Hollow Halls and Hollow Hearts

[Dark child]

What wretched filth. Such a place deserved to be condemned. Destroyed. Left to crumble into the ground and rot, along with those who serve it's master.

Such were the thoughts of the youth as he made his way through the dark corridors of the hutt's "palace". The very air within the walls reeked of smells that belonged in a swamp. As if the hutt had corrupted every dark damp inch of his abode with his stench. Already Xanthier yearned to return outside to the light.

Yet he pressed on. His worn boots, so tattered and frayed that they did little to stop his feet from getting soaked, splashed in shallow puddles as he walked through the dim halls. He could not tell what substances he had stepped in, for it was too dark, and he simply did not care. Wishing to get this over with as quickly as possible. His newfound master sought something within the hutt's possession. A small object. He would retrieve this, peacefully or otherwise.

The hutt, B'alrok, owned a slave ring on this backwater moon, something that made Xanthier dispise him even more. The young darksider was far from being moral, but he hated those that chained others. There was no crime greater in his mind. The boy himself was a murderer and a fiend. A wild beast that had only now begun to tame himself into something that began to resemble a human. The animal within was still there however, and it remembered in great detail just how it felt to be in chains, at the mercy of another. The hutt's guards were far too many for him to take on himself, but if this all went wrong, he was fully prepared to strike down the hutt despite the consequences and fight his way out. It wouldn't be justice at that point, the hutt's slaves would not be freed, but their master would be dead. One less vile being who would undoubtedly be replaced by another.

Xanthier rounded the corner which led to the throne room of the hutt. Immediately his senses were overwhelmed with the stench. His nose turned up, recoiling as it smelled that which resembled a rotting bog.

Compared to other hutts lavish palaces and adornments, B'alrok's was a disgrace. It lacked the riches of it's counterparts. There were no decorations on the walls, no music, everything was of a somber tone. The great drapes which covered the six windows that let dim light into the circular room were tattered and molded. The only entertainment came in the form of the hutt's three slave girls. One Omwati, who's short purple feathers that decorated her head had been covered in grime, making them look almost a dirty brown. On her scantily covered body was an equally dark stain in the shape of a large tongue. Beside her, a Pantoran girl stood holding a worn bowl full of some kind of live beetles. Beetles which kept trying to escape over the steep edges of the container, forcing her to continually push them back in as she waited to be told to feed the hutt once more. In front of them all was a Keshiri, who was doing her best to please the hutt with a dance as the the black haired Xanthier walked in to the room.

"E'nuba ba keska doon."

The hutt's voice boomed, demanding an answer..
His translator druid, which had moss growing over most of it's circuits, converted the message to galactic basic.
"The great B'alrok wants to know why a mangy creature such as yourself has entered his throne room."

"It has come to my attention that you have something. Something that I wish to purchase."
Xanthier's voice lingered on the words, loud enough to hear, but it sounded like a whisper in the ears of all those that heard it. His eyes began to scan the room. Dark corners. Tables which housed men who's souls were darker than the palace itself, and stained with the blood and sorrow of all those they had wronged. Xanthier knew the dangers in coming here. Many, would pay a decent price for his head, and a great many more were willing to try and claim that prize.

"Gor'tuska na raska skorba."
The hut waived his pudgy arm, as if to dismiss the boy.
Again, his mechanical servant converted the huttese to words the dark haired youth could understand.
"B'alrok does not think someone of your stature has anything of value that would be a worthy trade for a slave."

Xanthier reached in to his pocket, which was obscured by the tattered grey sash around his waist, having removed his lightsaber holster earlier to conceal the weapon in the very same pocket he now reached for, the shape of something cylindrical could just barely be seen if one had keen eyes and knew where to look. Eyes that would have to be much more watchful than the hutt's, who noticed nothing.

Xanthier removed his hand. Within it were five gold credits. A small fortune. More than enough to pay for ten slaves.
But that was not what the boy had come for.

"Great B'alrok, I do not seek your slaves, but rather their possessions. On your hunters last..excursion, they picked up a woman who had on her a valuable necklace, something which belonged to my family before she stole it. It is silver, with three stones of a deep, black, purple. I seek to reclaim it."
Xanthier's voice was a steady melancholy whisper as it had been. It took great effort for him to address B'alrok in such a way, so much so that he disgusted himself when he said the words, but it did not show in his speech. He had no family. Knew nothing of it. But the lie had to be convincing if he did not wish to go about this the way that his animalistic tendencies wished for him to. Violence was such an easy answer. It was how he had lived for a great many years.

Now, as he waited in anticipation for the hutt's answer, his ever-vigilant eyes scanned the darkened recesses once more, and watched the entryways for new arrivals.

OOC:

This thread is meant to be death disabled as I don't want my character to die until at least after the time-skip, but if you seek the bounty on him or feel like a PvP I'm definitely game. ​

 

[GABA]

The woman questioned in her mind how this punk kid got in front of her to speak with the Hutt. She felt as though she had been waiting an eternity to even get to the front and she was certain even in her two day wait, that was an eternity somewhere. He didn't look like the others who requested the Hutt's audience. She studied him from behind, the way he shifted in his stance as he waited, the ever subtle twitches in his face as he spoke. He gave her the mynock bumps, and that was a lot to say with the crowd she was now standing in the middle.

Though, at least she blended in better.

Her face and body were covered in geometric symmetrical orange lines and her head covered by her deep purple shaw, to only give the shadow of her lips if someone were to try to identify her. Her armor had seen action and her weapons visible, to give anyone with fishy ideas, she wasn't a girl to hassle. She blended well with the others in the hall. Sentients all of sorts came to seek an audience with the slug king in order to get a prize, but at a cost.

The hall was filled with exotic perfumes and smoke of a variety of ciggaras, filling deep into Ines' lungs. She didn't think even breathing through a filter would save them from what floated in the air around her, in fact, she was more comfortable with the Coruscanti lower level polluted air than where so was currently. Though the hall was beautiful and elaborate, adorn with silks and fine metals. Fit for a slug king...she assumed; Ines held it was more gotti than elegant.

The punk kid before her started to speak, her eyes rolled, he was young and prideful; and as he continued to speak, she could tell he was a liar. Ines quirked an eyebrow and looked from him to the Hutt and back again. He spoke of a necklace belonging to family and she rolled her eyes again, feeling her urge to speak up. She bit her tongue, but she was also looking for favor from the Hutt.

Too bad, kid....

