Tatooine Nights

[Hals Sazen]

They're near me again... I can feel it...

Bringing his cloak closer to his face, Hals Sazen slipped in to another one of Mos Eisley's many alleyways. His instincts were strong, they had been with him since he could remember, and they were always right. It was a talent the Hutts prized greatly, and one they were about to lose. He had been an indentured servant to the Hutt Cartel since he was a boy, and finally at last it seemed as if it were over. He had finally figured out how to remove the collar that held him to his Gamorrean handler. It hadn't been easy and it had taken long nights of tinkering, nervous movements and deception to get rid of it. But hit freedom had come at a price, he had killed his handler, Gormon. The terrible beast had died gagging on it's own blood as his trusty vibroknife cut away the Gamorrean's throat. The Zabrak didn't enjoy killing, but the green-skinned monster would never have let him just go.

Some how he had walked through the Jundland Wastes, it had taken days of suffering and the occasional scavenging of supplies from Tusken Raider camps and unfortunate corpses of long-lost travelers. Now that he had entered the largest city on the desert world, the Hutts' bounty hunters were on his trail. They had been following him for hours, a Mandalorian with a rather large blaster and a couple of Hutt soldiers. He had ducked his way out of several close calls, but Mandalorians were expert hunters, it would only be a matter of when the party caught him, not if. All he had to his name was a vibroknife, the weapon his father had left him upon his death. It was inscribed with ancient Zabraki runes, it had been with his family for generations. He had learned to use the weapon masterfully, but it would do him no good against the armor-clad hunter and his crew. His instincts and pure perseverance would get him out of this situation, but he would feel heavy guilt for any who helped him, as the Hutts would surely hunt them down too.

I need to go left, then right... The starport is near, just a few more kilometers.

Hals had heard of pirates in the area, perhaps he could lie his way on to their crew, at least just for a little while. If not, he could always stow away. Or perhaps the roguish starcrew would take pity on his cause, or even more likely they would return him to the Hutts for a nice chunk of credits. Either way, he had to try, it was better than living in servitude and the Hutts always pretending he was right around the corner from paying off some debt he never chose to accrue. For some reason, his mind uncharacteristically drifted to his father. The man was a fleeting memory in his head, a tall, broad and smiling figure. He had fought with valor on Endor for the Rebel Alliance, and died during the campaign to take the Core Worlds back from the Empire. Hals' mother was somewhere in the galaxy, she had sold him to a Hutt enforcer for drugs, she had taken the loss of her mate hard. He vowed that if he ever found her, he would try to save her, return her to the smiling and warm person she had been in his earliest years. He cleared his mind as he hurried through narrow streets, for now he was focused on his very survival as he neared the starport.

[Dastan Imatari]

*Several days prior to present*
Dastan sat in his meditation chamber set up in his mobile operations point- his YT-2000 light freighter. Clad in his typical dark tunic wrapped in his swordbelt, his armor, helmet and cowl were before him on the ground, staring back at him in the dim light. His bubble of influence exponentially growing- searching for something.

Periodically, the Sith Lord would travel about in different sectors, and sense out force signatures. The Force didn't often speak to Dastan as it did to others, but he could bend it to his will to find other force hopefuls- a small gift he had in manipulating and sensing with the force. Sometimes it would be like a tingling sensation- and a draw toward a specific direction, then some visions of a planet or location. He'd have to do the rest. Though this time, it was different.

He got a fast flash- investigating the typical areas of the galaxy that harbored dark force ripples- Tattooine.... That much hated dustball of a planet- Clear as day he saw it. [sense force user]- Then like needles travelling up his spine, he heard a quick voice- a whisper. Something unintelligible. Then a basic vision of a person. Humanoid, at least....

His burning sulphuric eyes opened, having drawn on the dark side of the force. Quickly leaping to his feet, he scurried down the halls of his ship to his holonode- immediately dialing in another prominant Sith Lord- Blood.

*"Lord Blood- I think you may be in the sector- it may be fortuitous to check out Tattooine for a force hopeful. It might even be a good training opportunity for your . . . new apprentice."* He paused for a moment before continuing. *"I'll send you more details in a moment, but that's what I've got for now. I'll meet you there eventually to help cast a wider net..."* The message was closed, quickly as it was opened.

Dastan then scurried to the wall next to his holotable, and thumbed on the intercom-
"RX- punch in jump coords to Tattooine. We've got a date..."

*"-Of Course, Master. Inputting coordinates now."* the intercom buzzed back with the digitized voice of his pilot droid....

