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The Moon of Broken Dreams; -Open-
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Topic Started: Mar 22 2010, 09:59 AM (234 Views)
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Darik Kane
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Mar 22 2010, 09:59 AM
Post #1
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I will shank you with a garden trowel
- Posts:
- 186
- Group:
- The Mastermind
- Member
- #28
- Joined:
- Mar 19, 2010
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Havoc road low across the skyline, her wide devilray shape casting a bizarre shadow on the ground below. In the sad and bizarre turn of events that had led to his 'life' this wretched place was probably the single biggest reason that the dice had fallen where they lay. Nar Shaddaa had created him before he learned the Dervishes patience, who had attracted the eye of Nhar, who had in turn offered to show him the killing art... It all came down to Nar Shaddaa, oh how he hated this world, even as he loved in the back of his mind. It was a world of beggars, ruled by those who elevated themselves through deeds most dishonest. A glimmering city of Neon lights and the promise of easy money, luring in those fool enough to fall for the appearance, only to crush them beneath the countless broken dreams. Nar Shaddaa, the great Galactic Whore. It was a place where dreamers went to die, not even aware of the finality of their journey. A place where brutish violence was more important than honest labor, where the quick of wits and quicker with blaster or blade suceeded more often then those with expensive educations.
Moments later he was striding from the Havoc down the narrow walkway of the landing pad, the wind rustling his hair, whipping about the loose strands that had pulled free of the tie that held back his black hair, the tips stinging his bleak eyes.... Saix... That was his 'name' he had chosen to operate from, the name brought back memories of the time before that might as well be a different life... Using that name, Saix, proved a distinction among others of his craft, a bold move considering what the Alliance or Jedi might do if they ever found him... But he had no time to think about such things, he had to focus on the here and now. He could smell the disease, the rot of this place, could feel the anguish and suffering radiating like a pulsar in the darkside... He closed his eyes, and breathed deep, focusing lest he be consumed by the echoes of the despair of those who had realized too late that they had allowed themselves to be draw into a true hell, unable to escape, pinned in place by the weight of their own broken dreams. He had been here before, many times as he had sought to expand his horizons. It came to his realizations that what he knew of the force, forged into a virtuso among killers, was only a fraction of what lay out there. It had only be a year or two since he was last here, but how much had changed in that time? One could hardly tell as often as the lines of power would blur in a snake pit such as this one.
His bleak eyes opened slowly, staring into the city as though he could see his own reflection in this cesspool. Kane had lived 2/3 of his life here, almost a ¼ of his life spent in a carved out hole in the ground, killing fellow children to 'win' a few scraps of food trickled down through the heavy iron grate that had kept them imprisoned. He could still remember those days, where he had truly come from, of the rage he had learned to temper by learning the Seyugi Dervish's master craft of murder. Oh how he hated this place, even as he felt the curious feeling of being home as he stared into a place as bleak as his own stare. It was this place that Kane had learned the importance of the skill to elevate oneself from those around him, learned the truth of the galaxy, come to prominence as a warrior and assassin, learned the dark arts of death, killing indescriminately from the shadows... Now this temptress of filth concealed a new journey into the shadows, a journey to learn the dark secrets that lay in wait... He was home, he could feel a sense of animal comfort at the thought of this place, a primal sense of having returned to his den, and he squashed it beneath an iron wall of focus, driving it from his mind. Looking down on it now, illuminated by the shimmering neon, playing off the gleaming palaces of the rich, revealing the hovels, shacks, and torn tents of the diseased and the dying. Not physically sick, but dying none the less as their dreams rotted inside.
Looking down on this vision of Hell, Kane did not quite know what to feel, not that he particularly cared mind you. Once, this city of broken dreams had allowed him to feel as though he had known his place in the world, it was where he had reached the pinnacle of his nefarious profession, where those in the underworld who had spoke his name had done so with reverance, bleeding fear the way a heart sundered by a blade might. When the mighty Underlords had hired him to kill a man, woman, or child... the unfortunate was soon dead. Without exception. And despite the enemies that these killings had no doubt made, the many enemies that desired his own blood, he had walked the streets openly, not from shadow to shadow, in all confidence that his sheer overwhelming charisma might steal the heart of those who would be so bold as to contemplate going against him. No one would dare open fire on him, even from a distance with a blaster, for they knew in their heart of hearts that that single shot must be so indescribably perfect, must finish this killer who had seemed so nightmarishly above the antics of the mere mortals around him, else he would come looking for them. And would find them. And would beyond a shadow of a doubt, kill them.
Such was the power of fear, the all consuming all powerful shadow of fear that brought doubt to the heart of the most battle hardened or devout, indiscriminately, without mercy or judgment. Once Saix had thought it his greatest weapon, and yet in the end Kane had found a far greater weapon in his control of the Force... Yet for all his skill, despite the fact that he could kill with no more than a touch, Kane could not, would not, deny the simple power of fear.
A rustle of movement from the side and a slight shift of shadow, and his gray eyes narrow slightly. "what's this?"[/color] He thinks to himself, as his eyes dart to the side in wry amusement. He shook his head with a sigh, not really at all surprised when a ragged cloaked figure moved from the darkness of the alley, some twenty feet ahead of him and stood to block his path into the city, arms crossed across a burly chest, face hidden in a black hood. "Going into the city, traveler?" The man asked, his voice heavily accented with a Corellian drawl, thick with sneering derisal. Kain didn't answer, just kept his head straight ahead, though his eyes darted down to the junk that littered the causeway. "You must pay for the passage," The burly man went on, "I am your guide." WIth that he bowed, and came up with a rotten grin, yellowed teeth rotting in blackened gums, his eyes bloodshot with red crisscross lines, a common spice addicted thug.