"/You're excellency.../" Ines spoke in Huttese. The room fell eerie silent. "/He is lying. Not only lying, but he came in, unannounced, as though his physical possessions are more worthy than that of the rest we seek. Not to mention a physical possession he could not protect nor retrieve from a lowly slave and had to wait for one of your bulls to bring it here./" she paused, glancing at the boy, for whom she stood at his side, two arms length apart, "/He has come for soemthing else, and now wastes your time./"

 

[Edgeworth]

Telon had always loathed places like this. It wasn’t the rot, or the damp, or the stench. It was the palpable taste of depravity, exploitation and the utter degradation of, for want of a better word, human, spirit. He could feel the sensation of the misery of it all on his tongue, feel that odd, unsettling charge of broken and battered spirits in the wind. The sickly fetter of it all was blown down his throat, almost choking him. But despite the urge to wretch he kept walking on, straight and even faced, his intense yellow eyes staring out unflinchingly from their sunken sockets. The majority of his body was hidden beneath his long, deep purple robes, concealing the armour and weapons beneath. The dull grey skin of his face, and only slightly lighter hair, seemed to oddly fit the dank, decaying atmosphere of this den of inequity.

The guards thus far had been little issue, he had never been the best at mental manipulation through the force. Her preferred to persuade openly and honestly, with reasoned discussion, even if he wasn’t very good at it. But these had not been the smartest or strongest willed guards. So, with persistence and a little luck he had gotten this far without drawing blood. He knew that this Hut, as with so many of their species, was responsible for a great deal of human misery, chiefly through the slave trade. He had come here to try and redress this. But, he had also heard rumours that a great deal of other unsavoury characters who might require his attention, may be here, or that the Hut may be able to lead him to them. He had gone through both notable bounties and local bounties, seen a good number of their faces, read their sheets. He was no bounty hunter, but the criminal classes so often loved o target their own that to neglect that resource would have been foolish.

It was with this in mind that Telon descended the steps and rounded the corner, his firm and precise pace somewhat at odds with the damp, slow atmosphere of this dark and rotten place. Part of him wanted to affix the helmet that hung by his back right now the vile odour was so awful, but that would be rude and people rarely like to negotiate with a helmet. But as stunning as the stench may have been, there was a greater surprise in this room. Another force signature, and a twisted one, deeply twisted. Slaves were one thing, but this took priority. Telon could trace it to the man in the ragged clothes and the greasy, unkempt black hair, with his back to him. Any other day this wretched waif would have looked like just another street fiend, lurking in a shadow with a glint in his eye and a blade in his hand for the next easy picking. But now he had taken on a whole new dimension. If only Telon could see his face to determine if it was anyone he had read about!

But this mangy force user in need of a bath was not the only person here who seemed determined to draw attention to themselves. The person, a woman from the sound of it, seemed to interject and accuse the young man of lying, likely true judging by this man’s corrupted presence in the room. But she was less than trustworthy herself, anyone who goes to those kinds of lengths to conceal their face in shadow is usually up to something. He had not been planning on a third party, but now that there was one he seemed to take a back seat for a moment. Loitering by the exit so as to block any escape, and waiting to see how this little exchange played out, ready to intervene should it be required.

 

[Dark child]

" Rooo cheska! "
The hutt slammed his fist down unto the bowl of beetles, the sound of their hard exoskeletons being crushed against the pottery could be heard in perfectly clarity as the throne room went silent. Even the mummers that lasted for several seconds afterwards died down into nothing, so much so that the youth could hear his own breaths, and feel his heart begin to beat faster in his chest. All eyes fell upon the boy. The hutt that had called him out as a distasteful piece of skum, and demanded to know Xanthier's true intentions.

Cold grey irises shifted their attention from the hutt over to the woman that had spoken out. Glancing over at her out of the corner of his vision without turning his head away from the mound of flesh in the center of the room. She spoke it's foul language. She had told it something. Something that had already marked her as a threat in his mind even before the translator unit converted B'alrok's words into a more pleasant form of galactic basic.

"The honorable B'alrok holds you to be untruthful. Hand over all your valuables and he will deem you worthy of living."

Xanthier's hand clenched in anger. So much so that his nails dug into the skin of his palm, drawing blood. Fury began to taking it's hold. Teeth clenched. Eyes narrowed. Now returning their attention to the hutt and his thugs, keeping the woman in his peripheral. Yet he managed to stave it off for now. Resisting the urge to right the injustice brought upon him by the cloaked woman. She was so close. He had promised himself he would try, more than anything, to succeed at this task. To prove to himself that reason was not beyond his capabilities. That he too, like the Sith that he so wished to to destroy was capable of getting his way through a bit of manipulation. He was a cruel being, that had never learned the little details of society, always speaking his mind, far too straightforward. Lying did not come naturally to him, and neither did this negotiation.

The poor Pantoran scrambled to scoop up all the beetles that had begun scurrying away into her bowl, snatching up the horrible creatures that that still lived as fast as she could. Xanthier could tell by the pained expressions on her face that they bit and pinched her as she did so, yet she continued because her master would be furious if she did not catch all she could. The strange thing was, Xanthier liked it. Though he did not wish her any pain himself, the scene brought him a twisted sense of joy. The more she scrambled to pick up the ones that fled, several would escape from the bowl, and she would have to try and put them all back again. These thoughts only consumed a second of the youth's time, and he responded quickly. His anger and vexation had not been lost.

"Despite what my needs are, I have not come to waste your time. Or those that awaited you. I ask that you give it to me now, and I will pay twice the price. A hutt understands credits yes? And he also understands that some "wretched creature" like me doesn't just wander into his halls. T a k e my c r e d i t s."

Xanthier's voice, which had been so soft, nearly inaudible to those that were in the room besides the hutt, now rose with each word he spoke. A low growl that could be heard by all. Emphasizing certain words, and speaking through clenched teeth at the end.

"Uska daa cheeska."

The hutt's words were short. A simple command. To kill the lying skum that dared threaten him in his own house. With this, the hutt pressed a concealed button, activating a bubble shaped force field around the small platform which he sat upon. Enclosing himself and the three slave girls within it's teal glow. Behind this platform, at the tables concealed in the darkness, many men rose to clam the hutt's prize. For there was always a reward for those that killed any unwanted guests in B'alrok's home.

So be it.

Thought the boy, who's hand had already slid into his pocket, his pale fingers wrapping around the cold metal of the saber's hilt. His gaze once again shifted to the woman who had caused all this. Oddly enough, he did not wish her immediate harm. He now needed to escape. Beings became little more than objects that stood in his way. Objects that he would not cease to dismember if they did not move.

