Duel Last Stand on Darvannis

[Krasskorr the Maw]

FOOD: Connel Vanagor Allyson Locke Corazona von Ascania

​

Inside the primary hangar of the fortified warehouse, Krasskorr stood among stacks of baradium explosives and surplus military blasters. The Saurton ran a heavy claw along the silver-white scar splitting his snout, his remaining golden eye fixed on the holographic tactical display of the High Republic.

More specifically on the Capital of Naboo, a planet that had seen more than enough conflict, from the Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders to the Sith Order. It was the target for a final suicide strike meant to send a message that the Galactic Emperor, Darth Solipsis, would never fade from history, not while one last member of the Dark Side Elite was still breathing.

With the Jedi Order fracturing under the weight of its own internal schisms, the Republic's guardians were too distracted by their own infighting to notice a handful of dying loyalists gathering heavy ordnance. "The detonators are primed," a hollow-eyed officer said, adjusting a faded chest piece bearing the defaced crest of Solipsis.

"But the local Hutts are getting nervous. They know we're here. The leaks on the holonet have drawn eyes." Krasskorr's jaw clicked, the fractured bone popping uncomfortably as he let out a low rumble that shook the loose dust from the overhead rafters. He deactivated the hologram with a heavy swipe of his hand.

"Let them look," Krasskorr growled, his voice gravelly and strained from his brutal encounter with Meliant just a few weeks before. "The Hutts will not bother us, the Republic on the other hand..." He reached to his belt, checking the magnetic locks on his three-meter lightclub.

Through the heavy, reinforced blast doors of the bazaar outpost, the external sensors began to pick up three distinct signatures that had skipped past the perimeter sensors, cutting through the traffic of the Darvannis markets. It wasn't an army from the looks of it but three operatives, sent to this lawless world to cut the head off the snake before it could bite.

Krasskorr's split tongue darted past his scarred lips, tasting the dry, chemical exhaust of the hangar bay. He didn't know who the Republic had scrambled to fill the void left by the Jedi, but his claw tightened around the hilt of his weapon in preparation for one final stand.

 

[Connel Vanagor]

Bluster’s Last Stand
DARVANNIS
MARKETS

Omega Squad Every Day Gear Locations

• Michael, Gabriel, Raguel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel
  [Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
• 
  Rides
  
  • "Enterprise" Station Ship
  • Vigilant Reaper
  • Null Vector
  • Speederbike
  • Iron Psalm
  Gear/Armor
  
  
  • Gear(“Bodycam” Datapad, UAD Drone, link to Seraphim AI included)
  • Lightblaster
  • Shortsabers (“Night” and “Day”)
  • 5 Throwing Lightknives
  • 3 Force Blinding Flashbangs
  • RI-17 Rifle-w-MS-0412 Grenade Launcher
  SURGICAL - CRYBERNETIC IMPLANTS
  
  • Repli Implants that would be for the limbs
  • Bonemer enhancements to strengthen structure of the body
  • Muscle enhancements.
  • Hemo enhancements for blood flow
  • Hawkeye implants for eyes
  • Advanced Medical Implant
  • Scentzy
  • Injected Nanotech upgrades
  
  
  
• Shadow Sanctuary - Enterprise

Spoiler: Landing on Darvannis

Sitting in the pilot seat of The Null Vector having just set down and BRAD is shutting down the ship’s systems. This was not going to be a day for debate. If his contact in the Hutt’s circle is right, something dire is about to go down. Something that required he do this. Putting the mask on and letting it click into place, he heard the words of the ritual ring in his head.
You will feel no remorse for those who would show none to you.
You will feel no fear beyond the fear of failing those behind you.
You will seek no reward beyond mission success.
You will feel no pain until death.
You are not wrath.
You are not vengeance.
You are the Light’s wraith.

