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Post by Alkor Centaris on Sept 7, 2013 11:12:29 GMT -8
JRTS Lariat, Armory
Alyssa had become the Chief Armorer for the taskforce because of her family's love of weaponcrafting. She had enlisted with the taskforce to get off of Coruscant, to see the galaxy, to do something, anything othwr than sit on her arse and shine carbines. Just because she knew how to make guns, every seemed to assume it made her the authority on cleaning them! How infuriating men could be, sometimes.
Of course, what would the galaxy be without throbbing members pulsing forth new life? Alyssa shuddered to think.
Taking the long metal shaft of a blaster rifle, she ran a cloth along the length, slowly, almost lovingly, and glanced out toward Carida's sun, out in the distance. Her people were superstitious in a way she would never be- to think, reverence to a star as if it were some sort of god. To pretend fire was some sort of divine gift. Fire was beautiful, make no mistake, but mankind had come so far since cave dwelling.
No- when Lys made fire, Lys knew. Life came from the hand of man. And so did death. Her pale flesh clashed with dark eyes, and hair like wildfire- blonde, with red highlights- shimmered beneath the artificial lighting of the Armory. She wondered if the Watchman would return to the ship, soon. She had been wanting to make a little life with him since they first met.
But for now, Lys just shined the guns. They would be damn proud of those guns, when they finally used them.
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Post by Atrina on Sept 7, 2013 12:01:41 GMT -8
I had found myself on board a ship. I'm not really sure what ship it was or how I got here, but I was here and it was in space. Knowing my own nature, I was a little bit nervous. I couldn't remember what being on a ship was like or what to do or where to go. Ever since I'd been able to start pulling peives together between memory wipes, things had gotten a lot scarier.
The most paralyzing thought of them all was that I could remember fear now. I know enough to figure out that I act much differently than before because of it, and some would say they prefer the change. However, the fear and anxiety that frequently enough shows its teeth closing around my throat make me wish just as frequently that I never became a Jedi, that I'd never met Alkor, and that I'd just stayed some near-homeless, helpless girl wandering around for fun.
I crept carefully in the ship, making sure to stay out of the way. Much of the crew would give me odd looks. Perhaps of distress or hesitation, I couldn't tell. Another man passed me, and began opening his mouth to say something, but moved along quietly instead. I turned my head to follow his form walking away. Turning my head back, I slammed face first into a door, and fell backwards.
For some reason, my face really hurt! I looked up and noticed a door that said 'JRTS Lariat: Armory'. I stood up, running my nose. It was starting to bleed a little. I wondered how I could have done that so hard, or if I really was just that fragile. I walked inside the room, not completely certain what an armory was. Is this how people got prosthetic arms?
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Post by Alkor Centaris on Sept 9, 2013 11:50:52 GMT -8
Snapping to attention as the door skidded open, Lys blinked when she saw not an officer, but a civilian girl entering her armory. This was... highly irregular. These areas of the ship were, with good reason, sectioned off from the rest of the Lariat and coded so only she and a few officers were allowed in. Standing slowly, she brushed a locked of long, blond hair out of her face, and stood considering the girl.
"Look alive," she barked, lifting a DL-44 set to stun and aiming it at the girl, center mass. "You have ten seconds to explain how you got in to my armory, or you can explain it to the petty officer overseeing the bring when you come to."
Now, the girl didn't look particularly threatening, but some of the best terrorist agents were innocent looking- children strapped with explosives, women with hidden knives... well, the galaxy wasn't as kind of a place as it was when Skywalker was Grandmaster of the Jedi Order. No, these were sad times they lived in, and a stun bolt was far safer than a knife in the back.
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Post by Atrina on Sept 9, 2013 12:29:43 GMT -8
I stared into the gun pointing at me. I can't recall ever having seen such a thing from such an angle. This Jedi stuff might be a little more dangerous than I'd assumed.
I stumbled for words, not really sure what to say. 'Oh I have no idea. My memory just stopped working when I walked into the room someone was occupying, nothing suspicious about that.'
For a second I considered actually saying it, but I was pretty sure it would have gotten me shot.
