Things were not going as planned. That was not uncommon on the Edge of the Empire. This situation however was worse than normal.
Now the ragtag band that inhabited the Star Whisperer was on the run. The pilot was a Sullustan named Breemy Visz. She had foregone typical societal norms by not forming a new warren-clan when she came of age. This was unusual for a female Sullustan. Blaster fire lit up the cockpit screen all around them and the Starlight-class ship shook with each blast.
The co-pilot was another Sullustan named Proiah Pron. Breemy decided to join Proiah when he decided to leave Sullust to explore space. Breemy had surprised Proiah when she sold off all her belongings and managed to put a large down payment on a ship. The pair were off to explore starting with some basic transport jobs. Soon the darker side of the Outer Rim entered the picture.
Low on cash and supplies, the pair were hired by Orron Baize on the mining planet Ryloth. He paid good money to take his team to Tatooine, with no questions asked. Once there is where things went sideways, as they are wont to do.
Orron Baize was an aging bounty hunter and he had a target hiding out in a remote area outside of Mos Taike. This was to be his final big score. Baize did not want to take his own vessel as it would tip off his bounty. The task was to round up, none other than Malan Thule, a gangster renowned throughout various parts of the Outer Rim. Breemy and Proiah did not know the extent of just what they were getting themselves into.
Baize brought several gunfighters and techs with him, including his third in command, Den Nasi. Nasi had been recruited from the unsanctioned combat circles on Rodia. Baize saw something he liked in the man beyond his fighting ability.
Unfortunately, Orron Baize ended up being a bit too overconfident. His contacts on Tatooine did not inform him how connected Malan Thule was on the desert planet. Either that or they had been bought off. Because while they thought they had laid a trap for their quarry, the tables were turned. Baize and his team walked into an unexpected turn of events.
There were more people after Thule than just Baize and his men. A rival bounty hunter gang known as the Sun Strikers were also out to collect the sizable sum on Thule’s head. The Strikers arrived on the scene just a few moments before the trap for Thule was about to be sprung. What resulted was a running three-way battle, with Baize, Nasi and their men quickly on the defensive and it appeared that Malan Thule must have been tipped off as his own forces were far too prepared. With the Strikers hitting them unexpectedly, there was no chance to complete the mission. Now it was just a matter of survival.
The initial blaster exchange saw both of Baize’s scouts struck down. As the battle raged it was clear they were out-numbered. Ordering a retreat, the group headed back to the waiting Star Whisperer. Unfortunately for Baize, the speeder he was on was hit by an ion cannon which brought it to a halt and followed up by a thermal grenade that was fatal for all aboard. The remaining crew were unable to spend time mourning as they were under fire as well. Arriving at the Star Whisperer, they quickly boarded, with Nasi yelling to the pilots to get them airborne. This was not to be the end of this snafu.
Initial Intro (Prelude to Adventure)
Moderator: GM Fang
Re: Initial Intro (Prelude to Adventure)
As the Star Whisperer took flight, the sound of blasters and exploding grenades rang through the interior of the light freighter. Warning lights were going off all over the cockpit. One of the sublight engines had been hit and other systems were screaming their unhappiness at the attacks. Breemy managed to get the ship airborne and it limped away from the Mospic High Range and circled around toward the Xelric Draw and the relative safety of Mos Espa.
Pron tried his best to help Breemy navigate through the mountain ranges, as she flew low to try and utilize whatever cover they could. Just about the time they thought they might be out of the proverbial woods, the sensors lit up with the danger of a rapidly closing ship. Moments later the blaster fire rang out. The little freighter shuddered with each hit.
The YT-2400 that chased them took out the single turret gun and the gunner as it rained down fire from far more locations than a typical 2400 class had. Finally an Ion burst connected and the Star Whisperer lost its engines completely. Breemy and Proiah tried desperately to control the ship as it fell out of the sky, skittering along the harsh rock ground of Tatooine. The first impact was hard, then three skips along the rocks and ending with an even more intense crash into a rock spire. Everything was quiet for a moment as the dust settled and the remaining passengers and pilots took stock of the situation. Pron saw that Breemy was injured and unconscious as her side of the cockpit had roughly contacted the rocky outcropping.
Meanwhile Nasi checked on the remaining men Baize had brought along. They were down to 5. The gunner was dead and two others who were not secured for the flight had lost their lives on the impact. The lights had gone out and only the eerie orange glow of emergency lights barely illuminated the surroundings, as damaged systems sparked and hissed around them.
Everyone rushed to the remaining speeders. If the YT-2400 was going to be making another pass they were sitting womp rats in the ship. They needed to find some cover in the twisting canyons. As the survivors sought to grab whatever necessities that they could and load them onto the two speeders, the 2400 appeared in the sky coming over the ridge. Scattering did not seem to help as the blaster shots downed several more men and one of the speeders exploded in a blast of shrapnel.
Amidst the smoke, explosions and falling debris, Pron and Nasi looked around and saw that only they were still standing. Bodies and speeder debris littered the area. Breemy was still on the ship, strapped to a transport board. The YT-2400 was swinging around for another deadly pass. Nasi jumped onto the speeder and waved for Pron to follow. They barely avoided the chasing fire as the speeder raced toward a narrow pass in the canyon wall. They managed to reach safety just as the rocks behind them collapsed from the heavy blasters.
The speeder stopped for a moment in the narrow causeway. They weren’t easily going back out that way without exposing themselves to more gunfire. Nasi gave the Sullustan a questioning look. Pron looked back toward the ship and his Breemy. His view was blocked by the fallen rocks. Despite what his heart was crying out to him: to be a hero, to rescue this woman; he made a fateful decision. Turning away and without looking directly at Nasi, the Sullustan said one simple word, “Go.”
Pron tried his best to help Breemy navigate through the mountain ranges, as she flew low to try and utilize whatever cover they could. Just about the time they thought they might be out of the proverbial woods, the sensors lit up with the danger of a rapidly closing ship. Moments later the blaster fire rang out. The little freighter shuddered with each hit.
The YT-2400 that chased them took out the single turret gun and the gunner as it rained down fire from far more locations than a typical 2400 class had. Finally an Ion burst connected and the Star Whisperer lost its engines completely. Breemy and Proiah tried desperately to control the ship as it fell out of the sky, skittering along the harsh rock ground of Tatooine. The first impact was hard, then three skips along the rocks and ending with an even more intense crash into a rock spire. Everything was quiet for a moment as the dust settled and the remaining passengers and pilots took stock of the situation. Pron saw that Breemy was injured and unconscious as her side of the cockpit had roughly contacted the rocky outcropping.