To the force user unbeknownst to him, Xanthier's aura was strangely calm as the denizens of the hutt rose up out of their seats to assault him. Certainly more calm than the intense rage that it had been just moments before. So pungent with the dark side that it might have made those tied to the light wish to physically gag. Sith channel all their anger inwards letting themselves feed off it. Xanthier did not attempt this, he had not been trained how to do so. This raw hatred simply spewed forth, radiating off his body. More often than not, this worked against him, as it did now. Hunters, which had been in a drunken stupor, now were overcome with rage as the boy's aura flooded their senses. They listened to the command which made the most sense to their minds at the time, which was to kill. To kill the very same boy which these feelings stemmed from.​

 

[Narsi]

Kip temporarily raised his mask so he could spit on the ground, running his lumpy tongue along the inside of his mouth to collect more saliva before repeating the action. Dang that was repulsive, like a rotten carcass stuffed with equally rotten fruit and then shoved in a giant blender. Scrunching his nose up, he lowered his mask back onto his face and replaced his hood. Why did darksiders have to be so nasty in every way. They smelled bad, their minds were twisted, they usually looked almost as bad as him, even their force signature was pungent. Judging by the presence he was now sensing, this one was worse than average, sometimes he enjoyed his job.

It was time to go to work too, he could sense the upheaval within the walls, the rage and combativeness pouring outwards. He'd been planning to wait outside until his target came out, but considering the.....commotion he was sensing, maybe he could score in the confusion. Stepping away from the shadows, Kip approached the palace entrance, carefully concealing his presence within the force. Pulling his gutripper from his back, Kip thumbed it off the safety and onto its burst mode. He also pulled a vibrodagger with his other hand, holding it carefully inactive next to the stock of his weapon in his supporting hand. Slicing himself open would be a really poor way to start the hunt.

Moving forward carefully, Kip waited for his chance and slipped around the lackadaisical guards, using the shadows to his advantage and entering undetected. Keeping his eyes peeled, toning down the bright red eyes of his mask, he moved carefully into the halls, a shadow amongst shadows. Mentally he was retching at the smell, it was even worse on the inside. Maybe he'd accidently shoot the hutt as well, remove a slaver AND cleanse the local atmosphere, at this rate he'd be a hero. He didn't really know where he was going, but then he didn't need to, he had a very rambunctious force signature to follow, and he was getting close.

Xanthier your time has come

 

[GABA]

The hutt was furious, though the woman always found something humorous about wobbling, angry slug. She glanced over at the kid she just ruined and his gaze met with her own and she knew that look. He would probably get his revenge...maybe...someday, but as of right now, he had to escape and live in order to even plan it.

There was a loud whirling as a shield came down around the Hutt and Ines shrugged, the kid still kept in her range of sight; she wasn't going to give him the oppurtunity to shoot her in the back.

Pulling out her own blaster, the Hutt's guards begun to surround the kid, shouts of surrender and life sparring were thrown around. However, anyone with half a circuit knew your life was spared only for a worse death later when it came to the Hutts. Ines felt a hand on her shoulder that quickly pulled her backwards and back toward the crowd that cowered behind anything that remotely resembled some sort of protection from any stray blaster bolts or other debris that may come their way.

She pulled back her shaw, widening her peripheral and pulled her blaster, but kept it at her side and waited, listened, and watched.

 

[Edgeworth]

Telon did not relish the idea of this degrading into open combat. He had been prepared to fight off a bunch of ill-trained mercenaries and thugs should his proposition not meet with the Hut’s favour. But now they seemed more agitated than he had been expecting, and the presence of a force user just added an unwelcome layer of complication to the mix. To make matters worse he could have sword he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the dark, dank stairs behind him. He needed to take control, or at least try.

As most men rose to draw their weapons he drew his helmet from his robes behind him, swiftly sealing it on his head with the slight hiss of airtight seals locking in place. It’s design was simple, dull grey and functional, with restrained, simple embossing as the only ornamentation.

Stepping to the side slightly, so he could still guard the door but no one could walk up behind him and insert a blade into his spine, he placed one hand into the robes behind his back, gloved fingers twisting around a grenade filled with knockout gas, the other wrapped around his lightsabre, ready to draw from beneath the purple fabric, but not pulling it yet. Concealed beneath the faceplate of his helm cautious and keen yellow eyes jumped back and forth between the men and women in this room, analysing them for any threat they might pose. Meanwhile his voice, measured, dry and firm spoke out across the room swiftly descending into confusion.
“Stay your weapons everyone. No need for blood here today. As a group you could likely slay this vagabond. But the chances are he will take a few of you with him. Do you really want to risk that being you? And does B’alrok wish to risk loosing some of his few good hired guns? If this unkempt fellow just walks away, none of you have to risk your lives to him.” His voice carried easy authority, like he was used to being in a position of some power or responsibility but felt no need to show off about it. Of course, Xanthier was not just walking out. Telon had plans for him. But they could take place where there might not be so much collateral damage. He wanted a more controlled environment. So he stood there, waiting, tension in the air but his nerves calm and cold like steel, eyes methodically shifting left and right, every sense bent to its height. Poised, ready to leap into action, no matter how this standoff resolved itself.

 

[Dark child]

Heartbeats rose across the room. Breaths became heightened. Turmoil had begun to take it's hold.

The boy could feel it.

Blood rushed to his head. Pounding, a steady drum within his ears. The fine line between fright, and joy, had been broken within him, and in that moment, he felt alive.

He could hear every shuffle of fabric as bandits and thugs rose from their seats and slid out of their booths, abandoning their drinks and business for a taste of blood, and a chance at making some credits. Chairs scraped across the filth of the sandy floor. Boots shifted and crunched the small grains of sand as their owners rose. Xanthier strained to take in all the motion across the room, but it was simply too much for him to process. Things began to blur together as he tried to predict movements. Hands reached for weapons, guns, spears, blades. Flashes of metal in holsters and hands. Cold, hard, unforgiving metal.

The youth may have been overwhelmed, but not so much so that he could not hear the rodian approaching behind him. There were those that wished to surround him. Make quick work of the helpless whelp that had wandered into the palace of the hutt, but the rodian was far too ambitious, and while the others had only just begun forming a circle while drawing their weapons, the rodian had stepped forward to go in for the kill. To show off his skills before any of the rest of them had a chance.

It was a cheep shot, one that may have worked against someone who was not as paranoid as the boy. Xanthier fretted about a great many things. Nightmares plagued him endlessly. Capture was always on his mind. He would always be hunted. Pinned down by so many that sought to destroy him for what he was, or the credits on his head.

His eyes lingered on the woman for one last fleeting moment before she disappeared into the crowd. She had brought about his death, and now, she sank into the chaos through the ring of hunters. Condemning a life that she did not understand.