Kane had heard many tales of this common game of money through intimidation, though never before had one been so bold as to attempt to block his way. Times had changed indeed, during his career as 'Saix' even a glance would send ones like this running. Still he didn't answer, and the burly man shifted slightly, throwing wide his cloak to reveal the vibrosword that hung from his belt. "How many credits do you offer?" The man asked. Kane began to tell him to move aside, and yet sighed at the utter futility of it all. "Deaf?" said the man, and he drew the chipped and worn blade and advanced another step, "You pay me now, or me and my friends take your credits off your torn corpse." posturing and strutting like a game cock, hoping to intimidate him. He recieved a cool stare for his effort, for Kane made no reply, didn't move, didn't draw the blades at his back or belt... He just stood there, and the ambivalence of the silent stand seemed to anger the burly man all the more.
The man glanced to the side, to Kane's left, just slightly, but enough that the keen eyed assassin could follow the look clearly. He followed the quick look with one of his own, followed it to one of this thugs companions, holding an antiquated and battered blaster in the shadows between two of the buildings. He sighed again, this wasn't even interesting anymore, it was simply a pathetic motion, the dregs of society driven to mere posturing and failed attempts at intimidation to buy the only means of escape left, mind altering substances they so desperately craved. For a half a second he considered simply drawing the blades and cutting the ring leader down, showing them what they faced, and letting them run... But he simply didn't care enough, they weren't even worth the effort to pound the truth of what he was into their drug addled brains.
"Now" said the burly man, twitching slightly around one eye at the show of insolence "Last chance for you" Kane makes no move save to quietly hook his foot under a piece of broken plating, a chunk of metal rusted and corroded fallen off some ship long ago and littering the dock. He stood waiting, staring at the burly man, keeping the gunman in the corner of his vision. So practice is he in observing the human form, so keen are his eyes... So intent is he on listening to the force as it whispers to him, that he moves first. Kane steps out diagonally, ahead and to the left, rolling over and kicking out with his right foot. He launches the piece of hull plating the gunman's direction, not to hit the man, for that was beyond even Kane's skill in telekinesis, but in the hopes of distracting him. As he seemed to flow smoothly into a somersault, he realized it was a waisted gesture in and of itself, as the shot that is fire misses badly... Would have missed even had he never moved, soured by the jittery nerves and shaking hands of a spice addict suffering the pangs of withdrawal.
Coming up from the roll Kane took the time to set his feet, squaring himself against the charging swordsman, the beginnings of a smile breaking across his face. Two more rats had crawled out of hiding, coming from between the trast strewn alley ways with glittering blades of their own. Still showing no weapon, Kane unexpectedly charged ahead, ducking the swipe of the blade with preternatural grace at the last instant, reading the movements of muscle so perfectly that it seemed as though he were dancing, then came up hard behind the swishing blade, one hand catching the man's face, grasping across his mouth as his eyes blazed, his other hand snapping behind the man's head, grasping a greasy handfull of hair... A twist and a turn flipped him on the ground with a thud. Kane let go, running one hand up the man's weapon arm to fend off any poorly aimed strike as he slammed to his back hard. At that moment Kain drove his foot down in a stomp to the throat, crushing the trachea with a brittle creaking snap of cartelage. The grasp on the blade went slack, almost as though he were handing the blade to Kane.
He lept away, not wanting to become entangled with the unfortunate who would be thrashing through his death throes, as the other two rushed in. One straight in, the other cautiously sneaking around from behind. He started to frown, feeling the poor balance of the weapon in his hand, but sighed and went to work just the same. Out snapped the blade in a straight left handed thrust, followed by a dazzling rolling slash that was part perfect coordination and part perfect control of the blade. The man easily stepped back, but that had been the idea anyway, the attack was not designed to score a hit, rather to force him out of reach. Kane flipped the blade back suddenly, reversing his grip and stepping back suddenly, turning his hand and blade bringing it back in a reverse stab... He cleanly felt the blade penetrate the man's chest, the tip slicing through the intercoastal spaces of the ribs, heard the gasp of air as its tip slid into the lung.
Instinct and the force caused him to whirl, spinning and bringing along his impaled victim, even as the dying thug's weapon fell from slackening fingers, kept impaled upon the blade. He brought the man about as a shield against the gun man, who missed again, badly. "Idiot..." snarled Kane with a sudden jerk that brought his latest victim crashing face first into the dirt, as he brought the sword around in the same fluid movement. So brilliantly had he executed the entire scenario, that the remaining swordsman stopped in his tracks, realizing the folly of a battle with this man, turned on his heal and ran. Kane spun on his own heel, taking the blade in two hands and hurling it end over end in a scything spin in the direction of the gunman, who was backing along the edge of the causeway, towards the Havoc, sending him scurrying as he bolted for cover.
A long moment passed as Kane melted into the shadows, creeping around behind the ship as the gunman poked his head out to scan for the assassin.
"Where is he?" The gunman's voice held that wonderful tremor of fear as nervous eyes tried to find him. "Dammit Tac, do you seem him?" Another long moment, filled with silence broken only by the gasping breaths of the gunman. "Tac?" He was still unaware that he was alone, so vulnerable. "Where is he?" He repeats in frustration.
