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Mos Eisley - Tatooine


Tarrian Skywalker
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At the challenge, Agent 3L-3N4 hops to, ready to enter combat, only to be stopped by R3-N0 with the extension of his force pike. "At ease," he directs, fluidly rising to his feet. "Stay cool EL-3N4." With RU-D3 at his side, he approaches the challenger.

 

"Mr. Daisaku sent us here to see that the bar was in capable hands. He has faith in our ability to keep things in line, and ah... stay cool under pressure. I hope you don't have a problem with the way we do things around here?"

 

At that, the Black Sun squad that followed the trio into the bar fix their guns on Adenn, while others keep an eye out around the bar for other heroes and troublemakers. 3L-3N4 stands to rise, polishing her knucklets, sensing impending violence.

Hail Daisaku!

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Adenn gave the man a humorous look after he finished his declaration. Some people sure were funny.

 

"Well seeing as how my wife and I own this establishment, I do happen to have a problem with the way you claim to do things around here."

 

Adenn drew himself up to his full six foot three inch height and moved his visible hand below the bar to grip one of the knives that were stashed there in case of an instance such as this. His other hand still rested on the button that would sent an EMP blast through the area.

 

"Now, I'm going to ask you nicely to leave my cantina. I don't want things to have to get messy."

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Verd ori'shya beskar'gam

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"Hey! He's threatening us! He-"

 

"At ease, 3L-3N4," R3-N0 says, holding one arm out to stop her from taking a rash action. "A family man, sir? I can respect that, but you also have to understand that Mr. Daisaku is interested in running Tatooine, which means running Mos Eisley, and that means making it known at Mos Eisley's heart, your bar, that he's in charge." R3-N0 glances down, noting the position of the man's hands, the tightening of the muscles on the forearms and the position of the hands. He suspected a gun under the bar, ready to fire through it.

 

"No one wants this to get ugly. No collections, or insurance. We're too classy for that type of operation. We want an oath of feailty to Black Sun and to let it be known that Mr. Daisaku's friends are welcome here and his enemies are not, which includes the Hutts." R3-N0 seems to take a more relaxed poise, resting his forcepike on his shoulder, though his eyes are fixed on Adenn. 3L-3N4 stands ready to use her knucklets. RU-D3 merely pours himself another drink.

 

"Besides, it keeps us from having to take messy options, like sending Black Sun's little armada of ships from razing Mos Eisley to the ground to send a message or dropping a Midsengard sized plate on it from above."

Hail Daisaku!

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Adenn offered the operatives a shrug.

 

"Sorry fellas, that doesn't work for me. This bar doesn't belong to Daisaku or anyone else. It belongs to me and my wife. I will make no oath to Black Sun."

 

Adenn tightened his grip on the knife concealed beneath the counter.

 

"Now, I'm going to ask you once more to leave."

AdennGalaarsig42607.jpg

 

Verd ori'shya beskar'gam

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"I'm sorry we couldn't see eye to eye." The Force pike lowers to R3-N0's side, his eyes locked on Adenn, one hand sliding to his side, giving the most descrete of hand signals. "RU-D3, pay the keep for the Tatooine Sunburn and let's roll."

 

With that, violence errupted around Adenn with overwhelming force as RU-D3 silently complies, using a pocket lighter concealed in one hand to light his drink, and fling the improved molotov cocktail behind the counter into the racks of alcohol and other flammable beverages aimed at igniting the whole area behind the counter- and Adenn

 

R3-N0 at that exact moment drops, performing a splits and thrusts his custom forcepike, used by Imperial troops sometimes to breach ship hulls, through the bar itself- aiming to break whatever gun or weapon Adenn had behind the counter, and gore Adenn himself for good measure.

 

At that same time as the other two, the Black Sun troops, all 20 of them act. Four cover two of the exits to the bar, keeping their blaster rifles pointed at the crowd to keep them in line. Eight fire on Adenn, sending out immediate streams of red fire- two aiming through the counter alongside R3-N0, four alongside Adenn's current position, adding to the inferno RU-D3 sparked. One more aims to the side across the counter top at Adenn himself, his blast streaking dead on for Adenn's chest and center of mass, and the last sends his promptly aimed blaster shot streaking across the bar, due to blast apart Adenn's head in a split second. The remaining seven take positions around the bar, trying to keep others from acting as heroes, also pulling out their vibroshivs to ward off those who felt like a bum rush might be in order- or throw as needed. The last Black Sun heavy sends out a split second signal on his comm, letting command know that things deteriorated to "aggressive negotations" and that control would be needed shortly- for rioters or any Hutts arriving to stop Black Sun from taking over the whole of Mos Eisley.

 

3L-3N4, left out of the attack, merely dances in cheers, throwing her vibro knuckles in the air.

