Public The Mos Eisley Gambit

[Damien Dooku]

A SCOUNDREL STORY
CHAPTER IV: THE MOS EISLEY GAMBIT
MOS EISLEY, TATOOINE
THEME

The crew of the On the Mauve du Vain scampered down the landing ramp one-by-one, their lungs filled with smoke from the sheer number of systems that had been damaged beyond repair during their transit from the outer sector towards Tatooine. Their luck had been unnatural, according to the rumors circling within the Underworld. For being a crew of young spacers and scoundrels with the whole of the Black Sun chasing them down, they had somehow managed to avoid capture or a serious fight in the several weeks that had passed since acquiring their new ship and taking it on an adventure across the Outer and Mid Rim of the galaxy .

Eventually that luck would hit a wall in the form of the infamous bounty hunter named Koda Fett . He'd intercepted them with the famous Spear III, a ship so nearly identical to the legendary Slave I that it stoked fear in the hearts of many a scoundrel across the Rim. Somehow, perhaps a result of their near famous streak of luck still showing a vestige of its presence, the On the Mauve had escaped total destruction over the course of an hour-long escape attempt deeper into the system. They'd even managed a few key hits onto the Spear III, courtesy of Morrow and Davik Haize manning the turrets. In the end, it proved enough to give them just enough of an edge to disappear beneath the clouds of Tatooine's orbit.

They limped into a non-discreet spaceport, the kind that didn't ask any questions as long as the credits were good enough to keep their mouths shut, and their droids discreetly away from their ship. After begrudgingly handling the Spaceport's owner a generous amount of credits from his recent win during the Serolonis 5000, the crew was faced with significant amounts of downtime while their ship underwent repairs. To make things worse, Koda Fett had undoubtedly exposed their current location after their battle had came to an abrupt end, further pressing the need to keep their head's down, or risk a city known for being a hive of scum & villainy descending upon them-- and the bounties on their heads and ship alike.

THE MOS EISLEY CANTINA, SEVERAL HOURS LATER...

Damien sat inside of the booths near the far side of the Cantina, his demeanor giving off no hint of the stress that followed their near-death experience in space just a few hours prior. Perhaps it was the Cantina that had eased the tension; Mos Eisley Cantina was legendary among scoundrels and spacers alike, having forever been known as a spot that was almost a rite-of-passage for those who persisted within their collective professions. Choosing a spot tha was known for being frequented by scoundrels and bounty hunters alike may have sounded counter-intuitive to their goal, on first thought, but there was an argument to be made on blending in beneath the nose of your pursuers, or atleast that's what he'd used to convince his companions to follow him there.

So far though, the strategy seemed to have worked. The denizens of the Cantina were not so focused on the trio of scoundrels who initially entered, and the appearance of a fourth who was somewhat of a local had assuaged the most curious of their suspicions. Their goal of keeping their heads down was going swell, so far, and that meant Damien could afford to order himself a drink and truly begin to relax, hopefully setting aside what had happened to them far into the past by the time their ship was fixed and ready to hyperspace out of the sector.

The bartender -- a middle-aged Duros -- delivered his drink and a pack of smokes to their booth about half a minute later. He wasted no time in cracking open the pack and lighting a cigarette right then and there. "Koda fething Fett." Damien spoke up, just loud enough to engage the topic with the scoundrels seated around him.

And Talin, too, since Morrow had apparently been bringing her onboard from time-to-time.

"If I had known that bastard Razmir Tezhyn would send Koda Fett after our heads, I would've stolen a ship with more guns." He took another drag from his cigarette, then followed it up with a swig of Corellian whiskey to drown it down. "The old man at the dock said it'll take, what, four to five hours, yeah?" He did the math in his head. "....That means she should be good to go in another hour or so."

Damien scanned the room discreetly, and seemed to be satisfied with the result by the time his eyes settled back on his group. "...That means, in theory, we should be in the clear...but.." Damien tapped his fingers against the table, seemingly lost in momentarily in piecing together his thoughts. "...But how did that bastard Koda even find us? I could've sworn we ran through the whole ship for trackers and found nothin', yeah?"

