Myles Vylumnar
No gods, no masters
Music: Darude - Sandstorm
Loud.
It was loud. People danced, drank, and did other lewd things at a club in Nar Shaddaa. Party music boomed throughout the establishment, which was full of dancers, heartbroken romantics, and otherwise shady, lucrative characters. Why anyone would willingly want to be here was beyond Myles, but he had his reasons. He was around investigating, searching for clues on a deathstack lab he was tipped on by Kazuutto, his shady Toydarian shipmate who often dealt with smugglers and drug-dealers of the criminal underworld and sometimes smelled like Bantha feces.
To be specific, he was in search of a specific man: Ja'lar Kitt, a certain Twi'lek individual who was a small-time deathstick manufacturer and dealer. Word had it that he'd developed his largest, most high quality shipment yet. It was the closest thing to a literal goldmine. Thing is, Myles would obviously have competition. This was a high-stakes job that required quickness, so he had to act fast.
However, Myles was alone on this one. At least it seemed like it. The one trustworthy contact Kazuutto had told him about was nowhere to be found. He would need assistance on this job, or it'd be a hell of a lot more difficult.
Just then, he noticed something in the corner of his eye. Most groups by the entrance of the club turned to look at a Mandalorian entering the facility. Kinda out of place, he thought. What's a Mandalorian doing at a place like this? Myles watched further as the Mandalorian stranger walked over to the bar, while he remained seated off in the corner.
[member="Barwein Slovjen"]
Loud.
It was loud. People danced, drank, and did other lewd things at a club in Nar Shaddaa. Party music boomed throughout the establishment, which was full of dancers, heartbroken romantics, and otherwise shady, lucrative characters. Why anyone would willingly want to be here was beyond Myles, but he had his reasons. He was around investigating, searching for clues on a deathstack lab he was tipped on by Kazuutto, his shady Toydarian shipmate who often dealt with smugglers and drug-dealers of the criminal underworld and sometimes smelled like Bantha feces.
To be specific, he was in search of a specific man: Ja'lar Kitt, a certain Twi'lek individual who was a small-time deathstick manufacturer and dealer. Word had it that he'd developed his largest, most high quality shipment yet. It was the closest thing to a literal goldmine. Thing is, Myles would obviously have competition. This was a high-stakes job that required quickness, so he had to act fast.
However, Myles was alone on this one. At least it seemed like it. The one trustworthy contact Kazuutto had told him about was nowhere to be found. He would need assistance on this job, or it'd be a hell of a lot more difficult.
Just then, he noticed something in the corner of his eye. Most groups by the entrance of the club turned to look at a Mandalorian entering the facility. Kinda out of place, he thought. What's a Mandalorian doing at a place like this? Myles watched further as the Mandalorian stranger walked over to the bar, while he remained seated off in the corner.
[member="Barwein Slovjen"]