Meanwhile Nasi checked on the remaining men Baize had brought along. They were down to 5. The gunner was dead and two others who were not secured for the flight had lost their lives on the impact. The lights had gone out and only the eerie orange glow of emergency lights barely illuminated the surroundings, as damaged systems sparked and hissed around them.
Everyone rushed to the remaining speeders. If the YT-2400 was going to be making another pass they were sitting womp rats in the ship. They needed to find some cover in the twisting canyons. As the survivors sought to grab whatever necessities that they could and load them onto the two speeders, the 2400 appeared in the sky coming over the ridge. Scattering did not seem to help as the blaster shots downed several more men and one of the speeders exploded in a blast of shrapnel.
Amidst the smoke, explosions and falling debris, Pron and Nasi looked around and saw that only they were still standing. Bodies and speeder debris littered the area. Breemy was still on the ship, strapped to a transport board. The YT-2400 was swinging around for another deadly pass. Nasi jumped onto the speeder and waved for Pron to follow. They barely avoided the chasing fire as the speeder raced toward a narrow pass in the canyon wall. They managed to reach safety just as the rocks behind them collapsed from the heavy blasters.
The speeder stopped for a moment in the narrow causeway. They weren’t easily going back out that way without exposing themselves to more gunfire. Nasi gave the Sullustan a questioning look. Pron looked back toward the ship and his Breemy. His view was blocked by the fallen rocks. Despite what his heart was crying out to him: to be a hero, to rescue this woman; he made a fateful decision. Turning away and without looking directly at Nasi, the Sullustan said one simple word, “Go.”
Re: Initial Intro (Prelude to Adventure)
Mendesh Primm never asked Dirk why he ran away. He could also never answer why he didn’t turn Dirk in. Now he was gone. He wasn’t answering the commlink and he had been away planetside far too long. “Spanner” as he was known, paid for his keep but it seemed like the risk was getting too high now. People where they shouldn’t be. Asking questions. People Mendesh didn’t know. It looked to his experienced eye as though some issue had caught up with the young fellow. Mendesh Primm had worked all these years without drawing too much attention and too many problems. He decided that it might be time to get off Tatooine, which meant leaving his most recent new crewmember behind. That turned out to be a bigger problem that he would have guessed.
The young man known as “Spanner” decided it was time to quickly dust off The Plan. Aqualish hanging around was never a good sign. They were generally just hired muscle and not very sneaky. It usually meant that trouble was nearby.
Mos Espa was known for its domed buildings and bustling marketplace. If one knew where to look and whom to ask, you could find almost anything. It was also known for podracing and gambling. Spacers and fringers liked to gamble and Spanner needed to find a new ship to join up with. That was where it was going to get tricky.
Riding with Mendesh had taken him to Mos Shuuta many times and a few stops in Mos Eisley even. Mos Espa was relatively unknown to him except through stories. He would have to be on the lookout for a potential crew as well as keep ahead of the eyes that were following him.
A few select questions around the central marketplace indicated that Mos Espa had a fair number of casinos and gambling halls. Spanner knew that the most likely potential crew was probably found through one of the worst locations. A particular standout among these was known only as ‘The Black Hole’.
Arriving at the location indicated, Spanner saw a shady looking individual in a hooded cloak. A Hutt symbol is carved into the wall and X’d out with red markings. Looking around he saw q pair of Aqualish thugs across the street being a little too obvious, he determined. Looking inside, the place was dim and somewhat crowded. A band of assorted species played various tunes. Spanner wasn’t ready to just stroll in, he was going to wait and see if there was a reasonable crew of spacers to approach first.
Several groups and individuals came and went as Spanner watched and waited. Then a pair of well-armed, dusty individuals, a human and a Sullustan, arrived in a damaged and shot-up speeder and entered the Black Hole. Despite the condition of their ride, they looked less shady than many of the patrons. Spanner would try his best to eavesdrop from outside the cantina and wait for his best opportunity.
The young man known as “Spanner” decided it was time to quickly dust off The Plan. Aqualish hanging around was never a good sign. They were generally just hired muscle and not very sneaky. It usually meant that trouble was nearby.
Mos Espa was known for its domed buildings and bustling marketplace. If one knew where to look and whom to ask, you could find almost anything. It was also known for podracing and gambling. Spacers and fringers liked to gamble and Spanner needed to find a new ship to join up with. That was where it was going to get tricky.
Riding with Mendesh had taken him to Mos Shuuta many times and a few stops in Mos Eisley even. Mos Espa was relatively unknown to him except through stories. He would have to be on the lookout for a potential crew as well as keep ahead of the eyes that were following him.
A few select questions around the central marketplace indicated that Mos Espa had a fair number of casinos and gambling halls. Spanner knew that the most likely potential crew was probably found through one of the worst locations. A particular standout among these was known only as ‘The Black Hole’.
Arriving at the location indicated, Spanner saw a shady looking individual in a hooded cloak. A Hutt symbol is carved into the wall and X’d out with red markings. Looking around he saw q pair of Aqualish thugs across the street being a little too obvious, he determined. Looking inside, the place was dim and somewhat crowded. A band of assorted species played various tunes. Spanner wasn’t ready to just stroll in, he was going to wait and see if there was a reasonable crew of spacers to approach first.
- Black Hole.png (171.12 KiB) Viewed 119 times
Several groups and individuals came and went as Spanner watched and waited. Then a pair of well-armed, dusty individuals, a human and a Sullustan, arrived in a damaged and shot-up speeder and entered the Black Hole. Despite the condition of their ride, they looked less shady than many of the patrons. Spanner would try his best to eavesdrop from outside the cantina and wait for his best opportunity.
Re: Initial Intro (Prelude to Adventure)
Sitting in a shrouded back corner of the Black Hole was a humanoid in a hooded, long cloak which obscured its features. No one had seen it get up or move from the darkened spot for the past several hours. It was standard height and built likely to be a male, but it was difficult to clearly see the individual’s face. There was a bright blue glow of eyes emanating from the hooded confines. So clearly it was not a Jawa. Not even a super-sized one. Jawas on Tatooine tended to a yellowish glow from their eyes.
The creature's gaze was intense and piercing, as if it could bore through the dense, smoke-filled air of the bar, and the patina of secrets and desperation that coated every surface like a second skin.
