The two suns did wonders for Gorossk. He loved the heat baking his scales and giving him enough warmth to last years in space. Oddly enough, he had barely been to Tatooine; only a handful of times in his career. His father despised the Hutts and they ruled the dust ball of a planet. Gore had to come more often, but this trip had a purpose. The Bounty Hunter’s Guild had a bounty posted for one Lira Zione, a Cultist who had gone rogue. Supposably Tatooine was her last known location. Lira would obviously be a challenge for one lone Trandoshan, but he was not planning on killing her all by himself.

He landed the Ashkrik in a spaceport off toward the end of Mos Eisley. Gore needed to find others to help him bring down his prey. The reward did not concern him, he wanted the lightsaber and notoriety of killing a Cultist. Surely Tatooine had some able bodied fighters he could recruit. Where to find them was the problem.

Leaving the spaceport, he relished the feeling of the twin sun shinning on all his scales. Conveniently there was a cantina across from the hangar. Most of them wanted a drink right after landing, and normally Gore would indulge in those activities. However, there was business to tend to. The streets of Mos Eisley were always crowded, with vendors on every side. Gorossk could smell the stench of every species near him. Perchance one of them would become his meal, and two others his lackeys.

As he walked toward the bar, hoping to scope out potential prospects, a man came flying out of the cantina door. Quick to catch him, Gore growled and threw him to the side. A mess of people started pouring out. They were all drunk and angry. It appeared that the fight was partly a gang rivalry, for each side had matching colors. Others off the street and in the bar simply wanted to fight or got punched square in the face. Quite amusing to Gore; he decided to stick around and watch, taking a seat on one durasteel cargo crate.

Even fellow off-worlders, who had just docked, began taking part in the fight. Some smarter ones watched from the sidelines. Anything and everything was brought into the fight. Beer bottles, stools, pazaak tables, barrels, buckets. Gore found himself laughing at the skirmish that kept growing. Soon the whole street was filled with brawlers. Winning a battle against drunkards would not be enough proof for Gorossk, he needed to make sure they were up to the challenge.

Users of black magic were powerful. Mere brute force could only weaken them to an extent. He needed a plan to take one of these sorcerers down and claim his prize. Gore wondered if attacking at night would give them an edge, unless there was a spell that allowed them to see through the black. He doubted the Cultist would still be in Mos Eisley, or any city for that matter. If trying to disappear, one needed to be off the grid. Tatooine’s vast dune seas and rocky terrain were perfect, assuming said person could take the heat.

Gorossk had met a demon before. He had been pinned to a wall and recruited forcefully, like he would do to those he thought were up to the challenge. That was another mission he had yet to complete. Finding a Mandalorian was harder than he expected, but Gore would not fail Darkhan. He would succeed, like how he would succeed killing a stray demon from the Cult. Her magic would be no match for Gorossk and his accomplices.

His eyes were anxiously awaiting the end of the brawl, and hoping that perhaps he might find his future conspirators.

Like a lurching, eyeless vulture a single man in a crowd of hundreds shuffled his way along the paved path. People swerved to avoid his presence. A lopsided grin split over his face, finding some amusement in the animosity surrounding his physical form. But none could blame others apprehension of him. The gaunt features, the goggles, and trailing black great coat left something to be desired –or lost. Fear was an asset to any criminal. Nobody eyed them for more than a passing glance. Just enough to draw a droplet of terror into their feeble minds. The striding young man was capable of such things easily. Weapons being displayed openly and his head hunched forward and collar popped. To all he was an aggressive looking figure.

Garlan took long, bobbing strides that carried him swiftly, albeit strangely through archway after archway. The architecture of Mos Eisley was soothing to someone like the drug ridden ne’er-do-well. Smooth and minimal in design they were made for practicality not for aesthetics. Being that there was little left to be desired. Soothing in its soft beiges and lighter golden-yellows the buildings were echoing back to a simpler time in Garlan’s mind. He couldn’t place a finger on it as he grew up in the industrial underbelly of Coruscant but something moved him deeply. Whether it was the way the sand caked the domed structures of the way the twin suns rolled lazily through the sky it had an air of magic for the young Bawoosh.

For a long while he stood out in the open courtyard outside the spaceport marvelling at the city around him. Few structures nearby stood tall near the spaceport, but further out it was clearly visible, tall spires and square towers reaching into the sky. Like the fingers of a giant they were pricking the sky with some hidden desire. With the waves of heat hiding their true form they were both mysterious and horrifying to Garlan. Like a wavering fog the heat blended horizon of sky and sand into one seamless mass. Like the world went on forever.

It was some time before Garlan noticed the ensuing brawl, having been enthralled with just studying the buildings and people walking past. He had taken up a place sitting against a high wall of the spaceport. This was interrupted when a great cloud of dust rose into the air, disrupting his view of a nearby club that rose above the surrounding landscape. An annoyed Garlan turned his gaze to ground level and observed the fighting.

Thugs were busy slamming each other into the ground. Not for any reason in particular but just for the sake of fighting. Their roars and taunts could be heard rising high into the sky. A large number already lay in the sand, their bodies either lifeless or attempting to crawl away. Garlan was bemused to see one young gun slam a booted foot into the head of a struggling Gand before moving on to vanish back into the great dust bowl roiling around the fight. It was a disquieting sight to see so many hopefuls hurting each other when there was a better expenditure of time.

Nearby stood a Trandoshan who’s description fitted that of Garlan’s accomplice. Standing now Garlan moved towards the big lizard. Skirting the fight and keeping a fair distance from those he deemed a little too aggressive. Moving alongside who he assumed was Gorossk, Garlan remained calm, on hand resting on his blaster holster and remaining quiet. Patiently, he waited to be addressed. He wouldn’t allow himself to simply blurt out who he was before a fellow conspirator did so first. However there was another factor at play. His natural shyness was coming between confirming his suspicion of the alien being Gorossk. Instead he chose to watch, and wait.

