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Post by Deleted on Sept 18, 2017 20:23:07 GMT -8
The Mustafarian, withdrawing from Silas' hand like a cur that has come to expect only the kick of a boot before he relaxes and laughs without mirth, his diseased lungs rattling and his chest heaving as thick, black, stringy ichor spills from the corners of his snout and he says, "Have a care, Preacher. You'll set the hook deep with questions like that. Shrugging a shoulder, the Mustafarian sighs, resigned to the role he was been cast in when broken, Ah, but we've all our roles to play, and our prices to pay. He only broke what had already been broken, like he does, and then remade it to suit his needs. Shivering as another fit of coughing overtakes him, the Mustafarian looks up at the stained ceiling and, as though reciting words not his own, intones in his rasping, dead voice, What's been left is something you lost long ago, something you need but won't want anymore now than you did before. Find what is hidden and it will bring you closer to him so long as it is yours, but keep it and you travel with him in your satchel. A frail, shaking insectile limb reaches out for Silas' shoulder and, gripping it tightly, the Mustafarian rasps, One last clue I can give, Preacher, but there is a price. Always is, isn't there? Free me from his strings, cut them quick and true, grant me that boon and I'll give the last clue to you."
Neassa, kneeling beside Silas after having been given answers to the questions she had asked of the elderly proprietors of the dingy house of many purposes that has its own part to play in a tale set in motion by an author she has never met, and may not ever meet, shakes her head pityingly after studying the Mustafarian, and, as the words the doomed creature speaks sound like utter nonsense to her, appears to dismiss the Mustafarian as she asks Silas, What does The Code say needs to be done with those that prey on the weak?
The Mustafarian laughs bitterly, whining in a tone almost as amused as it is bitter, "She's all but given you your last clue, damn her. To thine own self be true, Preacher. Do what you do, nothing more and nothing less, and what was left hidden will be revealed to you. There you are, clear as day, isn't it? Just like he wanted. Nothing comes free though, and I think you owe me that boon all the same."
Head tilted to the side inquisitively, Neassa asks Silas in a bewildered tone suggesting she has begun to suspect the Mustafarian's ramblings are more directed than she initially believe, a note of concern evident as it is also becoming clear to her that the Mustafarian is a weapon left here to be fired at Silas, What clue? Like who wanted?
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Post by Preacher on Sept 20, 2017 16:30:08 GMT -8
Silas turns to look at the armour-clad woman who stoops to be beside him, even as the Mustafarian holds his shoulder and breathes his frail words. Preacher's eyes are at once comforted by her presence, thankful for her friendship, and troubled in a way she has never seen in him before. He replies to her question about preying on the weak without hesitation, though in a sightly detached way, his mind working away on what the broken being before him has said...
The Code is clear, Warrior. The third writing of the eldest bears this out. "Give justice to the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from evil. Stir the idle, bolster the fainthearted, help the weak and be patient with them all." ...We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak.
Swallowing, seeking to banish the dry, angry desert from his mouth, Silas turns back to the alien, fixing him with a steady gaze. It is what you seek, friend? I can do what you ask of me, but I will not do his bidding. Not now, not ever.
Turning back to Neassa, Silas falters, unsure of what to say, much less what to do. He was here. The one I seek. I... I'm not sure. End this one's suffering, a path may be revealed. But it's his rules. Not mine. To do so is... I'd be... there is no provision under the Code for me to do this. Turning back to the Mustafarian What is your name, friend?
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Post by Deleted on Sept 21, 2017 19:20:38 GMT -8
The Mustafarian looks from The Preacher to Neassa as they speak, easily able to read The Preacher's expressions as his face is, unlike Neassa's, unconcealed. Neassa, armored and with her buy'ce concealing her face, often possesses an economy of movement that, as the resultant stillness coupled with her hidden expression lends her an aura of inscrutability upon which others can project their fears or, at times, hopes. The Mustafarian, far from innocent, finds Neassa's quiet stillness unsettling even as The Preacher's troubles countenance and unconcealed compassion make him hope that he may soon be freed from the purgatorial existence he has been trapped in so that he might prod The Preacher into what is sure to be a trap of one kind or another.
