Star Wars: Scars

Part 2 - 11

Against all odds, Creed managed to get the ship down a few days later. He docked at Mos Eisley, following the whispers of Dawn and Specter as he wandered down towards the ramp. He had his armor, and his knives were strapped to his belt. Haze's sword was strapped to his back and he had some blaster he'd rummaged up from the ship in his hands, plus the voices whispering in the back of his mind, pressing him forward.

Stepping up to the ramp, Creed opened it, his hands trembling. He looked weak, sickly, and pale, but he felt like the strongest warrior on the planet. He knew there were beads of cold sweat dripping from his forehead, but they didn't register. He had a mission and he would see it to the end, or die trying.

The ramp lowered fully and Creed slipped off the ship. A man walked up to him to collect a docking fee, but Creed simply drew the blaster and put the man on the ground with a quick shot before he continued out of the docks, his dark eyes set straightforward.

Stalking through the streets, he slipped into alleys and poked his head into different cantinas. He knew the Jedi was here, but where was another question. Eventually, Creed managed to formulate a ragtag plan with Dawn and Tadem trying to help him constantly tweak and improve it. He spotted the nearest cantina and walked in, walking straight over to the bar and sitting down.

"What can I get for you, son?" the man asked, watching Creed's twitching gaze.

"I want to know where the Jedi is," Creed snapped, his eye's suddenly locking onto the barkeeper. "Tell me, and I'll let you live."

"Uh...I don't know of any Jedi around here, kid. Honestly, just...get yourself a drink, alright?"

Creed's gaze began to wander, but then he started up and grabbed the barkeepers shirt, grabbing a knife and slipping it under the man's jaw. "Tell me," he hissed.

The bartender's eyes went wide and several of the well known patrons shifted to pick up their weapons. One of them, an older Neomodian pointed a blaster at the back of Creed's head.

"Kid, put the knife down. No one has to get hurt."

Creed turned to glare at the man over his shoulder and there was a visible shift in the man's confidence as he caught a sight of Creed's black eyes, full of hate and anger.

The man and the others began to shift back but Creed was faster than they were. He turned on heel and drew the other knife, throwing it at the Neomodian who'd spoken to him, hitting the man dead center of his skull.

That started the others scrambling for their weapons as Creed drew his blaster and took down three with ease. One man lunged at him from behind and Creed ducked under the bar, then kicked the chair towards the man, throwing him off as Creed stood quickly and shot the man twice.

Then the rest of the patrons converged on him.

Despite the sheer numbers, it was a quick fight. One that left only Creed and those who were smart enough to run, plus the barkeeper. Creed wiped the blood from his hands, collected his knives, and walked back to the bar keeper, looking him dead in the eyes, his hands shaking from the adrenaline and insanity.

"Where is the Jedi," he demanded.

The bar keeper gave him a horrified look and swallowed. "Look, I don't know of any Jedi, but there are a few shadow masters here. Most of them work with the Guild that meets down the street in an abandoned cellar down on Tryggian. You'll know it when you see it," the man said, his shaking voice barely above a whisper.

Creed nodded and sheathed the knives. He picked up his blaster and without a thought shot the man twice between the eyes before stalking out over the carnage of the fight.