Anakin once visited Coruscant’s underbelly, as an escort for Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s secret visit. Festering within the 2685th level of Coruscant, it is a feeding ground to the best and worst criminals—bureaucrats among them. Slaves and contraband are bought and sold on the hour, while others gamble with their lives or ill-gotten gains on the roll of a chance cube.

Others are content to seek entertainment, watching holographic projections of exotic dancers in various states of undress—the likes of which will no doubt be traded as slaves in exchange for credits or other services. Games of chance are often obscured under the sheer volume of patrons gathered around the game tables. Smaller round tables serve for social or business gatherings, with more discreet booths tucked into alcoves along the walls.

Having undergone unfinished renovations at some point, the ceiling has been raised to resemble that of a warehouse. Smoke gathers among the durasteel supports, making a buffer for the intense red and violet beams lighting the cesspit below. Zeltron perfumes are among the most common smells in the establishment, while the rolling of dice cubes make for the most recognizable sound above the music. Fights don’t often break out, and violence is often dissuaded at the sight of armoured bouncers several heads taller than most humanoids

The sights, the sounds, the smells, even the taste - it was all recognizable to Xolarin, even familiar. He was shamed, in a way, that he remembered this type of place from his days long ago before the Brotherhood. In fact, he remembered this particular space at Kasakar. That was why he told his contact to meet him here. There was more to know about Tarthos, and not all of it was on Tarthos. And now that Clan Naga Sadow had returned to the Orian system, he wanted more.

His thirst almost blinded him, but then a familiar face approached him. It wasn't his contact, but one of the Sadowans that helped secure the Cathedral. What the heck was he doing here?

"Hello, Master," came his voice.

They did not work together much, but Xolarin recognized him. "What brings you here?" he asked. "I didn't really broadcast where I was going..." He didn't tell anyone - not even Muz or Hilgrif.

"Ah, there are only a few places one could go." That wasn't quite true. "But I also checked our House logs."

Xolarin gave him a glare from under his hood. The Markosian before him was in plain clothes, although with recognizable outer robes and some other key accessories from the House. Xolarin was also in lower-key garb, leaving his honored armor from the last great war in the Brotherhood behind this time. They both provided the same effect, but he was beginning to like his new war armor. Alas it was good to be less flashy in these parts.

"I came to warn you."

Xolarin looked up and more straight at the man, still standing next to the bar table Xolarin was at. "Warn me of what?"

There was a sort of flicker in Xolarin's mind - something didn't add up, and his senses were telling him something was off. The Mystic looked around the bar and could not hone in on what was bothering him. As if by an instantaneous action, he was thrown back across the room, toppling several small tables, stools, and patrons. There were several screams and spilled drinks as the folks in Club Kasakar tried to figure out what happened. Xolarin shook his head and looked back towards his friend, only to see someone quite different.

The gold and white-clad individual stayed right where he was. "Of that," he finally answered the question that Xolarin forgot he asked.

Several guards from the doors and walls came forward almost instantly, but seeing the figures of Solaar and Xolarin, they did not engage. Xolarin stood, checking himself and then looking back at his new opponent. "You're not my contact or my clan-mate," he said dumbly, but adding. "So who are you?"

Solaar did not answer and instead thrust out his hand again. This time there was a nudge in Xolarin's mind just as the attempted slam came forward. The former Jedi reached his own hand and pushed back, their mutual forces meeting in the middle and exploding a nearby table, wafting out the sides and pushing a couple bystanders down.

With a few seconds of pause, Xolarin breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, focusing his energies on the gold and white one. Using his connection to the Force he tried an old trick and tried to sort of slow down Solaar, or perhaps make it harder for him to do his own little tricks. It was nothing something Xolarin was good at, but it might buy him an extra few seconds.

"What do you want?" the Markosian finally asked.