 

"Go Black Sun! You mess with us and you'll get burned! Wooo hooo!"

 

<>

Hail Daisaku!

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<>

 

As soon as the cocktail was lit, Adenn sprang into action. He took a split second to press the button that would send an EMP blast through the Cantina and the surrounding area before bringing his hands to the top of the bar and propelling himself over it. As he careened towards his attackers he noticed that the man who had done the talking had stabbed his force pike through the bar in an attempt to catch the trained warrior off-guard. Had Adenn not jumped when he did, he would have been run through with the deadly weapon.

 

As he was coming down he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder and he knew that he had been hit by one of the energy beams that his attackers had gotten off before he had triggered the EMP. He hit the ground just as the blasters were interrupted by an invisible wave. The lights were also affected, sending the bar into darkness. The only illumination now came from burning alcohol behind the bar. He quickly jumped back to his feet in time to notice that his bar was now on fire and that his patrons were in a state of unrest.

 

"Fight back," he yelled, and fight back they did. The Mos Eisley Cantina may have been known to cater to the scum of the galaxy but they didn't take well to authority. The many alien races present began to batter the Black Sun operatives with any weapon they could find, ranging from knives they had brought to chairs that just happened to be the closest thing to them.

 

Adenn smiled in approval. He and his customers might die in this bar, but they were going to take as many of these I am Groots as they possibly could with them. With this in mind he moved forward, switching the knife he held from his right hand to his left knowing that it had a better range of motion. He came up behind a silhouette that looked like that of 3L-3N4 and stabbed at the persons neck with reckless abandon, intending to brutally murder the man who was wreaking so much havoc in his place of refuge.

AdennGalaarsig42607.jpg

 

Verd ori'shya beskar'gam

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Interesting play. Given the Cantina crowd would be at a marginal disadvantage, it wouldn't seem so great as I am convinced they would we wiped out in a single sweep, nor the bartender sufficiently disabled. I say this goes into overtime. You've got a bar fight that borders on a riot. Also, fire EVERYWHERE.

 

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Things errupted into a state of chaos with the EMP, causing R3-N0 to mutter a choice explative under his breath as he faced a full on riot. Pivoting around, he faced the bar as its patrons started attacking each other and the Black Sun soldiers he lead in the bar. Fortunately, even though its stun features vanished, his force pike remained a heavy bo-staff, just as the vibro knucklettes remained knucklettes, and the vibro-shivs remained shivs.

 

"Alright! Round 2, nerf herders, let's fight!" he yells, whirling the force pike over his head, then bringing into into a wide sweep, cracking a man with a chair in the head, then spinning it around to trip another with a bottle. A third patron then finds himself punched in the throat with the tip of the pike, dropping to the ground. R3-N0 keeps his calm, establishing a zone of defense with his force pike, sending attackers fleeing.

 

RU-D3, still by the counter, also keeps his calm. An attacker charges him, only to get judo grabbed and tossed head first into the inferno behind the operative. He follows up with a jackie-chan style kick, sending a Gamoriean smuggler flailing backwards into a table. With that bit of breathing room, he dives atop the counter and grabs a hydraulic spray tap of beer, then liberally douses the rioters behind him, once more flipping out his never-fail lighter. Taking out a cigar, he lights it off a screaming patron Rory Breaker style, grunting as his chest gets slashed open, takes a drag, then grinds it into the eye of a smuggler creeping up on him with a knife.

 

"...

 

Mr. Daisauk owes us overtime for this."

 

With that RU-D3 charges into the bar fight propper, boxing his way through the turmoil.

 

At this point, the soldiers in the middle of the bar withdrew into a tight triangle formation, their vibroshivs out. They keep their formation, closing ranks as three of their numbers fall to chairs, knifes, and a glass bottle jammed in the throat, making sure that the smugglers cannot break their ranks. Their defensive line set, it's a matter of knife work- trained soldiers against drunken, angry smugglers. The ground runs red.

 

As this happens, the four soldiers left guarding the exits, their backs against the wall, make the most crucial decision necessary to save themselves in the fight. They open the doors and let sunlight from Tatooine's twin suns stream in. Between the darkness, chaos, and fire spreading everywhere, they gambled the patrons would not be so attached to their vendetta against Black Sun that they'd throw down their lives. Sure enough, a sizeable portion of the cantina empties into the streats, bringing the angry riot to Mos Eilsey propper and fleeing beyondm RU-D3 among them as he takes off into the streets. The remaining soldiers start to clear out the bar as the soldiers by the exits step outside, keeping watch for interference and waiting for back up from the spaceport.

 

3L-3NA meanwhile, screams, feeling the barkeep's knife buried in her shoulder. A last minute twist saved her from an otherwise fatal blow, causing it instead to be a nasty, if not incapacitating blow causing the knife to jam into her left shoulderblade. Stuck, there, she pivots around, unintentionally depriving Adenn of his knife.

