Preacher
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Post by Preacher on Oct 13, 2015 16:15:09 GMT -8
The Preacher had positioned himself just behind the Slaver, and to the right slightly, in case Kir had been something to be dealt with, and so when Adrien shot him dead, the outlander was mere feet from the now-dead man. Silas caught the body as it fell, laid it gently, almost reverently to the ground. He crossed the corpse's arms over his chest, and said a few hushed words into his ear. He rose then, turning to face the Captain of the Midnight Shadow, a small spatter of blood across his left cheek. He holstered his sidearm and stood easy, observing the scene, eyes passing from Erly, to Jemima, to Constanza, to Adrien, to Westy and Krystal, to Kir. Only Neassa, who was outside his field of vision and whom he felt the closest kinship to, did not receive his gaze.
I trust you. What now?
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 13, 2015 17:48:54 GMT -8
"Red"'s relief is immediate and obvious when Adrien opens by saying that he always makes the smart choice, and he nods eagerly when asked if giving White and his Red Woman over will mean that he and the rest of his crew walk away free from any reprisal. Ignoring the lyrical chuckle the hooded Qiraash woman voices after turning a card from the deck she is nearly constantly shuffling, "Red" is about to say something when Adrien's blaster materializes as if by magic, and he is dead before fully processing that his belief in his ability to extricate himself from the bizarre twist of events that had led him here had been misplaced.
Neassa holsters her DL-44 as Silas halts "Red's" fall, watching Draykon through her buy'ce's black T-visor as he spells out his stance on slavery and what it means to be a member of his crew; both his contemptuous disgust for slavery and complete, unswerving loyalty to those that fight alongside him things that Neassa understands and shares. Her original plan for dealing with the slavers had offered a way to keep the crew of the Midnight Shadow out of what she hopes to visit upon those awaiting delivery of the slaves, but enough has changed that Neassa feels no need to offer her plan to Draykon now; it's his boat, his crew, and ultimately his play to make.
I'm with you, Neassa offers after Silas has voiced his trust in Draykon, the sentiment as much, if not more, for Silas as it is for the Midnight Shadow's captain. Using a series of specific eye blinks and facial twitches, Neassa checks her buy'ce's sensor readings after Erly voices some concern about being watched, and when she sees no evidence to support the woman's fears, says, No sign of any obvious threats or surveillance on my sensors. Turning to the hooded Qiraash woman, Neassa asks, Was it just the two of them that were sent?
Shuffling her cards, the Qiraash says in her light, lyrical voice, "Just the two. Turning a card face up, she examines it a moment in silence before turning her hooded gaze towards Adrien and adding, Move swift and sure, Captain, and your quarry will not be alerted to the absence of the fallen members of their pack before you fall upon them."
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Trent Weston
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Post by Trent Weston on Oct 15, 2015 18:53:13 GMT -8
When Adrien came pushed past him and Erly it jarred Trent a little. Not twenty minutes ago the guy looked like he was on his deathbed and now he was practically glowing, smiling, and apparently reuniting with the dude at the ramp. But in a very dark and drastic turn of events Adrien shoots the slaver in the face. Even Trent didn't see it coming. And he was equally blindsided by the speech that came after. As far as Trent could tell the guy was nothing but a sociopath trying to justify his actions under the guise of justice. This wasn't justice, it was murder, and Trent didn't like it.With an intense glare in Adrien and Silas' direction Trent crossed his arms and waited for the others to chime in with their answers before he said anything.Silas' answers didn't surprise him in the least, it seemed the two of them had a knack for executing unarmed individuals. However Neassa throwing her hat in with the smuggler was a little surprising, but when Erly confirmed her unexpected allegiance by calling Adrien 'boss' Trent was shocked. "I go where she goes, he gestured in Neassa's direction, so I guess that means I'm in too." He lowered his head and grumbled an objection. "Even if I don't agree with it. I'll be in the cockpit getting the ship ready to run if anyone needs me." He then walked up the ramp, through the common area, and down the hall to the cockpit.
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Krystal "Meony" Tancredi
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Figuring things out...
