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Post by acelynn on Dec 1, 2013 17:01:42 GMT -8
*She laughed at the man he was funny, she figured it was sarcasm as he talked*
I hope not either, I wouldn't want you the brig bad scary man coming after me"
*she giggled and smiled at the captain*
"So my turn for a question, What is your name, Why are you recruiting, and do i get to join or am I wasting my time"
*the tone in her voice went from giggly to serious. she sat back up in her chair staring at the man still*
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Bloodrage Pirates
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Yo ho, yo ho a pirate's life for me!
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Post by Bloodrage Pirates on Dec 1, 2013 17:18:01 GMT -8
Arkan raised one eyebrow under his mask.
"That was three questions! However since I'm in a generous mood I'll indulge you! My name is Arkan Bloodrage, I'm recruiting because i can never have too much fresh meet aboard my ship. As to whether you get to join or not is not up to me. You shall be tested and you will decide if you join or not. If you would like to join, please sign your name on the datapad and meet me at docking bay 117 at 18:00 local time. I'm sure you will find the outcome, interesting!"
He knew what the situation would be and who it would favour but not the outcome. This girl may very well surprise him but the likelihood of that was slim.
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Post by acelynn on Dec 1, 2013 17:22:22 GMT -8
*she leaned forward and smiled at the man as she signed her name onto the datapad*
you won't be disappointed Captain
*she got up and winked at the man before she walked out of the bar down the street*
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Syren
The Vegemite Enclave
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Post by Syren on Dec 18, 2013 18:55:48 GMT -8
*If any place could make Syren long for Coruscant, it was Nar Shaddaa. She was huddled in a corner of some back alley virtually on the fringes of a Trandoshan gang territory. In the shadows of crates, Syren was still dressed like a Jedi, probably not the best attire for the place, and was pouring over a holographic display of the city. At her side, an astromech droid with the model number R9-Y4 bobbed into her thigh trying to garner some attention.
Syren put a reassuring hand on the dome of the droid in a futile attempt to silence it while she tried to make heads and tails of the map in her hands. In the end, she shoved the holoprojector into the droid's data input drive and waited for it to process the way she needed to go to reach her contact.
R9-Y4 blurbled something sarcastic and smug which was not befitting of a droid before spitting out the directional information in lime green arrows.*
"Over grown calculator..." *Syren murmured at the droid then stomped off in the direction he had indicated and smack into one behemoth of a Trandoshan. The lizard hissed at her. She had to take a step backwards to look him in the eye since he towered over her.*
"Is that supposed to be impressive, Muscles?" *Y4 nudged her from behind since he was still trapped behind the crates and could not see the disturbance. Syren clucked her tongue and moved so that the droid could race headlong into the Trandoshan. The big lizard moved with Syren so that the droid went flying off behind him. He roared at her and said something in their gravelly language.
Syren held her hand up to him for a moment.* "Give me a sec, I haven't had to understand parseltongue for generations, it's going to take a minute for your threats to kick in." *Syren gave him a cheeky smile. She was pretty conident that she was supposed to make the gangsters lives a living hell while she was on the Hutt moon.
The brute moved forward with a loping motion that suggested he had more grace than his size could possibly allow. Syren nimbly dodged farther to her left leaving her back open and the crates there to collect the Trandoshan in the case he could not turn on a dime.* "No, no, Irwin, let's play chicken over here."
*Syren could not head for her initial destination until she ditched her new friend. A prickle at the back of her neck indicated that she had drawn the attention of more friends. The gaggle of Trandoshan hemmed her in so that escape was not going to be easy. Syren gave an almost imperceptible shrug to the gathering crowd.* "Well, I was the one that was bored."
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Alpharius
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Post by Alpharius on Dec 19, 2013 21:15:14 GMT -8
The Smuggler’s moon was nothing more than a wretched hive of scum and villainy, filled to the brim with those whom could not afford to call Coruscant home. Swoop gangs of varying sizes and species had taken to the streets, claiming whole sections of the habitation blocks as their own. It was a disgusting cesspool of interspecies mingling with one another, leaving the law enforcement solely within the hands of the Hutts and their enforcers. Despite loathing the planetary moon and what it had become over the millennia, the assassin could not deny Nar Shaddaa had its charms. The towering spires of Vertical city had provided the contract killer with a hunting ground like no other, a duracrete escumenopolis of endless possibilities. Originally he had come to this world to track down a high value bounty, a woman that the Syndicate had deemed worthy of his skills and attention. The events that had transpired afterwards had seemed like nothing more than a blur, to the trained assassin as he attempted to recall what had transpired. Through general assumptions and the prowess of his martial abilities, Alpharius had assumed he had taken in the wretched woman and earned his sum of credits.
