Like any other day on Daemunn, Euphoria was a bustling den of scantily clad women, fiends looking for their next bump, gamblers seeking riches and members of the Gutter-Boyz scattered throughout. Speeders screaming past the establishment could barely drown out the melodic thumping of Twitch Bordo’s band, the Static Rejects. But try as they may, they failed horrifically.

A rust stained durasteel door lined with fluorescent lighting slid open as a Rodian approached. Beyond his flared robe, through the smoke and pungent aroma of leaking glitterstim on an adjacent table. Sitting at the far wall on a wrap-around leather couch with two Gamorreans on either side was a brutish Zabrak wearing a white shimmersilk suit with red undershirt and a datapad was laid out on the table in front of him. Clearly this man was the owner of the club. Coincidentally, he was also the Proconsul of the merry band of mercs known throughout wild space as Clan Vizsla. While it was true that the aesthetic of this clan was steeped in Mandalorian culture, Juda Graves was more aligned with the seedier side of life in their system.

His finger furiously cycled through news feeds and the never-ending pinging of notifications on the encrypted device as he gnawed on the thick end of a cigar rolled from the finest dried leaves of Iridonia. Smoke swirled around his head and mingled around spiked horns as his lids narrowed around red bloodshot eyes. From his laid back posture and the snarl on his face, it was apparent that whatever he had been doing, he had been at it for a while.

“Boss, you’ve got company.” squealed one of the Gamorreans.

Juda didn’t look.

“Boss..”

Annoyed, the Zabrak lifted his eyes from his datapad only to lock eyes on the beautiful face and swishing hourglass figure of his Zeltronian girlfriend, Deeva. They had been together for years and the way she moved still did terrible things to his concentration.

“Ey, baby.” He greeted her with a smirk as she slid down onto his lap and wrapped her arms around him. She gave him a kiss and held him tight but anyone wise to a ‘cover’ would have noticed she was whispering into his ear. His smirk immediately stiffened and he looked into her eyes with a swelling anger. “Is that so?”

She cast a look into his eyes to confirm what she had told him was true before slamming back a bubbling green liquid in a tall shot glass and excusing herself with a nonchalant smile and laugh. In thanks, he smacked her on the rear and leaned in to speak with those surrounding him at the table.

“Lockdown.”

The Gamorreans looked at each other and stood up while Juda’s dancing monkey-lizard named Gonzo, surrendered his good mood to bad vibes and weaseled his way under the table.

With the same datapad, Juda pulled up his contact list and scrolled to the name of a man he had entrusted with his laundering, Vernon Sims. A thin necked human that had inside knowledge of every credit spent, earned, and hidden. The man was in a very important position, the very lifeblood of Juda’s empire was funneled through his hands. So imagine his surprise when Deeva had received inside information that Vernon was double-dipping. Not only was he skimming from the top, but he was an informant working for the Iron Throne. They had their hands in everything. Afterall, Juda, being an associate of the Shroud Syndicate, was supposed to be giving them a cut of all of his profits. It was only a matter of time before the Iron Throne’s patience with his ambitions would run out.

For now, Euphoria was locking down. No one was allowed in and Vernon was certainly not allowed out.

The datapad on the table chimed repeatedly as Juda’s call would go unanswered. With each redial, his blood became hotter. Anger caused him to clench his fists and he became restless but as soon as he stood up, Vernon came tumbling into the room followed by the Gamorrean guards. A crowd of patrons looking for the type of entertainment their money couldn’t buy outside of the Slaughterhouse gathered around and Vernon rolled into a kneeling position.

“Wha- what is this about?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Juda snarled as he strode up to the cowardly turncoat, slowly putting on a pair of black and red gloves that Vernon instantly recognized. Bewilderment became fear.

He knew what he had done, it was only a matter of how much Juda had known. He slithered and backpedaled with his words before the Zabrak stopped and pulled a chance cube from his coat pocket. The four sided die had two blue squares and two red.

"On one hand, you're a smart guy." Juda began, fidgeting with the cube. "In fact, I respect your desire to get ahead. The only problem with this whole scenario is that you made one fatal mistake."

Vernon tilted his head.

"You stole from the wrong fragging kung."

"Pl- please!"

"Tell ya what, call it." Juda tossed the die to the floor and the rattle of it tumbling across the durasteel made Vernon squirm.

"Blue!" he shouted before it came to a complete stop on red.

Without skipping a beat, Juda slid forward with a grace and fluidity that was unusual for a man of his size. Vernon reeled back and immediately felt the Zabrak's strong fingers dig into his throat. Instinctively he buried his chin into Juda's hand but it did little to protect him as he was hoisted onto his feet as if he were a toy.

The crime-lord grit his teeth and pushed Vernon straight back while unleashing a quick left and right to the stumbling human's skull. Vernon hit the ground with a thud but the Zabrak wasn't finished as he continued to flow with his forward momentum and drove his left knee into Vernon's jaw. Blood splattered to the floor and a crimson mist painted the legs of the table to his right as he slumped backwards, unconscious.

Juda stood over him and flexed his muscles before removing his suit jacket and draped it over his shoulder.

"If ANY of you EVER betray me again!" Juda lifted his foot and aligned the sole of his polished wingtip with Vernon's head and stomped straight down. "Then this will be your fate."

Gasps filled the room followed by an eerie silence.

Juda closed his eyes briefly to reset his mood.

"What're we waiting for?" The crowd hesitated. "Drink, party. Twitch, fire up another song. Urk." He addressed one of the Gamorreans. "Get that pile of filth out of here."

