Krayton Jantsk
The Organization
down, and dirty.
Posts: 111 
Affiliation: Highest bidder
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Krayton Jantsk on Nov 27, 2013 9:17:00 GMT -8
The Dux was within sight. He'd made decent time coming from the rendez-vous, every nerve and filament of his being alert, on edge, terrified. In the gloom of the undercity ruins, he had waited for his contact, and been stood up. Either that, or his informant had decided someone else's credits were the safer bet. Either way, it could only mean one thing: his life was forfeit. Perhaps the single worst realization when you're seven-point-six miles from the relative safety of the starport, trudging through the swampy ruins of what had previously been Tarisian society.
K had waited long enough. As long as he dared. As long as his frayed nerves held out. When he was sure his contact wasn't coming, he made for the Dux. The only way to stay alive now was to get off-world in a hurry. Tough thing to navigate unfamiliar terrain, in the gloom, knowing you're likely as good as dead.
But he had made it. Muddy, cut and bleeding, most of his gear dropped in favor of expediency, he had single-mindedly raced for the Dux as fast as he could move. And now the ship was in sight. At three a.m. the small starport was mostly silent, but then, Taris' Underworld starport was never that busy. Still walking toward it, he fumbled in a pouch for the fob that would extend the boarding ramp. Thirty seconds to freedom.
Whatever hit him across the back of the head was very dense, and as the world went dark Krayton thought to himself,
"figures."
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Lia Corusa
Member
Just your average runaway Barbie biatch.
Posts: 86 
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Lia Corusa on Nov 29, 2013 15:45:58 GMT -8
“Hoohooo!!” Diaz whooped victoriously as the man went down face first, tossing the thick fragment of old piping to the dirt. It settled with a dull thud next to the stranger’s prone form. “Didja see that?!” The young Mirialan wheeled around to face the shadows nearby, pale green face stretched wide with arrogance, and threw his scrawny arms outwards like a rock-star reveling in the praise of his audience. “I’m so good. So good!! Trailing him for how long now? And the bastard never saw me comin’!”
“Yeah, you are such a pro, Diaz. Hitting guys in the back. With a ‘fresher pipe. While they’re running for their lives.” Sarcasm, of course. The air shimmered next to him. Lia Corusa materialized in the dusty Taris Under City air, all wild blonde hair and fearless green eyes and muddy boots. “Idiot. Shut up and check his pockets before you attract more idiots,” she snapped, readjusting the stolen sound-dampening stealth unit around her waist. Her gaze swept their surroundings quickly, ripping shadows, nooks, and crannies apart with the ease of someone used to watching their back every second of every day. “Or more rakghouls,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ll take the enraged Outcasts over those things any day.”
“Hey, I was good to that filth,” Diaz sniffed defensively, rummaging through the man’s pouches. “I sold them the best crap I could find at the lowest prices, and what did I get in return? They tried to kill me!!”
“Because you stole back everything you sold them and then ‘accidentally’ stabbed one of their Elders in the neck when she confronted you.” Lia glared through the murky air at the Mirialan in disgust. “No wonder you barely have any tattoos, if I didn't need you to guide me through this gloomy hole of ruined everything, I’d have killed you myself.”
“And if I didn't find you so gorgeously amusing, I’d have left you back in that trashed camp with no way out.” Diaz flashed Lia what he probably thought was a charming smile. It was met with stone-cold scowling. Shrugging, he went back to searching. “What the hell am I looking for, anyway?”
Lia scanned the area again before bending down to check the stranger’s pulse. Still beating. Good. She might be a chilly bitch, but she wasn't interested in anymore blood right now. “Boarding codes. It’ll be small, looks a tiny bit like a commlink. Try the front pouch.” The blonde eyed the vessel a few yards ahead with interest. ‘The Dux’… Some kind of assault bomber, she figured, from the shape of the craft. Her experience with space-worthy ships had been limited to mammoth freighters, mass transportation vessels, cargo haulers, anything big and easy to hide in. Though she knew bombers like this probably weren't rare, she’d never seen one before. Probably couldn't hold more than two. But it was the identification markings on the side of the hull that caught her eye and hardened her frown. Imperial Navy.
Karking fantastic.
Lia knew all about Imperials. In fact, she had a painful, bloody bit of first-hand experience with the group, and she wasn't too keen on having any more. Of course, flying around in an Imp bomber didn't necessarily mean the stranger on the ground was actually an Imp himself; he could have stolen the vessel, or bought it off a dealer and just never changed the ID, but better to assume the worst. It didn't’ change her plans, though. She still had no intention of letting Diaz get past the boarding ramp, but the arrogant youth was too drunk on his own ego to notice Lia casually heft the abandoned metal pipe and rest it on one shoulder, her other hand on her hip.
“And he scores again! Our free ticket off-planet, finally!” Diaz sang as he rolled the stranger over onto his back and dug the FOB out of the pouch. He planted a dirty boot on the man’s chest and held it up like a trophy, as if expecting Lia to be impressed.
She wasn't. She was, however, very tired of this dark, crumbling hellhole.
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Krayton Jantsk
The Organization
down, and dirty.
Posts: 111
Affiliation: Highest bidder
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Krayton Jantsk on Dec 1, 2013 7:41:07 GMT -8
The small transmitter worked as it should. Depressing the single button on the roughly 2.5 inch-long device caused three things to happen in quick succession: exterior lights and running lights illuminated (about half the visible exterior lights were working, bathing the Dux in an eerie amber glow which laid to rest any illusions that the ship was in pristine condition.) Exterior lights revealed hull plating pitted with dents and patched along the leading edges of struts, winglets and fuselage, and ill-matching patches and re-entry scorching covering much of the forward hull. She'd obviously seen some mileage. Secondly, even from the dozen paces distant the pair stood, the hum of systems initializing and hydraulics cycling signaled a ship awakening, running through automated systems checks. Lastly, the entry / egress ramp descended, from just behind the bow, dropping like an open mouth.