 

"You PIG!" turning around on Adenn, doubled in pain, she slams a knucklette covered fist into chest. "Don't you ow.. ow..." grunting she tries kneeing him in the groin, then follows with a set of boxing punces at his head. "how to treat a lady?"

 

As she engages Adenn, furiously punching at him with her good arm, R3-N0 quietly steps behind the barkeep, crouched low to avoid the bellowing smoke, and with a disdaining look, aims to skewer him from behind, right through the chest on his force pike.

 

<>

Hail Daisaku!

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<>

 

Adenn's head shot backwards as he was punched by the agent who he had attempted to murder. Another jab to the chest caused him to let out a barely audible 'whoof'. The constant assault on his body combined with the waves of heat that were destroying his bar was enough to begin to weigh Adenn down and he wasn't moving as fast as he normally would have, but he had had enough of this loud-mouthed bitch.

 

Dodging her next blow, he brought his right leg up and was rewarded as he felt the round house kick connect with the woman's jaw, sending her to the floor. Even if she wasn't dead, at least she wouldn't be speaking in comprehensible sentences for a while.

 

The momentum from the kick had Adenn pivoting on his left foot, performing a full one-hundred and eighty degree spin. As he planted his right foot on the ground he was quickly alerted to the fact that there was going to be another attack on his life in the next few seconds. He dove towards the left, now his good side, and escaped only missing a chunk of flesh from his already useless right arm. Though the torn muscles on his limb caused him great pain, he once again came up ready for another attack.

 

When it didn't come, he allowed himself a moment for rest to contemplate his next move. His bar was as good as destroyed and if the fight continued for much longer he would be in the same situation. It was time to end this once and for all. Throwing all caution to the wind, Adenn charged towards R3-N0. He connected with his assailant's body with enough force to send them both careening into the raging inferno.

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Verd ori'shya beskar'gam

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Tough call... Low tech fights are always fairly straightforward.

 

Adenn, I liked the direction you went with the EMP, but I think you would have had more success if instead of just reducing everyone's firepower to your level, you'd had a weapon to pull out afterword for a more distinct advantage; Something that was either shielded from the blast or immune by nature of it's construction.

 

In the second post you didn't really have anything to fall back on. Even the Cantina Riot you summoned to help deal with the numbers was sadly absent from the post. I was hoping you'd continue working the riot your advantage. I found the second post kind of plain in comparison to the first. Meanwhile Black Sun continued to press their numbers advantage.

 

Overall, I felt Black Sun gave a better show. That match was pretty even, but I thought BSO's actions were just barely more thought out.

 

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"One holy bartender coming up!"

 

A holy bartender, normally comprised of the following:

 

1.5 oz Brandy

1.0 glass Cola

4.0 cubes crushed Ice

0.5 oz Jagermeister

 

was now reduced to Adenn Galaar and R3-N0's force pike, shaken, not stirred.

 

R3-N0 watched Adenn charge, and in the classic manuver of the ancient Scots at the battle of Bannockburn against charging English heavy cavalry, R3-N0 lowered his force pike, skewering the bartender on it, then flipped him over like a spiked pig into the flames of his bar, letting the corpse smolder.

 

Withdrawing his pike from Adenn's chest, he rushes to 3L-3N4's side and hefts her up, carrying her out of the smoking bar with the remaining Black Sun soldiers.

 

Outside, they meet RU-D3, quietly sitting on a stack of crates, smoking a cigarette, watching the riots spread through Mos Eisley.

 

"...

 

I think our work here is done. We should get her checked out," he states with a nod towards 3L-3N4.

 

R3-N0 nods and the soldiers quickly march to the near-by spaceport, and after further hostile negotiations, reinforced by landing Black Sun soldiers, they secure it. Due to the riots, Mos Eisley and its spaceport are soon left in the hands of Black Sun, the cantina is left to finish burning itself out to a hollow shell- soon demolished and replaced with a Black Sun command post, and the trio of leading Black Sun Operatives, now patched up from the battle, make their way into space and hyperspace, leaving Tatooine behind.

Hail Daisaku!

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  • 1 year later...

The sun was up and burning hot, yet it was no real problem for the young Nautolan. Zalis walked into the cantina with an intent of finding out who was the one who contacted him about important information from Pieralos, Glee Anselm's capital. He found it a bit strange that such important information from his home planet would even be found on such a far off corner dust and sand world as Tatooine, yet he came anyways. It wasn't like he had much to do at the moment as all of his work of trade and gun for smuggling had stopped once the Republic Empire war escalated to epic proportions recently. It kept him away from Coruscant and other Core worlds, and it also kept him from any other planet that was owned by the Republic or the Empire, which for the most part was all of them. Some have claimed that one or the other owned backwater worlds such as Tatooine, but it was a foolish thought for anyone to assume so. These worlds were beyond any political control.