Now, clad in his form fitting body glove, the assassin relished the sights offered by the city that had never slept. An orange miasma choked the skies of the city-moon, casting every far off building and iridescent light in a saffron hue. Alpharius had a hard time considering the view beauteous, but as he waited for his newest set of tasking orders, the man had to waste his time with something constructive. His handler had suggested that he settle down for a moment’s respite, to enjoy the polluted skies of Little Coruscant. Taking it as literally as a newborn infant, the Epicanthix stood upon the balcony of his rented room glaring at the starless curtain draped above him. For what seemed like hours, he had stared into the starless abyss of the polluted atmosphere, until his mind had ached with a ceaseless boredom. The assassin needed a change of pace to keep his skills honed, lest the fade and become dull. It was almost like a sign from above when he had spotted something of interest taking place within the alleyway below. The assassin thanked several long forgotten deities as he drew up his polished obsidian rifle from the protective railing of the balcony, letting it rest upon its edge as he garnered a better view. Through the looking glass he spied several noteworthy Trandoshan thugs corralling about a woman drabbed in the distinctive garb of the Jedi. A flash of familiarity seared through the supple meat of his mind as he had laid eyes upon this woman, unable to shake the feeling that he had known this woman from somewhere. Blinking the thought away, he racked the slide of his rifle and listened to the threatening lion’s purr that echoed within the casing as he lined up his first target.
The head crest of emerald scales suddenly erupted in miniscule flames as the nightstinger round penetrated through the dense bone of the Trandoshan’s skull. As the cold-blooded reptilian had begun falling to his knees, the invisible bolt having dispersed throughout the soft matter encased within the bony exterior, Alpharius began swiftly cycling through his targets. Several discharges spat forth from the carbon scored nozzle of his sniper rifle, each seeking to claim the lives of all but one of the advancing T’doshok. Lifting his rifle from the railing, the assassin let a rictus grin curl upon his lips as he admired his handiwork. Hivegangers had little in the way of trophies to take, but since they were from the system of Dosha the assassin had expected each to carry a small but significant trinket upon their persons that would be of little value to their deceased owners. Slinging his rifle about his shoulder and vaulting over the protective barrier, Alpharius fell to the darkened alleyway below. Breaking his rapid descent by latching onto the myriad of balconies beneath the one he had called his own; the assassin had finally splashed down amidst the fallen corpses of the reptilian humanoids he had slain.
His crimson visor flared in the dim light of the alley way as he knelt down above the still writhing body of a fallen Trandoshan. The assassin had prided himself on being an excellent shot, and the fact he had missed the Reptilian’s braincase chafed at his pride. He wanted to open the throat of the vile creature, to end the burden of the assassin’s momentary shame. Yet with the Jedi and her droid standing before him, he feared that such an act would see him cut in two. Now that he was closer to this cloth clad beauty, the assassin could see why she had been so familiar through the myopic view from his scope. This Jedi was one of a kind, a rare treat to be found within the filth stained streets of Little Coruscant. Without the aid of his retinal scanner, the assassin would not be able to identify what race the woman had belonged too. For he was unfamiliar with this Jedi and the species she had been born a part of. Speaking through the thin layer of armourweave, the ebon clad assassin decided to make a secondary introduction. Perhaps by making verbal contact with this Jedi woman, he would be able to learn more about her and why she had come to Nar Shaddaa.
“It seems you are a long way from the Core Worlds, Jedi.” He said, his gruff panathan accent resounded with every word. “What brings a Guardian of the galaxy, into this pit of vermin and villainy?”
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Syren
The Vegemite Enclave
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Post by Syren on Dec 20, 2013 9:02:34 GMT -8
*Syren had barely reached for her lightsaber when the large reptilian men began to fall around her. She had enough sense to gauge that the new attack was coming from above, and she let go into the Force to drive her into a crouch against the onslaught and towards the wall beneath the overhanging balconies above. The astormech droid trundled after her with an electronic whine. The remaining Trandoshan made a poorly calculated dive towards Syren. Reacting to the threat, Syren rolled from him and brought the hilt of her lightsaber down on the musclular process at the back of his neck that housed a potent nerve cluster. The blow flattened the lizard without killing him, but only left him momentarily stunned.
An individual, Syren assumed to be her aiding assailant landed lightly off to her right. She was not about to assume which adversary might be more dangerous, the stunned Trandoshan or the mysterious assassin with the impressive rifling skills. This position postured unpleasant consequence for the Jedi, something that took only seconds to decide: what to do with a Trandoshan thug, no two wounded Trandoshan thugs, and a mystery man?
The trandoshan began to pick himself up off the duracrete when Syren slammed her jagged elbow into the same fleshy bit between his scales that her lightsaber hilt had dislodged. The poison from her finblade was unlikely to kill him, but he might wish that it would. The creature dropped to the ground once more and writhed with the heat and ferocity that only a neurotoxin could fire.
She then skirted around towards the otherwise mortally wounded trandoshan with the less accurate projectile. Syren looked towards the marksman with a pointed look that screamed, you should clean up your own mess. Her robes began to take on a red tinge as she knelt down into the blood of the dying creature. While a predatory hunter, and the ironic concept that death seemed to follow the Jedi, Syren did not like to kill. She put her hands on the creature looking for the blood line that ran into his brain.
She placed her fingers softly upon the throbbing pulse and breathed in deeply. Sure there were simpler methods than using the Force, like a knife, lightsaber, or another shot to the head, but Syren felt personally responsible for this particular creature's death. She grasped gently for the tendrils of the Force wrapped around the creature's fluttering heart. Delicately, she gripped the Force there and let the tendrils fly one by one away causing the heart to stop and stillness to come over the creature.
