That Flag Means Death

Posted on Mon Mar 3rd, 2025 @ 3:41am by Rebel Braylon Kucera & Rebel Yal'mon'drol
Edited on on Mon Mar 3rd, 2025 @ 3:41am

1,810 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Prologue: An Empire Overnight
Location: Dantooine | Cantina
Timeline: 18BBY

Dantooine, a desolate world in the far reaches of the galaxy full of grassy knolls, small lakes, and grand mountain ranges. It had been a member of the Galactic Republic though always out of touch and behind the times. When Braylon Kucera had arrived on the planet he had half expected to be met by unruly farmers with electrified pitchforks not pleased with the arrival of an outsider. Though to his surprise, the Dantooinian people were quite welcoming and the few businesses were appreciative of his patronage. Farmers loved credits, and those out in the outer rim worlds seemed to be more than fine with forgetting your face, name, all for a few credits.

Those that lived out here in the middle of the galactic nowhere were also great for keeping Braylon not only well fed, but lined his pockets well. He had something that they enjoyed, spice, and oftentimes a cargo hold or two full of it. He was on Dantooine for business on behalf of his employers, the Pykes. Sitting in the lonely watering hole, Braylon had noticed the tattered banners on the walls, flags that had the emblem of the old Galactic Republic. That flag means death thought the blonde man shaking his head. Had the empire cared enough to send an imperial presence on Dantooine they would have had those tattered banners torn down and penalized the cantina owner.

Seeing the frail figure approaching his table, Braylon pulled out two small glass containers that held a ruddy powered substance. Susanna spice, a moderate quantity but by the appearance of it, good quality. An exchange quickly occurred between the frail man and the younger curly haired blonde man. The two glass containers of spice were gone and left behind was a stack of old Republic credits.

Yal'mon'drol sat in the corner, very aware of his surroundings. From the spice deal that was taking place to the drunk local who might start a bar brawl at any moment. He pulled his cloak down to cover more of his blue face and red eyes, making sure his weapon was secure and out of site. Yal carried a lightsaber, the weapon of a Jedi. After order 66 the few remaining Jedi like Yal were on the run or in hiding, Yal had been in hiding on Dantooine.

Braylon heard a commotion from outside of the cantina and nearly had to cover his ears from the gruff growling. He was not fluent in Shyriiwook, the native tongue of the Wookies, but the inflections did not sounds peaceful, and he had just wrapped up a job a few weeks back where he had crossed a big, burly, one eyed and very pissed off fur bag. Alright, so he found me thought the blonde spice runner. He had two options as he saw it. He could fetch his Deathammer heavy blaster, his trusted sidearm in which case a shootout in the small cantina would ensue and a lot of people, innocent fodder would be harmed. Option two, pay his debts in full with some added padding to soften the blow.

Yep, tall burly with brown fur mottled with black and one 'good' eye paired with a cyberoptic piece to compensate for his lost one. He had expected that the Wookie had come for him, but that soon became an evident coincidence. How interesting it was, the galaxy as large and expansive as it was could sometimes be so small and surprising. Snoova's shoulder armor plates bore the sigil of his current 'master' The Black Sun criminal syndicate, one of the powerful and fearsome syndicate operating in the galaxy.

The bartender looked up with a terrifying expression on his face. "Noah, noah!" screamed the man in Huttese pleadingly. Snoova went right up to the bar, grabbed the bartender by his thick mullet of hair and drove the man's head through trough the fabricated glass of the bar. Letting go of the man's mullet, the bartender lifted his head, his face busted and bloodied stumbled backwards and thudded his back to the rack of liquor. "Wanta, Snoova? Pateesa...Pateesa!" the bartender was asking the Wookie why while trying to barter that they were friends. Braylon just brought his Black melon sip to his lips and nursed it with a sipping. These two may had been friends at one point, but their friendship meant nothing if the Black Sun wanted something.

It took everything in the young Jedi not to intervene, but he knew if he did it would draw to much attention and give him away as a Jedi. The remaining Jedi were being hunted down by every bounty hunter in the outer rim. The empire was offering a hefty reward, they were wanted dead or alive and Yal would rather stay alive. He knew coming into the cantina he would witness seedy things but this was a down right beating. I really should stop this he thought to himself but hung his head and remained silent.