"I umm.. I have no idea why I'm here. I think Master Centaris is here, but I can't remember. I think I followed him and got lost."
My eyes never left the end of the barrel, staring at it. I was waiting for it to jump, and then to know what it felt like to get shot. Petrified would be a very well placed description of me.
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Post by Axyl Darian Centaris on Sept 9, 2013 16:54:15 GMT -8
"GET OUT!" Axyl yelled, screaming at no one. The door to his quarters were peppered with the marks of a blaster he'd emptied the powercell of. The crew had been told to stay well away from his quarters, and they didn't need to be told twice. The room was littered with the remains of what furniture had been supplied to it. Though it wasn't the most apparent change to the room, as an light fixture that couldn't be broken or slashed, was ripped from its place and thrown into the passageway.
Axyl stared into the pure darkness as laughter began to fill his head, laughter of dirty men and haughty women, laughter of his mother. They yelled at him, "you're shit, you're worthless. You'll die on the street like the urchin you are."
Of course, the one that always rang out the loudest was his mother's voice: "I'll never love you," she'd coo, in the tone someone might use to whisper just the opposite. It had been turned, twisted to some sadistic kind of mind game.
Axyl screamed and clutched at his head, fingers desperate to break through to his skull. They always laughed, they always liked the way he cried. Half a second later Axyl was on his feet, saber lit. In the same instant he swung the blade with both hands, whipping it around at his neck. Something stopped the blade then. It sat there, millimeters from his neck, humming; it seemed to be a soothing sound.
Axyl collapsed, his lightsaber going out, and with it the light it provided. "Why... Why won't you just let me end it already?"
He couldn't see the hilt lying in the darkness, but could feel its presence. He had built the weapon himself, weeks of crafting the hilt and experimenting with the power loop. When the time had come for the crystal, he spent nearly a month pouring every last bit of himself into it, never resting to eat or sleep. When he finally collapsed from exhaustion, the crystal had become something better than just a rock; it was an extension of his own being, nearly identical through the Force.
"You're the only one that understands me, Mirage." If Axyl were capable of making friends, his blade would be the only one he had. He felt the presence of it as the memories forced themselves back to the forefront of his mind. The laughter came back, and with it images. With nothing for his eyes to focus on in the pitch black, his vision was filled with times long past. Images of his mother's hand, images of strange men filling their house, images of blood.
And then, the chanting. "Kill them. Kill them all. Burn the men and gore the women. Murder and rape. Make them pay. Make them see. Kill them. Kill them all..."
"Shut up." Axyl whispered, shutting his eyes. It did nothing to help. The chant continued, growing louder. "Shut up," he repeated, growing louder with it. Finally the chant came to its zenith of volume, and Axyl clutched his head again. He scrambled for Mirage, holding the emitter to his chin. His thumb hovered over the activation switch, fighting against some invisible influence.
"Please Mirage..." His vision faded as the flashback overtook him. "Don't make me go through it again." His thumb fell away from the saber, Axyl losing the battle and subsequently, his grip on reality.
"Now go."
"But mom I don-"
"Don't give me that. Go out there and do it. Alkor did it, and he was younger. Now go, and if you don't come back, I might just kill you." She pushed him through the door before walking seductively back towards her room. The man waiting within didn't seem to mind.
The view jumped around then, as if someone had dropped the holocam without cutting the tape. Axyl stared at the vibroshiv in his hands. He didn't know how to kill anyone. He shoved the weapon in his pocket and tried to remember where he was going.
The view jumped again, and Axyl stood in a crowd. Each of them homeless, and Axyl looking just the same. He had never felt so lonely. He just wanted to run home where Alkor would take care of him. Alkor always took care of him when his mother refused to. Axyl looked around, lost and scared. Everyone seemed to belong here, and he just never would.
"Ya lost kid?" The raspy voice of some old man rang out. He was large and imposing to someone so small as Axyl was. Axyl fell to his knees, now keenly aware of just how lost he was.
"I- I'm lost, and alone and scared and I don't know what to do!" He cried out, sobbing into his hands. The expected smack against the back of his head never came, but a gentle palm rest on his back.