As the hours ticked by, the murmur of conversation grew louder, the clank of metal on metal more insistent, the smell of alien spices and the tang of blaster fire outside more potent. Yet the humanoid remained still, a silent sentinel amidst the chaos of the Black Hole. Its hand, wrapped in a synthetic-leather glove, rested on the tabletop, unmoving save for the occasional twitch of the fingertips.
Surprisingly everyone had left the humanoid in the corner alone. Either he was a regular here or somehow intimidating enough to avoid interactions with even the more drunk patrons. A glass of blue liquid sat before the individual but it hadn’t been touched for some time. A passersby stops to stare and the humanoid’s eyes lock onto the creature. After a moment, the sound of a blaster's safety being released encourages the creature to keep moving. Then the glowing eyes suddenly were no longer there. He remained motionless, the only hint of his presence was the faint metallic whirring that emanated from within his cloak.
At one point, someone seated in a nearby booth seemed sure they heard a mechanically modulated voice say, “Since p and q both are even numbers, they have 2 as a common multiple which means that p and q are not co-prime numbers as their highest common factor is 2.” A few moments later the humanoid’s eyes flared to life as he loudly stated “"Two suns. One planet. The math insists it should not be… and yet, it is."”
Some people gave the individual a strange look, others glanced and shook their heads, while still more ignored the outburst entirely. The humanoid remained in the corner, now silent, its drink still untouched. It simply was watching. And waiting.
- flar3.jpg (5.48 KiB) Viewed 112 times
As the hours ticked by, the murmur of conversation grew louder, the clank of metal on metal more insistent, the smell of alien spices and the tang of blaster fire outside more potent. Yet the humanoid remained still, a silent sentinel amidst the chaos of the Black Hole. Its hand, wrapped in a synthetic-leather glove, rested on the tabletop, unmoving save for the occasional twitch of the fingertips.
Surprisingly everyone had left the humanoid in the corner alone. Either he was a regular here or somehow intimidating enough to avoid interactions with even the more drunk patrons. A glass of blue liquid sat before the individual but it hadn’t been touched for some time. A passersby stops to stare and the humanoid’s eyes lock onto the creature. After a moment, the sound of a blaster's safety being released encourages the creature to keep moving. Then the glowing eyes suddenly were no longer there. He remained motionless, the only hint of his presence was the faint metallic whirring that emanated from within his cloak.
At one point, someone seated in a nearby booth seemed sure they heard a mechanically modulated voice say, “Since p and q both are even numbers, they have 2 as a common multiple which means that p and q are not co-prime numbers as their highest common factor is 2.” A few moments later the humanoid’s eyes flared to life as he loudly stated “"Two suns. One planet. The math insists it should not be… and yet, it is."”
Some people gave the individual a strange look, others glanced and shook their heads, while still more ignored the outburst entirely. The humanoid remained in the corner, now silent, its drink still untouched. It simply was watching. And waiting.
Re: Initial Intro (Prelude to Adventure)
Kilian Asteeds wiped the dust off his goggles, squinting against the relentless glare of the Tatooine suns. "This is the last place I ever thought I'd end up," he muttered to himself, his voice a gravelly echo.
The crowd bustled around him, a sea of alien faces and mechanical limbs jostling for space in the narrow streets of Mos Espa. The air smelled faintly of roasting meat and the acrid scent of engine grease. The clatter of podracers' engines in the distance was the heartbeat of the city, a rhythm that never ceased. A young Twi'lek dancer caught his eye as she pirouetted with a tray of drinks balanced on her head, her lekku trailing behind her like a pair of shimmering ribbons. He watched as she weaved through the throng, serving patrons outside the dimly lit cantina.
Kilian adjusted his worn blaster holster and straightened his posture, trying to look as if he belonged. The truth was, he felt like a fish out of water. Mos Eisley had been a familiar haunt back in his early smuggling days, but Mos Espa was a different beast entirely. Here, the scum of the galaxy had a tendency to be more... ambitious. It was a place where dreams went to die or, if you were lucky, to be reborn in a blaze of podracing glory.
He walked down the main thoroughfare, the cobbled stones hot under his boots. The buildings around him were a mix of ancient stone structures and ramshackle metal huts slapped together with the kind of haste that suggested their owners hadn't planned on staying long. The market stalls offered everything from rare spices to stolen droids, their owners shouting in a cacophony of languages that was music to his ears. It was chaos, but it was a chaos he could navigate.
Mos Espa was notorious for its podracing, and the evidence was everywhere. Posters of famous racers plastered the walls, their podracers streaking through the air in a blur of color. The sound of roaring engines grew louder as he approached the grand arena, a colossal structure that loomed over the city like a metallic colosseum. The smell of burning fuel grew stronger, and he could feel the vibrations of the engines in his chest. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, desolate stretches of Ryloth where he'd learned to fly.
Kilian's thoughts were interrupted by a gruff voice. "Looking for work?" A Rodian with a scar running down the side of his face leered at him from behind a stall filled with questionable-looking parts.
"Maybe," Kilian replied cautiously, his hand hovering near his blaster. He'd learned that in places like this, it paid to be wary of unsolicited offers.
The Rodian's leer grew wider, revealing a row of pointed teeth. "You got the look of someone who's not afraid to get their hands dirty."
Kilian nodded, his eyes scanning the stall's contents. "What's the deal?"
The Rodian leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The Black Hole Cantina, down the street. They say it's the best place to find work that pays well around here. But it's not for the faint-hearted," he warned, his suction-tipped fingers tapping a gizmo that looked suspiciously like a dismantled lightsaber hilt. "They deal with some real hotshot pilots and smugglers there. Word is, they're always looking for fresh faces to run their... more risky operations."
Intrigued despite the caution, Kilian thanked the Rodian and continued his trek. The Black Hole Cantina, huh? It had a reputation that was as dark as its name. But desperation was a powerful motivator, and with the debt to the client from Ryloth weighing heavily on his mind, he was willing to take the risk. He had to find a way to get back in the game, to clear his name and maybe, just maybe, get his own ship back.
The cantina's entrance was a stark contrast to the dazzling lights and vibrant sounds outside. It was a simple, nondescript doorway, almost hidden in the shadow of a towering podracer billboard. He noticed a pair of Aqualish thugs trying to be inconspicuous and across the way a mid-teen youth, who seemed to be watching him a little too closely. The air grew thick with anticipation as he stepped in, revealing a dimly lit, smoke-filled room. The patrons were a motley crew of species, all with the same look in their eyes – a blend of desperation and hope. It was the kind of place where deals were made in whispers, and reputations were bought and sold with a handshake and a blaster. Fights happened, people died, it was all normal for a night in the Black Hole cantina.