Inside, the surroundings indicated the ship was home to either a man a few tentacles short of a Sarlaac, or a certified wacko, or a truly dangerous individual. Maybe a little of all the above. What had been the ejection pod, in the ship's former life as a bomber, was now part of a single, larger compartment. The bulkhead aft of the pilots' compartment had been torched away (none too neatly) and all the docking collar and rocket assist for the cockpit / escape pod had been removed. Bundles of wiring and hastily soldered connections dangled from exposed conduits in the ceiling, creating a 'beaded curtain' effect where the aft wall of the flight deck should have been. Instead, the cockpit opened into what would have been the bombardier's station, now completely gutted in favor of a hammock, and crammed with every variety of explosive the pair had seen or heard of. Two proton torpedoes were tied upright against the port wall with bungee cords. Homemade thermite sat in jars on a ledge. Boxes of thermal detonators co-existed with Concussion missile warheads, some of which were on the workbench under the hammock in varying states of disassembly. Clothes, electronic components and bundles of wire littered the floor. Against the aft bulkhead, three military-grade vac-suits and a tool-belt overflowing with unidentifiable gear hung next to a one-man airlock.
Finding a spot to place feet, without potentially stepping on something that went 'bang,' was difficult.
The unconscious man began to stir...
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Lia Corusa
Member
Just your average runaway Barbie biatch.
Posts: 86
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Lia Corusa on Dec 3, 2013 16:46:47 GMT -8
Diaz took a quick step back from the man on the ground. “Hey. Hey, he’s comin'' around,” he chattered, the slightest bit of anxiety in his murky yellow eyes. The two had taken a quick peek inside the Dux moments before, and the view had left the Mirialan more than a little nervous.
Lia hadn't said a word since the ramp had touched the dirt. She’d been silently reassessing her views on the situation, and hadn't yet come to a conclusion. From the state of the interior, she had to guess the unconscious man was some kind of…bomb expert, maybe? Or a pyrotechnic miner? He lived in his ship, so he was probably a solitary kind of guy, liked to keep to himself. Honestly, Lia liked what he’d done with the place. The hammock, the scattered tools and wires, and yes, even the explosives. There was something kind of comfortable about it, in a strung-out, accessible kind of way.
“He’s-…here, gimme that,” Diaz said shortly, making a grab at the piece of pipe in Lia’s hands. “Gotta keep him under ‘till we leave…”
“You saw the inside of that thing,” Lia said, deflecting the Mirialan’s hand with her own. “We’re not going anywhere until we do a little cleaning. I’m not riding shotgun in a room full of explosives.”
“But he’s waking up!!” he pleaded.
She shrugged nonchalantly. “So kill him.”
Diaz gave pause, eyes narrowed. “Really? I thought you said to leave him alive..”
“Doesn't matter anymore.” She jerked her chin towards the ship, twirling the pipe in her hands. “We have what we wanted.” Lia clapped Diaz on the bony shoulder, adding a little smirk to the mix. “Slit his throat and let’s get moving.”
His suspicion gave way to twisted pleasure. “I’m beginning to like you.” Diaz slid a knife from his belt, and with a wink at the blonde, he turned away and bent over the waking man, pulling his head back.
There was a dull, fleshy sort of thud, and Diaz the Mirialan topped over onto the stranger with a surprised grunt, out cold. Lia dropped the pipe, rolling him off the man and into the dry dirt without much effort. “Cannot believe you fell for that,” she mumbled, plucking the FOP and the knife from his hands. The knife she quickly sheathed and stuffed into her boot, and the FOP she put in her pocket. A scan of the area revealed nothing, which was good, because she had enough to worry about. “Hey.” Lia tucked her hair behind one ear and leaned over the half unconscious stranger, roughly patting his cheeks. “You there?” He was, but not enough to process. So she dragged him across the dirt and left him on the ramp, half inside the ship, half outside while she very very very carefully shifted a few things around on the floor, just enough to make a clear pathway.
And then she stopped her hasty work and stared at him. Because now she had some choices to make. He was on the fast train to consciousness. Not much time. Should she tie him up and play the hijacker? Leave him to wake up free and pretend to be the victim? Do neither and kill him, take the ship for herself? No, that wouldn't work, a swift glance at the cockpit told her she didn't know how to pilot something like this. In the end, she secured his wrists behind him with a few pieces of clipped wiring and propped him up against the work bench. She raised the ramp, pulled out the DL-44 strapped to her hip, and sat a few steps away from him.
And Lia waited.
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Krayton Jantsk
The Organization
down, and dirty.
Posts: 111
Affiliation: Highest bidder
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Krayton Jantsk on Dec 4, 2013 10:43:28 GMT -8
OOoogghhhaaaaaaa.
There was a pulse in the back of his skull, and his head felt three yards wide. That was new, and less than spectacular. His vision swam, and all he wanted to do was lie down, but when he tried, found that he couldn't as his wrists were bound behind him, keeping him upright. That was less than ideal, either, because staying upright induced a wave of nausea. It was another thirty seconds (years?) before his vision cleared enough to take in his surroundings.
Uuuuuurrrgh.
He attempted to swivel his head, cracking his neck and stretching out the ache across his shoulders, and found that he could. The pain in his head was a steady throb, and he wished it would take up residence in some other head, or at the very least, in some other part of his body, but there it remained, stuck stubbornly behind his eyes, and across the base of his skull. Every turn of his head coaxed new stabs of shooting pain from the place where neck met head. He'd been concussed before, but not in circumstances such as these.
There was a woman sitting across from him.
He didn't fancy his chances at witty dialogue while nursing this particular brand of hurt. A quick glance around told him all he needed to know. She was alone (at least for the moment.) They were aboard his ship. They were still planetside. He was still a dead man. Forcing his eyes to focus on his 'guest,' he summoned a voice that was thick with dehydration and injury, but but neutrally-pitched, hiding an air of indifference.
Whatddayur want?
