It had been a long and unforgiving day on the planet Taris. The Emperors Hammer were busy in their endeavor to take hold of the planet, they had sent strike teams to support local militia who were sympathetic to their cause. Taris, being a wealthy supporter of the Brotherhood, could not be lost. With that, our battle team was called upon to exterminate any Imperial forces, which we did with extreme prejudice.

While there was without a doubt more Imperials, I and a few other warriors had done our sweep for the day and came off with twenty kills between the four of us. With our job done for the day, my unit went for a drink at a place called Javyars Cantina. My unit was composed of four individuals, myself the senior most warrior at the rank of Acolyte. The other members were two apprentices named Saydi and Albatros, and a Novice named Athrun Zala.

“Hey Marduss”, Saydi asked, “When do you think the imperials will finally get off Taris?” Pondering the question, I replied “Well, that’s hard to say, the Imperials are a bellicose force, but they are strategic. They most likely will back off world once they’ve lost to much, realize they can’t take on Dark Jedi without proper force wielders, or will leave to gather reinforcements.” With a frown, Athrun looked shook his head, “That’s over simplified, no Imperial is going to think they can be defeated, especially when they have numbers like do now– “

“An interesting point, but even 501st legion troops can’t challenge a well-trained force wielder on their own and expect to win.” I paused briefly to take a sip of my juice. “Besides, these strike teams are human recruits and hammer-head sympathizers, they’re no better than lightly trained militia with the most basic marksmanship, if any it all.” All the while the three of us were talking, Albatross had been listening patiently, not knowing what to add to the conversation, “Isn’t this all speculation? I mean, we don’t know much of about what’s going on with the hammer-heads, could they have elite units here too?”

“Yes, but its unlikely we’ll see them. Elite units will lead an inside mission, standard units will supervise the militia, and the sympathizers will do most of the dirty work.”

“Probably more work than you’ve ever done, you spineless whelp.” This charming comment came from a heavily drunken, but still conscious, middle aged man. He appeared to be middle aged with dirty matted brown hair at shoulder length, glassy eyes, and was exceptionally skinny, which was emphasized by the bagginess of his clothes. Behind him a rag tag group of men of different shapes, sizes, species, and ages formed. If it wasn’t obvious to the others, we were looking at a group of imperial sympathizers, who had obviously taken to the promises of a better life under imperial rule.

“You Dark Jedi and Sith Lords have been plaguing Taris for years, using your influence and wealth to gain resources from our people, the Emperors Hammer Strike Fleet is here to free us from the fate you’ve made us suffer.” The drawl from his voice was like a bad movie, and the words were so slurred by his liquor it sounded like “Yooo ‘ark Jdi an’ Sit Lorrs’….” While I could normally brush him off, the others weren’t so keen to be insulted, and the fact that twelve drunken patrons had surrounded us hadn’t helped to avoid a strenuous exercise either.

Then came the two mistakes the drunk patron made, the two things someone could not say to me and expect to be forgiven without retribution, “You piles of filth are uglier than Hutt’s, and I could take you out all by myself even if you had one of your ‘flashy light up sticks’, and when I do, the Strike Fleet will see me as a hero and….” I wasn’t even listening anymore, no one took a superior tone with me when they were so clearly below me, and above all, no one ever affiliated me with such a repugnant species as the Hutt’s. This man needed to be taught respect, no, he needed to be taught his place while in my presence. On my heel, I turned and planted myself in my broken gate stance, and let loose such a high kick that I could feel the drunken patrons jaw shatter under my foot. He flew through the air and collided with a table, then the others rushed us.

A tipsy twi’lek approached Albatross’s blind side, however he did it, Albatross saw him coming and delivered a vicious jab to the alien’s abdomen. The twi’lek curled into a fetal ball as it hit the ground, he would not bother us again. A second patron attacked Albatross, this one receiving a vicious right cross and suffering a jagged gash as well as losing several teeth.

Between them, Athrun Zala and Saydi were handling themselves, using a combination of Duron and Hapan. The two had each other’s backs, when an enemy approached one, Saydi would sweep his legs or chop at his neck, while Athrun would either kick him across the room, punch him to the floor, or throw him into a table. My favorite comb was when a particularly violent patron brought a broken glass at Saydi. She intercepted the mans wrist and twisted it at an odd angle and, his face wracked in pain, the man dropped it with a scream. Athrun was not so gentle, with a powerful charge, he brought his fist over the man’s head and brought it down with such force, the patron bounced when he hit the ground.

