Whisper: Marshal-class StarFrigate

Black Spire Outpost has a way of presenting an imposing, yet familiar and oddly welcoming  feeling to its visitors. Its residents of a multitude of trades see many ships from all over the galaxy on their way to and from the furthest reaches of the galaxy. But even the most regular of the Spire’s merchants and travelers took a minute to observe the docking of a Marshal warship of the enigmatic Seraphan Photonics company outside the popular spaceport…

“This dock stinks..”

“Just let me do the talking, Iarn. Don’t make me send you back to the ship.”

“Fine, but all I’m saying is we could’ve tried a little harder for an industrialized world.”

“These guys are our last chance. We have no idea if Seraphan will send out hunters for us, and we’ve been running on fumes for the last week. I’ve heard they’ll help people like us. People who want a new start.”

“Even with our previous… err… occupation?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The pair kept moving towards one of the bigger buildings on the dock, the metal and wood amalgamation beneath their feet creaking in a solid, but not quite reassuring, manner.

“Captain, you know I like the idea of laying low and waiting for the heat on us to die down, but these guys seem like some sort of pacifist cult. Everyone keeps eyeing our blasters and I don’t like it.”

“Do you trust Hannac?”

“I did, yeah.”

“Well she was one of these Wanderers, and if the most hardened Seraphan overseer in the Galaxy can find peace with them, so can we.”

“That didn’t sound very confident.”

“That’s because I’m not.”

“Ok, well, where are we even going?”

“Hannac made it clear that we would find these Wanderers scattered throughout the Outpost. She didn’t offer much more than that before…”

“Yeah. Well, let’s hope she meant one of those Eopie stands because I haven’t had a proper meal in-”

“Hey, you two!”

The voice came behind the two, from a small alleyway behind one of the many merchant buildings. Everyone else in the street kept walking and going about their business, as if they hadn’t heard the call, or had chosen to ignore it.

The speaker was a seated Rodian, his eyes glazed over a milky white. Behind him, and further back into the alley, was a grizzled and bearded human in what looked like heavy work or military attire. On his head was a hat with a hastily stitched Alliance symbol. He had a small sidearm on his left hip and was watching the two with suspicion. To the Rodian’s right was a small alien, oblivious to their surroundings and obsessing over a small gem enclosed by a metal cage. 

Iarn watched nervously as his Captain, ignoring every survival instinct they had developed over the last month, began walking over to the odd trio.

“Woah, woah, woah, Captain, we’re not here to make friends with the beggars. We have to find these Wanderers or whatever.”

The Rodian gave a small smirk, but did not stop looking into the distance. The little alien looked up at the two approaching strangers, sized them up for a minute, then returned to their babblings over the gem.

“Grew up on Entralla, did we?” the seated Rodian mused, his eyes never leaving the horizon, “No wonder you’re so hesitant to trust.”

“Ok now we really need to leave,” Iarn insisted, “How the hell did he know that?”

“Doesn’t really matter,” the Rodian answered quickly, “What does matter is what brought you and your warship to our humble port.”

“We came searching for the Wanderers of the Whills,” answered the Captain, seemingly not sensing Iarn’s growing panic at her willingness to divulge the truth to these strangers.

Once again, the small alien looked up at the duo, but was back at the crystal in only a few seconds.

“We… we need somewhere to find a fresh start,” continued the Captain, “We’ve spent a long time… doing things we’re not proud of.”

“Ah, yes. Pirate hunting. A fairly noble pursuit, but one that doesn’t make many friends. However, I sense that your inability to help everyone touched by the pirate’s blade has driven you to search for the Wanderers more than your many violent deeds.”

The more the Rodian spoke, the more agitated Iarn became.

“Captain, these fools are about as trustworthy as Galentro promises,” he sputtered, “Now can we please move on so we can find the people that can actually help us?”

Instead of answering, Iarn’s Captain turned to face her First-Mate, looking at him with a knowing expression. Looking around, Iarn saw the grizzled veteran give him a quick wink before turning back to another conversation. Even the small alien stopped messing with the metal contraption and was staring at him through their enormous oculars.

“I’d say you found these fools,” said the Rodian with a grin, “Welcome to the Wanderers, Iarn.”

Iarn didn’t even ask how he knew his name. Instead, he relaxed and let out a long and exasperated sigh.

“So,” huffed Iarn, “you didn’t happen to know anyone named Hannac, did you?”

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