[Slade Xandir]

He lay resting, coursing through passing winds as they ran over his stretched out form. Not much was dressing him, a pair of plain black joggers, and a regular pair of boots, remaining shirtless. But he was enjoying himself being submerged in the harmony he had in this little silent wind...
As he slept upon the top of a flying Arkanian Dragon's back.

The little vibration of his holowatch brought him from the respite, and a familiar voice made itself known to him through the mic.

*"Lord Blood- I think you may be in the sector- it may be fortuitous to check out Tattooine for a force hopeful. It might even be a good training opportunity for your . . . new apprentice. I'll send you more details in a moment, but that's what I've got for now. I'll meet you there eventually to help cast a wider net..."*

Oh? A treat from the Agent? Fortuitous, indeed. This man knew near all when it came to both benefits and consequence, and the pied piper found himself smiling a bit. Turning over his side and throwing his legs over the obsidian and garnet scaled spikes of his mount, Wrath greeted his Master with a more attentive swap of flying strokes. And with the eager command fromt he Sith Lord and the confirmed roar from the Arkanian Dragon, they set off to the castle so he could prepare himself, and inform his Son.


----Days after----


Blood left the docking bay, now clad in full draconic armor, and he was something much less 'normal'. He was absent of his helm, but he didn't need it. Intimidation factor was at enough of a level as the 6" 4' Sith Lord walked off of the ramp and through the parting crowd, glistens of sharp and dangerous ebony dragon skin and scaled trailing over him in a sinister display of bone armor. Obalisks reinforced the external gist of the armor, a telling addition to his Dark Side affiliation, adding nothing but more of a sinful look to his appearance. The Hunter's long tar-colored hair draped around and through the spined spikes of the shoulder pauldrons and collarbone length, but what captivated most was his almost inhuman eyes- golden and almost always seeing through any defenses you may have had.

Bringing up his holowatch to his mouth, Blood sent a com to Raphael-

"I've just arrived. What are your cords to the target?"

[Raphael Xandir]

A shadow within the minimal darkness that set upon this desert city, the young acolyte Raphael moved through the alleyways. He wore a casual light armor set of a dark variety with boots to keep the sand out. The young man tied up his hair into a knot as he flicked the hood of the black robe onto his head. As he watched for closely for his target, both hands rested upon the hilts of his vibroswords on each side of his hip. Originally, he didn’t feel the need to bring weapons, as it seemed to be a simple snatch and leave-type mission. Now being on this crime-ridden planet filled with all the wrong type of people, he finally understood why he was told to do so.

Probably drawing a crowd somewhere else within the docking bay, his father should have just arrived. The two had been sent on assignment by the new Dark Lord of the Sith. A force sensitive was said to be lurking the city streets here on Tatooine. Not much was known of this individual, but it shouldn’t be hard to seek this new potential acolyte.

Suddenly, another figure emerged moving quickly through the alleyways. The man looked to be on the run from something, he was spooked. As far as the only Intel they had was that he would most likely be humanoid, this man still fit that bill. Raphael began to stride around the corners of the cities back streets, stalking this potential force sensitive. He himself didn’t have the ability to seek them out, but he felt he could dissect people and what they were truly up to.

Watching closely, he noticed the man clutching a vibroknife tightly. This knife has marking that Raphael had never seen before in his life. A gut feeling drew the young acolyte closer tot his individual, he wanted to be make contact with the force sensitive so he may prove his worth to his father. It was a risky move but he couldn’t help but feel drawn closer to the man.

Taking up a position not to far behind the man, Raphael noticed he was attempting to make an escape near the starport. This was good, if he indeed was the one they were looking for, this is where he wanted him to be. Dastan would be arriving shortly within this starport making it an easy recruiting effort.

Signaling to his holowatch on his left wrist, he sent a transmission to his father, Lord Blood. “I believe I have the scared little pup in my sights…. Just outside the docking bay, hurry here.”

Closing the transmission, Raphael moved to make contact with the man swiftly. He moved around him to position himself within the path of the man. Once the man was close, his silver eyes met those of his. An alluring hand moved out and was put directly on his shoulder.

“What do we have here? Potential I smell....” Raphael’s words rolled off of the tongue as he attempted to lure the man in.

[Colton Hunter]

The Mandalorian didn't bother hiding his heritage, with his golden armor glistening in the light of two suns. The violet, T-shaped visor, reflecting all he saw, with the blue markings denoting his position as the Chief of Clan Sorell, and as Commander of the Mandalorian Protectors, Mando Cabure. The Mandalorian police force. Though he was on Tatooine, not on the duty of his station... but on a personal mission. He had intended to bring back even the darmanda, the Clanless, like this bounty hunter who sold his honor to the Hutts.

