Prologue
To say the Cantina was a dive was a gross understatement. The run-down building lay virtually derelict, blaster burns marked the exterior walls and the class of the clientèle it attracted made Chalmun's Cantina in Mos Eisley seem like the grandest of Coruscant penthouses. It certainly wasn't the place one went to find reputable company, although a Vibroblade in the back wasn't out of the question.
If the cantina's exterior was bad, the interior was worse. The stench of stale sweat and alcohol filled the room, thick enough to taste. Clouds of Tabac smoke formed an impenetrable haze that collected in the corners and booths and hid the occupants from view entirely. Fortunately, the hooded figure needed neither sight or smell as he moved slowly through the dank surroundings, sliding easily past shady characters in various stages of inebriation as he approached the bar. The tender droid approached, rusty legs creaking, but was dismissed with a casual wave of the hand as the figure looked carefully from left to right, studying each patron intently before his gaze came to rest on a scarred man hunched over a frothing mug of lum, a blaster pistol casually laid on the bar beside him. A bulky Trandoshan stood to either side with scaled arms folded, bodyguards or retainers with strength enough to tear a grown man limb from limb, assuming their razor-sharp teeth and claws didn't rip him to shreds first.
The hooded figure slid around the semi-conscious Rodian beside him and approached the Trandoshan bodyguards. The near one sniffed at the air and turned to face him, hissing a warning as one clawed hand reached for the blaster carbine on his hip. He never made it. With a flick of the hooded figure's wrist, the Trandoshan rose three feet from the floor and went crashing into a booth, scattering squealing Jawas. A sudden silence filled the cantina as the second Trandoshan crumpled to the floor as a levitating barstool hit him square in the snout.
The scarred pirate twisted in his seat, bringing his blaster to bear on the intruder who had defeated his bodyguards so easily. The robed man's hand darted out and caught the pirate's gun-hand in a vice-like grip, twisting the arm away until it the pirate grunted and the blaster fell from slack fingers to clatter on the floor. Despite his fractured radius, the pirate managed to keep the pain from his face and instead kept it a contorted mask of rage as he was forced back against the bar.
"You're dead for this! You hear me? Next time you turn your back, you're dead!"
The figure made no reply, and instead just placed a datacard on the bar and nodded for the pirate to read it. He did so, and when he was finished, he threw it to the ground and spat on it.
"That's what I think of your Empire! Your threats mean nothing to me!" The pirate spat. "We aren't afraid of..."
The pirate's sentence ended abruptly as the humming energy blade sliced through his neck and he dropped to a heap in the floor.
"You should be..." Said the robed figure as he prodded the severed head with the tip of his boot. "You should be..."