|
|
Post by Whill Shaman Erevis on Apr 9, 2013 11:28:10 GMT -8
The natural terrain of Yavin IV is predominantly covered in thick tropical rainforest, full of dangerous and vicious wildlife and extremely hazardous natural obstacles. Throughout one region on the moon are scattered the remains of the extinct Massassi culture, in the form of millennia old stone temples, walled gardens, and arenas. Some distance north of this Temple region is a volcanic mountain range, and tectonic activity is common, as are violent thunderstorms during the wet season.
|
|
Dav Man'Sell
Member
Posts: 741 
Affiliation: The Jedi Order - Jedi High Council/Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV
Traffic Light: Red
|
Post by Dav Man'Sell on May 11, 2013 17:38:10 GMT -8
The Terrain Surrounding the Great Temple
The area surrounding the Great Temple is thick with difficult to traverse rainforest, and severe differences in terrain cause harsh cliffs, steep drops, and sudden ravines. Almost no clear, direct paths through the forest can be found, and the few that might be stumbled upon are little more than beaten footpaths. There are a few non-descript Massassi ruins in this area, including a complex series of walled off rooms and walk-ways which the Jedi use as a training obstacle course, and a series of underground catacombs which have largely caved in. The area is thick with wildlife, including dangerous, carnivorous piranha beetle swarms, howler beasts, and venomous crystal snakes.
Within this area, obscured from view by the thick vegetation, are the ground emplaced defences of the Yavin Praxeum housed within the Temple, which include numerous anti-aircraft flak cannons, two V-150 Anti-orbital Ion Cannons, and the Praxeum defence shield generator.
The shield generator is hidden within the jungle a few kilometres to the north of the Temple, hidden up close to a cliff-face. It is only approachable on land from the south, and is heavily obscured by trees, and has been camouflaged to make aerial identification difficult.
The two V-150 Ion Cannons are separated, one to the north-east of the Praxeum, the other to the west. Both are within five kilometres of the Temple, and, like the shield generator, obscured within the wilderness to make locating them difficult.
All three of these installations are heavily guarded, and lie within the perimeter of the base shield, which forms an umbrella centred roughly over the Praxeum and extending out thirteen kilometres from the central point in every direction. To the south-east of the temple is the Temple of the Blueleaf Cluster, which lies a short distance outside the outer edges of the shield. A river lies between the two temples, a short distance from the Temple of the Blueleaf Cluster
|
|
Callidus
Member
Posts: 50
Affiliation: The Dominion
|
Post by Callidus on May 13, 2013 5:53:37 GMT -8
The damp coolness of the mist felt comforting on his exposed arms and face as Trask moved through the jungle, memories of his brief training in the forests of Carida drifting through the back of his mind and surfacing whenever he had need of them. Times had been simple then, when he first joined the rangers. There had been right and wrong and orders to follow and give. Everything had been clear cut and easy to justify and deduce. It had all been so very uncomplicated.
He vaulted over a fallen log and pressed on, following the gentle tug at the back of his mind, though unsure of where it would lead him. Cold wetness soaked his pant legs from the dew on the plants he disturbed, weighing them down and attempting to hinder his progress, but it did nothing to distract from the vivid retelling of past memories.
Trask stopped as he came up to a large square boulder, probably some remnant of a long forgotten temple, and placed a hand against its surface. The stone was cool to the touch, and he leaned forward until his forehead rested against it, trying to calm the feverish rush of memories through his mind.
The chiss' mind reached out for comfort, for something to ease the pain of the memory he knew was coming, and the force surged in response. It washed through him and around him, filling every atom with its awe-inspiring power and wrapping around him like a cool blanket. It did nothing to halt the memory, however, and he angrily drove his free fist into the rock, unintentionally leaving a crater at the point of impact. He was too taken in by the memory to realize how impossible that should have been without his armor.
"...the right thing to do." Reason told him that was true. Logic dictated that he had taken the correct course of action, that there was nothing else he could have done. But if that was the case, why did the faces of the dead still haunt him every time he closed his eyes? Every moment he had spent with them, from every crisp salute on the bridge to every casual conversation in the mess, replayed over and over again, preserved forever in his memory. His perfect memory. He could see the sweat beading on Ensign Clark's forehead during their first meeting as clearly now as when he had been standing in front of him. The boy had had enough potential to command his own ship someday, but now he would never get that chance. He had been killed by the very man he had sworn to serve. Him and thousands of others. The chiss had taken lives before, but it had always been justified. It had always been necessary in a way that he could understand, either in self-defense or defense of others. And it had never been good men. Never before had he slaughtered nearly two thousand men and women simply because a madman outwitted him.
But now he had, and he still had no idea why.
Fury boiled inside him as he shoved against the stone, intending to push himself off, but it was the stone that moved instead. He had just moved a boulder taller than he was with a single hand, but he was too furious to care. His mind told him it had been the force flowing around and through him, but his instincts and rage told him to use the power while he had it, to rain destruction on anything that got in his way. Out of habit he began thinking of a reason to hold back, to cage the emotion before it could escape, but found none. So he gave in to the rage he had never known he possessed and drove another punch into the stone, cratering it around his fist as pieces flew off in every direction. He didn't know what this power was or how he had come to know it, and he didn't care. It felt good to destroy something, to let loose all the anger and passion and power he'd been holding inside for so long, so he didn't stop. He rained blow after blow after blow onto the boulder until it was nothing more than a pile of small rocks strewn about the jungle floor. Only then did his fury begin to abate, and the power with it. His body sagged as the force fled, his mind trying in vain to call it back, and he dropped to his knees in the midst of the destruction he had wrought. Idly, he noticed blood on his hands, and with that sight the pain began to register. A dull ache at first, concentrated in the knuckles and wrists, then slowly growing sharper and spreading up his arms and into his chest. It felt like the aftereffects of every hand-to-hand combat lesson his father had given him all crammed together into one moment of time.
His eyes closed as he knelt there in the mist and he suddenly understood why it had been necessary for his people to outlaw the initiating of violence. If he could still summon such raw fury after so many generations of control and suppression, what must his ancestors have been capable of? The thought swirled and drifted through his mind along with the faces and moments in his memory, the men and women he had killed accusing him with blank stares out of dead eyes, this time without the comforting presence of the force to lessen the pain. His mind was too exhausted to summon any more anger, but he knew he would never be rid of these ghosts, and he only had himself to blame.
He didn't know how long he remained there, motionless, but it was dark when he opened his eyes again and rose to stand on weary legs. There was still pain, but he could ignore it. Sliding his pack off, he withdrew several bandages and wrapped his bloody knuckles, then re-shouldered his gear. He had spent several weeks on his own, out in the galaxy, trying to fight off the demons he had created, but all to no avail. He had wandered aimlessly and without purpose, seeking anything to help him rectify his mistakes and live with the ghosts in his mind, but had found nothing. His only recourse now was distraction. He needed a purpose beyond himself to occupy his mind and body and hold his demons at bay, and so he had come searching for the only purpose he had left. That gentle tug at the back of his mind, a nearly forgotten memory that somehow connected him to the one person in the galaxy he considered family. Drawing a deep breath, he set off in the direction of the academy, following the trail that would lead him to Lita Trykk.
|
|
Adelle Bastiel
Member
Right or wrong? I can hardly tell. I'm on the wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell.