-

Morrow Davik Haize Rin Tohran Talin Treicolt

[THIS THREAD IS OPEN TO ANY AND ALL BOUNTER HUNTERS AND BLACK SUN HITTERS, AND SCOUNDRELS IN GENERAL WHO WISH TO JOIN IN AND GIVE US A RUN FOR OUR MONEY AS WE TRY TO ESCAPE THE GAUNTLET & PREVENT US FROM REACHING OUR SHIP! COLLECTIVE BOUNTIES FOR THE SCOUNDREL GANG & THEIR SHIP ARE: [x] [x] [x] [x]

Feel free to join folks, and come at us with whatever you've got!

​

 

[Rin Tohran]

Rin mulled about Tatooine for some months now. His own run-ins, as one could call them, with the Black Sun led to laying low on some backwater sandpit. He tried to make an honest life for himself, though that seemed exceedingly difficult in Mos Espa, even more so in Mos Eisley. The idle dream of becoming a moisture farmer and settling down with a nice girl somewhere out in the Dune Sea were quickly set aside in favour of mounting gambling debts and gun-running for local crime lords. Far from honest, Rin knew, but easy credits were best.

Seeing three faces he recognised from bounty boards come limping into Mos Eisley, Rin followed them with his collar raised high. Fugitives of the Black Sun could be birds of a feather, and the like. A ticket off-world, with people to watch his back knowing if not him, then them. It was busy inside the cantina, after all, with scarce few seats left available. He sat alongside them, lending an air of legitimacy as somewhat of a 'local', after merely asking.

Though his chest tightened at the mention of who came after them.

"You should be safe in here," he remarked, not quite so sure. Lying, maybe. "Tends to have that soft, unspoken rule of being somewhat of a haven. Most fights get taken outside."

Damien Dooku - Morrow - Davik Haize - Talin Treicolt

 

[Rel Ahn-Dross]

MOS EISLEY, TATOOINE

A Den of inequity amidst a locale known as a hive of scum and villainy. It felt strange that Tatooine and by association, Mos Eiseley was located on the fringe of High Republic territory. Despite the High Republic presence nothing had truly changed though, places like Mos Eisley had a culture all their own; it didn't matter which government claimed authority currently their dominion was limited on a world like this.

Traffic through Mos Eisley usually consisted of Outlaws, Smugglers, Mercenaries and others associated with one Underworld Syndicate or another if they were locals. Nothing out of the ordinary. It paid to have connections in a place like Mos Eisley though, especially reliable informants.

The Mos Eisley Cantina was buzzing.

A ping on his datapad and confirmation over a comslink had alerted him to several 'persons of interest'.

When Rel arrived at the Cantina he'd pressed through the entry way, shouldering past a large Gamorian in the process.

To look at him was to see someone who was broad shouldered and thick with musculature. His forearms were thick, his chest large and he walked with a powerful base. There was a slight metallic blue tinge to his skin, difficult to recognize at a distance under the dim lighting of the cantina.

Eyes were drawn to him, not necessarily because he was large, many of them scanning what he carried in his right hand. It was a large Axe, its haft carved from terentatek horn and wrapped in leather while its head boasted a crescent head with several eldritch dathomiri symbols decorating it.

Moving towards a booth he'd have slid inside, setting the axe down on the table in the process while a Zeltron Waitress wandered past and inquired over a drink prompting the answer of...

"Bloody Rancor."

...before she left him behind.

Rel blended well with the scoundrels that filled the cantina. He wore a jacket of old happabore leather stitched together to make it serviceable still there was something odd about it or maybe something concealed underneath it. An Aura radiated from him, vibrating around him though it was likewise difficult to see unless one could sense the difference in him.

 

[Grunt]

Grunt stood at the front of the cantina, watchful eyes flicking from patron to patron. The Black Sun had sent him here to meet a potential spice contact, but his role wasn't what it seemed. Officially, he was the "muscle," standing guard against an ambush. Unofficially, he knew the Suns had arranged that very ambush themselves. Grunt's task was simple: play the dumb brute, fight off the staged attackers, and win the mark's trust. Once inside the safehouse, he'd take the spice for the Suns, taking a small cut for himself, of course.

It was a vicious cycle, but such was life in the underworld. Sometimes, he almost missed the simplicity of Gamorr- axes, blood, and no politics.