Syren looked up towards the marksman covered in blood as she was.* "Fancy a drink for that particular story?" *There was a Tapcafe two blocks down the street according to the holomap overlay towards her destination. She pointed in that direction and waiting for some indication
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Alpharius
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Post by Alpharius on Dec 23, 2013 9:14:55 GMT -8
Rising from the surface of the narrow passageway, the assassin stood to his full height and garnered a better look at this formerly helpless damsel in distress. Her flesh had taken on the hue of varying shades of blue, darkened only by the dim lights hanging upon the filth stained duracrete walls. It was magnificent to see a species he had never encountered before, and one that held the venerable station of galactic protector at that. Leave it to the scions of Ashla to garner new souls and species to serve in their army of light. When their gaze had locked, Alpharius noted a hint of emerald and silver in her eyes, adding yet another strikingly beautiful feature to this deadly dancer. Though as the glance had been fleeting, the assassin knew she had stared daggers into his red visor, a look that he knew almost all too well. It was the stare his handler had given him after the commotion he had caused with the Coruscant Security Force, how she and his organization had to explain the deaths he caused after slaying the unfaithful husband of a notable Republic delegate. His charming visage had been caught on HoloVid as he stormed his way out of the Underworld, leaving the HoloNews Network to broadcast a familiar figure across the galaxy. It wouldn’t interfere with his work, as none one saw or ever remembered his face; but when he donned the mask an attentive viewer might recall his figure from somewhere.
As the graceful female moved to the flattened Trandoshan, Alpharius watched with a keen interest as she placed her fingers upon the creatures brow. Almost instantly, the assassin became uneasy. The scent and ripple of death echoed through the force, awakening dormant memories in the assassin’s fractured mind. It had happened before during his last bounty, but not with such intensity. Alpharius mulled over the cause, comparing his positioning to that of his target. He had yet to stand close to the deaths he had dealt, for each had taken a bolt to the brain and the effect of such an intoxicating feeling withered long before they reached the trained killer. His hand clenched in anticipation, shattered nerves betraying his unease. The assassin was surprised by such a blatant display of discontent in the face of an undetermined person of interest, for he knew once this encounter had drawn to a close it would be something to work upon. With the death of one reptilian assailant, Alpharius was intrigued to see that she had not gone off to finish the other. The one she had stabbed her deadly finblades; the one whom began mouthing cries of agony and extreme discomfort. The signs were clear, that this Jedi was a weapon more so in body than in soul. Letting his lips curl into a sly grin, the broken knight thought of how wonderful an assassin she would make.
“I never knew the Jedi to be so…” He paused, letting his mind create the right word he was looking for. “Thorough... in their dealings with criminal elements.”
The smile faded slightly as the wordless screams of pain and despair started to grind his gears. He liked slaughtering those whom sought to prey upon the weak, and those whom the Syndicate had sent him to kill, but seeing a helpless creature suffer unimaginable pain; that was just cruel. Snatching his sidearm from the midnight clad holster at his thigh, he fired two brilliant sapphire rounds into the weaker section of the reptilian’s skull. With one swift motion the assassin had ended his suffering, and brought him the death he seemed to crave. Alpharius felt slightly better knowing that his hardship from the ailing neurotoxin had finally come to an end, but still had his reservations about this woman. He liked that she was not a true paragon of her order, like the Yavinites had claimed to be before the relentless assault of Ashrah and his religious zealots. He liked that she got her hands dirty and adapted to the truth of the galaxy, that even a beacon of light could cast a dark shadow.
When she had asked if he fancied a drink in return for the chance to hear a story, the assassin calmly nodded; silently asking her to lead the way. The death he had inflicted upon the suffering Trandoshan had reverberated through the force, but not with such severity as the life that had been claimed before. This time, Alpharius did nothing but bite his tongue to stifle the wave of nausea that threatened to bring him to his knees. Killing up close, with or without the force, seemed honourless and distasteful. It was common knowledge in the organization that employed the assassin, that Alpharius had an unhealthy fascination with his longrifle and the art of trophy taking. Holstering his weapon, and looking back at the Jedi indicating the direction they would take for this offered drink, the assassin slowly began to walk towards their new destination. Almost as if an afterthought, he turned about swiftly and found the largest of the fallen Trandoshan’s and began patting the corpse down for an icon of sorts. Alpharius had no need for severed skulls or body parts to show how many kills he had made; for he was not a savage like many men whom stood in the same profession as him. It was then that the former Jedi had found himself staring at a worthy trinket hanging about the body’s neck, one that would be fitting to hang upon his wall once he had returned to his ship. The trinket was tribal in origin, but from what he had known of the reptiles of Dosha, it held significance to their god; the Scorekeeper.
Gingerly placing it within a pouch wistfully hanging behind the small of his back, the assassin trotted away from the corpses and followed this Jedi’s lead towards a Tapcafe nearby. Bearing a sour look upon his face, Alpharius fully expected the swill he was about to consume reflected the very planet he had found himself on. Hopefully, with his large sum of expendable income, that would not be the case…
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Syren
The Vegemite Enclave
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Post by Syren on Dec 23, 2013 12:32:52 GMT -8
*Syren rolled upwards into a standing position to lead the way towards the nearest watering hole. While she was not altogether happy that the assassin had dispatched the agonizing messenger, she was not going to point it out. She rubbed her hands on her cloak, removing most of the sticky red mass of blood that had pooled onto them and wiped her finblade across a swath of brown homespun.
