The Vertical City, Nar Shaddaa. They call it the Smuggler's Moon—an apt description based on the myriad of sentients shuffling back and forth with their illegal wares and hidden weapons. The narrow streets below criss-cross endlessly, soaring miles above the planet's surface. Exposed and uncovered, the streets offer a nearly perfect setting for someone with some skills with ranged weapons. From a vantage point on the ledge of a towering structure of glass and steel offers a dizzying view of the cityscape.

Simple shops and merchants peddle both legitimate and illegitimate wares. Storefronts are just as plentiful as open-market pop-up tents, and the cantina's adapt the same lowlife air as the rest of the Smuggler's Moon. Enemies could be hidden in plain sight, whether one of the Hutts’ gangsters or mercenaries-for-hire looking to earn some credits. The streets are plagued with violent gangs and the general riff raff of the poor and destitute. The streets may be an ideal place for blasters, but the winding streets are difficult to disappear from. An opponent would be easily boxed in and simple to finish with a few quick slashes of a lightsaber. The moon is dangerous—even for one gifted in the Force.

The chaotic streets of Nar Shaddaa were a new experience for Granta Prackx. The cacophony of noises, smells of all kinds of street food and what seemed like a million different species was almost enough to make her think twice about continuing her visit to the Smuggler’s Moon.

The woman smiled as she watched people avoid her as she moved through the crowd. Both her sheer size and the fact that she carried her weapons openly were enough to intimidate most, even on the relatively lawless Nar Shaddaa. A few others sneered as they passed; Prackx was wearing her old Imperial uniform.

Spotting a nearby cantina, Granta breezed inside.

Let’s see if this place does a good Ebla Beer!

The cantina was even louder and more diverse than the street outside. A small band of Twi’leks attempted to fill the area with music, but the background noise of dozens of conversations drowned the band’s efforts out easily. Prackx pushed her way through the assembled throng of patrons.

“You!” she yelled at the bartender. “One Ebla Beer. And make it snappy!”

In one corner, a male Umbaran turned to regard the new arrival. He quickly scanned her up and down, immediately fixing on her long, red hair. He slapped a few credits down on the table in front of him, leaving the Rodian he was talking to behind as he rapidly moved towards the female.

Granta spotted the man approaching. She was a little taken aback by the fact that he was beaming broadly at her.

“If you think you’re going to get anywhere smiling at me, you’ve got another think coming! I just came in here for a drink,” Prackx stated.

“I know who you are. You’re Granta Prackx,” the male responded.

“You want an autograph or something? Go away!” Granta snapped, beginning to storm out of the cantina.

“Walking away from a fight? I didn’t think someone as big as you would need to be afraid!” the Umbaran shouted.

“What did you just call me!?” the woman demanded, turning furiously towards the Umbaran.

“Kookimarissia has told me all about you,” the alien answered calmly.

“Then you should know what I am capable of. I will assume that you know my little Andrelious too?” Prackx snapped. “I don’t believe I’ve anything further to tell you,” the male responded.

Granta’s brow furrowed. “I want to know where Andrelious is. I wasn’t able to keep track of him after Lord Cotelin’s attack on Karufr,”

“That is not my problem, Prackx. Now, as I said, we are done here,” the Umbaran said.

With a snap-hiss, the crimson blade of a Sith’s lightsaber came into existence. The sheer sight of the fabled weapon inspired panic in the majority of the cantina’s denizens, but its intended target remained unmoved. It took more than a lightsaber to scare Arvalis Raith.

“I’m not going to ask you again. I want to know where my Andrelious is,” Prackx ordered, pointing her blade threateningly at the Umbaran’s throat.

“You just did ask me again,” Arvalis quipped.

With a primal roar, the Human attacked, but Raith was already on the move. He leapt onto the cantina’s bar, sending bottles and glasses flying as he sprinted along. His movements were deliberate, almost graceful, but he was far too concerned with getting away from Prackx’s blade to care about how he looked.

As Arvalis ran, he extracted his BR-5010 from its holster. He took only the briefest of glances to aim his weapon, before letting fly with a triple salvo of slugs.