Shifting his weight, Grunt began another lap around the bar, eyes peeled for his contact, or anyone paying him too much attention. A large man shouldered into him as he passed, jarring him hard. Fury flared hot in his veins, his hand tightening on the haft of his axe until the wood creaked in protest. Every part of him wanted to split the offender in two, but discipline held him back. That was the difference between Grunt and the stereotypes others saw in his kind: he could see the larger game. There would be blood soon enough, once the deal was set.

With a grunt, he sheathed his axe, and with it, his murderous impulse, and returned his gaze to the restless crowd. The cantina stank of sweat, spice, and tension. Something valuable was about to change hands; he could smell it, like blood on the wind before a hunt.

"Hrrnnkh! Move!" he oinked, shoving through the press of bodies, his bulk clearing a path as easily as a blade.

TAG: Rel Ahn-Dross Damien Dooku Rin Tohran ​

 

[Davik Haize]

Davik Haize had been to Mos Eisley a few times before, but never alone. Always with his now dead mentor, Waylon. A hive of scum and villainy, he would love to gut. As Wardens of the Sky, they would come here for cheap repairs and information; simply eavesdropping on loud, boastful pirates led them to foiling numerous ambushes, saving spacers and smugglers from their clutches, and crushing a dozen of their crews in the process. Good times, but now they were over, and with losing his ship at the Battle of Wielu to a battery of mynocks, Haize had found himself as part of the On the Mauve crew until he could find a new ship. But that also had become a distant mirage given their circumstances.

He’d spent the earlier parts of the day at the junkyard of Gatto the Toydarian, an old contact of Waylon, haggling for a flux capacitor their ship’s hyperdrive needed. But Haize never was the diplomat; that was a role mastered by his mentor Waylon. The negotiations were short, and the potential barter turned into a one-sided transaction in the Warden’s favor when Davik had drilled a hole through the junkyard's wall with a furious punch. A fury borne of not only his impatience in the haggle but of several nights of lack of sleep thanks to the constant pounding from Morrow’s cabin and the fight and wounds sustained from their near-death experience with that mythical Mandalorian bastard, Koda Fett.

Now, sitting with his back hunched over the table in one of the Mos Eisley cantina’s lounges and a full drink untouched, his agitated fingers tapped on the sticky table top as the crew conversed, counting the minutes until their ship would be ready.​

"...But how did that bastard Koda even find us? I could've sworn we ran through the whole ship for trackers and found nothin', yeah?"

Davik reluctantly pulled out from his leather jacket a small, circular gadget that clearly looked busted from someone’s angry fist, and tossed it repulsively on the table. “Impervium-coated, right in the Mauve’s exhaust port.” a testament to Fett’s eagle eye, even from within a cockpit, “Not even a jump to light speed burn could fry it.”​

"You should be safe in here," he remarked, not quite so sure. Lying, maybe. "Tends to have that soft, unspoken rule of being somewhat of a haven. Most fights get taken outside."

He grumbled a sigh and leaned back in the stitched lounge, crossing his arms as his eyes swept the cantina. Tiny ethereal currents tingled irritantly at his nape. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” his attention shifted back to the table with a proposal, “Why don’t we get back to the ship, wait out the repairs there?”

Damien Dooku Rin Tohran Rel Ahn-Dross Grunt Morrow Talin Treicolt ​

 

[Koda Fett]

Touching down on Tatooine, Fett ran gloved fingers across the carbon scoring littered across the hull of the Spear III. He groaned with some frustration, although this damage was of no immediate consequence. A problem for later once the credits were raked in, as the hunt was still on. Razmir and Mauve might have famously been at odds to varying degrees, depending on who you asked, although this group of scoundrels, smugglers and general low lives had managed to unite them both with a shared anger. In Mauve's particular case, revulsion.

The planted tracker might have since stopped transmitting, though not before arriving in Mos Eisley. The On The Mauve -- the specific cause for such disdain from, as one could surmise, Mauve -- was parked in a nearly adjacent hangar bay with a blue-skinned Duros hard at work amid repairs with his droid companions. The ship was wanted as well, Fett noted, intending to return for it later with the captured trio in tow or failing that, their ashes.