Posts: 338 
|
Post by Adelle Bastiel on May 22, 2013 19:20:22 GMT -8
The Force rippled around her like the water at her hand, rushing, smooth, bubbling over with life. Breathe in. The Force was in her, around her, and bound her to the world. Breathe out. Mist from the waterfall kept her coated in a cool layer, mingling with her sweat. Upside down in a one-handed handstand, on a rock in the middle of a river with a waterfall behind her, Adelle meditated and concentrated on the smoothed piece of wood in front of her. Her lightsaber construction she had finished four days ago. Three days ago, she had ventured into the Yavin jungles once again to complete her saber pike.
Like the subtle sound of a river meeting an ocean, she knew the task was finished. Slowly, Adelle eased down to her feet, the rock slick from ages of erosion. She picked up the sanded rod of greel wood, the dark crimson even darker with water saturation. Imbued with the Force, it'd withstand a blow from a lightsaber and give her a longer reach than her saberstaff. Adelle stood upright, stretching out her back. Her ribs and left side ached from having stayed still for so long. Damn, how long had it been since she'd done her physical therapy? Two days getting here, two weeks for her crystal, a week for her lightsaber construction... Answer: far too long. She shook out her legs then tapped into the Force and jumped to the river's shore, stumbling into a roll on her landing. Forcedamn, she was more tired than she thought. Okay, so maybe a nap first before physical thera—Her stomach growled audibly, loud as a young wookiee. Alright, food first, then a nap, and then physical therapy. Maybe some training with her new saber.
She pushed herself into a slow jog, heading back through the jungle to the Praxeum. Logs, branches, and undergrowth seemed to appear out of nowhere and grabbed her feet or yanked the ground out from underneath her. After about the sixth time she fell face first, she decided laundry and a shower were in order. Her to-do list just kept getting longer and longer, didn't it? If this kept up—Adelle's foot caught on a thorny vine, the razor like barbs ripping through her skin as she cursed violently—If this kept up, she was never going to get to rest, much less do her required physical therapy. She stubbed her toe against a rock and hopped around on one foot, holding her leg in one hand and her staff in the other. Dammit, was the entire jungle out to get her today?
|
|
Dav Man'Sell
Member
Posts: 741
Affiliation: The Jedi Order - Jedi High Council/Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV
Traffic Light: Red
|
Post by Dav Man'Sell on May 24, 2013 17:35:54 GMT -8
 The Mandalorians have brought war to the Galaxy once more. Under the leadership of Mand'alor ASHRAH INTALBO, and his General CORR VHETT, they have begun a campaign against the Galaxy's Force Users. The Jedi World of Yavin IV was the first hit, a strike at one of the greatest Jedi strongholds. The Mandalorians took YAVIN STATION, the mighty orbital defence platform, thanks to a brilliant infiltration strategy by DUKE AUSTRALIS, and under the order of Jedi Master DAV MAN'SELL, the Jedi forces retreated from orbit. With the Jedi fleets scattered, the Mandalorians took their attack to the surface.
However, the Jedi defences were not so easily overcome. With starfighter cover lead by Jedi Master JAGO PULASTRA, and ground defences overseen by Jedi Knight ADI MATANGO and Falleen strategist TZA'UAX, the Jedi were able to force the Mandalorians to withdraw to orbit. However, the defence is not without sacrifice - redeemed former Dark Sider DACE CONCORDIA, at the beginning of his path to reclaim the mantle of Jedi, was slain by the Mand'alor in bloody, vicious combat.
Now the Mandalorians are settling in for a long siege on the Praxeum, blockading the planet and seeking constantly to take out the shield generator and ion cannons that form the backbone of the Praxeum's defence. Dav, Jago, and the other resident Jedi of Yavin lead the hard fought and desperate defence, whilst Adi, working with Master WILL SON'TIR and Jedi Knight DIAMONTE TUHLUTE, and the Jedi Watchmen, seeks to prepare the Jedi, and the worlds of the Republic, for the inevitable assault to come.... THE SIEGE
Day One As morning broke on Yavin IV, the fighting came to an end. The Jedi defenders - wearied and outnumbered, and demoralised by the loss of space superiority, where the Mandalorians had thoroughly claimed their dominance - managed to force a stalemate in the first surface battle of the Mandalorians' Holy War. Begrudging though their retreat from the Praxeum was, the Mandalorians accepted that it was not a fight they could win under those conditions. Whether the invaders would say it out loud or not, the truth was the Jedi had proven to be worthy and dangerous opponents, not so easily squashed beneath their Beskar plated boot.
Now, the Mandalorians sought to regroup at the Temple of the Blueleaf Cluster. Spread throughout the terrain of Yavin IV, their landing craft had not all had the benefit of a soft, controlled, directed landing. Digging their way through thick and deadly jungles delayed the Mandalorian efforts - this was made all the worse by the storm of the night before, and the persistent showers that had followed it, which had saturated the ground and caused rivers and streams to, in places, break their banks.
But things weren't much better for the Jedi. Where as the sub-orbital shuttles had managed, under the cover of the shield and starfighter squadrons, to direct themselves to the Praxeum, a dozen or more escape pods from Yavin Station had come down further afield, leaving their occupants facing almost the same difficult trek as the invaders. A single transport, damaged in the aerial battle, had also gone down some distance from the safety of the shield and the Great Temple. The Jedi forces, still recovering and reorganising from the battle, conducted aerospace and land patrols beneath the shield cover, not yet able to deploy recovery teams to the landing points of the escape pods or damaged transport.... |
|
Jago
Member
Posts: 154
Affiliation: The Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV
Traffic Light: Yellow
|
Post by Jago on May 26, 2013 9:11:42 GMT -8
~The clouds of Yavin IV swept with ferocity through the grey sky, the distant sound of thunder almost echoing the violent battle that had occurred above the atmosphere merely a day ago. The unbearable stickiness of humidity was not alleviated by the downpour that was The Monsoon Season, covering the majority of the Jungle Moon in sheets of rain thick enough to blind both eyes and sensors. Lightning smashed into the trees below, shearing off a branch and sending it crashing down to the undergrowth. The resulting fire was rapidly squelched by the storm, leaving the damp scent of foliage to mingle with fresh charcoal and smoke. Swirling, grey clouds rose all around from under the canopy of the rainforest: the wreckage of ships bearing the holes of Mandalorian or Jedi guns in their hulls and being dragged by gravity into the maw of the trees. Not many survivors would be found among the smoking, twisted, and charred hulks that used to be starships, though some were lucky enough to pull themselves out and begin the long, arduous trek through a violent biome filled to the brim with harsh terrain and savage predators.
Above the mud, above the blood, were two, sleek shapes cruising through the stormy skies. Their wings formed an uppercase "T" in Alternate Basic handwriting, both being adorned with color and vibrancy: clearly unafraid for enemies to spot them. The one at the lead had a large scorch mark upon its right wing, nearly burning off the crimson Starbird displayed there with pride. Other small nicks and scratches covered the fighter craft, but it flew. At that point, it was all that mattered. Brazenly, the X-Wing was painted in a striking, checkered pattern of hunter green and burnt gold, doing absolutely nothing to camouflage it from visual detection against the slate sky or the verdant treetops. Its partner had a shallow gash down its fuselage, the victim of a brush too-close with a projectile weapon. Its nose was covered in teeth, snarling viciously as the eyes settled under the canopy of the fighter were sharp and predatory, the small slits for pupils betraying their reptilian nature. The normally matte grey of an XJ7 was replaced instead with rows of armored, overlapping scales of sandstone brown and beige, razor sharp talons emblazoned over the laser cannons to give the impression that a fearsome sky serpent was breathing fire when the X-Wing dove upon a foe.
