Ghosts in the Graveyard (Open to All)

[Tyran Vizsla]

Nar Shaddaa​

"The place in the galaxy you go to disappear."​

​

The air of the moon spanning city was filled with the stench of desperation, murder, and greed. It was a city where anyone could go to disappear, both metaphorically and in some cases physically. A city of ghosts, only fitting it's dense urban cityscape looked like a graveyard, it would be here that Tyran Vizsla would meet a potential candidate for hire in the Verda ures Alii'gai. He was seeking out a ghost of the Republic, a friend of a friend, a Kel Dor left to die at the hands of the Death Watch before their resurface in Mandalorian territory. The name of the ghost?

[member="Chal Achaln"]​

​

Tyran was in the center of urban debauchery, a Hutt ran club known by the locals as 'Flux', he sat in one of the many corner booths of the club as far away from the noise as possible. The pulse of the club was vibrant and loud, crowds of sentients filled nearly every square inch of the establishment dancing the night away. There were twi'lek girls dancing on poles, dealers selling illegal narcotics in the booths, ravers waving their glow sticks like lightsabers, and drunk fools wreaking havoc on the bar staff. In an effort to blend in, Tyran was dressed casually in the guise of a civilian wearing a black sports coat, white undershirt, and pair of black slacks. He came prepared for trouble in case he found himself at odds with one of the street gangs roaming the back alleys of Nar Shaddaa or anything else he encountered along the way.

As he waited for the man to show his face among the crowd, he moved his gaze to the human waitress approaching his booth. She smiled and asked with a hint of flirt in her voice that he could only assume made her tips,

"Can I get you anything?"​

He looked back and smiled, "Water. Just water."

​

 

[TI-1027]

TI-1027 exited out of one of the many taxis that were near the Nightclub, Dropping off patrons so they may get drunk or dance which ever they enjoyed the most. He proceeded to dust off his leather jacket which was decorated with Imperial patches on the back and the front giving him many disgust looks as he made his way into the Nightclub. Once in TI was greeted by loud music people yelling and women dancing it rattled his ears as he was used to the quiet Imperial bases but he toughened up and pressed on taking a seat at the nearby bar sitting down at the counter immediately ordering a bright an vibrant drink slightly concerned he proceeded to drink it slowly. Looking at it before shrugging slightly and taking another sip again.

 

[Arla Ordo]

This was a world that flourished and encouraged the mercenary life style. A life style that could end with the next job. The green eyed mandalorian was here tonight not for work. Tonight she wanted to relax have a drink and push any thoughts of war from her mind. Tomorrow with dawns light then she would give it thought.

She left her arm or behind it drew attention that she didn't need tonight, however the mythosaur tattoo on her shoulder peeked out from beneath the thin strap that held her shirt to her shoulder.

She slipped inside her blaster securely hung on her hip hugged by the black holster that matched her black pants. She scanned the room dancers, dealers, and drinkers. Arla was not surprised by anything she saw, after all this was the Nar Shaddaa.

She headed towards the bar back around towards the dark side. She couldn't shake that habit to get a larger view who came in. Where did they go.

She ordered a dark ale.

 

[Chal Achaln]

“Didn’t realize you were the dark corner of the bar type” Chal says, skulking out of the shadows and into the seat adjacent from Tyran. “My apologies that I couldn’t find you in a more tasteful environment; surprisingly enough this is one of the safest places on the planet. Plus, my current quarters aren’t exactly suited for guests at the moment.” Chal waves at the waitress in an attempt to beckon her over, “so what can I do for you? I can’t imagine you’d come looking for me in this cesspit to reminisce, I definitely know you aren’t that type.”

 

[Tyran Vizsla]

The Silent Wolf's eyes gazed over at the Kel Dor as he emerged from the shadows of the club, and waited until Chal seated himself before uttering a word. After watching the man seat himself across from Tyran, the Mandalorian slowly reached into his back pocket and drew a small metal object, a case of some design with the Mythosaur crest engraved in it's center. Slowly, he set down the metal case and proceeded to open it in order to reveal it's contents to the Kel Dor.