Steeped in history, stained with blood. The trees of Endor reached towards the sky as mighty fingers that were firmly rooted in life-nurturing soil. Soil that felt good on the bottom of the young Wookiee Jedi’s feet. His name was Worbiiuk, shortened to Worbie by the humans he was forced to deal with on a daily basis. Durasteel and the confining hulls of Starcraft had become his prison. For the sake of sanity and to remain tapped into his primal instinct, he would frequently travel to arboreal worlds. To recalibrate and to center himself. A trip to Endor was perfect for such an endeavor as he had business in the Bakura Trace, a Hyperlane that led to Endor’s Gate.

His feet crunched in the foliage and he walked with his eyes closed, absorbing the presence of the Force and basking in the abundance of life. Bustling cities paled in comparison to the natural simplicity and beauty of the circle. He missed it. Each step brought him closer to enlightenment but further from civilization as he not only meditated on his surroundings but waited. The three training remotes he had released earlier were programmed to track him down and were relentless predators. His master, Bem Enon, a human survivor often used these protocols to train his Padawans. It kept them sharp.

The Wookiee’s eyelids snapped open and Worbie quickly turned his head to the right as he heard the familiar hiss of a remote’s thrusters. He drew his lightsaber and in a flash, a green blade snapped to attention. A resplendent emerald that reminded him of the leaves of the Worshyr.

Three red beams lanced out from thick cover and with a simple sweep of his blade he deflected two and as he dug into the solid stance of Shi-Cho, the third was seemingly absorbed. His eyes scanned his surroundings and as two more shots triggered his senses, he dipped his blade over his shoulder to block a shot to his back, and stepped forward to allow the second shot to connect with the tree in front of him. As he rounded the tree, his eyes locked onto the remote and as it tried to draw a bead on him, he snapped the fingers of his left hand and a spark flashed directly in front of the droid causing its sensors to bug out momentarily. As the glitch in the system hindered the targeting computer, with that same left hand, Worbie gripped it with the Force and slung it into a large outcropping of rock.

Worbie snorted as it burst into a heap of smoking metal and his head immediately snapped to the left as the other two remotes zipped past him. He grunted as they both fired a volley that seemingly melted against an invisible barrier shielding him. His knees bent and with a burst of strength, the Force propelled him forward. As he flew through the air, he whipped his blade down, striking one of the remotes with his blade and upon landing, deflected two more shots from the remaining threat.

Rather than destroy the droid quickly, he looked to the sky just as his Convor companion swooped down, striking the remote in silence. The remote tumbled in the air as the bird redirected and rocketed straight up. In that moment, in unison with the airstrike, Worbie slid forward and caught the remote with his bare hand and squeezed, crushing it with his mighty grip. He snorted a Wookiee laugh and revealed his teeth in a smile as he tossed it to the ground and watched as a Flock of birds erupted into a black cloud above him. A cloud with one mind as it molded and transformed into various forms as it broke out of a clearing in the canopy, their uniform flight a truly spectacular thing to behold.

**It's amazing what can be accomplished with one mind in accord.**

Feat: Constant Vigilance

The streets of Zsoldos were often a dangerous place to walk at night. If it wasn't the local gang known as the Gutter-Boyz, stirring up trouble, it was often some other degenerate trying to make ends meet.

Juda?

He literally didn't care. He walked among the riff-raff as a King. His own gang, Slaret Orat, or in the basic tongue Bloodhorn, were never very far. Still, he enjoyed the solitude of walking the streets alone. It gave him time to think. As he pondered life and the ever nagging anxiety that stemmed from parenthood and running the Underworld of the Mandalorian planet which he would eventually control in full. The Proconsul strode, his powerful gait slow and deliberate as he pulled a cigar from his suit pocket and bit down on it.

Sparks became flame as he thumbed his lighter and puffed an ember into existence. He took the moment to pause, not because he desired the aroma of the Iridonian tobacco between his lips. He paused to allow the being that had been following him time to catch up.

His datapad chimed in his pocket, but would go ignored as nothing was going to ruin his stroll through the yard. A term he used to refer to the local center of commerce and trade hub of the city he governed.

With his sense dialed into his surroundings, he hears the clatter of something down an adjacent alley. It was the rattle of inexperience. He had his suspicions on who it was but would curb any finger pointing and wait until the tail revealed themselves. It was only a matter of time, besides, he hated being wrong. Continuing his walk, he took turns that lead to winding alleys and corridors lined with spice addicts looking for a handout, droids carrying out their programming, and any other patron of the night life.

Subtle shifts of footwork sliding against the grated walkways triggered Juda's exceptional hearing as he took in a deep draw. The cherry at the end of his lips painted his ghoulish visage in an eerie light and his eyes flicked to his right. The sensation of spiders crawling up his spine was a feeling he only ever got when someone was creeping up from behind.

"Ya know, you have the subtlety of a rampaging Wampa." He spoke, seemingly to himself before a figure rounded the corner. "I thought I taught you better than that, Lugar." His frightening face cracked a smirk.

"How'd you know it was me, Dad?"

"I've listened to your footsteps since you learned to walk. I can recognize them anywhere."

"Are you gonna tell mom?"

Juda laughed and tussle his son's blue mowhawk. "Of course."

Lugar sneered. "Admit it, I almost had you."

"You didn't. Not by a long shot, kiddo. Now come on, let's get back. Your Mother is far more terrifying than your old man."

Juda flicked his cigar, sending it tumbling in a cascade of sparks and wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders.

"Ya know, someday you'll be running this outfit."

The two continued their talk as they strode down the street until their words faded from earshot. It had been a long day.