They call me the Wanderer

[Dr.Clyin Stathan]

Tatooine, Mos Eisley

A well dressed human male entered a back alley cantina in the crime ridden center of filth that was Mos Eisley. He drew plenty of eyes from the villains and various ne'r do wells inhabiting the building like a group of overenthusiastic cockroaches. Vultures looking for a meal. The first vulture to move was a large angry looking trandoshan flanked by two pals, the trandoshan made his way over to Clyin with a bullying swagger. Poor thing didn't even know the violence that was about to befall it.

The trandoshan drew a blaster and held it at chest level with Clyin and said simply and harshly.
"Credits." With a motion of the blaster.

Clyin smiled slyly and made a gesture toward his suit jacket's pocket with a slight raise of his eyebrows. The trandoshan nodded.

Clyin chuckled before drawing his right side blaster faster than most would believe possibly for a man his age and fired two bolts into the trandoshan's head. His pals only had a brief moment of shock before darkness enveloped their vision and they were sent to their creators. Clyin looked around at the rest of the scum, who quickly returned to their own business, and reholstered his right blaster. He then hummed happily and tore a credit pouch from the deceased trandoshan's gun belt and tossed it to the bartender. After scavenging the credits and anything else useful off the other two Clyin took a seat at the back of the cantina and ordered a local beer before happily examining the little trinkets he'd just earned.

 

[Karsh Lithern]

@Dr.Clyin Stathan

"Good game, well played." Karsh sends a telepathic message to this mysterious man. "Who do you fight for?"

The black hooded man walks up behind the man in the sit and sits next to him. Vaguely, he lets his Force vision search over the rest of the cantina. Karsh is a paranoid man. He likes to keep tabs on his surroundings. Then he turns his head to the well-dressed man next to him, as if "looking" at him, waiting for a response. "Well?"

 

[MAI]

(Deleted)

 

[Dr.Clyin Stathan]

@[member="Karsh Lithern"]

Clyin looked up at the black hooded man curiously. Odd first question, especially for a Jedi? No. Not Jedi. Something else. He smiled and replied as the beer arrived. "Currently? For myself. I used to have a cause but that was years ago my young friend. Yourself?"

Clyin looked beyond the man to the attractive specimen in the red dress and sighed slightly. If only he was younger.

 

[Karsh Lithern]

@Dr.Clyin Stathan @[member="MAI"]

"I find myself fighting for what some consider the dark side of the Force." He sends. "But quite often, I but my own agenda before others'." Karsh notices a droid-type being wearing clothes walk in.

"Say, what do you do to find your way in the galaxy? Your clothes are sharp." Karsh never misses an opportunity to gain another asset.

 

[Darth Metus]

Despite the fact that Col. Isley Verd was "off-duty", the sad reality slowly dawned upon him that there was no such thing...not when on the lawless world known as Tatooine. Ever since joining the fold, efforts had been made to enforce the few, loose edicts that were in place on the world; and those efforts were much akin to pushing a boulder up the side of a mountain. Nonetheless, as the Mandalorian sat within the cantina, indulging in a well-deserved beverage, the din of blaster fire caught his attention. From the booth that he was seated in, he saw the Doctor put two in the head of the Trandoshan and groaned ever so slightly. 'Great', he thought, 'a new mess.' With that glum train of thought, he reared back his head and took the rest of his beverage in a single gulp; shaking off the burn as it raced down his throat. He then stood up, replaced his helm upon his head, and strode over to the bar.

There were no words spoken to the Doctor, nor the two who had approached him, for Isley needed to find out what had happened before "cleaning up the mess". Silent as the grave, he knelt down before the third, and final, casualty that the Doctor had claimed and placed a hand upon the singed fabric where the blaster bolt had fired through. His gauntlet grasped the cloth tightly, careful not to contact the skin, and Isley focused upon that unseen enigma that blessed so many in the Galaxy with its touch. Through the Force, a hazy image formed in his head: the scene which had just transpired in fact...He saw that the Doctor was acting in self-defense, which was good enough for him. The sight must have appeared odd, for an armored man to kneel before a dead body and grab at his shirt; but Psychometry was odd in of itself.