He began his search around the spaceport, resulting in implied and unspoken threats, a handful of credits lost, later regained, and old debts called upon until a Toydarian by the name of Gatto buzzed towards the bounty hunter, practically begging for Fett to listen to him. Something about a desperate trio coming in and punching a hole in his wall when negotiations did not quite go their way. Gatto could confirm their faces, as shown on their respective bounty pucks, were a match.

Beneath the blazing twin suns, he strode across town towards the infamous Mos Eisley cantina with sand kicked up underfoot. An easy enough job, with them cornered like womp rats. Be blasted to pieces or come willingly, only to be blasted to different places at a later time somewhere else. Fett expected a fight, no matter how brief it may be.

Though what he had not accounted for, was Amun interfering in his hunt. "I'm not in the mood for you," he bitterly remarked to the Kyuzo bounty hunter.

 

[Amun]

"The sun shines for all, Fett," he retorted back to the Mandalorian in his native tongue, no doubt Koda Fett would translate it without trouble with the sophisticated translator integrated in his helm. He walked from the opposite end from his rival, glowing eyes focused on the clone as he walked towards the cantina. Never had the two warriors come into this sort of encounter as they had worked in the past and Amun, arguably the most honorable out of the two, respected Fett's hunts.

Up until now.

Koda let these wanted scoundrels slip away from his grasp, and what fault would any other Bounty Hunter finish the job?

"The hunt does not belong only to you," Amun stood his ground and most likely the Mandalorian would not tolerate this slight. Most hunters would cower at the idea of confronting the Galaxy's most notorious Bounty Hunter, but the few elite could have a chance of upsetting Fett. Still his eyes awaited for how the Mandalorian wished to retaliate, and still striding towards the cantina's entrance.

 

[Koda Fett]

"This done does," he answered.

Mos Eisley was a busy, sprawling place. Less so now. A Rodian pulled on the awning of his merchant stall, closing it. A Toydarian scurried into an alley, muttering a curse. A pack of roving Trandoshans clung to the outer circle, alongside countless others that watched with baited breath. The stand-off was clear to see, with locals and visitors alike refusing to come between the two hunters that stood opposite one another, hands hovering over their weapons yet to be drawn.

A gust of wind blew through, scattering grains of sand into the air and clanging against his armoured frame. The wind seemed to howl.

His gloved hand hung over his blaster pistol as time stretched on for eternity. Then, he sprung into action. He snatched the blaster from its holster, raising so far as to his hip and with a lean, fired.

Amun

 

[Amun]

At some paces they stopped and faced each other, that recognizable stance of two individuals challenging each other with their reliable irons. Not a sound dared to disrupt the silence the two hunters shared as the uninvited audience anxiously waited for whose shot was more straight and true. Only the wind sang with a mild howl causing a small dust of sand litter the breathing air.

A moment passed...

...and then he saw Koda's arm jerk.

Pistols drawn and each one fired one shot. Koda's made impact on Amun's right rib, the armorweave-bodyglove protected him from mortal wound but the kinetic energy was not dispelled completely as the Kyuzo was pushed back and fell to his knees. However, his own mark upon the Mandalorian was as powerful if not more when he turned and saw Fett reeling from his shot. This was his opportunity to sprint towards Mos Eisley's Cantina with his pistol holstered and his menacing bowcaster held in both hands to find his prey.

Koda Fett | Davik Haize | Morrow | Talin Treicolt | Damien Dooku​

 

[Koda Fett]

He was sent sprawling, crashing down into the sand as the bolt struck out at his helmeted head. The blaster pistol flew from his grasp amid the fall, left to land with a thunk along the ground. A less prideful man might have known better than to challenge a Kyuzo to a physical challenge, let alone Amun. Swept up in his own arrogance, this was the price.

Seeing Amun race off towards the nearby cantina, Fett jabbed his armoured wrist in his direction and a loud thwap rang out with the whipcord aiming to tangle up his legs. Still flat on the ground, he tried to tug and pull in the effort to climb onto his feet. An electrical current ran through the whipcord. Unlikely to ever kill anything less mechanical than a droid, but packing a punch nonetheless.