"Right here..." Comes the whisper in his ear, and for a moment he feels as though a cold hand had reached into his chest and grasped his heart with ice crusted fingers, squeezing as though it had stopped in one awful moment.
As he turns a powerful back hand slaps away the blaster, and all he can do is shiver, finding his own eyes locked on the coldest stare he had ever faced. The gray eyed man grins, and the frightened gunman takes a step back. "P please! I have seventeen children!" He manages to stammer, his voice half way between a squeak and scream. A slender blade slides through the hollow of his throat with little more than a whisper, its razor tip digging through the jaw, through the palate of the skull, digging through the brain and slipping free from the top of his skull in a brutal move so wonderfully executed that Kane doesn't even get blood on his clothes. "You should have chosen a safer career." And with those cold words, Kane kicks the falling corpse off the causeway, letting it fall to the surface of the moon far below, a fall that would last for hours.
Peering down the road, he spotted the fleeing swordsman, and for a moment his eyes dropped to the discarded blaster. It may be damaged, as the fool gunman hadn't been able to hit a target at all, yet he is certain that in his practiced hands he would work. Yet what is the purpose? Why even waste the effort on such garbage? He sighs at the stupidity of it all, and moves to the fallen. He doesnt bother searching them for credits or weapons, only rolls them off the causeway with a boot. Pulling his long coat back into place with a scowl, he turned and started back along the strip from the landing pad. Oh yes, it was so very good to be home he thought with a bleak sense of sarcasm. He never enjoyed killing, even if he was incredibly good at it... He blamed it on this hell hole, it seemed to bring the very worst of him to the surface. As though he were reacting to the Darkside around him... It didn't mean he liked it. He took a moment to bow his head, finding a center and sinking into total calm.
Outwardly it would seem that little in this force forsaken cesspool had changed, the Moon of a million beggars, true to name he passed them littering the alley ways, reaching towards him with imaciated fingers so thin and week that it was a miracle that their bony arms could even hold out those hands the time it took Kain to pass by, not giving them so much as a glance. They lay in rags, near naked, along the sides of the gutters, pitiful wretches that were all but dead... The mind just hadn't caught up to the body, weeping sores infesting their skin, dead eyes pleading as he passed them by without pause. Those few that reached out to take hold of his black coat were repelled by the sheer force of his basilisk's glare, driven back into their rags by the simple cold stare that promised death should they even lay a finger on him.
He moved through the streets with the ease of familiarity, memories flashing back unbidden, had he not killed a wretched official in that very building? Crushed the pigs larynx, and forced him to watch him kill his family, forced him to eat the fingers of his children one digit at a time? And there, had he not been attacked on that very street corner by another vengeful victem, slain in the street like a dog for daring to attack him? This wretched place, so foul and tainted... He would hate it for the rest of his life, this place and what it represented, yet at the same time he would forever be grateful for the path that he had been shown on this hellish cesspool, it was the only reason Nhar had bothered to train him in the first place... Without this hell hole, Kain would never have walked the path of a Dervish, trained to make killing an art... However, now was not the time for daydreaming walks down memory lane, their was a specific purpose for his visit. He had no real information to go on yet, no way to further sharpen his skills... He needed an edge, something to ensure he would be ready to act when the time came. So he had contacted an associate, a Guildmistress of the Malkites he had studied under years ago on this very moon. He had made a very specific request, and though it had taken her near 2 weeks, she had at least contacted him to arrange a meeting for the transaction.
It may not be some all powerful miraculous force power, however it might help none the less. The glaring neon sign up ahead heralded that he had arrived at his destination, just another hole in the wall cantina, yet so very important in the larger scheme of things.
He noticed, even as he entered, the stares that were on him. Already he was being watched, probably by the eyes of several guilds. No doubt word had already spread of his 'return' and the unfortunates who had met him. It was not surprising, to him at least, though few other cultures could have comprehended the speed with which the information had passed among the street people. Kain could recall well from his days on these same streets, the methods and speed with which even the most mundane of information could be spread like wildfire. So Saix had returned, and it seemed to be a topic of interest.
These people in the foul belly of the Moon of Broken Dreams lived each moment on the very precipice of disaster, every moment of every day. As such their level of alertness was beyond what many other cultures could ever know. Like grassland field rats, rodents living in extensive burrow complexes with thousands and thousands of inhabbitants, the people of Nar Shaddaa's streets had designed complex warning systems; random shouts, whistles, movements, even simple body postures. Oh yes, Kain was quite aware that they were watching him closely as he stalked into the cantina with silent steps. They were wretched, uncouth, and unclean; but they were never lax. Conversations stopped, and eyes turned his way to regard him as he lowered his hood and stepped into the room.
His gaze met that of the bartender, and slowly life returned to to the room as the band hastily picked up a jaunty tune, conversation muting the sounds to a dull roar. "I'll have a Them'far." He said softly, his eyes never leaving that of the Bartender, naming not a drink, but a deadly poison in a voice so soft it was for the bartender alone. The bartender paled slightly, the assassin was feared, and yet there were others on the Moon that were far more dangerous, in far different ways. The one that he had 'asked' for with that simple request, was one such person. He moved to the side, towards the back room, where with trembling fingers he undid the ties on the cage, letting free the bird inside. With a wicked hooked beak, a heavy hood over its eyes, and hobbled taloned feet. He carried it to the window, removing the hood and letting its legs free. The bird regarded him silently, waiting patiently, as he tied the scrap of cloth around on leg, then took to wing outside the window. Signaling its mistress that the one who had sought a meeting with her had arrived.