 

Walking up to the bartender, Zalis ordered a Corellian rum and then made his way towards an empty booth near the entertainment stage, of which held three very beautiful Twi'lek females dancing to some random tune. One of them who stood closer to his side, was more attractive to him than the others. She was orange skinned, and wearing a very slinky black dancer uniform of the bar. Zalis gave her a wink and then took a sip of his rum. As he put down his glass, a voice spoke up on the side of him.

 

"They really do know how to pick them, don't they?"

 

Zalis turned his head slowly to find himself looking up into the eyes of a Bothan. Part of him wasn't surprised to find that his contact was a Bothan, as they always were ones to create of find drama. Turning himself in the booth to look the Bothan straight on to hold some respect for this unknown contact was short lived as the Bothan sat down before Zalis could fully turn himself around.

 

"I really wouldn't know. It's not every day I enter cantina's to see what sort of entertainment they hold. And since you're quick to sit down, am I to assume that you're Moryel?"

 

"I am. Moryel Ask'locc is the name. I have a friend of mine who found out that there is some sort of political power on Coruscant sent out information for a bounty contract on Pieralos. Does the name Ren Zarrus mean anything to you or your culture?"

 

Zalis narrowed his eyes at the mention of Ren. He was the current leadership of Glee Anselm besides their senator, Nalla Darktrayn, whom was flip flopping between whom he should pledge full support of, the Republic or the Empire. Ren was devoted on supporting the Republic, that if Darktrayn threw her support in with the Empire, Ren would refuse to allow them to touch the surface of the planet. It was all politics, and therefore it was nothing that Zalis interfered with. In fact, he really could care less of whom Glee Anselm support, so long as he got to continue doing his work.

 

"I've heard the name. It doesn't come much of a surprise that there would even be a bounty contract on his head either, being as outspoken as he is. Why bother to inform me or any other Nautolan about it?"

 

"Because, I know who put the contract out on him, as well as the implications of it. While you and you fellow Nautolans may not care, the rest of the galaxy kind of does. This war is about to be over from the looks of it, and if the Empire manages to pull out a victory, chances are, you and your kind will be hunted down and killed for not supporting them in the war effort, whether it was your choice or not. I's the way the Empire works."

 

"The Empire commits genocide on a daily basis, whether you hear about it or not. It's what they do. Nothing such as supporting them or not supporting them will make all that much of a difference besides for a few years of them holding off."

 

"Take what information I give you and deal with it as you please."

 

With that, the Bothan stood up and left the cantina. Zalis stared a hole into the back of his head as he walked away. Who is he that he believes that all should respond when something bad happens? It's called life, kriffing Bothan. Zalis then spent the rest of his time finishing his drink and watching the very exceptionally beautiful Twi'lek dance for him. After he was done making out with his newly found friend, he then left her in the middle of the night and headed out for Nar Shaddaa and new prospects.

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  • 2 months later...

The cantina looked much the same as it had when last Mirdala had stood behind the bar, though now the air was cut with the extra tension brought about by the current proprietors of the establishment, as well as the still-fresh memories of the surviving regulars. Even now, a ghost the memory of her own riduur's death was playing through her own minds eye, as it had been recorded through the security cameras that had been activated when Black Sun initiated its onslaught of the bar.

 

Mentally she refocused herself, stepping lightly and purposefully towards one of the back booths as though she were just another bounty hunter here to meet a contact. Still, despite her disguise, she could feel a few eyes on her. She was grateful that she'd opted to not take the bacta because the bruises marring her olive-toned skin, coupled with her paler complexion due to so much time spent in space and beskar'gam. Furthering the disguise, utilizing her implant's manipulation of her own eye's ability to reflect light in the usual green that she naturally bore, her eyes now appeared a translucent, muddy brown. It was good not to have to rely on contacts, though resorting to such a method was becoming more painful the longer she kept it going. She wouldn't have as much time as she needed, but she would at least get one thing accomplished.

 

As she sat in the corner and let her own mind fall away to hone in on the half-conversations she could hear, she was approached by one of the sparsely-clad barmaids that had the misfortune to come under the employ of Black Sun.

 

"That's sure a nice shiner there honey, didja fall?" she asked rather dumbly. Then without waiting for an answer added, "Can I getcha anything? Something cold maybe for the eye?"

 

Mirdala's faux brown-eyed look of irritation was poisonous enough to cause the poor girl to take a step back.

 

No, you di'kutla woman, she venomously thought behind the glare, but thought it best to not cause a confrontation, lest she loose control of herself and ruin everything. She toned her glare down to "stun", before verbally responding borderline acidly, "You wouldn't happen to have any ne'tra gal in this place, would you?"