Amun

 

[Grunt]

The cantina hummed like a hive, its walls bustling with tension and chatter. Grunt could feel the energy through the crowd. Emotions were a language he didn't always speak well- anger, rage, jealousy, hunger- were all he knew, but he could read them plainly on the faces around him. Something was happening outside, something unusual, though in Mos Eisley, such commotion was probably just another day.

Grunt chose to seize the moment. A booth had opened up near the back after a few patrons bolted for the door, leaving half-finished drinks behind. With a heavy thud, he dropped into the seat, ignoring the gang of young criminals at the next table. They were nothing to him, what mattered was the abandoned liquor. In Grunt's mind, the first round was on them. He downed the glasses quickly, searching for a pleasant haze to settle over his nerves while he waited for his contact.

The whiskey hit him like fire. He coughed, snorted, and shook his head.
"Grnk-hhk! That's no drink, that's poison!" he bellowed, his guttural voice cutting above the din. A few heads turned before looking away again; no one in Mos Eisley wanted trouble with a Gamorrean that size. Satisfied no one cared, he grunted and reached for another swig. It was foul, but strong, and that was enough.

He sat back, the taste still burning in his throat, eyes scanning the cantina for more drink. His ears pricked instead. From the booth behind him came the hushed voices of the young criminals. Grunt leaned just slightly forward, pretending to search the table for another drop of liquor, while his attention sharpened on their words.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Grunt waited to see if they revealed anything else about themselves.

TAG: Rel Ahn-Dross Damien Dooku Rin Tohran Davik Haize Amun Koda Fett​

 

[V1-L8]

​

The high pitched whines and cries of mouse droid sounded through crowds of people. Crowds heading in the opposing direction. Trampling feet kicking and stumbling over the small droid. It slowly made its way to observe the cause of such a ruckus! It was Koda Fett and Amun . Legendary mandalorian vs a honorable hunter? The MSE droid continued to whine and chatter.

Swiveling about in the sands it signaled for its companion to follow and to walk faster! " Good grief! Please! Make way! Aaaaaahhhh!" A black clad protocol droid shouted as it was pushed and shoved to and fro in the crowds.

" I AM A MESSANGER DROID! A COURIER! A SERVANT OF OOOOOOHHHH!!!! GAAAAAHHH!!" The protocol droid screamed through its vocabulator. Proceeding forward in a fashion that was very much reminiscent of one step forward and two falls back. Picking itself up it shuffled its way to the cantina's side entrance and went inside. " My legs dont have the range of motion to run. You know this! Its not like I can roll and weave through crowds like you can!" It snarked at the smaller more mobile droid.

In return the MSE droid emitted a laugh.

" Oh my. This place is filthy." The Cantina was busy with activity. Overflowing with all types of wrecked scum and villainy. The music, the environment, the drinks and patronage. The only thing that was missing was the smell. " Thank our maker that we dont have olfactory senses. Now where-" The messenger uttered lowly and paused when the MSE droid froze and targeted a grouping.

A very specific grouping. The two droids made way. Standing out like two worrts in a duracrete jungle.
" HEY! NO DROIDS!" A alien shouted and blocked the path. A rather tall but slender Ishi tib. " WE DONT SERVE YOUR KIND. GET OUT OR I'LL TURN YOU TO SCRAP!"

" Sir please! We are courier droids. And we-"
" Did I ask you chrome dome?! NO! Now-"
" But sir! Our destination is there! Them!" The Protocol droid finally spat out and felt a firm grasp on its arm drag the droid toward the booth where its message targets sat. Targets that were gracefully pointed out by the YVH-MSE droid. The same MSE that scurried away from the scene in a hurry?!

" Lets go see then. Yeah?! C'mon!" The Ishi tib approached assertively. Pushing the black clad protocol droid over to the lounge seats where Damien Dooku , Davik Haize , Morrow , Talin Treicolt and Rin Tohran . Also close by was a rather scruffy looking individual Rel Ahn-Dross and a gamorrian that probly smelled as bad as he looked, Grunt .

" Hey, This droid is claiming to belong to you!" The Ishi tib said aloud and jabbed a finger at the group.
" Not belong! I am a messenger droid! A courier! Don't you listen?!" It corrected in rather flustered fashion. " I have a message."

But would they indulge hearing it?

....