"This one is Chev Eyo, the Mustafarian says after coughing when asked his name, watching Neassa who, after nodding silently in reply to what The Preacher had told her, unsheathes her survival knife and seems to settle her blank T-visor upon Chev in a way that makes his bowels feel loose despite the fact that he has asked for what he reads promised in the blackness of the visor. It is what I seek, yes, Chev says while nodding his head weakly, no hesitation or doubt in his voice. A self-pitying, whining, pleading note enters the Mustafarian's voice as he continues, He has forced me to linger on longer than I should have, Preacher, and the lingering is painful. I would have an end to it. Your Code may not permit you to free me, Chev forces himself to look at Neassa, managing to meet her hidden gaze briefly as he coughs and says, Perhaps that is why fate has seen to it that your path and hers have joined and brought you here now. Using the name The Preacher had used for Neassa, Chev asks her, Will you free me, Warrior? Sighing in relief when Neassa nods, an end to his agony in sight at last, Chev looks back to The Preacher and says, Follow the eastern lava river outside the city to where it forks, and then follow the northern branch to where it enters the bowl shaped cliffs. Atop the cliffs, right in the center, there is a cave. There you will find evil the weak and needy here need to be delivered of, and where what has been left for you can be found. Coughing, spraying bits of tissue amidst the droplets of dark ichor, Chev reaches out to grasp The Preacher's shoulder with a dry, brittle insectlie palm, and says, You could leave it unfound, Preacher, for it may not help you in equal measure to how it will harm or hinder you. Waving his palm over his chest to bid The Preacher to look well upon one who accepted what he who The Preacher seeks offered and paid the hidden price for it, Chev says, Always a price, Preacher, never forget that. Looking from The Preacher, Chev tells Neassa, It is done. Now will you free me, Warrior?"
Neassa nods after glancing at Silas questioningly to see if he has any objection to her ending Chev's suffering, and then rests one gloved hand on the Mustafarian's shoulder gently before the other, holding the knife, darts out swiftly to free the Mustafarian quickly and painlessly with a strike to the heart.
Withdrawing her blade, recalling to mind what little Silas had said of the one he weeks, the one that found his homeworld and committed great evils, Neassa is silent for a moment as she stirs in what the Mustafarian had said, and even, out of consideration of the fact that she and Silas are part of a crew, adds a dash of consideration for the fact that Draykon is unlikely to appreciate her and Silas heading on a detour that offers no monetary reward. Neassa knows that there is some dissonance between how Silas sees her and reality, her moral code more flexible than what she has learned of The Code that he follows, just as she is not unaware of the fact that she has yet to correct his misunderstanding for fear of how it might alter his opinion of her; and yet those considerations alone are not what leave her feeling compelled to seek out Chev's so-called evil-doers. Flexible moral code or not, Neassa has never been able to abide bullies in any shape or form, be they slavers or extortionists.
Having reached her decision, Neassa turns to Silas as she says, Path has been revealed. What say we follow it? Like you said, The Code is clear.
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Post by Preacher on Sept 23, 2017 12:58:20 GMT -8
Preacher had to look away. Despite himself, despite his training, despite his knowing somewhere deep that it was the right thing, he had to look away when the knife moved in, snuffing the ruined creature's life. ...East lava river. North branch where it diverges. Bowl-shaped cliffs. Cave on top of the cliffs. He couldn't un-know what he now knew. And he couldn't turn his back any more than he could have killed Chev. It was more about the evil that these locals needed deliverance from. Less about his own thirst for knowledge. And he knew well the price. With every step he took, knew it would one day catch up with him.
When he looked back at Neassa, it was all over. There was a hardness in his eye that stayed a moment, but was then swallowed away. She had done in an instant what he would never be able to do. Bound by his book. He didn't know what to say. What of their little excursion? What would it come to define between them? And maybe more horrifying, what would it cauterize between them? What of Draykon? What would their Captain think of their little jaunt? If he recalled them, would he ever return to this place, or would the trail be lost to him forever? What of Chev? What are his peoples' customs regarding burial and death? What of... Oh, hell.
wearily, and maybe a little warily ...Lead on, Warrior.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 26, 2017 18:03:34 GMT -8
Neassa wonders at the hardness in Silas' expression when he looks at her, her initial reaction to replay the last few moments in her mind rather than be wounded or offended by the expression. As she recounts the moments prior to the look in Silas' eye, Neassa can see how her deliverance of the Mustafarian from his torment may have seemed cursory, or summary, and without any traces of compassion, and she almost gives into her impulse to explain that she felt it was a mercy to not draw out Chev's pain any longer, but then Silas speaks and, detecting the heedful, fatigued tone he uses, Neassa tells herself that it serves no one to dwell on surperfluous and ultimately intangible matters.