 

A blank look from the barmaid, caused Mirdala to shake her head. This woman clearly didn't know enough about her clientele.

 

Taking pity on her, the Mando'ad clarified, "Black Ale."

 

With a quick nod of understanding, she bolted off, glad to be out from under the glare of this strange woman.

 

Poor girl's not going to last long here. Asks too many dumb questions, Mirdala mused to herself as she tuned back in on the conversations around her while she waited for her drink.

 

Based on the snippets of what she'd heard, she gathered the following information. Since the Empire had taken over the planet, things had followed suit in going to hell in a hand-basket, allowing Black Sun to come in in the first place, and they were ruling things in the customary way, with an iron fist.

 

It was quickly becoming apparent to Mirdala that if she was to be successful in her plan, that she would need to call on outside help. Half of her balked at the thought, but her pragmatism and will for survival took over. There were very few in the galaxy that she would trust enough to seek or accept their assistance, she just hoped that she could find them as they were among the galaxy's best at fading away. It had been a necessity as a member of Aryian's elite group.

 

Her own inner processing and dialogue was paused by the return of the waitress with her drink, luckily she had the forethought to simply leave the drink. After scanning it for tampering, she took a drink.

 

Mirdala sat and listened for about an hour nursing her same pint of ale, then, appearing to be mildly irritated at having not been met by her contact, she drained her ale and went up to the bar to pay her bill.

 

She reached for her special credit chit and handed it to the bartender. He cheerfully swiped it and handed it back to her. She nodded her acknowledgment and left the bar, tucking the chit back into her pocket as she headed out the door.

fMZZcER.png

Ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya. - "Train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger."

“A Mandalorian woman's greatest talent is not her charm or beauty, but her strength of body and will.” - Mandalorian proverb

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  • 2 weeks later...

A pair of Mandalorians walked into a bar. There was a common joke Fett had read on the holonet sometime, which went on to poke fun at the ruthless stereotype that surrounded the Mando'ade. But that very stereotype, which was not accurate in the extent to which the joke suggested, ensured that if anyone in a place like this knew it, they also knew better than to tell it in the presence of someone like ShadowFett and Mirdala Ad'Goran.

 

Moon Knight's manner was relaxed, though he kept his buy'ce on, and his hands were empty, his multitude of weapons all in holsters or magnetically sealed to his repulsor pack. He looked like a man here for a buy'ce tal, not a fight, even if he would never look approachable.

 

What a hellhole, he thought. One he'd been here, a fight is what happened, but that was years ago now. He'd cornered a Black Sun agent, who had immediately started shooting up the place as he made a desperate attempt to flee the beroya. Of course, the entire staff had changed since then, so he was comfortably anonymous unless one of the denizens happened to have access to high-level Imperial wartime files. Unlikely, and it wasn't like he was the only Mandalorian in the galaxy with black battlearmor anyway. Still, it seems like every place I go I've at one point shot up. The following time hadn't been much better--he'd been on a plot to con the Empire with the help of the Shi'ido Vash Mammon by eliminating one of their officers and taking her place. The plot had ultimately failed due to the intervention of Vladimir Faust and then-Dark Lady Dominique.

 

Pushing aside his memories, Fett casually strode up to the bar and leaned against it, deciding to let Mirdala place their order.

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((In this case would the punchline have been something akin to "And the second one was so short that she missed it?" ))

 

It took a lot of control for Mirdala to keep her head cool as she entered the reconstructed cantina, this time surrounded by her beskar'gam and more heavily armed. There was still a part of her that was itching for an excuse to fight, but she matched mannerisms with Fett, starting something would not be a good idea.

 

The bartender looked up at the pair, his sense of self-preservation twitching irritably. One of those Mandos he could handle, but two; he eyed some of the drunker patrons, hoping they were smart enough to keep to themselves. Especially since the smaller of the two was clearly female.

 

Then his sarcastic side took over and a side comment about "bring your daughter to work day" flashed through his mind, but wisely he kept the comment to himself.

 

Mirdala waived him over, not wanting to deal with the bubble-headed server from earlier. She could sense the man's unease, and in some small way it satisfied her to see him squirm.

 

"Aitha and a ne'tra gal!" Her accent more pronounced through her oscillator. It hadn't missed her observation that Fett hadn't touched the ale back on the Rangir, which is why she'd ordered the protein drink for him. The an ale wouldn't impair her in the least; she could match Tracyn and on more than one occasion had drunk him under the table.

 

For a moment the bartender hesitated, trying to determine if he would be serving alcohol to a kid or not. Somehow he found his authoritative side in the process.

 

"Not sure kids are allowed in here, let alone that I'm going to serve one, my pardons you sir." He addressed Fett and met eyes with one of the enforcers keeping watch.