The noise was clear, faint, but near. Metal against faded leather. The rodian's hand wrapped around the grip of the pistol, and began to draw, just a few steps behind the boy. His intentions were to level his sights with Xanthier's back and pull the trigger, but a voice distracted him for a fraction of a second. The voice, of the Jedi.

It calmed those that heard it to some degree, though not because it was imbued with power. It spoke truth, and authority, snapping the hunter's minds back into a state which was closer to that which they had been moments before. Able to think more rationally.

It was too late now however. For they had made their move, and the boy had seen the threats.

In this short amount of time, Xanthier snapped around, and grabbed the rodian by the wrist, closing the distance between them in mere milliseconds. The rodian squeezed the trigger as the boy twisted his wrist and a wild blast of energy emitted from the barrel of the blaster, striking another thug in the gut.

Whipping the rodian around with added momentum, Xanthier then used his body as a shield while his fingers enclosed the rodian's, jamming his finger between the trigger guard and the rodian's own finger and squeezed rapidly. Peppering the crowd with laser fire and filling the air with the sound of the shots as they went off.

Flashes soon emitted from the crowd as other blasters retaliated and chaos took hold. Several bolts of energy impacted the rodian, and Xanthier could smell burnt flesh as the body went limp in his arms. The over zealous youth had emptied the pistols clip far too quickly, and while the body count was still high, it could have been much higher had he taken the time to aim. Several carcasses had multiple smoking holes in them. All throughout the palace screams of panic rang out as those that did not wish to deal with violence began to flee.

Xanthier saw his chance at the exit. Blocked only by one man, who was letting most other pass as he reached into his cloak. The youth lugged the dead rodian for several more steps as more blaster fire headed his way, but soon gave up as the body was too heavy to carry onwards towards escape. He would have to rely on his speed from now on.

As Xanthier dropped the body to the floor, his grey eyes locked with the being which wore the helmet and stood in the doorway, the voice of authority. The youth's lips uplifted in a snarl as he began to rush forward towards the challenger.
​

 

[Narsi]

He was almost there when it happened, multiple blastershots ringing out and echoing through the hallway. Kip had just a moment to pause at the top of a small stairwell and step to the side before a rush of screaming people came rushing up from around the corner. Say what you would, underworlders knew how to get out of sticky situations quickly. They were also pretty dang opportunistic, Kip had to slap away the hands from several prospecting pickpockets as they ran past him. It was around this time he became aware of another force presence in the area, a lot more subtle, and less than a hallway away.

It was definitely a few shades lighter, and almost completely overwhelmed by the bigger more flamboyant presence of his target. Likely why he hadn't sensed it until now. Kip growled under his mask and doubled down on concealing his own presence, it was just his luck that another force user would show up for this. Chances were it was a Sith or Jedi too, though he'd expect a darker and less overshadowed presence from a Sith. It also added another layer of complexity, no longer could he just blaze ahead gun first, not if he had someone else to watch out for. Especially not around a blind corner such as the one that awaited him.

Thankfully, he had a mechanism on hand to transcend that. Fighting his way forward down the stairs, Kip stopped just before the corner, waiting patiently for his chance. It came almost immediately, a hefty Zabrak bumbling forth and blocking out a good portion of space. In a flash Kip darted forward, hearing a feral snarl ring out as he moved, using the man's bulk and traffic build up behind him to move around the corner. He quickly situated himself off to the side of the doorway and slightly out of the way, peering into the throne room with gun drawn and pointed.

 

[Lagota Desijilic]

Lagota had been in a back room, tied up in helping with his nephew, B'alrok's, finances. As shown by the state of his home, B'alrok was not always the best at handling his money and would often times ask for his uncle's help when things seemed to be going poorly. What B'alrok didn't know was that his uncle Lagota saw so much more potential in the slave ring his nephew ran. When "aiding" with his nephew's finances, Lagota often took some money for himself. He figured it he deserved it anyway for bailing his pathetic kin out. By now Lagota realized if this "business" B'alrok is ever going to succeed, it's going to neeed new management. He was settled by a round table in this back room, surrounded by key players and investors in the ring, working on making better deals and offers than the ones made by B'alrok.

"I'm not sure how much longer my shop is going to be able to be used as a front for this little operation. The authorities are already starting to ask too many questions." A nervous looking Tordarian said, as his wings fluttered and offered a constant buzz as he kept himself afloat.

Logota's face remained expressionless as he looked at the Tordarian who beared an eerie resemblance to his favorite mid-day snack, perhaps their species were distant relatives at one point. As the thought left his head, Lagota straightened up a little and said; "So here is what you are going to do; you are going to go back to your home planet, you're going to keep your shop open for one day but just before closing time, your shop is going to experience a devastating fire that will leave you financially ruined. A concerned friend of yours will get the local people to help you out so you can build a brand new shop. That should be enough to get them off your tail for a while." A Hutt that spoke basic was not uncommon however most Hutt's viewed any language that wasn't their own to be inferior and not worth the effort of learning it. Lagota, however, always saw knowing basic as an advantage in his line of work. His voice was rather low and could easily fill an entire room with little effort. He didn't talk slow but he was known to be meticulous when choosing his words.

Before the Tordarian, who wasn't all that thrilled about the plan, could answer, an older man sitting at the table chimed in; "what do you plan to do about B'alrok? He's going to run us into the ground if he keeps waisting all our money!" The old man slammed his fist on the table and let out a huff as he brushed his hair out of his face.

"Do not worry Corlig, I will...take care of him." The Hutt showing the first hint of expression this whole time as he glanced over at the HK-51 droid by his side. The droid served as a multipurpose bodyguard, also capable of high profile assassinations. While it was not uncommon for crime lords to travel with protection, droids were not the standard choice, however Lagota preferred them over goons and thugs for the simple fact that a droid cannot be bribed or have a change in heart.

Just then, blaster shots rang out and everyone at the table stood to look at the door. "Go." Lagota said to HK as he pointed in the direction of the blaster shots that had now be joined by faint screams. Once into the throne room, HK looked around, scanning the room that seemed to be clear of any danger. "No danger detected." HK called back, signaling it was okay for the slug to come out and join his nephew. In the meantime, HK forcefully interfaced himself with B'alrok's translator droid to get a full picture of what had happened. Immediately he dropped the protocol droid and started to sprint after Xanthier.

(I only ask the the droid not be killed)

 

[GABA]

"Kes...kes...kes...kes..." Ines cursed under her breath as she dodged blaster shots. This was not how things were supposed to go at all. The plan was to come, offer the deal, do a task, gain the Hutt's favor...not get involved in some stupid Force user's vendetta!