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Post by Krystal "Meony" Tancredi on Oct 18, 2015 6:57:20 GMT -8
"You're welcome," I answer politely to Adrien, my hands clasped behind my back. The doctor sure is flustered now. I wonder if she's attracted to Adrien. But what do I know about such things? I'm seventeen, and I can't remember anything past waking up in the Red Dawn Medical Centre. Like, I still don't know how I came to be the owner of a huge cruiser for starters. Anyway, I follow them almost all the way out, and then I hear a gunshot, and since Adrien is still talking, and no other shots ring out, I guess it isn't any of "us", but I can't help rolling my eyes. Why so much violence? I don't like it.
With my kind of hearing, I can hear Adrien quite clearly and his speech. Father rolled with these people for a reason, so I guess I'll stay too. Silas tells Adrien that he trusts him, and the armoured woman denounces Erly's claim that we're still being watched. Eh, I think Erly's a bit of an alarmist or worst-case scenario type. Trent also is in with the people, but he doesn't like it. I watch him go for the cockpit, and I'm about to follow him, but then I remember my ship, the Sunflower, and I open up a comlink to Limey. "Hey Limey. I think I'm going to travel with these people for a while. I'd like you to follow us, but keep a distance of eight lightyears? This com-device can go up to ten, right?"
I hear some grumpy warbled replies, and I smile, "Yeah, yeah, I'll make sure I get a steady meal at the right times. Now get the Sunflower off this planet."
I can hear my ship taking off, and I stand by in the common area for a while. There was something about these people that intrigue me.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 19, 2015 19:27:50 GMT -8
While the moment when Adrien appears to muse on whether or not to accept the slavers proposal might be tense for some of the crew, the Nagai does not believe for so much as an instant that there is any possibility that the Captain would even entertain the notion; she knows Adrien too well to harbor any such doubts. More interesting to the Nagai are the mixture of reactions from the recently assembled crew to Adrien's abrupt execution of the slaver and subsequent speech. Silas, as straightforward as he has seemed since she first met him, voices his seemingly unconditional trust of Adrien with little adornment, though the sentiment seems to the Nagai to evince the same mild degree of naivete that she has noted in his speech and behavior previously. Every bit as succinct and direct as Silas, Neassa states that she is with Adrien, though the Nagai notes that the Mandalorian expresses no trust in Adrien as Silas does. Weston, who gave every impression of joining the crew solely due to the fact Neassa asked it of him, unsurprisingly voices his intent to go wheresoever the female Mandalorian goes, while somewhat surprisingly voicing his disapproval of the crew's plan. Given that Neassa seems to be no stranger to violence, it seems strange that someone who has a past with her would harbor a distaste for it. The Nagai, while she is no stranger to violence herself, shares one thing in common with Weston, her unswerving devotion to Adrien, and intent to him no matter what course he sets similar to the same degree of loyalty Weston displays for Neassa.
Her vigilant posture not relaxing despite Neassa's assurance that she detects no signs of impending danger looming over them presently, the Nagai remains watchfully near Adrien, ever the soldier awaiting orders since the personality at the forefront of her consciousness at present is well suited to such a role.
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Preacher
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Post by Preacher on Nov 18, 2015 15:01:51 GMT -8
The plan -- if it could really be called a plan -- was a short con, a trust hack that would leave them bloody but in Ade's estimation, victorious. A message needed to be sent, one that told in no uncertain terms that the Midnight Shadow's crew were no slavers.
They would march to the rendezvous, maybe 500 yards distant -- Nahimana the Qiraash woman and Adrien out front, Nahimana playing the subservient slave. Silas flanking Adrien, wearing the garb of the fallen slaver, 'Red,' busy discussing business. Connie and Neassa would follow, ever the compliant crewmembers. The key was a large cargo crate and repulsor-sled following behind. The 'cargo.' Which, in this case, was empty save for reinforcements to deal more death.
It was a sound idea from fifty paces. Silas was the same build as 'Red,' if a couple inches taller. They also had the element of surprise. These fireblasted di'kuts were expecting the completion of a business deal, not a firefight. That would only last so long... perhaps until they were close enough to realize that Silas wasn't who he pretended to be, maybe until the wrong question was asked, or until someone got twitchy that the slaves being delivered were nowhere to be seen (nobody among them was fool enough to bring unarmed refugees to a gunfight -- Nahimana notwithstanding.) In any case, Silas gave them a 30% chance of being able to walk up to the slavers unmolested. And that was being generous.
Ultimately, the whole point was to finish it. Every last one of them. There was no going back. That had been what Adrien had said. Not from this, not from Juvex. They'd be wanted after this.