 

Mirdala's hand twitched, and she leaned higher on the bar stool her voice dangerous, "Look hard mir'osik," the grip on his wrist was deceptively strong, he swallowed hard. "Does this armor look like it belongs to a child?" A tense moment followed before she released him and sat back down, questioning his survival instincts to his need to show his authority ratio.

 

Her armor, though parts the flame design were clearly recent additions, bore dings, scratches, and scars that told more about her history and the identity that she had forged for herself, than her actual age.

 

The bartender mumbled an apology and poured her the drink that she'd asked for and moved quickly away. The enforcers, sensing that the excitement that they'd been hoping for wasn't going to play out went back to trying to spot the next pocket for potential trouble. It's too bad they were getting bored.

fMZZcER.png

Ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya. - "Train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger."

“A Mandalorian woman's greatest talent is not her charm or beauty, but her strength of body and will.” - Mandalorian proverb

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(( ))

 

ShadowFett kept up his casual manner and allowed himself a smirk under his buy'ce due to the mixup at the bar, glad that it would hide his expression and maintain the natural beskaryc, no-nonsense impression a beskar'gam made. At well under five feet tall and a mask hiding her face, he would be surprised if something like that didn't happen to Mirdala pretty frequently. However, her size could be an advantage in combat if it made her a smaller target or encouraged her opponents to underestimate her. She would just have to be careful in melee--at least until she learned to use a jetii'kad.

 

Presently he accepted the drink that slid across the counter, silently approving of Mirdala's watchfulness. A small straw extended from the bottom of his buy'ce and he took a few sips, appearing totally content to enjoy his drink while actually surveying the bar with 360-degree vision, looking for any potential trouble.

 

Other than a couple of bored enforcers that were probably also di'kutla enough to pick a fight they couldn't win, no one seemed to take particular interest in them. That was just fine for Moon Knight--their mission was complete as soon as they paid the tab and walked away.

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Mirdala drank her drink in silence, ready to be rid of this place once again.

 

When they were both finished, a victorious smirk formed behind Mirdala's buy'ce as she handed over the specially encoded chit to the bartender who quickly processed the transaction, glad to finally be rid of the pair.

 

Mando's brought nothing but trouble most places, as far as he was concerned, and the chance of trouble happening only grew more exponentially in relation to the number of Mando's present at the time.

 

Mirdala was quick to leave, her hasty exit appearing more in relation to the perceived insult of the bartender rather than any known reason for her distaste of the place. She was ready to leave it behind her for as long as she possibly could.

 

The core worlds are nice this time of year, her inner voice joked sardonically as she stepped in to the sunlight of Tatooine.

 

((I'll follow your lead now, not sure where we're headed other than the local Radio Shack. ))

fMZZcER.png

Ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya. - "Train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger."

“A Mandalorian woman's greatest talent is not her charm or beauty, but her strength of body and will.” - Mandalorian proverb

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ShadowFett gave a short nod to the bartender as he turned and followed Mirdala out. He didn't have to squint when he stepped back out into the double-sunlight, yet another benefit to wearing a smart buy'ce--it always kept the viewplate at a reasonable tint to maximize how easily he could see and fight. The saying was true: verd ori'shya beskar'gam. But a good bucket was a luxury Fett would be loathe to give up.

 

Fett addressed Mirdala through their internal comm, which was beautiful because it wasn't audible to anyone around them and the pair appeared totally silent. "I know a beskar'ad dealer around here we should visit." Mand'alor set out down the street, trying to remember exactly where it was. It didn't take him long to find it an enter.

 

He pulled 2277's head out of his satchel and walked up to the dusty front desk, putting the head there. "I need a droid whose body is compatible with this head."

 

The man looked a bit suspiciously at the two Mando'ade and the head. "Are you the legal owner of that head?" he asked.

 

"Does it matter?" Fett answered.

 

"N-no, I suppose not," the man answered. "I've got a protocol droid that could match up, but you'll have to buy the whole thing."

 

"Fine." Moon Knight pulled a credit chit. The cost wasn't important to him--he had been living off the interest of the hunt for Reagan McGregor back when he'd first started at Black Sun. Since then, he'd worked million-plus paying jobs several times in addition to faction wages, and interest had accumulated to the point where his account had over ten million in it. Most beroya or ver'verda would have retired and lived in luxury somewhere. Fett lived for the hunt, and as Moon Knight he was driven by much more than credit sums.

 

A minute later an annoying protocol droid had been transferred to his custody. "Greetings, Master. Might I inquire your name?"

 

"Master will do fine," Fett answered. "I suppose we should take it back to the Rangir for now," he said, switching over the internal comm to Mirdala.

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Mirdala nodded, glad to be heading back to her ship and away from the city.

 

"I've got what equipment you need on board," she said as they walked back to the nest of rocks where her ship lie hidden.

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Ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya. - "Train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger."