:: See anything, Toni? ::
:: Neg, Ehrik. Not a damn thing in this weather. ::
The two Captains continued their silent patrol, neither quite in the mood to talk just yet. Yesterday had been an absolute nightmare: by the end of it, Toni Raques and her Darklighter Squadron had lost six pilots. Half their numbers. However, even the Corulag native had to warm her icy chill when thinking of what Captain Jaimse must have been going through. Ehrik was down to a flight in Antilles Squadron. Four pilots had made it out of the initial battle alive. When that blasted Mandalorian dreadnought rammed itself into the JPTS Uptempo, the resulting detonation of two hypermatter reactors and hyperdrives took with it a large chunk of the fighter forces swarming around the vessels. The sheer concussive force had sent X-Wings and Bes'uliiks into dizzying, uncontrolled spins, slamming them into other nearby capital ships or even each other. And yet, even after such a titanic loss, the Uptempo going down with all hands aboard right in the center of the Mandalorian Fleet, they had kept fighting. Ehrik and Toni had kept fighting.
The latter shifted a bit in her ejector seat, sighing wearily. They had been flying nearly non-stop since the initial engagement in space, and the following defense of the Praxeum itself. When the call went out for visual reconnaissance to locate any Mandalorian forces creeping through the trees, the two squadron leaders volunteered for the duty, wanting whatever remained of their pilots to get some sort of rest. Better they, the more experienced of the bunch, bear the brunt of the burden. Even if it did mean over twenty hours within the past forty eight spent strapped into a starfighter, the rest spent taking stock of their losses and remaining equipment, adjusting their rosters, coordinating crew chiefs to get their fighters repaired, and indulging in enough caf to give a small child a heart attack.
The weariness in their bodies was minuscule, however, to their zealotry. Mandalorians had come to their home, bringing with them fire and death. They had murdered friends and, for all their talk of "honor" in battle, used underhanded treachery and sabotage to secure their costly victory in orbit. Ehrik Jaimse and Toni Raques were prepared to make them pay ten fold for every day they spent on the Jungle Moon of Yavin.
It was not just Jedi defending this small, insignificant rock, after all. The two pilots of the 11th Fighter Wing were prepared and ready to prove to their adversaries that it was not the Knights they should be worried about.
It was them: the regular, everyday soldiers who strapped on boots, helmets, and blasters to defend The Galaxy against people like these Crusaders every damn day. The Mandalorians had not broken the spirit of Yavin IV's guardians, oh no: all they had managed was to poke the piranha beetle hive.
The two X-Wings flew on, continuing their scouting patrol, their pilots half wishing for rest.
The other half demanded a bit of well-deserved vengeance.~
|
|
Corr
Member
You can lead a fool to knowledge but you can't make him think.
Posts: 940
Affiliation: Clan Vhett
Traffic Light: Orange
|
Post by Corr on May 26, 2013 12:39:38 GMT -8
They were not the only wings haunting the cloudy skies of Yavin IV. Nor were they the only pilots with vengeance in their hearts. The savage and bloody struggle of the previous day had been costly for both sides in this conflict born of indignant souls and righteous ideals. No matter the conflicting views of the sides in this conflict each fought with the vigour and surety that their cause was just and right. The Mandalorians fighting on with the scorned fury of those who had lost friends and brothers, the Jedi defending with desperate intensity of those defending their homes from obliteration. All talk of honour and duty was being swallowed beneath the grief and anger cultivated in the theater of war. One day was all it took for the heavy losses of both sides to take its toll on the hearts and minds of those fighting, physical and mental weariness causing short tempers and flagging spirits.
Still, like the Jedi pilots mentioned above, the Mando pilots fought on...
Mace banked his Bes'uliik through a slow turn back towards the West, cruising over the crash site of the Tra'Kad they had escorted down through the atmosphere for the third time. Twenty vode had been in that flying tank, twenty Clan Vhett warriors, some of which he knew well. There was still no sign of survivors escaping the smoking wreckage and the veteran pilot snarled his rage at more friends lost to the Jetii chakaar of this forsaken world.
=Wurk=
:: How long are we gonna lurk here, boss? There's nobody alive down there. ::
His snarled turned into a sigh as his wingmans statement rang true in his ears. That the smoke continued to billow from the battered ship spoke of flames raging inside the hull, filling the cabin spaces with deadly fumes. Even with their buy'ce the warriors inside would be starved of oxygen as their emergency tanks depleted, unable to replenish themselves from the filtered air from a natural environment.
He straightened his flight, glancing at his displays to try and fathom where he was in this dismal place. The two fighters had been separated from their squadron in the upper atmosphere as they streaked through the thin air, holding off attacking waves of Jedi fighters as they attempted to get their troop-laden charges to safe landings. Their current position was somewhere to the South West of their target zone, if Mace was reading his displays right, though the weather and inaccurate information could be putting a lie to what he was seeing.
=Mace=
Gar serim, ner tat...
His words were heavily laden with regret sorrow and weariness, the concurrence grudging and angry. Wurk settled on his port wing as they leveled off, picking up a bit of speed as they headed West and North towards an energy spike which he hoped was the Jedi's shield generator. His throat tightened as he spoke a remembrance of those below who had passed on to the Manda.
=Mace=
Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum...
So intent he was on his devotions, and so ineffectual were his sensor and visibility in this weather, he was almost on top of the Jedi fighter before he knew it was there. Yanking hard on the stick, and stomping on the right foot-pedal to add some drift to his evasion, he sent his fighter to the starboard, twisting the stick to add a spin to his maneuver.
=Mace=
Break port! Break break!
With the near-instant reflexes of an ace pilot Wurk threw his own fighter on its port wing, arcing away from a head-on crash with the X-Wing that loomed out of the murky air. Nearly clipping his enemies starboard wing, he too corkscrewed away erratically, tree's flashing to his left, then overhead, as he spun around madly.
Mace's voice growled over the comm, icily calm after the initial shock of the encounter, stating intent and directions to his vod'ika.
=Mace=
Continue around and drop behind them, last know position. Keep current velocity and maintain arc come around on a reverse of our original heading. This atmosphere will make it difficult to keep line of sight so keep an eye on sensors and pay attetenion to headings.