And so there they were, Ade and Nahimana and Silas, moving together along the thoroughfare beside the docking bays, headed for the dock-master's offices. Ade kept up a steady, pleasant stream of conversation which Silas understood little of -- factoids about beautiful planets he had never been to, never heard of. Jobs they'd pulled which he had no knowledge of. And all the while, Silas nodded and laughed, wearing the dead man's tunic and coverall, keeping the dark stain of blood on the shoulders and back of the tunic, from where Red's head had previously been, turned away from anyone they were approaching. He had grabbed a hat from one of the street vendors they passed, a ball-cap style cover with ear covers and a built-in comm unit with the slogan "Eat at Tala's" emblazoned in red. That, plus a pair of goggles. Perhaps it would conceal the fact that he certainly was not 'Red' for a few precious moments. He clapped Ade on the shoulder as the smuggler told a particularly off-color joke, slaver and smuggler -- best of pals, it would seem.
They were approaching their contact point. The dock master's building was on the right, about fifty yards away, partially built into the inner ring of the gently curving concentric docking bays (bays on the outer ring, maintenance and offices built along the inner ring) and there were many civilians about: workers, merchants, travelers, other crews. Collateral damage.
Nahimana had been silent, head hung walking stoically. When she caught sight of the group awaiting their shipment, she spoke a single word, which Silas had been waiting for. She inclined her head ever-so-slightly, and said 'There.'
It was obvious. The group, about twenty strong, were watching them approach, smug looks on their faces and openly carrying small-arms. Silas gave no indication that he was aware of them, staying intent on Ade's mannerisms, words and face.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Nov 27, 2015 20:59:30 GMT -8
The majority of the nineteen slavers awaiting the arrival of the Draykon crew and the delivery of their cargo have been with the largest combined mining and slaving outfit on Kessendra for so long that, no matter their former backgrounds, they have grown complacent and lax; the relative freedom from hassles of the law enforcement or rival organization variety having blunted their instincts and wariness. Of their number, however, two have not permitted time or lack of obvious or not-so obvious threats to dull the edges of instincts and skills honed over years of criminal and mercenary experience; a pair of male Trandoshans that have worked together for over twelve years, the last six of which have been spent with the mining and slaving outfit on Kessendra.
"Where the frell is Kerrigan?" the taller and glossier green scaled of the Trandoshans asks the other in their native Dosh as he warily watches the approach of the Draykon crew.
"Where the frell are the slaves? counters the shorter Trandoshan in Dosh, the three claws of his left hand gripping the handle of his blaster rifle more tightly as he turns to the other members of their outfit and whistles before hissing in heavily accented Basic, Can the chatter and look alive ladies, something doesn't smell right about this. Motioning to a group of six humanoids, he adds, Find some cover, get a clear line of fire on these motherfrackers. The rest of you spread out, be ready for anything."
Without lifting her head, Nahimana lifts a card from the deck she constantly shuffles and announces quietly, "Your ruse will not hold up much longer."
Her eyes moving to track the data scrolling down the HUD of her buy'ce, Neassa, having seen and accurately interpreted the actions of the Trandoshans, replies to the cowled Qiraash quietly and dryly, Don't need any cards to know that. Knowing there is no need to tell Silas or any of the others that they have mere seconds before things begin happening, Neassa instead maintains her outwardly casual approach as she uses a set of specific eye movements to open an encrypted comm channel to the Midnight Shadow's pilot to tell him, Trent, looks like we'll be needing that air support sooner than anticipated. Begin your approach now, and I'll call out targets when you're overhead. And don't get your conscience in any knots, I promise to make sure you're only targeting armed, slaving, hostile scum that wholly deserve what you'll be sending their way.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 1, 2015 19:49:41 GMT -8
Rock from the planet's barren landscape crunches unheard beneath the soles of the tiny Nagai's black combat boots as she follows behind Adrien, Silas, and the female slave. Right hand remaining near her holstered DC-15s sidearm, the Nagai reaches up with her left to adjust the set of the breathmask she wears to protect herself from the planet's thin atmosphere, her dark, presently emotionless eyes scanning the group the slave woman points out ahead as well as their surroundings so that she is aware of available cover points and the disposition of the enemy. Her expression remains unchanged even when the group ahead loses their loose, casual lack of concern, and begins to re-position themselves in a far more combat oriented manner.
