Chambered Ambition (Nor Vallis introduction)

[Nor Vallis]

-An unknown world, metropolitan sector-

A man sits in a darkened room, dark hair with dull blonde hair, shaved short and swept aside atop of his head. He's bound but upright in the chair.

"I don't agree with your, negative view of my situation."

Footsteps echo before they're heard, and a davorian male steps into the lightened area in front of the prisoner.

"Nor, I never did or ever need your approval for my designs. So shut up and listen. You may as well now, no? Now that Annalie is gone, I imagine your future needs some more... revision."

The Devorian, Mallus, was wrong. Annalie was still there, dead, but there she lay to his right, face sideways into the small pool around her head. Her pistol, a westar series nine, sat just out of reach of her outstretched hand. Nor turned to look at her questioning gaze. They'd taken a risk and lost, massively. It seemed fitting that Annalie had fallen and he remained, or typical perhaps because he was left alive with none of the information Mallus was after, it had also been her mistake which cost them so dearly. Nor wasn't sure if she'd played him, but had his suspicions, until Mallus put a pair of shots through her chest. He wanted to hate her for it, but he couldn't. Instead he channeled that anger towards the interrogator. After all, no use spilling tears over dry spilt blood.

"You can ask me as many times as you like, the answer will be the same. I don't know what her next step was, it was a need to know, bottle-drip feed of information and my supply was cut off when you shot her."

They'd been at this for two hours now and frustration was beginning to settle in on Mallus's face. He'd began to realise his one and only mistake had cost him. Now four hundred thousand credits were up in the holonet, unclaimable and untraceable. No one could get them back. They could've just set fire to his accounts for all it mattered now.

"Look. Cut me loose. Annalie paid for the mistake of crossing you and I was just her goon. A hired gun. I work for whoever pays and she never made the transfer. Time is money and I'm wasting it here which means if you want me to go after that money, you're losing credits by the second."

"Heh, the true mercenary huh Nor?" Mallus said as he exhaled a cloud of toxic fumes into his face. Nor ignored it, exhaling deeply after holding his breath for a moment, apparently expecting it. "Fine. I'll let you go, but consider this your next and perhaps final employment. I've revoked your passport so you're stuck planetside for now, but you have twenty four hours until I come for you again. I suggest you get my money. Then we can see about future employment."

One of his guards approached, and Mallus, enjoying the theater of his superiority had turned his back, not overseeing the work of his underqualified hired help. Nor saw an opportunity and gestured to his hands. His mouth said nothing but his eyes said 'Hands first.' For some reason, he wasn't sure why, but he knew he'd buy it. Then the fool went to untie his feet. Mallus had half turned around when they both locked eyes. He saw the stupidty of his guard, the clean wrists, free of any restraint and then Nor's eyes dropping to his Westar bolter, sitting in the back belt of the goon who was now releasing him.

He had to be quick, but damn, he was quick.

Three blasts.

The last one was straight into the head of the man at his knees, sending the bolt straight into the ground below. When his lifeless body faceplanted onto the floor, dust and smoke puffed out from every direction. Now, Nor was stood upright. His jacket's fell loose behind him and his arm outstretched, thumb pulling the hammer back. His boots echoed as loud as the gunshots as he walked over to the now crawling Devorian.

"Look at me Mallus. Look, at, me."

Mallus had no choice, he had a shot in his lower gut and knew it hadn't been a stray. It was purposeful, the most painful snare Nor Vallis could put on the man who'd killed his flame and interrogated him.

"Who's more stupid, the idiot, or the man who hires the idiot?" He said, gesturing back to the now dead man on the floor. Poor fool, he thought.

"By the way, I'll take that job. Twenty four hours wasn't it?"
"Wha-what? You will?"
"Yeah, but my fee is four hundred grand."
"Sure, sure, take it."
"You're a generous man Mallus."

He placed his other index finger from his left hand into the trigger guard. "I'll make sure they say something like that in the obituary."

He violently shook his left finger on and off the trigger, causing the gun to unload the remaining six rounds into Mallus.