Nodding her head, Neassa says, Wait here, and then rises to her feet.
Returning after speaking to the elderly couple for a handful of moments, Neassa says, falling unaware into the familiar confident cadence and tone of one used to leading others into battle, They aren't sure about overall numbers. It is usually three to five swoop riders that come to collect the tolls from the business owners in town. Looking over her shoulder to watch as the elderly woman disappears behind the cashier's counter, Neassa continues, Safe to estimate the total number of hostiles is at least twice that. The cave Chev mentioned is near an abandoned mining facility, so shouldn't be too hard to find. It's an hour from here on foot. Geological activity interferes with scanners and sensors, so we should be able to reach the cave undetected if we're careful. Also means we'll be going in blind, Neassa notes with precious little worry in her tone, and then tilts her head to the side as she muses, unless your Inner Strength abilities are able to help you out a bit in that department. Taking the blanket the old woman hands to her after emerging from behind the counter, Neassa squats down to cover Chev as the old woman holds something out to Silas.
"We don't have a full set, but this will protect you from the worst of the heat, the old woman explains as she hands a chest plate fashioned from the heat resistant shells of lava fleas to Silas, and then hands him a breath mask that matches the armor. Bless you both for what you're doing, the woman says as she helps Silas don the armor and breath mask, and then tells Neassa, I'll see that Chev is taken care of just like you asked. Gods go with you and protect you."
Neassa nods, having paid the elderly couple to see that the unfortunate Mustafarian has whatever funeral rites his people adhere to, and then, once Silas is ready, heads out of the watering hole, pausing to get her bearings briefly before setting out in silence towards the east lava river that they have been told to follow to what lays in wait for them in a cave atop bowl shaped cliffs.
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Post by Preacher on Sept 27, 2017 12:13:02 GMT -8
Silas ponders everything that Neassa says, weighing her words carefully. Likewise, he takes in the words of the older woman, yet can muster barely a smile as she bestows upon him the natural armour. Bless us both. Blessings. He was unworthy of such words. Especially when it came to the Man. Silas had rarely done anything that could have been considered self-serving, but if he knew the Man's motives, then their actions would be both blessing and curse. He could tell himself there were puritanical reasons for his actions, but if the ugly truth were known, he wanted this. Wanted to track the Man down. Wanted him to pay for his sins. And would be more than happy to be the instrument of the Man's penance.
They left in silence, and he simply could not bring himself to make mention of their "good deed." Gods go with us? Whose Gods? And if they be for us, who be against us? These and other, less pleasant thoughts occupied Preacher's mind as they moved across the hellish landscape, making good time, but existing in parallel. As the duo approached forty-five minutes of uninterrupted travel, he spoke. The cliffs lay ahead. Maybe seventy feet tall, the jagged, young volcanic rock would be easy enough to ascend, but not without dangers.
Crouching behind a grouping of boulders, Silas reached out with his Inner Strength, seeking answers to the unasked question, and found the reply less than clear. I can't tell how many. Not from here. Maybe closer... He was calm, his breathing even. Clear-eyed and composed, though that same look lingered in his eye. Even so... ten, or twenty... they will not get the better of us. Not this day.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 1, 2017 10:59:09 GMT -8
Simiel sits deep in a cave atop bowl shaped cliffs. Simiel is a wanted Thisspiasian, with the death penalty in no less than twelve systems. Having fought in more battles than he can accurately count during a career spent predominantly as the leader of a mercenary squadron, Simiel has always considered himself physically and mentally stronger than most beings. The man in the black robes, when giving him the thing he holds now, in the privacy of his quarters, in his lower set of arms, told him that only one with great Inner Strength could access the wonders hidden in the seemingly innocuous object he gave to Simiel to protect. The man in the black robes, maddeningly. had a laugh in his voice as he said it, as though he foresaw how the object would come to obsess Simiel, just as there was amusement in his tone when he said that a man with a book would come looking for the object. The man in the black robes said it might be better for Simiel to just give the thing he gave to the man with the book, but he said that, too, with a laugh in his eye.