Though much of the fight had spilled out into the street; was still chaos in the Cantina. Drunk and brutish, brawlers howled and snarled at one another. Voices were only half audible over music. Bottles, glasses, tables and chairs flew about. Shattered on the floor. The wall. Sometimes the ceiling. For their part, the band played on at a fever pitch. Seemed used to this kind of thing. Not surprising- lawless place, this city. Fortunate for him. Meant questions were less likely. Moreover, meant the Confederation was generally nowhere to be seen.

A few drunks was a small price to pay for such a boon.

Devar took a swig of his drink; leaned back to plant his boots on a nearby stool, arm on the bar. Liquor here tasted like piss, but he'd an image to maintain. Needed to blend in, until accomplices made themselves known.

Wearing the mask of a common thug. A tough. Likely to be affiliated with some criminal organization or another. Had ensured his appearance appropriate for the role- disheveled, scruffy. Knife and blaster openly displayed on belt. Perpetual sneer on his face.

Intimidating, to be certain. None had attempted to draw him into the conflict. Yet. Might happen soon. Shifted his eyes to the door. Impossible to see anything through the teeming mass of humanity. He shrugged. This was their meeting place. Accomplices would find him eventually. Had been given a description of his appearance. Should have little trouble finding him- if they could enter the bar.

As he waited; took a moment to mentally review the dossier. Target had an alliance bounty on her head. Killed a number of supporters. Rather gruesomely, to boot. Worse, mostly unarmed. Helpless.

In his mind, there were some who simply deserved to die.

Mission wouldn't be an easy one. Target was a force user. Extremely dangerous, extremely volatile. Violent, unpredictable- but that could be advantageous. Could be manipulated. Just the same, wasn't the sort of mission a man could do alone. Would be working with an agent of the guild, and another unidentified free agent.

A hand clamped his shoulder. A Snarled, slurred threat passed his ears. A fist swung toward his face. Then, the sound of cracking bone, and the assailant was upon the floor. Likely had a broken nose. Was a Clumsy attack. Used to beating hapless civilians, most likely. Others had seen the attack. Seen the result. Bravado in their eyes. Improvised weaponry in their hands.

So much for remaining unnoticed. Hopefully, his accomplices would arrive soon.

A second look at the Trandoshan to the mercenary’s left proved that he wasn’t the man-lizard sought. In fact the alien wasn’t even a Trandoshan to begin with but instead some other iguana-like creature that Garlan couldn’t describe. Its eyes turned to look at him, red pin pricks of pupils that stared hard at the drug addict and made him shrivel inwardly like a dehydrated grape.

Garlan felt that he wanted to get out of the sun. Maybe it was the giant reptilian creature to his left staring at him like an obelisk, or perhaps it was the sudden awareness of the blistering heat. He longed for the coldness of the underworld that soothed his skin and mended his thoughts. It was hard to think with the dust so heavy in the air and a coat of humidity Garlan wore. The bar across the slowly dissipating fight had been the designated meeting area, and it would likely be cleared out of all comers, hopefully save for the required persons.

Garlan’s long strides took him across the quickly bloodying courtyard in short order. He pulled his black storm coat around him and hobbled down the stairwell of the bar, a vulture escaping from the lions outside. The black goggled eyes flicked from side to side, taking in the surrounds with an air of detachment.

It was a spacious tavern set underground. The walls were smooth eggshell white and soothing to the eye compared to outside. Tables were placed in booths station at regular intervals, six in all and the seats being benches built off the walls themselves. The entire area was symmetrical with the bar squatting in the center vomiting out drinks. The bartender tended the pipes’ and bottles with an almost religious passion. Everything kept clean, their holy icons of debauchery and merriment at constant chrome status. There was no layer of smoke because this particular bar enforced a strict policy of air quality. What occupants of the establishment kept to themselves, their eyes having a quality that was more of nocturnal creatures than day a walking citizen.

Garlan moved around the bar, eyeing the occupants of the metal toadstools stationed around it. Eventually he came to the man he was looking for. A little fellow with a beard and handsome features sitting on the other side of the bar watching the door. He was wearing a darker set of clothing, deeper in black than Garlan’s own apparel which was weather worn and badly patched. At the foot of the man’s seat was a writhing alien, arm clearly broken and grumbling in drunken pain.

Without so much as a word of apology Garlan placed a foot onto the monster’s stomach and stepped over him. The alien groaned loudly and the mercenary and shot him a look. A thin wolf-like smile slid over his face as he stepped beside the shorter man and took the stool nearby. Twisting his body Garlan sat and propped his elbows in the bar loudly. Before the bartender made his full way over the drug addict raised a hand, stopping him and turning down the offer of drink. Turning abruptly to the other man Garlan offered a greasy fingered, calloused, and partially armoured hand to his ally,

“Garlan. Devar I’m assuming? Unless you’re just another ugly looking guy with the same name?”

The thin smile split into a yellow toothed grin.

Devar could hear the brawl going outside, still. Fight had stopped in here. All eyes on the newcomer. On him. Would be twelve against one. Bad odds. Impossible to make a break for it- and inadvisable. Had yet to meet with contact. Might be able to hold his own-though not for long. Intimidation? Not likely. Rough crowd. Single outsider. Only one way this could end.

Readied himself. Calculated who was most likely to strike, in what order. Noticed some were armed. Not good. Prepared for the worst. If need be, had his blaster. Last resort- needless casualties should be avoided. Hands hovered over weapons.

The tension broke as the cantina doors opened. Evidently, his comrade possessed impeccable timing. At least, he assumed this was the contact.

Stepping through was a tall, loping husk of a man. Walked as though he owned the cantina. Black storm coat. Black goggles. Armored. Armed. As he strutted past, patrons scrambled out of his way. Made a point of stepping on the sentient Devar had just laid out. Looked him up and down, then sat, apparently satisfied. Refused a drink-focused on objectives?