Kilian stepped inside. The noise of the city faded, replaced by the murmur of hushed conversations and the clinking of glasses. He scanned the room, it was full of a variety of races– pilots, mechanics, and bounty hunters, he guessed. The bar was a long, sleek counter that gleamed under the flickering lights. A Weequay bartender with a tusked smile nodded at him when Kilian finally got his attention.
The stares grew heavier as he approached. It was clear that new faces weren't common here. He took a seat at the bar, the worn leather of the stool sticking to his pants. The Weequay slid him a drink without asking, a gesture of either welcome or challenge. He took a sip, the liquid burning a path down his throat. It was a local brew, something strong and potent that tasted faintly of the desert's spices.
A Twi'lek woman with a serene gaze and a blaster at her hip sat a few seats down, watching him with curiosity. She was flanked by two humans, their faces etched with the lines of a thousand battles. One was clean-shaven, the other sported a scruffy beard. Both looked like they'd seen more than their share of the galaxy's darker corners. They were the kind of people he needed to talk to, the kind that could get him back in the game.
But first, the hooded figure. It was impossible to ignore the aura of menace that surrounded the individual. The crowd parted around it like water around a boulder in a river. The glowing blue eyes peered out from the shadows, unblinking and piercing.
Kilian felt the weight of their gaze, and he met it with a cool stare. He knew better than to let his guard down in a place like this. The figure was a puzzle, but he had more immediate concerns. He had to find someone who knew the ins and outs of the smuggling world on Tatooine, someone who could help him find work that was worth the risk.
The human and Sullustan duo that entered caught his eye. They looked like they'd seen more than their fair share of trouble, and their weapons didn't lie about their line of work. They surveyed the room, their eyes scanning the same way his had, looking for opportunities or threats. They didn't acknowledge the hooded figure, which told him they were either new to the game or had the smarts to keep their distance from potential trouble.
The human looked around and made his way in carefully, the Sullustan trailing slightly behind. The human was tall, with a weathered face. He had a confident swagger that didn't quite hide the wariness in his eyes.
The new strangers came in and took a seat at an open booth. They kept to themselves and did not speak, except among themselves in hushed tones. The mood in the place grew a bit more tense what with three strangers now invading the sanctity of the Black Hole.
Den Nasi was the human, tall, with a scar that traced from his right cheek to the corner of his mouth, giving him a permanent smirk. Proiah Pron, the Sullustan, was shorter and stockier, his wide eyes scanning the room from under thick brows. They were both clad in dust-stained clothes, which suggested they'd just come off a long journey. And they were each well-armed which indicated that they were not average Mos Espans.
Kilian observed them as they took a seat, the human's gaze sweeping the cantina like a blaster bolt seeking a target, the Sullustan's eyes more furtive, darting around as if he were searching for something specific. The duo didn't order anything from the menu droid that hovered over them, they simply sat and waited, their silence a wall that the other patrons so far had not breached.
The whispers grew louder, the air thick with speculation. Who were these new fringers? What kind of work were they here for? The tension in the room was palpable, a coiled spring ready to snap at the slightest provocation. The Twi'lek woman at the bar turned to face him fully, her curiosity piqued by the sudden influx of newcomers. She leaned in closer, her voice a soft purr that seemed to cut through the din.
"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked, her lekku twitching slightly.
Kilian took another sip of his drink before answering. "Just passing through. Looking for a job."
Den Nasi's smirk grew a fraction wider as he leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving the newcomer. Proiah's gaze, on the other hand, remained fixed on the door, as if expecting something or someone to appear at any moment. They hadn't spoken a word to anyone since they'd entered, their silence as loud as the podracer engines outside.
The Twi'lek woman's lekku danced in a curious wave. "Name's Shara. I've got my ear to the ground here. Maybe I can help you find what you're looking for," she offered, her voice a melodic whisper.
Kilian considered her proposal for a moment, then nodded. "Kilian Asteeds," he said, extending his hand. "I've had a bit of bad luck with my last job. Lost some cargo."
Shara's eyes widened slightly, and she leaned back. "The Black Sun's job?" she whispered.
Kilian nodded once, his jaw clenched. "The very same."
The whispers grew into a murmur, the name "Black Sun" acting like a password that only the initiated dared to speak. The hooded figure in the corner shifted, and the blue eyes peered at him with renewed interest. The room felt like it was shrinking, the weight of everyone's gazes pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. He'd always had a knack for attracting trouble, but this was something else entirely.
Shara leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "You've got guts, coming in here and talking about that job. The woman over there, in the corner," she said, nodding discreetly, "she's the one you want to talk to. Name's Tara Nightshade. She's dangerous, but she owes me a favor."
Kilian's eyes followed her gesture to the corner where a woman sat, her presence as unmistakable as the hum of a lightsaber. Tara Nightshade was a study in contradictions – the softness of her features at odds with the harshness of her scar, which ran from just under one eye, across the bridge of her nose and down her other cheek. Her attire was a blend of practical armor and flowing fabrics that suggested she knew how to move in a fight. Her eyes were a piercing green, like the glow of a lightsaber in the dark, and they met his gaze even across the crowded room.
The scar didn't just make her look tough, it told a story of survival, of battles won and enemies defeated. It was the kind of story he could relate to, having lived through his share of scrapes. Her helmet rested on the table before her, revealing a face that was at once fierce and alluring. The ringlets of dark hair framing her face swayed slightly as if dancing to the unheard rhythm of the cantina's whispers.
With a nod to Shara, he made his way through the crowd, his eyes never leaving Tara Nightshade. The patrons parted for him as if sensing the gravity of his approach. The murmurs grew quieter as he approached, until the only sound was the clank of his boots on the metal floor. She watched him come, her gaze as sharp as a vibroknife.
Just then the front of the cantina erupted in a thunderous boom. Smoke rose up as the pourstone walls erupted inward and smoke and dust filled the air. Everyone had their weapons out in a flash.
The crowd bustled around him, a sea of alien faces and mechanical limbs jostling for space in the narrow streets of Mos Espa. The air smelled faintly of roasting meat and the acrid scent of engine grease. The clatter of podracers' engines in the distance was the heartbeat of the city, a rhythm that never ceased. A young Twi'lek dancer caught his eye as she pirouetted with a tray of drinks balanced on her head, her lekku trailing behind her like a pair of shimmering ribbons. He watched as she weaved through the throng, serving patrons outside the dimly lit cantina.
