her on the table. Leaning back against the large Barabel hybrid next to her she began sipping the spotchka once she got comfortable, not particularly caring about their usual professionalism for the moment. At the mention of the AI controlled soldiers though, she visibly shuddered. They had hit a little close to home for her, and she had hesitated too long more than once, leading to a few explosions in their faces as the soldiers cried out, particularly as they had made their escape back out into the ocean and water rushed through the newly formed hatch. The Togruta tried to shake herself of the memory.
“You’d think they’d have told us exactly what S.T.A.R. was capable of, at the very least once we took the job.”