Both fighters curved away swiftly, tearing through the hammering rain to loop around to where they first encountered the two X-Wings, their computers painting a line on their HUD's as to the projected vector of the Jedi fighters.
|
|
The Narrator
Member
Posts: 10
Affiliation: Stories
Traffic Light: Red
|
Post by The Narrator on May 27, 2013 7:42:26 GMT -8
|
|
Ashrah
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 329
Affiliation: Mandalorians
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Ashrah on May 27, 2013 9:13:07 GMT -8
He trudged. A dead body behind him, wrapped in his chain. His men were with him. 3 of the original 5 he brought to the station with him. The fights taking what the did was fast, brutal and violent. Then he fought the man dead behind him. It felt like hours. His everything hurt. He had his buy'ce back on his head and he ignored the pain flaring in his body, the bacta patch on his neck dulling the pain slightly. He looked up into the canopy of the Jungle above him and shook his head. The defeaning roar of snub fighters winging around could be heard. He mildly hoped they were mostly friendly, and that if one got shot down it didnt randomly crash into them. Mentally shrugging, he checked the HUD for the location of the Temple of the Blueleaf thingymajiger and nodded as they were headed in the correct direction. He looked back over his shoulder at the body of Concordia
::Comfortable? Of course you are. You're dead.::
|
|
Dav Man'Sell
Member
Posts: 741
Affiliation: The Jedi Order - Jedi High Council/Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV
Traffic Light: Red
|
Post by Dav Man'Sell on Jun 1, 2013 16:33:19 GMT -8
Some distance from the Great Temple - beyond the confines of the Defence Shield...
Pain. That was the first thing that came to Captain Telen Zax's awareness. Intense pain. Excruciating pain. Hellish pain. Across his... well... everything. For a moment, it was everything he knew, and he wished, beyond wish, he would know something, anything else.
When his wish came true, a few seconds later when his memories awoke from their slumber, he almost wanted to take it back. He remembered the battle with the Mandalorian forces, bloody and vicious. He remembered watching his men fall around him at the hands of the primitive, vicious, and barbaric Mandalorian soldiers. The wall of the great temple exploding above his head, showering them with great chunks of stone and crushing Lieutenant Starseeker to --
Oh his guts hurt. Now that he had more awareness, the pain, which seemed pervasive everywhere, was especially bad in his guts.
Where was he? He had yet to open his eyes, just because focusing on self awareness and feeling had taken everything he had so far. But he was beginning to recall the steps that had taken him this far. The last thing he remembered was --
"We're hit! I can't hold it! We're going...."
Before that. What had happened before that? A Jedi... Master.... who was it?... in the Praxeum had come running up to him, a small group of students in tow. Their transport had failed to launch with the original evacuation. That moment, as the Mandalorians retreated, was the last chance to get them out. They had cover whilst the Starfighter pilots were in the air covering them, but many of them were flying on fumes as it was, and before long the Mandalorian forces would organise themselves in orbit, and blockade the moon so they couldn't escape. He had had to rush, clambering aboard the Shuttle, an older Theta-Class, the kids rushing after him into the rear hold and strapping in on the instructions of their chaperone, a yellow skinned Twi'lek Jedi Knight in a red flightsuit, whose name completely escaped Telen, as he went to join the pilot in the cockpit. They had lifted off, and, under escort from a pair of starfighters from Extremis Squadron, made their way for the edge of the shield and for clear skies.
It hadn't gone according to plan.
"Enemy fighters, coming up out of the canyon. Counting four, that's four, Star Viper class, at nine o'clock. Shuttle, continue on your course, we'll stall them. Four, break formation and engage at will!"
"Three, we've got two more fighters coming in at four o'clock low."
"Damnit, two more, one o'clock level!"
It had not gone well. The pilots from Extremis fought well, but against eight speedy Star Viper fighters, even Yavin quality pilots were unlikely to excel against the odds. The shuttle's shields had been whittled away quickly, and then one good hit took out the engines and they had --
"We're hit! I can't hold it! We're going down!"
That was the last thing he remembered. So he had to be in the flight cabin, right? Well there was one way to find. Time to open his eyes.
Now.
Do it now.
Ok, another minute.
He lay there... sat there? He wasn't sure... for another while, feeling himself out. He felt a little giddy. His arms ached. His chest and shoulders felt tight, restricted, and his toes tingled. And his stomach, oh his stomach... why did it hurt?
And his surroundings. He could hear a broken electrical line somewhere sparking. The comm system crackled. The smell of smoke, melted plastics, and searing metal filled the air, along with the horrid stench of cooked flesh. He couldn't tell if the cockpit was warm or cold, as he, himself, felt both.
Time to open his eyes.
He expected blazing, brilliance to blind him, but instead he found himself in the dark. The dull red of emergency lighting gave everything a universal colour and a flat, almost shadowless wash, interrupted only briefly by sudden and harsh flashes of blue white from a power line further back that, he reckoned, was swinging backwards and forwards at the back of the cabin.
The viewport ahead of him was blacked out entirely. No, he realised as his eyes adjusted, it wasn't just blacked out, it was shattered and broken in entirely. A thick wall of dirt greeted him, with signs of broken vegetation thrusting up at him.
The next thing to occur to him - he wasn't seated, or lying down. He was still strapped into the flight seat, but he actually hung, held in place, towards the mound of dirt. The shuttle, he deduced, was stood on its nose. The tightness across his chest and shoulders was down to the restraints, the only thing which held him in place. One mystery down.
Next, the Omwati turned his eyes downwards, to his stomach, and the pain therein. That, too, turned out to be an easily solved mystery, although it did nothing for his optimism to solve it. A large piece of metal, sheared off and folded in as a shard of painful serrated edges, like the point of a colossal, primitive spear, thrust point first through his jumpsuit and into his gut. For a moment he cursed having taken off his armour, until he remembered that it had already been damaged beyond comfort and use when the walls had fallen down on --
Got to get out, got to get out of here....
He lifted his hand to his stomach, to where the metal pierced his flesh. His hand came away, sticky, wet, and looked black in the half-light. He couldn't tell how far in to him it had gone, how much damage it had done, but it was far enough in that it effectively pinned him there.
Must be something I can... use...
He begun searching around, looking for something, anything, he could use.
~~~~~
He'd hung in the dark for what must have been hours; in a state of half awareness, something akin to unconsciousness, he drooped from his confining harness. It was now, only just now, that full awareness came to Kythis. The stench of death hung in the air, intermingling with the smoke and burnt plastics. He had tasted it before, that emotional resonance, that death flavour - but not since he had left his home on Anzat. Not since Dav Man'Sell, brilliant and terrifying, had stepped out of the mists and torn down his monstrous clan, freeing him from remaining ever trapped in a community he hated, living his life as something he had always feared becoming.
The shuttle's passenger hold was dark, only crimson emergency lighting providing anything to see by, which cast eerie beams through the thin wafts of smoke in the air. The only sounds were a distant hissing, and the occasional sparks of broken electrical lines. Somewhere ahead of him, Lilia –
Lilia! Is she alright?
- was coughing, gradually more and more loudly. He could sense her coming to, too, and he could also sense confusion from her, grogginess about her normally perky spirit. The others, all were in varying stages of consciousness – some, still, were out cold, others on the edge of awakening, but only he, so far, seemed fully conscious.
No, that wasn't quite right. There, ahead... in the cockpit... there was another. One in pain. He could taste it – the mix of determination, fear, agony, confusion – it was the Omwati soldier they had come aboard with, he was sure. He needed some help. Someone had to go and help.
But how could he get to him? He was at the back of the Shuttle, with nothing between him and the boarding ramp. Which, with the shuttle pointing its nose straight down as it was, meant an awfully long drop faced him. He didn't have the skills to help him.
But what about someone else? Yes, yes! I'll get someone else!
