Pay the Piper

[Mako Solstice]

Pay the Piper
Planet: Nar Shaddaa
Required: Cultist
Target: Fulfill our agreement with the crimelord
Comments: We have received word from one of the Hutt Lords of Nar Shaddaa that we have a standing agreement with of a thorn in his side that he would like eliminated without it getting back to him. A meeting with an associate of the Hutt has been arranged in Lola's Hideaway, a bar in the lower levels of the Smuggler's Moon. Meet with the associate and fulfill the contract.
Reward: 2,000 credits + a new Force power or improvement of one

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He could actually get used to traveling like this. He'd always wondered what it looked like on the inside of these yachts when he was not but a teenager. His master, who schooled him in the ways of the dark side never traveled off planet much, so Mako had always been on land lock. He'd protected him from whatever dangers lurked on the planet, though there weren't always many. He recalled many days where he went through action withdrawls. On the rare occasions where there was action, Mako was always the first of the Noble's guardsmen to jump on the scene, blaster in hand. That, plus his force sensitivity was what drew his master's attention. At the end of the day, the boredom had paid off. The force saw to it that he was almost never bored now.

Smuggler's Moon was their destination, a seedy place he wasn't as familiar with as others. He'd only heard that the moon itself smelled like shit. Always. He couldn't say he'd ever want to experience it himself, though there was always some curiosity there. He always liked to travel to the seedier areas of the galaxy as thats where he'd always felt comfortable. Any place that would be deemed "nice" always reminded him of how he was thrust into Naboo society against his will. The thought of it made him grind his teeth together. Thoughts like that were soon pushed away as they came up closer upon Nar Shaddaa.


"Always wondered what it would be like to land on that rock...", Mako said as the silvery ship orbited the planet for a few moments. Smuggler's Moon soon came into view, however and his attention was drawn to it.

He'd been playing the role of co-pilot that day. It had been a long time since he'd been at the helm of a ship larger than his own, which was only a star fighter. The controls on this one felt alien to him, simply because it had been so long. He was a decent pilot, nonetheless so it wasn't much of a problem. He turned in his chair to the owner of this fine yacht.

"Looks like we're gonna find out."

The excitement in his voice was apparent.

[Byron Hreidmar]

The mechanical voice of the ships droid brain droned in Byron’s ear, filling him in on details of their current course, coordinates, and chatter from the towers managing the traffic on the Smuggler’s Moon. The pads of his fingertips felt the contours of the galactic braille on the controls, the ship having been adjusted for its use by a blind man. It had been easy enough to adjust to once true sight had been granted to him through the Force. Being an unarmed ship, he never expected to encounter trouble; he had the diplomatic credentials suitable for someone of his calibre.

With his one good eye covered by the white cloth, he could see the view out of the viewscreen in a hazy portrait of colours, showing the true variety the galaxy had to offer. He especially liked viewing the universe through the Force when he travelled in space, it was less crowded than on a planet, and the large panorama views were truly beautiful.

"Always wondered what it would be like to land on that rock..."

The other Aspirant’s words broke through the chatter of the Nar Shaddaa traffic managers in Byron’s ear, and he turned his head slightly towards Mako Solstice, Marauder. He did not say anything at all, assuming that the Marauder was merely voicing his thoughts. It occurred to him that he really should get his hands on a pilot-droid that could handle the steering. He was good enough, but there were so many other things he could be doing than standing vigilant over a board of controls.

"Looks like we're gonna find out."

The ripples in the Force showed that Mako had turned towards Byron, who turned his head to more fully regard the Marauder, not that it was necessary, but it conveyed the correct message to outwardly show your gaze was on the speaker. “Indeed,” he replied simply, not reacting to the excitement in the other as he input the commands into the console that would guide the ship along the path traffic control had given them.

Despite the criminal nature of the Smuggler’s Moon, their landing was smooth, proving that those who controlled the skies of Nar Shaddaa knew the value of an organised traffic system. It had to be vital for them, considering how much traffic the moon received on any given day.

The ship solidly on the ground, Byron carefully shut down the engines and primary systems, feeling the living thrum of the ship beneath him die down. He rose from the seat then, white robe adjusted on his shoulders, before he proceeded to disembark.

“Let us proceed to this cantina,” he said, adjusting his ‘sabre on his belt as he wrinkled his nose gently at the smell of the planet. Almost as bad as the lower levels of Coruscant. “It wouldn’t do to be tardy.” The Hutt’s people were expecting them and would have the details ready. If not, then Byron would be most displeased with their lack of efficiency. He did have better things to do than be the lackey of some Hutt with delusions of grandeur.

[Mako Solstice]

"It wouldn’t do to be tardy."

