[center][i]Underneath the high rising towers and Imperial insignias and skylines of polished metal shining in the sun, and far beyond the reach of glistening coins of sunlight or the whisper of the wind, to the place beyond the bustling streets of the residential levels, the  among streets pressed upon by the oppressing factory heat: angry shouts, hoarse whispers, salesmen peddling their wares, arms dealers, deathstick dealers, harsh glances, swift hands, sultry frames, hidden knives, informants selling every kind of secret, memory wipers, body disposers, cheap jobs, oppressive tight corridors, it was an ecosystem all to itself breathing, self aware and adapting. Somewhere far above the sound of speeders rumbled as the air was filled with a constant barrage of noise, stimulus on the brain always turning and thinking. The glitter of fluids of indiscernible origin shining across crowded walkways light by harsh neon lights. The electric buzz of cameras, and scantly clad projections of females of various races all beckoning for the wanders of the street to enter. Even though far above night had fallen on the ecumenopolis down below the glow of lights give the undercity an event present glow of twilight. City built upon city, building atop of building, and ruin atop of ruin. Coruscant was alive and covered with trembling shadows.[/i][/center]

Sandwiched among the crowded tenant buildings, flashing signs and rundown factories, the indistinct little bar sat seemingly at the end of the world. The Royal Bantha was what some people would call a local landmark, the haunt for thugs, gangsters, workers, prostitutes, dealers, buyers and anyone looking for a strong drink. Almost permanently covered in a smoke like haze, with the distinct yeast like smell of wet bodies. The moisture coming from the collective drippings and heat the rises and falls from the myraid of factories in the area leaving the outside in ap perpetual state of dampness. In the corner a rhythm band lead by a Hapan male pounding away on a big drum as sweet poured down from his angualr face. The many voices mixing with the drum beat to create an indiscernible rytheme that was the beating heart that kept the Bantha a foot. More importantly like most places in the undercity the Bantha was not that particularity found of their Imperial oppressors. While on the outside things might of looked the same on the inside the authoritative regime had slowly squeezed the lower levels of Coruscant dry with their security forces and newly enacted laws, curfews and security checkpoints. It was here that it was that those would opposed should rule could speak their mind freely without free of somebody reporting them to the Security Bureau to get interrogated or worse.

It was for this reason that in one of the Bantha's many backrooms two individuals talked to one another causally as they waited. The Trandoshan was sitting at a long table, a LS-150 in pieces as he cleaned it almost absentmindedly his hands moving without thought as they knew the process by heart. His companion was a little more agitated pacing back and forth her entire figure screaming of worry as she mumbled to herself under her breath. The Trandoshan looked up from the table at her and called out to her shaking his head. "You know girl, pacing about like that isn't helping."

The Twi'lek turned her head toward the old lizard stopping in her tracks and she responded. "I'm not pacing, I'm just thinking, and worrying! But mostly thinking!" She muttered before she continued to pace the length of the private room, seemingly not noticing as the lizard rolled his eyes at her.

"Yes, and I'm the Queen of Naboo." He muttered sarcastically as a clawed hand tightened a screw on the trigger release. "They are going to show up, trust me." 

"Really? Isn't that what you said about the last three groups? All of which backed down as soon as they realized how idiotic and suicidal this was?" The women responded as she completed another circuit around the room in her pacing.

"Nerfherders, All of them!" The old one replied reattaching the main cycling feed as he did. "I've got a good feeling about these ones, and beside who doesn't want to kill a few Imperials and get paid to do it?" 

"Don't say that out loud! You don't know if they are monitoring this room!" The Twi'lek protested as she made another lap around the rooms outer edge. Her hands always at her blasters and never leaving them, just waiting for another group of imperial agents to bust down the door.

"Oh yes the Imperials are monitoring every poodoo invested hive in the damn undercity!" He muttered as he reached out for her as she came around once more his hand grabbing her arm as he roughly yanked her down into the chair next to him. Not waiting for the complaint to come he quickly pushed his drink over to her and shoved it into her hands. "Now drink and calm down girly." 

She started to talk for a moment before finally giving up and sighing taking a huge swig of the lizard's drink. It tasted like hot fire as it ran down her throat, filling her insides with a peculiar warmth. "... You really think they are going to show up this time?"

"Yes." 

"Do you think they were all able to decode the message?"

"Yes." 

"Will they be able to find the right room?"

"Yes."

"Is this really all going to be worth it?"

"... I can't answer that one yet."

[center][i]And so that is how our tale starts, with two individuals among the seedy underbelly of a living city. Soon the room would be filled with others as they found there way to the designated meeting place. It would be here that a band of thugs and misfits became something resembling a team, a family. It would be in that bar that the rebellion on Coruscant would make its first foothold. 
~ Jedi Archivist  Melanah Haerch [/i][/center]