Flashed Devar an ugly, yellowed grin. Extended a grimy, partially armored hand in greeting.

Looked like a dangerous figure. Black goggles masked his eyes-hiding something? Face was gaunt, skeletal. Covered in scars. Well armored. Imposing. Twin vibroblades openly displayed. Was no stranger to crime. Likely killed many in his day. Wouldn't think much of killing again.

Could be good to have one like that on his side. Could also be disastrous. He wasn't sure which. Not yet.

"Garlan. Devar, I'm assuming? Unless you're just another ugly looking guy with the same name?"

Took Garlan's hand in a brisk handshake. Own hand was equally filthy- had to look the part, after all.

"Frack, You're one to talk." He responded, his voice gruff; aggressive. "Look worse'n a bantha's ass. 'N yeah, I'm the one you're lookin' for. Only other Devar 'round here's Krayt Chow. Pissed off some crime lord. Boom. Hah! You know how it is." Laughed boorishly. Fingers formed shape of a gun, followed by a shrug.

"Frack if I know. You're here for the deal, then?"

As he spoke, eyes covertly scanned the cantina. Good. Patrons back to going about their business. Thought of taking on two well-armed individuals apparently disagreeable. Could focus more on the mission, then. And more on analyzing his cohort.

"You got the stuff we need?"

Was referring, of course, to information on target's whereabouts. Hoped Garlan would pick up on subtlety. Also hoped reaction would not be negative when Devar finally dropped this brutish guise. Could end up making things much more complicated.

If he was any judge, they were complicated enough already.

The dark and ultimately gloomy wetness of the cantina found a quick place in Garlan`s heart. Like a cave it was cavernous once one`s eyes adjusted to the lighting. He felt safe here, out of the sun and basking in the ambient glow of fluorescents. Like a moth to the flame he lifted his eyes to the lighting ad marvelled at its brilliance. A pilgrim observing the end of his mission and taking a final and hard gaze at the icon he had come so far to see. It was such a strange and sudden absence of thought that for a moment he felt vindicated. Like a flash of lightening it passed in a fraction of a second and he was struck back against earth with shattering suddenness.

Devar had taken his hand and shaken it roughly. Garlan eyed the older man closely. Devar had a young face and his eyes claimed he thought in staccato. A vast cacophony of sound was going on behind those windows and one did not need be a great reader of people to realise such. It seemed the man was trying to act tuff.

"Frack, You're one to talk." He responded, his voice gruff; aggressive. "Look worse'n a bantha's ass. 'N yeah, I'm the one you're lookin' for. Only other Devar 'round here's Krayt Chow. Pissed off some crime lord. Boom. Hah! You know how it is." Laughed boorishly. Fingers formed shape of a gun, followed by a shrug. "Frack if I know. You're here for the deal, then? You got the stuff we need?"

For a time Garlan just stared at Devar and watched him talk, letting go of the man`s hand. After the other man`s speech the machete wielding mercenary was silent for a moment. He slide his body so that it was hanging over the bar, he did not turn to face Devar. A slow, but vile smile slugged its way onto Garlan`s face as he watched his ally squirm in the awkward pause in conversation out of the corner of his eye. It brought an enormous amount of amusement to the mercenary to make his friends uncomfortable. It was just how he got to see them as they truly were. To strip away their rough exterior like a wet coat. He pulled his jacket closer over his chest with a flick of either wrist and a shift from either shoulder.

”Yeah, I`m here for that.” Garlan shrugged slightly in response to Devar`s seemingly careless gesture. “Though I’m not from around yonder parts.” He gestured expansively to the world beyond that bars.

“But there are people who deal with information. Y’know, sort of like dealers. But the keep their ear to the ground and push what they hear.” Garlan glanced around the bar. “Though if we were to find any of them here it would be a miracle considering how this place got tossed like a Muun salad. We best get moving. Care to lead solider boy?”

Garlan gestured to the door with one greasy hand and smiled, his lips peeling over his teeth and showing off his losing smile again.

Companion paused longer than necessary. A startling realization: Garlan wasn’t fooled. Was difficult to tell. At first, wasn’t certain he’d seen anything at all. Goggles blocking the eyes made facial expressions difficult to read- perhaps their intended purpose? Longer he spoke, the more certain he became.

Was there in his body language. The way he watched Devar. The way he displayed amusement at barely visible discomfort. Thought there was more beneath the surface.

Was like one predator sizing up another. Or perhaps a hawk, sizing up its next meal. Whatever the reason, was clear the younger man suspected something. Strange. Not many could see through his act. Had underestimated his companion. Would appear the mercenary was more intelligent-and dangerous- than appearances would at first suggest. Also possibility that he had read dossier on companion. Even so, information should be sparse. Physical description and location, at most. Seemed far more likely he’d come to this conclusion himself.
Hated to admit it, but he was impressed.

Possibility that this was standard behaviour. Would have to keep close eye on Garlan. Best measure of a man was in combat. If target was as volatile as reports suggested, they would certainly have plenty of that.
All he should know was that Devar was Alliance- nothing more.
After some time, the mercenary spoke again.

“Yeah, I’m here for that.” An offhanded shrug. “Though I’m not from around yonder parts.” Sweeping gesture with his arm. Another wide grin. Breath smelled putrid- like something rotten.

Devar nodded, and grinned in response. Should keep up act for now. Other patrons could still be watching.

“I know my way around the place pretty good. Been here a coupla times on ‘business.’” Arrogant smirk.

“But there are people who deal with information. Y’know, sort of like dealers. But the keep their ear to the ground and push what they hear. Though if we were to find any of them here it would be a miracle considering this place got tossed like a Muun salad. We best get moving. Care to lead, soldier boy?”

Implications were clear. Garlan had point- information dealers likely to possess information about target’s location. Slightly irritated by lack of subtlety, however.