Kythis called on the one area of the Force he'd shown real talent. He closed his eyes, reaching out into the Force. Telepathy based powers... they were where he was strongest, thanks to his species. So he reached into the Force, seeking out the mind, the most awake mind, in the room besides his; there! One of his class!
=Kythis Seiro=
Wake up. Quickly. The Soldier needs our help.
|
|
Felia Reksira
Member
Posts: 39
Affiliation: Felucia Jedi Base
Traffic Light: Orange
|
Post by Felia Reksira on Jun 2, 2013 14:44:48 GMT -8
Her own ability in Telepathy often meant that her mind was extended like an open hand to those reaching out to communicate, a receptive beacon for the words of thought that could flow between two practitioners of the art. Kythis' touch cut through the fog of unconsciousness, stirring the small blonde girl back to awareness in a rush, flooding her with the recall of the plummet to the ground. Her throat raw from screaming, chest burning from where she was pinned in place by her harness she cast about desperately in that near-darkness, a whimper escaping her mouth as she took in their plight. Her hair hung down past her face, some of it plastered to her head by the rain that was dripping down through the shuttle, gaining access through a massive wound where the tail should be. Her hair was blocking her view to the left and right and inflaming the feeling of claustrophobia the burned in her chest, strangling her every breath with the icy claws of fear. Her hand throbbed from where Brakus had clutched it desperately throughout their chaotic fall from the sky, his own fear reverberating through the Force, stacking with the terror of the others that the small girl just couldn't shut out. It was this overwhelming of her emotions that had crushed her into unconsciousness, not any impact due to the crash. In fact, she seemed to have escaped the maelstrom without significant injury. Her chest and hand hurt, a few bruises, but that was about it. The impact of the horror on her senses had caused her to shut down, a defense mechanism to stop her going insane with fear, a way to shield from the paralysing thought of mortality that one so young was ill-equipped to deal with.
Kythis...
The though, a feeling really, sounded in the tranquil pool of the Force, drifting across to the Anzati youth a few seats down from her. It was an acknowledgement of his call more than anything else. A hand extended to reassure that he was not alone in this misery. It was all she could manage at the moment as her mind struggled to deal with the enormity of their situation. Just as she portrayed her thoughts through the Force so to did it calm and sustain her, it serene, solid presence a help as she tried to get a hold of herself.
"Brak...?"
The name choked out strangled, burning her torn throat in a dry scrape, as she swung her head a little to move the pale curtain of hair that separated them. The voice trailed off into a mournful sob as she took in her friend, recognisable in the muted light steaming from a tear in the ship somewhere to the stern. He hung much like she did, with his red hair hanging over his face. The hair was matted with blood, a nasty gash causing the spillage of life-fluid across his head. He didn't move, one arm hanging limply, twisted at an unnatural angle down near the wrist. The despair threatened to overwhelm her again but she fought it down as she reached out to him in the Force, feeling the slow but steady thrum of life within him.
She could feel others around her, her friends, some of them conscious, in pain, scared, but alive. She heard Lilia coughing and sent out her thoughts to her, suffusing them with love and hope. She felt Kythis' determination and it sparked something within her something that she would never have thought her capable of. Her massive eyes narrowed in concentration as she cast about, looking for the best way to free herself without landing on her face on the bulkhead separating the passenger compartment from the cockpit. Her mind hardened as she raised her right hand, fumbling for the release on her harness, left hand grabbing hold of the seats arm-rest, hitting the release and swinging herself down to land on the back of the row of seats in front of her.
She immediately collapsed onto her knee's as her feet failed to support her, the fatigue and fear taking their toll despite her not suffering from any physical injury. She sobbed again as she shook her head forlornly, struggling to muster the strength and courage to do what she needed to do. Her robes were soaked and her hair stuck to her head as if fearing to venture away from the skin that housed it. Her teeth chattered as she pushed herself to move, to help the others, reaching out to them for some reassurance... some hope.
It was dark despite the tear in the stern, the overcast skies of Yavin IV providing little illumination in this dismal tomb of a ship. The shapes hanging from the seats seemed like looming monsters to the small girl as she looked up from her position, terrifying her with their ghastly appearance. How many were dead? What horrors would she see should she try to get close? Would she cause more harm than good trying to free them from their restraints?
Her lower lip trembled as she struggled with herself, again reaching out to the others, to those she could feel stirring.
Help me! I don't know what to do.
|
|
Dav Man'Sell
Member
Posts: 741
Affiliation: The Jedi Order - Jedi High Council/Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV
Traffic Light: Red
|
Post by Dav Man'Sell on Jun 2, 2013 16:22:20 GMT -8
Felia had awoken, responding to his telepathic call. He smiled tightly to himself - not an expression he used often, and it felt a little weird on his face, but he was genuinely proud that his idea, so far, was working. He could just about make her out, to his right, now kneeling on the row in front of her.
And she asked for help. She asked what to do.
Oh, sithspit, I don't know! What do we do? The Soldier, he's hurt. I can smell it, he's getting weaker, and he's beginning to panic. We have to help him.
Kythis reached out now, seeking the mind of the Twi'lek Jedi Knight who had chaperoned them aboard the ship. He reached and he searched, he searched and he probed, and try as he might, he couldn't find that mind. What could it mean? Was he being blocked out? Had something happened?
Then the truth hit him - the stench of death in the air.
The Jedi Knight. He's dead.
Others may have panicked. Kythis, in another circumstance, might have panicked. On this occasion, he didn't, and for that, he was thankful. Maybe it was the urgency. Maybe it was adrenaline, or the fact that Felia, who was on the cusp of panic herself, needed him. He didn't know. Couldn't say. He felt agitated, but also focused. It was working, for now.
The Anzati took a breath in, and then exhaled slowly. Another, just to try and calm himself a little, to try and think.
We need to get down to the Soldier. That's the truth. Just... concentrate on that for now.
=Kythis Seiro=
"Fee--" His voice croaked, and he swallowed the rest of the word and what saliva he could muster before he tried again. "Felia. The Soldier in the cockpit, the one that went to help the Pilot. I... I think he's hurt. I think he needs someone to help him."
What would she find, down there? He didn't know.
But the fact that he couldn't get a taste of their pilot, that there was no impression on The Force, he knew meant that the pilot was probably dead.
|
|
Felia Reksira
Member
Posts: 39
Affiliation: Felucia Jedi Base
Traffic Light: Orange
|
Post by Felia Reksira on Jun 3, 2013 2:14:52 GMT -8
Kythis' words, floating to her out of the darkness, made her jump slightly, seeming very loud in the utter absence of talk. Not that the wreckage was quiet. The coughs and sobs of the others, combined with the creaking and croaking of thee shuttles hull, sang in the background in a woeful melody fitting to the grim setting. His words, harsh and pained, seemed to contrast with the other sounds, a voice of reason in the chaos that abounded. Mustering her resolve she crawled forward to the edge of the row of seats, to the isle than ran between them, now a vertical passage to the door into the cockpit. She could see him now in the darkness, hanging from his won restraints in the seat across the isle, a dim shape slightly darker than the surrounding shadows.
"Kythis..."
She gasped, her own voice sounding every bit as rough and ragged as his. It disturbed her a little that he could smell the plight of the soldier but the enormity of her task soon drowned out any misgivings she had towards the strange and lonesome Anzat, breaking down any barriers of social differences in light of their shared plight. She needed help in her need and wasn't one to shun the help of her peers just because she found them a little weird. Indeed, that it was Kythis was a boon as she'd probably just have collapsed sobing to Brakus.