Kain waited until the tender returned, nodding his head to show that it had been done, before moving to the booth set by itself, the 'VIP' booth, reserved for such meetings, where he settled back to scan the room with darting eyes, awaiting the arrival of the Poison Queen. He did not have to wait long. Where the conversation had stopped when had entered, people tripped over themselves with a gasp, removing themselves from her pressence, as she seemed to float into the room. Clad in silken robes the color of fresh blood, contrasting remarkably with her skin the color of bleached bone, and her midnight black hair. Nagai, beautiful, though none would dare harbor romantic feelings for her, not when she was the guildmistress of the feared Malkite Poisoner's Guild. She seemed to dance up to the the table, her black eyes twinkling over the veil that hid her angular face and gave nothing away save the long pointed ears sticking out from the black hair that framed her face.
He bows low, taking his eyes off the woman, treating her as he might royalty. She was not a Sith, or even a force user, and yet she could command the same level of fear with ease. "Ussta dalhar, ji verve ol uriu tlus yol udos vaen tha" She says, her voice a husky purr, the veil crinkling as she smile, holding out a hand studded with large jeweled rings. "Verve ke ussta jallil, lu' quin dos lor al" He replies, raising his head and focusing on the rings... The test of five, each jewel coated in a deadly poison, yet when ingested in the correct order, these poisons would nullify each other. The test of a Malkite, to either live, or die horribly. He shows no fear as he takes her hand, his lips moving between each jewel, kissing her rings without hesitation, one after another. He had come too far now to fail, and this test was simple, he remembered all the teachings he had learned from this supreme killer. "Well done, you do me proud my former apprentice." She says, as she sits across from him.
She sits in a curious manner, folding one leg over the other like a stork, before lowering herself into the seat, a carefully cultivated eccentricity to keep those around her off guard... Much had he learned from her indeed. "Your requests, they were not easy to obtain, not in the manner which you described them. It would have been easy enough to simply hire out to find on any of the black markets, but you specified no witnesses, and thus we had to ensure we could erase the evidence afterwards." At her beck and call come the two servants, dressed in red, carrying slim black cases. "I believe that even you will be impressed, my dear." She coos, as the first case is placed on the table and opened, revealing a machine much larger than a simple Datapad, top of the line holoprojector and Datapad combo, more business oriented then the palm sized Datapad, not to mention a much larger amount of free space. “It is no small feat to find information pertaining to Jedi or Sith holocrons, however all that we assembled has been found. Including a data recording made from a Jedi Holocron currently for sale on the black market.” She spoke, leaning forward.
The second case is opened, revealing a pair of Palandrix Stun Vambrace, light gauntlets that would deliver a stunning electric shock upon impact thanks to circuitry interwoven throughout the vambrace, the powerful jolt of electricity was transferred from the energy cells to the impact point whether it be through the knuckles, palm of the hand, or even the elbows causing the weapon to glow with electrical energy when activated. Beneath them were a custom order, a matching set of stun grieves, glossy silver, with intricate plates that made up their composition. "These are Phrik of course" She spoke, smiling at the craftsmanship. Of course they were much more than simple protection. He lifted the gauntlet like vambrace, giving it a critical look, triggering the hidden blade that appeared from the flattened square of metal that would protect the back of the hand and knuckles. 8 Inches long, gleaming and double edged, a hidden thrust blade. Oh yes, they would do nicely. The blade retracted, and a seam in the gleaming metal split, and a concealed dart caster slid into view, and he smiled, letting the caster retract and replacing the vambrace back into the case. "Of course, the knee rocket dart launchers and heel spurs you specified for your greaves are also fully working." She states, as he gestures toward the matching lower leg protection. Their was also another sleek case inside the cut foam case. With a telltale crimson mark upon its black back. "How thoughtful, to ensure I would not be running low." He said, stroking the case, knowing that inside was a case of deadly poisons waiting to be mixed.
"I have credits." He started, but she silenced him with bell like laughter. "Keep your credits, I have no need for more. I desire nothing more than your services when I should call, no more." Her black brows knit. "Whenever I should call, for whatever reason." She reiterates very specifically. It was not an uncommon arrangement, favors were often worth more than credits after all. He nodded purposefully, a grim set to his eyes. "As you command, mistress." He said, choosing his words carefully. She left him then, leaving the slim cases on the table, taking her retinue with her with a smile twinkling in her eyes. The Malkite Poisoners were adept assassins who trained in and had perfected their poisoning arts on the planet Malkii, where they got the ingredients for many of their deadly poisons. They were a very secret society, and were feared across the galaxy by anyone who even pretended to have 'connections'. And she was their queen... A queen who wanted to ensure his services were retained should she ever need to call upon him, curious and curiouser. He could think of few targets that might require his efforts that the Malkites would be unable to dispatch through their own deadly ways.
Yet he could think on that another day, for there was much more to be done before he could call this 'visit' concluded. While he had everything he needed to monitor the galaxy from Recopia, their was information that all his computers and slicing skill could not bring him, information that could be found here on this Moon, where the greatest commodity one might buy was the information that many governments would kill to keep locked away, hidden in plain sight, to those with the credits to afford them. With the backing of the Seyugi now his own, as the latest in the long line of successors who would hold the title of the Last of the Dervishes, fated to watch over and protect the carbonite frozen forms of the many who awaited such a time that they might once again move through the shadows, teaching the entire galaxy why it was basic nature to fear the dark. Ah, but enough of that now; their was information to be bought regarding the Republic and Empire, as well as finding a suitable mechanic to perform the necessary modifications he felt would best benefit the Havoc.