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Lia Corusa
Member
Just your average runaway Barbie biatch.
Posts: 86
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Lia Corusa on Dec 4, 2013 17:43:27 GMT -8
“I wanna get off this planet. Under the radar, so to speak.” He looked a little peaky; Lia wondered how hard Diaz had smacked him. So far though, he didn't look like he was going to be much trouble. Of course, looks can be deceiving. She kept her blaster at the ready. Can’t be too careful. “And from the way you were running, I’d say you do, too.”
Lia played with the safety, flick on, flick off, flick on, her gaze steady. “Name's Lia. Normally I’d find a transport with a little more room, but, well, it’s Taris. There’s no one here to transport. So, you’re my best shot. I can’t fly this thing, which means you get to live.” She tipped her head a little and pulled the knife from her boot, and nodded towards his bound wrists. “So. I’ll cut you loose, you give me a ride? I won't touch your explodey stuff, promise.”
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Krayton Jantsk
The Organization
down, and dirty.
Posts: 111
Affiliation: Highest bidder
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Krayton Jantsk on Dec 10, 2013 9:34:10 GMT -8
He watched her handle the pistol. Flick, flick, flick. Shifted his gaze from the hand that held the gun to the hand that held the knife, ready to cut his bonds if the response is to her liking. Twisted his wrists behind his back, testing her bindings. He'd need a little time.
Yeah. And I want three extra-strength painkillers, a loft on level 25 of Cloud City, a drink of water, and a pardon from the provisional government on Ryloth. Not necessarily in that order. We don't get everything we want, lady. What in the three suns makes you think I'd give my attacker a lift off-world?
He reclined a little more, adopting a slightly more 'faux-relaxed' pose, legs crossed, leaning on elbows. This granted the 'dusty' the freedom to move his hands a little behind his back, while presenting a devil-may-care attitude to his new friend. He knew every inch of his ship, and while it might have been a mess, it was terribly, frighteningly functional. Without having to move more than a couple of inches, his hand found the small container of baradium sulfate under the work bench, and unscrewed the top. There wasn't much left after he had made up his last few warheads, but there was 100,000 X as much as he'd need for this particular job.
While the left hand collected a sock off the floor behind his back, the right hand emptied a miniscule amount of the yellow organic material onto the sock, which in turn was wiped onto the wiring around his wrists.
He smiled pleasantly at Lia as the corrosive did its work, adding... I would really like that drink, if you wouldn't mind...
...and laced his now-unbouond hands cockily behind his head.
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Lia Corusa
Member
Just your average runaway Barbie biatch.
Posts: 86
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Lia Corusa on Dec 14, 2013 0:09:05 GMT -8
“So get up and get one,” she said flatly, flipping the safety once more and slipping the DL-44 back into her holster. Lia’s eyes never left the stranger, though, her knife still in her grip. If his ‘so-chill swagger’ was a sham, it was a good one, but she had no intention of letting her guard down yet. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she’d fully let her guard down at all. Better people might think that a sad thing. Always mistrusting, never allowing anyone to get close to you, constantly looking over your shoulder. For Lia, it was simply life. She’d never known anything different, not even back on Coruscant with all her jewels and playboys and scented baths. The people in the high-risers were just as bad as the people on the streets. The blonde tipped her head and nodded at his freed wrists. “Looks like you’re mobile again, I’m not poking around in your minefield for a flask, and I’m sure as hell not givin’ you my water rations. It’s your boat. You know where your shit is.”
His comment about Ryloth snagged her interest, but she brushed past it for now. “And, as for why you should give me a lift? For starters, I didn't attack you.” Lia hiked a thumb over her shoulder at the raised ramp with a frown. “Guy who knocked you out is eating dirt outside. Courtesy of me. I saved your neck from being slashed, pal. In my book, you owe me.”
Sure, she could have elaborated a little, built the story up and gained more brownie points, but she wasn't a big talker. Chit chat was not her strong point.
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Krayton Jantsk
The Organization
down, and dirty.
Posts: 111
Affiliation: Highest bidder
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Krayton Jantsk on Dec 28, 2013 16:04:48 GMT -8
Hmph.
Kay wasn't sure if he bought it. In fact, there was less than no reason to buy what this girl was selling. But fact was, he needed the help. He knew it, and sure as the wind off a detonation, Cortez knew it. Cortez would make certain every fence in the Coruscant Underworld knew it, too. Then Kay would be left trying to move his merch on some backwater, until his creditors finally came calling. And then they'd stretch his neck. Fact of the matter was, when he thought back every partner and hired hand he'd taken on since '07 had wound up dead due to one unforeseen accident or another. Every one of them knew he couldn't do it alone.
Krayton stood slowly and tossed a few empty containers and wrappers on the deck, before finally finding what could have been a tube of nitro-glycerine, but was water. Yup. That didn't taste even a little bit like an accelerant. Taking a long pull on the bottle, Kay cleared away some more crap off the workbench, and flipped on a row of monitors. Exterior cameras came into focus, and Krayton flipped through six different views before finding one of the planetfall ramp, and the prone form lying on it.
Mirialan, huh?
Cracking his neck and stretching tension out of his shoulders, he turned to face his passenger (?,) tossing a small shard of very dense mineral at her, and heading into the cockpit, swiping aside the 'wire curtain' as he went.
What do you know about Vexxtal?
He busied himself with powering up the ship, half-heartedly running preflight checklists. Several systems were running in the yellow, but this didn't seem to concern Krayton at all, in fact, he barely seemed to notice. After a few minutes, he poked his head back out into the compartment.
Jantsk. Krayton Jantsk. I figure I should know who you are too, if we're going to be spending some time.
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Lia Corusa
Member
Just your average runaway Barbie biatch.
