Architect of Woe

[Yusanis Myrishi]

SAINT was a nonviolent organization, but sometimes it had to get its hands a little dirty.

That was what had brought the black on silver protocol droid, its shiny finish covered by a worn brown cloak, to a grimy cantina on Nar Kreeta. Hutt Space had become more of a mess than ever since the fall of the Hutt Cartel as a galactic power, and outlying planets like Nar Kreeta were full of smugglers, pirates, and bounty hunters looking for a quick credit, with little regard for who got hurt along the way. Unusually, the droid's masters were seeking the third on that list this time. GR4-CE, often simply called Grace, had been dispatched to find and hire the skilled Mandalorian tracker [member="Davin Skirata"] for a mission that was entirely outside of SAINT's normal purview.

A howling sandstorm outside, the high winds whipping stinging dust through the planet's jagged canyons, had driven all sorts of beings into the cantina. Burly Houk enforcers bumped up against weedy Nemoidian identity forgers while Ryn pickpockets worked the crowd. The aura of barely-contained violence, ready to pop at any moment, that was so common to these sectors pervaded the entire establishment, so GR-4CE moved quickly. The droid spotted a man who might be the tracker through a window in the crowd and headed for him, artfully wending its way around the many groups of rough and tumble characters between it and its destination.

SAINT had made an anonymous request to meet Skirata here, close to the target territory but outside of One Sith space, and it had seemed he was interested in the job they offered. GR4-CE hoped that enthusiasm would hold up when he learned of the complicated particulars of the assignment. "Mr. Skirata," the droid began when it had drawn close enough, "good afternoon. My master has heard of your considerable reputation as a tracker and dispatched me to discuss hiring you. He is waiting on the holocom, if you are interested. Or perhaps" the droid said, glancing around at the crowd from beneath its dusty brown hood, "we should discuss this in a more salubrious location."

 

[Jak Skirata]

The sandstorm had caused quite the clutter of people in the small cantina. Rowdy, piss drunk and claustrophobic the patrons pushed and shoved against one another. Their energy filled the air, a mix of desperation and frustration. He could feel it all in the Force. Clad in his beskar'gam though it seemed a protective bubble surrounded him. No one came within half an arms length of him which was all the better for the Anooba that sat curled up beneath the table.

Davin swirled his drink in the short glass he had been given. It was a green liquid that smelled suspiciously of antiseptic with what looked like a grub of some kind squirming at the bottom of his glass. He raised the drink to his lips, the smell tickling his nose and drained the glass before tossing the grub to the floor. Zip poked it curiously with its snout before lapping it up with his long, rough tongue. He listened intently to the droid for a moment.

He stood from his bar stool and grabbed his buyce from the table. The sudden movement alarmed Zip who snapped his head up attentively.

"There's a room in the back. Follow me." He began making his way through the crowd to a small back room. When he opened the door the dark room was illuminated by the light of the cantina casting rays of light that displayed a thin layer of dust in the air. It probably hadn't been used in months considering the buildup, but it would do. He waved his hand in front of his face to disperse the dust before flipping on a light switch. In the center was a projector. This would do.

[member="Yusanis Myrishi"]