She looked down, judging the distance to the bulkhead below. She was standing on the backs of the last row of seats and it didn't seem too far. She recalled that there was enough room to move around between the front row and the wall but not so much as to make this drop difficult, perhaps three meters. If she hung from the seat she knelt upon then she should be able to...
She turned around on her hands and knee, backing right up to the edge then sprawled out on her belly. Pushing her self back, wriggling to help ease herself along, she dangled her legs over the void, bending at the waist until only her upper body rested on the hard plasteel. Sliding back further she squirmed until she had hold of the chair with only her arms. He legs kicked over darkness and another wave of panic gripped her. She couldn't see where she was going! What if she'd misjudged and she fell too far? What if the bulkhead was broken and there were jagged edges that would impale her? She sobbed. What if she couldn't let go and dangled here until her arms burned, releasing of their own accord? That thought was like a slap in the face and steeled her determination. If she was going to fall it would be on HER terms, not by some act of cowardice that would make matters worse.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Okay. Go!
She didn't let go.
"Damn it."
She muttered to herself crossly, annoyed by her hesitation. Perhaps a three count would help, she thought wryly. The soldier wasn't getting any better and the urgency in Kythis' Force sense spoke to her of the need to hurry.
"One..."
Her whispered count began as more imagined horrors surfaced in her over-active imagination; What if the cockpit was on fire? What if the was blood everywhere? What if she feinted or ran screaming? What if...
"Two..."
Her voice seemed to continue it count of its won accord, jarring her from her thoughts of impending doom and disaster. Could she really do this? The question echoed in the vaults of her mind as she completed her count.
"Three."
She let go.
The drop seemed to take forever, as if she was floating in space for an eternity. She tried to judge when she would land but got it wrong, the impact of her feet with the hard durasteel coming a moment sooner than she thought. Her legs jarred painfully and her ankle twisted causing her to cry out in pain. She immediately folded down into a heap on the cockpit door, whimpering as she clutched her injured ankle. The pain actually helped to clear her mind and after a moment, she dragged herself into some semblance of order, crawling to the side of the door and locating the release.
She looked up towards the form of Kythis, still just about visible to her, the knowledge of where he was aiding her in picking out details in the shadows. Her voice was still a strained parody of its former self but at least this time there was no tremor.
"I'm by the cockpit door."
She hit the release and the door slid open with a strangled whine...
|
|
Dav Man'Sell
Member
Posts: 741
Affiliation: The Jedi Order - Jedi High Council/Jedi Praxeum of Yavin IV
Traffic Light: Red
|
Post by Dav Man'Sell on Jun 3, 2013 6:15:39 GMT -8
The door behind him opened, and he felt, instantly, some form of elation - he was getting help. He was going to be ok.
Then an alternative option presented itself to his mind;
What if it's Mandos? What if they've found us and there here to kill me? Filthy Mandalorian scum, here to kill me, here to kill me like they did everyone else, like they did Lieutenant Starseeker... oh kriff, oh kriff, I don't want to, I don't want to die...
That panic threatened to overwhelm him again, and desperately, he tried to look around, tried to spot the newcomer. Doing so pulled at his stomach, tearing it against the immovable shard of metal in his flesh. The stabbing pain blinded him for a moment, but brought him his sense back, and he settled back into his restraints, groaning at the pain. He reached to his hip, taking out his blaster pistol, the Yavin made personal defense sidearm. He powered it up, checked its charge, and swallowed, setting his will
=Captain Telen Zax=
"Who's there?"
Behind him, between him and the door, were two more seats, and the dangling power cable - unknown to him, but now, no doubt, apparent to Felia, it hung straight down from immediately above the door frame, into the middle of the cockpit cabin, sparking violently.
To his left, in the pilot seat, half buried in the dirt and vegetation that had broken through the viewport, with her head twisted in an ulgy fashion, and blank, empty, staring eyes that looked out into nothing, the Bothan shuttle pilot hung, dead. What killed her wasn't clear, but that she was dead, anyone would be able to tell that. No light, none at all, made it into the cockpit from outside - only the dull red emergency light, and the intermittent flashes of blue-white from the dangling cable, gave the cabin any illumination.
|
|
Felia Reksira
Member
Posts: 39
Affiliation: Felucia Jedi Base
Traffic Light: Orange
|
Post by Felia Reksira on Jun 3, 2013 14:48:25 GMT -8
Felia hesitated as the voice floated up to her out of the cockpit, staring in horror into what looked like the gaping maw of some hideous beast. The red emergency light, barely worth of the term, made it the room look like the inside of a mouth or, even worse, that every surface was coated in blood. Perhaps it WAS all coated in blood, she thought with growing unease as she once again managed to find her voice despite it attempting to flee with her ego.
"It.. its me. Felia. One of the Jedi students..."
She flinched as the cable sparked again with furious insistence, as if calling out her doom with every crack. Like a silver snake it twitched and leaped with each spark, seemingly trying to twist far enough to bite the man trapped in the seat below. With each spark the room illuminated, the strange strobe effect flashing her still-shots of the scene, freezing each image in her mind, denying her eyes a chance to adjust to the dismal gloom of the red lighting. As she cast about for a way down the wire sparked again, freezing a still-shot of the vacant eyes of the Bothan pilot black eyes boring deep into her soul with their lifeless misery.
She sobbed and drew back a little, her hands trembling as she clung to the edges of the door frame. Her small voice sung out again, devoid its usual sing-song elegance, sounding instead like a high-pitched chattering of some garrulous rodent.
"Are you okay?"
It seemed a stupid question but she had to start somewhere. The violently sparking wire was denying her safe passage down to him directly, though the wire itself could be used as a rope to swing her across onto the backs of the seats behind the trapped soldier. She just didn't know whether she could pull of such a maneuver without getting herself toasted in the process.
|
|
|
|
Post by Chiala Yvarro on Jun 3, 2013 15:47:12 GMT -8
*It was a peaceful silence that encompassed her. The sort of quiet that could only follow a great cacophony of chaos and nightmares. The comfort of serenity tempted her mind to be lulled back into the the easy slumber of someone who did not have to get up early for class that morning. Except that omething tickled irritably at her face. The clean scent of fresh soil and minty aroma of plant life surrounded the Balosar. She batted away whatever was brushing against her cheek, feeling the gentle prongs of a broad fern-like leaf tangle between her fingers. Magenta-colored eyes snapped open in sudden awareness, the lush green of the surrounding juggle gradually blurring into focus.
Couldn't move. Paralyzed! No, fodderhead, not paralyzed. Strapped in.
She looked down at herself. Somehow, she had managed to get both of her arms tangled up within the harness she had hastily pulled around her body. Flashes of memory returned to her at recalling how she had struggled with the blasted thing. She hadn't listened to the first intercom call to secure herself to her seat, her boot propped up rudely against the seat in front of her as she chewed idly on a piece of taffy. Just turbulence, she had figured. Hardly worth the bother of moving her folded arms two-inches to the left. Then a second message came through. Brace for impact. That one had gotten her attention.