“’Course. You’d end up getting your stupid ass lost without me, anyhow.”

Finished his drink in one long swig, picked up his pack and left the bar. Patrons gave both men a wide berth. Might be thugs and ruffians, but weren’t stupid. Knew the two were dangerous-possibly assumed them in the employ of some crime lord or another. Meandered through the streets, and eventually into a dark alleyway.

Once he could be sure the two were out of earshot-and eyesight- of others, Devar dropped the guise. Rather than loud and brutish, voice was now measured and calm. Moved closer to Garlan, and spoke.

“Approximately three blocks from our current location is an information dealer by the name of Telrog Orn. He has had dealings with the alliance before- his information is always good. If the target is still here in the city, he will know. If she’s moved on, he’ll have an idea of where she’s going. Before we continue, however, a proper introduction is in order. Devar Kelren. Sharpshooter. Also trained in K’tara style martial arts. And you?”

The bartender regarded the duo with a dreary stare, downcast but threatening. His pudgy hands were comfortably nested in his armpits complete with attached arms which were poised in an annoyed position. His accessories hung at odd angles around his pudgy form. A small, stained apron was partially covered by a paunch that could have rivalled a hutt’s. Eyes of pale blue stared out of tired look sockets. The bar man stood silently, clearly lacking work because of the fight that had ensued. His features were wrinkled, but he was Theelin, with the odd gem markings of the sub-species marking his scalp. They stood out like glistening blue eyes. From a distance it may be mistaken that he had many different eyes, staring in all directions. To a drunk it would seem likely impossible to sneak up on such a manner of creature. Garlan could tell immediately that he had met someone of his species, a rare occurrence anywhere in the galaxy.

“’Course. You’d end up getting your stupid ass lost without me, anyhow.”

Garlan sucked on his teeth slightly, not much caring for a shot at his professionalism. A hand fell casually to his machete as he considered extinguishing a life. Then he thought better of it. He would likely need Devar, for the purposes of a meatshield for the road.

Beginning to leave the bar Garlan caught the look on patrons’ faces. Starring with suspicious, questioning eyes like that of curious fauna after a kill. Large, glistening orbs that stunk like frightened animals. Small furry creatures only ventured out at night to scavenge, then hid in a hole at mid-day and drink sorrows away. Two predators had ventured into their home, disturbed the reptoire and were now leaving to seek new quarry. There was a small respite in the twitches of their noses and lips. But eventually talons and teeth would dig into them. This was Tattooine, a place of scum and villainy, feast and frenzy.

Garlan shuffled out into the daylight and ruffled his feathers free of the dank underground. Shielding his eyes with a grimy hand he looked up at the sun and gauged the time. He felt a little discouraged that they had spent so long in the den bellow, with the lowly prey of society. Garlan noticed several bodies lying in the dust, carrion that were being picked over by the scavengers brave enough to venture into the sun. The articles of clothing were tossed about like guts, and being fought over by the small.

Feeling slightly bemused by the spectacle Garlan turned away and followed his compatriot. Trailing along for a time they moved into a dark alley or at least as dark as it could get, given the Tattooine morning star beating down. Devar suddenly turned to Garlan,

“Approximately three blocks from our current location is an information dealer by the name of Telrog Orn. He has had dealings with the alliance before- his information is always good. If the target is still here in the city, he will know. If she’s moved on, he’ll have an idea of where she’s going. Before we continue, however, a proper introduction is in order. Devar Kelren. Sharpshooter. Also trained in K’tara style martial arts. And you?”

A wild smile spread over the criminal’s face. Dark and lupine spread from ear to ear and filled with yellow teeth. Garlan knew there had been something stand-offish about the other ‘bounty hunter’ and now his suspicions were confirmed. Devar was a military boy, his movements to clean, fluid in their flow. Garlan began to laugh, starting in his chest and then coming out in a loud guffaw. Slapping his allies arm with gusto he responded, still somewhat laughing,

“So manner, eh Slick?” Another great laugh, “Garlan Bawoosh. No specialisation, just attack machetes.” Garlan’s heavy accent flowed into a drawl with his ganger tongue.

Garlan began to cough and sputter from chuckling so hard. Crouching down and spitting into the sand before continuing to laugh. Once the giggles had died down enough he stood back up, looking Devar in the face, a wide grin on his face.

“Okay okay, you’re cute, so let’s move. We’re burning lights.” Garlan nudged his ally towards the mouth of the alley, “come come, lead the way.” His laughter renewed as he thought of Devar dressed up and clean shaven in a military suit.

“You’ll likely get your stupid ass lost without me, anyhow.”

Garlan’s hand moved to blade at his waist. Obviously didn’t care for statement. A tense moment. Devar’s own frame tensed, eyes impassively sizing up his comrade. Pretended not to notice, but readied himself. Would draw own knife in response, should it come to that. Would prefer to avoid confrontation here. Likelihood that even as a victor, would not come out unscathed. Seconds passed. Tension died. Garlan took his hand away from weapon. Good. Quarry likely more dangerous than the both of them.

Couldn’t afford mistakes.

Lead him through the city. Couldn’t fully read him with those goggles. Still could tell Garlan was observant. Not just the cantina. The way he seemed to watch. Take in everything. Very little escaped him. The tall man was many things. Foolish was not one of them. Used to hunting, perhaps?

Used to being the hunted?

“Approximately three blocks…and you?”

Garlan extremely amused. Smiling like feral dog, or wolf, rotting teeth and all. Obviously found comic value in sudden transformation. Slapped arm with a grin. Show of camaraderie. Possibly respect. Could be congratulatory for providing a laugh. Voice still fragmented by laughter, Garlan spoke.

“So manner, eh Slick? Garlan Bawoosh. No specialization. Just attack machetes.”

