You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. A popular drinking and dining establishment located in the city of Mos Eisley on the desert world of Tatooine, Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina is run by the Wookiee Chalmun.

A single story building made of sandstone, the cantina consists of a bar area, private offices, a VIP lounge, a private hangar, a basement, and a phony shop in the rear. It caters to all sorts from across the galaxy, with spacious areas and wide arched doorways to allow patrons of all sizes passage. Unsurprisingly, a fair share of these guests lend to the cantina’s seedy reputation.

Entering through a small portal on one side of the building, a small passage curves around into the main bar area. Featuring many themed spigots resembling the heads of IG-series assassin droids, the bar is capable of producing several dozen drinks of Chalmun's own concoctions. Surrounded by eight different alcoves filled with stools, tables, and even a bandstand, the bar wraps from the public area around into the private back room.

It was dark and cool inside of the cantina, much to the Ryn's relief as he tossed off the hood of his cloak and panted. The desert world was not the sort of place he appreciated. Between the heat and overbearing light, along with the sand that seemed to be getting inside of his fine coat of hair, he was miserable. But Chalmun's was a respite, at least from some of the problems that plagued Tatoonie.

He slinked his way through the crowd, trying not to draw attention to himself or the fact that he was a 'thieving little Ryn' as many would say. Not that he didn't apologize when he stumbled into a pair of Weequays having a drink and shuffled himself off to the bar, slapping a handful of credits on the counter. He'd let his feet guide him to the open spot, and as often happened when he wasn't paying attention, the Force.

Kordath Bleu waved at the massive, hairy barkeep and hoped the big guy knew Basic, asking for water with a promise to order a proper drink. The Wookiee grunted at him and slammed a filthy looking cup down, a mostly clear liquid sloshing out onto the countertop. Bleu didn't question it; he'd deal with consequences later if he had to and downed it in one go before taking stock of his immediate surroundings.

A glance to his left earned him a glare from a Rodian who huffed and turned back to his drink. To his right, however, the Ryn felt his bushy white brows lifting and a smirk tugging at his lips. She was taller than he, which he was used to and found rather delightful anyway, and lean. Moreover, the glass in front of her was nearly empty, the last vestiges of amber pooled at the bottom. Turning forward to wave at the barkeep again, Kord waited for the Wook to return, before grinning and pushing some of his credits forward.

"A whiskey, mate, on tha rocks if ya please. And one of whatever tha lass is drinkin', eh?"

This earned him a quizzical, narrow-eyed look from the brown-haired woman. He gave her a half smile and, when their drinks arrived, lifted his in salute to her, "Ta tha bloody heat, yeah?"

She didn't say anything, just staring at him, and the Arconan felt a brush of the Force against him, causing his tail to go rigid behind him. Of course, that's why he'd subconsciously picked this blasted spot at the bar. Was she an Inquisitor? Was that even an issue anymore? Had he just bought a drink for a lady who was going to gut him and skin him to make a handbag? Not that such things weren't par for the course when it came to his luck with women in the Brotherhood.

"Ryn, sensitive, likes his whiskey and propositioning women he's never met before," she ticked off, lifting fingers as she spoke. Kordath felt himself growing more uncomfortable as she went on. "Kaeth told me about you."

He stared at her, trying to gather something more from her impassive gaze.

"All good things, I hope," he mumbled, turning back to his drink.

"Lazy, sneaky, untrustworthy, and with little respect to personal boundaries," she stated, sipping her rum.

"Untrustworthy!?"

This time she lifted an eyebrow, and yet still he saw no signs of amusement from her, "That's the part you hold issue with?"

"Bleedin' Braecen," he grumbled, reaching out with his mental senses to get a feel for what was going on around him. The background 'noise' of the bar would have been overwhelming just a few short years back, but now he was able to rifle through it with some aptitude. From the woman, he felt coldness, indifference, and a sense of wariness.

What tha bleedin' 'ell did Brae tell this lass about me?

His mental scan of the room continued, and while it felt like a few fights were on the verge of breaking out, a common enough occurrence at a spacer bar, something else felt off. He glanced sideways at the woman next to him.