Kilian adjusted his worn blaster holster and straightened his posture, trying to look as if he belonged. The truth was, he felt like a fish out of water. Mos Eisley had been a familiar haunt back in his early smuggling days, but Mos Espa was a different beast entirely. Here, the scum of the galaxy had a tendency to be more... ambitious. It was a place where dreams went to die or, if you were lucky, to be reborn in a blaze of podracing glory.
He walked down the main thoroughfare, the cobbled stones hot under his boots. The buildings around him were a mix of ancient stone structures and ramshackle metal huts slapped together with the kind of haste that suggested their owners hadn't planned on staying long. The market stalls offered everything from rare spices to stolen droids, their owners shouting in a cacophony of languages that was music to his ears. It was chaos, but it was a chaos he could navigate.
Mos Espa was notorious for its podracing, and the evidence was everywhere. Posters of famous racers plastered the walls, their podracers streaking through the air in a blur of color. The sound of roaring engines grew louder as he approached the grand arena, a colossal structure that loomed over the city like a metallic colosseum. The smell of burning fuel grew stronger, and he could feel the vibrations of the engines in his chest. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, desolate stretches of Ryloth where he'd learned to fly.
Kilian's thoughts were interrupted by a gruff voice. "Looking for work?" A Rodian with a scar running down the side of his face leered at him from behind a stall filled with questionable-looking parts.
"Maybe," Kilian replied cautiously, his hand hovering near his blaster. He'd learned that in places like this, it paid to be wary of unsolicited offers.
The Rodian's leer grew wider, revealing a row of pointed teeth. "You got the look of someone who's not afraid to get their hands dirty."
Kilian nodded, his eyes scanning the stall's contents. "What's the deal?"
The Rodian leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The Black Hole Cantina, down the street. They say it's the best place to find work that pays well around here. But it's not for the faint-hearted," he warned, his suction-tipped fingers tapping a gizmo that looked suspiciously like a dismantled lightsaber hilt. "They deal with some real hotshot pilots and smugglers there. Word is, they're always looking for fresh faces to run their... more risky operations."
Intrigued despite the caution, Kilian thanked the Rodian and continued his trek. The Black Hole Cantina, huh? It had a reputation that was as dark as its name. But desperation was a powerful motivator, and with the debt to the client from Ryloth weighing heavily on his mind, he was willing to take the risk. He had to find a way to get back in the game, to clear his name and maybe, just maybe, get his own ship back.
The cantina's entrance was a stark contrast to the dazzling lights and vibrant sounds outside. It was a simple, nondescript doorway, almost hidden in the shadow of a towering podracer billboard. He noticed a pair of Aqualish thugs trying to be inconspicuous and across the way a mid-teen youth, who seemed to be watching him a little too closely. The air grew thick with anticipation as he stepped in, revealing a dimly lit, smoke-filled room. The patrons were a motley crew of species, all with the same look in their eyes – a blend of desperation and hope. It was the kind of place where deals were made in whispers, and reputations were bought and sold with a handshake and a blaster. Fights happened, people died, it was all normal for a night in the Black Hole cantina.
Kilian stepped inside. The noise of the city faded, replaced by the murmur of hushed conversations and the clinking of glasses. He scanned the room, it was full of a variety of races– pilots, mechanics, and bounty hunters, he guessed. The bar was a long, sleek counter that gleamed under the flickering lights. A Weequay bartender with a tusked smile nodded at him when Kilian finally got his attention.
The stares grew heavier as he approached. It was clear that new faces weren't common here. He took a seat at the bar, the worn leather of the stool sticking to his pants. The Weequay slid him a drink without asking, a gesture of either welcome or challenge. He took a sip, the liquid burning a path down his throat. It was a local brew, something strong and potent that tasted faintly of the desert's spices.
A Twi'lek woman with a serene gaze and a blaster at her hip sat a few seats down, watching him with curiosity. She was flanked by two humans, their faces etched with the lines of a thousand battles. One was clean-shaven, the other sported a scruffy beard. Both looked like they'd seen more than their share of the galaxy's darker corners. They were the kind of people he needed to talk to, the kind that could get him back in the game.
But first, the hooded figure. It was impossible to ignore the aura of menace that surrounded the individual. The crowd parted around it like water around a boulder in a river. The glowing blue eyes peered out from the shadows, unblinking and piercing.
Kilian felt the weight of their gaze, and he met it with a cool stare. He knew better than to let his guard down in a place like this. The figure was a puzzle, but he had more immediate concerns. He had to find someone who knew the ins and outs of the smuggling world on Tatooine, someone who could help him find work that was worth the risk.
The human and Sullustan duo that entered caught his eye. They looked like they'd seen more than their fair share of trouble, and their weapons didn't lie about their line of work. They surveyed the room, their eyes scanning the same way his had, looking for opportunities or threats. They didn't acknowledge the hooded figure, which told him they were either new to the game or had the smarts to keep their distance from potential trouble.
The human looked around and made his way in carefully, the Sullustan trailing slightly behind. The human was tall, with a weathered face. He had a confident swagger that didn't quite hide the wariness in his eyes.
The new strangers came in and took a seat at an open booth. They kept to themselves and did not speak, except among themselves in hushed tones. The mood in the place grew a bit more tense what with three strangers now invading the sanctity of the Black Hole.
Den Nasi was the human, tall, with a scar that traced from his right cheek to the corner of his mouth, giving him a permanent smirk. Proiah Pron, the Sullustan, was shorter and stockier, his wide eyes scanning the room from under thick brows. They were both clad in dust-stained clothes, which suggested they'd just come off a long journey. And they were each well-armed which indicated that they were not average Mos Espans.
Kilian observed them as they took a seat, the human's gaze sweeping the cantina like a blaster bolt seeking a target, the Sullustan's eyes more furtive, darting around as if he were searching for something specific. The duo didn't order anything from the menu droid that hovered over them, they simply sat and waited, their silence a wall that the other patrons so far had not breached.
The whispers grew louder, the air thick with speculation. Who were these new fringers? What kind of work were they here for? The tension in the room was palpable, a coiled spring ready to snap at the slightest provocation. The Twi'lek woman at the bar turned to face him fully, her curiosity piqued by the sudden influx of newcomers. She leaned in closer, her voice a soft purr that seemed to cut through the din.