Snoova plunged a bladed weapon straight into the chest of the bartender and let out a fierce growl. Whatever this bartender has done to piss off the Black Sun, he had likely just paid for it with his life. The Wookie watched as the bartender slumped to the ground and kicked him over, stepping over him as though the man was nothing more than a lump in a rug, grabbing a bottle of desirable liquor and then proceeding to head over to Braylon's table.

Oh great thought Braylon as the Wookie bounty hunter had taken a seat. "Moulee-rah?" the blonde spice runner asked, pushing a stack of credits towards the Wookie. He was not going to join the bartender. Braylon was hoping that the credits would be enough for the Black Sun hired bounty hunter to forget he was there. The Wookie took a swig of the liquor and reached out swiping all the credits towards his end of the table.

Bray closed his eyes and by the time he opened them again, Snoova was gone, leaving a bunch of drunk cantina patrons scrambling, not to help the wounded bartender, but helping themselves to the credits in the till and the liquor on the shelves. It was utter lawlessness. The spice runner caught sight of the blue skinned man seated at the bar.

Yal wasn't impressed by the utter chaos going on around him and before order 66 he would have brought the murder to justice. Dantooine didn't have much of a law system but what they did have would probably arrive soon and Yal'mon'drol didn't want to be a part of that. He finished his drink in one swig and got up headed to the exit. One patron pushed another into him, almost knocking him over and he thought to himself I have to get out of here.

The blue skinned stranger was leaving, but something in his body language had told Bray that the man had wanted to do something but did not. Law system, out here? Sure some sort of local authority would eventually show up, but they were never in much of a rush on worlds like Dantooine. Bray stood up and fired his blaster upward on a lowered setting. "Leave the liquor alone. This cantina is being claimed by the Pykes, you have a problem with that, you can join the bartender."

Yal quietly made his way over to the man on floor, checking for life. He couldn't risk using his force healing abilities but he could see if the bartender was alive. "Hey" he shook the bartenders shoulder to see if he was still there.

Pale and struggling, but the bartender was not nearly as dead as the patrons had thought. The mullet of hair that ran up the man's elongated skull was wet from blood, and the stab wound was soaking through his tunic. "Damn Wookie!" he exclaimed, the knife still in his chest.

"I do have a problem with that," quipped the Cerean bartender. "You can have cantina for now, but clean up before you leave" he added grabbing a cloth and holding it to his wound but carefully around the knife as to not move it.

The bartender looked at Yal. "Take me to the Eopie breeder down the road. She used to be a veterinarian. Another several centimeters and he'd have both my hearts."

Yal gave the man a nod "let's get you up" he assisted the bartender to his feet and carefully helped him toward the door. A curly haired patron caught his eye for a moment but he turned back to the bartender. "Doing okay there friend" Yal asked trying to be careful not to move the blade and at the same time not reveal to much of his identity.

"On behalf of the Pykes, we relinquish the bar upon your return" stated Braylon. He had no real authority to claim a bar not but saying the Pykes were in control often kept people in check and brought some peace and order. "For now," he said to those still around. "Drink, gamble, and be merry with your credits."

He was curious about this good hearted blue man. He'd let them leave, but would keep tabs on their whereabouts. Maybe catch up to him later before he cleared off of this rock.

As Yal had walked out, his robes had just momentarily snagged on the doorframe. Braylon had caught sight of something metallic and cylindrical. Not a blaster. It was just a flash, the robes fell back into place and Braylon remained at the bar.

Shortly after their exit Yal ask "what do you know about these Pykes?"

The Cerean bartender looked at Yal. "Do you not?" he scoffed. "I sure wish I did not. Never have I ever seen that one in my cantina before. Working for them he might be, but a Pyke he's not."

"Unattractive creatures in my opinion, dark sunken almond shaped eyes and flat faces. They have an unsettling gaze and a reputation for trouble. They run a crime a syndicate that rivals the Hutts, the Black Sun, Crimson Dawn, and the rest. The Pykes are trying to monopolize the spice trade in the outer rim."

"You be safe" he said as they reached the doors of the doctor.

The bartender knocked on the woman's door and turned to the man that had walked him their, a nod of gratitude. "And you, friend. Be careful not all on Dantooine as you have seen are peaceful." Soon, a woman's old croaking voice acknowledged the knocking and the door opened a crack, light shinning out as she helped the Cerean inside.

Yal gave a nod and turned to go. He figured he better get his supplies and head back to the farm.

 

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