Vader did not know why he bothered to come here. The hutts, for all that he wanted to kill every last one of them, rarely did anything that drew his masters attention. Except of course, that there had been another one adept in the force among them. One that had never been a member of the order and who had escaped attention because he was one of the least active in business dealings and the wider stage then he should be. Content, for the most part to simply lurk in out of the way holes. Or libraries and museums as the case may be.
Primitive relics, scraps of history rendered down so far that even the myths and legends of the past are but broken fragments devoid of meaning. Nothing that spoke in the force. Nothing that was real. So, it was likely that he was going to kill a hutt with artifacts. Still, a worthwhile use of time. So the warm wind caressing his cheek and whispering his name came as a surprise, the words, the words faint and hidden, laced with disappointment, as around him there was a deep chuckling.
"Ah, Vader. I was wondering when the next little monster of Bane's line would be coming for me." So, it seemed that he would speak basic like his brother. "Though, even for one of his lot, you seem to have lost yourself, haven't you?" The tone was thoughtful and knowing, even as there was the slithering of something massive moving, of a great serpent shifting its bulk in the dark, the lights above flickering, the displays, even through the lids of his mask, in a twilight, a half light that stretched them in ways he would swear was impossible.
The annoyance rose, as his lightsaber ignited. "You will surrender. Or you will die." And the hutt was not going to surrender. Hutts however, were predictable in their arrogance and sense of superiority, and one that delved into the dark side? This was going to be fun. He may be excused however, when his next step had sand underfoot, the suns beating down on him as the wind spoke, as it whispered. Panic gripped him, the dark and shadow surging, storms without moisture gathering in his cape. "What manner of illusion is this!" Because, as his rage lashed out, as his fury clawed at a sand dune, it HAD to be an illusion.
No, there is no rage, no hate in the booming laughter, not even malice. Instead, there is knowing amusement. "Not much of one. Rather, I don't see why I should surrender myself to you Ekkreth. Those who walk Bane's path always forget who they are in the end, but you tried to scrape your home from your bones long before that, didn't you?" The slug laughed, as memories rose, as phantoms of secrets clawed at him, of things denied and supressed. "Then again, its a nice collar you have there. How much did Sheev pay for you?"
The voice is cruel now, biting with the teeth of sunlight, with scouring savagery and unrelenting power you cannot simply touch. "Or did you take it, thinking it would silence their cries? That if you obeyed, it would not be you. After all, you were only obeying your master, as a good slave should." The hutt's snorting is like a bantha, as a scream rips itself from the black armored figure crying for him to be silent.
"And this from the one who can escape any chain? Any trap and snare set by the masters? Pathetic." The hutt is dismissive, scornful. "I would duel the free man. But tell your master not to waste my time with a slave who has forgotten who he is. Forgotten his grandmother and his people. Begone." The world sways and between one swing of his saber and the next and he is standing in the museum once more shaking with fury and exertion, sand in his prosthetics, leaking as he moves.
Of the hutt he was here to find? There was no sign.