"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked, her lekku twitching slightly.
Kilian took another sip of his drink before answering. "Just passing through. Looking for a job."
Den Nasi's smirk grew a fraction wider as he leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving the newcomer. Proiah's gaze, on the other hand, remained fixed on the door, as if expecting something or someone to appear at any moment. They hadn't spoken a word to anyone since they'd entered, their silence as loud as the podracer engines outside.
The Twi'lek woman's lekku danced in a curious wave. "Name's Shara. I've got my ear to the ground here. Maybe I can help you find what you're looking for," she offered, her voice a melodic whisper.
Kilian considered her proposal for a moment, then nodded. "Kilian Asteeds," he said, extending his hand. "I've had a bit of bad luck with my last job. Lost some cargo."
Shara's eyes widened slightly, and she leaned back. "The Black Sun's job?" she whispered.
Kilian nodded once, his jaw clenched. "The very same."
The whispers grew into a murmur, the name "Black Sun" acting like a password that only the initiated dared to speak. The hooded figure in the corner shifted, and the blue eyes peered at him with renewed interest. The room felt like it was shrinking, the weight of everyone's gazes pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. He'd always had a knack for attracting trouble, but this was something else entirely.
Shara leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "You've got guts, coming in here and talking about that job. The woman over there, in the corner," she said, nodding discreetly, "she's the one you want to talk to. Name's Tara Nightshade. She's dangerous, but she owes me a favor."
Kilian's eyes followed her gesture to the corner where a woman sat, her presence as unmistakable as the hum of a lightsaber. Tara Nightshade was a study in contradictions – the softness of her features at odds with the harshness of her scar, which ran from just under one eye, across the bridge of her nose and down her other cheek. Her attire was a blend of practical armor and flowing fabrics that suggested she knew how to move in a fight. Her eyes were a piercing green, like the glow of a lightsaber in the dark, and they met his gaze even across the crowded room.
The scar didn't just make her look tough, it told a story of survival, of battles won and enemies defeated. It was the kind of story he could relate to, having lived through his share of scrapes. Her helmet rested on the table before her, revealing a face that was at once fierce and alluring. The ringlets of dark hair framing her face swayed slightly as if dancing to the unheard rhythm of the cantina's whispers.
With a nod to Shara, he made his way through the crowd, his eyes never leaving Tara Nightshade. The patrons parted for him as if sensing the gravity of his approach. The murmurs grew quieter as he approached, until the only sound was the clank of his boots on the metal floor. She watched him come, her gaze as sharp as a vibroknife.
Just then the front of the cantina erupted in a thunderous boom. Smoke rose up as the pourstone walls erupted inward and smoke and dust filled the air. Everyone had their weapons out in a flash.
Re: Initial Intro (Prelude to Adventure)
Garet, a pint-sized Drall, bustled through the dusty streets of Mos Espa, his wide eyes darting from side to side like those of a desert creature spotting potential threats. His furry skin was the color of sun-baked earth, and his pointed ears twitched with the excitement of the latest rumor he'd picked up from the cantina's patrons. The three-mooned sky of Tatooine cast a soft glow over the city, but Garet didn't need much light to navigate the familiar alleyways. His nimble fingers danced over his datapad, cataloging the day's gossip with the fervor of a historian preserving ancient texts.
Having heard whispers of a lucrative opportunity, he found himself outside the imposing doors of Madon Ani's compound. Madon Ani was a Chevin slaver known for his brutal tactics and even more notorious temper.
The compound was surrounded by a high metal fence, the kind that hummed faintly with the electricity coursing through it. The air was thick with the scent of fear and desperation that clung to the sweaty, unwashed forms of those unfortunate enough to be caught in his clutches. Garet's stomach churned at the thought of the horrors that took place within, but the allure of the secrets he might discover was too strong to resist. He took a deep breath and approached the entrance, his heart racing like the podracers that often zoomed around the city.
A burly Gamorrean guard eyed him suspiciously as he neared. Garet held up his datapad, flashing a smile full of blunt teeth. "Message for Madon Ani," he squeaked, trying to sound more confident than he felt. The guard grunted and took the device, his tiny eyes squinting to read the glowing Aurebesh script. The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity, as the brute considered the words on the screen.
Finally, the Gamorrean bellowed something unintelligible and gestured for Garet to enter. He swallowed hard and slipped through the gates, his heart hammering against his ribs. Inside, the compound was a maze of corrugated metal buildings and squalid pens, where the unfortunate souls that Madon Ani had ensnared were held. He couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for them, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.
The guard led him to a dimly lit chamber at the heart of the compound. Madon Ani, a massive, elephantine Chevin with a scruffy gray mane, sat behind a heavy desk, his thick fingers drumming impatiently. He looked up as Garet was ushered in, his eyes narrowing into slits. "What is it, creature?" he rumbled.
Garet took a moment to compose himself, then began to recount the latest whispers of the streets, weaving a tale of unrest and potential power grabs in the local underworld. Madon Ani's expression remained stoic, but his interest was piqued. The Chevin's gaze flicked over Garet, sizing him up as if he were a new acquisition for his illicit trade.
"I've heard of you," Madon Ani said finally, his voice a low rumble. "The little Drall with the big mouth. You know much, yes?"
Garet gulped, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. "More than most, esteemed Madon. I am but a humble seeker of knowledge, eager to share what I learn."
Madon Ani leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. "And what do you seek in return for this... 'knowledge'?"
Garet's mind raced. He hadn't come prepared to barter, but he had to think quickly. "Merely the opportunity to serve, Madon," he replied smoothly. "Your operations are vast and no doubt have... details that are not widely known. I wish to learn more, to be of greater use to those who seek the truth."
Madon Ani's top lip curled into what might have passed for a smile on a more human-like face. "You wish to learn?" he said, his tone menacing despite the apparent amusement. "Very well. But know this: speak of what you hear outside these walls, and your tiny body will serve as an example to others."
Garet nodded vigorously, his eyes wide with fear. He knew the risks, but the thrill of uncovering new secrets was too great. As Madon Ani dismissed him, he took the opportunity to snoop around the compound, his curiosity getting the better of his instinct for self-preservation. He slipped into shadows and slithered through narrow gaps between the buildings, his sharp hearing picking up snatches of conversation. It was here that he stumbled upon a group of hushed voices discussing an imminent takeover attempt on some of Bargos the Hutt's activities, one of the two rivals currently vying for control of Mos Espa's underbelly. The plot was thickening, and Garet's pulse quickened with the excitement of the revelation.