Mentally taking a deep breath, the Nagai's outward demeanor betrays no hint of the fact she has shifted into an even more watchful readiness; her muscles and mind anticipating the need to, as well as ready to, act the very instant the calm before the storm to come ends.
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Preacher
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Post by Preacher on Dec 2, 2015 9:16:34 GMT -8
They didn't need to wait long. It was the one of the lizards -- Sissk, by name -- who decided enough was enough, and was first to raise his arm, the extra height and strength apparent in the 'pistol' he wielded, which in any other being's hands would have been a carbine. His slightly awkward claw-grip telegraphed his depressing of the over-sized trigger. An orange-red blaster bolt flew just wide of Adrien's left shoulder, sparking and burning against the cargo container.
After that initial attack and the accompanying growl from Sissk, all was chaos. Two of the male human slavers nearest the dock-master's office turned and fired on the door of the building, blowing it neatly off its hinges, and dashed inside to find suitable cover. Others stood their ground and opened fire. Preacher thought he might have gained a moments' reprieve, disguised as one of their own, but when a blaster bolt cored through his left shoulder above the collar bone, spinning him on his feet and nearly dropping the outlander to the ground, he straightened and quickly took stock of the situation. Three off to his left, engaged with Connie and Ade, a further four taking cover behind a sedan-sized speeder close to the harbour-master's office, not yet firing, but yelling (commands? support? confusion?) at others in their group. He saw the charred remains of the door on the building off to their right, and knew some of their targets had fled and might be flanking them, or taking hostages. He filed that information for the moment, and turned to the immediate threat, the six before him that had stood their ground and flanked the diminutive female holding the smoking blaster at a battle-ready stance.
Another two blaster bolts, and the sharp report of a slug-thrower, missed their marks as he righted himself and took a step toward the group, drawing his hand-cannon. He fired twice in quick succession, followed by a more careful, precise third blast. His first shot entered centre-mass of a male Iridonian who died in a most dramatic fashion, tumbling away in a spray of crimson and throwing his blaster another several yards as he finally came to rest in the dirt. The second shot caved in the forehead of a male human, spraying his nearby comrades with blood as he toppled, his hand still attempting to draw his sidearm. The third, more careful shot went through the elbow of the Trandoshan, Sissk. Silas was surprised to find it barely gave the lizard-man pause. He neither dropped his weapon nor reacted to the massive slug penetrating his joint ...at least visibly.
Refocusing on the small female who winged him, and who was readying another shot, Silas raised his left arm, wincing slightly at the pain that stabbed him in the neck, and called upon his gift, closing an invisible fist tightly over the woman's heart. She screamed, clutched at her chest, turned blue, and fell face-first to the ground...
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 4, 2015 22:31:30 GMT -8
Seeing the Trando begin to raise his blaster, the Nagai draws her DC-15s sidearm while dropping into a crouch to present a smaller target to their enemies. While the Nagai's initial plan is to fire upon the pair of Trandos that appear to be in charge, that plan (like many a plan made in the midst of battle) is hastily cast aside by necessity when three of the slavers begin to fire upon her and Adrien. All thoughts of plan temporarily set aside as she finds the tide of the battle carrying her swiftly along with little to no time for thoughts of plans, the Nagai shifts her aim to the trio of slavers firing at her and Adrien as a blaster bolt only just barely misses her right side, and then fires a hastily aimed spread of quick shots towards the three slavers, the shots meant more to send them for cover than anything. The last of the quickly aimed shots hits one of the scrambling slavers in the back, and the Nagai darts forward in a zig-zagging pattern as another of their enemies, having sought and found cover, sends a salvo of blaster bolts towards her and Adrien's position.
Wincing as one of the blaster bolts grazes her upper left thigh, the Nagai staggers as she reaches the relative safety of a small-ish but sturdy looking refuse container. Ignoring the pain in her thigh, the Nagai shifts her weight to her right leg as she crouches behind the container and then peers quickly around a corner to get an idea of where their enemies are. Having spotted a pair of slavers whose choice of cover has left them exposed from her vantage point, the Nagai takes a breath to steady her nerves, and then pivots to fire a quartet of shots towards the slavers. Her first shot misses, but the remaining three find their marks and drop the pair of slavers. Ducking back behind cover as several blaster bolts sail around the refuse container or sizzle into it, the Nagai cocks her head to try and get an idea of where her attackers are positioned so that she can return fire when an opportunity presents itself . . .