Simiel turns the object over in his lower hands, hidden from view when he is not alone, and stares at the thing left with him as he often does when alone, searching for a way to make it reveal its hidden wonders to him.
The lava flowing in the river they have followed burbles, pops, and bubbles gently, and rock crunches softly underfoot as Neassa crouches behind a cluster of boulders beside Silas. Reaching up to lower the targeting viewfinder on the side of her buy'ce, Neassa scans along the top of the bowl shaped cliffs ahead of their position as Silas reaches out with his Inner Strength to search that no piece of equipment can.
Not this day, no, Neassa repeats, smiling unseen beneath her buy'ce as she zooms in on the gutted remains of the mining facility atop the bowl shaped cliffs. Sensor readings and scans might be useless with the interference Mustafar's geologic activity causes, but her viewfinder's binocular feature is unaffected. I spot two sentries in the ruins of the mining facility. Might be others, she adds, hunkering down behind the boulders. Lookouts seem to be watching the central approach most diligently, Neassa explains, which makes sense as it's the easiest way to reach the top. Adjusting the strap of her left gauntlet, equipped with a smart-rope, Neassa absently runs a gloved finger along the tip of the grappling hook attached to the end of the monolink filament as she says, Cliff face east of the mining facility gives us the best odds of reaching the top without being spotted. Having spent enough time watching the sentries, Neassa believes she can pick a route to the base of the cliffs that avoids their gaze, and so, readying herself to set out, she tells Silas, Follow me.
At the base of the cliffs, with no sign that the sentries above have been alerted to their approach, Neassa looks up for a strong, solid looking point to fire her grappling hook as she tells Silas, Smart-rope is strong enough to support us both, so get ready to hold onto me. Lifting her left arm, Neassa tilts her head to the side as she takes aim, and then fires the grappling hook upward, rewarded with a satisfying thunk as the hook buries itself in the rocky surface of a small outcropping near the top of the cliffs. Motioning for Silas to take hold of her, Neassa tells him, Hold on tight, once he has done so, and then uses the grappling hook to take them up to the outcropping, one step closer to the thing that has been left for Silas to claim from the Thisspiasian it has been left with.
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Post by Preacher on Oct 1, 2017 15:06:57 GMT -8
It is interesting, notes the Preacher to himself, how easily he listens to, and follows this woman. All is new. At home, there was no one he looked to for say-so or approval, nothing in the world that would have convinced him he need another to help him on his way. Their ancient way of living would also have looked askance at him for following a woman. Out here, though, one of the first terms he picked up, and filed under 'apt' was the notion that "no two identical paths in the 'Verse." The galaxy was a big place, and oftentimes, he felt very small in it. There was no shame in asking for aid, especially from one such as Neassa. Fact was, he'd follow her to the hot place and back. He'd never had a partner before, but of all those he'd met, she was the only one he trusted to walk side-by-side with.
Oddly, when she spells out the wizardry her tech allows her to see, Silas' first inclination is to head for the central approach. If that's where the sec guards are, then a head-on approach is best. None of them will walk out of here, so why deceive? Not being spotted has never been Preacher's MO. But her reasoning is sound, and he again has much to learn about the ways of the 'Verse. As all of this transpires, Silas' biggest worry is where to 'hold onto her.' There's her shoulders, or around the waist, but all of that seems so familiar. Face to face? But that would mean they'd be touching... no, it couldn't be permitted. And besides the Code, he didn't want to take the chance of presenting an inferior tactical presence.
Ultimately, he mimicked her posture, grasping her outstretched forearm, and holding on around her shoulder, entwining his leg with hers, to prevent them from spinning, and making their mass as even a load as possible. It was a useless gesture, but he swallowed as they ascended, a lump in his throat.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 3, 2017 19:32:30 GMT -8
Neassa clasps her left wrist with her right hand to lessen the strain on her left shoulder as, beginning to retract the smart-rope now serving as a grappling line, she and Silas begin to ascend the cliffs. Kicking away from the face of the cliffs when the motion of the monolink filament threatens to slam her into them, Neassa is grateful for the exercises she had forced herself to endure during her recovery from her injuries; her legs sore by the time they reach the outcropping, but not in danger of hampering her in what almost certainly lays ahead of them.