I had my hands full with three other drunks, each came at me one after the other. A Bothan came at me and tried to naw on my face, I side stepped him with ease and delivered a body shacking punch to his five foot tall hide. It was a knockout punch to him thanks to his heavy inebriation. Another human attacked me, but got nowhere as I caught his fist in my hand and pulled him forward. I brought my knee into his lower ribs and felt something crack under the man’s skin. As he reeled back, I delivered a forceful jab to the neck, and he as incapacitated for a few moments. The third one was not so drunk, and I not being very attentive to him, actually took a punch to the face. I shrugged off the pain, and from the look on my face, scarred the life out of this one patron. In one stiff motion, I picked up the man and threw him into the shelves of alcohol behind the cantina’s counter. Every bottle and shelf shattered on top of him as he lay on the floor.

The last two patrons who were at the back of the mob had possession of some brains, and fled the bar. The original offender was moving slowly, trying to stand from his spot on the floor but being unable to. He looked up at me, fear in his eyes, he was humbled and would not try anything this time.

“Next time,” I started, “I will break you in two or worse. Do not ever disrespect me or the brotherhoods warriors, as others will not be as forgiving as we are.” And with that, the four of us payed our tab, got up and went, leaving the patrons to roll around on the floor in pain or come too from their agony.

Kul'tak Drol smiled briefly at the rowdy group he had found himself with, his fellow battleteam members accompanying him to one of the local cantinas to celebrate his recent promotion to Acolyte. He was filled with a bit of pride that his new master, the Knight Taranae Rhode, had decided to come as well. One of the other Acolytes, Kythar, was pounding Kul'tak's back in congratulations. Kul'tak looked back at him and gave him a witty look. As witty a look as the solemn face of a Zabrak could muster, anyway.

"You seem awfully excited, Kythar, I suppose that means you're buying the drinks tonight, right?"

Everyone laughed and heartily agreed with this idea. That is, except for Kythar. He stopped in the middle of the street, barely missing getting knocked over

"Hey wait...that's not cool."

Everyone had already made their way to the door by that point, so his complaint fell on deaf ears. Kul'tak was one of the first to the door and looked up at the flashing sign out front: The Sleezy Sith

"Um. Does the owner not think the Sith will be offended by this, master?" Kul'tak looked to Taranae.

"I doubt that, Apprentice. The owner is a Sith.”

“Oh…hm.”

They all bundled inside the already packed cantina and took the last remaining seats at the bar. Kythar came in warily, unsure if the previous banter had been completely unserious. Then he was pushed through the doorway rather abruptly as the Discipes of Dreypa team leader, Ophelia Delacroix, made her entrance. She was clearly looking forward to the gathering, a smile plastered across her face.

“Out of the way, Acolyte. This may be the last chance we get to relax before the upcoming operation on Bosthirda, and I’m thirsty.”

As she squeezed in between some of the other members to get a good seat, Kythar heard her raise her voice a bit:

“Drinks are on the Acolytes tonight everyone!”

Both Kythar and Kul’tak groaned while the house yelled their approval of the two’s generosity.

Realizing there would be no fighting it, Kul’tak happily ordered drinks for his compatriots while grabbing Zabrak Ferment for himself. Some said the beer was just as good as Corellian brandy, but Kul’tak found it to be more so. It caressed the palate before sliding down to light a fire in one’s stomach. Flavored like Bantha fodder, though..

The Zabrak glanced around at his fellow team members who were enjoying themselves when his master, Taranae, stood from her seat and offered a toast to her apprentice. Everyone nearby automatically became quiet, even the everyday clientele who really had no reason to join in but had for the heck of it.

“To my apprentice. May you rise through the ranks quickly, and stop calling Brimstone ‘Gramps’ before he cooks you over a fire.”

The crowd followed with a hearty “Hear Hear!” and drinks were downed as Kul’tak thanked his master for her words, smiling at the mention of his joke about her master being like his gramps in the Force. The Chiss hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he had, though. Hence the fire reference.

Sitting with the other lower ranked members of the team, Kul’tak enjoyed his drink while attempting to listen in on Ophelia and Taranae’s conversation that had struck up. They were discussing the upcoming assault on Bosthirda, what they knew so far and what the Disciples of Dreypa battleteam might be called to do during the conflict. Intrigued, Kul’tak attempted to get up so he could move slightly closer, but was blocked as a large Cathar blocked his path and pushed him back to his stool. Some of his fellow members took notice and set their drinks down. Confused about if he had accidentally bumped into the Cathar somehow, Kul’tak bowed slightly.

“My apologies. I didn’t see you there.”

Kul’tak attempted to scoot around the feline humanoid, but it grabbed him by the scruff of his cloak and set him back down again on his stool. Getting annoyed, Kul’tak tried to keep down his anger lest he do something rash while he was out to relax a bit after studies.

“Do we have a problem? I’d like to sit with my superiors if you don’t mind.”

The Cathar sneered and several more appeared behind him. They only had eyes for Kul’tak, and he had this strange feeling something was about to go horribly wrong tonight. The obvious leader, the massive one, finally spoke. His voice took on a hissing quality that was filled with venom. Kul’tak wondered if he had Sluissi friends.