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2015 20:09:02 GMT -8
Neassa is remotely aware of the fact her mouth goes suddenly dry as, more adrenaline rushing into her system as the tension of waiting for the action to erupt gives suddenly way to the tension of erupting action, she feels the quasi-relief that, for her, always accompanies the end of the waiting. Though she knows things are moving with the violent swiftness of all battles, Neassa calmly lets go of her EE-3, worn with its sling in a shoulder ready carry position, raising her right arm as she tracks the movement of the targets moving to take cover behind a speeder. Ignoring a blaster bolt that splashes harmlessly into the red beskar'gam protecting her chest, Neassa readjusts her stance to regain her footing after being knocked slightly off balance, and then, once the readouts on her HUD ensure her there is no chance of harming the civilians running for cover near the speeder her targets have sought refuge behind, fires the Type-12A anti-personnel rocket into the side of the speeder. Dropping to a knee as the speeder explodes, killing three of her targets instantly, Neassa lifts her EE-3 carbine to her shoulder and fires a blaster bolt into the head of the fourth as he recovers from the concussive blast of the explosion enough to try and draw a bead on her.
A blaster bolt impacts the side of her buy'ce, painfully wrenching her head to the side, as Neassa searches for her next target, and her HUD readings are momentarily blurred by static and pain. Shaking her head to clear it while rising into a crouch and moving for the cover offered by a nearby airspeeder, Neassa fires a salvo of blaster shots blindly towards the direction the shot to her buy'ce came from. Reaching the cover of the airspeeder, Neassa takes a quick moment to orient herself to the changes in the positions of her comrades and their foes so that she can assess the best course of action to go forward.
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Adrien Draykon
Retired High Councilor 
The Smuggler King
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Post by Adrien Draykon on Dec 9, 2015 0:49:42 GMT -8
Adrien rolled his eyes as he drew his DC-15s sidearms simultaneously clearly irritated that they hadn't gotten the drop on the slavers. Of course he knew the plan wouldn't get them far but it at least succeeded in getting them close to the targets. The shootout did escalate a lot faster than he had originally thought but he didn't mind getting straight to business, in fact he liked the Trando's style and if the lizard didn't have to die the smuggler captain may have offered him a job. Bold and arrogant as ever Adrien stayed in the center of the battlefield shuffling and pacing so as not to make himself a stationary target.
He had his sights set on larger Trandoshan but only fired three shots, all of which landed to little effect on the monstrous creature, one to the knee, one to the chest, and one to the neck (which wounded him but didn't hamper him in any way). He would have stayed focused on his target had he not seen two more slavers (a twi'lek and a rodian, both male) firing on Connie and he turned his weapons on them riddling them with blaster bolts to their faces and chests mostly on their left sides due to his position. They fell and Adrien gave a quick smirk to Connie before he himself began to be fired upon. He spun and backpedaled then sidestepped toward Connie as he fired in the general direction of where the shots had come from. A few shots hit his coat and deflected off as he spun away, however one very narrowly missed his head.
As he fired toward his attackers one of them yelled out in pain as they fell from a stray blaster bolt to the right abdomen. A young human male, couldn't be older than sixteen or seventeen, rolled around on the ground clinching his stomach, screaming in pain. It was then than Adrien stopped firing and took cover near Connie's location. He had to let his weapons recharge a bit. "How's your leg?" he shouted over to Connie.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 10, 2015 18:55:15 GMT -8
Were it not for the armor mesh flight suit worn beneath her beskar'gam, Neassa might have lost her left arm below the elbow due to the blaster bolt that spins her around and knocks her to the ground as she tries to use the readings from her buy'ce's HUD to pin down where their remaining targets are located. Fortunately for her, Neassa's armor mesh flight suit absorbs and disperses the majority of the energy from the blast, though the bolt of energy does leave her arm sore and sure to be sore and bruised for a few days, while the mesh is left scorched and smoking. Scrambling back up to her feet and bringing her EE-3 carbine up to her shoulder to repay the chaavla that was clever enough to aim for one of the few places on her body not protected by her red and black beskar'gam rather than the more commonly targeted areas like center mass and head, Neassa grits her teeth in frustration when she sees the massive, now wounded yet apparently unphased, Trandoshan that had been the one to set the battle into motion disappearing into the dock-master's office a few of his men had entered to find cover within as the battle began.