Reaching the top of the cliffs is, once she and Silas reach the outcropping, a simple enough matter of finding hand and foot holds that enable them to complete their ascent. The hollowed out remnants of the former mining facility near the cave where their quarry awaits them rise in the distance, illuminated faintly by the glow of the nearby lava flows that give the barren nighttime landscape its forebodingly hellish aura, the latter lost on Neassa in her practiced, narrowed focus on assessing the situation with the clinical detachment that overtakes her when approaching danger. Accepting the ease with which Silas has surrendered command of their assault to her without examination for the time being, her focus devoted to maximizing their chances of survival even though she, like he, has little doubt that they will prove more than capable of eliminating their prey, Neassa uses simple hand gestures to signal her intentions to Silas; a lifted fist to call a halt when, with her viewfinder's aid, she spies one of the sentries in the ruins ahead turning to train his gaze in their direction, or an index finger waved toward the next cover point she selects when the sentry has moved to watch over another area.
Unslinging her EE-3 carbine from behind her back when they have reached what is likely to be the most effective cover point offering a vantage point of the majority of the ruined mining facility where the pair of sentries are stationed, Neassa says to Silas, Sentry highest up seems more disciplined than the one on the lower floor. Shouldering her carbine and sighting in with its electronic scope on the sentry, a female Weequay armed with a blaster rifle that has the look of a sniper's weapon, she deems the more dangerous of the pair, Neassa continues, I can take her out, and, she adjusts her aim to sight in on the second sentry, a male Dantari who appears to be struggling to stay awake, maybe the other one too. The sound of her carbine, which is not silenced, might alert the Dantari to the danger he is in, and he might even not freeze up and instead get to cover before she can adjust her aim and fire, but Neassa feels the odds are in favor of her managing to take both out. Shots might not be heard inside the cave, she continues, preferring to keep their assault a surprise for as long as possible to announcing their presence to their foes before they have breached their lair in the cave. Or, she lowers her rifle and turns her buy'ce's T-visor towards Silas as she seeks his input, having seen him in action and never having been one to feel threatened by asking for alternate strategic thoughts, do you think we should try and get in close instead, take them out simultaneously without blaster fire, or try and take one alive to interrogate them?
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Post by Preacher on Oct 5, 2017 6:50:03 GMT -8
Crouched behind their cover -- an oddly horizontal series of thin, crumbly stalactites -- Silas peers out into the gloom to assess and offer his perspective on their situation. Just a momentary glance, that's all it takes. His inner sight has shown him the framework of what he needs to know. His eyes merely confirm, and add scenery to the mental image. It is as he pictured, though it is interesting to note the features of the Dantari & Weequay. Patting his hand-blaster, he speaks in a low voice. This will most certainly be heard. pause The one on the ground, on our level -- he is not what I imagined. Nor is he as ill-prepared as he might appear. I think taking one alive might be the best course of action. a pause, where it is apparent Preacher is deeply considering his words I can silence one of them from here, or with a minimum of movement. I imagine the guard on the upper floor poses the most serious issues as far as 'getting close.' I'll deal with that one. Can you take the one on the ground quietly, and alive?
He closes his eyes, brow deeply furrowed. What is this, this course? Why am I so bent on it's unraveling? Am I so loose-moralled, so willing to turn my back on the Teachings? Is this how it is done? I seek your wisdom, Crayden, the First. Guide me here where my frailties are in control. Show me the path, and I will not hesitate to walk it.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 6, 2017 19:23:05 GMT -8
Neassa nods silently when asked if she believes she can sneak up on, and then capture the Dantari (who, she decides despite her own earlier thoughts, should not be underestimated given Silas' assessment of him) alive without alerting the other sentry. Even if the Dantari does not offer up any intelligence on what she and Silas will be going up against in the caves, Neassa thinks, eliminating the sentries without alerting the other chakaar that eke out their miserable existence by preying upon the weak is a good plan, for whatever that is worth. One of the earliest lessons that Plu imparted upon Neassa was that while plans are useless in preparing for battle, planning is invaluable.
Missing the furrowing of Silas' brow as she peers from around one of the series of twisted, malformed stalactites they have taken cover behind, Neassa watches the movement of the sentries in the ruins ahead, and studies the terrain laying between her current position and theirs so that she can plan a stealthy approach to where she will be able to quietly subdue the Dantari. Once she has plotted her advance, Neassa adjusts the sling of her carbine to eliminate the chances an errant noise will betray her, and then, after giving Silas a thumbs up to signal she is beginning her departure, darts in a crouch from behind the stalactites and sets out for the next cover point she has selected.