“A Mandalorian woman's greatest talent is not her charm or beauty, but her strength of body and will.” - Mandalorian proverb

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  • 2 months later...

His was a face that had not been seen in these parts ”“ or any parts ”“ for a long time. So long, in fact, that his now sudden re-appearance raised nary an eyebrow; the once universally feared Ob Ordeena had seemingly been forgotten. Forgotten! Without so much as a sideways glance thrown in his direction, the Twi'lek gangster made his way through the cantina and found an empty booth towards the back. There, Ordeena sat in wait.

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((Saw your message in the BHN. I haven't played with this character in a while, but it might be fun to resurrect him if you've got something in mind.))

 

A simple call was all it took, and the call had been issued. Adenn stepped into the Mos Eisley Cantina, wary of any Black Sun thugs that might still be hanging around. He still harbored ill feelings toward the "organization" that had greedily stolen his cantina from him. He had been out of the galactic loop for quite some time and wasn't even sure if the criminal faction still controlled what Adenn considered his property. It mattered little now. His wife was no where to be found and he was running out of credits. He needed a job.

 

Adenn looked around the bar, searching for his mark. Most of the patrons were gathered around tables in groups of two or three speaking in the hushed tones that those who frequented cantinas had learned to use. None of them paid him any attention. Perhaps his contact wasn't here yet. He moved forward and sat at the bar, ordering a simple Alderaanian ale and waiting for whoever it was that had summoned him.

AdennGalaarsig42607.jpg

 

Verd ori'shya beskar'gam

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Still unrecognized, Ob Ordeena rose from his perch and began to move throughout the cantina in a manner not unlike a ravenous vulture circling the remains of some unfortunate creature. Ordeena's unfortunate creature was the newly-arrived Adenn Galaar. The Twi'lek gangster, having kept a keen eye on the endless comings and goings of the bustling watering-hole, had spotted Galaar right away ”“ he knew a lost soul when he saw one.

 

"Achuta."

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Adenn took a pull from his drink and turned to face the Twi'lek who had spoken to him. It wasn't uncommon for one to be spoken to in Huttesse on Tatooine, and while Adenn knew enough of the language to get by he was no where near fluent. He hoped that it wouldn't be a problem.

 

"Achuta," he said, returning the greeting. "Ah'chu apenkee an hi chuba da naga?"

 

He felt naked without his beskar'gam, especially in a place such as this. The only weapons he had on him at the moment were a knife and a blaster and if this Twi'lek had it in for him he would hardly be prepared. Adenn's hand slipped casually toward his concealed blade. There was always the chance that it wouldn't be necessary but in the Mos Eisley Cantina it was usually wise to be ready for the worst.

AdennGalaarsig42607.jpg

 

Verd ori'shya beskar'gam

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"Do you not recognize this face?!? Keel-ee calleya ku kah!" Ordeena hissed in response. "This is the face of Ob Ordeena!"

 

Time itself seemed to stop after those last words were uttered. The band even stopped playing! For, while the Twi'lek gangster's face may have long been forgotten, his name still clearly carried tremendous weight in these parts... as all eyes in the cantina were now locked on Ob Ordeena and this Adenn Galaar. After a prolonged pause ”“ no doubt for some dramatic effect ”“ Ordeena finally ended the heavy silence that had befallen the cantina.

 

"Don't go for your weapons, mah bukee. Dolpee kikyuna!"

 

Again, Ordeena paused.

 

"Besides, any number of these fine gents about us would put a blaster-bolt in your head before you'd even get off a shot!"

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"Perhaps," Adenn replied, returning to the more comfortable Basic. He let his hand drift away from the knife and come to rest on the bar, a sign that he meant no harm if the man was who he claimed to be. "Though not a theory I plan on testing, especially in such esteemed company. Have a seat, Mr. Ordeena, and let me buy you a drink."

 

Adenn motioned for the bartender to bring another of whatever the famed bounty hunter had been drinking before he continued.

 

"Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Ordeena. I can only assume that you are the one who issued the call on the Bounty Hunter's Network and I feel safe in also making the assumption that it is for a job, which only leaves two questions: Who and how much? While I may not recognize your face, I am well aware of your impressive skills, which leads me to believe that this mark will be incredibly difficult to capture, or otherwise deal with.

 

So Mr. Ordeena, would you care to enlighten me?"

 

It was a risky play, the kind that the usually reserved Adenn would hardly ever employ. If Ordeena had chosen to issue his call for any other reason than a job then Adenn had made a complete and utter fool of himself in front of the most famed bounty hunter in history. The question in the forefront of his mind was: Why else would someone contact a bounty hunter?

AdennGalaarsig42607.jpg

 

Verd ori'shya beskar'gam

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Careful eyes did watch

the occurrence between those

who conspired there.

 

Deep within a bar

personnel ordered to meet

paid attention then.

