The Council had assigned him a mission, and it would not be shirked. The loss of the holocron's was not entirely on Graxin's part, but he made a wonderful scapegoat. He had also contributed to the failure more than any other member of the order, and as such, it was an honor to regain the artifact. The chance to rewrite one's mistake was a privilege not to be disregarded.
He knew from the conversation with [member="Daella Apparine"] that the Sith Emperor resided on Coruscant. That could have been deducted by anyone, of course, but it was good to have that information confirmed. If Coruscant was where the Sith consolidated their power, then it must have been where their artifacts were taken.
Securing a charter to Coruscant was not particularly difficult. The planet was enormous, and while the security was far tighter than it had been under Republic rule, navigating through it was not impossible. He had hidden his lightsabers in a small duffel bag, opened the outer shell of two small flashlights, and attached the pieces over the hilts. His weapons had looked more like cheap outdated tech than any weapons of legend.
He was dressed in plain commoner clothes. The black sweatshirt was slightly worn, and its faded hood would serve the purpose that his robes would normally hold. Regrettably, there was no possible way for him to sneak armor onto the planet.
The shuttle had arrived a few levels below the surface. Securing a holding on the top level was expensive and dangerous for one wanted in Sith territory. Graxin had taken the time to scuffle through the dirty streets. Creatures of all shapes and sized stumbled through the narrow sidewalks. Neon signs cast the dingy road in dim light. It was all designed to hide the grime and make the lower city appear to be something it was not.
It was a lie.
Graxin did not intend to stay long. He was a large man, but he was also alone, and seemingly unarmed. The Jedi made for a lovely target to anyone on the prowl. A quick turn down a road of vibrant color took him into what he could only assume was the equivalent of the red light district. His datapad told him this was the correct area. All his hopes were pinned on this small thread of information--he could only pray that it was valid.
The violent flashes of purple flashed in his amber eyes and caught him in a dramatic light as he entered one of the nearby cantinas. The establishment was enormous, and every corner was filled with patrons drinking to their heart's content.
The strong scent of cologne and hormones made Graxin cringe as he crossed into the room. His gaze drifted over the bar; eyes narrowed to block out the flood of light. A single figure stood out from all the rest. A male human, standing alone in the booth, staring right at him.
Graxin gave the man a two finger salute. The stranger frowned. Deciding that this meeting would be something he may regret later, Graxin strode up to the man.
"Cyril?" The man asked. His green eyes were narrowed. His cheekbones were set high, and his hair was a dirty blond that hung down past his shoulders.
Graxin's contact didn't seem the most desirable of individuals. "That would be me. I assume you were the one putting out the call?"
The man did not reply. He slipped into the booth, and gave the Jedi a look of barely contained hatred. "I don't like your kind. Don't start thinking we're friends." He grumbled, showering the table in spittle. "I just wanna get back at the Sith. I wanted to join, but I'm not force sensitive...or something."
Graxin settled down into his own own seat across from the man. He had said nothing about his allegiance--perhaps the contact was smarter than he looked. "My kind?"
"People who get into business that they shouldn't."
The Jedi held back the urge to sigh with relief. he set his elbows on the counter, and propped his chin up on his knuckles. The contact just scowled.
"If you're looking for where they would be keeping artifacts, it'd be in the Imperial Palace." His scowl deepened. "Or something like that. It's big, fancy, intimidating. Pretty much impenetrable. I have no idea what goes on in there."
Graxin tilted his head to the right. It seemed fitting for there to be some kind of palace. The Sith had certainly won the planet, and to them, it was likely a glorious victory. Making the world the capital of their operations was just another way of proving how superior they thought themselves to be to the rest of the galaxy.
The palace would serve as a symbol of that superiority.
"Where is this palace?" Graxin asked cautiously.
"Upper levels. You really can't miss the thing." His associate replied. "You aren't going to break in though, it ain't happening. Be better to approach as a...political envoy, or something."
The Jedi fell silent. There would be no storming of the palace. He would be killed within moments. A different approach was necessary, but what was the correct way of doing this?
"I'll give it a try." Graxin stated simply. "Why are you helping me, exactly?"
The man fell silent. He ran a hand through his long, unkempt hair and grinned. "I wanted to be a Sith. I can't. Revenge is their deal, isn't it? I'm proving myself."
Graxin opened his mouth to speak, but the man had already stood up to leave. He strode off deeper into the cantina, and left Graxin alone to think.