What she had gleaned from the assassin was this: he liked to distance himself from death, he demanded some sort of perfection, and he did not appreciate prolonged suffering. Syren found this most interesting, given they had only spent a span of moments together and his emotions had ranged quickly between thrill, discomfort, and something similar to merciful.
She supposed that leaving the bodies of each thug would be message enough to this gang, but she was not so sure of that. Oh well, she would take care of that future assignment when she came to it. Meanwhile, she picked her way through the bodies, cloak trailing through pools of blood and down the street. She frowned at the swath developing behind them, so she took off the cloak and balled it up behind a drainage pipe. A cloak was an important asset, but she did not crave for the Trandoshan's breaking up a friendly drink, or finding her handler.
Blood had spotted on her pants, but otherwise she was relatively as saintly pure as most Jedi were perceived to be. She flicked her mass of green hair over her shoulder and into a rough braid to get it off of her neck. The air of the lower New Vertica was stuffy enough. The five gills along the sides of her neck fluttered at the new access of damp air, but quickly shut tight. When closed, the gills looked something like roughly sutured scars puckering the skin of an other wise normal neck.
Syren felt a tiny tingle of alarm from the Force when she made the gesture to open the door of the Tapcafe. Barely enough of a niggling warning that caused her to hesitate.* "I've got a bad feeling about this."
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Alpharius
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Post by Alpharius on Dec 23, 2013 14:46:16 GMT -8
What lay beyond the door before them, Alpharius could not predict with any sort of accuracy. Through his knowledge of the Jedi and their mystical arts, thanks mostly in part to the man that lay beneath the suit, when one had said they’ve got a bad feeling about this; He knew to take it as a forewarning of possible dangers ahead. Pulling details from his surroundings, the assassin was able to create several possibilities of what lay in store for them once the door had opened. Knowing that his discharged sidearm made quite the ruckus in dispatching the poisoned Trandoshan, the remnants of that reptilian gang could be awaiting them behind the previously closed door. With guns drawn and sights aimed squarely at the only street side entrance, this Tapcafe would make a perfect ambush point. He assumed that he would have little room to move above once they had made it into the interior, thus reloading his rifle was a pointless endeavour. Leaving it slung behind his back, Alpharius drew his pistol and smiled slightly as the gauge above the grip; softly chimed in recognition of the rechargeable power cell had been primed and was ready to go. Even though the weapon was out classed by the more advanced and heavier designs, the ability to utilize the DC-15s seemingly unlimited supply of ammunition would prove useful if there was to be a close quarter’s firefight.
As the female Jedi keyed the access panel to open the door before her, Alpharius took a step to the side and gently pressed his back against the wall; ignoring the discomfort his beloved rifle caused. Whatever he had gotten into, by throwing his lot in with the warrior monk; would not end as peacefully as he wanted it too. He had spent near six months working on disciplining his trigger finger, learning the hard way to kill only those who deserved to die. Here, in this very situation, the assassin hoped whoever lay upon the other side of that door deserved a bolt between the eyes, or else he would have to endure another six months of rigorous training to remedy that mistake.
“Enter first, I shall follow.”
He said, as the cloaking device about his belt thrummed to life. The ebon armourweave suit began to pixelate into the surroundings, drinking in the environment about them and laying it bare for all to see. With his body swiftly blending into the grimy setting, he took one last look at the woman he stood beside, nodding once to affirm he was ready for whatever came next.
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Syren
The Vegemite Enclave
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Post by Syren on Dec 27, 2013 8:14:46 GMT -8
*Syren took a grip on her lightsaber, unclipped from her belt and ready to bring to bear if necessary. But when she keyed open the door, she found not blaster rifles sighted down at her, but the cloying menace of every cute and despicably innocent denizen of the galaxy staring up at her with wet dark eyes. She was a bit thrown by the myriad of of Ewoks and Gungans, Kushiban and Drall, Selonians and Lepi.*
"Yub, Yub!" *There was a veritable stampede as the curious fauna of the cantina exited enmasse. Syren dodged backwards and to the side, possibly into the assassin's hiding place so as not to be trampled by the flood of adorable.
"Hey bub, please tell me I'm not twitchin' and you saw that too?"
*Syren had given up hard drugs a long while ago, but there could have easily been something in the air on Little Coruscant. She paused then posed another question.*
"What dafuk is going on here?"
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Alpharius
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Post by Alpharius on Dec 27, 2013 10:41:53 GMT -8
Of all the things he had expected to surge forth from the Cantina, Alpharius could not believe the swarming horde of beasts rushing by his feet; Let alone the reaction of the female Jedi. The assassin cocked an eyebrow from behind the anonymity of his concealing masque, thinking that this woman wearing the traditional garb of the Jedi was if anything unorthodox. He lowered his weapon and, let the metallic surface of his pistol slide into the ebon holster strapped at his thigh. There was no apparent danger, thus the need for his weapon had become obsolete as a raving Ewok stormed past. Turning his gaze towards the woman before him, his cocked eyebrow had faded. Judging from her reaction and the words she had chosen, his suit and the man that had borne it determined that this Jedi was not as clean as he believed them to be. She could have been a spice addict before she had donned the robe, or perhaps it was a more recent endeavour. Unsure of the root of her jumpy cause, the Assassin let a portion of his cloak fade to reveal the crimson glare of his masque.