Cigarra. Concordian Cigarra.

"Cigarra?"

Tyran slowly began cutting the tip of the cigarra off with a small blade that rested in the metal case alongside the goods. Biting down on the cigarra, Wolf smirked as he light it and began taking several puffs.

"Employment. Employment in the Verda ures Alii'gai."

Taking a long draw from his cigarra, Tyran slowly exhaled a stream of smoke in his relaxed position before continuing,

"Warriors without Colors. A private military company founded from warriors of all nations with no boundaries, no discrimination on ideologies or background. You know of us, yet what we've heard of you is only from our mutual Mandalorian friends, they speak highly of you and your 'talents'. This is a job opportunity."

Tyran's eyes drifted toward the front door as several men in black entered, he ignored it for the time being and returned his glance back at the potential employee.


[member="Chal Achaln"]

 

[Arla Ordo]

Arla nodded politely to the bartender he was trying to make some conversation with her.

"new around here?"

Arla nodded, "yes and no, I like it here" Perhaps that was too much information or not enough, didn't matter.

"business?"

Arla looked up, "sometimes, right now, just enjoying the taste of the drink. You always ask so many questions?"

"No"

Arla laughed, "So I get the treatment?"

"Pretty girl alone in here I think that means you are use to much worse"

She had to nod, "You're right, sometimes a lot worse" She had to smile she was a mandalorian and they often spoke quite plainly to one another. Arla's eyes scanned the room again, just making sure.

 

[Chal Achaln]

Chal taps the re-breather attached to his face, "Oxygen's bad enough for my people, I'm afraid something like that would go to waste on me" he says. Chal leans forward, casually glancing at the occasional passerby, "now, I've heard a few murmurs about your little group; cant say I'm entirely thrilled at the idea of being back in the service though. But I know who you are and what you're capable of doing, and I like those job prospects. Besides, there's only so much of a living one can make extorting information from gangsters on Nar Shaddaa; the Hutts hate the idea of having to buy information from people outside their syndicates."

Chal extends his hand towards Tyran, "You've got yourself an informant. Whether I be I operating in the field or acting as your spymaster, my services are yours."

"Now as much as I'd like to leave this place as quickly as possible, I'm afraid there's a bit of a mess I need to clean up in my quarters before we go" he says, gazing around at the crowd within the club. "I'm normally not one to have qualms against bad service, but your waitress is taking far too long for a simple glass of water. Not to mention, well, your not a regular here so you might miss it, but look closely into the crowd" he says gesturing conspicuously towards the bar and several patrons.

"There's far to many strangers here tonight" he says, his voice tensing up. "Faces I'm not used too, foreign mannerisms all around, people far to heavily armed for a night on the town; which doesn't sound strange for a place like this, but even Nar Shaddaa has its limits. I'm afraid we might have some trouble on our hands."

 

[Tyran Vizsla]

"I apologize, I'm afraid I haven't personally dealt with many Kel Dor in my travels. I'll keep that in mind."

Tyran's eyes fixated on the rogue agent for hire, he studied his gestures and the way he spoke to the Mandalorian. He listened to Chal as he accepted the Silent Wolf's offer of employment, a surprise to the mando, at least so soon. Although it wasn't too hard to imagine one tiring of service under the Hutts, especially with their devious, double crossing nature. The constant power plays they made against the various gangs and against each other was good money to one such as Chal, however it was a dangerous game he played. Pick the wrong side and you could end up in a back alley, one had to watch their back at all times.

The Mandalorian extended his hand to meet Chal's, the two locked in a firm handshake before Chal began to mention the need to return to his home and the possibility of trouble lurking in the club. The Silent Wolf grinned, "I suppose we can go over the details when we return to base. Let's get your business sorted out, although I'd prefer not to engage all of Nar Shaddaa on the way there. If any of these unfamiliar faces are after you by chance then we need to be careful how we proceed."

