Inhabiting a large depression in the Dune Sea of Tatooine rests one of the oldest creatures beneath the twin suns. A hundred meters of the sarlacc's gargantuan body lies buried beneath the sand, concealing its several stomachs which digest its living meals over one thousand years. Intent on swallowing its prey whole, the sarlacc's mouth and beaked tongue reside in a sinkhole several meters wide beneath the shifting desert, ringed with concentric rows of spear-like teeth to keep victims from clambering to safety.

Although the Great Pit of Carkoon is not visible from a distance unless one is able to gain a significant vantage over the sands, those who draw near enough to see it are often within reach of the sarlacc's tentacles—appendages branching off its buried form that can be used to latch onto unsuspecting prey and drag them into its gaping maw. Jabba the Hutt once held great entertainment in watching his prisoners struggle against the saarlac’s inescapable hunger; the remnants of his lavish sail barge, the Khetanna, now decorating its feeding ground as a marker.

Beyond the pit, the deserts of Tatooine represent their own dangers between the blazing twin suns and the frigid nights. Civilization is a long ways away, and the nearest city is not a walk to be made on foot by even the toughest of species.

Night had fallen over the sands of Tatooine, and Hevan Slavis walked the dunes. He had been on the planet to negotiate a trade deal, but had received a distress call from the desert. He had been travelling for a little over a day now, moving during the night. Hevan always felt at home in the desert, he loved the quiet and the sounds of shifting sands. By now, he was homing in on the distress signal, silently creeping his way over a dune. There, on the other side, lay a shuttle baring the mark of Clan Vizsla to the sky. It had hit the dune head on and was halfway buried in sand. Debris was scattered from when the shuttle had clearly hit the dune on the other side near the top.

Hevan walked down, listening acutely for any movement. He was silent, save for the slight rustle of his clothes, and left hardly any footprints in the sand behind him. The cargo bay of the shuttle was halfway open, and Hevan could hear a slight snoring from within. He crept inside, pausing to let his eyes adjust before continuing. A few bodies lay slumped, strapped into chairs, but Hevan's focus was on a dark shape laying on a bench. It snored quietly, and would have been hardly noticeable if they had been a strong wind outside.

Hevan coughed loudly and the form jolted awake, pointing something at Hevan while it adjusted to the dark. A lightsaber flashed to life, dousing the shuttle bay into a bright blue light. It was only then that Hevan realised the thing pointing at him was a blaster pistol, but it dropped upon Hevan taking his hood off.

"Hevan Slavis. Clan Plagueis. I received your call." Hevan's voice was quiet, hardly above a whisper, but Azler heard it all the same.

"Azler Wilder. Clan Vizsla. Good to hear that someone's alive on this blasted heap of sand." Hevan offered a hand, helping Azler to his feet.

Hevan gestured outside and pulled his cloak tighter around him. "We should move. The sun will rise soon, then we will die."

The two left, Hevan guiding Azler to the top of the dune. They could see far and wide, and Hevan pointed at a dark shape about 4 km out. "There. We shall make refuge in that for the day, then move again overnight."

They clambered down the dune, sand slipping around their feet as they did so. Hevan, even now, hardly left footprints, while Azler left long marks in the sand from when his foot would slip. The two walked in silence, Hevan somehow keeping track of their position relative to their refuge. Every so often, they would have to climb a dune again, leaving the Azler panting and exhausted. Hevan forced rest breaks on him, and knowing the dangers of exhaustion in the desert, would give him as much time as he needed to feel better.

"How do you know what direction to go?" Azler had a point, the dunes were hundreds of meters apart and they could not tell what angle they should be moving at. Hevan pointed at the ground with a shrug.

"The wind formed these ages ago. But, the wind still makes dunes down here." He gestured at hundreds of tiny dunes forming. "We cross these at a constant angle, and if we deviate I will know."

They continued. As the first of the twin suns rose, they reached their refuge. It was a long destroyed sail barge, burnt out and large pieces of debris lay strewn around, half buried in sand. But, someone was home. A orange cloth was used as a sunshade in between the destroyed ribcage of the barge and several speeders lay outside.

The two got down, laying in the sand just behind the ridge of the dune. A shuttle flew overhead and landed just outside the wreck, sending sand flying as its repulsors pushed against the ground. Several figures exited and walked into the wreck, but 3 of them broke away and began patrolling the outside.

"What's the plan here?"

"Stand up and act lost. Trust me." Hevan murmured and disappeared into the sand, burying himself head to toe, and if Azler had not seen him do so, he would not know he was there. He stood up, yelling for help and waving. 3 of the pirates? Mercenaries? Whatever they were, they came running, holding blasters and various weapons. Azler retreated slightly, putting Hevan in between them and him. They crested the dune, shouting something in huttese, yelling something that they would never finish. Hevan burst from the sand in a large cloud of sand, and by the time it had dissipated, the 3 were dead and Hevan was already dragging them further away.