Truth was, Colt had half a mind to contact Jay and see if the Blue Star Pirates would want to take a crack at this one... he was stubborn, arrogant, and had a cruel streak... the first two the Jensaari, Colton Hunter, could forgive. The last one he'd beat out of him if he had to. Problem was, the man was proving difficult to track. He was good at his job. Only a hunter, never prey. That meant Colt had to do one better... Go after his prey.

That proved to be a bit easier, as he learned of the young Zabrak's gut ability. Some had hunches, gut reactions, instincts... Colt called them the Force... something he was surprisingly adept at. Something he was a Master of... Colt felt out in the Force, and almost immediately scowled... he could feel two familiar Dark Side signatures... and one faint, malleable, and unshapen form... he began to move immediately. Already one of the forms was on him... (Sense Force User/Sense Life)

He was running across some of the rooftops of Mos Eisley within moments, skidding to a stop just above the pair, his form hidden for the moment as he delved into himself... hiding his very signature in the Force (Force Mask). The boy he had encountered briefly on Jakelia... that meant his Master might not be too far behind.... He hoped the local BSP picked up on the action about to take place here... watching for the moment. Truthfully, he felt, like with Blood and Slade, the boy could potentially be saved as well, if he could reach an accord somehow... Blood was easier for the Mandalorian sensibilities, but he had managed to free Arruna from the Sith, with nothing more than his words. He only hoped it'd work here too... when he made his move, he only could hope.

[Jak Bexel]

Jak was having a rare leisure day with a frosted mug of Nakadian Kolsch in a suite atop the Ubrikkian Trade Tower. It felt damn luxurious compared to the types of work he did in his younger, madder years on this rock. As the golden hour descended upon Mos Eisley, the Corellian pirate polished off his libation and relished the harmony he felt deep within. The last time he was here, he was a solitary manchild. He was worn thin running from his mistakes and working tirelessly to pave them over with good intentions. Now, there was no vantage point so sweet as the Ubrikkian Tower. It was his reward for a long week in wild space.

The Ubrikkian Trade Tower had deep connections within the complete myth of the BSP. A large format transport manufacturer, Ubrikkian had its roots in piracy. Not many people are aware, but it began a hundred years ago as a chop-shop for stolen ships. Its pirate founder, an engineer, saw potential in legitimate business. To that end she sold to all allegiances; troop transports, pleasure barges, sandcrawlers. Through it all, Ubrikkian stayed true to its pirate heart and not only kept headquarters on the 13th floor of the building but shared all its personal data with the fabled and mysterious group. As a Nightshade, Jak was privvy to all the records of all the owners of their ships. The only caveat was he had to use a jetpack to fly up to the HQ through a thin pipe that opened out the back of the building. Not much of a caveat -- to have a position within the mythical Blue Star Pirates meant certain "perks" were available to him. That intel, this frigid keg of Kolsch, on this high-rise, with this sunset, was such a perk. The jetpack was just gravy.

He had a set of macrobinoculars that would spot all the ships coming in and out, and all the stragglers coming in to town. He liked to people watch. Also, in case he got bored, he got to pick and choose what trouble he was getting into. If only Jak were aware of the trouble lurking about the worried Zabrak trucking across the desert at dusk, he might have called it a night. Instead, his attention was directed towards the young man. He looked feral, troubled. The sun had done its work on the dome of his spiked skull, and Jak could see the welting about his body which meant only one thing: slavers. Likely the Hutts, judging by his trajectory. And now he felt guilt. Here he was, resting in a secret penthouse, watching a hunted man stalk the Jundland Wastes for gods know how long.

Jak was darting across the darkening sky in his jetpack before he could even reason an out-clause.

[Hals Sazen]

As the man with the silver eyes appeared out of nowhere, Hals flinched, his grip tightening on his father's vibroknife. He was tired, full of adrenaline and in survival mode. Something about the hand made him feel cold. The cold seemed to threaten to entrance him, something in his mind whispered angrily of power and fury. He grit his teeth and backed away from the man, just in time for the Hutt's thugs to show up. The leader, a Mandalorian Hals knew well, Kori Skirata had his vibrosword in hand. He muttered something in the guttural language of his people, it almost looked to Hals as if the visored helmet itself was smiling at him in a cruel, uncaring way. Skirata's armor was jet black, his vibroblade had felled many men, all for a generous award from the Hutts. He was their top hunter, and few could claim to be better than him. It was rumored he had been kicked out of guild for cruel treatment of his quarry. Behind him were two out of breath Gamorreans, it appeared following a Mandalorian on the hunt was not fitting for the beastly aliens. Hals snarled at Kori.