The Trandoshan's departure is followed by an all too brief lull in the battle, and Neassa is able to perform a quick visual scan of the area to determine where the rest of the crew are, as well as to see that their foes have already lost a little over half their number, with the survivors now all gathered in the relative, and very temporary, safety of the dock-master's office. Ducking back behind the cover of the airspeeder as blaster fire begins to pour out from several windows, Neassa waits for a pause in the firing before leaning out around the side of the speeder to return fire. Managing to take out one of their targets as the female Weequay peers up from beneath a window, Neassa returns to cover as two of the Weequay's ilk send a storm of blaster bolts towards the speeder Neassa is using as cover.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 22, 2015 5:42:37 GMT -8
The Nagai's reply to Adrien's query about her leg is, for the personality fragment presently at the forefront of her consciousness, characteristically succinct with little wasted, or in this particular instance, no wasted words whatsoever. Making a circle with the thumb and index finger of her free hand to signal to Adrien that her leg is ok, the Nagai manages to reply without even marginally taking her attention from the ongoing battle. Remaining in a crouch, her weight predominantly on her right leg, the Nagai leans outwards slightly from behind the cover of the refuse container she is sheltering behind to try and determine where their foes are positioned at the moment.
Returning to cover as a flurry of blaster bolts sounds out, some whizzing past the refuse container while most slam into it, the Nagai turns towards Adrien and shouts out loud enough to be heard over the continuing blaster fire coming from ahead of their positions, "Windows. Ten, eleven, and two o'clock. I'll draw their fire on three." Trusting that Adrien will follow her plan without the need to spell it out further, the Nagai lifts the index finger of her free hand, takes a deep breath and raises the DC-15s sidearm in her right hand while raising the middle finger of her left, and then, after raising her left ring finger, pivots and drops to her chest on the ground beside the refuse container. DC-15s steadied in a two-handed grip, the Nagai fires a quick series of seven shots towards the windows she had spotted shooters in a moment ago, and then, when the blaster bolts slamming into the ground all around her make it plain she has succeeded in capturing the enemy's attention as planned, rolls to the side to get back under cover before their foes have a chance to adjust their fire more accurately. . .
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Trent Weston
The Organization
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Post by Trent Weston on Dec 22, 2015 23:44:35 GMT -8
With two supposed slavers dead in the last half hour or so and some half cocked plan to take out what's left of them underway, Trent decided to do some investigating of his own to see who it was that he had sided against. It would only take him a minute or two to see what he needed to see but he wanted to wait until everyone had gone their separate ways to execute this "plan" so to speak.Once everyone had set out Trent made his way back to the common area and then out of the ship. He scanned the area and upon spotting the two slaver bodies he quickly made his way over to them and knelt beside them. Let's see who you two really are. He said in a hushed tone as he clasped the first one's head between his thumb, index, and middle fingers at the temples.He couldn't explain what happened when he touched things, it was like he could see and feel memories sometimes when he touched things, though it's never worked on people, of course he'd never tried it on a dead person.
What he saw, what he felt, it was awful. The things this man had done and the how gleeful it had made him was sickening.Trent's eyes welled as he pulled away and reached for the other body.What he saw was much the same. There was no question now in Trent's mind that these men and the people they worked with were some of the most evil that he had ever seen. He couldn't fathom what could make someone do this to another being, much less enjoy what they were doing.He pulled away quicker this time with a deep gasp and pushed away from the bodies to a seated position. He sat on the ground giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts and push what he had just seen out of his mind as he took several deep breaths.
He had seen enough; he now knew that these people had to be stopped and that he needed to play a role in it. The hate and the darkness that he had felt had taken his breath away. He felt cold, scared, sad, even angry at what these men had done, and angry at himself for feeling sorry for them. He had never felt so deeply when he had touched something as he did now. Before it was only glimpses, this was more like a sadistic narrative, a lifetime of wickedness crammed into a few seconds a piece.
Once he had caught his breath and regained his composure the young pilot wiped his eyes and sniffled then picked himself up and walked back onto the ship. Silently he walked to the cockpit and prepped the ship, strapped in, put his headset on then waited for the call.