"It's alright kid. Me and my friends will help you out. We'll take good care of ya." His soft grin never betrayed for a second his intentions, and Axyl wouldn't come to learn their motives.
Suddenly, Axyl saw blood on his hands. Three bodies littered the deserted alleyway, mutilated beyond recognition. Axyl's shirt was ripped, and he was barefoot. The vibroshiv still hummed in his tiny hands. Somehow he took what little food he had before running in any direction, the fear of being caught forcing his legs forward and his lungs to work. He remembered every bit of the way home that night; the looks strangers gave him as he sprinted past, the smell of caking blood on his hands and clothes, and the sting of tears in his eyes. He remembered slamming into a man waiting in the doorway to his home. He remembered the sight of his mother's hand, and the sting of it across his face; punishment for taking so long and scaring off a customer. She'd called them that before, but it wasn't until now that he understood what it meant.
"MAKE IT STOP!" Axyl finally yelled out, breaking the trance his mind had forced upon him. The laughing began again, and Axyl stood, pulling Mirage off the floor and into his hand. He opened the door to his room, spotting the lone crewman walking down the hall, away from his room. Pulsing effort into the Force, he dragged the poor man backwards at breakneck speed, anger glowing in his eyes.
The limp and helpless body didn't stand any chance at any point. Axyl had fated this man to die, here and now. The man hadn't even screamed, the air pushed from his lungs before he had the chance to react. Axyl lit his blade when he was just within striking distance, trapped in the darkness. At the same moment the door shut, muffling the sound of Mirage's precision cutting.
Axyl sat on what was probably a chair, or at least most of it. The voices had stopped, for now. The crew was probably going to start noticing their shipmates disappearing, however, which might prove troublesome.
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Post by Alkor Centaris on Sept 24, 2013 22:15:20 GMT -8
Lys narrowed her eyes as the girl told her very unlikely story, her blaster trained on the girl's center mass. Stepping forward and placing a hand on her shoulder, she began to pat Atrina down, searching for any weapons on her person. She didn't speak for a moment, easing the mouth of her weapon up to the girl's chin, her hands now dutifully searching the chest area.
She stopped for a moment, tilting her head back to gauge the girl who claimed to be Alkor's trainee with an appraising look. Did she expect to please the Watchman with such a small rack? Pah! Lys knew, it took a well equipped soldier to serve a man like that. Heavens, she came packing when she took on a man like that. Well.. conduct be damned, she'd check the on-board floatation devices.
Offering a firm squeeze, she quirked an eyebrow and then ran her hand along to the other side, and repeated the action.
Once she finished, her hand ran downward and moved over the girl's midsection, and stopped on her pants. Blinking, then widening her eyes, Lys realized that Atrina was equipped with contraband. "Hell no," she hissed, cupping the outline of the device in one hand, "I'm going to have to do a cavity search. Out of those rags, soldier..."
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Post by Atrina on Sept 25, 2013 20:01:42 GMT -8
I jolted upright as the woman's hands moved down past my waist, a new feeling I've never yet experienced running through me. I was afraid of that feeling, and yet entirely willing to know it again. With the gun still pointed at me, I was somewhat willing to oblige her orders. I felt a familiar feeling again, my brain responding to the anxiety. But orders were orders. I began working the clothes off my body, but my elbows caught in my shirt as the collar cleared my head. I struggled a little, and seemed to make no progress.
It was really dark for some reason. I felt cloth on my face, somewhat familiar. It felt sort of like a shirt, and noticed my elbows caught in some sleeves. I must have been getting undressed for some reason. What reason to stop? I wiggled my arms and with some effort, finally pulled the garment off. I felt a cool breeze and a metal floor. Nudity was weird.
I looked up to find myself in a room with plenty of guns, one of which pointed at me. There was a woman holding her finger over the trigger. Memory wipes always made things very, very confusing. "So uh... Why am I here? And nude?"
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Zechar
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Post by Zechar on Sept 27, 2013 11:01:52 GMT -8
He wasn't supposed to have come here. He was supposed to still be in hyperspace, on his way to Corellia, on his way to meet his old friend, the one who had called him. Yet here he was, floating in orbit over Carida, with a strange girl sitting next to him and looking to him to lead the way. Why was he here, anyway? Zechar had been told to go to Corellia.