The Jedi sighed and gave his bag a passing look. This was borderline suicidal, but it had to be done. He pushed up to his feet, and made off for the door. Time was of the essence.
He knew from the conversation with [member="Daella Apparine"] that the Sith Emperor resided on Coruscant. That could have been deducted by anyone, of course, but it was good to have that information confirmed. If Coruscant was where the Sith consolidated their power, then it must have been where their artifacts were taken.
Securing a charter to Coruscant was not particularly difficult. The planet was enormous, and while the security was far tighter than it had been under Republic rule, navigating through it was not impossible. He had hidden his lightsabers in a small duffel bag, opened the outer shell of two small flashlights, and attached the pieces over the hilts. His weapons had looked more like cheap outdated tech than any weapons of legend.
He was dressed in plain commoner clothes. The black sweatshirt was slightly worn, and its faded hood would serve the purpose that his robes would normally hold. Regrettably, there was no possible way for him to sneak armor onto the planet.
The shuttle had arrived a few levels below the surface. Securing a holding on the top level was expensive and dangerous for one wanted in Sith territory. Graxin had taken the time to scuffle through the dirty streets. Creatures of all shapes and sized stumbled through the narrow sidewalks. Neon signs cast the dingy road in dim light. It was all designed to hide the grime and make the lower city appear to be something it was not.
It was a lie.
Graxin did not intend to stay long. He was a large man, but he was also alone, and seemingly unarmed. The Jedi made for a lovely target to anyone on the prowl. A quick turn down a road of vibrant color took him into what he could only assume was the equivalent of the red light district. His datapad told him this was the correct area. All his hopes were pinned on this small thread of information--he could only pray that it was valid.
The violent flashes of purple flashed in his amber eyes and caught him in a dramatic light as he entered one of the nearby cantinas. The establishment was enormous, and every corner was filled with patrons drinking to their heart's content.
The strong scent of cologne and hormones made Graxin cringe as he crossed into the room. His gaze drifted over the bar; eyes narrowed to block out the flood of light. A single figure stood out from all the rest. A male human, standing alone in the booth, staring right at him.
Graxin gave the man a two finger salute. The stranger frowned. Deciding that this meeting would be something he may regret later, Graxin strode up to the man.
"Cyril?" The man asked. His green eyes were narrowed. His cheekbones were set high, and his hair was a dirty blond that hung down past his shoulders.
Graxin's contact didn't seem the most desirable of individuals. "That would be me. I assume you were the one putting out the call?"
The man did not reply. He slipped into the booth, and gave the Jedi a look of barely contained hatred. "I don't like your kind. Don't start thinking we're friends." He grumbled, showering the table in spittle. "I just wanna get back at the Sith. I wanted to join, but I'm not force sensitive...or something."
Graxin settled down into his own own seat across from the man. He had said nothing about his allegiance--perhaps the contact was smarter than he looked. "My kind?"
"People who get into business that they shouldn't."
The Jedi held back the urge to sigh with relief. he set his elbows on the counter, and propped his chin up on his knuckles. The contact just scowled.
"If you're looking for where they would be keeping artifacts, it'd be in the Imperial Palace." His scowl deepened. "Or something like that. It's big, fancy, intimidating. Pretty much impenetrable. I have no idea what goes on in there."
Graxin tilted his head to the right. It seemed fitting for there to be some kind of palace. The Sith had certainly won the planet, and to them, it was likely a glorious victory. Making the world the capital of their operations was just another way of proving how superior they thought themselves to be to the rest of the galaxy.
The palace would serve as a symbol of that superiority.
"Where is this palace?" Graxin asked cautiously.
"Upper levels. You really can't miss the thing." His associate replied. "You aren't going to break in though, it ain't happening. Be better to approach as a...political envoy, or something."
The Jedi fell silent. There would be no storming of the palace. He would be killed within moments. A different approach was necessary, but what was the correct way of doing this?
"I'll give it a try." Graxin stated simply. "Why are you helping me, exactly?"
The man fell silent. He ran a hand through his long, unkempt hair and grinned. "I wanted to be a Sith. I can't. Revenge is their deal, isn't it? I'm proving myself."
Graxin opened his mouth to speak, but the man had already stood up to leave. He strode off deeper into the cantina, and left Graxin alone to think.
The Jedi sighed and gave his bag a passing look. This was borderline suicidal, but it had to be done. He pushed up to his feet, and made off for the door. Time was of the essence.