A young man covered in a small amount of armor walked in. His face was barely visible, but still enough to send shivers down the spines of numerous patrons. His piercing yellow eyes and pale yellow face were terrifying.He was covered from head to toe in robings, with bits of cortosis here and there. As he entered, a small group of men got up and approached him. The one in the front, obviously the leader, was a Quarren wearing an eyepatch. "You. Leave this cantina now. do not make me use 'force'." The air quotes around the last word made the gang chuckle. A simple reply came from the man. "No." Another chuckle from the gang. "Oh, I insist," said the Quarren again, drawing his blaster. "Bad move, fish-face," said the disturbing figure. From his robes, a lightsaber flew to his hand. It took about half a second to start. Swish! The lightsaber, now humming with energy had torn apart the blaster. The rest of the gang stepped back and drew their blasters as well. Vwish! The Quarren was dead. Swoosh! An Aqualish and a Sullustan were now dead on the floor. It was a massacre.Then, it was over. The bodies of a dozen or so two-bit thugs lay sliced to bits on the floor. Numerous onlookers gasped. Some fainted. But the man paid no notice. He carefully approached the counter, looking to an old man. "Hello, Master Vokas," He said slyly, "How's the child?" The little Togruta in the old man's hands began to cry. "BEtter than you, I hope, "Darth Katarn," The man spit viciously.
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