Yet when his hands had hovered over the navcomputer, they had faltered. Black whispers hovered in his ears, barring him from entering the Corellian coordinates. It was not right. His fate lay elsewhere, he'd known it incontrovertibly, and when his fingers tapped the console, he'd entered the coordinates for this planet: Carida.
Now that he was here, hovering in orbit, and knowing for certain that he had come to the right place. Alkor was here, on this planet.
Brother.
Zechar sat silent next to Sakri, staring down at the planet. What awaits me...
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Post by Sakri on Oct 2, 2013 8:35:20 GMT -8
She vaguely recognized the planet, though recognition did not come as quickly as it would have had they been over a major planet. Part of her felt slightly confused; she could have sworn that Carida had been destroyed years ago. Perhaps the history lessons were inaccurate. She stretched out with the Force, her mind confirming what her eyes were telling her: this was, indeed, Carida, and it was not a pile of rubble orbiting an exploded star. How odd.
She then reached out towards Zechar, just to expand her awareness and brush against his mind. His surface thoughts revealed little..
Brother. What awaits me...
..other than the fact that there was someone he was expecting to see, except that he had not expected to see them here. She did not delve too deep into the giant man's mind: she suspected that that would be a very dangerous thing to do. She glanced over at the man, briefly, before returning her gaze to the planet before them. All would be revealed in due time. Or, more likely, just enough would be revealed in due time.
She had a feeling that there was more going on here than she would ever be privy to.
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Post by Alkor Centaris on Oct 6, 2013 17:39:09 GMT -8
The problem with plans was that, when there was a plan and it went wrong, there needed to be a new plan forced into the old plan to make all of them run smoothly together. It was a lot like lying- well, to be more accurate, a lot of it actually was lying- but he held few reservations on the topic. Now that Zechar was here, Alkor had no time to be surprised. Rather, he thinly veiled the agitation, and fed it to his thoughts, to help the machine's gears grind.
There would be many questions that went unanswered- only one or two people knew the full extent of what had transpired since Ossus, and they were now gathered in earnest above the planet Carida. A much earlier reuinion than Alkor had anticipated, gathering them all into one place, and with new blood, at that?
Adieumus might be proud, if he ever got around to moving the collective of lazy asses on the planet below. As it stood, Alkor had little room to worry or fret over the opinions of a Jedi Master. A single cog in the machinations of the galazy meant little to the mechanic who had to tend all the parts. It was his duty to make all of this come together. He had seen it- or forseen it, as the case may have been- many months ago. The exact timing was imperfect, and recalling that fact, he supposed that Zechar coming to this place rather than to Corellia was not chance.
No, things rarely ever were. That was the damnable thing about the Force. And why he hated it. The bastardly enigma had to have it's own way. "Well," he muttered, easing the XJ7 into the Lariat's hangar, "not everyone is going to enjoy it for too much longer."
Brother. To me.
Slapping the... girl... upside the head lightly with her blaster, Lys pushed her against the wall and her other hand set about some continuous frisking motion around the waist area of the intruder. She was obviously fascinated by whatever she had found. "Hush, now. And relax. I have to clear weapons before they're allowed on my ship, you see."
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Zechar
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Post by Zechar on Oct 7, 2013 22:16:12 GMT -8
Serpentine eyes fluttered, rolling back in his head as Zechar's brow furrowed and his mind strayed from his body. His hands fell limp for a moment, so thoroughly was his present self neglected. His will went screaming through the cold void, charging towards the planet's surface; yet it halted. Again, the trail did not lead him where he expected. Alkor was not on the planet. His mind's eye turned towards the Lariat.
With a snap, Zechar came back into his own body, shuddering and shivering involuntarily. Space was colder than death.
Make ready, brother. New gates open.
The stolen shuttle turned and raced through space at top speed, making quick time towards the Lariat's position. The shuttle came to land in the same hangar which, some time prior, Alkor had landed.
Like the silent arrival of a plague, Zechar stepped down the ramp into the Lariat's bay.