“Cathar are proud race, we strong. One day Droran see ship. Out of ship come red and black creatures with horns. They attack Droran’s home, kill many Cathar, take many Cathar warriors from their mates. Now Cathar get revenge by killing red demon right here.”

As if to punctuate his seriousness about the matter, his fist left a message on Kul’tak’s face that said “POW!” Suddenly wondering why there were suddenly stars inside the building, Kul’tak shook his head and forgot the pain. He realized that this may get him in deep trouble, but he couldn’t let this insult go unanswered. He immediately threw himself at the Cathar, driving his head into the creature’s midriff. The other Cathar moved in to help, but were stopped as the rest of the Disciples of Dreypa jumped into the fray to aid their comrade. It occurred to Kul’tak that they may have just been itching for a fight.

The cantina became a scene of mayhem as fist and foot made contact with face and flesh. Some of the other clientele did not know what the reason was, but began to pound on each other regardless. A slap from an inebriated wookie sent one poor Rhodian into the next era.

Taranae and Ophelia had originally tried to stop the fight when they saw what was happening, but joined in when two burly felines smacked them with poofy paws. They made it clear to the others to not use Force abilities, period.

“Last thing we need is a busted up cantina with our name on the damage.”

Droran was intent on unleashing divine retribution on Kul’tak, and all the smaller Zabrak could hope to do at the moment was get a bit of space so he could move a fair bit more. The Cathar swung claw after claw, aiming for the throat. When he couldn’t get through Kul’tak’s faster reflexes, he would attempt to grab the acolyte and pin him for sure victory. Kul’tak used the looseness of his cloak to throw off the Cathar’s depth perception, and so it would often grab the slippery fabric instead of flesh and Kul’tak could maneuver his way out of reach again. He noticed the other apprentice ranks and novices were managing to hold their own against the other Cathar.

Kythar was still trying to figure out why he was pounding on a Cathar in the first place. One second he was enjoying his drink, and the next he had turned to see his team mates engaging in a bar brawl. He wondered if other promotion celebrations went this way. As he forced a knee into the ribs of his opponent, he couldn’t help but decide he was enjoying his time in Clan Plagueis very much. Never a boring day to be found anyway. To be completely honest, he could care less. He just hoped this could be a way of showing his ability to his superiors.

Taranae removed her fist from a Cathar’s kidney and wiped away a strand of her fiery hair. Looking to Ophelia, who was happily beating two of the larger Cathar into submission, she posed a question: “So how did this mess start anyway?”

“Not sure, but they seem to have originated around your apprentice over there,” she nodded her head in the Zabrak’s general location. Taranae sighed, of course it did. Feeling the coming of a headache, she downed what was left of her drink and headed over to where her apprentice was a blur of black fabric tangled up with a rather large furball. She stopped just short of the pair and watched as the Cathar picked up Kul’tak with both hands and lift him off the ground with little struggle. The Zabrak squirmed around a bit before both fighters noticed the woman watching them. Turning their gazes towards her, they both had a grim look about them that was amazingly similar. Taranae had to force herself to keep a straight face as she addressed the two, “So my young apprentice, found a new friend?”

Kul’tak and the Cathar looked back at each other for a second before returning their attention to the Knight. “Hmph. Droran and I were just having a discussion about mistaken identity. Just a small spat among fellow warriors. We were just—“ Kul’tak couldn’t finish as he was suddenly dropped to the floor. Taranae had somehow crossed the distance between them and landed a powerful right hook to the Cathar before either one could register she had moved. The Zabrak rubbed his backside as he stood up. The bar was beginning to calm down a bit, though a few Cathar still wanted to continue fighting. Droran wasn’t moving except for his breathing, so Kul’tak assumed he was done for the night. He made a mental note to not stand too close to his master’s right side.

Ophelia seemed to be having the most fun as she danced around the room, her metallic cyborg parts clanking. One of the few Cathar left attempted to surprise her from behind, but was met with the spinning kick of a solid alloy leg and dropped like a stone. The last two gave each other despairing glances before receiving a similar manhandling, one became acquainted with her gloved fist and the other given a swift kick to the rear as he retreated and smashed his head against a support pole. She stood straight with a pleased scowl on her face at having broken something, and gathered all the Disciples back together. The Disciples looked around at the carnage that had taken place. Cathar littered the floor like furry mops ready to be used for cleaning. Even the other drunken patrons had quieted down into a more sober mood, most of them choosing to leave in case anything else went down.

“Alright team, I’d say that’s enough fun for one night, everyone back to the Plagueis house before I thrash you too.” The flickering flames in her eyes were cause enough for the younger members to take off for the Clan house, dust flying from their rapidly fleeing boots. Taranae stood beside her team leader and watched the scene with slight amusement. Certainly an entertaining bunch. Hopefully they would be ready for Bosthirda.