The Underlevels for me

[Ashelia Solidor]

For too long she had walked around the galaxy doing errands for her father and criminals. If there was any difference between them both. The Primarch had made her go to Korriban to fetch those damn terentateks and tuk’atas for InGen, and there was the Holocron, that dark holocron from Dathka Graush she had to get it for the Enclave in Kaikielius.

The pain she felt while learning magic with the witch Janick in Utapau, and the business with that small ‘sith’ acolyte in Felucia, while running from a bull rancor in a old Consortium compound. When she went to bed, she could still see those big blue eyes the boy had, and feel the sadness they carried, followed by the howls of the Vornskr in to the night.

“Hit me with another one.”, she asked the Ithorian bartender. Ashelia was in that planet, laying low after doing her job for Popara, the lorda of the Anjiliac, murdering a member of some local rival gang that was in her territory. The Solidor did not considered herself a murderer, but money was always handy, especially if she had any hopes of escaping. There she was again, doing another dirty work for the glory of the Solidors and the Protectorate.

 

[Kyyrk]

Xho-Vik pushed his way into the bar reaching up to wipe the sweat from his brow. This place was all too familiar to him, even though he'd never been to Coruscant. Must just be the way of super-city planets. But, money was money. And he now had a couple hundred more credits than he did a few days ago on Kashyyyk. Even better, most folks around here spoke basic.

Xho-Vik sat down at the bar, and placed a credit chit on it. "Corellean Ale, please."

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. It felt messy, but then it always did. Hadn't been properly brushed for....well, Xho-Vik didn't even remember how long it had been. He kept it clean, for sure, but styling it was another story. His clothes, on the other hand, were in much finer shape. Not flashy, by any means, but a simple brown tunic augmented with armored boots, gauntlets, and simple pauldrons on his shoulders. He rolled his neck and scratched the back of it, hand bumping against the Vibrosword strapped to his back. His head began to twitch in an odd form, face still remaining oriented towards the bar. After a moment, he shivered, and returned to normal, taking hold of the mug that the barkeep was offering him.

'Bar. Close. Half-Breed.'

Again, his thoughts were not his own. Though this time, he recognized the tone. The same fell voice that haunted his dreams. He turned his head slightly, and began reaching out, looking for the individual the voice had indicated. What the voice expected him to do about this mystery person, he had no idea. But then, folks didn't keep him around because of his looks....