“A surprise is all I see.”
His eyes began scouring the street, watching for signs of an ambush and whatever would come next. Seeing nothing as of yet, he let an inaudible sigh slip through his lips and filter through his suit’s synthetic membrane. In comparison to his previous jobs, this one had seemed more like child’s play. He had to admit that while this task had proven to be more tedious than entertaining, the assassin had begun garnering a firsthand look at one of the many cogs making the whole of the Jedi Order. If many more had shared this woman’s more worldly views, then perhaps a system like this would find itself within the grip of Order, rather than the freedoms chaos brings. In the blank landscape of his mind, he began compiling the data he had been gathering. Working out the loose ends he had encountered and attempted in piecing together the true mystery and reason as to why this Jedi had come to Nar Shaddaa. Alpharius had assumed she did not come for the polluted air or the abundance of criminal lowlifes.
“As for what is taking place, Jedi, you have the senses I lack; thus the answer would be garnered faster through the use of them.” And maybe ends to this madness, but those words were left unsaid.
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Syren
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Post by Syren on Jan 3, 2014 13:07:09 GMT -8
*Syren had taken several minutes to digest his words and the occurrence of fleeing cuteness. Eventually she shrugged it off and turned around the door corner to head inside.
Since the establishment had emptied rather quickly, only the barkeeper stood back at the bar. A Devoronian, he smirked with pointed horns and lowered is head in a slight bow to the Jedi.* "Don't see the likes of your kind round the Smuggler's Moon, Jedi."
*Syren returned the Devaronian's smirk.* "Aw Shaymes, I am slightly offended that you don't remember me." *She had not expected the man to still be alive, still slinging drinks, still on Nar Shaddaa, but yet here he was. She waved aside her first comment and plugged onward.* "A drink for my friend if you would, and I'll have something that will get the stink of this moon out of my lungs."
*Shaymes's eyes narrowed to look more closely at Syren. "Son of a bantha! Sixty years and you haven't aged a fekking day?!" *The Devaronian slammed bottle down on the bar top. His disbelief wavered for a moment while his eyes raced up and down Syren, taking in her attire. The smirk came back.* "Playing Jedi for a con is ballsy, Sy."
*She rolled her eyes. Looking towards the assassin she made some introductions.* "Shaymes, this is Mysterious Assassin Guy. Mysterious Assassin Guy, this ancient piece of reek meat is Shaymes. It seems that he will never die."
*Shaymes pulled down some glasses and gave a pointed look to Syren.* "We're all full of our own surprises." *Again he assessed the robes and the agelessness.
Syren let out a sigh. "Look," *She took a seat on a barstool and gave both of them a long glance,* "I am on Jedi business, REAL Jedi business Shamy. I promised you a story, MAG," *She pointed to Mysterious Assassin Guy when she said MAG,* "so I will give it to you until my handler shows up, assuming he/she/it is as interested in the flood of adorable innocence that just vacated this place, that will be shortly. Shaymes here," *She indicated the barkeep,* "I have no idea what he is up to, but he used to make a good cocktail when I knew him in a more savory though reprobate age." *She gave the assassin a look as if giving him an out, just in case she had to disappear whether into thought or on business.
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Alpharius
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Post by Alpharius on Jan 8, 2014 12:51:56 GMT -8
With his newly acquired companion having entered into the street side tapcaf, the assassin had followed suit; only after he had swept the length of the thoroughfare for any sign of prying eyes. Satisfied that he would enter relatively unseen, Alpharius palmed the door panel and felt the swish of the entrance sealing behind him. As the orange miasma and neon lights had faded into rows of dim biolumes bolted to the establishments ceiling, his visor had enhanced his surrounding environment; revealing the storied secrets the darkness sought to jealously withhold. Seeing that his Jedi acquaintance and the barkeep were the only visible inhabitants within the cantina, the assassin’s posture relaxed significantly as he stalked towards the counter. He listened to the brief exchange between the two aliens, learning with every syllable that spilled from their mouths that they were once old comrades in another era. It was then that Alpharius learned the name of his companion, or atleast something to call her by rather than referring to the order she served. While it was short form for something that still remaining shrouded in mystery, it was enough for him to speculate. The Jedi Order had records of every being that had been accepted into the order, thus divining who this female was would take little effort; if he had the ease of access to the database on Coruscant as this woman had.
Removing the strapped sniper rifle from the comfortable embrace about his shoulders, the assassin rested the weapon against the surface of the counter and mounted a stool soon after. If they were going to be here awhile, it only seemed fitting that he at least appear to be relaxed; if only to stave off the inevitable question of if he was expecting unexpected company. Once he had been introduced as the mysterious assassin guy, Alpharius had to bite his tongue in order to stifle a smile. Of all the things he had been called, this was by far the most entertaining. Uploading and storing the call sign for later use, the assassin offered a terse nod of acknowledgement to the wizened barkeep bearing the name Shaymes. The former Jedi knight listened to his companion prattle on about how she had come to the world upon the pretense of Jedi business, and while he was inclined to hear more of the reasons behind her presence on a Hutt controlled world, he had a feeling that it involved dispatching a cartel of thugs most likely connected to a shadowed organization dipping it’s organized fingers into too many cookie jars.