Posts: 86
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Lia Corusa on Jan 15, 2014 22:11:33 GMT -8
“Vexxtal? Debuted seven years ago, sucked wampa balls from the start. Lead singer’s too screechy, bass is too light, and whoever thought ballad lyrics sounded better in Sullustese is obviously deaf.” The doomed band’s songs rocked through her head. She crushed the horrible tunes before she started humming. Lia caught the mineral in her free hand and rolled the bit of rock-thing between her fingers, careful to keep one eye on Krayton as he disappeared into the cockpit. “Unless you mean the crystal stuff.” He did, of course. She stared at the piece in her hand, looking over it quickly but without much interest. The only rocks she’d ever been concerned with were the shiny ones decorating jewelry. “In which case, nothing that no one else already knows. Used in lightsabers, favored by dark-siders, super rare or something like that...”
The blonde tapped the little shard on the floor, angling her bored viridian gaze at the man prepping for flight. “Why? You some kind of crystal collector? There are better hobbies, y’know. And you can call me Lia. Just Lia. The temporary hitchhiker who doesn't like questions.” She cocked an eyebrow. Lia had two facial expressions. Pissed off, and variations on pissed off. Hard life brews hard people, and she’d never been good at being nice, but for Krayton’s sake, she made an effort at a less murderous countenance. She arrived somewhere between broody and ‘I-have-a-migraine’. Oh well. “My story is boring. So don’t ask. Let’s just break atmo as quietly as possible and I’ll be out of your bomb lab here before you know it, yeah?”
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Krayton Jantsk
The Organization
down, and dirty.
Posts: 111
Affiliation: Highest bidder
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Krayton Jantsk on Jan 22, 2014 13:57:13 GMT -8
Krayton allowed a single, short bark of a laugh escape as the girl played tough. Matter of fact, she might really have been tough -- no way to know for certain. Could be in a few short hours, he'd find out. Mebbe find out the hard way. Which, in light of the way life was dealing from the bottom of the deck, would suit him just fine. Truth was, he was just happy there'd be somebody around for a few hours as he clawed his way toward death and damnation.
Sitting heavily at the controls, he punched in a few commands, fired up the repulsorlifts, and fed power evenly into the maneuvering thrusters. The controls of the Dux were archaic, but perfect for Krayton's needs. flying the thing took little concentration, but flying it well required all appendages, and it wouldn't have hurt one bit if you found yourself in possession of a couple extra arms. There were a good three thousand feet of vertical ascent to accomplish before the craft could really maneuver around the ruins, and Krayton spent the next few minutes mostly paying attention, though he never really took his eyes off the closed circuit monitor that showed him Lia, still seated across from his workbench.
The vibration and hum of the Dux's many systems caused the aft compartment to virtually become a living thing, bottles and containers of various bits and pieces moved across workbenches, only to shift and strike off in a new direction. Four .50 slugs, tarnished and rusted from age, hung from leather thongs and tinkled in the swaying motion of the ship like wind chimes. Heavier items added their metallic clanging to the symphony as well: A pressurized oxygeon tank, dented and well-worn, its regulator attached to a half-dozen different welding fittings, shifted slightly, every time the ship dipped to port, coming into contact with three empty proton torpedo shells strapped to the port bulkhead, adding a faint 'gong' to the sounds of the ship.
In the cockpit, Krayton adjusted the polarization of the viewport, as the gloomy haze of the Tarisian underworld gave way to the sunlight of the ruined upper city. It was beautiful in its devastated glory. Quiet. Serene.
Sorry honey. "before I know it" might end up being a few days. See, before I made your acquaintance, I was supposed to be meeting a buyer for some goods I can hunt down. Only thing is, he didn't show. Which in my line of work, means he found a better deal. Which means I need to get to work, now, or I lose out on six figures' worth of 'hobby,' and my fence loses out on his pay day, which places a big ole' mark on my back. So, unless you have a very compelling reason why I shouldn't... you just became first mate on a dust dive.
Finally catching sight of the slowly flashing orange light on the console, Krayton raised an eyebrow -- they couldn't break atmo with an orange light. He tapped at the light with an index finger, willing it to go away, chewed on a torn fingernail. He then flipped two switches in quick succession: the first fed one of the external camera feeds to the monitors in the aft cabin, giving Lia a fine view of the unconscious Diaz, still lying on the extended planetfall ramp, mostly protected from the winds by the superstructure of the ship. The second retracted the ramp, and Diaz, still blissfully unaware, was scraped off the ramp like egg from a spatula, and fell 4500 feet, back to the underworld.
Green light.
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Krayton Jantsk
The Organization
down, and dirty.
Posts: 111
Affiliation: Highest bidder
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Krayton Jantsk on Jan 23, 2014 17:41:28 GMT -8
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Aven Mors
Member
Posts: 7
Affiliation: Taris Dueling Association
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Post by Aven Mors on Jan 29, 2014 16:29:50 GMT -8
Things have changed... Sure, there are still Rakghouls and swoop gangs and the like roaming around the bowels of this cesspit I call home, but the merc alliances, police... hell anyone with a gun, some neighbors and a stout heart can run em off now. Out in the big wide world, things are going well… Imperial and Sith incursions are being repelled, the galaxy's heroes and big whigs are on in power and there is hope now... Hope that peace may descend like a blanket on this troubled galaxy. But I ain't a hero, I'm not a big whig either, not like those fleet commanders and Republic marines that they praise any time we can get the holonet. Who am I? I'm just a man, an entertainer and right now my audience calls out deafeningly for my triumphant return to my stage… I used to be something else once, but that was a long time ago...
Behind the metal door Aven put on his dueling armor it was relatively light weight, left a lot of room for his ducks, rolls and quick movements that his profession demanded from him. He had fitted the chest piece and tighted it's straps so it fit snuggly across his chest. With his forearms and deltoids covered with armor he moved slowly to the room's bench and he eased himself down. His next actions he did more by muscle memory than conscious thought. The 50 year old's hands reached below him and instinctively grabbed the thigh pieces and slid them on his extended leg. Aven was running through the motions now, he had done this countless times before, each time he did it without speaking, without music, without anyone in the room. It was almost ritualistic as he held each piece of armor a moment before putting it on. Aven stepped into his armored boots, locked himself in and then rose to his feet. He had long ago opted out for wearing a helmet, figuring if he was going to be shot anywhere it might as well be the head, it'd be short and quick and easy, gods know he had given that mercy to many a man...