Quickly, he typed the juicy details into his datapad, his thumbs moving with the speed of a Twi'lek dancer's hips. This was the kind of information that could make or break reputations, start wars, or earn a small fortune. His thoughts racing, he failed to notice the heavy footsteps approaching until it was almost too late.
"What's this?" a gruff voice bellowed, and Garet's eyes shot up to meet those of an angry Weequay guard. He had stumbled into a private conversation between two of Madon Ani's most trusted lieutenants, and they had noticed his eavesdropping. Panic set in, and he scurried away, his tiny legs pumping as fast as they could. The sound of the Weequay's footsteps grew louder, his heavy boots thudding on the metal flooring like a drumbeat of doom. Garet's eyes darted around the compound, searching for an escape route.
As if by some twist of fate, a landspeeder sputtered to life nearby, its engines roaring in the stillness. The guards' attention was briefly drawn to the noise, and Garet saw his chance. He dashed towards it, his heart pounding in his chest. The vehicle was old and patched together, but it would have to do. With trembling hands, he managed to activate the controls and floored the accelerator, sending the speeder skidding out of the compound before the guards had a chance to react.
The wind whipped through Garet's fur as he sped away from the danger, his eyes watering with the sting of the desert sand. He could feel the heat of pursuing blaster fire at his back, but the speeder was faster than he had dared to hope. His mind raced as he weighed his options. He could take the information straight to Bargos and sell it, or he could hold onto it and see how the situation unfolded. The thrill of the chase was exhilarating, but the potential for danger was not lost on him.
The streets of Mos Espa blurred by in a cacophony of color and shadow. Garet's nimble fingers worked the controls with a surprising desperate skill for someone so unaccustomed to piloting. His heart leapedfrogged in his chest with every turn he made, trying to shake the guards off his tail. The speeder's engine roared a protest as he pushed it to its limits, dodging through the crowded streets with a recklessness that was both terrifying and thrilling.
But fate was not on his side tonight. A barrage of blaster fire sizzled through the air, peppering the speeder's metal hide. Garet felt the vehicle jerk and shudder, its systems failing one by one. He gritted his teeth, but knew he couldn't outrun them forever. With a sinking feeling, he saw the speeder's speed falter. The guards' shots grew closer, more precise, and the speeder's engine let out a final, despairing wheeze before it gave out entirely.
The speeder slammed into and through a wall with a deafening crunch, sending a shockwave of pain through Garet's body. The pourstone wall blew inward from the massive collision. He blacked out for a brief moment before the sound of hissing steam and the acrid scent of burning metal brought him back to reality. Dazed, he stumbled out of the wreckage, his datapad clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. The guards' speeder hovered into view, lights glaring, and the Weequay jumped out, his blaster drawn and aimed at Garet.
Garet took off running without a second thought, diving into the billowing dust and smoke. He had blown a hole into a building, but he had no idea what kind of place it was. .
He emerged into the dimly lit interior, coughing and waving the dust from his eyes. The room was a chaotic symphony of shouts and crashes as patrons dived for cover amidst the sudden destruction. It took Garet a moment to realize where he had stumbled into: the Black Hole Cantina, a notorious dive known for its eclectic mix of patrons and the shady deals that often took place within its shadowy corners. The air was thick with dust and the smell of various alien species and spilled drinks. Garet looked up and saw that nearly every one of the cantina patrons had pulled their weapons and had them trained on him.
A moment of shocked silence fell upon the room as Garet stumbled in, his fur ruffled and his eyes wide with terror. The smoke and dust from the wrecked speeder outside swirled around him, creating a dramatic entrance that was unfortunately not the kind he'd ever wish for. The Weequay guard stepped through the hole after him, his blaster leveled and a snarl on his face that promised pain and retribution. Garet's mind raced, trying to think of how he could possibly talk his way out of this situation.
But fate had other plans. As the guard took aim, a sudden shot rang out from the shadows of the cantina, hitting the Weequay's blaster and sending it spinning from his hand. The patrons gasped and ducked as the blaster clattered to the ground, forgotten in the chaos. Garet's eyes searched frantically for the source of the shot, and he found it in the form of a Rodian smuggler, his own blaster smoking and a smug look on his face.
"Chess ko! Stuka chuba kava uba grancha bargon, stupa," the Rodian called out, his voice slick with the confidence of someone who knew their way around a fight. The Weequay snarled and reached for his comlink, but Garet saw his chance. He dashed through the cantina, dodging tables and patrons, and slipped into the crowd. His small size worked to his advantage as he weaved through the tight spaces between the aliens, feeling their glances and the heat of their blasters as they searched for the source of the disturbance.
The room erupted into a cacophony of shouts and blaster fire as the smuggler and the remaining guards exchanged shots. The music played on, a discordant melody to the chaos that had enveloped the cantina.
Having heard whispers of a lucrative opportunity, he found himself outside the imposing doors of Madon Ani's compound. Madon Ani was a Chevin slaver known for his brutal tactics and even more notorious temper.
The compound was surrounded by a high metal fence, the kind that hummed faintly with the electricity coursing through it. The air was thick with the scent of fear and desperation that clung to the sweaty, unwashed forms of those unfortunate enough to be caught in his clutches. Garet's stomach churned at the thought of the horrors that took place within, but the allure of the secrets he might discover was too strong to resist. He took a deep breath and approached the entrance, his heart racing like the podracers that often zoomed around the city.
A burly Gamorrean guard eyed him suspiciously as he neared. Garet held up his datapad, flashing a smile full of blunt teeth. "Message for Madon Ani," he squeaked, trying to sound more confident than he felt. The guard grunted and took the device, his tiny eyes squinting to read the glowing Aurebesh script. The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity, as the brute considered the words on the screen.
Finally, the Gamorrean bellowed something unintelligible and gestured for Garet to enter. He swallowed hard and slipped through the gates, his heart hammering against his ribs. Inside, the compound was a maze of corrugated metal buildings and squalid pens, where the unfortunate souls that Madon Ani had ensnared were held. He couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for them, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.
The guard led him to a dimly lit chamber at the heart of the compound. Madon Ani, a massive, elephantine Chevin with a scruffy gray mane, sat behind a heavy desk, his thick fingers drumming impatiently. He looked up as Garet was ushered in, his eyes narrowing into slits. "What is it, creature?" he rumbled.