Prackx swatted the incoming projectiles with her lightsaber, but was forced to slow her pursuit to avoid their molten remains.

“Now who’s afraid?” she yelled at the fleeing Arvalis.

“Have you looked in a mirror lately, or ever?” Arvalis spouted as he holstered the slugthrower. He knew he had to put some distance between them, so he continued along the top of the bar, weaving his way past bottles and different types of glasses.

“You’re quite a big lass, almost thought you were a reek when I first laid eyes on you.” He was quick to note the frustrated frown that quickly painted Prackx’s face. “What chance do I have of going head-to-head with you, I’m not an idiot, Granta.”

He had kinda hoped that the smoldering chaos of the cantina had drowned out most of his words. Then again; bringing enemies out of focus always made for a much more fun fight. When he saw her hand come up, he correctly predicted her next move. Going into a slide, he saw a handful of bottles flying out of the nearby shelf and sail over him.

Predictable. . . the Umbaran thought to himself.

When he came to a stop, he nonchalantly put one of his hands through his hair, almost as if to strike an artistic pose for a holopainter. When he saw an intact bottle within reach, he quickly put it to his lips and pretended to take a swig, taking delight in the angered grumble he heard coming from down the bar.

“Take me seriously!” Prackx screamed, her unchecked fury breaking her voice, as she advanced with deliberate purpose. Her saber cleaving left and right even though her path was clear. “Where. Is. Andrelious!”

Arvalis sat up, his legs swinging about like an impetuous child. His smile still an ever-present feature on his lips. “You just missed him. He slipped out during the chaos you caused when you began swinging that lightsaber about like a fool.” A forced laugh escaped his lungs. “You’re not the brightest are you?”

“I will crush you like a worm!” Prackx shouted, now mere feet from her prey. “I don’t care who you are, but you’re dead!”

“What kind of worm?” the Umbaran dryly responded, dropping the smile.

Prackx stopped dead in her tracks, a dumbfounded look creeping on her face. “W-what?”

“What kind of worm?” Arvalis repeated. “There’s many kinds of worms.”

“Does it matter?!”

“Well. . .” Arvalis sighed. “Parasitic blood worms kill you from the inside out. And have you tried stepping on an earthworm before? They survive being bisected you know. I don’t see how you ‘crushing me like a worm’ is sound logic in your mind.” He snickered.

“. . .” Prackx couldn’t believe her ears. She was expecting an all out bar brawl, not a debate about silly worms. “Fine! Fine! I’ll crush you like a bug!”

Her eyes widened when Arvalis suddenly stood in front of her. In her musings she had lost track of the speedy Umbaran. Moments later her head slammed into the bartop, the distinct sound of glass breaking near and under her face filling her ears, quickly giving way to the stinging sensation of shards piercing and cutting through he skin. Dazed, she felt her face being dragged through more and more broken glass before the motion stopped. The pain quickly shot up, as did the sickening sensation of her own warm blood gushing from the lacerations that marked her face like a sickening abstract painting. She let out a anguished scream before swinging back up, her hands clutching her face.

“You! Mongrel!” she screamed, gurgling up some of her own blood.

The blood in her eyes hampering her sight enough for Arvalis to take the opening. He launched a low kick right below her left knee, buckling it, bringing her down. His own knee quickly followed, connecting squarely with the Warlord’s nose. He could hear and feel the cartilage shift and break. Blood splattered on his clothing, but at least it was not his own.

Granta stumbled back, falling on her behind. Anger boiled up inside of her. How dare he, how dare he make her bleed. She was disgusted with him for laying his hands on her. Disgusted with herself for being drawn into his game. Clutching her saber tightly, she wiped the blood out of her eyes with her free hand. Her eyes locked onto him, the insolent fool who dared make her bleed. Powered by the Force, she sprung to her feet and shoulder charged the Umbaran driving him to the ground.

“You’re dead!” She screamed once more, raising her saber to deliver a mortal blow while the Umbaran was still catching his breath and laid out before her.