Somewhere outside the cantina, unseen, far and yet close by. Another metallic individual sat back and observed through sliced optics and HUD. The puppetmaster. A humanoid laminanium hand reaching down to retrieve a MSE droid and place it back into a slot in the droids body.

 

[TK Olraen]

Every Mos Eisley cantina needed a Bo'Shek, a career spacer in an unlovely space suit, doing their best to stay background noise and keep their secrets at bay. Today that was TK Olraen, superhumanly tired and not quite high enough on midgrade andris spice.

Some Gamorrean guy jostled her in passing. An Ishi Tib was yelling at a crew of young humanoids about a droid. There was gunfire outside. TK slurped her doped drink and tried not to think about tomorrow's many, many responsibilities. She loved her job, but...

 

[Talin Treicolt]

"It don't exactly blend in." Talin objected to Davik's mention of the ship. "We'd just be sittin' ducks, no difference."

Not that she fully understood what all the fuss was about. Koda Fett mighta been a famed bounty hunter, but he was only one guy. Five 'o them, and already managed to give 'im the slip once. Talin was perfectly content in the cantina anyways, havin' been cooped up in that ship so long - and it was Mos Eisley, nonetheless. She and Tan had never managed to make it out here together. Starstruck by simple scum and villainy, Talin watched the patrons with interest whilst one foot idly poked at Morrow's. There was one guy who she had thought had been at the Drop. Funny to see him here. The pig man was grossly fascinatin', too. They didn't have Gamorreans on Concord Dawn.

" Hey, This droid is claiming to belong to you!"

"Oh fe-!" Talin began to protest. That droid the Jedi had stuck her with was still a bother, rammin' her ankles anytime it got upset. She was not about to double up.

" I have a message."

Swallowin', Talin looked between their group and the bucket of bolts. That wasn't good.

"Spit it out, then."

One hand dropped to her hip, twitchin', expectin' the worst.

Morrow | Davik Haize | Damien Dooku | Rin Tohran | Rel Ahn-Dross | Grunt | V1-L8​

 

[Amun]

To his surprise he fell when one of his legs was ensnared by the whipcord. He thought he’d get much farther before Fett could recover from the blaster that hit his helmet. Another lesson for Amun to learn: neutralize the competition before proceeding. All of this was a nuisance for the two warriors and surely it would only help the ragtag of scoundrels.

Then the Kyuzo’s nerves were shot when electricity ran through the line, some smoke rising from his person. It was a kicker at first, though the voltage was nothing lethal and allowed Amun to tolerate the pain. Enough resilience to fetch a petar and cut the line with such ease almost like cutting through soft butter. The Mandalorian was still afar from range and the only optimal option was to grab a grenade from his bandolier and simply drop it. Smoke began to escape as a heavy mist, a means to obscure vision and provide cover should the Mandalorian wished to fire upon with his blaster.

He had no trouble fighting Koda, but he’d do it in his terms. For now he ran inside the cantina only to stop and observe the crowded place full of scum. Easier said than done to find the wanted men.

Koda Fett | Talin Treicolt | Morrow | Davik Haize | Damien Dooku​

 

[Morrow]

Dark, fizzy liquid swirled around the edges of Morrow's glass. Sharing Davik's bad feeling meant he'd hardly touched the beverage. Instead, he fidgeted with it idly, revolving his wrists and giving the occasional tiny sip. Its scarcely alcoholic nature meant it wasn't likely to soothe the nerves.

“Why don’t we get back to the ship, wait out the repairs there?”

"If Rin is right, I'd rather be here," Morrow remarked. An unspoken rule, and a thin shield of obscurity from the crowded nature of the cantina were welcome layers of protection.

Another bad feeling came when the droid approached their table. It was a familiar one; it had often overwhelmed him when he was sure someone was lying to him. Though the droid hadn't said anything yet, the feeling of deception buzzed. It was aimless, less pointed than usual. He didn't have time to dwell on and try to work out what the ruse was. Moreover, given their circumstances, Morrow wasn't exactly enthused about hearing the automaton out.

"Get out of here, clanker!" he hissed defensively. "We don't know you."

_____________________________________________________

V1-L8 | Talin Treicolt | Davik Haize | Damien Dooku | Rin Tohran | Grunt | Rel Ahn-Dross | TK Olraen​