I arrived on Ord Mantell with three things: my sword, my rifle, and Birikad--the only one not to leave me over the years. Droid though he be, all know that the bes'uliik are different. Whenever they fell in battle, we would give them a funeral as if they were one of us. Even now that I am dar'manda, exiled and forfeit of my heritage, that bond remains. His name was a joke, but one that now rings bittersweet.

For once, my search was not entirely in vain... if the young jetii spoke truly. I sensed no deception in her, though I hardly dare let myself hope. Reality soon set in. Even if not a dead end, this backwater might as well be. I used the last of my resources to book passage here, and will not accumulate enough to leave anytime soon.

To earn those credits I must work, and exile or no, I know but one craft. Akaan. I have been a bounty hunter, security for paranoid senators, an enforcer, an assassin... Kote lo'shebs'ul narit, right? Whatever put the food on the table. I have done it before, and I can do it again.

This time, I do not work alone. Of all the unexpected things to discover on this planet: evaar'la Verad. It has been twenty years, and he has changed greatly... but then, so have I. And I will take the oppurtunity. I have worked for many like this Syndicate; I do not care what I will have to do, only that they pay.

For I will need the money. Ret'lini.