"Heh. That it wouldn't.", Mako said to himself, moreso than Byron. His uncle had done dealings with the Hutts in the past before his death. He knew all about how petty the Hutts could be over the smallest things. He didn't care how skilled you were with a lightsaber or how strong you were in the force. Normally, when messing around with a Hutt Lord, you could end up dead for the smallest offenses. He'd seen it happen to some pretty skilled people. Money talked louder than skill, most of the time and the Hutts had all the money in the galaxy, it seemed.

Mako walked not too far behind Byron, scoping out the place as the stench of the streets forced its way up his nose with every breath he took. It was enough to make him wish he didn't have to breathe in order to survive. He hated it and yet for some odd reason, he fell in love with Smuggler's Moon already. He looked steely on the outside, yet on the inside he felt like a kid on a playground. He was just waiting for a fight to break out, just so he could jump into it. Still, there was a mission to be done.

Plus, his partner didn't seem like the kind of guy that liked to stray off the path too much. The force was telling Mako that the Assassin was less than happy to be there. It didn't surprise him in the least bit. Not many members of the Cult liked doing favors for anyone but themselves. Hell, Mako barely liked doing favors for his own brethren.

The two robed men soon stood in front of Lola's Hideaway, a spot that was clearly over run with all sorts of undesirables from across the galaxy. Mako could have sworn that he'd even recognized some of them, yet he made no moves to speak with them. He took his first step on the inside.

"They sure know how to pick a meeting place.", Mako said, as he took a look around the dump they just walked into. The sooner they found this contact, the sooner this mission would be all done.

((Did I manage to locate the contact? Was there anything else I should have taken note of during my search?))

[Maris Kala'myr]

On the scale of things, Lola's was a nice place. It could boast on average one stabbing every two days. It was a place where a man could get what passed as a drink in the scum of lower Nar Shaddaa and walk out with his credits and his life. But like everything on the Smuggler's moon, nothing was a guarantee.

Their contact was an impatient Gran with a triangular glyph glowing in neon above his head, almost like a beacon to say that he was the one they sought. But on second inspection, the neon above the glyph flickered and a beer advertisement glared harsh in the dim light of Lola's Hideaway. He sat at the far wall, watching the door with his hands folded across his chest. He was into his second bottle of ebla.

The three eyestalks moved on their own accord and regarded the Cultists with a dull expression. The leathery snout pulled into something like a smile. His hands unfolded and he told the pair to sit with a stabbing gesture.

[Byron Hreidmar]

Byron took point, wrapping the Force around him like a robe, hiding his white and gold cloak from greedy eyes by way of immersion, eyes passing him by and sliding to the man behind him. Mako had done a good choice of a more practical immersion, going unnoticed by the mere grace of appearing nothing out of the ordinary for the denizens of Nar Shaddaa, brown cloaks being no large fashion statement. Of course, the Marauders natural bulk did not go unnoticed, but if anything it discouraged any undue attention and made sure their wary attention did not scrutinise Byron’s spot. A load off his mind, his focus on the Force not needing to be so pointed. He did not hide himself from Mako, that being an unnecessary precaution.

He chose a winding path to their destination, avoiding any alleyways and side streets, keeping to the main thoroughfare. They had the time to take a safe path, and Byron was feeling particularly belligerent to anyone intending hostilities to his party, but none indicated any interest in Mako trailing behind or the spot their eyes were unwilling to see. Therefore, their travel to the ridiculously named Lola’s Hideaway was uneventful and passed quickly. Byron halted momentarily outside, frowning at the blinking sign that badly needed repairs.

"They sure know how to pick a meeting place."

“Yes. If criminal activity ever dropped, hundreds of dives like this would go out of business, more than half the people who frequent these places are looking for some deal or another.” Or information. He should know, he’d been forced to frequent such places often on Coruscant. What happened to inviting people over for some caf and a good gossip?

Before they entered, Byron dropped his immersion, exchanging it for Illusion, making his robe seem dour and brown in the minds of all the prying individuals. It made for great practice, and he enjoyed indulging in his carefully cultivated skills. When he stepped through the doorway, he swept his eyes over the patrons of this fine establishment. His Force sight gave him enough information, their contact easily spotted in his little corner with his bottle of ebla. His identity was confirmed when the Gran gestured towards them. Byron was certain the gesture was meant for them.

“Let us approach, Mako,” Byron suggested lightly, throwing a glance towards the bar. “I would suggest we order a drink, but the quality does not look promising.”

He wound his way towards the Gran, gently probing into the beings mind as they approached, gleaning some surface information, his name mostly and some floating tidbits. He came to a halt before their contact, but he did not sit. “Greetings, Kyr Eyste,” Byron began, smiling at the Gran, gauging his reaction. “What would your master have of us?”

((What’s the task the Hutt wants them to do?))