Neassa's father, her first teacher in the ways of war, also shared his thoughts on the value of planning with her many times. We make plans, Neassa's father liked to say, and the gods laugh.
Huyana, the tightly bound collection of twelve inky black isolation braids hanging from the back of her head revealing how many years she has been away from Sriluur, has just turned away from watching the barren, hellish vista stretching to the east for a moment so that she can look out onto the equally hellish scene available to the west when the roaring sound of a larger than usual bubble of gas erupting to the surface of a lava flow to the west causes her to turn and look back. Huyana's eyes are almost immediately drawn to the small figure, illuminated briefly in the glow of the orange globules of lava tumbling back down into the flow after being sent upward into the night sky, running for a shadow filled declivity in the tortured surface of the cliffs.
Her attention on the shadows that will give her cover, Neassa does not see Huyana lifting her rifle to her shoulder in the distance ahead, but she does hear the harsh bark of the blaster rifle as it is fired. The blaster bolt sparks as it strikes Neassa's breastplate, the beskar'gam protecting her from all but the bruising that the impact will leave, and she staggers, almost losing her footing on the loose, uneven terrain before she recovers enough to dive for the hollowed out declivity as several more blaster bolts spit into the ground around her.
Muttering a curse in Sriluurian when her target does not fall, Huyana fires a few more times in a vain effort to stop the armored figure from reaching cover. Reaching with a wrinkled hand for the comlink clipped to the front left shoulder of her jacket, Huyana alerts her comrades to the fact that they have company.
Simiel sets the thing he was left down on his desk and looks at it for a moment before he reaches for the blaster rifle leaning against the side of his chair. Huyana did not mention a book, or if the armored figure was a man, but Simiel smiles anyway, Book or no book, the interloper outside will not get the thing that the man in the black robes left with Simiel. Folding his lower arms over the thing the man in the black robes left with him, Simiel laughs as he uses his tail to slither from his quarters to join the motley crew of humanoid and alien beings he has gathered to him, sure that he and his crew will be able to deal with the fool that Huyana and the Dantari, Kuba, have pinned down outside.
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Post by Preacher on Oct 12, 2017 6:40:44 GMT -8
Silas watched patiently, following Neassa's progress. She is skilled, and he feels certain that remaining in her company, he will continue to learn much in the ways of this galaxy, and truthfully, the ways of war. He spies the cover she is heading for, and notes both its proximity to their earth-bound target, and its relative protection. When it all goes wrong, with little in the way of notice or warning, Silas does not hesitate. Neassa has been struck, and he fears the worst. Breaking cover, Silas strides directly toward Kuba, and, five yards above him, Huyana. He had felt unease, pity, and a great deal of moral indecision over what was the most obvious a course of action. Feelings which had dogged him since their arrival on this scorched and fearsome planetoid. But now, with his friend and partner -- maybe the only friend he'd ever had -- potentially injured or lying dead, all hesitation vanished, and Silas of Biul acted, swiftly and surely.
Stopping twenty-five feet away, and below Huyana's position, completely in the open, Preacher concentrated. Huyana raised her weapon, taking aim, and uttered an impressively ugly string of a language Silas did not understand. Silas reached out with his outstretched hand, and saw within her. Saw her alien physiology. He heard the report of the weapon firing, and felt the impact of the blaster bolt as it tore through the fabric of his duster, missing him by a scant inch to the left of his chest. He could feel her breathing, quicker now on the exhale as she quickly re-sighted. One more breath, and then another, deeper inhale, which she held, readying herself to fire.
And then Silas took hold of the beating orb inside her chest, and squeezed. On her perch, Huyana screamed, a dark, barking sound, loosing her grip on the weapon, and dropped to her knees. He could have let her go right then, and she may even have lived. But he continued to squeeze until life left her, and she lay still. Only then did Silas realize that the large, broad-chested, solidly-built humanoid was bearing down on him with a nearly-three-foot-long blade which reflected the bubbling lava in its mirror-smoothness. Preacher only had time to react, diving under the first strike, which would have neatly separated his head from his shoulders, and rolled to stand and turn once more the face the lumbering giant. He withdrew his laser sword, but did not ignite the blade yet, preferring to await the other's action.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 16, 2017 18:16:34 GMT -8
Rolling to the left before popping up from cover to try and sight in on the Weequay sniper that threw a hydrospanner into her plan, Neassa is ready to pop back down just as quickly if her movement draws more fire from the Weequay. That there is no need to remain under cover is, from the scene that greets her when Neassa pops up, immediately and undeniably obvious; the Weequay dropping to her knees even though there had been no sound of blaster fire to explain her removal from the playing board.
