Trooper

In the Pit of Mos Eisley

And I thought the folks on the street were lowlife nobodies... The occupants of this cantina take that description to a whole other level. Then there's the smell that seems to be emanating from the plaster of the walls themselves.

I pushed myself past yet another miscreant, apparently there is little appreciation for the Empire's might with these people. I grabbed the bartender's attention, oh god is he an ugly creature...

"You, we don't allow military folks in here" he snarled at me.

"You'll answer my questions, or we'll reduce this wreck of a place to a smouldering hole in the desert with you at the centre" I reply

He stares at me for a moment, I make sure it's obvious that my blaster is ready.

"What do you want?" He finally concedes

"I hear there was a disturbance awhile ago, involved an old man with a lightsaber. Are they still here?"

"It ain't wise to pay so much attention in a place like this, so I couldn't tell ya, all's I know is they went over that way" he concludes while nodding towards a dark back corner.

Making my way through the crowd was easy enough, as tough as these scoundrels act, none of them really want any trouble from the Empire, bad for business. Most stepped out of the way to clear a path.

Now I know where the real scum hang out, the back of the cantina is a cesspool of characters, Rodians, Sullustans, jeez, is that a Wookie? I thought The Empire had wiped them out? Unfortunately, though, nobody resembling the folks I had seen on the speeder awhile ago.

Damn, another dead end it would seem. I feel like these rebels are slipping very quickly from my grasp. I feel a pang of nervousness about having to report back, but mostly it's just anger and frustration. I've been on this planet too long now to retreat in failure.

Some poor bastard stumbles, trips, and smashes into me, spilling his drink everywhere, yet another absurd smell in this rotten place. I shove him off, he's obviously quite drunk, though now he looks at me angrily as if I were the one to have been in the way. He tucks his chin to his chest and charges me. I have had enough of this place and these people, plus I'm already mad. I drive the butt of my rifle full-force square between his eyes. It stops his charge, but I'm honestly surprised he's still conscious, let alone standing. Seems I've also managed to get the attention of the thugs this clown is drinking with, they're stumbling up from their seats to join the fray. It's not a good sign for them when they throw their glass mugs at me, I mean seriously, what do they think this armour is for?

Realizing the futility in their strategy the horde stumbles forward. I'm starting to lose track of the mistakes they're making. One of them lunges and trips, I drive my fist down hard on the exposed back of his head, ensuring his face travels all the way to the floor. An uppercut from my crouched position sends another stumbling backward, though still conscious. Then a jolt as something hard strikes the back of my helmet, I turn just in time to see a sweeping second strike with some sort of club smash square in my chest. Hard to breathe now, but adrenaline keeps me standing, on the next swing of the club I grab my attacker's arm and drive my elbow into his face, surely breaking whatever part is where his nose should be. My side erupts in pain and I almost drop to my knees, there's a thick smell of burned armour in the air. Blasters, perfect! Thankfully their drunkenness has impaired their aim somewhat. Before giving them a chance to test my theory I quickly spin smashed-face between me and the rest of his crew, just in time for his hide to absorb a volley of blaster rounds.

"Enough of this" I think to myself, "time to stop playing around." Which is exactly what I do, I shove my likely dead alien shield towards the folks with blasters, at the same time drawing my blaster. My first shot explodes one of my attacker's skull, which is really something that needs to be seen to fully understand the grotesqueness of. I then quickly duck as more shots fly over my head, my next two shots hit one of the two remaining attackers square in the chest. While he's still falling I dive forward, roll, and while flat on my back I unleash a torrent of shots upwards into my final attacker's torso and face. He's definitely dead, but his body sort of hangs there for a moment, perfectly balanced while the rest of his body deals with this new information before finally starting to curl forward and crumpling into a heap on the floor.