The birds were silent..
The air was still..
It was a chilly night..
Waar surveyed his surroundings immediately. The Rattataki hitman of Clan Vizsla always tried to maintain an advantageous position, regardless of the circumstance. Fortunately, it was an ordinary night on Felucia, save for the coming bloodshed.
For days he had been tracking a group of pirates said to possess the last of a hot commodity; an item of great value, more valuable than any other trinket found in the midst of the galaxy's rampant pandemic. It was the last roll, and it would belong to the Iron Throne's Hound.
He licked his lips and clenched his buttocks as his sanguine eyes scanned the horizon. Smoke billowed from a small settlement's fire and his mind shifted to various outcroppings and overhangs, terrain suitable for laying in wait like the predator he was.
With Oathbreaker embraced like an old friend, he shifted through the dense brush, careful not to spook the fauna or crack the flora. Lady luck served him well, yet again, as it just so happened that overlooking the camp was a cluster of trees, one laying against the other, creating a natural perch.
One by one he counted the pirate crew, stopping at five new faces. He expected more and was somewhat disappointed, but the smaller party drew less attention. Sniffing them out was more difficult but obviously not impossible.
Opportunistic, Waar Duum waited for the right moment, controlling his breathing as the Force spoke to him.
Wait. Wait for it. Wait." It was like a nagging voice within the back of his mind. But those same instincts were proven to be exceedingly useful to him throughout his life.
"Now," it gave the order.
The scope was on target and with an exhale, he depressed the trigger. The thumping shot was felt but not heard as it struck in silence. Blood sprayed from the Human, possibly a Corellian by his attire, as the slug exited the opposite side of his head and his body folded onto the table in front of him.
Easing his adrenaline, Waar controlled the beat of his heart with the help of the Force. The Augur slowed his breathing as a Zabraki target rounded the corner, a hand-lamp swinging to and fro as he approached his downed comrade.
Waar's finger pulsed and another shot tore free from the barrel, the slug screaming towards the target's chest cavity, obliterating flesh and bone as it pierced his heart.
It couldn't have been more perfect. As he swept the barrel of his rifle to the left, lined up in his scope was a Twi'lek and from the looks of it, another Zabrak conversing with one another. The Twi'lek's lekku were still, there was no wind. Full lips slithered into a smile as the Zabrak swayed. "Now!"
His instincts were never wrong when it came to marksmanship. Another thump, this time the slug fired had two bodies to chew through as it pierced the Twi'lek's spine and penetrated the throat of the Zabrak on exit. Both figures dropped.
"Then there was one.."
The fat-cat, a Togorian bearing the insignia of a Captain slipped into the hut but never came out. His crew were obviously on watch -, it was a shame they had no idea they were being watched. The Rattataki assassin slid down from the tree and slung his rifle onto his back as he swam through the foliage. As he reached the edge of darkness he took a knee and after surveilling his surroundings, never took his eyes off of the hut.
It was dark inside save for the flickering of a fire beneath the hearth. Kneeling down beside the door, he punched the control pad and the metallic seal opened, revealing the contents inside. Yet, something felt wrong as he breached. Instantly, a roar erupted from behind him and the same feline he had been stalking was now lunging from a darkened corner. As Waar turned towards the sound, four claws sliced into his scalp causing him to stumble back, blood tinting his vision. Another roar snapped him back to his senses but the large beast gripped him by the throat and pinned him to the wall. Snapping jowls could be seen as the Togorian fought back against the forearm pressed to its throat. Duum growled in the struggle but reached down to the vibro-dagger strapped to his ankle. Releasing it from its sheath, he guided its serrated edge straight up the Togorian's belly, spilling blood and guts to the floor with a clean stroke.
The threat slumped away and Waar sank back to the floor. As he wiped the blood from his eyes he could see it. In a case at the opposite side of the room it was showcased like a trophy. It was the last roll. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to it, smashing through the glass containing it with the butt of his knife. His fingers could finally touch it as he pulled the ply from the case and held it to his chest.
"Just in time," he thought, as a deep bellowing rumbled from his under-carriage.