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And now, for another episode of 'Out of Context' with guest host Saya Saren
"I would have rather it been you Troy!" -Saya Saren-
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Darik Kane
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Mar 24 2010, 06:48 AM
Post #2
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I will shank you with a garden trowel
- Posts:
- 186
- Group:
- The Mastermind
- Member
- #28
- Joined:
- Mar 19, 2010
|
The place was a dive, a horrid pile of filth, which was probably why his target was currently inhabiting the place. One of the perks of being a death dealer, was that you rarely had to run down good wholesome folk. For the sheer reason that it was usually the dirty and criminally unsavory types who's capture paid good money to society or the wealthy. So for the time being, Kain found himself sitting in this wonderful dump, a far cry from the usual places of business he frequented on Nar Shaddaa, such as the much more hospitable cantina he had met the Poison Queen in. The only thing worse than the garish looks, and the unsavory people, was the smell.... God he wanted to get this job over with. He held his glass loosely, swishing the contents to keep them mixed. Kain rarely drank alcohol, he wanted to keep his body in peak physical shape and could not afford to loose his mental edge... However, in this dump, drinking the water was probably just as unsafe, if not more.
His target, still sat in place chatting it up with a Twilek dancer who had obviouslly seen better days. Normally Kain prized persevearance, however their were some occupations where their came a time to find a new job, once one reached a certain age. This particular cantina dancer, had passed that fine line long ago by the looks of it. The target was nervous, even surrounded by two ape like bodyguards, appearing more Gamorian than human sat next to him, typical blank expressions outlining their craggy faces. Kain thrived in his business, he could tell from their set that they were wearing light body armor, both Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber were armed, their posture obviouslly compensating for the sidearms they carried in their concealed shoulder holsters. This of course, piqued the interest of the deadly killer for hire, as his own weapons had been taken at the door. These guys, must have connections at this establishment. No matter, he had snuck a pair of ultrachrome stilleto blades hidden in concealed wrist sheathes, and he was more than confident that he could take either one of these buffoons with minimal difficulty.
It was so obvious he wanted to cry, the perp was doing a good job of pretending not to notice him, however the trap had been laid long ago. This whole dog and pony show was annoying but necessary. Kain had gone out of his way to reveal himself, prefering to dispatch the guards in public in what would appear to be a simple bar brawl. He, of course, would be forced to leave the establishment, and so would his unlucky target. In the quite of the alley way behind the club, he could bag him and tag him to finish this job and get paid.
At last, the waiting game ended. The weasely little man stood up, clearly wanting to move to one of the farther tables in the back. Tweedle Dumb accompanied him. Tweedle Dumber, well he decided to make a non-chalant hole in the back of the obvious assassin. Taking care to lean just so to the side he put on a drunken immitation, his muscles already coiling. Sure enough Tweedle Dumber's hand crawled for his sidearm. Pupils contracting Kain waited, muscles ready to spring. The pistol cleared the holster and swung on an intercept course with the back of his head. A sharp twist of the body sent the contents of his glass flying into the big man's face, the high proof alcohol burning. With a vicious grin Kain sprung, flying from the barstool as his right hand came around in a blinding arc.
In the space of a blink his hand slapped the strange pistol in a hard grip, his own trigger finger threading through the trigger loop behind the trigger assembly itself, locking it in place as the bruiser tried again and again unsucessfully to squeeze and fire. With his finger in place, he had neutralzed the idiots abillity to fire that blaster. But he wasn't done, twisting hard on the offending hand he snapped his hips to the side, jerking the man down as forced his elbow in a direction that the human body, was just not made to go. A quick flex of the forarm, and lean into his body forced the arm down and behind, forcing the man to twist along with him, or tear the vulnerable cartelage in the elbow joint.
In less time than it took for the people around him to react, he had Tweedle Dumber in a classic and extremely painful hammerlock, arm twisted behind his back. However this wasn't a stupid wresting holo-vid. This was real combat, and with a sneer he showed just how brutal real combat was. Jerking upwards and coming onto the tips of his toes he grinned as he heard the wrist shatter, and the squelching ripping of cartelage in both shoulder and elbow. Tweedle Dumber would likely never hold a blaster again, he thought as he continued jerking up, letting the edges of raw bone in both shoulder and elbow grind across his nerves, doing further damage. Simultaneouslly he kicked, even as he mangled the idiots arm, the outside edge of his foot striking the back of the idiots knee, his free hand locking onto the back of his jacket and pulling down hard. The result was a particularlly brutal takedown, that only increased the amount of damage done to his arm as his falling body only helped the jerk upwards that did the actual damage.
