Reaver Tra'an Reith di Plagia vs. Jon Silvon

A cesspool of the downtrodden, the Refugee Sector on Nar Shaddaa is home to both the misfortunate and criminals alike. Offering their protection for credits, the criminal organizations that control the sector tax the populace outrageous sums. Unable to provide these fees, refugees are forced to work under hazardous conditions producing glitterstim and adrenals for their overseers. Some of these refugees are addicted to the substances themselves—for which the cartels increase the price of their tithes in exchange for a share of the product.

Crammed with stalls and makeshift hovels, several of the sector’s inhabitants find refuge on the streets and in the alleyways. Those who managed to avoid the dangers of drug production can be found selling their limited and often defective goods to others. Behind these stalls, a selective stock of black market wares is hidden, reserved for mercenaries and thugs.

Littered with garbage, it is obvious that no maintenance droids have been programmed to maintain the sector. The surrounding towers have fallen into decay, bits of debris falling every so often into the middle of the street. The duracrete streets are covered in a film of filth and chemicals from the abandoned warehouses, making movement cumbersome when traveling through the most inhabited areas.

Patrols armed with blasters and vibroswords come through these areas regularly, making a show of force to advertise the merits of their ‘protection’ while extorting the occasional shopkeeper. Screams and shouts are a common enough sound, which is never in the refugees’ best interests to interfere in.

The stench that never quite left the atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa's Refugee Sector filled the air like the smog of Coruscant's lower levels. The smell of rotting garbage, human refuse, and at least one corpse the Hutts had left on display, made the insufferable slum just that much worse to endure.

As his Comlink chimed, Tra'an Reith tapped it softly with his left hand and the communication channel opened to the not so dulcet tones of the current Consul, Alaris Jinn di Plagia.

"Find the Odan Urr Sentinel. Eliminate him, or capture him if you can. He must not leave the moon alive. No other restrictions are present. Good Hunting," the Twi'lek spat out. 'You've been gone a long time Reaver, don't disappoint me," he finished as the line went dead.

Shaking his head, the Kaleesh removed the durable equipment from the side of his head and placed it in a pocket inside his robes, retrieving the scanner that was provided by virtue of his rank as an Inquisitor. Its screen came to life as it traced the last comlink communication from his prey to a suspected gambling den in the heart of the Sector.

Stalking through the night, what little traffic there was gave him a wide berth as he arrived at the cartel's favorite hell hole; The Hutt's Tail.

Pausing at the edge of a nearby stall, Tra'an watched the two guards at the door rough up those entering the black market turned full on den of iniquity. 'Hmmm,' he thought, 'perhaps a distraction is the wiser course of action.'

As a cargo transport passed by, the Sauropod exerted his will and the Force answered. The end of the transport careened sideways into the Gamorreans and their current victim, rendering them into paste. Momentum carried the lorry onwards and it slammed into the structure causing it to shudder from the impact and send debris clattering free from the ferrocrete wall.

The response was exactly what he had feared, as more than a dozen of the pigs emerged wielding vibroaxes and spiked gauntlets, swarming the driver of the lorry and extracting him by force without mercy.

Reading the scanner in his left hand, its lock on the comlink of his target showed the prey moving away, which could best be interpreted as another exit from the building.

Striding down a nearby alley, Tra'an's eyes locked on the distinctive figure of Jon Silvon emerging within a gaggle of persons hanging on his every word. His melodic and measured voice could be heard echoing within the narrow confines of the back alley.

Even so, before the di Plagia could make a move, the Force whispered between them and the Sentinel's head whipped around, clearly sensing the ire aimed at him. The Odanite didn't hesitate to draw his Blaster and fire at a nearby metallic barrier to bounce a shot at his pursuer, only to see the hooded figure lean back as if he knew it was coming and let the bolt pass harmlessly in front of him.

The hood slipped as Tra'an leaned forward, revealing a masked visage of ivory with a crimson scar. The group of people around Jon scattered at the sudden blaster shot, fearing to be anywhere near weapons fire, knowing it would draw the wrong kind of attention in the slums.

The moment passed as Jon began to run even as Tra'an flicked his wrist, dropping his Lightsaber into his palm and thumbing the ignition switch in time for the copper blade to deflect the heavy blaster bolt back at Jon, only for it to be deflected in turn by a blade the color of sunflowers. The blaster fell for a moment before its magnetic tether caught it and pulled it back into Jon's hand as he kept running, not bothering with more shots.

Beneath his mask, a grin stretched across the Juggernauts' face as he gave chase, deactivating his lightsaber and storing it away as he jumped upon a crate to a nearby roof and followed his prey from above.