That was when an explosion blasted in front of her eyes, blinding her with searing heat and light. Not the light of flames, which had been snuffed immediately by the vacuum of pressure that had made her ears ache, but instead by the penetrating light of daylight, as the entire shuttle had been sheared. The hull broke apart beneath her very feet until she was no longer looking down at floor, but at open sky. She never heard what call had come over the comm after that. The vibration had jarred her so hard that she had struck her head against something and bitten her tongue, drawing blood. She never saw what happened to the main part of the shuttle as the tail end flew off. Then there was the sensation of free falling. Then nothing.
Blissfully, she could not recall the moment of impact. And had no fekking idea whatsoever how she had survived it relatively intact.
With a groan, she managed to disentangle herself from the safety net of her harness, pushing it irritably over the top of her antennapalps before tumbling out of the shuttle seat and flat onto her stomach. She hissed in a sharp breath through her teeth in shock. The seat she had just freed herself from was the only sign of wreckage she could see. She turned her head, looking all around as the soft breeze stirred the fronds overhead. Anywhere. In all directions. Just her seat, isolated and disconnected in this jungle. Where the kriff was the rest of the transport?!
Something warm and wet stuck to her brow, trickling around the shape of her eye and to her cheek. She hurt all over, but she was glad of it. Pain was good. Pain meant her spine was still working. Pain meant she wasn't dead. And pain could be easily treated. Her slender fingers searched one of the dozens of pockets sewn onto her loose-fitted slacks. She froze. She searched a second pocket.*
"...Fek."
*She searched a third pocket.*
"FEEEEEEK!"
*Her deep-throated wail startled a number of avianic creatures into flight, their answering calls of objection fading into the distance. Gone. All gone! Her unscheduled free-fall through open air had ripped away every bit of spice she'd had on her, which had been precious little enough as it was. She slammed her fist into the ground, trembling violently for several long moments, before finally pushing herself upright to curse and throw rocks at the blasted sky for stealing away the fix she so desperately needed.
Snow-white dreads fell away from her widening eyes.
There, directly above her head, casting its shadow down onto her from the spiral-twisted branches of the surrounding exotic trees, was the tail end of the shuttle. The opening was slanted steeply downward. So, her seat hadn't flown off by its own. It must have been dislodged after it had struck those treetops, the fatal descent slowed by the impact that had so unceremoniously deposited her onto the jungle floor. She could see partway into what remained of the broken hull, sparks still trying to find a path of circuitry from the ripped cables hanging loose, but the shadows were too dark to see if anyone remained within the small piece of wreckage. All that she could make out was the place where her seat used to be, and the empty seat next to it.
It hadn't been empty when the shuttle had launched.
She cupped her hands around her mouth, calling upward.*
"Hey! HEEEEEY! IS ANYONE ALIVE UP THERE?"
|
|
Saris
Member
Posts: 74
Affiliation: Jedi Praxuem of Yavin IV
|
Post by Saris on Jun 4, 2013 11:03:05 GMT -8
The first thing he noticed was the smell. The air was rank with the scents of death and blood and fire, all forcing their way into his nostrils and jolting him awake with their intensity. Next came the sounds, the squawk of jungle birds startled off their branches, the subtle creaking of a structure on the verge of collapse, and the steady hammering of rain on metal. None of it made any sense to him. What happened? Where... It hit him then, memory driving into his mind like a spear through a rass. The attack. The shuttle was hit. But by who? And are they coming back? Doesn't matter. Need to get out. He opened his eyes finally, coming face to face with a darkness he didn't expect. Not daytime anymore. Several hours since the crash then. Which meant that either the attackers weren't coming back, or they had bigger things to worry about first. Either way, they had some time.Before he began to move, he turned his mind inward and took stock of his own body, testing his arms and finding that he could only move his right. There was pain in his left shoulder and the arm was twisted behind his seat and pinned by something he couldn't see. He remembered something about turning to try and help another student with her straps, but the crash itself was blank in his mind. There was dull aching over most of the rest of his body and several sharper pains, but nothing that would warrant immediate concern. The arm was his biggest problem. Probably a dislocated shoulder. He could reset it once he got it free, but actually getting it free would be a problem. He was still strapped in and the release wasn't working. His right hand went to his boot only to find the small sheath he kept there empty. No vibroknife then. I'll need to...Is that a voice?"Hey! HEEEEEY! IS ANYONE ALIVE UP THERE?"
"No! There is no one alive up here! NOW COME HELP ME OUT!" Saris winced at his words even as they left his mouth. Frackin' sarcastic streak. Now is not the time. The other students might all be dead, and all he could do was make fun of the situation. It was probably one of the things that made him such a social outcast. That and the near-constant state of agitation at being stuck inside a big stone building for weeks on end. A state of agitation, he suddenly realized, that he didn't feel anymore. He felt more free and relaxed with a dislocated shoulder in a crashed shuttle than he ever had inside the temple's stone walls. As morbid as it may seem, he felt more at peace in that moment, surrounded by dead and wounded friends (well, acquaintances), than he had since before he came to the jedi.
|
|
Ashrah
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 329
Affiliation: Mandalorians
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Post by Ashrah on Jun 6, 2013 11:15:44 GMT -8
Head down, shoulders forward. One foot in front of the other. Even his legendary endurance was being pushed to the limits today. It didnt matter. Once he delivered his package, he could continue on his way.....maybe get some damn sleep. The sun was creeping through the canopy, casting the jungle they trudged through in an eerie green/yellow light, steam starting to rise from the rain the night before. He hated the rain. At least it felt more like Myrkr. That was a small blessing. He idly wondered if Duke had remembered to bring some ysalimari. He would ask when he returned to camp. Not IF. WHEN. He knew he would return. Nothing was going to Stop him. This was Kads will. His 3 nameless boys were ducking through the foliage to either side and behind him, and he was sure Sheva was looking at him as if he was pure insanity. He didn't care. This was his mission. He would see it complete.
He could see the walls of the Jedi Praxeum ahead. He was close.....He spoke into the com channel through their buy'ce quickly...
::Keep an eye out. If it moves, and isn't us, kill it quickly. There are bound to be patrols this close to the Temple.....And after this, they are going to want my head on a platter....::
|
|
|
|
Post by Chiala Yvarro on Jun 8, 2013 12:35:21 GMT -8
*Emotions played across the Balosar's face like the changing lights of a tech nightclub. Relief flooded through her first, immediately followed by the acute awareness that if she was feeling relief, she must have been far more frightened of being on her own than she was willing to admit. This brought irritation, then defiance.
So there was at least one student still alive, and sounding as pissed as a nest of Tattooine rock hornets. She muttered through clenched teeth.*
"Alright now don't get your skivvies in a twist, I can't just sprout wings."
*With her sickly-pale face tilted up, she circled a couple of times beneath the shuttle, trying to work through the puzzle. The jungle trees of Yavin did not seem to grow upward so much as they chose to grow any which way they liked. Amid moss-covered spiraling branches that twisted from ground to the understory layer, there were a number of gnarled vines hanging low enough for her to be able to reach out and curl her fingers around them. A virtual climber's dream. If it wasn't for the rainwater dripping down through the canopy and along each and every plant-grown pathway. The rain sliding down the vine to over her hand and between her knuckles made the natural rope slick as Hutt slime. Impossible to climb.