"Does I get a name, at least? Since ya seem ta know who I bloody well am."

"You feel it as well?" she asked, ignoring his question of personal nature. Instead, her brown eyes were fixed on the ceiling of the cantina.

With a sigh and a shrug, Kordath directed his senses upwards, focusing and furrowing his brow. There was life in the ceilings, which wasn't that out of character for a place like this. Vermin got everywhere, after all. But this was teeming, roiling. Simplistic in nature and needs, and the Ryn felt his ears burning at what he was picking up.

"Seems like Chalmun has got himself a bit o' a breedin' problem up there. Hope they hasn't gotten inta tha bottles," he stated, staring at the ceiling. He was about to continue, when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, turning him in his chair. The smell told him it was a Weequay before he'd even made it all the way around, and he saw the woman sidle away out of the corner of his eye.

"Help ya, mate?" Kordath lifted his glass nonchalantly, watching the wrinkly faced man.

The Weequay pointed past him, towards the bar where a handful of credits remained, "Little pickpocket," he began, before a creaking sound was heard over the din of conversation and background music.

Everyone in the bar paused; a noise like that, being heard over everything else going on was alarming to most with a survival instinct. And people without those didn't come to a place like Chalmun's. A crack could be seen, running down a portion of the ceiling, widening and sagging downward, before it finally burst open. Spilling forth was dozens upon dozens of small, reptilian-like creatures with two legs and wedge-shaped heads.

Kordath took advantage of the distraction by kicking the Weequay in the jewels, the Force driving his muscles to unnatural heights, and turned to the woman. She was watching the cascade of creatures with the first look of emotion he'd seen on her face, a cross between awe and subdued amusement.

"Tha hell is goin' on?"

Rasilvenaira lightly rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet as she watched the cascade of cooing and chirping gizkas spilling from the ruptured ceiling. They were glorious. She caught sight of a nearly full bottle of rum on the bar as several gizkas began moving that direction. The Battlelord stepped closer and deftly grabbed the bottle of rum and took a drink. Then she scooped up one of the gizkas in her other hand. The Ryn she'd been sent to find was momentarily forgotten.

It's large eyes blinked as it looked at her, cooing happily, clearly unafraid of the human female. “Aren't you the most adorable thing?” she purred at the small beast. She gently sat the gizka back on the bar, then pulled her comlink out. “Wisp! Get in here now!”

She sat the bottle of rum down, and slipped off her cloak. She gently ushered four of the gizkas into a small group and then scooped them up in her cloak. Soon the whirring sound of a hovering droid could be heard and the form of a seeker droid appeared. The Sith held up the tied ends of her cloak to the droid. “Take these to the containment box on my ship.” Then seeming to have another thought, she raised her voice, “Don't let them eat my cloak!” Rasilvenaira sighed softly. “They'll end up eating my cloak, he never pays attention to that,” she muttered under her breath.

Shrugging, she reached back over for the bottle of rum, took another drink, and then finally turned her attention back to the Ryn. A half smile tugged the corner of her lips as she saw the quizzical, confused look on his face.

“What?” She offered a smirk, “I collect gizkas.”

The Weequay that Kordath had kneed was beginning to get back up and Rasilvenaira made an almost dismissive motion as she used the Force to slam his head back into the floor, rendering him unconscious. “Just stay down,” she growled. “I do despise Weequay.”

“The name's Rasilvenaira,” she finally offered. She sat the rum bottle on the bar and the leaned her back against it as she watched Kordath, one eyebrow arching in amusement. Despite the weapons clearly visible at her belt, the characteristic weapon of a Sith was clearly absent. The Battlelord pulled a throwing knife from somewhere on her person and idly began flipping it.

“So, Braecen suggested you might have information that we might find useful. Given your nature I was rather skeptical, but I was given a job to do, so here I am. At least I got some new gizkas to make the trip worth the effort.” Rasilvenaira lifted her dark eyes to Kordath, “It's up to you how cooperative you want to be, though I'm rather hoping you plan to resist.”