“I have a feeling this story will be filled with details I don’t like.” His voice was calm, carefully crafted to masque his dislike of forging ahead into unknown waters with little to no Intel. “However, I interjected myself into your back alley party, so it only seems fitting that withhold my reservations until after I’ve had that drink.” Letting that last word slip from his covered lips, Alpharius gaze fell upon Shaymes. “I’ve have a glass of Whiskey sour, spiced Corellian if you please.” Pulling out a thousand credit coin from a pouch clinging tightly to his torso, the assassin placed it upon the bar and slid it towards the tender. “And whatever’s left over can go to our mutual friend to cover her drink.” Leaving the coin there for the Devaronian to snatch, the assassin pulled his hand back and began disengaging his visor. A small stream of pressurized vapour spat from out behind his right ear, as the visor slid free of Alpharius’ head. Placing the heavy piece of technology upon the counter, his hands returned and pulled the armourweave fabric of his mask free revealing the face underneath. To those who had once known the corpse bearing the name Arcanus Sunstrider, the face found beneath the mask was all too familiar from a certain point of view. His eyes were of the palest blue, more akin to that of a frosted skyline during the frigid hours of daylight on Hoth. Adorning his face was a mane of coal black fur, which like the hair cresting his scalp was kept short revealing the weathered and scruffy flesh beneath.
“While I do enjoy being called MAG,” He paused to crane his neck, rubbing the length of scarring that stretched up along the length of his collarbone, ending just below the right side of his lip. A small smile cross the width of his jawline as he tried to think of an alias he could use, but as the assassin couldn't think of anything within the time limit he had allotted; the man merely went with the name the Syndicate had bequeathed unto him. It rolled off the tongue and was easy enough to forget, provided those whom heard it were the forgetting types. “Alpharius suits me just fine.”
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Syren
The Vegemite Enclave
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Post by Syren on Jan 26, 2014 16:21:56 GMT -8
*The silence in the bar had grown, seeming to swell and last for weeks. Syren noted that the assassin looked familiar, but where his visage fit within her past, she could not recall.* "Huh, epicanthix. I suppose all of you are indeed ruggedly good looking. Are your women half as lucky?"
*Shaymes slung Syren a bottle of whiskey from some backwater world. A pair of glasses followed suit with a brusque "heh" huffed from the Devaronian. Shaymes disappeared into a storage closet behind the bar, and Syren narrowed her eyes.* "Watch that one, he might be up to something." *She poured the drinks then handed one to Alpharius.* "Apparently he doesn't have anything from the core tonight."
*She sniffed at the amber liquor.* "I think they call this white dog on some of the outer rim worlds. I've heard that it has been known to blind people." *She reached behind the bar for something else that might be more palatable for the assassin.* "Anyway," *She looked at the label on the new bottle, then threw it back in the well.* "This little Jedi here is hunting a sith, who has been causing some trouble around the galaxy, and was recently spotted on Nar Shadaa. However, I suspect that he is no longer here and I will be wasting my time clearing the streets of thugs while my handler sends me on fetch quests in lieu of actual information." *She pulled up another bottle. The label was barely legible and Syren thought it said "to kill you." She shrugged and handed the bottle to the assassin.* "At least that one is honest, eh?"
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Alpharius
Member
Posts: 400
Affiliation: The Rebel Alliance
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Alpharius on Jan 28, 2014 13:14:40 GMT -8
“Luck has nothing to do with our elegant aesthetics.” He said, letting the trace of a wry smile adorn his weather beaten lips. “I’m in fact one of the ugliest beasts to crawl from the jungles of my homeworld. You should see those my race would consider beautiful, they’d give those pompous Hapan’s something to worry about.” His smile faded as his attention waivered from the conversation, his pale eyes following after the Devaronian bartender. Even though the area he had vanished to would be considered a storage closet, there was a plethora of things he could be hiding within. Alpharius had never done something as brazen as this before, sitting in the open with his back turned towards the door. It almost seemed like an invitation for some thug to stab him in the back. It was then that the former warrior monk had begun subtly watching the reflections of the cantina, ensuring that even though his back was turned he could not be so easily ambushed.
Seeing nothing of note, either on the screens or in their reflections, Alpharius lifted the glass from the counter and swiftly emptied it of its contents. It tasted vile upon his tongue, but that was to be expected of any swill coming from the outer rim. To them, the very taste of the alcohol mattered little. Just that the content was high enough for them to forget the fact they lived in on the very borderlands of the galaxy. When the female had grabbed the aged bottle from out behind the counter, the assassin turned his full attention back upon the woman and listened to her story. He wasn’t surprised when she had told him of her quest, and how her handler had sent her across the galaxy to collect random trinkets. “Forever more it has always been the oath of a Jedi to fight against their debased kin. So to me it is of no surprise that you’re hunting a Sith, though I am sorry to hear that he may have slipped through your fingers.”