The door to the abandoned warehouse opened, and out walked one man. Clad in leathers and a thin grey shirt, he now carried a new belt, and a second Westar blaster, etched with the name 'Annalie'. He walked off into the nearest bar he could find.

[Colton Hunter]

There was a the flash of fire from another district, followed by a large explosion, two objects flying from the site, to impact hard with the ground, bounce, then skid... but that didn't seem to stop them. One figure looked hurt, a lot... black armor was scarred and tattered, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth... he most likely cracked a rib, or worse, upon impact with the street... the other man was in full Mandalorian armor, which was scratched and dinged in places, but otherwise, he was unhurt...

"Jensaari, you think so little of me that you'd come unarmored?" he asked the unhelmeted man. He was a handsome man, despite his disfigurement, one scar crossed his left cheek from mouth to ear, while a black eye patch concealed his right eye. He smirked up at the heavily armored man...

"I think that little of all of Deathwatch, dar'manda," he said, which drove on the fury of the Mandalorian, he came in firing, but the man in lighter armor brought his hands up, the energy sparking against him, and flickering, as he stole it's energy, then the twin T-shapes flew from his hip to rest in his hands, and with a pair of snap-hiss, four beams of light tore from the emitters, giving him a silver bladed tonfa, and a purple bladed one.... as the Mandalorian took to the air with his rockets, the man with the lightsabers spun about, throwing the purple bladed one, deflecting two blasts from his repeater... as the armored figure turned in the air to avoid his spinning blade, the two reflected shots caught his pack, and smoke began to billow as he was sent flying about, uncontrollably...

Quickly disengaging the pack, the Mandalorian dropped, the pack exploding behind him as he hit the ground, hard, rolling forward to come up on one knee, took aim-- and the spinning tonfa returned to the outstretched hand of the man before him... through his back... There was a cough, and a sigh... and the Mandalorian fell on his face... With a nod, he the other man deactivated his blades, and returned them to his hip, pausing to stoop over him, pulling his helmet free, he set the helmet in his pack, and moved away from the scene... He really needed a drink.

---

A few moments later, the battered man walked through the doors, Colton Hunter was many things, but right now... he was tired. He hoped the other teams had better luck... he hesitated for a moment, as he felt a pulsating tremor of recent death, and his eyes turned to fall on another figure, he afforded the man a lopsided smile, blood still trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"What a day, huh?" he asked Nor Vallis in greeting.

[Master Buggie]

((OOC: Colt, keep in mind in the future that saber throw is exclusive to the Telekinetic Lightsaber Combat Master Power, which is currently held by Silas Karn. Please don't utilize that anymore.))

Thieves practically lived in cantinas, and Lombar was no exception; except, of course, that he was an exception. An exceptionally good thief. The Weequay youth had survived for years on what he could scrounge and steal, and today, he had found himself a promising mark. Though he was too young to drink, he sat inside of a booth in a dark corner of the cantina, eyeing up his prey while nursing a mug of ale. For Lombar, credits meant surviving another day. He had no plans to starve any time soon.

When you had a custom blaster, you had credits to burn, and the shiny Westar blaster pistol practically sang to Lombar as its owner sauntered into the bar. The man looked tired; and having one's awareness hindered within a cantina was not the smartest idea. Lombar would make this Human find that out the hard way. Taking a long draw and completing his ale, Lombar rose from his booth, approaching the bar where the man with buzzed locks stood, speaking with a dangerous-looking man in scarred and battered armor.

As he stealthily slid up to the bar on the other side of his mark, he ordered the bartender to refill his mug. With the bartender busily at work, Lombar scanned his mark out of the corner of his eye. The man needed only to turn his attention to the scarred Human to his right and then Lombar could carefully insert his hand into the exposed holster, snatching away what was inside with surgical precision.

Until then, he remained quiet. He could be patient; impatience made for dead thieves far more often than not.

[Nor Vallis]

Lumbering across to the bar, he swung his jacket out and reached for a bar of credits. He dismissively tossed them to the bar counter and gestured to the only drink which looked consumable by his species.