Rising to his full stature of 6'1 he looked... well... not like a hero, or a knight in shining armor… He didn't look like the not the steroid induced defender of the Republic, nor the charming, dashing smuggler who has a change of heart and saves the galaxy. He was handsome enough to be sure, his green eyes were deep and blue like the seas of Manaan, which he had never seen, but heard much about, his skin was unscarred and he wore a smile easily. He looked and acted the part of a cocksure mercenary, which was coincidentally what he was these days.
There was a knock on his door and a muffled voice called through the metal "1 minute Master Mors" The war had put a dent in his performances, almost cancelled them permanently but as they say, the show must go on. The performer walked slowly, with an air of calm and reservation towards a single weapons locker. His gloved hands reached out reverently and closed around the handles of the locker and slowly pulled them open to reveal 4 pistols, 2 silver chrome and beautiful looking Westar-34s and two more ugly, dark .48 Caliber Enforcer Pistols. He placed them at the holsters on his waste and thighs, grabbing extra ammo packs as well. With his weapons and armor, Aven approached the metal door and within a few moments it opened and he was immediately buffeted by the roaring cheers of the crowd. With the crowds cries invigorating him, a smile crept across his face, turning ito a broad grin. With adrenaline he walked proudly out onto the metal floor of the dueling ring... His eyes scanned the full rows of the arena, they sat a dozen feet above the dueling floor and they were arranged in a ring around them. It was a great crowd.
"And here he is ladies and gentlemen!!! Our reigning duel ring champion, Aven Mors!!!!" Said a giant hurt from his private box. His name was Bartos and he was the owner of the duel ring. The crowd responded ecstatically and cheered even louder.
Ever the performer,Aven gave a dramatic bow to the audience and to Bartos. The Hutt lounged with his retinue and was safe behind layers of bulletproof glass. The Hutt held the mic close as he growled the name of the challenger... "And here, from Eshan I proudly present to you our beautiful Echani Moria!"
At the mention of a Echani, Gabriel's smile dissapeared and a frown replaced it. It was a look of concern more than a look of anger, there was sadness behind his blue eyes. He followed the eyes of the crowd and found his opponent being carried across the arms of the crowd above him. She was dressed in white mercenary body armor, however it had been tailored to reveal her middrift and other tantalizing pieces of tan flesh. Gabriel thought this a foolish and dangerous gesture but it won her the favor of the men of the crowd... She grabbed an assault rifle from off her back. She held it against her shoulder with her left hand, while winking and blowing a kiss to Gabriel with the other. His frown deepened, she wasn't cute, she was dumb... Young and dumb and probably overconfident and in a few minutes she'd be dead. Gabriel turned and craned his neck to look at Bartos and said "Bartos, how old is she?"
"24, Solomon, you interested? HAHAHAHA" Guffawed the duelmaster through the mic, the crowd echoed his laughter and the young Echani cocked her hips and gave a bemused look.
I hated killing Echani... There was something beautiful and ethereal about them, not just physically, there was more than that. You know, I used to love an Echani... She's not here anymore... I hate killing Echani more than anything… Looking at humans I see them as scurrying rats, they only live few decades, cutting them off early, they won't miss anything. But killing an Echani... you should go to hell just for that.
Aven raised his eyes and looked at the Echani, a sad look on his face. His opponent, look puzzled and was a bit unnerved by the look of sorrow. "I'm sorry. I hate to kill beautiful things." Said the Arkanian simply before assauming his gunfighter stance. The puzzled Echani now perhaps frightened, perhaps insulted, or perhaps both snarled "Yeah, you'll be sorry when I paint this arena with your blood. You think you're being poetic? I'll kill you!" She threw the rifle off her shoulder and gripped it tightly, her finger off the trigger, hovering over it, ready...
"Duelists... On your mark... Get set... Shoot" Said Bartos through the mic. By this point, the crowd had gone deathly quiet, a heavy cloud of anticipation was laid over the arena. Breaths were held all for a sudden release of gunfire.
As Gabriel heard the "S" in shoot, his right hand had already dropped to his open holster and found his gun. By the "ooh" sound his fingers had already slid around it, finding the trigger... at "T" he was withdrawing the gun from it's holster, right-most Enforcer pistol. A few milliseconds later he had raiased the gun and fired a single shot. He aimed for her heart...
Moria, the young Echani raised her gun, ready to blow away the competition, believing in herself absolutely that she would become famous for this kill. She didn't stop believing that until there was a deep pain that forced her to drop her gun and take a staggering step back. She believed it until Gabriel's bullet punched through her armor and ripped through her heart. It had taken only but a few seconds.
Gabriel stood, forzen in position, the barrel of his pistol still smoking, as he watched the young Echani with a stunned look on her face, fall backwards onto the cold unforgiving metal of the dueling arena.
Saying "I'm sorry." Was not the only thing he offered her. He could have blew off her head, but he hated killing beautiful things and perhaps this Echani's sister or mother or father would want to see her beautiful face one last time...
"And that is why he is the fastest gun in the Outer Rim!!! I didn't even see him move!!!!" Shouted Bartos over the roar of the crowd. It was over in seconds and she was dead and the crowd loved it. Aven would be congratulated, he'd sign some teenager's guns, accept kisses from the women, get paid then walk home… He'd dream about dead Echani tonight.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Jan 30, 2014 15:23:40 GMT -8
Three weeks, for three weeks he had counted down each day, mentally crossed off each day knowing that everyday he drew closer.