Wilder watched the man dragging the bodies, clearly intent on hiding them away. His gaze only lingered for a moment though, looking over in the direction of the main group. While the Scout had gone to great lengths to maintain his quiet manner, unfortunately the trio who had come to them had not, and the larger numbers had heard the shouting, another number making their way over.

Blue eyes glanced at Hevan as the Priest thought quickly. The man had his strengths, and Azler wanted to continue utilizing those.

“Careful! There’s a pit!” The Sith shouted, raising one hand out from his cloak and waving as he moved to the side, away from Hevan as he hid the slain men. He didn’t know a lot about this world, but that was just about the only thing that came to mind to explain a series of sudden disappearances.

Unfortunately, it appeared quite plainly that they either didn’t believe or understand him as they continued their approach, guns raised. Time to adapt.

“Surrender!” Arms thrown into the air, Azler began to meet them as he repeated the word in each language he knew.

The firearms remained trained on him as he approached, but thankfully their eyes did too. One moved forward, a mask and hood disguising his features, and patted the Priest down, claiming his two guns and paired sabers. As they came into view, the surrounding enemies tightened their grips on their weapons, clearly not pleased by the discovery, but luckily for the man, clearly they were not willing to put him down immediately. He had their attention before; now he demanded it. Wherever his partner was, Wilder had ensured they wouldn’t go looking just yet until he was ready.

Stepping forward when the group moved to guide him, he trekked over the mound and towards the wreckage that they had come to visit. With his view now level with the cloth, he saw why the interest was there - apparently a trader had set up and judging by the various barrels, weapons, and chained individuals, a less than reputable setup. In plenty of circles, he knew that most illegal trades weren’t all that illegal, so part of him wondered why the secrecy, especially in this world. Perhaps they were some new setup and didn’t wish to kowtow to bigger groups; maybe they had something more unique, possibly a group that was supposed to have already been eliminated and wished to stay hidden? It was times like these that Azler wished he knew more about the specific politics of each world, but there were far too many worlds, and he cared far more about other things that were personally more important.

Either way, he now had an idea of what further reinforcements would be coming to aid these men.

The Echani took a step forward and planted it with the weight skewed, a simple action that caused a simple reaction—his foot skidding out from under him and causing the man to slide forward. Purposefully throwing his arms out, the man fell onto his back and grabbed at the legs of the men to his left and right, dragging them with him as he began to fall down the dune towards the bottom of it, throwing his arms out to the side in an apparent attempt to slow his slide down the grain to no avail until he reached the bottom.

The side effect of this action was the amount of dust it threw into the air from where he ‘fell’ to where he stopped. At the bottom, the man dragged his arms more forcefully against the sand and threw his weight into his legs, spinning his body and kicking up more as he invoked the spinning motion of his K’thri training. The end result was a large amount of brown dust surrounding his location and leading back to the enemy, something he immediately took advantage of when his hand flew down to his boot, drawing out his dagger.

A quick breath so he wouldn’t have to pull in any more dust than necessary to his lungs, he charged back up the dune as he expanded his senses, feeling out for where his dragged escorts had managed to stop, notably the one who had taken his sabers. Within seconds, a sharp yelp rang out and then cut off, followed quickly by red and blue lights illuminating the dust.

While the enemy quickly took this as their signal to fire, Hevan did the same, and with their backs to him, the muffled sound of his shots mixing with their own, the Scout was able to down the next group of men quickly from his hiding place before they managed to land a shot past the deflecting sabers.

A wave of the red saber cutting through the second man he had dragged in the sand with him was made before the wider blue blade aimed downwards towards the shouts and screams that had begun to call out from below.

“Seems we found either a trade that wasn’t meant to be seen or a market that thinks Black isn’t good enough for them,” calls out the Priest. “Expect a good dozen more men from what little I could see beneath the tent alone, and unfortunately they seem to have some rather rough weapons among them, as well as good old-fashioned explosives. I suspect any attempt at just leaving now won’t go well, but on the bright side, the Brotherhood is fond of Finder’s Keepers, and I’m willing to split half of what we get from this with you and your Clan.”

For a few seconds, as movement continued down below, there was no sound from his situational partner until a man charged out from under the orange cloth, weapon in hand, ready to fight when, silently, he fell to the ground, red splattering the wall behind him. The crack in the air from the Verpine rifle quickly followed, ringing in Azler's ear.

The Priest grinned as he had his answer and brought his sabers up, ready to charge or defend, depending on what their foe brought to bear.