"Lead the way."


[member="Chal Achaln"]

 

[Chal Achaln]

Chal scans the bar a second time, “I’m afraid that traveling together isn’t an option at this point, too much heat on me already. You’ll have to meet me at my quarters; it’s a hotel down the road called ‘The Section Eight’ room 103. Head three blocks east one block south, and one block west, down the first alley, and look for a building with a large red neon sign.”
“Feel free to leave whenever, I’m heading out the back” Chal says, standing up from the table “don’t make waves” he says as he walks towards the back room.

The bouncer normally standing guard is busy dealing with rabble rousers so he passes through with no real difficulty. He enters the changing room where dancers are preparing themselves for the stage, gossiping amongst themselves and paying no mind to Chal, who blends into the background adeptly. He comes to the back door, carefully opening it as to not draw attention the bouncer smoking out back.

He wanders away from the back of the club and into the streets of Nar Shaddaa. It’s a murky night, the wind is strong, and the streets are crowded. Chal loves cities; plenty of places to blend in, plenty of foxholes to hide in, and more than enough unsavory company that can draw attention away from a person looking to disappear.

He merges in and out of crowds; he receives dirty looks from gangsters standing guard outside of Hutt owned establishments and peddlers trying to pawn off their narcotics. The hustle and bustle of the city is a deafening cacophony of noise that follows him all the way back to The Section Eight. He enters through the front door; the man at the front desk is far too absorbed in his reading material to notice Chal wander in. He comes to his room located on the first floor, room 103, he glances behind to make sure he did not attract any tails before entering the room and locking the door behind him.

 

[Tyran Vizsla]

The Silent Wolf nodded after taking another long hit from his cigarra, exhaling he tilted his head away from the Kel Dor and released a steady stream of smoke. "That's acceptable, we will finalize the small details later. I'll meet you at your quarters after I finish my cigarra, room 103." Tyran slouched back and relaxed as he continued to enjoy his favourite vice. As Chal moved to leave the table, Wolf could only smile and comment on the last words the Kel Dor had said.

"I don't."

Unfortunately for the Kel Dor, two of the men-in-black had gotten wind of his leave. Unable to locate the man they quickly began a thorough search of the premises in order to locate him with others en route to his personal quarters. These men were Hutt-affiliated, and deadly to boot.

The remainder of the men in black continued scouring the club, two made their approach to the relaxed Mandalorian as he continued to puff on his cigarra.

"Where did the Kel Dor go?"

Tyran ignored the two, prompting an aggressive repeat of the question.

"Where did the Kel Dor go!?"

The Silent Wolf looked up at the humanoid who had attempted to 'intimidate' him.

Silence. Silence is all it took to infuriate the man as he motioned to his partner who silently drew his blaster and fired. The cigarra was vaporized the moment it flew out of Tyran's mouth. "You shouldn't have done that.."

Flash!

A split second was all it took for the Mandalorian to flip the table over and draw his blaster. He fired on the man who took away his guilty pleasure and struck him in the head with a steady bolt. The second man struggled to take cover only narrowly missing Tyran's second shot as it hit a counter top. The rest of the Hutt-affiliated triggermen began firing in the air stirring the club, they closed in on the Mandalorian as the crowd scattered for the doors.


[member="Chal Achaln"] [member="Arla Balor"] [member="TI-1027"]

 

[Chaos Maxtor]

It was evident Chaos was enjoying himself; preoccupied with the chiss and weequay females he wrapped his arms around, the sithly shi’ido laughed and sealed his lips around the last shot glass. Tossing his head back and swallowed the random alcoholic beverage before launching the the shot glass out of his mouth with a powerful breath. “Where I come from we call that a ‘Scott Summers Special’. Let's see if the Admins catch that one.”