"Dantooine Brandy?" Asked the Twi lek behind the bar. "That's costly stuff."
"I'm due an imminent payrise." He replied, as he lit up a smoke, tapping the pack on the counter to reorganise the sticks before slotting them back in his jacket.
"Oh, coming up in the world? I'd keep that to yourself fella, folk here don't like others flourishing their wealth."
"Didn't ask for the concern, just the brandy."
"As you wish." The barman said, as he popped the top of the bottle off and left the glass. Nor assumed the role of barman and filled his drink half way, stopping to down the drink straight. He hated mixing spirits. As he let the burn climb up his throat he heard the heavy footsteps of a man approach. The armour was a give away and a flaunt of a different kind, but also a bit of a heads up to those around that this one's expecting to get shot.

He turned his body to the man, leaning on the counter to disguise his hand going down to rest on his Westar. He left his thumb lightly on the hammer, not wanting to cock it too soon. Some people were trained to hear those things, this fella might be one of them. At first he wondered if he worked for Mallus, but he was arrogant, no way did he expect he'd need to have some back up in case he fell flat on his face.

"Less spectular than some apparently." He exhaled and a cloud of smoke left his nose and into the air as he took a sip from the brandy. He looked back to the barman as a shifter, not wanting to erupt into any conversation. He had things to do, specifically four hundred grand to chase down. That would pay for as many passports as he wanted, and the rest. He noticed another, a younger one come up to the bar, but paid no heed, considered he was probably some kid who earned a little by doing odd tasks or something. He had no idea of his real intent, but the arrival of a man clad head to toe in armour put everyone on alert.

[Colton Hunter]

((OOC: Ah, sorry Buggie, thought the standard boomerang throw move was Masterful LSC, I'll keep that in mind in the future))

His eye flicked briefly to the young Weequay, a sly smile splaying across his features, before he looked back to the man. He tapped his armor, it was much lighter than what he normally wore, cloth covering arms and legs, only his chest and stomach were really covered, but what made him stand out was the damage done, deep scars and scoring marked every inch, it seemed, and there was a divot where it looked like something heavy had struck him there, leaving a hole, revealing the interior layers of his armor.

"You can say that again," he mused, nodding to the bartender, before sitting down, "Corellian Brandy," he ordered, the bartender stared at him.

"You just come into money too?" he asked, "We don't have anything that fancy..." Colt sighed, and seemed truly dejected.

"I'll have a lum then I guess," he muttered, leaving the barman to fulfill his, considerably cheaper, request. He sniffed at his beer momentarily once it was provided, and took a sip, wincing... then downed half the contents of his glass, not looking back to the man, seemed content with his drink... "Name's Colton Hunter, word of an advice, keep an eye on the things you value most... they'll have a tendency to walk away if you're not too terribly careful, on this planet," he added. Colt had been many things in his youth, a thief had been among them. He, too, had a pair of Westar pistols on his belt, the twin T-shaped handles of his tonfa, returned to their holsters on his arm, where they looked like a type of metal ribbing to add support to his aim. Aside from that, he didn't have much more of his many weapons he kept on his ship.

[Nor Vallis]

"Is that so?" He asked, semi accusingly in tone.

He placed the glass down, but wondered what he meant by that. Perhaps he did work for Mallus after all, if he did and knew about the money then it was going to get really messy, at the very least very heated, but something told Nor that wasn't the case. He knew something he didn't of course, but he was guessing that wasn't it, and his guess was usually pretty good.

"What is it of mine that you think has any value? Most of my gear is rigged, sliced beyond any 'allowed' list at customs. Too hot to sell and not a lotta use to anyone who can't shoot like a laser turret."

He poured another glass of the brandy. It borderline depressed him that the percentage of actual alcohol in the drink was subpar to his homeworld, but at least it tasted alright. He gestured with the bottle to the man's glass.

"Might taste rancid but no guts no glory?" He said, offering to top it up with a bit of 'flavouring'.

He had a question of his own though. Those who wore that kind of armour, tended to either be paranoid or were frequently in the crosshairs of shooters, and considering he wasn't looking over his shoulder since he came in, he guessed he was the latter of the two.

