Ask Chandrila Wrong Place

[Murtagh Tempest]

This wasn’t Murtagh’s usual venue. No, this was a very different matter entirely. There was very little other reason for the Jedi Knight to have come to Chandrila in the first place. News had come to him that someone he had worked with in the past - a Vahla elder who’d lived in his settlement and moved here - had been killed or assassinated in a duel just the other day. His younger niece, a woman of Murtagh’s age whom he also knew, had found out from the local authorities and patrons of the planet.

Murtagh didn’t expect for her to have remained, but she did. Like most Espaa, Moira was stoic and lithe. But she was clearly distraught. They hadn’t met for long, just enough for Murtagh to examine the body and discover an even more disturbing fact - some of the old man’s wounds came from a blade. Others came from a lightsaber. It didn’t sit well with the Vahla, the possibility that one of their own had turned to the Dark Side. Or perhaps there was a dark Jedi, one of those rogues who didn’t belong to the Order, who had found himself a lightsaber. Considering the wounds from the blade where older than the plasma, it seemed whosever assailed him had attempted to conceal himself.

Now, the Vahla found himself entering the bar that the elder had been drinking in before the duel and his untimely demise. He’d ensured the bartender and bouncer on site where the same, and had every intention of discovering what or who had caused the commotion. Leaning against the bar, the Jedi whistled, placing his lightsaber on the dash in plain view, still gripped in his hand.

“Ah - Jedi... whats can I gets for ya?”

“The old man that died here yesterday. Did he leave with anyone?”

“I’m sorries. Information comes at.. prices, yes?”

“I’m not in the mood for games, Rodian. Tell me what I need to know and I’ll be on my way...”

@Flying Blind

 

[Flying Blind]

Freebeer had little clue as to where he was, he couldn’t even remember the name of the planet he was on. He had initially been sent on a supply run for his new boss, a hutt he was just starting to get to know. What should’ve been an easy exchange turned to an all out brawl in an alleyway when they started talking price. He wasn’t entirely sure what the miscommunication was, but if numbers were involved it was practically guaranteed he was to blame. So he did what he usually did and fought his way out of his own mess, managing to hang on to the handful of credits he had been entrusted with and his life. Out of any kind of profit, he considered the whole trip a wash and decided to hit up a bar before heading back.

He settled into a seat and ordered an ale, electing to nurse the same drink for a while rather than go on a binge and put his mission in the red. The galaxy was larger than he had expected and too many moving pieces for him to keep track of. Just the other day an apparently more prominent hutt had put a hefty price of glow sticks for the death of his son. He couldn’t quite grasp why, but he concluded the son must’ve wanted an absolute rave of a funeral. He could respect such wishes and felt it’s what he would do when his time eventually came. As he sat there, sipping from the same glass wondering who he would invite to his funeral, and who would show for that matter, a peculiar man walked in.

The man cut a direct path to the bartender who wasn’t far from where he was sitting. And, as if it was nothing, he placed one of the glow stick devices on the counter. His eyes went wide, opportunity staring back at him in the reflection of the shiny cylinder. Was he using it as payment for something? Or maybe, could it be he hadn’t heard the news? If so, this could be the greatest con of his fledgling career. He gave the man space to talk to the bartender, but at the first lull in the conversation he interjected

“Hey buddy, ya lookin for a someone to take that from you?”

Trying to make an impression, he made what he considered a grand gesture of wealth, throwing down the entire handful of credits he’d been tasked with handing off earlier that day.

“I’ll pay you right now. Straight up credits.” he said, flashing an incomplete smile, a tooth or two absent from the lineup.

OOC: It’s like fifty credits MAX

@TheMorrigan

 

[Murtagh Tempest]

The Jedi Knight feigned a calm turn towards the newfound being who had decided to intercede. Apparently this one wasn’t too bright, intoxicated, or simply deaf. Nobody in their right mind would barter with anyone wielding a lightsaber while investigating a death. Except this one, apparently. The Arkansan thug deftly tossed a handful of meager credits to the Vahla, and as a result something strange and almost out of character occured.

His good eye, contrasting with his metal eyepatch, began to flicker and spark with energy. It was a naturally occurring phenomenon among Vahla, something that usually occurred when they accessed the Force. It could, however, be coaxed and used as an intimidation tactic, sometimes subconsciously, such as now. The Rodian slunk back in response, and although Murtagh himself was slightly shocked, he maintained his composure and let his smoldering gaze rest upon the brigand. He calmly pushed the credit back over to the Arkanian, picking his saber up but keeping it in his hand. He wouldn’t be taking any chances, not after a simple beast caught him by surprise during the rescue operations.

