The Faith of Hunters and Believers

[Omnis]

It wasn't the first time that Nox had wormed his way into the heart of Hutt space, to the filthy urbanized moon of Nar Shadaa. He considered the rusty surface of the moon and the smog filled atmosphere to be reflections of Nar Shadaa's owners, the Hutts. They were vile, ugly, not nearly as well organized as they seemed, and dirty beyond measure. There was only one way to clean out the kind of infestation that they represented, which was to effect a complete purge. Wipe the slate clean.

Uriel the Fool. It was the name that Nox's quarry called himself. Nox thought it appropriate, considering their surroundings. It was a city of fools, run by bigger fools that suckled at the teat of ego through day and night. The informant that Nox had planted in Hutt space, who had been out of contact for so long that the Crusader had almost written him off as dead, sent a report that said a Jedi had come to Nar Shadaa. Uriel the Fool, he called himself.

Though it had been his great pleasure to hunt and exterminate Hutts the last time he had been on Nar Shadaa, Nox was there for the Jedi this time. The Empire willed it. He would have it no other way. But if any of the misguided Cartel members tried to step in, there would be no hesitation as he cut them down too. They weren't his primary focus, but that didn't mean he wouldn't pay them any attention.

The bar that Nox tracked Uriel to was large, situated in the center of a busy Nar Shadaa city that had spent at least a century building itself up as a town of entertainment and pleasure. The bar was one of the least vulgar places on the block, with a sign outside that wasn't entirely hologram or made of neon lights like all of the others around it. Instead, the sign represented the more down to earth atmosphere inside, comprised of stained metal and a few lamp lights for illumination. It read, "The Bloated Sog." Nox had little idea what it meant, but knew that he did not like it.

Inside, many tall top tables stood freely about the room with tall stools around them for seating. The room was wide, one center strip of free space leading up to the center of the bar at the back wall. The bar itself was nearly as wide as the room, with two doors on either side where various staff moved in and out. Smoke drifted in lazy curtains through, eventually whipped and torn apart as they reached closer to the ceiling fans that whirled around in a blur. Everything was in some earthen tone or black. The bar and the tops of each free standing table seemed to be made of the same wood, all polished.

A chill draft entered when the door opened, but even after it closed behind the short man wearing the silver mask it persisted and slowly wound its way through the room. Certain that someone who called themselves The Fool would not run, Nox made no effort to conceal his dark presence in the Force. Two lightsabers hung at his hip. Eight throwing knives remained hidden beneath his thick duraweave robe, strapped to the durasteel vest he wore on his chest. Two more knives, shaped as ulaks, remained imbedded in the back of his vest where he could reach them on his upper shoulders.

Nox walked down the center aisle between the two seating areas, unphased as the many patrons stared at him. He stopped before reaching the bar and turned to look at Uriel.

"Uriel the Fool."

 

[Rom]

The aging Corellian did not move to run away, nor put distance or obstacles between himself amd the malevolent presence that entered the bar and moved toward him like a winter storm; a calm and gathered cloud front hiding the howling fury within its frozen depths. He did not react as the cold rasping accent of a Noghri greeted him by name and a given title of fool, the simple sentence conveying both greeting and threat. He remained where he'd been for the past several hours; hunched over on a stool nearest the bartender, a hot mug of Corellian whiskey and caf clutched between his strong yet time weathered hans and a thin cigarra held loosely between his lips, the cherry red ember at the end emitting smoke that gathered around the grey haired Jedi Knights head.

He took a long pull from the cigarra and leaned back, blowing a pair of rings up to join the smoke cloud revolving around his corner of the bar, and turned to regard the Dark agent standing at the other side of the bar on his left.

"Who's the more foolish, boy? The fool or the fool who follows 'im?"

Uriels' eyes crinkled slightly behind his spectacles as he chuckled at his own joke, though never taking his eyes off the assassin. He was dressed as always in his dirty long black coat, the flash of dark metal and fiberweave armor 'neath escaping the notice of all but the most observant inspectors. A small carbine strapped on his back, a strange metal gauntlet on his left forearm, the pistol holstered at his thigh and the flash of something metal magnaclamped to his hip were the visual cue that the old man was more than he appeared, a grizzled smuggler or ex bounty hunter too stubborn to give up the trade in the eyes of the bar patrons cautiously following the exchange.

In the Force his presence burned brightly; a beacon defiant in the face of the Noghris' raging storm.

"I think ye might be lookin' for someone else, lad. No reason to bother with an old man and these... lovely folk just out to have a drink."

 

[Omnis]

The silver mask that the Crusader wore betrayed nothing as the Noghri's large black eyes beneath slimmed and studied the older man's form. It had been long enough since someone had been able to call him by a younger moniker, reminding him that the flawed Corellian before him was likely to be reliant on the Force. If he was even so inclined to move and use his strength. Humans like him were especially more tender and sometimes fragile toward that end of their age. The single, wide slit in Nox's mask remained as dark as his perfectly black eyes.

"Who's the more foolish, boy? The fool or the fool who follows 'im?"

The Fool did not even realize how dire his situation really was. Death's Figment was not following a fool. He was hunting one.

Nox had no intention to give his quarry a moment to actually prepare for a battle. Summoning a focused blast of telekinetic energy, Nox aimed his power at the side of the Corellian man's whiskey filled head with the purpose of slamming it down on his own mug hard enough to imbed it in his skull or else smash his skull through the bar. In almost the same moment, Nox drew both lightsabers and activated them.

The assassin remained as wary of the bar patrons as the Jedi, sure that a storm of blaster rounds was soon to be aimed his way.

"A full bounty to the scum that kills that Jedi before I do." Nox hissed.

 

[Rom]

The Force gathered within the cantina, poised like snakes reared back to strike, and as it moved the elder Knight moved with it. His feet left the steadying bar beneath the stool and his body pitched sideways to the right, away from the Noghri and toward the small open area between the bars and the tables. His left hand grasped at his chest as he fell and with a hard tug on the bandolier swung the carbine slung across his back to the front of his body while his right arm shot down to brace his body and push him into a roll along his shoulder and back onto his feet. The Firestorm modular weapon system came up clenched in his right hand and centered on the chest of the Sith as Uriel activated the shield gauntlet on his left arm with a twisting snap movement of his arm.

"Friends.... this Sith seems to think that Imma Jedi. He seems to think that even if this were true, y'all would do the dirty work for him. His kind is marching on Hutt Space as we speak! Klatooine is in flames, and the Sith wont stop until Nal Hutta and this moon are burnt to the core! Yer homes, yer families, yer very lives are nothing to this creature... let's show him what we Shaddaians think of being told what to do, eh?"

The bar, like much of the galaxy, was divided. Some of the beings in the bar swung their guns towards the Corellian, others towards the Noghri, and many allowed the silence to gather before rushing for the door to avoid being involved. The tension filled the room, the peace held on the edge of a knife, and was shattered with the thunderous boom of Uriel's Firestorm; a spray of hot metal flying across the space between them and seeking the Siths' form beneath the cloak and silver mask. The fight quickly spun out of control, bounty hunters and smugglers and mercenaries leaping into the fray against each other and the two beings who had started the struggle by virtue of existing.

"Fierfek!" the Corellian exclaimed hotly as he pushed himself back, a gleaming vibroaxe slamming into the floor where he'd previously stood as a towering Trandoshan tried to claim the apparent price on his head. Uriel's handcannon belched metal and flame a second time and sent the Trandoshan spinning, but the elder Jedi had already dropped the gun against his chest and reached for the bladeless crosshilt magna-clamped to his thigh and started to back towards the door.

The evening was not going to plan.