In the time it took for the people around him to gasp in shock, Tweedle Dumber's skull met floor with an audible wet cracking. Leaving the big man in place, he spun the liberated blaster around his finger with a cocky grin. Between the shattered wrist, dislocated elbow, shredded shoulder, and obvious concussion; Tweedle Dumber was out of the fight. The shocking brutality and efficiency of the attack was jaw dropping. Some people could look tough, enjoyed looking dangerous, however the truly dangerous fighter was the man or woman who could go from a relaxed pose and into combat in a flash, then back again. The biggest problem with trying to act like the biggest dog in the pack, was that the other dogs were going to challenge you at some point. Better to fly below the radar, and destroy your opponent in an instant when he makes the mistake of believing you weak. He paused a moment to study the weapon in hand, it was a variation of slugthrower. He nodded, very nice, a shattergun, probably of Verpine make. The weapon was based on a magnetic coil principle, similar to a rail gun. When shot, the weapon would make no sound, but would cause great kinetic damage. The weapon's projectiles were nearly impossible to block with a lightsaber due to their small size and extreme speed. Thanks to this, even a trained Force sensitive would be at a disadvantage.
He turned in another blinding blur, pistol now in hand, and his eyes lazering on Tweedle Dumb like the targeting computer of a combat droid. The pistol fired noiselessly as he took aim and fired in a split second. The silent shot scouring a smoking hole in the second body guard's thigh, drilling through cloth and flesh, impacting the femur with bone breaking kinetic force before continuing onward to impact into the floor. With the primary support of the upper leg blasted apart by the shot, the man crumpled, his leg now useless. A second shot rang out, lancing through the splayed hand that had braced the cripple as he tried to lever his body into a position where he could draw his firearm. With that infinite calm precision that made him who he was, he slowly walked across the room. A heavy boot to the jaw of the jibbering wreck put Tweedle Dumb out of the fight as well. Kain paused long enough to pull free the second Shattergun from the unconcious wretch's shoulder holster, before his head snapped up to regard his unlucky target, an easy grin sneaking across his face. "That the best help you could afford?" he asked, his pleasant low voice laced with sarcasm.
The man in his booth blanched and began to scoot towards freedom, if this angered or suprised Kain, he didn't show it, instead he started to cross the room to sit across from the target placing one of the deadly pistols in his pocket, keeping the other trained on tubby. On the way he snagged a drink off one of the service droids, took a sniff of the contents, made a face and promptly put it back.Okay, no drink for this, not a problem... He slid into the booth casually, a smile on his face as though he were meeting an old friend, even if he was holding an exceptionally dangerous pistol in his hands. "Tanis, is that really any way to treat an old business partner and friend?" He asked, a dark gleam in his eyes that the false smile did little to hide.
In truth they had never really been partners, Kain had needed exotic equipment during the assassinations of his youth, and the Black Market merchant had been the quickest way to track it down. It didn't particularly mean he liked the disgusting little roach, only that he needed him from time to time. If anything, it was a sign that the little roach was to be admired, he had lived a long time in the toughest of places, simply because he had made himself too valuable to be destroyed under the heel of one of the Underlords who ruled Nar Shaddaa, however he had angered the clientele at the previous establishment, and thus had been pushed to this out of the way and much less notable establishment. Pushing him out of the system, so to speak, though given the size of the man’s information network it was impossible to render him totally impotent in the information game. That didn't mean Kain had to particularly like him, in fact, killing the little bastard might have been considered doing him a favor.
Tanis seemed to understand that, because he swallowed heavily. He had always known that Kain was dangerous, and considering the fact that his sources reported that the man had spent the last 15 years mastering exotic force techniques to become an even better killer, he needed to walk on egg shells around him, however things were becoming more complicated as of late. He could guess just why the man was here now, Saix had been interested in obtaining relics of both Jedi and Sith nature, especially tomes and holocrons, whether it was to expand his own repertoire or learn everything their was to know about the two groups, well that would be worth some money in the right circles. However, now that Saix was here, showing just how serious and ruthlessly effective he was in person, the merchant of death could barely keep from screaming and bolting, restrained only because he knew that he would likely lose a leg in the process, because no doubt the hunter needed something now.
"What do you want? I have money, I can give you all the money you need." He stammers, and gulps again as the hunter's eyes gleam, and the killer’s smile grows a little more real. "I have no need for your money, merchant. But you can give me something I need, something I need very badly." States the killer, leaning forward. "I, want information on the recent fall of Kamino." He said softly. "Heh, since when does Saix care about politics? He is looking for information on threats and perhaps future employers, yes?" He asks, trying to plaster a smile on his own face.
The Killer’s reply steals the smile from his face as his face goes deathly serious. "My cares are of little concern to you, merchant. You would do well to remember that Tanis... Now, before I decide that you are wasting my time and have to start aggressively negotiation here and put a few holes in that tubby body of yours, are you going to get the information I need?" He asks softly.
Tamis gulped visibly and took a moment to remove a slim datapad from his jacket. "I don't do Alliance info, I have no need for contacts there... But, I have someone you can ask, someone who might be able to tell you what you want." He said, sliding the wafer thin screen across the table to Kain. The hunter looked down, seeing a name and contact info, and his gaze flickered back to the regard his prey. "This is better than nothing Tamis, but if you set me up, I can promise you that you won't be able to hide from me. I'll find you, and i'll hurt you Tamis." He said, slipping the datapad into his jacket pocket and fixing the other man with a level stare, as though trying to decide something. Then, quick as a striking snake he leaned forward and reached out, his free hand cupping behind Tamis' head and driving his face down into the table with a crunching pop. Tamis doesnt even have time to gasp as his face is slammed into the table with a wooden like clunk, and he sags to the side and drops out of the booth in an semi-concious mess. "With that out of the way, we can take care of that bounty on your head now." Kain mutters, reaching down to pull the man to his feet, jamming the pistol up under his ribs.