Once he had gleaned the necessary information from the corpse, he turned his attention to the Doctor and stood tall. "That was some impressive shooting." he said, with his voice sounding metallic through his visor, "The poor sods never even saw it coming...Since it's self-defense, you don't have anything to worry about once the Rangers show up. Hell, I'm impressed, let me buy you a drink." What he said was entirely true, as he was rather impressed by the fact that a man of such age had such swiftness with a blaster. He was curious to know a little bit more about the man; and was grateful that the situation was as simple as his Psychometry had denoted. Isley then turned his attention to the one whom the Doctor was speaking to, then added, "You too. I'll spot you a drink; I'm in a decent mood, so why not?"

@Dr.Clyin Stathan.
@[member="Karsh Lithern"].

 

[Neskar A'toll]

Tatooine was crap, Neskar decided. Tuskens and Jawas were bad enough, but Hutts had taken root on this desert, so Neskar deemed it time to leave, there were no worth-while jobs here apart from going out into the desert and killing the odd raider or two. Hunting was not his forté either, yet that didn't keep him away from the Hunting Lodge Bar, where he was a welcome patron, as long as he didn't kill anyone. He had killed someone, some cheeky bastard who spilt his drink, so Neskar was barred for the day. That was the last straw, as far as he reckoned, and yet even as he strolled into the next cantina, he felt the need for another stiff drink.

Oh. Another ruckus? Why am I always associated with this? A dead Trandoshian was sprawled out behind the bar, and Neskar assumed that was the old barkeep. Some man in a fancy suit and a funny-looking guy in robes were talking, and some other Mandalorian was joining in, it seemed. There was no going back, as he seemed to had spoilt their conversation. He smiled under his helmet and stayed almost motionless.

 

[Dr.Clyin Stathan]

@[member="Isley Verd"]

Clythin looked at the newcomer with an odd glance. Armored, armed, and potentially useful.

"Thank you. I try to keep in practice." Clythin replied with a grateful nod

@[member="Karsh Lithern"]

"Don't we all?" Clythin chuckled a reply.

It'd been a while since his actions had warranted him any sort of attention, it was probably because of his age. Back in his prime he wouldn't have even been confronted by the goons to begin with. The thought of a uniform granted him an unusual amount of nostalgia.

 

[Neskar A'toll]

The Mandalorian strolled to the bar, almost blanking the three other individuals in the room, and leant against the bar, casting his eyes down to the dead barkeep. "It's almost a shame." Neskar conversed to the air. He pushed his body on top of the bar, and swiftly swung himself over, so he was situated behind the bar. Smirking under his helmet, he stepped over the dead Trandoshan. Might as well make use of the facilities. Neskar ducked shortly, clutching a bottle of the black ale he so dearly loved, and raised himself back to his full height, his rather lofty height at that. Cracking off the top of the bottle, the bottle-cap bounced off the bar and onto the sandy floor. Gripping a wide, deep glass, he filled it liberally to the brim of the glass. Placing the ale-bottle down on the bar carefully, Neskar clutched the glass, and sat back onto the bar, keeping a careful eye on the other individuals, and added an ice-cube to the glass, it made a satisfying clink against the glass.

The cantina was thick with warm air, and it swilled around him, and inside his beskar'gam, Neskar could almost feel himself cook. Don't these have ventilators somewhere? The cantina was deserted, Neskar assumed the last of the normal patrons fled when the barkeep was slew, and he was glad of it. Normal inhabitants of these such places were quite undesirable. Quite a few tables were set out, large round tables, with small, uncomfortable chairs that were made of some scrap metal. Lovely. Neskar's visor made contact with the faces of each man in turn, and he gripped the glass and brought it up to his helmet, and watched.

 

[Darth Metus]

"I'm sure a man of your talents has seen quite a few battles then, eh?" inquired the Mandalorian, lowering himself upon the nearest bar stool. He did not bother worrying about the corpses on the floor, as they would be disposed of at some point by the proper authorities. As such, he motioned to the bartender and ordered a bottle of Corellian Whiskey and three glasses; then instructed the man to go about his business and paid him accordingly. Isley then poured himself, the Doctor, and the other Mandalorian shots of the fine liquor and then capped the bottle. With but a turn of his hand, he then slid the glasses across the counter, one heading to Neskar and the other to the Doctor.

"As promised, drinks on me gentlemen. So, what brings you both to Tatooine?"

@[member="Neskar A'toll"], @Dr. Cylin Stathan.