The market was alive in the way places under Hutt rule learned to be alive. Loud enough to hide fear. Crowded enough to hide knives. Vendors shouted over one another from beneath patched awnings, promising miracle spices, clean water, counterfeit luxury goods, and fruit that had absolutely, definitely, unquestionably not been stolen from a shipment three districts over. Shoppers argued over prices with the sacred fury of people who had no intention of paying the first number. Droids rattled past on bad motivators. Children ducked between crates. Somewhere nearby, something was being fried in oil old enough to have a criminal record. Darvannis wore normalcy like cheap perfume.

Samlor knew better.

The Rodian moved through the corridor of fruit stands with his hands tucked into his vest and his chin lifted just enough to remind people he was useful. Informant. Broker. Hutt ear. Hutt mouth, when it suited him. He had made a living selling whispers to people desperate enough to pay for them and frightened enough not to ask where they came from.

Today, those whispers had a name.

Ariel.

He had heard the name three times since sunrise, each time from someone trying very hard to sound casual. That was how Samlor knew the information was valuable. Nobody asked directly for a ghost unless they were afraid the ghost might answer. “Samlor!”

The Rodian slowed.

A Weequay fruit seller leaned over his stand, smiling with too many teeth and too little warmth. “I have some great new fruits here, Samlor. Fresh. Very fresh.”

Samlor’s eyes narrowed. The seller had not called to the crowd. Not to customers. Not even to “friend,” which was what liars called strangers when they wanted credits. He had used his name. Samlor walked over, his mouth curling into a smug little grin. “Where is he?”

The Weequay blinked. “Who?”

“Fine.” Samlor spread his hands. “I’ll play.”

For the next ten minutes, Tilmad showed him fruit. Not codes hidden in fruit. Not a datachip under a bruised rind. Not a message etched into the crate. Fruit.

Yellow fruit. Red fruit. One purple thing that twitched when he touched it. Tilmad spoke of sweetness, freshness, moisture content, and the tragic decline of standards in the Darvannis produce trade with the commitment of a man lecturing before the Senate.

Samlor’s patience died a slow, ugly death.

At last he shoved the Weequay back and kicked the corner of the stand hard enough to send three crates spilling across the stone. Fruit bounced and split under passing boots, drawing shouts from nearby vendors.

“You waste my time again,” Samlor snapped, “and I’ll sell your location to people who buy teeth by the kilo.”

He turned and cut quickly into the nearest alley. That was his mistake. The noise of the market dropped behind him by half a breath. A black-gloved hand closed over his mouth. Samlor had just enough time to feel the cold edge of something press beneath his ribs before the dark beside him moved. Not a man stepping out of shadow.

The shadow deciding it had arms.

He was dragged backward before he could kick, scream, or reach the holdout blaster under his vest. His back struck the alley wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. The blade under his ribs did not cut, but it promised that it understood the route. A masked face hovered inches from his own.

No anger.

That was worse. The voice came low, filtered, and absolute. You are going to tell me exactly what I want to know.

Samlor’s remaining courage ran for the market without him.

Krasskorr the Maw • Corazona von Ascania • Allyson Locke
Personal Effects - Omega Squad Loadouts​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora did not ask about Knight Vanagor's contact in the Hutt cartels. Despite the argument they'd had in the halls of Shiraya's Rest, the respect she held for the shadow ran deep.

As the mask clicked over Connel's face, Cora drew the hood of her jacket over her head. Jedi robes would have stuck out like a sore thumb on a place like Darvannis, so with her husband's help, she'd dressed the part of a vagrant spacer.

While Connel took care of business, Cora lingered at the mouth of the alley. Back leaned against the wall, she observed the chaotic energy of the market, watching for anyone who'd taken notice of the Rodian's quick disappearance into shadow.

Empires might've died, but ideas didn't. Not as cleanly as Coruscant, anyway. It was unfortunate that the Maw had become a problem, because she would've liked to pick his lizard-brain in any other circumstance.

Krasskorr the Maw Connel Vanagor Allyson Locke