Close combat. Good. Had never been Devar’s strong suit. Better at stealth. Sneak about like a shadow. Catch them unawares. Let them die ignorant of what killed them. Didn’t seem Garlan’s style. Dressed as he was; was meant to be seen. Was meant to confront.

Was meant to terrify.

Grimly wondered if Garlan ever confronted the likes of their target. Not helpless and unarmed like engineers. Still, target was former Jedi. Lightsabers a dangerous weapon, the force more so. Jedi always unnerved him. Used to knowing his targets. Knowing how they thought, how they moved, how they’d act.

Those strong in the force were…different. Not readable. Didn’t like it.

Garlan doubled over, coughing and spitting. Not in good shape from laughter. Unusual. Possibly result of drugs? Worth considering. Would keep close watch on Garlan.

“Okay, okay, you’re cute, so let’s move. We’re burning lights. Come, come, lead the way.” He chuckled, urging Devar to alley’s entrance.

Didn’t take long to reach information dealer. Unassuming, dilapidated looking building in run-down area of city. Large droid at entrance. Gave password. “Two Jawas.” Admitted to inner sanctum.
=============================================
Office-situated on second floor- well furnished. Appearances deceiving. Bay window looked out on wide street below. Smooth architecture-no sharp edges or corners. Several potted plants aligned about the room. Fancy carpeting.

Telrog Orn massive, even for a Trandoshan. 7.5 feet tall. Several hundred pounds. Looked like unintelligent, uncultured brute. Appearances deceiving, as he well knew. Orn one of best dealers in the city- and most reliable lead for alliance. Greeted guests from behind a massive stone desk, flanked by two armed droids.
Didn’t need them.

Had seen Orn fight before.

Didn’t happen often. Orn fairly passive. Jovial, even. Many folks taken aback. Didn’t expect it. Cut an imposing figure,and well known in underworld, to boot.
Devar supposed anyone could have a sense of humor.

“That’s why I love this trade!” Orn laughed. “You get to meet so many interesting people! Why, today I’ve already dealt with three irate Wookies, a peg-legged Bith, and now a costumed supervillain and a homeless bum!” Leaned back in his desk, grin showing mouth full of sharp fangs.

“So, what do you boys need, anyway? If you’re looking for a good hairdresser or some new clothes that make you look less like you stepped out of a bad holovid, well-“

“Here for information, Orn. As always.” Devar interrupted. Nod in Orn’s direction. Orn paused. Furrowed brow for a moment. Recognition slowly dawned in eyes.

“Thought I recognized you, Devar. Been a while since I’ve seen any of you alliance folks around these parts. Let me guess- you’re here about the rogue jedi?”

Devar nodded. Hardly surprised that he knew. Very little got past him.

“As always, business isn’t free. Gotta feed the kids somehow, right? Before we continue, though…who is this charming companion of yours? Doesn't really look like alliance.”

Entering the air conditioned office made Garlan’s stomach flip-flop. He hated the cold with an undying passion. Coldness he usually associated with being empty, washed out, scrubbed clean of any grit. The idea of mountains slammed flat or forests burned down caused a primitive fear in the young man. Whatever philosophers said about ‘cold comfort’ was a total crock. Silently he fumed and complained over the settings. Cursing every article and piece of furniture in the room. Right down to the stationary and the pens.

Garlan ignored the interaction between the lizard-man and the Alliancer. Such bits of politics and business never really interested him. The whole ‘scratching backs’ was a little tiresome when one was constantly giving services up for a cause or ideal. It just didn’t seem like the logical choice of actions when one could sell their skills for more. Garlan judged the war between the two factions the same as any war. Two rival gangs, one strong, one weak. The weaker having some set of popular morals, code and honour and the stronger being sadistic and power fevered. Once the weaker grew tough or clever enough, they defeated the other. Eventually they would live long enough to become the ‘bad guy’ and the cycle repeated. It was the sort of dance the mercenary didn’t want part in. To Garlan everything was blood and guts with the capacity for evil. It was just dependant on the matter of time. The only constant were the ideals -which may shift slightly but were always the same in essence.

Garlan’s interest fell to a particularly shiny pieces of hardware flanking the alien brute. Two heavily armed ‘droids stood quietly. If one listened closely they could hear the tracking systems lock on Garlan with an almost unperceivable ticking sound. Their bodies were made out to look bulky and threatening. Exposing little to no circuitry, and with face plates like mock Tusken Raiders. Garlan appreciated a good looking ‘droid. Back on Coruscant he had faced down kill-‘droids and murder bots and was comfortable with the names of the various builds and knew enough to be aware these were custom machines.

Slowly Garlan began to realise the Trandoshan’s place with the Alliance. Even slower he came to discover perhaps he was an Agent of the Alliance in and indirect way. How large was the web spun and how many were trapped? Maybe meeting Devar was something more than chance?

Garlan shifted slightly and casually placed a hand on his blaster. The ‘droids hummed louder and with reluctance he dropped his hand to the side again. There was a shifting cloud of unease floating over the drug addict. He didn’t believe in higher powers but there was something malicious at work and Garlan would feel it soaking into his skin.

Once the conversation turned to Garlan he couldn’t help but feel slightly daunted and paranoid. Fear fell in heavy droplets onto his mind as the realisation that he was already thinking like an agent sunk in. It only took a moment to compose himself and put on a shell of competence.

Giving Devar a playful punch on the arm and laughed dryly, “eh, what separates him from me? Got the beard and everything” Garlan rubbed his stubble with a mock grin before continuing, “I’m here for the same reason he is. Just hunting.”

Garlan didn’t like the idea that the Trandoshan referred to the rogue dark sider as a ‘Jedi’.It unnerved him deeply because the Jedi and Alliance refutably had strong ties to one another. If Devar was wanting to talk to the Jedi then there was little chance either of them would be leaving Tattooine in one piece. Garlan’s paranoia quickly started to grow into physical discomfort as he put things together.