 

The altercation

short as it was, highlighted

why they were present.

 

Armed with the knowledge,

they made their reports quickly.

Orders then appeared.

 

Representative

they would soon make their approach

but, first they would wait.

 

Their approach would show

soon after the first hunter

concluded his own.

Slicer.jpgMy sig is my profile...

ship

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  • 1 month later...

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Not always wearing his Stalker Battle Armor, Chorvat had donned his mottled, dusky-green duster before disembarking The Rodian Snout for the Cantina. It was much more comfortable and he wasn't exactly working right now. When he first received his armor, sure, he had worn it nearly all day every day due to the excitement of it, but after a week or so, the mild discomfort, semi-restrictive nature, and light bulk of the suit got to him. Nobody worked 100% of the time anyway, and just like anything else, was a time and a place for everything.

 

Within the Cantina, Chorvat had his hookah with him. The spice of choice today was Giggledust. It had the appearance of fine sand and was relatively cheap in comparison to most other spices out there. Today wasn't a day of celebration anyway. His last bounty had been lost to another hunter. A rather lucrative one it had been at that, and now Chorvat was brooding. Giggledust seemed just the thing to boost his spirits, along with a Tattooine Sunrise... such a potent drink.

 

Reflecting on the recent past, the Rodian swirled the contents of his stone mug around, seeming lost in thought. Come to think of it, his last four bounties had been rather unsuccessful. One had ended in the mark's death, which upon presentation, resulted in only a 10% payout of the original amount. That one aside, the other three had been a complete loss. Complete.

 

He had come to Tattooine in hopes to join up with a couple of slaving ventures. That would at least put some money in his pocket while he analyzed his most recent failures. Slaving was fairly easy money for the Ghestslayer, though bounty hunting was far more lucrative and not to mention the enjoyment of the challenge it presented. Though of late, he had been bested repeatedly.

 

Looking up from his mug, he took another pull from his spice-filled hookah and eyed the dancers on stage. Such shapely creatures. Though they were already attired in the most scandalous of clothing, in his mind, Chorvat let slide what was left, leaving it all in a crumpled pile on the floor. A light, pleasurable moan resonated within his throat as he eased back into his chair, letting the effects of the spice take him as the alcohol of the Tattooine Sunrise relaxed his lean-muscled form.

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With his ship landing once more, Draken walked into a Cantina in Mos Eisley and took a table opposite of a Rodian with a Hookah full of spice and what appeared to be a Tatooine Sunrise. "That will do nothing good for you, if anything it will leave you broke and in withdrawal. On the other hand, I can offer you a permanent job that would put your unique skills to good use."

E nomini patri, et Fili e spiritu sancti.

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Chorvat had a humored look on his face, or at least as far as one could tell considering he was a Rodian. Thanks to the effects of the Giggledust, he was acutely aware of a dark-clad humanoid wearing a crimson silk shirt approaching. The dancers weren't exceptional beauties by any means, this was Tatooine, but they were still shapely and pretty enough, especially to a down on his luck Rodian would-be bounty hunter.

 

The taller being took a seat at his table and began to speak to him. "That will do nothing good for you, if anything it will leave you broke and in withdrawal. On the other hand, I can offer you a permanent job that would put your unique skills to good use." As if on cue, Chorvat turned his black gaze towards the humanoid, lifting the mouthpiece of the hookah to his mouth as he replied in a heavily-accented Basic, "Oh bud it does 'uman. Sharpens d'mind as it eases d'soul."

 

With that, he took another long pull of giggledust, chuckling throatily before exhaling a small cloud up into the air. Truthfully, Chorvat was contemplating the man's offer. A permanent job. With his recent... well... failures... a steady paycheck could definitely be a good thing. Lifting his Tatooine Sunrise up to his maw, the Ghestslayer inquired, 'Wha' dis dis offer you speak of 'uman?'

 

Sipping from his stone mug, Chorvat didn't dare down too much at one time. His tolerance for alcohol wasn't as high as it should be for the drink he had before him... but he wanted to get wasted fast so... He kept his attentions focused on the humanoid. There was an Askajian on stage anyway. Such a fat, bloated, ugly race. How they were found attractive to anyone was beyond the Rodian's comprehension.

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"It has its perks and its downfalls. But this offer is better discussed when you are not under the influence of spice and alcohol. When you sober up, you can reach me at this comm." With those words, Draken removed a five hundred Imperial credit chip and tossed it on the table. Then he inclined his head slightly and turned to leave. But as he left he reached out with the force and blocked all hoses coming out of the hookah with a slight gesture.

 

All that was left to do was wait, the credit would do enough to peak the former bounty hunter's interest, especially with the way he had tossed it on the table like it was pocket change for him.

E nomini patri, et Fili e spiritu sancti.

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