Garet took a moment to compose himself, then began to recount the latest whispers of the streets, weaving a tale of unrest and potential power grabs in the local underworld. Madon Ani's expression remained stoic, but his interest was piqued. The Chevin's gaze flicked over Garet, sizing him up as if he were a new acquisition for his illicit trade.
"I've heard of you," Madon Ani said finally, his voice a low rumble. "The little Drall with the big mouth. You know much, yes?"
Garet gulped, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. "More than most, esteemed Madon. I am but a humble seeker of knowledge, eager to share what I learn."
Madon Ani leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. "And what do you seek in return for this... 'knowledge'?"
Garet's mind raced. He hadn't come prepared to barter, but he had to think quickly. "Merely the opportunity to serve, Madon," he replied smoothly. "Your operations are vast and no doubt have... details that are not widely known. I wish to learn more, to be of greater use to those who seek the truth."
Madon Ani's top lip curled into what might have passed for a smile on a more human-like face. "You wish to learn?" he said, his tone menacing despite the apparent amusement. "Very well. But know this: speak of what you hear outside these walls, and your tiny body will serve as an example to others."
Garet nodded vigorously, his eyes wide with fear. He knew the risks, but the thrill of uncovering new secrets was too great. As Madon Ani dismissed him, he took the opportunity to snoop around the compound, his curiosity getting the better of his instinct for self-preservation. He slipped into shadows and slithered through narrow gaps between the buildings, his sharp hearing picking up snatches of conversation. It was here that he stumbled upon a group of hushed voices discussing an imminent takeover attempt on some of Bargos the Hutt's activities, one of the two rivals currently vying for control of Mos Espa's underbelly. The plot was thickening, and Garet's pulse quickened with the excitement of the revelation.
Quickly, he typed the juicy details into his datapad, his thumbs moving with the speed of a Twi'lek dancer's hips. This was the kind of information that could make or break reputations, start wars, or earn a small fortune. His thoughts racing, he failed to notice the heavy footsteps approaching until it was almost too late.
"What's this?" a gruff voice bellowed, and Garet's eyes shot up to meet those of an angry Weequay guard. He had stumbled into a private conversation between two of Madon Ani's most trusted lieutenants, and they had noticed his eavesdropping. Panic set in, and he scurried away, his tiny legs pumping as fast as they could. The sound of the Weequay's footsteps grew louder, his heavy boots thudding on the metal flooring like a drumbeat of doom. Garet's eyes darted around the compound, searching for an escape route.
As if by some twist of fate, a landspeeder sputtered to life nearby, its engines roaring in the stillness. The guards' attention was briefly drawn to the noise, and Garet saw his chance. He dashed towards it, his heart pounding in his chest. The vehicle was old and patched together, but it would have to do. With trembling hands, he managed to activate the controls and floored the accelerator, sending the speeder skidding out of the compound before the guards had a chance to react.
The wind whipped through Garet's fur as he sped away from the danger, his eyes watering with the sting of the desert sand. He could feel the heat of pursuing blaster fire at his back, but the speeder was faster than he had dared to hope. His mind raced as he weighed his options. He could take the information straight to Bargos and sell it, or he could hold onto it and see how the situation unfolded. The thrill of the chase was exhilarating, but the potential for danger was not lost on him.
The streets of Mos Espa blurred by in a cacophony of color and shadow. Garet's nimble fingers worked the controls with a surprising desperate skill for someone so unaccustomed to piloting. His heart leapedfrogged in his chest with every turn he made, trying to shake the guards off his tail. The speeder's engine roared a protest as he pushed it to its limits, dodging through the crowded streets with a recklessness that was both terrifying and thrilling.
But fate was not on his side tonight. A barrage of blaster fire sizzled through the air, peppering the speeder's metal hide. Garet felt the vehicle jerk and shudder, its systems failing one by one. He gritted his teeth, but knew he couldn't outrun them forever. With a sinking feeling, he saw the speeder's speed falter. The guards' shots grew closer, more precise, and the speeder's engine let out a final, despairing wheeze before it gave out entirely.
The speeder slammed into and through a wall with a deafening crunch, sending a shockwave of pain through Garet's body. The pourstone wall blew inward from the massive collision. He blacked out for a brief moment before the sound of hissing steam and the acrid scent of burning metal brought him back to reality. Dazed, he stumbled out of the wreckage, his datapad clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. The guards' speeder hovered into view, lights glaring, and the Weequay jumped out, his blaster drawn and aimed at Garet.
Garet took off running without a second thought, diving into the billowing dust and smoke. He had blown a hole into a building, but he had no idea what kind of place it was. .
He emerged into the dimly lit interior, coughing and waving the dust from his eyes. The room was a chaotic symphony of shouts and crashes as patrons dived for cover amidst the sudden destruction. It took Garet a moment to realize where he had stumbled into: the Black Hole Cantina, a notorious dive known for its eclectic mix of patrons and the shady deals that often took place within its shadowy corners. The air was thick with dust and the smell of various alien species and spilled drinks. Garet looked up and saw that nearly every one of the cantina patrons had pulled their weapons and had them trained on him.
A moment of shocked silence fell upon the room as Garet stumbled in, his fur ruffled and his eyes wide with terror. The smoke and dust from the wrecked speeder outside swirled around him, creating a dramatic entrance that was unfortunately not the kind he'd ever wish for. The Weequay guard stepped through the hole after him, his blaster leveled and a snarl on his face that promised pain and retribution. Garet's mind raced, trying to think of how he could possibly talk his way out of this situation.
But fate had other plans. As the guard took aim, a sudden shot rang out from the shadows of the cantina, hitting the Weequay's blaster and sending it spinning from his hand. The patrons gasped and ducked as the blaster clattered to the ground, forgotten in the chaos. Garet's eyes searched frantically for the source of the shot, and he found it in the form of a Rodian smuggler, his own blaster smoking and a smug look on his face.
"Chess ko! Stuka chuba kava uba grancha bargon, stupa," the Rodian called out, his voice slick with the confidence of someone who knew their way around a fight. The Weequay snarled and reached for his comlink, but Garet saw his chance. He dashed through the cantina, dodging tables and patrons, and slipped into the crowd. His small size worked to his advantage as he weaved through the tight spaces between the aliens, feeling their glances and the heat of their blasters as they searched for the source of the disturbance.
The room erupted into a cacophony of shouts and blaster fire as the smuggler and the remaining guards exchanged shots. The music played on, a discordant melody to the chaos that had enveloped the cantina.