Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Apr 2, 2015 19:03:16 GMT -8
Banned for a lack of manners (throwing spanners at the banners hanging banners off the banisters) while spouting spoilers about the Lannisters.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Apr 2, 2015 7:47:53 GMT -8
Banned for banning banners applying banners to the banisters.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Apr 2, 2015 7:46:05 GMT -8
Silas hadn't slept much. Something to do with the unpredictable motion of space travel which he hadn't grown used to yet. He had, however, taken the opportunity to shower. Now he dressed, geared up, and moved out into the common area once more. He busied himself momentarily to balance his load, checking that his hand-cannon was nestled securely in its leather holster, and that the sword balanced on the opposite hip. Looking up, he saw Neassa, and asked in a conversational way
Warrior -- this armor of yours. Do you wear it always?
He sits beside Neassa, adjusting a strap and a small pouch at the small of his back, the rucksack lying within easy reach beside him.
This 'Kessel.' Those we face, they will bear the marks of readiness and organization, but it is a farce. They will not bear up under our combined efforts. We will triumph this day.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Mar 27, 2015 8:19:45 GMT -8
I hope -- Silas stated, more off-the-cuff than truly concerned -- that Captain Draykon is worthy of the aid he has received.
Silas had spent hours mentally linked with the man, and there were facets of his personality that were dishonest, untrustworthy, downright malevolent... but at the core, Silas believed he was a truly good man. Of course, all of this he kept to himself. It would all play out in the fullness of time. Continuing the retune and focus his hilt, the Preacher listens as Jemima and the warrior woman converse for a few moments, perking up when Connie points at his sword.
"That's, like, gotta be the most unique lightsa . . . laser sword I've seen. Not, ya know, that I've seen all that many of 'em. Did ya design it yourself? Gathering that Silas is from a world where the whole Jedi n' Sith thing isn't really so much a thing in the way it's a thing in the rest'a the universe, Connie finds it pretty interestin' that whatever cultural significance or mores surrounding the Force have resulted in the world's users, or Silas any way, carrying lightsabers, and so, choosing her words as carefully as she's able since she doesn't wanna offend Silas by saying anything that might go against his beliefs about the Force, or whatever he might call it, she asks, You, like, healed Ade with th . . . some kinda power, right? Is that, um, like somethin' ya learned inna special school or somethin' on your homeworld, one that maybe showed ya how ta make your ligh . . . laser sword?"
Silas is thoughtful for a moment, continuing to tinker with wooden-handled, hand-forged tools to adjust the saber hilt while thinking of the best way to reply to Connie. The words don't come easily.
I am beginning to understand that those in the 'verse with similar Inner Strength follow one of a few paths, like a religion I s'ppose. On Kilia, we are few. I have met only two others with my Strength on my home-world. There, we are known as Preachers. We follow a code, and right wrongs as we see them. It is a wild place, with little formal law or tradition. More feudal than most places I've been since. There are law-men, but they can be bought. Preachers are not bought, traded or paid. We do as we do because it is right and because sometimes, it is the only way to hold those in power accountable.
Seemingly satisfied with his repairs, he lays the tool back on the unwrapped cloth containing several other screwdrivers and other small, unidentifiable tools, and ignites the sword, testing. The brilliant blade is instantly recognizable as a lightsabre, but different from a Jedi's blade. In size and shape, the blade is shorter, wider, more like a broadsword than the classic epee or sabre. It crackled and sparked with the same intensity as others from the 'verse, giving off an amber glow. Silas held the blade aloft, testing the connecting cable for ease of movement, before releasing the pressure plate, deactivating the blade.
There is no school. I was taught the Laws from my father, and he from his father.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Mar 22, 2015 13:46:31 GMT -8
Huh. Well lookit that! You sure did. Post a-comin'.
And yeah, I'll send up one more in our current locale, but we could certainly jump to Kessel soon-ish.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Mar 22, 2015 12:09:32 GMT -8
**finishes cigarra, lights another**
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Mar 19, 2015 11:39:48 GMT -8
Aha. Well.
**rolls a cigarra, waits**
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Mar 17, 2015 10:55:18 GMT -8
Where we at folks? I've been offline a few days, sorry to say...