Companion shifted uncomfortably on entry. Head turned very slightly this way and that. Muttering to self. Twitching. Ill at ease...Hiding something? Perhaps. Previously acquainted with broker? Uncertain.

Best make mental note- keep watch on both. Look for interaction. Tracked Garlan out of corner of eye as he spoke to Orn. Companion obviously paranoid- or was it caution? Latter more likely-had already displayed fierce intellect- though could not discount former.

Still uncertain if trustworthy. Mental instability? Possible. Rotted teeth sign of drug addiction? Possible. Poor hygiene? Also possible. Impossible to tell at this stage. Couldn't discount anything.

Formidable opponent, that was undeniable. Perceptive, as well. Still, something bothered him. Wasn't certain what.

Hated uncertainty.

Companion's hand moved to blaster. Droids reacted. Hand moved away. Orn noticed. Simply kept speaking. Grinned at Devar. Predatory. Looked over at Garlan.

"...Before we continue, though…who is this charming companion of yours? Doesn't really look like alliance.”

Delivered good-natured strike to Devar's right arm.

"Eh, what separates him from me? Got the beard and everything. I’m here for the same reason he is. Just hunting.”

Tried to put on air of ease. Obviously even more unnerved. Sweat beading on forehead. Head twitching back and forth. Rapidity of breathing increased. Likely would see eyes darting about room were it not for goggles. Couldn't place why...uncomfortable around Orn? No, not that. Mention of target? Not likely, dossier had been distributed to all agents beforehand. Then again...

Was himself nervous. He was a trained soldier. Garlan was experienced, yes. Likely accomplished bounty hunter. Still, formal training seemed unlikely. Possibly most dangerous target either had faced- were they prepared for it?

Train of thought interrupted by Orn. Trandoshan was laughing.

"Just hunting, eh? Well, best be careful with this one- she's a vicious little lady, if my contacts are to be believed, likely to separate your upper half from your lower and acquaint it with the ground. And hey, they haven't lied to me yet." Paused for a moment.

"You sure you want to go through with this one, Kelren?"

Devar nodded.

"We're well aware of the risks, Orn. But she's wronged us. I have my orders, and I will follow them to the letter- even if means my death. I am an Agent of the Alliance first, and a man second. That's what it means to be a soldier. Even were I not..."

Words spoken barely audible. Tone matter-of-fact.

"She deserves to die for what she did."

Orn slightly taken aback. Unsurprising. Never saw this side of Devar. Few ever did. Engineers had families. Friends. Had trusted Lira. Died for it. Would not let passion interfere with mission. Was simply his stance.

Orn cleared his throat. Stepped back. Looked down at console on desk.

"Right. Well then. Here's what I know about her..."

((Does Orn know the target's current whereabouts? If not, how much does he know about where she might be holed up?))

Orn pauses a moment before he continues his sentence, his tone dropping to a low voice of recollection. "She's definitely passed through this town. I had my boys look out for her just in case and she led one on a nice chase before losing him for a day."

He snarled as he read on. "She showed up again when she murdered a man and fled the city a day ago. I didn't send any men after her then. Boys, you're going to have your work cut out on you with this one. He choked to death with no signs of trauma." The large lizard's head shook from side to side. With a slight hiss, he closed the dossier on his datapad.

"She was headed east. I went ahead and asked a few locals about information on the area, but my boys haven't gotten back with me yet. You can go find them if you like. Otherwise I'll just forward you the information later." He said with a sigh. His good mood seemed to have faded, making way to a serious side of his personality.

The disgusting lizard fixed Garlan with a momentary glance. A cursory look that spoke some volumes. The iguana was an over confident sort, but strong and well versed. Devar seemed to take note of Garlan’s twitching the breeze of uncertainty that swept the area. The only creatures remaining apathetic to the entire issue were the shining silver sentinels flanking the desk. Garlan partly envied their lack of attachment to everything that went on around the, save the cursory aggressive movement.

A cruel laugh rumbled deep in the chest of the Alliance operative behind the desk, "just hunting, eh? Well, best be careful with this one- she's a vicious little lady, if my contacts are to be believed, likely to separate your upper half from your lower and acquaint it with the ground. And hey, they haven't lied to me yet." Garlan glanced at Devar, a grimace drawn tight on his lips, denoting a lack of faith in his compatriots understanding of the severity of their target.

"You sure you want to go through with this one, Kelren?" Another thin lipped smile slip Garlan’s face like an ax through wood. A slight not from Devar widened the grin sickeningly, displaying rot and saliva-sap on the hunks of yellow that the addict called teeth.

"We're well aware of the risks, Orn. But she's wronged us. I have my orders, and I will follow them to the letter- even if means my death. I am an Agent of the Alliance first, and a man second. That's what it means to be a soldier. Even were I not..."

Garlan felt a hissing laugh starting to draw up his roots from the pool of pity forming around Devar’s feet. "She deserves to die for what she did."

“Cute.”

The hissing laugh continued sounding more like an exotic bird, Garlan’s teeth parting to allow a tongue to poke through. A deep part of him only mushroomed slightly in pity for the young Alliance officer, who was only a few years older than himself. For the better of the man he tried to contain himself as the little officer collected himself. The Alliance was just full of bleeding hearts and white doves of peace. They would have made a better organization for the maintenance of sick kittens, or planting trees. Chasing one person was nothing to get your feathers ruffled over. Regardless the lizard, Orn, continued.

"Right. Well then. Here's what I know about her...she's definitely passed through this town. I had my boys look out for her just in case and she led one on a nice chase before losing him for a day."

He snarled as he read on. "She showed up again when she murdered a man and fled the city a day ago. I didn't send any men after her then. Boys, you're going to have your work cut out on you with this one. He choked to death with no signs of trauma. She was headed east. I went ahead and asked a few locals about information on the area, but my boys haven't gotten back with me yet. You can go find them if you like. Otherwise I'll just forward you the information later.”

