Faction Shake Down on Nar Shaddaa [Open to Criminals / Ask]

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Shake Down on Nar Shaddaa

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The Twilight Bazaar was a labyrinth of patched tarps and makeshift stalls, stitched together like a wound that refused to close. Merchants hawked their wares in desperation, scraping by on the reeking, rust-crusted surface of Nar Shaddaa. Like most of the Smuggler's Moon, this forgotten corner was left to rot by whatever passed for local authorities, business thrived, crime festered, and the civilians were left to fend for themselves as corruption seeped from every duracrete wall.

Over time, the market's traders learned the unspoken rules. They pooled credits and bought protection from the local syndicate. Black Sun. It wasn't ideal, but it kept the worst of the predators at bay, so long as the payments came on time.

The first missed payment earned them a warning. Flint, the overseer or such protection, even showed restraint. But when they missed again, mercy vanished. On Nar Shaddaa, there's no room for those who can't pay to play, especially when Black Sun is involved.

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Objective 1 - Aggressive Negotiations​

The local merchants formed a makeshift council and have asked Black Sun representatives to meet them at the cantina located on their block. The merchants want to try and renegotiate terms because business has been slow, but Flint wants his money. If talks go south be prepared to use fists.

Objective 2 - It's About Sending a Message​

Black Sun isn't going to take nonpayment lightly. Outside in the market district chaos reigns. Flame throwers rip through the makeshift stalls, while customers run for cover in terror. Hit the streets and cause as much trouble as possible to make sure these merchants think twice before skipping out on Black Sun again.

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Lachadann]

Objective 2 - It's About Sending a Message​

Black Sun isn't going to take nonpayment lightly. Outside in the market district chaos reigns. Flame throwers rip through the makeshift stalls, while customers run for cover in terror. Hit the streets and cause as much trouble as possible to make sure these merchants think twice before skipping out on Black Sun again.

OPPOSITION

On the heels of a retreating good day, Lachadann paused, cigarra askew, and took better stock of the situation that had driven her from the market stall. She'd been shopping for knives, beautiful knives whose handles were melting and burning under flamethrower punishment.

The human with the flamethrower was clearly in cohort with various other people causing chaos in the market area, but for the moment, of the Black Sun aggressors, Lachadann was close to only one. Flamethrower man looked at her out of, perhaps, instinct, and did a double take to see her produce a charric pistol.

The Chiss sidearm blatted once and he went down with a flaming pit where his left eye had been. Those new traction pads on her metal fingers really did a trick.

She hauled out her other charric, double-checked her repulsor belt, and eerk-eerked a slow circle for a better sense of who was about to come her way.

 

[Malrok Duskwell]

MALROK DUSKWELL
⟁Tip the Scales⟁

The smoke curled around his boots like something sentient—ash and vapor stirred by panic, lit by flickering flame and blaster bolts. He stepped through it in silence.

No insignia. No rank. Just the faint clink of armor plates and the soft hum of the shortspear as he dragged it through a dying stall’s counter. Its gray-green tip glimmered faintly where Phlegmite met haft.

A merchant’s guard spotted him from behind a crate and fired. The bolt veered right by instinct, not aim. Malrok didn’t flinch.

He planted his foot. Pivoted.

The spear came up in a blur. Impact. The first bolt deflected harmlessly into a fruit stand, bursting a stack of spoiled meilooruns. The second grazed his shoulder, then came the ignition.

With a low snarl of energy, the crystal flared to life. The spear’s haft surged with a wide, rippling blade of force-attuned plasma, more akin to a torchlight than a sword. Unconcentrated, imprecise.

Not a Jedi’s weapon. Nor that of a Sith.

"You chose to defy the tithe," he said, his voice flat and guttural, almost swallowed by the roar of white flame behind him.

And so the tithe demands more.

He moved forward indifferent to the weight of being understanding that something was about to be taken from these people that wouldn’t grow back.

@Open (DM first if you want to PvP)​

 

[V01D Ω (Void Omega)]

V01D Ω

"Thank you," the knife merchant said to the seeming protocol droid. He made a break for it, only to be met with electrical filaments that stunned him, causing him to fall to the ground and lose control of his bladder.

"Organics," Void said as he came from around the corner shaking his head. He gave the protocol droid a look and a scan. "Huh. You're more than just a droid, aren't you? S'pose I can't say much, though." He spotted one of his fallen Black Sun comrades and the charred eye socket. "Well, you done fethed up, making an enemy of the Black Sun Syndicate. How foolish." He raised his left arm, a blaster cannon folding out of his forearm. "Any last words before you're reduced to rust and whatever else you're made of?"

TAGS: OPEN
Lachadann​

 

[Lachadann]

"Organics," Void said as he came from around the corner shaking his head. He gave the protocol droid a look and a scan. "Huh. You're more than just a droid, aren't you? S'pose I can't say much, though." He spotted one of his fallen Black Sun comrades and the charred eye socket. "Well, you done fethed up, making an enemy of the Black Sun Syndicate. How foolish." He raised his left arm, a blaster cannon folding out of his forearm. "Any last words before you're reduced to rust and whatever else you're made of?"

Basic being far from her first language, Lachadann caught about half the slang and idiom involved in the cyborg's commentary but got the idea just fine.

She put her left-hand charric back in its holster and tapped her repulsor belt. It dragged her in a long side strafe as that cannon unfolded, and she snapped off a few shots at his center of mass from her right-hand charric, sliding with her feet half a foot off the ground. Adrenaline rose up, fear and excitement both. Experiences like this were exactly what she'd hoped for when she found the belt.

The drifting strafe aimed to put her down two or three seconds later between a pair of smoldering market stalls, giving her visual cover and some potential escape routes.