Not dwelling on the manner of the Weequay's removal, Neassa rises from the declivity and begins running for the remnants of the mining facility that the Weequay and her fellow sentry had been posted in. Shouldering her EE-3 carbine rifle as she spots the hulking Dantari charging for Silas, Neassa fires a quick trio of poorly aimed shots towards the heavily muscled brute as she runs, hoping to distract the creature from Silas long enough that her comrade can gain the upper hand in their battle.
The Dantari, pausing as the three blaster bolts hiss harmlessly through the air perilously near to his head and chest, cannot help but briefly look towards the tiny red armored female that is barreling towards him with her carbine shouldered before he refocuses on the scruffy looking, nimble nerf herder that is about to be pushed off the mortal coil. Grinning as, sidestepping warily while watching Scruffy so that his little armored buddy will not have an easy time of targeting him without risking hitting Scruffy, he hears the low, threatening buzz of speederbikes - at least five from the sound, maybe more - racing closer to the old ruins of the mining complex, the Dantari suddenly lunges forward with the blade leveled at Scruffy's throat. The lunge for the throat is a feint, however, the Dantari altering the blade's trajectory near the end of the lunge for Scruffy's groin.
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Post by Preacher on Oct 19, 2017 6:40:13 GMT -8
In a motion which was more adult-child correction than aggression, Preacher lit his sword, and with a simple flick of the wrist, the wide, amber-yellow beam removed the blade of the Dantari's sword at the hilt, and quickly extinguished the blade again, as if to say 'tsk tsk tsk...' to the behemoth. The sound of speeder bikes is foreign to Silas, but he recognizes the sound as something approaching. Something with an engine. And so, having handily disarmed the Dantari of his primary weapon, he considers finishing the deed, but sees Neassa lining up her next shot, and so merely gives a small bow to the being in thanks before the report of the EE-3 puts a burn on the Dantari he won't soon forget. As the body crumples, Silas nods to the Warrior, both in thanks, and as appraisal -- are you alright? and then turns to ready himself against whatever is approaching next.
Soon enough, the sound becomes clear, and four speeders of varying sizes and makes shoot clear of the escarpment. Preacher counts six riders total -- two pillion, and four pilots. Two bikes angle directly toward him, while the rest steer a wide berth to flank. Igniting his sword, Silas readies himself. Blaster bolts tear toward him, even as the bike itself approaches with frightening speed. Preacher deflects the only blast near enough to worry about, and counters as the bike passes, close enough to smell the Gran pilot's breath, and strikes as the bike passes, slicing a nasty gash through the bike's hind quarter. It veers sharply to the left, and burys itself full-tilt into the mining facility's front wall, quite near the door. There is movement from the wreckage, but Silas has more to concern himself with...
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Post by Deleted on Nov 20, 2017 22:17:13 GMT -8
Answering Silas' silent query as to her well being with a quick thumbs up accompanied by an inquisitive tilt of her head - I'm good, you? - Neassa is in motion once more even as she makes the gesture, having selected a corner of the derelict mining facility to sprint for so that, when the approaching speederbikes are within firing range, she is not standing around in the open like a complete di'kut. Hearing the sound of rock crunching beneath her boots, Neassa watches the terrain in the distance as she runs for the speederbikes to appear with little in the way of trepidation, merely the unadorned, calm and clinical sense of remove she often feels in the midst of battle; armed and unarmed conflict an old friend that she was raised and trained to travel alongside, knowing all the while that, as likely as not, that friend would one day claim her as it has claimed - and will continue to claim - others beyond count no matter how familiar or comfortable those others or she have or has become with it.
Her beskar'gam pauldron scratches against the cracked duracrete of the ruins of the mining facility when Neassa slams into it just in time to elude the scattering of red hued beams that are sprayed haphazardly towards her as the speederbikes arrive in a cacophony of noise and dust, and as soon as she hears the last of the bolts sizzle past the wall or scream as they bore into it, she leans out and crouches to survey the scene.