She released her hold on it and checked on her utility belt, making certain it was still secured around her scrawny waist, then pressed her lips firmly together to concentrate.
The vines stirred, then began to move with the hissing whisper of a serpent against rain-soaked leaves and moss. The vines coiled slowly over her shoulders, around her middle, then between and around her thighs in a crude but accurate mimickry of cliff-climbing equipment. Chiala gripped the vertical vine above her head with both hands as best she could, and the plant life, as though it had become a mobile, sentient thing, lifted her up off of the forest floor. She used the twisted spirals of branches to gain a foot purchase every few feet, using as little of the force power as possible.
Because plants were not, in fact, mobile. They were not mindless snakes pulling her up with non-existent muscles and spines, but rather they were accomplishing this feat through growth. Each time she had to use Plant Surge to bring herself a little higher, the vines grew around her, ensnaring her torso and limbs a little more. It was rather restrictive and becoming uncomfortable to breathe by the time she made the short distance to the shuttle.
She struggled to pull the thick vines from her arms and legs, wriggling out of the powerful root-like vegetation with the help of the lubricating rain and a few sacrificial tears to her tunic and pants, but was at last able to set foot on the same branch that had stopped the tail of the shuttle from making it to the ground and was now holding it aloft. With careful balance, the Balosar made it to the slanted opening and, gripping a shard of jagged metal, was able to swing herself around from the branch into the wreckage, standing in the empty space where her seat had been.
The entire construct shifted with a low groan, the sound of leaves and branches snapping free causing Chiala's magenta eyes to turn round as saucers, her stance blading and her arms extending out to keep herself from tumbling right back out of the shuttle tail. She cursed in a low whisper, as though just the sound of her voice could cause another shift.*
"Need to lay off the sugarsticks, Chiala..."
*Her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness. Chiala herself had only been one row shy of the very rear of the Theta-class transport, so there wasn't much of a hold left to see. She could only make out half-a-dozen seats that had actually remained intact, and did her best to ignore the deadly-still figure across the aisle from her, though she knew she would have to check him before she could leave.
The Sakiyan was right next to her. She nearly jumped, stifling a yelp. In spite of his height, his gray-blue skin had him nearly blending into the darkness itself and she had almost not seen him. Her antennapalps immediately lifted, an instinctive reflexive action in order to pick up on the minute, biological sounds that were beyond the hearing of most humanoids. Seeing him face-to-face...his face being nearly level with hers even though she was standing and he was sitting down...immediately had her recalling the older student's name.*
"Saris, isn't it? Geez, don't fething sneak up on me like that, you want a girl to think she's about to get mugged?"
*The snide tone and flippant humor was little more than a coping method for dealing with this high-stress situation. Obviously, the man couldn't move to sneak up on her. He was still strapped into his seat. She glanced down at his hands, and a flash of violent memory returned to her. Had those blue hands been trying to help her with her harness before? He might be the only reason she survived the crash. Her eyes snapped wide once more as the construct beneath her feet shifted again. She hissed through her teeth.*
"Don't. Breathe."
*She lowered her hands to tug at the release of his harness at his hip, but it wouldn't budge. Jammed. They had their lightsabers, but the close proximity of the straps to the skin would surely cause unnecessary burns if she brought the blade close, and she didn't want to think what would happen if the wreckage shuddered again while she was trying to cut him free. With a show of strength that was either force-induced or really belied the frail build of the Balosar, she ripped free a jagged piece of metal from the crushed-in hull, and used its sharpest edge to cut into the woven fabric of the harness. It was slow work, but she was able to carefully pull each strap away from Saris, only noticing with the last one that his left arm was at an unnatural angle. Chiala grimaced.*
"Going to be a tricky climb down with that."
|
|
Saris
Member
Posts: 74
Affiliation: Jedi Praxuem of Yavin IV
|
Post by Saris on Jun 8, 2013 13:58:35 GMT -8
"Saris, isn't it? Geez, don't fething sneak up on me like that, you want a girl to think she's about to get mugged?" "Right. I'll be sure and start barking next time I smell you coming." The near-blindness of other species honestly baffled him sometimes. Back on his home planet, his skin color hadn't been any more of an advantage than his acute senses, and yet out here, among the rest of the galaxy's denizens, he had begun to realize why those sakiyans that traveled offworld always came back with stories of alien inferiority. Not only were they all but blind in the dark and unable to see heat, but a majority of the species he'd encountered were also a good deal weaker physically. It was like learning to hunt as an adult then returning to play with the children. Honestly, how do you people even survive? His working theory was that it involved an ungodly amount of luck and just plain stubbornness, or the force in the case of the jedi. Their survival was far easier to understand, given the often spectacular feats he had seen them accomplish.Like what Chiala just did to cut him out of his harness, for instance. If he'd had any, his eyebrows would have climbed onto his forehead as she took hold of the jagged piece of metal and ripped it free. That's... impressive. Something he hadn't been able to say about most of his class-mates thus far. His lips nearly turned into a smile as she worked on the straps. Perhaps these others are not as inferior as they seemed before.This one certainly isn't. This new display of strength almost had him actually respecting her abilities. Almost, but not quite. "Thanks." When she cut through the last strap, he pulled himself out of the chair and twisted around to leverage the chunk of metal off his left arm. Once it was free and no longer twisted at a severe angle, he let it hang loosely by his side for a moment and began to prepare himself mentally. "I'll be fine. Just... stand back. I wouldn't want to hurt you." Gritting his teeth, he focused on his shoulder and tensed the muscles around the dislocated joint, his lips parting in a growl as the pain shot through him. It wouldn't have done any good had he been human, but his sakiyan biology, specifically the way his muscles were connected, allowed for far greater control and strength compared to humans, and his arm began to shake violently then flail back and forth as he tensed the shoulder muscles tighter and tighter. His right hand reached out to grip a chair and keep the rest of him from shaking, and his left arm struck metal with a resounding clang more than once before his growl turned into a roar that drowned out the faint "pop" as the shoulder was pulled back into place and he collapsed onto the shuttle floor, heaving deep breaths in and out.Relative silence reigned for several moments afterward as he regained his composure, and he found himself wishing for a more human anatomy before banishing the thought as quickly as it had come. He'd heard that a human dislocation could be properly reset without any assistance from the shoulder's muscles, and he was willing to bet that was far less painful than what he'd just had to do. For a sakiyan, the only way to ensure the shoulder would be properly set and aligned was to force it back into place with your own muscles. Though that's definitely helpful when you're injured on a solo hunt. "Yup, that's about as fun as I remember." Pushing himself to his knees then standing, he glanced around the back of the shuttle for his bow case but found nothing. Must have fallen out during the crash. A glance at the other students still in their seats confirmed their plummeting body temperatures, and the only heartbeats he could hear were Chiala's and his own. No other survivors here then. "We should get moving. The rest of the shuttle should be between us and the temple, and we can't be the only survivors." He said it with confidence, but he had also just realized that the front end of the shuttle could very well be the bigger problem their attackers were dealing with before coming to make sure everyone here was dead, and that was not a comforting thought in the least. Stepping up to the edge of the shuttle, he finally got a sense of just how far it was to the ground, and he knew from experience how difficult it was to climb wet vines. "How'd you get up here anyway?" |
|
Corr Vhett - puts the "Laughter" in "Manslaughter"..... 
