To walk upon the surface of Nancora is to take a path akin to a death sentence. That is how it earned its moniker: the Badlands. The Nancora system's star scorched the earth long ago, leaving a barren, sun-bleached surface behind. The soil remains as nothing but dust and left to the winds mercy. But there is none, as dust storms can form without warning and charge across the wastelands as roaring behemoths. The only shelter to be found lies scattered in the form of ruins of a time long past.

Spires and wreckage claw up through the cracked surface, giving the appearance of a planet-spanning junkyard. It is there that the Technocratic Guild gathers much of their resources, repurposing what once was into materials for new fabrications. At the same time, the most dangerous of these ruinous death-traps show the signs of the Technocratic elite's rigorous training. With a central spire rising from beneath a mound of wreckage, fresh scorch marks pocket the landscape of rising dunes in a circular clearing alongside the sand scraped remains of those who failed. A labyrinthian ring of partially unearthed structures closes in this area, providing some semblance of cover from the passing storms but nearly as dangerous themselves due to their weakened state. One wrong step can lead to collapse.

Very few come to the Badlands of Nancora. Fewer still make it out again.

Vessels just weren’t made like they used to be; or maybe the one called ‘Q’ was just a terrible pilot. He could take charge and lead with the best of them, but here, he would find himself climbing out from the wreckage of his downed vessel. With the exception of a few scrapes to his pasty epidermis, he was unharmed.

Lately, scouting the Collective had become a chore. One which he would normally take pride in. This time, however, being shot down by a vessel bearing an unlegible mark was a humbling experience. Who, pray tell, was bold enough for such a tactic?

As the wasteland of Nancora stretched out before the Imperial, he took notice of a nearby structure, partially buried beneath the sand with the remnants of tapestries, which violently flicked in the putrid air. The scarred planet was filled with a lingering anguish which was long forgotten; yet somehow, it still mingled with the present. The terrain, always a grim reminder of worse days.

“You there!” Shouted a scavenger as Q staggered towards the structure. “That was one hell of a crash, are you alright?!”

“Fine, lad,” he groaned, exaggerating his injuries. “I didn’t think I’d find anyone out here ali… ” Before Q could finish, his left shoulder rocked forward and a spark flashed into sight before the scavenger was lifted from his feet and tossed to the ground. The only evidence of what had just happened was the smoldering hole created just above the eye of the cadaver.

The shot must have ripped through the badlands like a veritable plague. While it only scathed Q’s armor, he still knew within his gut that the shot was meant for him. The scavenger was just collateral damage.

Quickly, Quejo rotated his hips behind cover and his body followed. It took only a brief second for the echo of the blast to reach his ears, but gauging by the time, he was able to estimate a distance. Instinctively, his sharp mind processed what was happening as he positioned himself into a better vantage point.

Whoever was hunting him was unwise to reveal him or herself so early. It was probable that this would-be Assassin was untouched by the Force, perhaps green. This being was desperate, perhaps being paid. Nevertheless, in due time, the identity would be revealed and the Taldryanite couldn’t wait.

“It has been a long time since I’ve tasted blood,” he grinned, as he reminisced of combat.