Least most of the attention was on him and no one had turned-

Something hard hit the middle of Ines' back and she went down, hitting her chin on the stone floor. She clipped the tip of her tongue between her teeth and could taste something salty and warm. She quickly rolled over, looking in the direction where she thought it came from, avoiding the steps of the fighters as choas seemed to erupt in the room. Still having a grip of her blaster she jumped to her feet and followed some out of the hall. Though paused and backed up as blaster shots rang out before her.

The woman rolled her eyes, slipping through an unguarded side door and paused as it shut behind her.

The room was still except for a small group of children huddling in a corner, their eyes on her and the blaster and Ines looked at her weapon and holstered it. She could see their pain, like the three young girls who served the Hutt in the hall and it broke her heart. The woman placed a finger on her lips, signaling them not to make a sound and approached them.

She wasn't likely going to be able to make a deal with the Hutt, at least, in the mess, she could better the lives for the three younglings.

 

[Edgeworth]

Telon was not concerned by the hangers on and the smarter street slime who were starting to stream out of the room as fast as they could. Even if almost every single one of them likely had some form of outstanding offence he had to prioritise, and the rouge force sensitive took precedence. The fewer people there were to get in his way the better, and the less likely it was that someone innocent would get hurt. The slightly less smart, or more ambitious, toughs who remained to draw weapons and fight were much more of a problem. They may have been focused on Xanthier for now, but who knew how long that would last? Every gun was a threat, every knife a hazard, even to a jedi. He would not allow an arrogant over confidence to effect his actions or impair his judgement.

He was never going to be able to arrest a room this size, or subdue them by conventional means. So it was, that under his robes, he pulled the pin on the grenade filled with knockout gas. The agent began to pour out from the canister, slightly impeded by being under his robes, but still reliably leaking out to slowly start filling the room. He tried to conceal it’s presence by keeping the canister fixed to his belt, so there was no tell tail can hitting the ground to give the game away, whilst he remained safe in his sealed helmet.

He knew it would not subdue everyone here, some might have helmets of their own, but it should clear a good portion of the room. His plan was to wait until the agent had taken effect, before going on the attack to deal with the stragglers. But the situation was far too dangerous form him to just look like another member of the crowd, and whilst most people were running out, some were trying to get in. People who ran into fights, tended not to be good news. So it was that he, regretfully, had to draw his saber just as Xanthier began to charge. The ragged rogue would see pure blue super-heated plasma strike up with a dull hum that seemed to fill the whole room for a few heavy moments. That signature glow was a manifest symbol of the jedi, their skill and everything they stood for, and it’s blue aura seemed to cast slight illumination on everything in the room.

Telon was wordless in his defence as he put his off foot straight forward, lowered his hips down low and but his main leg back, twisted through 90 degrees and squat, firm and planted. Offhand outstretched, palm raised, saber hand parallel to his head, blade pointed forward. A trained eye might recognise this as the soresu opening stance, the ultimate defensive form, which he intended to use until the gas had done its job. It took a skilled hand and a little luck to crack open a practiced soresu user. Almost instantly, just before his foe might reach him, Telon shifted, hands going down to his waist, holding the grip in both hands, blade pointed up and angled slightly forward in the classic brace position. This man knew what he was doing.

 

[Dark child]

clink! clink! clink!

Xanthier heard the tell tale sound of metal colliding with the sandy floor of the palace some distance behind him. He did not let himself become distracted by such things, already moving forward at great speed, turning around would simply cause him to loose focus. His vision had become narrowed, oblivious to many other threats besides that which his sights were set on, the man in the entryway. Several shots whizzed by his slender frame, one grazing the shoulder pad of his armor, leaving a long scorched gash in the metal and plasteel, which continued to smoke for a brief moment as he ran. Suddenly, his balance began to become off kilter, nearly stumbling over himself, the youth slowed to a halt. His mind entered a panic, taking several deep breaths he nearly collapsed unto his knees, managing to hold his body upright, but only just, his lungs begged for air, assuming that it was a lack of oxygen and fatigue. As the wild boy's head began to swim, he looked around the throne room, bodies were dropping like flies, only a handful remained active. Vision blurring, Xanthier's grey eyes gazed towards the Jedi. His mind so scattered it had not even heard the loud fizz as the Jedi's saber ignited a moment ago, which was very unlike the youth. Xanthier never let his guard down, his physical senses heightened beyond what was considered normal. Paranoia had incredible effects on the body, fear had shaped him into who he was, and while his sense in the force was dull and unrefined, his sight, his hearing, and his smell made up for it.

The Jedi would undoubtedly advance. Chain the boy. Bind him.

Xanthier knew this. His breaths became slow and in tune with his heartbeat, a fast paced drum which was still coming down from the rush he had felt earlier, blood pumping furiously through his veins. Xanthier gazed on with utmost spite at the wielder of the blue blade. In the semi darkened room, Telon's saber even cast a faint glow on the boy's face, but Xanthier's features rejected it, just as he himself rejected the Jedi and all they stood for. He had done nothing wrong here, yet they were agitated by his mere presence. Self righteous hounds that hunted the boy endlessly. As the youth began to focus, he heard the hiss of the container, and the hum of Telon's blade. The hissing stopped a mere second after, but Xathier began to realize just what had happened.

The boy's breaths stopped completely. Now, there was only his heartbeat. A steady rhythmic thumping.

The silence was broken by a hail of shots from a kel dor bounty hunter who had chosen to advance into the throne room rather than run like the others. His rebreather protecting him from the harmful effects of the gas. Entering from the hallway opposite of the Jedi, he was still out of optimum range for his blaster pistol, but this did not stop him from emptying the entire charge pack as he advanced, figuring that injuring the boy was better than giving him an opportunity to move. These shots were helter skelter, impacting the walls and leaving black scorch marks, but one did graze Xanthier's upper thigh, enough for him to feel the burn as it melted some of the armor which in turn fused to the youth's skin.

Xanthier's teeth gritted. The events had come to pass very quickly, seconds maybe, less than a minuted definitely.

Only now, as he began to regain enough strength to stand completely upright once more did he notice the most immediate threat. The assassin druid had been slowed by the multitude of bodies that had collapsed in it's way, but now it's metal footsteps were just as clear as they had been.

Clank Clank Clank

Xanthier's gaze turned sharply to the left in the direction of the noise, diverting his attention away from the Jedi and the kel dor who was inserting another mag into his pistol while closing the distance. The boy's grey eyes widened as the druid raised it's weapon towards his chest. Xanthier's pale fingers wrapped around the cold metal of his saber hilt, and he ignited the crimson blade just in time to deflect the first shot. Things were not fairing well at all for the boy, for there in the entryway, in his peripheral vision was a masked man. A masked man who's sights were trained on the youth, haunting red eyes staring back at Xanthier through the expressionless mask.