"I tank you broke my nobe." Whines Tamis spitting blood as he trys to regain some measure of his dignity. Of course, its only a few moments before Tamis starts making a fuss in a vain attempt to escape, but Kain only slams the butt of the pistol into his forehead and drops him to the ground in a dazed state. "Quiet idiot..." Kain says to the stunned merchant before he bends to secure his hands behind his back. Of course he had plans for this, for one the little bulbous headed slime ball was the best source of information on the Empire and it’s sudden interest in conquest. While at the same time, a certain Grogga the Hutt, ruler of his preferred sector of Nar Shaddaa as a minor Underlord, had a rather large bounty on this little toady. It was possible that Tamis would be killed, however Kain doubted it. No doubt Grogga would press the roach into service, extending his own information network in hopes that he would better be in position to jockey for higher position in the Smuggler’s Moon’s unique hierarchy. Then their was the fact that Kain wanted a very specific transport, and rather than take the time to modify a transport of his own, it was easier to obtain the real thing from Grogga.
Grabbing the roach by the collar and dragging him upright, Kain heads to the bar to reclaim his effects. As they approach the bar Tanis starts to come out of his stupor, his hands moving up to feebly claw at Kain's wrist, trying to break the iron grip that holds him. "I'm going, so i'll appreciate it if you give me back my gear." He says to the weasel like man behind the counter. The man holds his eye for a long moment, as though he is considering pointing out that there is to be no bounty hunting within a ‘safe zone’ like the cantina, before he apparently thinks better of it and merely gulps and shrugs and digs under the counter for a moment, before standing with the black weapon harness and hands it to Kain over the counter. Taking a moment to inspect the gleaming daggers, as well as the blade and pistol of his own, Kain answers with a shrug of his own and mag snaps the harness in place, pausing only to slam the roach’s face into the counter to stop his wiggling while he handles his effects.
Less than an hour later, the shaking figure is staring up into the bulbous lambent eyes of Grogga himself, Kain standing next to him, holding him by the scruff of the neck to keep him from embarrassing himself by dropping to his knees and pissing himself. That doesn’t keep the sharp scent of acrid urine from reaching the assassin’s nose as Tamis promptly pisses himself standing up, much to the delight of the standing crowd in the Underlord’s private audience chamber. As the criminals gathered continue to jeer the terrified information broker, Kain only gives a nod of courtesy the Hutt’s way before clearing his throat to speak. “As the great Lord Grogga commanded, this insugnifficant traitor has been returned.” As he speaks his voice is carefully neutral, and he shoves the terrified man forward to stumble to the ground before the Hutt’s caravel with a look of panic. There is a long silence as the Hutt regards Tamis, before in a booming voice he levies his punishment. While Kain has no difficulty speaking or understanding Huttese, the slender protocol droid is also on hand to translate. “The Great Grogga the Hutt declairs that for your treason Tamis, you are to be made slave to the Great Grogga, until such a time as you have repaid the Great Grogga for the pain and fiscal losses of your transgressions, you shall hence forth belong to our Lord.”
Kain had expected as much, and though he keeps his face perfectly neutral he can’t help but feel some pity for the poor bastard, only because Kain knew that he would likely never ‘earn’ his freedom, he was simply too useful. “Great Grogga, after having returned this gutless worm to you, so that you might exact your rightful vengeance following his betrayal; I ask a boon from your infinite grace.” Says Kain, with a bow of respect as he thinks to himself he would love to simply kill the bloated slug. Grogga booms out something pleasant, which is quickly translated by the protocol droid. “The Great Grogga would not forget the services of his favored assassin and hunter, a sum of 100,000 credits will be transferred to the account of Saix.” Kain again bows graciously, pleased by the response. [color=#f#fff]“A thousand thanks to the generosity of the Great Grogga, I had hoped that after we concluded these matters with Tamis, that I might seek to purchase the Folly from the Great Lord’s private fleet.”[/color] He says, speaking of one of the modified Action VI transports maintained in the Hutt’s smuggler fleet.
The ship in particular, called Folly, had been modified for smuggling and was likely double the 100,000 credits that he had just made. However, with the wealth of the Seyugi at his fingertips as well as half the cost having just been covered from the return of the roach, it would not be too much of an inconvenience to purchase the freighter. The Hutt goggled for a moment, before responding in a deep booming bass, the protocol droid quickly providing a translation in its reedy voice. “The Great Bogga is curious as to why the assassin Saix would need a smuggler transport, the Folly is a well maintained and highly profitable vessel; it would be sorely missed should the Great Bogga be willing to part with it.” Kain kept the scowl off his face, so the slimy bastard wanted to play hard ball, he supposed that shouldn’t surprise him. “I seek a means to travel freely throughout the Galaxy, such a vessel as the Folly would be perfect for such work, allowing me to come and go from any planet without fear of being caught up in troublesome customs. It would make my return to Nar Shaddaa to take the contracts of my favored Underlords all the easier, and such a client who would help in obtaining such a transport would be most welcome to my services.” He said, a perfectly round about explanation with a hint of a warning.