Kordath flashed a cocky grin, and arched a bushy eyebrow, “Well, lass that depends on what ya want ta know, and what ya plan ta do if I don't feel like sharing.”

Rasilvenaira let the throwing knife she'd been flipping vanish back into wherever it came from. She picked up another gizka, smiling at the little creature as she scratched gently along one eye ridge. The Battlelord glanced back over at Kordath and let the gizka hop down to the floor. “Braecen seems to believe you know the whereabouts of certain resources that could be useful to us, and might consider a bit of... creative reallocation?”

The Ryn's eyes widened at the boldness of the implied suggestion.”Ya want me ta bleedin' help ya steal from my Clan?”

The Sith reached back to the bar and grabbed the rum bottle, taking another drink, then frowned as she emptied it. “I don't care where the resources come from, as long as we get them.”

Kordath shook his head, “No karkin' way!”

Rasilvenaira grinned, “We could... negotiate? Maybe a round or two of sabacc?”

The Ryn's tail twitched behind him, but he shook his head, “No dice. I don't gamble with Sith.”

The woman chuckled, “Suit yourself.”

Rasilvenaira gathered the Force to her will and a pair of gizkas hurtled toward the Ryn's head, squawking loudly in protest. The Sith flipped the now empty rum bottle in her hand, gripping it by the neck and moved to follow the gizkas and their distraction. She swept low, actually amused to be fighting someone shorter than herself for a change. The bottle arced out, aimed for Kordath's right knee.

He moved on instinct, which considering the woman attacking him's attitude towards the small, reptilian creatures that had disrupted the bar wasn't likely to earn him any points. The Force screamed multiple warnings at him, and he did what he thought anyone would do in the situation. Kordath fell backward, off the stool he was perched on and watched the pair of gizkas fly overhead as he hit the dirty floor with a grunt. Some glass rained down from above as a bottle hit the seat he'd been in, and he looked up to see Rasilvenaira holding the neck of the rum bottle.

"What kind of monster doesn't try to catch a gizka when it's flying through the air!?"

"What kinda monster bleedin' throws one!?"

Bleu scrambled to the side as she brought a boot down to stomp on him, trying to regain his feet as he scurried under a table. He came up short, choking as his cloak got caught under her foot, and looked back to see a smirk on her face.

"More rodent than man, huh?"

"Keeps me alive," he gasped out, reaching for the catch of his cloak and tugging it apart. As he did so an indignant chirping could be heard, and a small, black disc with arms dropped out of it. The droids single red eye seemed to track from Kordath to Ras in annoyance as if it had been interrupted from a nap.

The Palatinaean stared back, and Kord couldn't tell if she was warring with confusion or how adorable the little ID9 Seeker was. As the Skitters turned in a slow circle, taking in the room like a predator seeking prey, its little arms brought it down into a crouch, before it propelled itself up to a tabletop.

"What in the world is it doing?"

"Oh no," groaned Kordath, covering his eyes in shame, the conflict with the woman temporarily forgotten. He looked for all the world like a pet owner who knew exactly what his fur baby was about to do, and was helpless to stop it.

Skitters stalked across the table, moving slowly and methodically around cups and debris to approach a gizka that was happily lapping up a spilled drink. The pair watched in morbid fascination as the droid's rear arms lifted up the Seeker's body and seemed to shake slightly, side to side.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

"Got that predatory programmin', luv. Methinks tha programmers took their inspiration from bleedin' Nexu."

Kordath winced as the ID9 leaped across the tabletop, pincers grabbing the startled gizka.

"Do not let your droid kill that poor gizka!"

"I wish he was tryin' ta kill it," muttered Kord, reaching blindly towards a nearby table and coming back with a bottle. He didn't question or look, just taking a long swig of burning liquid and trying to tear his gaze away from the display before them. The Skitters was definitely not trying to kill the small animal.

"What is it -- NO! WHY would you have a droid that does that!?" Rasil screamed down at him.