It had taken the youth three weeks to save enough credits to pay for the pricey tickets to attend what would perhaps be a once in the life opportunity, for since the days he could sit up and watch the holo channel he had become gripped by what seemed like the glamour, the heroism and skill of the dueling ring. It was mostly his Father's doing, the old man spoke of his "Glory days", his multiple victories and had inspired the young Ezra's obsession with the Gunslinger's. He collected the cards and merchandise and was fortunate enough to even have been passed down a replica of "Doom the destroyer's" Blaster pistol. Now with his Father gone and the realisation brought to him by advancement in years that his Father may have exaggerated if not completely made up the retelling this was Ezra's way of saying goodbye, tying up the end of an era and hopefully moving on.
So here he was, he had scrimped and saved from his job as a waiter and now he was but a number in the bustling throng and as the great metal grate ground open Ezra heard the sharp intake of breath as the lone armour clad duelist, the reigning champion Aven Mors strode out, a legend, a living legend! Ezra couldn't help but grin, for Aven was quite possibly the greatest duelist in the last twenty years if not, some said ever. He was clean, crisp, controlled and frighteningly clinical. Not a showman and for some he was not liked, some said he was not the greatest, but in sheer skill Ezra believed that Aven was unmatched. The lone tall figure made his way at an even pace across the dusty barren ground, and then a roar rose up; oh how the fan's always loved ant under dog, how the fan's always loved an entrance and oh how the fan's loved an attractive young Woman in a surprisingly revealing outfit. She received a cheer that surpassed the one granted Anven.
Her graceful lithe frame was carried, and to some degree caressed as she made her way down to the awaiting field, she bore a lone rather mean and powerful rifle, which looked oddly out of place on such a small elegant frame, she seemed more dancer than gunner and was a far cry from the usual brutish thug that graced these scenes and Ezra was perplexed, was this some form of alternative challenge, perhaps her skills were masked by her appearance only time would tell.
She landed nimbly and turned to face him and there was a short exchange, he was never a word smith, not Aven, not the "Cleaner." Their exchange was voiced over the loud speakers. Aven spoke in an even tone, he could have been reading a shopping list by the sounds of it, in comparison the Echani spoke with venom, her words sounded scornful and boastful. The exchange done, then the Great Hutt Bartos spoke those famous words; "Shoot".
Then it happened, Ezra couldn't say for how long, he didn't understand the sensation, but time slowed, yet he knew it was no hallucination, for he turned and around him the people rising from their seats were doing so at half the speed, in that moment Ezra's perceptions became more acute, he saw the twitch of the girls hand, yet even as time seemed to slow at half speed, Aven's hand moved as normal, and Ezra watched as Aven drew his weapon and then paused, perhaps it was a second, perhaps more, it was hard to tell in this strange world of 'slowed time'. Then the bullet fired and time reverted to normal. The girl fell, a spray of blood blossomed from her back and it was all over.
Ezra felt his calloused hands grip his skull, his head ached, his brain throbbed. Everyone around him erupted in a thunderous noise, Ezra just fell collapsing into his seat holding his skull in his hands. His mind reeling, a thousand thoughts, a thousand questions and that most prominent of emotion; fear. For in what ever crazy world he had glimpsed Ezra knew that what had happened had been very, very real and for some reason his brain told him that the only person who could help him with answers was Aven Mors. For he was the only being whom had moved at a normal speed and Ezra's mind concluded that this was not a coincidence and secondly that the only possible explanation for Aven moving at the same speed as Ezra was that Aven too knew of this crazy half speed world.
Despite his raging head pains Ezra rose and began to bustle his way through the crowd, climbing, clawing, sliding. It didn't matter, he even dived through a pair of legs, as he waged a personal war to get to the front. Yet what hope did he have, by the time he had made it to the front, Aven had signed his autographs, done his photographs and performed his duty as a star should, all that greeted Ezra was the departing back of the man. So Ezra made a split minute decision, quite possibly the most insane decision of his life. He leaped the duracrete barrier and sprinted across the sands. The great booming voice of Bartos rang out.
"What is this? Somebody seize this youth."
Yet fleet of foot Ezra had already made his way to the body of the deceased girl and picked up her rifle, its weight and bearing felt unwieldy in his hands and against his frame. He now felt very small and yet he shouted as loud as he could, the holo cams zoomed in to pick him up.
"Aven Mors, I challenge you!"
Bartos held up a great hand and the security team members all halted; his cruel mind calculated the possible profits to be made of beverages, snacks, food, what did he care if some fool wished to throw his life away, beside Aven was contracted for one fight and one fight only, so the crowd would get extra entertainment, Bartos would reap in the credits and he wouldn't have to pay Aven a single chit over what he owed him and he doubted the great Aven Mors would turn down a fight, not when the crowd felt "The Cleaner's" name was at stake.
"Hoo, hoo, hoo, it seems this boy believes his talents are greater than our greatest? Who among you believe him? Who among you would like to see another duel, who among you would like to revel in yet more of your champions glory."
The questions were all rhetorical, Bartos knew the answer to each, the crowd like crowds of old were a mob, they came for the sport, and the blood and to each question asked, they roared in affirmation.
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Abaddon
Member
My Mind is the Weapon. Everything else is just an Accessory.
Posts: 24
Affiliation: None
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Post by Abaddon on Mar 30, 2014 20:05:30 GMT -8
Moving through the city, the 'Sith' male navigated his was quickly from the upper riches of society down through the depths and in to the poorest of poor, all the way in to the underbelly of city itself where once one of the most horrific plagues of the universe had run rampant through out the city. Despite all the years that had passed, all the centuries that had gone there was still signs of damage down here from the ravaging or the planet. He knew that no matter how much they rebuilt, these under parts would also show the signs.
Personally the male had nothing to do with what had happened. He had been off in his own corner of the universe, inside a different host body at the time. Yes, at that particular point in time he had more then likely been training in the dark arts, but not by the Sith. In point of fact, it was more then likely with a dark Jedi, as he explored the fundamental differences between the light side of the force and the dark side of the force.