“What Admins?” The Pa’lowick who was rubbing his shoulders whispered in his ear, literally. Her lips were practically in his ear. “They are terrible and mysterious beings of great power.” Chaos explained “They exist in the far future in a far off galaxy and control our lives with keyboards and Hot Pockets. With a single click of a button any of our existences could be erased. This deadly futuristic technique is called ‘The Ban Hammer’.” Before they could answer or question what he meant tables were flipped and arms were drawn.

“Wait! Ladies, dontcha wanna see what's under the mask? Icanshowyoumyspaceshipbutthatlineprobablywon'tworkinascifisetting!” Chaos called out as the crowd began to scatter. His gloved hand slammed on the table “I dont know whats more disturbing, the fact that I was about to score or the little girl in that guy's signature. But some one is about to pay.” Chaos pulled his KD-30 slugthrowers and release a number of acid soaked rounds at the Hutt trigger men.


[member="Tyran Vizsla"] [member="Chal Achaln"] [member="Arla Balor"] [member="TI-1027"]

 

[Chal Achaln]

There's no time to waste; Chal flips on the light in his cluttered hotel room. The cheap lights flicker and buzz overhead while Chal begins sizing up his tasks. His hotel room is filled to the brim with papers of all varieties; copies of bank statements bursting at the seams with counterfeit credits, written testimonies, newspaper articles, and compromising photos. In his time on Nar Shaddaa, Chal has been keeping tabs on just about anyone with a name in this city. Information was a commodity, especially if you were looking to defame your foes or get one step ahead of them, either way Chal bleed them dry of credits.

It was all fun and games to him of course, as long as he could remain anonymous; but no one likes a rat who's seen to much, and Tyran could not have come at a better time because it seems that the Hutt's have finally gotten sick of him. It was only a matter of time before they came to kick down his door, so he had to act fast. Leaving a paper trail was the least of his worries, having the Hutt's get an even sharper edge in the world of crime, for free even, was not something he wanted to risk. Anywhere and any way he could afford to destroy vital information he did; stuffing things down the garbage disposal, into the furnace, blacking out vital information, ripping it up with his own two hands if need be, it all had to be destroyed.

Finally he came to his bathroom, containing his guest of honor. He opened the door, shining light onto the Hutt slave that he 'liberated' from her master. A human woman, late 20's; she was feisty and belligerent at first, the tell tale sign of someone who has not been a slave for long. As one of the Hutt's favorite new handmaidens, she had seen and heard more than enough to be bursting at the seams with the kind of information only someone risking their skin on the inside could get a hold of. She flinches upon the door slamming open, she is blindfolded and her hands handcuffed around an outcropping pipe.

"I told you, I dont know anything else" she stammers out, clearly exhausted and in pain. A few more weeks of this and she'd surely parish, but Chal figures that he's just about rung this slave dry of everything she knows, not that it matters now. Chal draws his blaster and lets out a sigh, normally this is the part where he blows the slaves head off, and makes a get away before there are any witnesses. A dead slave in a musty hotel was just another day in Nar Shaddaa, no one would be the wiser. But he uncuffed her, removed her blindfold, and pointed at the door.

"Get out. Now." he commands, aiming his gun at her. The slave doesn't think twice and makes a mad dash for the front door. She unlatches the lock and the moment she opens the door she gets double tapped by a gangster lying in ambush. What a shame. The gangster swears loudly in his native tongue before Chal whips his blaster upright at him and blasts a sizable chunk out of the gangster's torso, knocking him flat on his back. Two more who were hiding down the hall flinch at the thundering crack Chal's weapon made, the one of the left tries to take aim but a second blaster shot tears through the drywall he was using for cover, shredding his clothes and skin. The gangster on the right begins firing wildly into the hotel room and Chal ducks for cover, unfortunately his weapon was not meant for long firefights and the gangsters are no doubt scrambling reinforcements.

He'll put up one hell of a fight, like the cornered rat he is, but he will not last for long.