He winced again, taking another drink as his droid continued his business. The Ryn looked around the room; most of the patrons had abandoned the cantina already. Gizkas were running rampant, trilling happily as they played and chased one another through the poorly lit bar. In one of the clearer areas of the floor, he saw a ring of them, bouncing in what had to be a coincidental pattern. He watched as one would hop, then the one to its right would, and then the next and so on as the circle watched a pair in the center.

In the middle of the audience of gizka were a pair of the small-bodied, large-eyed creatures charging one another. Kord wasn't sure if this was them playing, fighting, or mating but it certainly didn't seem practical. With a dull thud, they'd slam their faces into one another and fall over, legs kicking until they righted themselves, then moving away from each other and doing it all over again.

"Oi, luv, does Chalmun's put spice in his drinks or somethin'? This can nae be real."

"Would you please call your droid off of that poor creature? This is sickening!"

"Eh?" asked Kord, squinting and looking back at the table, where the gizka was squeaking in confusion and terror. "Is nae that different from what we was doin', is it? Just tryin' to assert his dominance and all that."

Kord looked around the room again and sighed, "Though if Skitters is intendin' ta do that with tha lot of 'em, I'll be here all bleedin' night."

A snap of fingers brought his attention back up to Ras, "Supplies, Arconan."

"You still on about that?"

He took another drink and stared at her, unblinking. Apparently, her fondness for creatures didn't extend to Ryn.

Rasilvenaira narrowed her dark eyes at the Ryn, “Yes, that's why I'm here, so are we going to discuss the matter or am I going to have to...”

Her words cut off as the horrified squeaking of the gizka that the droid had hold of became too much for her to ignore. With a growl Rasilvenaira hurled the broken half of a rum bottle that she'd still had in hand at the offensive droid. The Sith gave the bottle a bit of a nudge with the Force, making sure it connected with the Seeker droid hard enough to knock it off the table away from the gizka.

The angry Battlelord turned her obsidian-hued gaze back on Kordath. She snarled, “Typical Arconan scum. I knew Arconans were disgusting, perverted wretches, but this is just inexcusable. Now either you come up with information on the supplies I'm after or Arcona is going to be short one Ryn.”

Skitters began to shriek and flail its appendages as a few gizkas gathered around and started to nip and chew at the downed droid. Kord's eyes went wide and he scrambled to his feet, tossing the half full bottle he'd had in his hand to one side. He made a dash to try to rescue his droid from the cluster of gizkas.

“Oi ya wee beasties, ge' off me droid!” He tried to shoo the small amphibious creatures off.

Rasilvenaira growled as she extended the Force to catch the bottle before it could hit the floor. She drew it to her and eyed the label. Thrice damned uncultured heathen. What's he thinking, wasting perfectly good rum like that? She wiped the top of the bottle off and then proceeded to empty it.

Then, striding forward after the Ryn, she reached out, grabbed hold of his fluff-tipped tail and yanked at it.

“Oi leave me tail alone!” he shouted. One hand found a set of the brass knuckles he carried and he threw a punch at the Sith as he spun around.

Rasilvenaira raised her hand to block, but all she had handy was the newly emptied rum bottle. The brass knuckles scraped along the bottle and the punch was deflected but not entirely diverted. The Battlelord cursed as the Ryn's punch dug into her right shoulder. She flipped the bottle to her left hand and attempted to bring it down on the Ryn's head.

The follow through from his swing almost gave him enough of a pivot to avoid the bottle, almost. Instead of his head, it landed awkwardly on his shoulder, the thick glass nearly sending him to his knees as it thumped him with a hollow sound. Bleu hissed and tried to scramble away as she swung again, the bottle catching him across his upper back. This time there was the sound of breakage, and bits of glass spilled off his coat.

"Okay, ow," he grumbled, scuttling under a booth table and tucking in his tail. Kordath recoiled as the jagged end of the bottle stabbed blindly under the tabletop, Ras apparently not wanting to risk lowering her face to his level. "If ye want somethin' from me, lass, tuggin' me tail is nae tha way ta get it!" he shouted.

"Least, uh, not that hard."