He had learned well, and soon disappeared afterwards to become somebody else and more then likely the very body he was with in now, however that wasn't important at this time. What was important was what he was looking for. Rumors, vague shadowy
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Post by Varric Kel'oranii on Mar 30, 2014 20:57:58 GMT -8
Varric gets off the elevator to the Under City followed by his men. They smell the air and Dan Kacs starts to feel sick. "I remember that smell," Varric says looking at Kor. "It has been awhile but the place still smells like a Rancor's backside sir," Cpl. Kor replies. Varric looks over at Kacs, "either get ahold of yourself or go back to the ship." Dan Kacs straightens himself up and wipes the spit from his mouth, "I am all good sir."
Varric looks out at the mass of homemade tents and shelters that surround the elevator, "you better be, the weak don't last long down here." He can see the slum dwellers of the Under City start to stir as they always do when the elevator opens. They come out to beg or to plead or to offer 'trinkets' that they found out in the Under City wastes. He did not have the patients to deal with it. As the first peddler approaches them to try and hawk his junk, Varric glares at the man with aggressive eyes, "have you seen anyone else from up top come down here in the last few hours?"
The man quivers slightly when we sees Varric's violent glare. "I might have good sir, but that knowledge will cost you 5 credits." the man says, a smile appearing on his face. 'I do not have time for this game', Varric thinks to himself. Varric quickly lunges forward and seizes the man by his throat, his right hand grasping firmly around his neck. Varric squeezes tightly for only a moment before letting off. He wanted the man to know he was serious.
The peddler gasps for air as Varric loosens his grip slightly. "Now, is that sufficient payment? " Varric says in a somewhat cynical tone. The man coughs and tries to speak, "a group of men came down here earlier, maybe four hours ago...they spoke to the village elder and left..." 'A group?' Varric thinks to himself, 'Quan usually works alone...he's too afraid the hire muscle on any planet has ties to the cartels'. He tightens his grip a little, "is that all?"
The man coughs again and Varric's men can hear a gurgling noise coming from the dirty peddlers throat. "another man came down, maybe half an hour ago...he was alone. He didn't speak to anyone. He just strolled through and left without a word".
Varric was satisfied with the answers he got. He left the man go, who quickly squirmed away back into his shelter, where Varric was sure he would stay until they left. Varric shook his head saying, "filthy beggars," mostly too himself. The group heads out towards the village gate.
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Abaddon
Member
My Mind is the Weapon. Everything else is just an Accessory.
Posts: 24
Affiliation: None
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Post by Abaddon on Mar 31, 2014 11:55:35 GMT -8
Sam'ael , moving under the name he used when not as a Sith nor his true name whom few had ever known, had moved through the upper city rapidly. With out a word to anybody, the armored form had strode through the crowds, drawing looks and glances but he carried little for the scurrying feet of insignificant fools. Their lives where like a insects; necessary but short lived and insignificant separately. When perceived as a whole they where important, but individuality was a dream most had but few ever accomplished.
The human looking male stepped upon an elevator that would take him in to the depths of the city, deep in to the Undercity where he would hopefully find what it was he sought. For his own personal protection he carried two weapons, an ancient lightsaber known as a protosaber that the male had upgraded with current technology to create what had become to be called a 'retrosaber' that was upon his right hip, the power pack upon the small of his back. On his left hip he carried his actually lightsaber, a weapon crafted himself many many years ago. The weapon was extremely unique, the blade a jet black that seemed to absorb the light from around itself when it was ignited and the hilt specially carved by himself instead of the weapon being silly fro another the person whose body he possessed. Other then these two weapons, the male had his armor for protection (as well as offense as the terentatek spikes upon it where sharp at venomous still) and his powers with the force.
As the elevator opened the male stepped from it and strode through the doors boldly, his eyes twitching from side to side as he looked about, stretching out with the force to sense anything worthwhile nearby. He realized it had been a few days since he had feed this form, and he should probably provide the vessel sustenance to keep it at its peak level. So he would find somebody to feed upon while he was down here. He was highly doubtful anybody would be missed from down here, after all.
Moving further through the gloomy Undercity the male could see the efforts of those who lived down here to rebuild since the destruction the Sith had rained upon the planet. Charred rubble and debris clogged almost all the paths, making one have to choose their footing with each step. Burns marked the walls where turbolasers had rained down to pulverize the city. Those above had rebuilt their civilization, reclaiming what had been destroyed so long ago but the Undercity would always bear the marks of the terrible occurance.
Abaddon felt a small twinge of pity for all those possible beings whom had been destroyed. So many people who might have had a chance to provide him wit a new body, precious information, and possible delicious soup for him to feast upon in this Anzat's body. He was glad he had had no hand with the destruction, whether directly or indirectly. He had been else where, in the body of another. Probably during this atrocity...well it didn't really matter what body it had been then did it? What mattered was the present, and at the present he needed to find a monster. A rakghoul from which he could take it extract the infamous rakghoul plague that he might be able to study the virus. A dangerous endeavor, but he had a feeling he could pull it off even if nobody else could.
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Post by Varric Kel'oranii on Mar 31, 2014 18:41:18 GMT -8
The group of men approach the gate, all while watching the people around them, who were curious as the what these surface dwellers were doing down in their dingy, subterranean home. Varric looks at the gatekeeper, who appears to be in his late 70's. Which is very old for a human, Varric thinks to himself, how has he survived this long in this festering hole? As they approach the gatekeeper waves at them and in a friendly tone he speaks, "hello strangers, haven't seen you down here before. Where are you headed?"
"Does it matter?" Varric replies curtly. His business is his own. The man looks a little bewildered at him, a slight look of shock appears on his face, but it quickly disappears, as if the man had come to expect this behavior from strangers. Which was good in Varric's opinion. You shouldn't expect people to be kind hearted and compassionate. People will always do what they want, or what they have to. "Just open the gate," the Feeorin says staring at the gatekeeper.