Garlan only shrugged, full knowing a force user could reach out and chop one down with their mind. A scary thought to be sure, but one Garlan was willing to address in combat. The bounty hunter only offered another pitying shrug at the information. There was only so much a man could do against one of the deadliest monsters in the galaxy. Devar and Garlan were just stupid enough to go chasing one.

Noticed companion eyeing Orn and security droids. Difficult to discern expression. Continued shifting about as Orn spoke. Grimaced at Devar. Clearly desired to be elsewhere. Possible that he'd cut and run?

"You sure you want to go through with this, Kelren?".

As he nodded, noted sneer on partner's lips. Rotting, stained teeth. Putrid saliva. Grew wider as he spoke, culminating in hissing, barely contained laughter. Strained, almost.

"Cute."

Strained. Holding back? Possible. Still uneasy? Also possible. Source of amusement? Likely Devar's sense of duty. Companion likely a man who swore loyalty to credits only.

For his part, Devar remained impassive.

Garlan's loyalties and attitude irrelevant, so long as he did his part. Mission was clear. Rifle was loaded. Only needed to know where to aim it. Hoped partner would know to follow. Turned attention back to Orn, back to finding his quarry.

"She's definitely passed through town... Boys, you're going to have your work cut out for you with this one. He choked to death with no signs of trauma."

Garlan shrugged apathetically. Devar nodded. As expected. Force users powerful, deadly. Most dangerous foe one could face. Man likely killed with the force. Two possibilities. One, quarry was sadistic- wanted to watch prey suffer. Two, was attempting to cover tracks, albeit poorly.

Given propensity for slaughter, high probability of mental instability. Even if she attempted to cover tracks, was very likely imbalanced. Obvious conclusion- knew that after reading initial dossier. Mentally healthy sentients did not go on spontaneous murder sprees.

Considered that she might have allies on Tatooine. Not impossible. Would have to be cautious. Small chance she might rendezvous with agents of the cult, or other employers. Lone force user difficult enough target- allies would vastly complicate matters.

Particularly cultists.

"She was headed east. I went ahead and asked a few locals about information on the area, but my boys haven't gotten back with me yet. You can go find them if you like. Otherwise I'll just forward you the information later.”

East. Went over what little he knew of Tatooine's geography and infrastructure in mind. Major cities. Possible ports of call. Would need to speak to Orn's men to find out more.

"We will speak to your agents ourselves. What was their last known location?"

((Where did Orn send his men?))

There are several small villages to the east, and Orn pulls out a map, indicating these places. They're hidden in various valleys and along cliff faces, protected from deadlier weather.

Several of them seem likely places for the dark Jedi to hide, but after a moment, the trandoshan grunts and picks out one village, the furthest. "We received a transmission from around this area, but it fizzed out before anything got through..." He scratches his snout and then puts the map away, "Thinkin' about it now, maybe it was more than a missed call. That might be your best bet."

The more the two men spoke, the increasingly apathetic Garlan grew of their entire back and forth. Why didn't the man just trust Devar and divulge all information regarding the matter? They were all on the same side -more or less, the interaction seemed unnecessary. Garlan's interest returned when the man withdrew something from beneath his desk. A map! At last an item that would give them a measure of direction. With a measure of eagerness Garlan took a step towards the table and observed the arrangement of dots, squiggles, bits and bobs.

"We received a transmission from around this area, but it fizzed out before anything got through…" The Trandoshan picked his nose briefly before continuing, "Thinkin' about it now, maybe it was more than a missed call. That might be your best bet."

Thinking about it now? Garlan glanced at the lizard then back down at the map again before it was put away again. Curious that a man could simply disregard the disappearance of an entire group of agents. The planet was considered to be gripped in the slimy hands of Hutts. It wasn't unusual for a corpse to be uncovered following a sand storm or for a ship laden with cargo to 'lose its way' in the desert. With the disappearance of a group of highly trained Alliance operatives it was bound to raise an eyebrow, and Orn didn't seem the type to take things sitting down.

Garlan glanced at Devar as the map disappeared. Hopefully the operative would share his taint of unease. The smile had faded from the taller hunter's face. One hand had positioned itself, ready to draw a blaster in a quick motion. He kept his face generally composed and using a similar expression to that for when the map came out kept the Alliance officer oblivious of his thoughts.

There was something eerie going on with Orn's representation. How could an Alliance operative afford such elaborate protection as combat droids? Where were the other Alliance operatives, given the importance of a Free Planets presence on a criminal planet? Tatooine could easily be used as a planet for exile or more likely protection considering the lack of Confederation presence in the outer rim of the galaxy. Garlan was beginning to feel almost sick. The same sort of sickness that bubbled the bile in his gut, such as before a match he was expected to lose. Growing more and more worried with each passing second he considered just pulling his pistol and start blasting, but he stopped himself, something spurring him to play the part of oblivious, drug pumped, gun for hire.

The wolfish grin returned slowly, tiny crows feet growing steadily from the corners of his eyes. . Taking another step forward and placing a rough hand on Devar's shoulder. Garlan's teeth parted and he spoke, breaking a momentary silence,

"Guess we better head out, yeah? Every second counts."

It was clear -hopefully to Devar, that Garlan suspected something was up. A slight squeezing of the hand poised on the Alliance soldier's shoulder would ideally be enough to communicate his discomfort. Other than the physical cue Garlan appeared entirely comfortable with the little meeting taking place. Outside the wind was beginning to pick up.

More than a missed call? Didn't like this. Odd that Orn hadn't followed through sooner. Felt like a trap. Had always trusted Orn, much as it was possible to trust a criminal...Bought out? But who? Confederation? Cult? Some other interest?

Unfortunately; still their best lead. Target fled East. Transmission from that general direction. More than enough hiding places out there.