[Maris Kala'myr]

The Gran's three eyes narrow as he hears his name, but nothing comes of it. He was aware of the peculiarities the hired men possess. There is an unease to Kyr Eyste that the Cultists would note as familiar. The Gran gets down to business and explains the situation. He speaks a name, Marius Sorch, as if that would tell them everything they needed to know. After a pause, Eyste continues. He speaks of bad blood, of rivalries, of deals turned sour, of bitter tit-for-tat killings that had petered out. He speaks of an uneasy truce that his master no longer wishes to honor. The Gran smiles darkly, the lips of the stubby snout pulling back on large, blocky teeth.

Reaching into a satchel at his side and rummaging inside, he pulls out a data-stick, hesitates briefly, then slides it across the pockmarked wood. He takes a swig of ebla. Indicating to the data-stick, a wedge of glossy black plastic with a chrome jack, with a stubby finger, Eyste continues. He tells the Cultists a deal is going down today and Marius Sorch will be present, his master does not want any survivors and wants it to look like bad business. Everything is on the stick.

He takes a swig of ebla. The bottle is placed back on the table. The Gran's eyestalks take in both the men at the same time and he tells them this is the last they will meet and they can take whatever they wish from Sorch's meeting.

[Mako Solstice]

“I would suggest we order a drink, but the quality does not look promising.”

Mako's eyes scanned the area for drink quality almost immediately after Byron mentioned it. His eyes fell on the drinks being served at the bar and he raised an eyebrow. The stuff they were serving was strong enough to kill a man his size. It was only after a while, he noticed several men near the bar that were hardly in their right minds. They were either mentally impaired to begin with or the drinks had done that to them. Mako wanted to try some, but he decided against it. "...Depends on your definition of quality.", Mako said, his eyes trailing away slowly as he followed after Byron.

He'd decided to let Byron do all the talking. He actually liked the way the man put his words together. He was eloquent in contrast to Mako, who said whatever came out of his mouth the fastest. He'd always watched men like Byron do business deals and come out of it with more than a guy like him would.

The Gran laid it all out on the table for them and Mako hadn't made any indication that he'd grasped anything. He only stood silently as the odd looking creature spoke about the business deal. Everyone there needed to die and that was that. It was exactly the kind of thing Mako was into. Bad business deals often ended nasty and he liked to think of himself as the king of making things look nasty. Just the job for him.

He memorized the address and turned away from the table after giving Eyste a slight nod, slowly making his way out. His feelings told him that Byron wasn't too far behind at all. The Assassin would clearly have a different way of handling things than Mako often did. He liked to go into the fight and kill a man while he stared them in the eyes. Byron was an assassin. He knew their type liked their illusions and tricks. The kind of thing Mako wasn't usually into.

"Got a plan for all this? There's going to be a lot of them from what I heard.", Mako said, figuring he'd ask anyway. Even though he wanted to go in and chop all the men up, it seem like a better idea work as a team.

[Byron Hreidmar]

"...Depends on your definition of quality."

"Not ending up in the medcentre after a night out, for one,” Byron murmured, eyeing the men lining the bar in a similar manner as Mako, but involving more distaste in the Coruscantian noble’s mind. What had ever happened to the concept of responsible drinking? But then, he doubted the concept was familiar to anyone on the Smuggler’s Moon, considering what they usually dealt with on an average day. They probably thought they deserved a stiff drink that would eliminate any higher level brain processes for a few hours.

The process at the Gran’s table was familiar to Byron, reminiscent of his dealings in the information brokering business. He had been on both sides of the table, receiving and giving information, but this was not a simple exchange of knowledge. They were nothing more but glorified sweepers in this matter. Kill someone, make it look like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Work for men like those currently blitzed out by the bar, not for Coruscantian nobles and trained combatants with finesse.

But despite Byron’s personal feelings to being a Hutt’s personal hit squad, Marius Sorch would not be alive at the end of the day. He might not like it, but a deal was a deal, and Byron honoured his agreements if it was to his advantage to do so. There would be nothing lost by killing this bother for the Hutt, and more gained.

The Gran finished, telling them that looting privileges were fully theirs, despite the fact that there would be nothing they’d want from the men they would kill, unless Mako felt like starting a collection on various illegal weaponry. Byron inclined his head to the Gran, picking up the data stick and inserted it into a datapad for the information readout. It would be better to check the information now in case anything curious showed up and needed clarification from the Gran, but Byron doubted it.

((What information on their target do they glean from the data stick?))

[Maris Kala'myr]

The information runs the gambit from holos of the meeting site, biographies and security dossiers on the key players, Sorch included, some sketchy transcripts of conversations in which Sorch it hammering out the deal, and an analysis of approximately how much muscle each of the groups that will be present at the deal could bring to the party.

The Gran watches with his tri-focal eyes and takes another swig of his elba. He understands the necessity of verifying data and allows Byron the moment before offering the pair a vague salute that passed more as an act of dismissal, and wished them luck.