Firing once to bring down the Gran who - bleeding and blind now in all but one of his three eyes, staggers from the twisted, burning wreckage of the speeder he has pulled himself from - lurches forward drunkenly while trying to steady his arm to sight in on Silas' back, Neassa adjusts her aim to fire a pair of shots into the chest of a Dug grinning as he leans to the side to take his speederbike into a turn that will give the Artiodac riding pillion on the bike a clear shot at Silas' flank.
The Dug's death sends the speederbike, along with the unfortunate Artiodac, into a sudden nose-dive that ends predictably poorly for the bike as well as the Artiodac, who loses consciousness as his flat nose is made even more flat when it meets the rocky ground. Neassa has time to observe that one of the remaining two speederbikes, its furry whiphid pilot crouched low to allow the armored bike to protect her, has set a course straight for Silas with its front turret firing steadily, before it registers that has a more immediate problem of her own to contend with . . .
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Post by Captain Azkul Travillius on Feb 2, 2020 14:59:17 GMT -8
Fralideja - Blackguard Garrison. 123rd Regiment, Hades Battalion.
Since the Blackguard's occupation of Mustafar, Fralideja had faded into the background. While still a source for commerce and trade for the natives, a good majority of the commerce was conducted through the Obelisk that loomed on the horizon. Still, the 123rd Regiment was assigned to patrol and enforce the Blackguard's rule. While mostly boring and mundane, the occasional gangs sometimes gathered up the nerve to attack a patrol. This usually ended in a sweep of their hideout and a lowered crime rate for a few months, until another gang could rise up in its place. Still, it was something to shoot at, and it kept the troopers on their toes. Which was a nice comparison to some of the other regiments' assignments.
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Post by Captain Azkul Travillius on Sept 3, 2020 9:37:24 GMT -8
123rd Regiment - Hades Battalion Lieutenant Colonel Arnason Cole and the Hades Battalion continued to ensure that Fralideja remained secure and prosperous. The locals enjoyed the benefits of the added security as well as the commerce that was added. The odd gang occasionally still plagued Fralideja's streets and threatened the locals, but Hades Battalion continued to push them out once they became a large enough problem. Aside from that, Fralideja remained secure and a beacon of efficiency under the Blackguard's rule. |
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Post by Captain Azkul Travillius on Dec 17, 2020 10:04:05 GMT -8
123rd Regiment - Hades Battalion Fralideja remained a tightly controlled location on Mustafar's surface. Those that came to do business with the locals came here, those that came to do business with the Blackguard, when to the Dark Obelisk. Even still, Fralideja did see it's fair share of shady and nefarious individuals. Murderers, thieves and all sorts of despicable criminals still managed to find a way into the city. Once they were discovered, however, Hades Battalion was quick on the scene, putting an end to whatever was going on with little effort. Even with the odd trouble here and there, Fralideja remained a safe and secure location for people to travel to (provided a molten lava world was their desired destination). |
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Post by Captain Azkul Travillius on Mar 21, 2021 14:41:13 GMT -8
123rd Regiment - Hades Battalion The polished red armor of the Sith Troopers of Hades Battalion seemed appropriate, given their posting. The fiery capital of Fralideja remained an open port for those willing to brave both the harsh conditions of Mustafar itself and the malevolent retribution of the Sith. Despite being the capital of the Blackguard Imperium, Fralideja was only defended by a single battalion of Sith troopers. Some of the Imperium's planetary garrison was also positioned around Fralideja, though they didn't act as local law enforcement. Only Hades Battalion had both the privilege and authority to police the locals. |
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Post by Captain Azkul Travillius on Dec 29, 2021 14:58:38 GMT -8
123rd Regiment - Hades Battalion Despite everything that had transpired within the Blackguard as a whole, the fiery capital of Fralideja remained an open port. Trade was encouraged and welcomed, as was any sort of mining consortium that was interested in braving the harsh volcanic terrain. The aptly named Hades Battalion continued to police and enforce the laws in the capital, though there weren't many people that were too keen on inciting the wrath of the Sith. Crime was nearly non-existent, though what was considered legal and illegal was open for debate, as the Sith rulers had differing ideas on what was acceptable and what wasn't. |
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