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Mar 5, 2015 17:05:20 GMT -8
Banned because jelly (gelatin) is made of rendered horse fat. And has nothing to do with being jealous!
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Mar 5, 2015 7:17:08 GMT -8
Banned for being too damn pretty.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Mar 4, 2015 8:47:18 GMT -8
Banned for smoking indoors.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Mar 4, 2015 7:53:23 GMT -8
Silas sat, a look of puzzlement on his face for a few seconds, before collapsing into a hearty laugh. Whoo -- sorry Doc, you lost me after Notron. Lotta big words in there though. Sounds like an important place. Mebbe pass by there sometime, see the sights. He poured the melted spoon into the mould, and pressed out another bullet. Satisfied with his sidearm for the moment, he sheaths the weapon and draws out what is unmistakably a lightsabre hilt from his belt, though it is unlike any sabre those aboard the Shadow will have ever seen. He lays the handle on the table in front of him, and brings a small roll of cloth out of his satchel, unrolling it to reveal a set of small precision tools. He begins to work on the hilt, adjusting various elements to his liking.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Mar 3, 2015 8:13:36 GMT -8
Wayfarer-class transport, the Midnight Shadow - Crew Lounge
Listening to Silas speak of his homeworld and the man he left it to find as the Midnight Shadow reaches orbit and begins to move away from Honoghr's gravity well, Neassa finds his unique perspective a little easier to understand; the fact that the world sounds like one removed to an uncommon extent from the affairs of the larger universe explaining his lack of knowledge of some things considered common knowledge by most beings. While she would like to hear more about the man Silas hunts, Neassa first answers his questions to her. I am from a world in the Outer Rim Territories that my people call Manda'yaim. Outsiders call it Mandalore, she explains in case that name might be one known to Silas. Her tone becomes wistful as she speaks of her world, which may or may not be something easily detected with the distortion her buy'ce's mic lends her voice. Many outsiders find Manda'yaim a . . . harsh world, it's beauty of the dangerous and trying variety. There is truth in that too; there are worlds that are more serenely beautiful, without the harsh winters or sere open deserts of Manda'yaim. Smiling unseen beneath her buy'ce, Neassa says, But Manda'yaim has an allure all it's own I think; there are oases of rare beauty to be found in her forests, open plains, and jungles just as there are on other worlds as unforgiving to the careless. Her low chuckle possibly unheard as she realizes that her homesickness for her homeworld, which she has been away from for longer than she would like, has made her wax more poetically and lengthily than she is accustomed to speaking, Neassa continues to check and clean her EE before beginning to reassemble it... Mandalore. Silas filed that bit of information away, though he was still woefully under-equipped with information about the universe. He literally didn't know up from down, couldn't pilot anything more advanced than a horse, and though he quite liked the timbre of her voice and the inflection of her accent, he really didn't know a Nagai from a Nerf. At least he was aware that he was ignorant of a great many things. And it seemed to Silas, Second of the House Biul, that he was in the right place to learn.
Another casing fell to the table as he finished his second bullet, adding the cartridge to his hand-cannon. As he started the process once more, melting another spoon in his jury-rigged smelt, Neassa finished her jog down memory lane. Manda'yaim. Sounds like a place I'd like to visit one day. When their newly-minted Doctor speaks up about her homeworld, Silas is likewise curious, as this -- Coruscant -- is a word he has heard before. Curoscent... (mis-pronouncing the word) tell me more of this place, Doctor.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Feb 25, 2015 13:39:58 GMT -8
Post!
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Feb 25, 2015 13:35:22 GMT -8
Aboard the Midnight Shadow...
...Dropping onto one of the sofas and patting the cushion beside her, Connie tells Jemimia chipperly, Pull up a cushion! Looking upwards as she feels the Shadow start liftin' off, Connie asks the Mando chickie and the dude with the hat, So, like, how you guys doin'? Getting your weapons all ready I see, she observes in an attempt to start a conversation, then gives a thumbs up as she says chipperly, Always, like, a good idea!"