The bottle slashing stopped, and for a long moment, Kordath thought he'd gotten through to her. That she was going to be reasonable. Then the table started to shift, though he didn't see her hands grabbing it. He shifted underneath it, getting clear of the feet of the dirty table and waited. While he did, he filled himself with the Force, guiding it down to his hands and holding it in.

Tried ta be civil, I did, tried ta be nice. I can nae go givin' her supplies when a bleedin' war is around tha corner. Sorry, lass.

Finally, the table slid away from the booth, exposing him huddling beneath like a trapped rodent. For half a moment he saw a satisfied smirk on the woman's face as she released her hold and raised the broken bottle once more. Bleu saw her left hand go to her side, unsheathing a hunting knife to add to her threatening demeanor.

"Last chance, Arconan. Give it up, or get ready to bleed."

"Can nae tell ya how many ladies has said that exact same thing ta me, luv."

"You're sick."

He shrugged, "And yer uptight, lass, somethin' I'm sure I could, heh, help ya with if ya gave me half a chance."

The Ryn lifted his tail over his shoulder and wriggled it at her obscenely from his crouching position. She snarled and tensed herself for a charge. Instead, he raised both hands, palms out and smirked. The flash of light sent the entire room into twisted shadows for a moment, searing the Sith's vision and causing many of the gizka to let out shrieks of pain and shock.

Kordath took a deep breath as his assailant reeled back from the blinding Force energy and dashed past her. He felt something tug against his side, a brief but painful sensation as he did so. The Ryn touched where it hurt, and his hand came back with blood. He glanced back, still heading for the door, and saw that Ras had managed to slash him despite her infliction.

"What were tha odds o' that happenin', huh," he mused aloud before turning back to watch where he was going. Not that it helped, his boot landing on a gizka, which squeaked loudly and caused his footing to go out. Kordath went sprawling to the floor in a heap of limbs, surrounded by the tiny beasts. He tried to push up from the sticky, dirty floor, wondering why his side was burning, and why his head felt...odd. Bleu looked over to see a gizka hop towards him, its large eyes seeming to get larger and rounder as it closed in. He blinked, wondering when the little creature's teeth had become long and pointy. A panicked look around the room showed his Skitters dashing out the door, abandoning him to the situation.

Traitor...

"Did you really manage to dose yourself on my blade? Pathetic."

"D..dose? Tha bloody 'ell is goin' on here, woman?"

"Useless. Enjoy the ride, Ryn," sighed Rasilvenaira in disgust, knowing she'd get nothing out of him in this state. Instead, she righted a chair and sat down, crossing one leg over the other and watched as the gizkas's natural curiosity brought them closer to the fallen Ryn. Telltale pupil dilation and a look of confusion told her that the poison from her knife was doing its job.

"RAS!? What tha' hell is goin' on?" he shouted from the floor as the gizkas surrounded him. The drugs pumping through him kept him from understanding that the Sith woman wasn't impressing her will upon the beasts, that this was just their natural curiosity. The innocent looking little creatures were turning into small monsters to the Ryn's doped up mind, with growing fangs and claws.

"Give me what I want, and I'll call them off, Arconan."

Kordath tried to scramble past a few of the gizka, who jumped on his back as he did so. He yelped and rolled on the floor, the ones on his back hopping off and giving him a curious look. To him, it looked like they were gauging the best bits to start chewing on. As he backed himself up, seated against the side of the bar and staring wildly at the encroaching, chirping little beasts, he looked towards Ras. The dark-haired woman had an air of menace about her, with her amused look bordering on threatening.

"Look, luv, I can nae give ya Arconan resources," he managed to spill out. "Me boss lady, she's a helluva lot scarier than ya, even with yer beasties."

"Well, guess you're ready for the slaughter, then."

"I'm nae done!" he cried, tucking his knees in to hug them to his chest, his tail lashing to get away from an inquisitive gizka. "Resistance stocks, now that I'll give ya! Never really bought inta tha whole 'Lotus' poodoo anyway, eh? Few safe houses, should have supplies, yeah? YEAH!?"