His lungs begged for air, but he denied them. To breathe, meant to risk his life, for if he did so he would be at the mercy of others. Xanthier knew, more than most, that that was a fate he did not wish to endure.​

 

[Narsi]

Well, this was a dilemma. Right in front of him was a Jedi, facing away from him and blue lightsaber held aloft just outside the doorway. Also right in front of him was his target, the scraggly Xanthier himself, a little bit farther away and obviously the current target of the Jedi. There was also an advancing Kel Dor and a droid walking into the room opposite of him, along with a few other people, but they were pretty inconsequential to his current problem, mainly who to shoot first.

Jedi were Jedi, the opportunity to nail one in the back was very tempting, though he probably choose a Sith if one were available. On the other hand, he was here on official business and thus the target should probably come first. He could well imagine the chewing out the Reclusiarch would give him if the man got away for such a silly reason. But then again, the Jedi was looking as if he too were here for Xanthier, and losing the target to a Jedi of all people wouldn't go over well either. Kip sighed heavily with indecision, shoulders slumping a bit under his mantle as he needled over the choice.

In the end, as all those thoughts flitted through his head in an instant, he just couldn't choose. So he shot at both of them. As the Kel Dor finally landed a hit on Xanthier, Kip decided it was time to finally fire his own weapon. His gun already raised, it took but a minor twitch of the tip to align with the Jedi's back. Squeezing the trigger twice, he sent two shots screaming forth, hopefully the man's orientation away from Kip and focus on Xantheir would be enough to prevent any defense. He then immediately shifted his aim towards Xanthier, loosing one more shot from the carbine at the scraggly fellows chest.

As he fired, Kip became aware of a sickly sweet scent in his nose and mouth. It was very faint, only his honed senses had given him the ability to detect it. He wasn't immediately sure of what it was, but his mask was probably filtering most of it out and he surely had a few more minutes before it began to have any affect.

 

[Lagota Desijilic]

The assassin droid immediately categorizing Kip as threat, turned and raised its blaster at him, firing several warning shots in his direction before returning it's attention to Xanthier, alternating vollyies of shots between aiming for his legs, chest and head in an effort to confuse the boy. As the droid fired, it activated its personal shield, protecting it from any deflected or stray blaster shots. The shield was a small modification that Lagota had added to his bodyguard for good measure. "Lay down your weapons, you are to be prisoners of the great Lagota the Hutt. Surrender now and Lagota might let you bargain for your lives." The droids voice echoed through the room, addressing mostly everyone but mostly Xanthier. HK punctuated the warning by launching a volley of shots at Xanthier's legs, hoping to immobilize him.

As this went on, Lagota approached his nephew who was still behind his shield. "B'alrok! What is the meaning of all this!" Lagota snarled, his voice booming as the words left his mouth. "Deska bodama mo.." he started to explain in his native tongue but Lagota cut him him off. "Speak basic, it's the only way you'll get good at it." B'alrok let out a huff and started again, stumbling often, "Me no u..understand why important to speak little people language." Lagota had tried to explain how people always feel more comfortable when they don't have to worry that what they are saying is being twisted by a translator droid. For whatever reason that was well beyond Lagota's comprehension, B'alrok couldn't grasp that concept. "I'm not getting into this now. I'm tired of your arrogance, I'm tired of your complete lack of care when handaling money and I am done bailing you you out!" B'alrok was overcome by fear and anger Ash he shouted back, "Baskatoochoo!" A colorful swear that lost something in translation.

As he uttered the curse, B'alrok swung his arm furiously, accidentally slamming it into his translator droid who stumbled backwards and landed on the control panel for the shield, effectively shutting the shield off. Lagota saw his opportunity and grabbed the blaster from one of the thugs that had been standing by him. He smacked the thug in the face with the butt of the blaster, breaking the guy's nose. Then he turned to B'alrok, who squealed in fear as Lagota fired two shots into his nephews squirming body. As B'alrok's body went limp Lagota turned back to the thug who had just stumbled back to his feet and placed a single shot in center of his head, sending the body back to the ground with a thud. Lagota dropped the blaster and turned to the translator droid, "I will be taking over all of B'alrok's operations and business deals from here on out. Make sure word gets out." The droid stared at body of the dead Hutt for a moment, smoke still rising from the wounds before riding to face Lagota, "yes, your excellency..."

 

[Dark child]

The will to live drives all things. It is an ingrained need that stems from the very heart of a creature's soul. It is ever present within the subconscious. To survive the body itself will act on it's own accord. This simple instinct is both what prevents death, and causes it. Try to drown an animal and you will discover it's full strength. Allow a predator to chase it's prey and you will find out just how fast that prey can run. To live, is to struggle.

Xanthier's breath became unbearable. Forced to hold it, the desperate want for air began to weigh on him incredibly. His heart beat furiously, his lungs heaved within his empty chest, deprived of the one thing which they desired most. Senses were becoming dulled, his heartbeat was the only true thing which he could focus on, and even it only drove him further into madness and worry. Soon he would loose focus and black out entirely. Even now as his steely grey eyes locked on the druid as it sent a hail of fire towards the man with the mask before completely transitioning it's wrist blaster towards the black haired youth with utmost precision.

Red flashes lit up the dimly lit room and all the bodies which still lay on the floor, both dead and those which had succumbed to the gas. The very same toxin that was eating away at Xanthier's strength.

The volley lasted but a second, but was unrelenting. The first of the druid's shots impacted the sandy floor to the right of Xanthier's foot, only a hair away from causing damage. The second shot the boy barely nicked with the edge of Xanthier's saber, causing him to trip over the body of an unconscious weequay as he stumbled backwards. Several shots still rang out as he toppled towards the floor, among them was the bounty hunter's, which left a long diagonal glowing gash across the right side in his chest plate. A shot that could easily have proven lethal had it struck it's mark. One of the druid's shots slammed into his hip while the other's whizzed by in a chaotic flurry of red, causing his body to jar sideways during the fall and finally collide with the ground.

Every bit of air which had remained in Xanthier's lungs was expelled as the unforgiving earth accepted him with open arms, the back of his head slammed against the filthy floor coating his black hair in dust.

His teeth clenched. Heart throbbed. Lungs ached.
Hatred and pain were present in amounts that he had not felt in ages.
Any normal being would be confined to lay on the ground until they recovered their breath, but Xanthier's tolerance for suffering and his will to drive himself further was far greater than that of his bodily needs.