Silas smiled warmly at the girl. He liked her. She spoke well in the tactical meeting. A level head. He continued prepping the antiquated equipment necessary to load new rounds for the immense .55 cal hand-cannon. These items all came out of the small pack the Preacher carried. A small igniter, a well-used spoon bent into an odd shape, a small brass ingot, and something that could only be described as some sort of spring-operated snare or bottle corker? He went about setting up the apparatus, setting the igniter on the base of the spoon, which was bent in such a way that the ladle of the spoon rested just over the flame. After this the Preacher produced a small bag that rattled like it was filled with riches. He reached in and drew out a small fork, the kind children would use to eat. This he dropped into the ladle, and waited.
As the Shadow's engines and repulsorlifts come to life, Neassa sits cross-legged on a sofa with her back to one of the armrests, removing her half-shelter cape and laying it out in front of her before laying her EE down on it and then removing a pouch from her utility belt containing the tools she needs to clean it. As she begins disassembling her EE, Neassa asks Silas conversationally, So, Silas, second of the house of Biul, where is it you're from?
The Preacher checks the small fork, which has begun to wilt from the heat of the igniter, and leans back in the sofa. He looks Neassa up and down, marveling at her weaponry and her worldliness.
Where I am from, we call our star 'sun,' and the moon 'moon.' It was not until he arrived that my people knew of the outside world, and the universe. From the little I have learned of such things, I know my planet lies far from any normal space lane and travel path for boats such as this. It is not easy to find, and few ever have. We call our home by a different name, but I understand that of the few charts that even show my home, you would refer to it as the fourth planet of the Kilia system.
He checks again on the fork, which has taken on the consistency of pudding. Silver pudding.
The man who found our world, he is... guilty of a great many evils. I have come to find him. And find him I will.
He reaches for the bent, scorched spoon and pours the now-mostly-liquid into the brass ingot. This he lets sit on the table for a few minutes, before thwacking it soundly against the table-top and retrieving the slug. Reaching once more into the satchel, he draws out a fistful of used brass casings, and a flask. This he opens, tapping out a measured amount of powder into a casing. Then, using the snare / bottle-corker contraption, he feeds the slug into one half, the cartridge into the other, and presses the two together with a slight grunt of effort. Releasing the cartridge press, the newly made bullet falls free, caught in mid-air by Silas. He opens the cylinder of his pistol, and inserts the bullet into an empty chamber. Of the four chambers, only one bullet was present.
Reaching back into the rattling bag, he draws out a small spoon, dropping that into the ladle, and leaned back against the sofa.
What about you, Warrior? Where are you from? Tell me of your home.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Feb 25, 2015 13:02:16 GMT -8
Sorry folks. Got busy with the Spon. RP, then Sithies and RL... I'll have one up in a few minutes.
-P
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Feb 5, 2015 10:27:43 GMT -8
Post up! Nothing specific, but if a pilot-type-person wanted to get us in the sky, I think we're mostly good to go! (be good to hear from Spectre, but Neassa could NPC him aboard...)
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Feb 5, 2015 10:25:53 GMT -8
Silas had been mostly quiet since their jaunt to the cantina. He was painfully aware that he had a lot to learn about the universe, and how it works. Though he stood by his moral compass and the decisions they forced upon him -- without the Laws, he would be as lost as a child in the mountains outside Cepathol -- he was also aware that it was largely his moral compass that had created the rift in the crew, cause Fenrir to leave, and now had them perched on the brink of heading into battle with Slavers. He had much to reflect upon, and so upon their return to the ship, he had found a table in the common area and laid out his few possessions.
Disassembly and cleaning of his sidearm was first. The pistol used a rather high-powered cartridge that could and did cause fouling on occasion, and so he had long ago taken to cleaning the weapon once every few days, or as often as time and circumstance would allow. He could nearly do it blindfolded. He then spent time packing and loading cartridges by hand, as there was no locale in the 'verse where .55 rounds were easily obtained. To another, it may have seemed boring work, but to Silas, it was cathartic, and restful.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Jan 30, 2015 5:54:25 GMT -8
Yup. But I don't wanna lose momentum, so I'm just going to go ahead and get us moving, assuming Spectre has nothing to say or add.
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Jan 29, 2015 8:16:10 GMT -8
Ok, what's going on? We need to get moving. If nobody else feels like posting, I'll do it tonight.
|
|