Just when Adrien was ready to make his move the high pitched engines of the Midnight Shadow squealed by and the quad laser cannons fired into the bunker along with one shot for the big laser cannon to cause a rather large explosion in the small space killing everyone inside. Trent pulled up to avoid collision and barrel rolled to the port side and swept across the the ridge ahead to wipe out a few hidden gunmen taking position. Woooooooo-hoooo!!
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Erly Ryzer
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Chilli Cheese Fries, please...
Posts: 181
Affiliation: CorSec (Formerly)
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Post by Erly Ryzer on Dec 25, 2015 22:38:20 GMT -8
Kessendra Space Port
Erly popped her head over the container that she had been hiding behind once the shooting had started. The purpose of which, was to quickly assess the amount of destruction Trent Weston was wreaking upon the slavers. Her choice of weapon, the tiny little gun that had the destructive potential of a cluster bomb on drugs, was generally not one she thought she ought to use while in close proximity to friendlies. And frankly, she ought never to use such a weapon ever again, so she resorted to throwing rocks, literally. Many of her thrown projectiles hit the Trandoshan (it was extremely hard to miss something that huge), but considering that the blasters from her companions did little to slow him down, Erly wasn't entirely sure if he had even noticed her attacks. She had been lucky so far, avoiding getting any hits, often moving away from danger even before it happened. Her gut told her, based on previous experiences of getting shot at, when and where these folk were going to shoot.
Plus, she was tiny, thin and fast, scampering from cover to cover, annoying the hell out of anyone she felt like annoying by tossing rocks at them. The blonde liked to think that her distracting them helped her companions score easier hits on targets. But she had to admit, nothing beat the raw style and entrance of Trent in the Midnight Shadow, not to mention the sheer firepower he brought along with him. He had as good as saved the day and ended the fight already. Let's see the Trandoshan survive that.
That was when she thought she saw movement from the ruined bunker, and she exclaimed, “Oh come on! That was rhetorical!”
Finding a dropped repeater rifle once belonging to one of the slavers, Erly braved the short distance to it, leaving cover, grabbed up the weapon, quickly checking and loading it, then joined Adrien and the Nagai woman. “Well, I asked to see the sights, I guess this counts, huh?”
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Krystal "Meony" Tancredi
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Figuring things out...
Posts: 239
Affiliation: Anything that abhors violence
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Post by Krystal "Meony" Tancredi on Dec 26, 2015 20:44:48 GMT -8
Watching the violence unfold, I wish so much to yell at everyone to stop inflicting more harm on each other. I question the success rate of that, considering who my own father is...well, at least I won't add to the damage. It's kinda like seeing a blood-red aura that gets brighter and stronger, and scarier the longer a fight continues, and it's not just the ones who get hurt who have this, but those who inflict that damage. This is why I never fight, not even to defend myself.
But that doesn't mean I can't take a hit to protect other people. I stay close to the ship's doctor, who felt inclined to stay close to the action, in case she's needed, but seriously, I think it's probably better if she was in the ship and waiting for the patients to come to her. I mean, I can fly, and shield people with my body. I tell her as much too, before I'm too busy doing what I could do best without violating my own oath and beliefs. I don't know how I know this, but I can take a blaster bolt without dying. I also seemingly know that while I can survive it, I'm not going to enjoy it, and it'll hurt like nobody's business. So instead, I grab a heavy durasteel crate almost as big as me, and tear apart the majority of it, keeping only one side, making a sort of tower shield.
Holding on to it with both hands, and a strength probably disproportionate to my size and build, I stand in front of the good doctor, and hold the shield up, blocking blaster bolts. Looking behind me, I say, “Keep your head down, doctor. This shield isn't perfect.”
I'm proven right when I see mister Weston in the freighter, roaring overhead, and blasting several souls into oblivion. The ensuing wash of burning debris forces me to tilt my shield to cover my head and the doctor's, floating off the ground a little because everyone's taller than me. And a stray bolt hits me in the midsection.
I learnt this: IT HURTS! “OWH!”
By a sheer miracle I don't drop my shield and keel over in pain. Though I should be thankful, I suppose. I'm still alive though I should have been dead from that hit. But it didn't tickle, so I'm not hoping for an encore experience. Kicking up the remains of the durasteel container, I use my legs to sort of keep that thing covering my body while I keep up our umbrella shield. But now that stupid blaster burn is feeling like the mother of all Tatooine sunburns, and it's itching and burning and oh blast it, why is the plating starting to feel heavier?
ooc: Permission to GM Jemima Sacharo given by handler.
