The Godless Matron is home to many, resembling a micro-society for those who wish to live outside the typical 'rule' of the galaxy. The Lucrehulk-class battleship's massive hangars have been converted into dwellings as a result. Chute Town is the most notable of these makeshift towns. Many shops and storefronts have been constructed to take advantage of the higher volume of foot traffic. In addition, many ships and crews arrive into Chute Town to sell their "well-earned" commodities, weapons, or artifacts. It is commonplace to find the best and the worst gear the galaxy has to offer, it is only a matter of how big your pocket book is. The 'streets' are patrolled regularly by the crew of the Matron itself, leaving would-be miscreants to be more wary, lest they find themselves on the receiving end of a pirate's sense of justice.

It is built mostly out of spare durasteel panels from derelict ships, dismantled machinery, or any other source or material the pirates could scavenge. It spans the length of the massive portside hangar of the Matron, reaching from it's heavily protected reactor — hidden behind triple-reinforced blast doors and a guard retinue — all the way to the hangar entrance where the many incoming ships unload their cargo. It is more than a mile long, over five hundred feet wide and up to three stories tall, covering most of the floor. Chute Town's streets are a miniature maze, weaving in between buildings on several levels. Verticality is key for the masses of shops and bars to operate without interfering with one another. The main street is nicknamed Murder alley, mostly because all the weapon shops are prominently opened there.

Illumination banks are staggered along the walkways and buildings to provide enough light for the society to function. Still, the 'streets' are left dim with a low hanging fog built up from the collective humidity of so many people in one space. For those calling it their home, there is no such thing as 'off hours'. A large crowd bustles along at all hours, an exotic assortment of individuals from countless planets and the warring gangs that divvy up the territory within. It's the perfect place for those looking to disappear in the crowd.

With tensions running high, Chute Town was far more volatile than it would have been otherwise. Several of the gangs had been stepping outside their territory of late. As yet there had been no outright acts of aggression, though the perceived slights had been steadily mounting for weeks. The cracks in the dam were beginning to show. The crew of the Godless Matron just needed to apply pressure to the right place at the right time to trigger an outright gang war.

To that end, a bounty was put in place. The premise was simple enough. The Herald would grant a measure of clemency to whomsoever cashed in the ID tokens that had been planted on several individuals at random. Such a prize was without measure for not just the gangs of Chute Town, but the denizens themselves.

On the best of days, Chute Town rarely smelt pleasant. The perpetually rolling clouds of fog left the ground coated in a perpetual layer of grimy dew, quietly festering and rusting away at the aging metalwork. The air reeked of unwashed bodies pressing in about the marketplace, of freshly oiled weapons, and boots coated in the mud of foreign worlds. It was almost enough to disguise the growing smell of blood.

While the shanty town was no stranger to murders, the latest string of killings had been disturbing to say the least. At the proclamation of the vessel's self-styled matriarch, prices had been placed at random on the heads of various residents, leaving the battle hungry and the desperate denizens of the Godless Matron to hunt them down. It had not taken long for the death toll to rise. Residents and visitors alike had been cut down in the savagery which had followed, a few of them even bearing the tokens which marked them for death. Others had simply been killed out of suspicion, or were hunters who had turned upon one another in acts of paranoia or greed.

Before long the saner residents had decided to wait this out in their homes, thinning out the thronging masses until the crowds browsing Murder Alley consisted of little more than trained killers. As he pushed his way through the slowly moving, and less heavily armed, crowds Tarvitz quietly wondered how many of them might turn on him upon a whim. Since his arrival, the Jedi had been doing his best to keep his head down, blending in with the mob of bounty hunters, mercenaries and poor unfortunates browsing the ramshackle stalls. That and quietly cursing the name "Edgar Drachen" under his breath every few minutes.

When his old Master had approached him with this particular mission it had seemed so simple at first. Find the craftsman by the name of Theodev Vasdin, call in the debt he owed to his old master, collect the weapon he presented, and leave. Easy, direct, and without any of the usual complications; at least until a disembodied voice had echoed throughout the dilapidated hanger, insisting the residents start killing one another. All of a sudden, his simple and direct mission and devolved into a constant effort to avoid the abrupt fights, threats and borderline gang battles over this insanity. By the time he finally located Vasdin's small workshop, it had been almost enough to make Tarvitz barely react to the sight of the craftsman's life being threatened. If anything, he was more surprised to find only one hunter threatening him.

Clad entirely in black, the hooded assailant was busying himself crushing Vasdin's windpipe. Almost casually holding the small balding human several inches off of the ground, there was no denying the contempt in his voice.

"I will ask again," he said as Tarvitz approached "Where?"

Vasdin whimpered something half-heard in response, then spluttered slightly, eyes bulging as the grip about his neck tightened. Tarvitz sighed at the sight, the slight gesture exaggerated by his helmet's speakers, earning the attention of the two.

"This does not concern you," the figure said, his head half turning towards the new arrival "Leave us."

"Certainly, just as soon as I have spoken with-"

"Leave," he said gain, the finality of the demand evident in his tone.

Tarvitz shook his head in exasperation. He didn't have time for this. Tapping into the Force, the he raised one gauntlet and waved it slightly in front of him as he spoke.

"Your business here is finished, you want to go home."

Despite the hood, Tarvitz saw the figure twitch slightly, and then let Vasdin fall to the ground. He quickly realised it wasn't in obedience to the Mind Trick though. As the craftsman scurried into the relative safety of his shop, he turned towards the Jedi allowing his hood to fall, revealing the horned features of a Zabrak. One whose face was covered in the cruel, jagged black tattoos of a Sith.

"Pathetic," the Zabrak snarled "Did you honestly believe you could bend my will with so cheap a trick."

Well, it had been worth a shot. Knowing there was no way of talking his foe down now, Tarvitz allowed the the familiar thrill of battle to take hold, dragging his pistol from its holster and opened fire.