Kain was not above working for any of the Underlords, and in recapturing and retaining Tamis Bogga had made a great many enemies. Should Bogga not be willing to release the assassin’s favored choice of transport, he would move on to his second choice, which might very well be offered as a reward for the elimination of Bogga by one of his rivals. He held his gaze on that of the Hutt, a none to subtle reminder that unlike most of the thugs in this room, Kain was completely freelance and completely deadly. After the warning sunk in, the Hutt hastily boomed out compliance. “The Great Bogga is more than happy to sell the Folly to Saix, for the sum of 250,000 credits. However, should Saix agree to remain on retainer for the next year, that sum will instead be reduced to 100,000 credits, covered by the reward for the service already rendered today.” States the protocol droid quickly, as Bogga maneuvers to ensure that for at least a year, the assassin won’t be taking contracts from his enemies. It is a fair trade, as Bogga is merely moving to ensure that Kain will not act on the offers that will no doubt circulate calling for the Hutt’s death now that he has made the move to bring Tamis into his employ long enough to establish his position. Such is the danger and intrigue of the Underworld politics. With a hard edged smile, Kain nods his acceptance of the terms.
A half hour later, he is moving the belongings of his primary safe house on the moon into the scarred freighter. From the outset an Action VI class bulk freighter fresh off the CEC's assembly lines would be a ponderous and ungainly space transport that lacked armaments of any kind and could hold immense amounts of raw materials in its vast holds. It made the Action VI a popular enough freighter, despite the lack of armaments, however like all CEC products the Action VI had been made to be endlessly and easily modifiable to those with the credits. While Kain could have simply purchased a stock vessel and modified it himself, such a move would take time, and the assassin was ready to gone from this place and resume his search. The Folly, now having been renamed to the Downward Spiral already had the most important modifications he had in mind. It incorporated formidable hidden additions that allowed it to hold its own against any Republic Patrol that he might encounter on his ‘business’ trips. Three heavy retractable turbolasers were already in place, giving the ship a firepower that no pirate or small patrol cruiser would ever expect. The entirety of the hull had been doubly reinforced with giant durasteel plates that matched the color of the original, unmodified hull so as not to tip off pursuers. Deflector shields and a large power source were also secreted deep in the bowels of the ship for a powerful defense should it come down to a pitched battle. However, even with the ship already having been modified to this extent, it would still be a week before the vessel was ready to go. For the next week, the ship was literally rebuilt from the inside to better suit the Assassin’s profile. Much like his master, Kain believed information to be the most powerful weapon at his disposal, and therefore he had taken great care to cultivate a web of informants across the galaxy so that he might have a hand in almost all galactic affairs, and thus had to maintain a system of communication with his far-flung web of spies and informants spread across hundreds of worlds. Therefore in order to keep tabs on them and process all the incoming data, Kain brought the ship into a local shop that he could trust, and had mechanics convert most of the passenger and crew quarters on his vessel into a cavernous communications nexus. He paid to install a monstrous hyperradio rectenna to provide instantaneous links to his spies, while stolen HoloNet transceivers purchased on the Black Market were installed to intercept and catalouge many thousands of transmissions from across the galaxy. The most expensive, and illegal, addition came in the form of a sensor package incorporating a blind band Sensor Shroud that was powerful enough to conceal the Downward Spiral from passive scans. This sensor package also transmitted false transponders to any ship inquiring about the nature of the cargo aboard the Downward Spiral using real ID codes and shipping lists from Republic manifests illegally obtained via his informants.
A section of the forward cargo hold was outfitted with a life support system that fully functioning medical bay complete with med droid. In this block was also a series of detention cells, making up a 4 cell brig of sorts should he feel the need to capture a live target. The rest of the forward cargo hold was converted into a series of training rooms, complete with cardiovascular and other important exercise tools, a fully functioning sparing chamber, and a private library/office for the assassin in transit. The rear cargo hold experienced an even more dramatic refit, as the Assassin intended to use this transport to fly below the radar in ways that the Havoc was simply too conspicuous. Therefore, a large section of the rear hold was modified to serve as a makeshift hangar for the Havoc, as well as a stow point for the 64-Y Swift 3 Repulsor Sled he had purchased to act as a heavy speeder bike for planetary business. All in all, the assassin had only told a half truth to the Hutt, he didn’t simply want a transport, he wanted a fully mobile base to remain anonymous throughout the galaxy. The final modifications were mainly centered around the engines, as leaving the Downward Spiral as the listing slow behemoth of a transport was simply out of the question.
With his interior modifications complete, as well as the sublight and Hyperdrive systems having been completely overhauled; the ship was declared ‘suitable’ for work. At sublight, Downward Spiral is every bit as fast as a warship, and while almost any fighter can overtake it, it is doubtful that many would carry the weaponry needed to punch through the heavy armor that blends into the scarred and dented hull. With a class one Hyperdrive, it is as fast in hyperspace as most fighters, and boasts a navigation computer that is as detailed as those found aboard an Imperial or Republic Star Destroyer. All in all, this beat up appearance is intended to conceal a mobile base that is every bit as sophisticated as a military spy ship, centered around a tough 125 meter hull that is as well armored as a Lancer Frigate. Needless to say, given the effectiveness and care that has gone into transforming the former smuggler’s vessel into a mobile base of operations for one of the most deadly of killers in the entire Galaxy, Kain was more than pleased.
Now there was only a few more details to take care of on Nar Shaddaa before he could make his way back into the traverse in search of the prize. As he made his way through the beggar filled streets he turned his mind towards the final piece of the puzzle for this stop. He needed to speak with an engineer who would be able and willing to perform the necessary modifications to Havoc.
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And now, for another episode of 'Out of Context' with guest host Saya Saren
"I would have rather it been you Troy!" -Saya Saren-
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