His fingers dug into the dirt and he shifted unto his side, dust falling off of his broken body.
The light coming from the holes within the tattered drapes that obscured the windows beckoned to him and he promised himself he would answer their call once he had dealt with the druid skum.

Mouth opening in a defiant silent snarl, his lungs deprived of the capability of making a sound, Xanthier cast out his pale hand towards the druid which was advancing towards it's downed target, wrist blaster raised towards Xanthier's head for a kill shot.

Power arched through his fingertips, like hungry serpents bolts of electricity closed the gap between the boy and the druid. Easily surpassing and overloading it's shield and gnawing into the metal below. Attracted to the substance more so than any other.

Xanthier rose up on his knee while maintaining the stream of lightning, glancing to his left as he did so, towards the Jedi who had released the accursed substance into the room. The fool had stumbled, and for a brief moment Xanthier thought it had been do to exposing himself to the gas, but as he slumped forward it became apparent that there were two scorched burns in the Jedi's back armor plate.

The druid had blocked a clear shot at the boy, and now, as Xanthier finally stood on his feet once more, he shut off the blade of his lightsaber and shoved it back into his pocket. Hands shaking, chest burning, he called upon every fiber in his being to continue. Thrusting his other hand outward he directed all of his pent up rage into a blast of energy. Sending the druid flying towards the doorway in which the mask man had been crouched in moments before. Blue electricity arching off the druid's body as it sailed through the air.

Not waiting to see the repercussions of where the hunk of scrap metal would hit , Xanthier rushed towards the draped window which was closest to him, ignoring the searing pain in his calve and the dull throb which he felt in his hip as he ran towards it, producing the saber from his pocket and igniting it's crimson blade once more, he cut through the swath of mildewed fabric and into the glass as he thrust his full body weight against the window pane.​

 

[Narsi]

Two out of three, not bad, not bad at all. Heck the third one was a winger so it was actually two point five out of three, and when you were shooting at people who could dodge and deflect blaster bolts, it was phenomenal. Still, it wasn't the kill he needed, and he unfortunately didn't a chance to try again as he had to dive out of the way as the encroaching droid suddenly decided to shoot at him. It was a close call, one of the shots neatly impacting the wall right where his head had been as Kip tumbled onto the foot of the stairs just around the corner he'd so recently traversed.

He was back on his feet in an instant, noting with distaste the slightly stronger foreign taste on his tongue, having accidently taken a very deep breathe in his harrowing maneuver. Kip scowled under his mask, so he had less time than he thought, he needed to end this quick. Peeking his head back around the corner, Kip saw two things of note. First was the Jedi, who'd been knocked forward onto his belly by the blasterfire. Very visible was the now ruined armor on his back, hopefully whatever pathogen in the air, Kip was guessing sleeping gas by the large numbers of unconscious people, would be affecting the Jedi as well.

The second thing he saw was the droid's metal body hurtling towards him, sparking and smoking madly in way that screamed internal damage. Kip did the logical thing and hurriedly pulled his head back and took a few retreating steps as the droid flew through the doorway and crashed to the ground. Comically enough, it came to rest just under the scorch mark it had made less than a minute earlier. Near instantly Kip was jumping over it and looking back into the room, scanning for his target with carbine at the ready. He paid no attention to the slug's antics which, as amusing as they were, had nothing to do with him. He had eyes only for one thing, Xanthier, who was just now nearing a window, slashing at the fabric blocking it with a glowing lightsaber.

Oh no you don't

As the man thrust himself against the glass with a devotion and technique that reeked of experience in other areas, Kip aimed and released two more shots at the fleeing man's back. He then darted towards the window at a run, keeping a half mind to stay somewhat vigilant of the giant worm still in the room.

@Lagota Desijilic

 

[Dark child]

Frail like the glass which he passed through, the boy bore it's lacerations. For far too long his weaknesses had betrayed him. For far too long he had strived to change who he was. To accept kindness and reason, to blend with the world that encompassed everything in a galaxy he had believed to be full of hate. Now, the truth was a crystal clear as it had been then. He had been blinded. He had been wrong. There was no reasoning, no lessons to be learned. The outside world was just as cruel and cold as the facility which had raised him. Suffering was ever present. Peace did not exist. It was an ideal which had all but been erased from Xanthier's mind. Agony had outweighed trust by a thousandfold long ago, and now in the wake of that mistrust there was no sympathy left for the youth to give. Cruelty was no description for his actions in the past. Death was merciful, it was a gift to whoever he bestowed it upon. No one should bear suffering, no one should bear hate, such had been the boy's code of honor from the moment he had broken free of his cell. The galaxy despised him for it, they hated him for what he was and what he stood for. So too did the boy hate all things that lived and breathed, and at this moment, he hated none more than the beings still within the palace.

Glass shifted underneath him, the tiny shards clinking together with the smallest of sounds. It was quiet outside the palace walls, gone were the sounds of those which had been fleeing, now only the low hum of a ship crossing the sky far overhead broke the silence. The fractured glass beneath was unforgiving. Jagged pieces of the window pane were now tiny splinters which had buried themselves in his unprotected hands. Hands which now bled profusely from the many cuts that had stemmed from the first impact with the glass itself. His saber had passed through the window pane like butter but his fist had slammed into it without recourse. Bracing for the impact he had brought his other arm upwards to shield his face but aside from the armor on his forearm, this too was susceptible to the serrated edges of the shards as the window caved in, and the back of his left fist had been cut to ribbons, exposing the bones and ligaments beneath in several large gashes. The weapon in his right hand still remained ignited as he lay there upon the ground amidst the scattered glass shards. His face bore fine cuts here and there but otherwise remained unscathed. The youth was lucky the window had been on ground level as he would likely have jumped from it no matter what the height or cost. It would be better to die than become a prisoner once more. Deep wheezing breaths emitted from within his throat as his lungs greedily gasped for air.

As the boy began to move causing the glass to shift beneath his weight, he felt the pain in his left shoulder blade. Recalling the shots that had registered loud and clear within his ears the very moment he had broken through the window. Events had passed so quickly he had not realized his body had been jarred to the left upon impact with the blaster bolt from Kip's shot. Both were rushed due to the assassin having to stop and take aim after backing away down the hallway to avoid the hunk of druid headed his way, but they were precise none the less and both would have struck the youth had it not been for his angle of exit through the window. The second shot had whizzed by, singing several strands of Xanthier's dark hair before it too pierced the already shattered glass as the pieces fell and continued off into oblivion. The first however had hit it's mark almost precicely. Digging into the armor which protected Xanthier's shoulder blade and even partially into the flesh beneath. The result was a ring of melted metal and charred muscle. Though the damage was not extensive it would certainly make moving his left arm painful for days to come.