"I will never go back there! You're going to have to kill me before I relinquish my freedom!" he spit at the Mandalorian and crouched low, ready to defend himself. He lost track of the man who was now behind him, pushing that cold, strange feeling from his mind.

"Ha, aruetii, what are you and that pretty boy behind you gonna do something? My blades are hungry for your flesh! Oya!"] As always Kori seemed hungry for death, his black armor glistened a bit in the sun, revealing it's nicks and scratches. Across his neck hung a necklace of ears from various species, trophies of the hunt.

The Mandalorian surged forward with his blade, the Gamorreans grunting loudly and swing their axes wildly. While the swine-like aliens were rather dim-witted, many had to respect their ferocious strength and skill with their large axes. Listening to his instincts, Hals moved sideways right before the Mandalorian's sword connected with his flesh. He stabbed forth with his knife, it glanced off the armor, just in time for him to stumble backwards in to a Gamorrean. Hals struck out with his elbow, slamming it in to the giant beast's groin. It screeched in pain and he just barely escaped it's blade, a small laceration left on his forearm where the tip had found a mark. The Zabrak yelled out in pain and jammed his knife in to the Gamorrean's side. The beast screeched again and slammed the Zabrak in to the wall with one of it's enormous arms. The Zabrak, dazed, stumbled out of the beast's reach in time for the Mandalorian to kick him. The armored boot caused a loud popping sound as it broke one of Hals' ribs. He feebly held his knife forward, his eyes filled with contempt, he wouldn't die easily, he swore to himself.

[Jak Bexel]

Dusk broke behind the scuffle, giving it a dramatic silhouette as Jak hurried his Arakyd Hush-About Jetpack towards the struggling Zabrak. He hadn't even finished locking down his scout helmet before taking off. Straightening his form, he collected velocity over the main street and towards Chalmun's Cantina. Over the top of the community scrap yard, his macro-visor made targets of the shapes moving against the man. Two thugs - Gamorrean - and an assailant in black armor. Getting closer, Jak's brow furrowed inside his helmet.

Damn Mandalorians. Such savages. His thoughts invariably traveled back to the Mando slaver he drugged and captured on Kowak, then immediately to the melee on Coronet. Two Mandos decided to turn his neighborhood into rubble with their petty violent games, and he was stuck in the middle. Jak was lucky to escape his encounter with Derek Jacobi, no thanks to the other Mando - Colton Hunter. If he saw them again, it would be too soon. And since Jak was no judge of armor, he could only go with the facts: this man was brutalizing a scavenger who was barely armed, and he needed to be stopped.

He was approaching the fight with enough speed so's to not crumple against the sand. The Gamorreans were not a priority. They had mass and brawn, but no tactical ability. The Mando before him was the target. Activating his utility gauntlet, Jak articulated the Hush-About's thrusters to slow him down but give him a landing arc. With a free hand, he drew his NN-14 blaster. His body thrust upward in the air above the scuffle and, bracing for impact, Jak pressed his legs together and bent them both at the knee. Gravity sent him barrelling feet first, steel tip boot heels bent out and into (presumably) the lower abdomen of the black-clad Mando.

[Hals Sazen]

It all happened so quickly, a man appearing in the sky, his feet colliding with the Mandalorian, the Gamorreans turning away from him before landing their final blows. Hals coughed and spat blood, his eyes wide in surprise. He noticed the jetpack on the man's back, not a common sight, even on Tatooine. He used the advantage to land one final strike against the nearest Gamorrean. He summoned all his will and strength, pushing the pain from his mind. A strange, tingling and almost serene feeling filled him as he launched himself at the behemoth. The green-skinned alien had little time to react as the vibroknife plunged itself deep in to the base of it's skull. There was a sharp crunching noise and the feel of hot blood splatter on his hand, but no reaction. The monstrous alien collapsed like someone had unplugged it. Long ag, Hals had been taught how to kill with a knife, he had been a natural at it. As the monster tipped forward, he yanked with all his strength and collapsed. Heaving and coughing. His ribs were on fire and breathing was difficult. He looked to the sprawling Mandalorian. The black-clad Kori Skirata roared curses in Mando'a as he got to his feet. He looked a bit slowed down, but his armor appeared to have taken the brunt of the impact. He surged toward the man that had come out of the sky, the sinister-looking helmet seemed enraged as he dashed forward, a swordsman's grace showing the years of training and skill behind it. Kori attempted to slice toward the stranger's firing arm, hellbent on severing it.