Pouring the liquid from within the bottle with the worn label, Alpharius lifted the glass to sniff at its contents. It was a sickly sweet scent, like old fashioned Corellian whiskey. Tipping the edge and letting the clear fluid pool atop his tongue, a sense of recognition snapped through his mind. He knew of this drink, and the assassin relished every sip. “Nar Shaddaa is a large moon with plenty of places to hide. Perhaps this slave to the darkness is still kicking around in the depths of this filth infested pile...”
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Octavio
Member
I live... Again.
Posts: 9
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Post by Octavio on Feb 28, 2014 18:15:11 GMT -8
O: '' No, I don't think so.''
Kojito didn't smile. When facing a heavily armoured individual flanked by what very much looked like a heavy duty assassin droid smiling usually doesn't help. With care, he elevated his fingers from the pad he had frantically tried to grab and raised his hands in the air, radiating with exaggerated obedience. It took a few seconds for his heart to wind down from a frenzied purr to almost-normal beat. He didn't panic though: he had too much brains inside his head to suspect that doing anything irrational would keep them inside the skull. In an attempt to appear completely harmless he pushed his hover seat off the table, far enough for the intruders to realise that his hands presented no immediate danger, yet slow enough to ensure that nobody gets overly excited by sudden movements.
K: ''So...''
He wasn't one for beating around the bush.
K: ''... How may I help you?''
The man that barged into his little technological heaven didn't even grace him by cross drawing the -very- heavy looking blaster that rested on his left hip upon entering. There was another on his shoulder mounted on some kind of versatile pod -presumably linked to the HUD, seeing as the man was dressed in what could be dimly described as an experimental suit of mandalorian armour- which tracked his movements. It was quite unnerving.
O: ''Cutting it short, name of your most recent employer. To refresh your memory, the one which hired you to help him con Bassaraka the Hutt for a sum of nearly 20 million credits.''
Kojito wasn't impractical either.
K: ''And when, not if mind you, I know it would only prolong the inevitable...''
The helmeted head nodded.
K: ''... When I reveal my employer's identity, I don't get to just walk away and live out my days happily?''
The helmet remained impassive.
K: ''You see, even if you told me you would allow me to just walk, how could I believe you? People in your profession tend to tie loose ends and I bet it had been hard to track me down. If you did let me go and found out that I gave you faulty information, well... It might be hard to track me down again...''
The helmet cocked to the left, giving impression of a predator observing the prey from a slightly different angle. The fact that the shoulder -cannon, there was no other word for it- remained locked on didn't escape Kojito's attention one bit. It only served to sharpen it.
O: ''Yes, Mr. Kojito, you were hard to pin down indeed. In fact, you made yourself invisible. Nothing on the cortex, nothing on the street, no clear leads except the one that led to Mustafar, of all places. And that's where it stopped, very abruptly. It felt as if you vanished, a clear set of tracks leading to a point and then... Cease. I have to admit, fortune played more than a fair share in this. Now, the name.''
The shoulder weapon didn't need to swivel to make a point. The fact that it didn't was much worse. Kojito felt his heart pick up a frantic beat and tried to compose himself. And buy his brain more time to work on a potential escape plan.
K: ''Just... Just out of interest, if I may. How did you find me. I really was very careful, in defiance of current evidence.''
O: ''You were very careful, I give you that. However, somebody always spills.''
K: ''I made sure nobody knew enough to spill.''
Something of a chuckle emanated from the speaker of the helmet, though its impression remained mirthless.
O: ''Yes, nobody you had any contact with was able to give me any leads on your current whereabouts. As I said luck, or fate if you believe in these things, betrayed you. Name, now.''
Kojito grasped at what seemed to be the last straw of his captor's patience.
K: ''But you haven't told me how.''
The man opposite clenched and unclenched his right fist.
O: ''I suppose it's no harm if I do tell you. No, you didn't make any mistakes, none that you could think of, and you thought of almost everything. The one eventuality which you didn't count on is being trailed by your own employer.'' The armoured man paused for a bit to let this sink in. ''You seem to be a valuable commodity Mr... Conman. Somebody made sure that they kept an eye on you and they came after me soon after I landed on Nar Shaddaa and started asking around. It was a shot in the dark, and I certainly didn't expect such a bonus. As it were, the people which came after me weren't able to give me any information about who I'm after, but they were able to tell me why they attempted to put me out of commission, and who it was they were required to trail. After that, it only took finding out which one of them had the least tolerance to pain or threats. They were business men, so it carried over to the former... But, as it always goes, they did yield your current whereabouts. The name. Now.''
Kojito almost jumped out of the seat but stopped himself just in time.
K: ''Please, just hear me out!''
O: ''Name. Now. Last chance.''
Kojito waved his hands frantically, as if they would protect his body from pending shots.
K: ''Name, yes, but after you hear me out! PLEASE!''
The armoured man cocked his head to the right, observing the prey from another angle. Given that the helmet probably featured the latest edition HUD (and Kojito was at home with his tech) it was probably a symbolic gesture rather than anything else. The next few moments dragged out into what -to Kojito- seemed like an eternity. Finally, just around the time he was ready to soil himself the helmet sounded off again.
O: ''This is how we are going to go Mr. Kojito. I believe I have your outmost attention...''
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Octavio
Member
I live... Again.