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Jemima Sacharo
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“I can't lose any more of you. I just can't!”
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Post by Jemima Sacharo on Dec 27, 2015 21:01:20 GMT -8
Jemima's desire to hide in the safest location available was overridden only by her concern for the well being of...everyone. Adrien's most of all. She was still not over the speed of his recovery, and she still didn't think he should be anywhere within nine million lightyears from danger. To top things off, this little child was playing protective bodyguard for her. The young woman wasn't sure if she approved of that fact. And she even told her she would be better off waiting on the ship and she'd bring any injured people to her. "That won't be necessary," said Jemima, "I'm quite fi-AAAHHH!"
Shooting, and before she even thought about it, she was ducking behind the tiny frame of a little girl for cover. Only, the little girl was ripping a durasteel crate with her bare hands, something she was sure even a Wookie or Trandoshan would have a hard time doing, and a makeshift shield was made. "You don't have to tell me twice! How are you doing this?!" She marveled at the sheer strength being demonstrated before her, and cringed when Trent opened fire, destroying things and raining debris on everyone. Krystal had raised the shield to cover their heads now, and took a shot to her front, which Jemima was certain would be fatal, but the girl merely yelled in pain, but didn't go down. "Goodness, Krystal, let me fix that!"
The young doctor pulled out her medikit and started shuffling around for salves and bandages.
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Preacher
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One step closer.
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Post by Preacher on Jan 4, 2016 18:13:23 GMT -8
The blast from the 'Shadow's quad cannons that neatly levelled the dock-master's office and (presumably) everyone inside it blew Silas off his feet, the spacer coming to rest several feet from where he previously stood. He didn't stay down long though. His newfound prone position showed him a new target -- the feet of a humanoid slaver cowering behind a toppled repulser-cart. Preacher lined up his shot from prone, breathing in as he carefully, lovingly squeezed the trigger, turning the humanoid alien's left foot into a bloody stump (that's four slugs from the hand-cannon.) There was an audible cry as the alien fell to the ground, no doubt clutching the appendage. Silas rolled towards the skiff, came to his feet in a brisk walk, left hand grasping the hilt of his energy sword. Rounding the corner, he came upon the alien in very much the posture he imagined. Silas grabbed a fistful of hair, twisting the creature's face to meet his own, ignoring the pleading, pained look from the slaver, and ignited the blade to cleanly remove the being's head from his shoulders.
Disengaging the sword, he continued moving, coming back around the far side of the skiff to find the remaining Trandoshan picking himself up after the explosion (Mother Sun -- did these things ever sit down and die??) ...rooting through debris to loose his rifle from between bits of the harbour-master's office. Again engaging the sword, Silas used the power tether much as a medieval soldier would swing a flail. Swinging it above his head, he brought the sword down once, removing the right arm (which was reaching for the rifle,) then slashing across the thighs, severing both legs , then finally, a third whirl of the blade removed the head. When Preacher caught the hilt once more, it was already deactivated, and disappeared as fast as it had appeared.
Silas knelt over the monstrous form and spoke a few words, before assessing the combat once more. The sounds of the firefight were dwindling, only the occasional blaster shot could be heard as the winning side finished their grisly job. Silas holstered his sidearm, and quickly began digging through the rubble of the smouldering building...
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jan 13, 2016 20:43:21 GMT -8
Shaking dust and small bits of debris from her chin length black hair after the roar of the explosion and the resultant brief, clattering rain of bits of duracrete and glasine have died down to the faint crackling of flames, the Nagai looks over as Erly joins her and Adrien, giving the woman a distracted nod in lieu of a verbal greeting before cautiously peering from behind cover to scan the ruins of the building and the nearby surroundings for any signs of remaining threat to the crew.
Emitting a short, low chuckle when Erly's greeting strikes her as amusing, the Nagai does not divert her attention from their surroundings as she answers Erly in a gruff, low voice far different from her more customarily light, cheery and feminine tones, "It counts, yes. Shifting her crouched stance to scan another area for any potential threats, the Nagai notes, We seem to be clear for the moment, Captain. Your orders?"
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