Kept his face on. If mistaken, could lose key asset. If correct, killing high-grade combat droids point-blank not his specialty. Would need to tread carefully, either way. As conversation continued, considered the possibilities.

Loss of life common on Tatooine. Highly unlikely Orn - seasoned information dealer - would simply dismiss such an incident. Still, had vested interest in getting rogue agent off-planet. Unstable elements such as her bad for business. Pressure from Hutts to get results? Possible, even likely.

Further, reputation key to information dealers. Killing clients -directly or indirectly- would damage reputation. Rough hand on his shoulder. Slight squeeze. Garlan noticed it as well. Good. Would need to stay sharp - especially if Orn's allegiance now suspect. Predatory grin adorned Garlan's face. Virtually no signs of discomfort. Impressive. Outside, wind began to blow.

"Guess we better head out, yeah? Every second counts."

Nodded. "Indeed. We'd best. Particularly if there's a storm brewing- I'd rather not get caught in one of those, nor would I care to lose the only lead we've got - slim though it may be."

Noncommittal shrug from Orn. "Hey, I won't tell you boys how to do your job, long as you don't tell me how to do mine. Live and let live, right? Careful, though - that Jedi you're hunting's not the only thing you should be concerned about. Tatooine can be a dangerous place, after all."

Experienced difficulty hiding surprise. Veiled threat? No. Wasn't that foolish. Was he? Alliance a valued customer of his. Wouldn't cross them without reason. Perhaps someone had given him one. Garlan's suspicions coloring his own? No. That wasn't it. Something off about Orn. Something strange. Didn't like it.

Even more convinced of a double cross. Kept face passive, tone neutral. Locked eyes with dealer.

"As I'm sure you're well aware, Telrog. We'll let you know if we find your agents - or what's left of them, at any rate. As always, we appreciate your help."

Nodded to Garlan; turned and left.

=========

Once outside, and safely out of earshot, Devar motioned to companion. Walked into a nearby alley. Opened pack; began assembling rifle. Wind increased to gale now. Definitely a storm. Not good.

"You don't trust Orn." He began. Paused. Gauged reaction.

"Good;" he continued, "I don't either. He was always a valued friend to the alliance, and a valuable source of intelligence, but today...Something wasn't right about him - he was hiding something. I dislike the lead he gave us, but it is currently our only one. As it stands, we're going to need to keep our wits about us. We may not have time to look for more information."

Finished assembly. Slung rifle over shoulder.

"At this point, I think we'd better find a ride - and fast."

"Indeed. We'd best. Particularly if there's a storm brewing- I'd rather not get caught in one of those, nor would I care to lose the only lead we've got - slim though it may be."

Garlan never lost his carefree composure, demonic grin, leering eyes and whatever else that fit into his wiry frame. There wasn't anything outwardly wrong with him, in his gut he could feel acid begin to gurgle. He wasn't fearful of the feeling, it was the sort of sense one picked up as a fighter and career criminal. It paid off to be suspicious, to be calculating and overly cautious to the point of paranoia. When a potential enemy was only a handbreadth away and with a number of death machines it wasn't a bad idea. The silver lining of the situation was that Devar seemed to be picking up the suspicion that Garlan was laying down.

"Hey, I won't tell you boys how to do your job, long as you don't tell me how to do mine. Live and let live, right? Careful, though - that Jedi you're hunting's not the only thing you should be concerned about. Tatooine can be a dangerous place, after all."

Garlan had dealt with a great number of nefarious dealings. Drugs were involved in a high amount of exchanges. It was easy to tell when there was something up. Criminals weren't the kind to waste time. If someone was going to pull a gun or blade and ice the other guy, they were more apt to do it in the first minute of the exchange. Orn, Devar, Garlan and the kill robots were starting to push on five. Orn may have been trying to sweat them, seeing if they were 'cool', but before Garlan could postulate further Devar get them out,

"As I'm sure you're well aware, Telrog. We'll let you know if we find your agents - or what's left of them, at any rate. As always, we appreciate your help."

They walked together for some time. The wind was starting to kick up sand like a bantha in heat. Their footsteps made tracks, Garlan glanced back, checking their pace. The burnout's footsteps were dragging whereas Devar's were calm, widely spaced, and calculated. As Garlan turned his head he noticed his Alliance buddy heading into an alley. Quickly he redirected his stride and followed him.

"You don't trust Orn." Garlan kept his cocksure grin, quietly he clicked his heels at the knowledge that Devar shared the same suspicions. Instead he only offered a nod of acknowledgement that he didn't trust the information dealing Trandoshan.

"Good;" he continued, "I don't either. He was always a valued friend to the alliance, and a valuable source of intelligence, but today...Something wasn't right about him - he was hiding something. I dislike the lead he gave us, but it is currently our only one. As it stands, we're going to need to keep our wits about us. We may not have time to look for more information."

"At this point, I think we'd better find a ride - and fast."

Garlan gave another nod. There was bad - bad people specifically, then there were evil people. Those that sold their friends and allies under the bridge for a quick profit. Morals and attempts at understanding the nuances of human interaction weren't well placed with evil people, their idea of reasoning wasn't entirely human in its own right. What Garlan failed to understand was what Orn had to gain in a partnership with a force user. As they left the alley so did his thoughts leave his questioning of Orn, for the time being.

Striding through the sand they both glanced about trying to find a place where they could hitch a ride out into the desert. They needed something faster than an animal. It seemed entirely possible that they were going to be taking speeders, a prospect that excited Garlan. It had been a long time since he had gone ripping along on a bike, Tatooine lacked the breakneck turns of Coruscant but it had beautiful mesas and canyons.

Garlan gestured to an old garage, a line of bikes were parked outside, along with a family speeder and a group of jaws admiring the merchandise. They walked across the street and walked in through the open garage door that acted like a display room. Quietly they sifted around looking for a ride, or a bargain.