Lying there in the dirt, Xanthier couldn't help but wonder how differently this could have ended had he simply given into his instincts and attacked the hutt outright. His breaths came easier now, less labored, heightened panting, his rage building as his ears picked up the sound of boots stepping on glass still within the building. He had seconds, if not less.

Ignoring the deep set wounds and the pain which came with them, the boy rose to his feet, shoving off of his knee so as not to add to the countless tiny shards of glass embedded in his palms. Blood dripped from both of his hands. Sharp angled pieces of glass protruded from his fingers and knuckles as they still griped the saber which he held tightly.

Electricity arched between his fingertips as he turned around to face his foe. His calve pained him and slowed his moments due to the nature of the muscle structure which the bolt of energy had struck, but it was the physical nature of the wound rather than the pain itself that was holding him back. Overcome by rage, his mouth opened in a primal roar as he spewed forth another barrage of lightning into the shattered frame of the broken window and into the darkness beyond. Arcs of electricity emitted from the fingertips of his left hand, energy which fed off all the pain his shoulder. So caught up in the moment to the that he did not care if it struck who had stepped on the glass,nor the fact that he could not maintain such a demonstration for long. His tunnel vision had blinded him to the fact that there were multiple windows and exits and his foes could have already been on their way to reach them.

Unable to let go of the adrenaline rush that now held him in it's grasp, Xanthier closed his fist, electricity still arching off it as he began to run away from the palace and back towards the distant shipyards. It was a long way however, and his limp had already begun to slow him down.



​

 

[Dark child]

Minutes after the incursion in the palace and one broken window later...

The Kel Dor let out a long breath, a sigh of dissatisfaction, muffled by his breathing apparatus. A piece of glass which had been hanging in limbo within the broken window frame finally came loose and shattered upon the floor. The clink which it made was much louder that it would have sounded on a normal occasion, the sounds of the throne room had all but vanished. Replaced by silence. Those that still lived, remained on the floor with the dead. The effects of the gas had not yet worn off though it's potency was diminishing as it began to filter out through the open window. ~Sometimes it is better to bide one's time.~ Thought the Kel Dor as he absentmindedly attempted to shove the charge pack into the pistol once more. It had jammed. He had been that close to bagging himself some credits...and his weapon decided to jam on him. A bit of rotten luck, but not if he could turn this whole thing around. The proverbial pistons and gears of his mind had been turning since the very beginning of this unexpected scene of events and he was determined to have something positive come out of the whole ordeal.

Looking back towards B'alrok, the Kel Dor saw a very interesting turn of events indeed. The slaver had shut off his force field, and for once in his life, it appeared that B'alrok was at a loss for words as he attempted to reason with the bigger fish on the playing field - Lagota. The pantoran girl had given up on trying to collect the beetles now, her small body shook with fear, not only due to the events that had just transpired, but the possibility of having to change hands and accompany this new hutt. Her existence within the palace was far from good, but at least B'alrok had allowed her to feed and entertain him without...delving into some of the rumors she had heard about other hutts and slave owners in general. The thought of what might follow should she have to leave terrified her more than anything. Uncertainty was worse than the horrible hardship which she endured every day.

Once the force field opened, the beetles scattered. Skittering off into the dark corners of the room and crawling into cracks in the walls. The Kel Dor looked on in silence as the scene unfolded, either not noticed or simply not regarded as a threat. B'alrok's argument was weak among other things, and it did not surprise the bounty hunter in the least that Lagota plugged him with two shots from a blaster pistol and finished him off with one to the head sending B'alroks body to the ground where smoke continued to issue from the burnt impact holes.

Intently focused on the scene of the hutt collapsing into the dirt from where he had sat atop his low pedestal, those in the room were oblivious to the small pantoran, who, overcome with fear of what might follow, had decided to take her chances and make an escape.

Slinking away while Lagota was distracted, it took all the strength in her malnourished body to shove a large Shistavanen aside to reveal a rusted iron grate not far from B'alrok's pedestal. Inserting her small lilac fingers through the holes in the grate she pried it open without a sound and climbed into the filth within. Soon disappearing out of sight.

It was only then that the Omwati and Keshiri realized the seriousness of the situation. They were older than the pantoran, and had seen a great many things unfold in the throne room. To the point that they had become desensitized to everything that transpired. Each day became similar to the last and nothing mattered so long as they pleased their master. A great many deaths had occurred right before them and they had been forced to watch. This, was quite different. No one messed with B'alrok in his own domain, and now, as the both looked up from the hulking mound of flesh that had been their master, their expressions were that of shock and disbelief.

So it was that the Kel Dor holstered his pistol and decided to get acquainted with a hutt whom had killed his own kin without remorse. Sand crunched beneath his boots as he stepped over the many bodies that littered the floor, and when he was within a reasonable distance, he finally spoke.

"I assume the offer still stands on the boy?"
His voice was rough and muffled, more so than a normal Kel. Deeper.​

 

[Narsi]

If his shots struck home, he wasn't able to see it. The shattering of glass and sudden reentry of sunlight was very dazzling to the eye. Still, that's what follow ups were for, and thus he jumped up to the window and looked out, balancing on the sill with one foot. He was just in time to meet a torrent of force lightning face first, the arcing bots swarming over him and knocking him backwards.

His heavy cloak saved him, that and his subpar positioning on the window as he lost his footing amidst the surprising barrage and fell back out of the stream, hitting the ground with a light oomph. He lay there but for a moment, allowing the seizing pain to subside and the lightning to flow over him, ripping through the room and scorching numerous unconscious people. When it stopped, Kip slowly regained his feet, breathing heavily as he recollected himself.

His cloak was smoking slightly, and it was heavily scorched with numerous holes where the lightning had damaged it. Still, it had done its job in protecting its wearer, from the worst of it anyway, leaving Kip unharmed. Once again he moved up to the window, this time throwing a cautious glance outside, his tattered cloak, still about his shoulders, wouldn't block another attack like that. Seeing nothing, no lighting bolts at least, Kip jumped free of the building and out into the outside, landing on both feet and glaring at the thing he HAD seen, his target, hobbling away at his top speed, which wasn't very fast.

Sighing, Kip raised his carbine once more, pointing it at the fleeing man's back with grim intentions. By his estimation, there was only about thirty meters separating them, well within range of his weapon. Flipping up the holographic sight and switching the weapon to its burst mode, Kip took a moment to aim, and then started shooting. His first trigger pull unleashed a burst of four shots aimed at Xanthier's middle back, his second unleashed another four, and then he was jogging forward, gun still held aloft.