She sat in silence for a few long moments, the sense of fear from the Ryn growing, before smiling tightly. "It will have to do. Of course, if I find nothing..."

Rasilvenaira flicked her hand towards the Ryn, and he felt an invisible hand pin him to the side of the bar by the throat. "I'll find you, and so will my pets."

"Fair enough," he squeaked out.

The nimble Ryn wasn't going to be so easily pinned down, or clobbered by an empty rum bottle. Kord ducked under the Sith's left handed swing with her would-be bludgeon, then sidestepped as he drew his dagger.

“Now, lass, ya going abou' this all wrong...” Kord edged sideways trying to circle around the Sith. “Surely we can come to some arrangement...” He offered the woman a grin even though he kept hold of the dagger in his hand.

“The only arrangement I'll agree to is you giving me what I came here for...” Suddenly the Battlelord jerked sideways as a slight motion caught her peripheral vision. She twisted around further and slammed the empty rum bottle down on the Ryn's sneaky tail. Drawing on the Force and her growing anger she pinned the Ryn's tail to the grimy cantina floor and stomped hard on it. The crunch of broken bone and Kord's yowl of pain brought a cold grin to the Sith's face.

Rasilvenaira flipped the bottle back to her right hand and then slid the Arashi-Kumori from its sheath at her side. The wicked double bladed dagger didn’t reflect even the tiniest hint of light, matching the pure darkness of the Sith’s glare.

A malicious smirk flicked across her lips as Rasilvenaira sank even deeper into the darkness that dwelt within her. Bending the Force to her will, the darkness seemed to pour forth from her, enveloping the Ryn in utter blackness. Just as quickly, the assassin seemed to vanish into thin air. Rasilvenaira gave a quick, high pitched whistle that panicked the horde of gizka milling around.

Kord spun around trying to catch any hint that would tell him where the Sith had vanished to even as he sought a way to extricate himself from the clinging shadows. Hearing sounds and sensing movement rushing at him, he struck out with his dagger. Each hurried strike was rewarded with the gurgled cry of a slain gizka, but no trace of the Battlelord.

He felt a sharp pain sear its way into his right side, but when he tried to lash out at the source of that pain he met nothing but empty space. He could feel blood running down his side. The Arconan muttered curses under his breath as one gizka latched onto his already abused, broken tail. Another seemed determined to cling to him and was chewing on his hair. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the blackness faded, causing the Ryn to blink as his eyes attempted to adjust to the rapid change in lighting.

Kord turned around again just in time to stagger back a step as a metallic form slammed into his chest. He grunted at the pain of the impact and glanced down to see his droid Skitters, or rather, the empty husk of what remained. He glanced up angrily as he heard a thunk.

Rasilvenaira perched on the bar, a bottle of rum in one hand, her bloodstained double bladed dagger in the other- casually stabbing the bits and pieces she’d ripped out of the Seeker droid. “Fixed your droid for you.” Then she glanced down at the dead gizka spread around the Ryn, and she frowned.

“Look here, lass, ya didnae need to go breakin’ me poor droid, Skitters was nae hurting anything.” He glanced at the broken droid body that had been hurled at him.

“It was a wretched, malfunctioning menace, just ask the poor gizka.” Hopping down from the bar, the Sith took a long drink from the rum bottle and sat it beside the bits of droid. “But, Braecen will get what he wants.”

“No he…” Kord stopped short as his eyes focused on a small card the Sith held up. He reached into his pocket and then his eyes went wide with the realization that the Battlelord had stolen his ident card, “Give that back!”

“Why would I do that? Though, to be honest I’d rather turn you into a Ryn-hide gizka bed, it might be fun seeing how you try to explain this.” She grinned as her dark eyes caught the gizka still happily clinging to the Ryn’s hair. “Besides, I’d hate to disturb a nesting gizka, she’s so happy in your hair.”

Rasilvenaira tucked Kord’s ident card into a pocket and reached back to grab the bottle of rum. With a mock salute to the Ryn, she headed for the door.