Posts: 9
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Post by Octavio on Mar 12, 2014 17:52:09 GMT -8
Octavio couldn't help but frown beneath the helmet: the conman was more than helpful, and too willing to oblige. It smelled wrong. On the other hand, he didn't squeal much when the worst happened. He took it as a true prey should, no remorse, no begging, just pure acceptance of the reality and understanding of the situation he brought himself into.
Still, the look on his face while Hashin went about destroying all the lovely computers...
Octavio glanced across the free shoulder and spotted no tail. Hashin was walking as casually as a YWH droid can (as unnoticeable as a rancor in a jawa market) but they were making quite a spectacle, even here. Sooner they got out of this place the better. The job was done, another connection made. Secure or not, time would tell. The duo boarded a taxi and headed out straight towards the New Vertica spaceport.
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Deleted
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Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Apr 8, 2014 19:57:59 GMT -8
*From orbit the armed freighter descended like a fireball. Rocketing over the city, the ship aimed its decent towards a warehouse several levels down. As the ship closed in, the bay doors to the warehouses hangar opened up to receive the freighter. The freighter lumbered into the hangar an set down with a load groan from its struts, before its engines gave a final sputter of life.*
*Carver finished powering down the ship before turning to Zeeb.* "Well here we are, home. At least for now anyway, until we set up a new base." *He paused for a moment as he gazed out the cockpit window. As he watched, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. The hangar was empty.* "Somethings not right here." *Standing up, he left the cockpit and quickly descended down the ramp. Through the force he couldn't sense any life, only a lingering darkness. He came to a stop in front of the ship and glanced around. Things were far from okay her. He then turned to Zeeb.* "Zeeb, something is right. I don't know what it is, but there should be someone in here at all times. Whatever happens stick close to me and do as I say. Can you do this?"
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Zeeb
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Posts: 33
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Zeeb on Apr 9, 2014 3:09:10 GMT -8
Zeeb enjoyed the landing, she was getting the hang of the feeling of flying. As they landed she gave a small smile in response to Carvers statement about being home. Unstrapping herself from the seat she sensed tension coming from him as he looked out the window. Grabbing her spear she followed Carver to the ramp.
Coming to a halt along side of him, she also looked around. It felt like she just entered the lair of a krayt, but she didn't know if what ever it was, was still here or not.
Withdrawing her bone and hooked the small bowl part to the end of her dart, she held the bone and spear vertically its wicked tip pointed to the ground, her left hand rested on the hilt of a dagger. While still scanning the area Zeeb responded. " I can, I will follow your lead. " Then in a quieter voice. " Did you open the hanger doors or did someone else open them for you?"
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Apr 10, 2014 16:57:12 GMT -8
*Carvers eyes scanned the hangar for a moment longer before answering Zeebs question.* "The doors opened when the ship got close. If they hadn't opened then buildings on lock down. I'm not sure what's going on." *He pulled the smaller of his lightsaber off his belt, but left it inactive. With his mind made up, he moved towards the door separating the hangar from the rest of the building. He keyed in several buttons on the control panel to open the door. When the door slid open they were greeted with sight that made him stop in his tracks. The hallway was pockmarked with blaster rounds and lightsaber burns. Laying on the floor were seven bodies. Three of the bodies held lightsaber and wore the same armor as Carver. Tthe other four wore solid black armor and carried blaster rifles, only one of them held onto a lightsaber. Carver paused for a moment, his mind taking in what he was seeing. Slowly he began to make his way down the hallway, careful not to disturb the bodies.*
"Zeeb, if I tell you to run. Then you do it without question, head straight for the ship and don't look back no matter what." *This didn't make any sense to him. There were hostiles in the building but there was no sign of forced entry. In fact the first three guards looked like the were caught by surprise. Carver opened another door into a main hallway. He was once again greeted by the same sight. More bodies, more signs of battle. The lack of living hostiles put him on edge though. He knelt down by one of the fallen assailants and picked up their lightsaber. Turning the blade over in his hands he took in every detail before activating the blade. With a snap-hiss a blood red blade came to life from the hilt. Carvers eyes narrowed as he spoke one word out loud.* "Sith." *He then turned his attention back to Zeeb.* "These are Sith soldiers and Sith sabers. They should not be here. I don't know how they found this place."
*He was about to speak again when he felt a presence near by. Standing up quickly he turned towards a door nearby. Holding up his hand, he motioned for Zeeb to stay put. Slowly he made his way forward without making a sound. He was almost at the door when it shot open and a figure burst out wielding a white bladed saber. The figure was a young women about Carvers age, with red hair and green eyes. She swung the blade down only to have Carver block it. The sight of the man caused her to stumble back and let out a surprised gasp.*
-Asori-
"Carver?! Is it really you?"
"Yes Asori, it's really me. What happened here?"
*Asori deactivated her blade and throw her arms around Carver hugging him.* "I'm glad you're alive. We were ambushed. They just appeared inside the building without warning. We didn't know what hit us until it was to late." *Her eyes then fell on Zeeb. Hesitating for a moment she turned back to Carver.* "Umm...Carver. Who's this?"
*Carver glanced from Asori to Zeeb then back again.* "Asori this is Zeeb. I found her on Tatooine. She's force sensitive like us." *He then turned to Zeeb.* "Zeeb this is a friend of mine, Asori Keldrona."
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