The old man shakes his head and turns to pull on the lever that opens the gate. The gate, which is old and built from rusted metals, squeaks to life as it begins to open. A loud pitched whine can be heard as it starts to move. The noise makes Cpl. Kor's ears twitch. The gate opens slowly, its mechanisms in desperate need of oiling. It takes several minutes for it to open. Varric feels a slight twinge of fear as the noise goes on. If there are any rakgouls nearby then they will undoubtedly hear that. He reaches underneath his cloak and grips his right blaster. A loud moaning can be heard off in the distance.
Varric looks over at Kor who nods. They have to move quickly. They proceed through the half open gate and can see two separate sets of tracks in the dirt. Varric squats down next to the tracks. One is obviously the group of people the peddler mentioned. They seemed to be in a hurry and headed north. Some of the boot prints are deep, which meant to Varric that they probably had heavy armor on...they could be expecting a fight...
He looks over at the other set, which appears to be a single person. He looks up at Kor, and unsure look on his face, "Quan knows that the Hutts have a presence on this planet...you think he would risk coming down here without hiring muscle?" Kor kneels down next to him and examines the tracks. "He is desperate sir...he might come down here on his own." The corporal looks out towards the distance, where the tracks are headed. "I think we should follow these tracks sir."
Varric stands up, looking off in the same direction as Kor and thinks for a few moments. "I agree, alright lets move out." Varric waves his men forward. "Alright, 360 degree opsec at all time. Keep deecee's at the ready." The group wanders off in the direction of the tracks, hoping to find their target before they run in to any rakghouls.
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Abaddon
Member
My Mind is the Weapon. Everything else is just an Accessory.
Posts: 24
Affiliation: None
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Post by Abaddon on Apr 1, 2014 7:33:30 GMT -8
The armored male had waves his way through the gate ahead of the armored and armed group of men. With a wave of his hand, the simple minded fool at the gate opened the creaking old barrier and Sama'el had slid through. Then the male forgot he had ever seen him, as simply as that. It was easy work, however he had the feeling if pressed the old man would probably remember. The mind tricks where a skill he had but rarely dabbled with in, disliking subterfuge and stealth for straight forwardness and directness. However he had no wish to carry upon a conversation with a wheezing, old windbag who would probably talk himself to death given the opportunity. Moving quickly through the gate and away from it the male stopped and allowed the force to flow through himself.
He was expecting guidance, a subtle nudge in the proper direction of what it was he sought. However he did not receive his nudge but instead a blatant kick to the shin as with in the force he noted not one, but three other beings who where strong in the force. Now that was most certainly intriguing! Why would three force sensitives be hidden down in this forsaken place?
His musings where interrupted by a snarling growl from slightly behind himself and to his left. Turning towards the noise the male emotionlessly watched as a single mutated aberration appeared, crawling in a hunched back manner over a small pile of rubble. The monster was in fact what he was looking for, however it didn't seem to be interested in allowing himself to stud it as it howled and lunged towards himself. Contemptuously the male stepped to the left, the retrosaber activating in him palm with the characteristic 'snap-hiss' of a lightsaber, the redblade burning through the center of the creature as it's careless lunge sent it soaring directly over the super heated blade, the two separate parts of the creature falling apart. However the moans and noises of the creature had attracted others already, summoning them like a dinner bell. Well now, wasn't that a minor inconvenience.
Four more of the beasts came scrambling over the the mound of rubble, having clearly been waiting just upon the other side. They rushed the male as a group, their talons raking out towards him. A swipe of his lightsaber from left to right in a semi-circular pattern was easily performed and cut the hands of two of the creatures. A third creature trying to flank him was picked up and hurled away from himself with the force, it's body striking the wall viciously and crumpling like a accordion. The fourth creature hesitated and then lunged at the male, and was decapitate with a swift stroke, leaving the two maimed beasts to be finished off almost at his leisure.
Disengaging his retrosaber he hung the hilt back upon his side and began moving quickly but as quietly as possible so as to get away from the spot before the ruckus attracted more rakghoul. He made his way forward, using the force to make sure he was moving in the direction of the three force sensitives.
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Post by Varric Kel'oranii on Apr 3, 2014 16:19:27 GMT -8
Varric's group followed the path set by the foot pints in the dirt. They traveled for many kilometers without, always keeping their eyes watching around them and their ears open, listening for the slightest noise. They could hear a moaning and whining off in the distance, but it sounded far off. "At least a kilometer off to our left, but it does sound like its coming this way, not fast though," Kor said aloud, looking over at his boss. He was always good at judging the distance of sounds. Varric learned early on to trust Kor's judgement on this. The man had never been wrong before.
The Feeorin looked off in the direction of the whine. "Alright, double-time it boys. Let's create some distance between us and whatever that is." He doesn't even look at his men. He knows them well. He knows they are all nodding in agreement. These men had been with him for a long time and trusted his command, even though they were mercenaries and guns for hire that he had pulled together from the slums of every reach of the galaxy, and were considered the scum of the galaxy, they were loyal to him. He looks back at the tracks in front of him and continues forward, but at a faster pace.
The team moves as quietly as a gently breeze going through a meadow. They keep their weapons in a ready position, with their safeties off, but fingers off the triggers. After a short time they hear the noise again, this time behind them, roughly in the same location they had been the first time they heard it. Every member of the team quickly turns to face their rear, a few men dropping to a kneeling position, the rest standing, but all had weapons level. The whining, moaning noise continues this time. "Kor, assessment," Varric says in a stern voice, his eyes not moving from the sights of his DC-17m. Kor listens for a moment, and every man quiets his breathing. "It's moving faster now sir, but it's still heading in the same direction. I don't think it's following us."
A rakghoul most likely, Varric thought to himself, if it was not after them, then it did not matter to Varric. All that matter was his target. But they needed to maintain their pace. He wanted to get out of the Under City as quickly as possible and off this blasted planet. He turns back to continue on their course and order "keep moving." A small amount of annoyance can be heard in his voice. And he was annoyed. Twice now that 'thing' has slowed us down. He walks on at the same hurried pace.
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