"Why the armour? I find if you wear any it tends to make you more of a target for trouble, or is that your business? Trouble?" He still wasn't entirely sure this man wasn't here to work against him, but if he was, his finger still sit comfortably on the grip of his Westar bolter.

[Colton Hunter]

Colt smirked a bit at the man's stance, without really looking at it.

"You need to understand a few things about places like this... what you see as not valuable, may be worth the world to another.... take your blaster for instance, someone already has," he added, looking at the drink, then nodded, pouring himself a glass, he sniffed it, nose wrinkling just a bit, before he downed the whole thing, passing him back the bottle, he winced, nose wrinkling a bit in disgust... "See, you can tell a lot about the thieving world by the drinking establishments it affords the populace with..." he added, as if the man having been stolen from was no big deal.

"This is their top shelf, they have a different idea of worth," he mused, "So, what brings you here to drink, trying to erase your problems? Or merely needing to just.... think?" he asked him, he knew why he had passed him the drink, as a sort of test, but frankly, if he had poisoned the drink, Colt had a way of expelling the toxins from his body... he was either going to be viewed as naïve, or confusing... he'd settle with naïve though.

"And most importantly, where are you going from here? Figuratively, rather than literally..." he clarified.

[Nor Vallis]

Nor's head slowly turned to the other patron at the bar, the one who he'd assumed no ill intent, but luckily he had a tip-off. At least he assumed it was him, no one else had entered his immediate area other than the man talking to him now. Thieves angered him, somewhat ironically considering where and how he acquired his own paychecks, but to him it was different. They were stealing from 'him'. Still he felt a warning was fair.

If it sounded egotistical, it's because it is. No one got to the top of any monetary tower by playing nice all the time and being completely humble.

"So I see." He said, pouring another drink. "Forget? Eh, I suppose that's why most come to bars and drink as much as this, but truth be told I just have an addiction for alcohol and smokes." He placed the smoke to his mouth and inhaled deeply. "Where I come from, people drink to drink, but yeah, a thinking moment here and there helps." He said as he released the catch on his holster, not readying the weapon anymore. Weirdly this one was the one in a thousand armoured men who actually, genuinely wanted to talk. How odd.

"I am going to wherever the credits flow thickest, but will see what happens. First, I need to acquire a ship, some well-meaning idiots, not too dumb to be a liability, but not too smart that they become a rival. Rivals make for expensive salary payments. Then, I'll start a company with some money I'm about to inherit." He downed half of the drink, clearly he had a problem, but it didn't seem to show any effects just yet. "Yourself?"

[Colton Hunter]

Colt shrugged after a few moments.

"Business for the most part, it gets a bit rough after a while... a good drink after typically helps," he told him, lifting his glass of foaming swill, and then downed it... he was a Mandalorian, after all, and they were good at a lot of various things. Drinking horrific stuff like this was a staple. He set the glass down, and glanced back toward the man.

"So, what is it that you do, then? Mercenary? Smuggler? I actually have a little work for either... but I'd need to know some specialties... I figure it'd be funny, if not downright ironic, for a Mandalorian to hire outside muscle from time to time," he added, wrapping his knuckles on his chest with the name of his people. Colt stood at about five six, much shorter than most Mandalorians...

"The credits will run thick, we can work on getting you a ship, and maybe some help... not dumb, real smart, but their ambitions would lie in a different venue, they could care less about the credits, just the position it gets them," he said simply. "I know a few guys who could help you out, they're always looking for a few good men... well, maybe not so good, but they're always looking for people.." he said with a wry grin.

[Nor Vallis]

He placed the glass down and gave it some thought. A few moments passed by before he looked him in the eyes again.

"And where are you getting those credits from? The kind of money I'm after doesn't come from the pockets of people who'd frequent this bar or get their own hands dirty for that matter. As for what I do? Well, I specialize in transactions. Doesn't matter the freight, just when, where and how much."

He paused for a moment and leaked a sly grin. "I just get things done. Not necessarily with a gun either. But what's this job then? And who exactly is the customer?"