The other Gamorrean squealed in horror when it noticed it's partner was lying motionless, face down in a pool of blood. Disregarding Hals, it surged toward the gunman, believing somehow that he had caused the other's death. It lunged forward with it's colossal battleaxe, intent on smearing the street with gore. All the while, Hals looked onward, his strange calm had left him, replaced by a throbbing headache and the terrible ache of broken ribs. His breathing was labored, but he had managed to center himself a bit, a sweet spot of shallow and deep breaths that caused him less pain. His hand was covered in foul, green blood from the Gamorrean he had surprisingly slain. His father's knife, carefully crafted had seemed to drip itself clean. Hals looked behind him to the strange man that had made his entire body feel cold, who was that guy, and why was he there? Who was the skyborne man who had the guts to kick a Mandalorian? It was all so confusing, but for some reason so in place. Had these people known he was going to escape? Was their intent on capturing him and enslaving him once more?

It was all too much of a coincidence that all of these random people would have intersected at once, on a side street leading to the Mos Eisley Spaceport. There was a reason all of this was happening, did it have to do with his strange instincts and feelings of being different? Was it the made-up Force, an omniscient energy that some of the old-timers believed in? They said the Force has a way of intertwining destinies, was this an example? How else could he explain these occurrences all lining up at exactly the same time? Hals was not a religious person, but he could see patterns and there definitely was one here. He would worry about it later, for now his focus was survival. If these people didn't hurry up, more Hutt gangsters would arrive soon and then they'd be in for one hell of a fight.

[Raphael Xandir]

Raphael watched in amusement, as the reaction of the Zabrak seemed to be a startled one. The young acolyte had no intent to harm the man, yet he seemed afraid of him. He chalked it up to the man being suspicious of everything, as it seemed he was on the run from someone, but whom? Right on cue the attention of the two was quickly moved to the area behind them as an individual in black armor appeared with two swine looking guards.

As the man before him suddenly turned to meet his foes, Raphael took a step back into the darkness of the street. This was not the acolyte’s fight, but he would gladly stick around to observe how the Zabrak handled himself. If it were entirely necessary, he would intervene to save the potential from going to waste. But for now, the darkness of the shadows consumed him as his silver eyes peered over the scenes unfolding.

Quickly the leader moved towards the Zabrak as he looked even more frightened now. He was impressed at the poise the man held as he moved to attack the group. Clearly he was outnumbered, but out of fear he attacked. Raphael watched as the young man was launched into a wall nearby. This was getting out of hand; they had the pure strength and skill against him. With a swift kick the leader connected with the young man’s gut. Raphael’s grip in both hands grew tighter on his vibroswords as he prepared to intervene.

“This is getting out of hand…” he thought to himself.

Once his mind was made up to move forward, it seemed the tide began to turn for the man. Out of nowhere someone came flying in on a jetpack, barreling towards the leader. Raphael found this to be an interesting development as he took his position back within the shadows.

Impressive, this young man’s determination was as he took advantage of the situation. With what little strength he had left, he took out one of the Gamorreans before collapsing again. Raphael chuckled to himself as the other Gamorrean squealed and moved to attack the man who had no part in the death of his partner. The Zabrak looked back upon the silver eyes of Raphael, the acolyte would take advantage of the shift in focus.

He moved forward out of the shadows as the attention of the fight was focused on the man from the sky. Raphael crouched down near the young Zabrak, clearly wounded. Looking upon him, he analyzed the injuries of the young man. Broken ribs it seems as he was clutching himself. Other than that, he couldn’t tell as he was covered in the green blood of the swine.

Looking towards the battle unfolding, a sinister voice came from young Raphael, “These fools are weak, drowning in their lack of potential…. You on the other hand, possess quite a bit.” A menacing grin appeared on his face, “If you allow me, I will introduce you to my pack. From there you will learn to be stronger than you have ever been before!”

Raphael slowly stood, eyes still fixated on the battle, “You are destined for greatness, just like myself. Follow loyally within our pack and you will lead a better life than the one you are trying to leave behind.”

His silver eyes now beamed towards the young Zabrak, a hand extended down towards him, “If not…. You will find yourself wasting away like the men before you. You would be better off in the cage you came from…. The choice is yours.”