“No. This weapon isn’t for sale... and I’m not here to purchase anything. An old man was murdered here yesterday. We had a history, and I’d very much like to find the one who killed him.”

He spoke loudly, loud enough for the entire bar to hear him. At this point, even for a Jedi, his patience was beginning to slightly wane. It was bad enough to learn about a death, even if he hadn’t been tremendously close with the old Captain. The elder had still been a loyalist, just like him. They’d fought in similar battles and lost the same allies, and in the end they both lived with the scars of that conflict. Besides, if the Vahla had been important to his cousin family, then he was important to Murtagh.

“If you happen to know anything, now would be the time. As for you... it’s not smart to be asking to buy someone’s lightsaber. There are some who would kill over a question like that.”

@Flying Blind

 

[Freebeer]

Vajama flinched when he saw the change in the others’ eye. He had never seen anything like it, and found it now much harder to maintain eye contact without feeling a little freaked out. Not necessarily intimidated, but certainly more wary of the man, not wanting to contract whatever disease ailed him “Hey jimbo, yer eye’s a little wonky up in there. You ever see a cutter for that?”

The man wouldn’t be persuaded by credits apparently, he’d need a new strategy. He could always just try and surprise him, snatching it and bolting for his ride off this planet. But that wouldn’t really impress his boss would it? He wanted, no, needed to be clever if he wanted a future in the underworld. He scratched his head, visibly strained as the cogs in his head grinded out ideas. Maybe... no, that required math. Perhaps... no, he didn’t have a tank with him. What if... aha! As the man spoke, he seemed to give him the perfect excuse. Straightening his posture and raising an exclamatory finger he said

“Ah, yer here for that old wrinkle. Why didn’t you say so earlier? We were close he and I, I’ve been drinking to his face everyday since he got deaded. I will gladly help you on this mission, a real whodunit. I want rematch against that sleemo who got my buddy. Whatever his face. Freebeer, at your helping you.” ending with a small bow in the man’s direction.

He threw the credits at the bartender now. “Drinks for the road barkeep! What’s a hunt without beer to help us along, eh?” if all else failed, perhaps the man would be a happy drunk and just give him the weapon.

@TheMorrigan

 

[Murtagh Tempest]

Murtagh wasn’t certain what was more shocking. The fact this addled mercenary knew the old Captain from his loyalist days, or the fact that this being was attempting to deceive a Jedi. Even if Murtagh wasn’t a Jedi, he was still Vahla - and though he was more trusting than most of his kind, he was still naturally suspicious as all Vahla were. Such was the price of years, historically recorded, of borderline mind slavery will do to a race, once their homeworld was lost their reputation still cast them as dark and dastardly beings.

“My eyes glow and spark when I feel intense emotion, or use my abilities. It’s a natural part of my kind - I assure you it’s perfectly fine. The only issue I have with my eye is the one that no longer works.”

As he finished responding, he motioned to the metallic aurodium eyepatch. Had it not been for the efforts of his distant ancestors, the Vahla would perhaps have always been viewed with superstition and hate. Thanks to their inclusion and loyalty to the Jedi Order in times past, however, his race built a new reputation of strength and honor. Though the Tempest could not immediately sense what the being was not mentioning or withholding from him, he nonetheless made note not to openly trust this one. Not until they were proven capable of trust in the first place.

“Hmm. It has been some time... though I have never heard of you until now. Odd, you seem like quite the character. Anyhow... I’m Murtagh. I won’t say no to offered help, especially if it’s from a good place.”

His eyebrow raised slightly as Freebear elected to ask the bartender for drinks. He was already intoxicated - perhaps this was the being’s way of being friendly and open with a newcomer. Murtagh rarely if ever drank, but yet could still out drink most any non-Force sensitive for one simple reason. The Force allowed him to cheat, filtering out the toxins in his system as he consumes them, ensuring that he was only ever as beveraged as he so desired. He accepted the drink with a curt smile, none too warm but not cold and distant. The Vahla was weary, this much was clear, his weapon still in his grip and his cracking eye observing his surrounding carefully, intent on catching any surprise attacks.

@Flying Blind