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Post by Sakri on Oct 8, 2013 19:54:03 GMT -8
The monster of a man was not alone in his descent into the Lariat's hangar bay. The golden-skinned humanoid with red-and-blonde hair who had accompanied him here walked smoothly by his side, making sure not to fall too far behind him. Her black traveling cloak was clutched tightly around herself, and her green eyes were looking around the hangar intently.
The trip had been silent since the moment they had lifted off of Korriban, and so far this had not changed. She was glad for this; most people she had had the misfortune to travel with had enjoyed talking, forcing her out to either contribute to a conversation or threaten them. She reasoned, though, that they were here to meet with someone. And meetings always required words.
She sighed internally. Hopefully, whoever they were here to meet put the same value on speech as she did.
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Adi
Crew of the Wayward Son
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Post by Adi on Oct 9, 2013 14:08:12 GMT -8
A string of fighters and craft lifted off from the surface, led by Adieumus Matango. A few keypunches, and his fighter burst into the bleak, streaked hyperspace lines of space.
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Miras
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Post by Miras on Oct 10, 2013 11:21:50 GMT -8
The flight through the atmosphere and up into Carida's orbit was uneventful; the controls of the TwinTail were familiar under his hands at this point, and the craft handled well. Compared to the clunky shuttles he was used to piloting, flying the fighter was a vacation. He'd lit a cigarette on his way up and was now puffing on it contentedly. Forming up a little less than a kilometer behind Adiemus, and on the other side of the planet from the Republic fleet in orbit, Miras slaved his navicomputer to the Jedi Master's and sat back to wait for the jump.
A few minutes and a half a cigarette later, the two fighters disappeared into hyperspace.
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Ishmael
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Affiliation: The Way of Lapay
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Post by Ishmael on Oct 14, 2013 5:29:37 GMT -8
*Since disembarking the shuttle that had ferried him and the rest of his squad over to the Lariat, Jerec had not said a word to anyone. Instead he moved about mechanically, following orders when they were given and standing rigid with his arms folded across his chest when there was a break in the activity. His only change in facial expression came during Axyl's speech, when a slow, wide grin had stretched his face till his lips split.*
*They were dismissed after only a handful of casualties- he viewed this with some regret, but why waste resources?- and Jerec shambled away on stiff legs. He headed to the refresher, where he knelt over the sink and wretched, gagging as black blood and thick, viscous fluid splattered over the porcelain. The soldier heaved twice more before he was finished, then activated the sonic scrubbers and watched the emission disappear. Wiping his lips and leaving a smear of pus and ichor on the forearm of his armor, he exited the refresher and stepped into formation with a trio of soldiers marching down the hallway.*
*'Alkor should have arrived by now,' I mused from within the confines of this ragged, failing body. 'Zechar too, unless Cauis succeeded.'*
*No sooner had the thought crossed through Jerec's rotting brain than I felt both of them. Alkor, coming from the surface of the planet and landing in the Lariat's hangar- no more than a five minute trek from where he stood- and Zechar from the void of hyperspace. 'Poor little Prancer,' I thought, and that was the last time the Echani would ever cross my mind.*
*Breaking away from his detachment, Jerec made his way to the hangar. It took a bit longer than five minutes what with the host's odd, uneven gait, but he was standing outside Alkor's shuttle with his rifle slung over one shoulder and his hand resting on his sidearm before it seemed anyone else had taken notice of the new arrival. Maybe they assumed it was simply more troops coming to bolster the ranks. Regardless, Jerec stood alone as he waited for Alkor to disembark.*
*...for a split second, anyway.*
*Then another shuttle docked and loosed upon the hangar a draconian monstrosity the likes of which I have never seen before, and which Jerec certainly would never envision even in his deepest and darkest nightmares. 'You've had some work done, Zechar. I hardly recognized you.' The soldier remained unmoving, unblinking, machine-like.*
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Adi
Crew of the Wayward Son
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Post by Adi on Oct 16, 2013 21:37:52 GMT -8
The heavy interceptor "Natalia", containing Jedi Watch Lead Adieumus Matango, burst out of hyperspace. Adi was extremely relaxed, and surprisingly in a good mood...and in his quiet reverie he forgot to send the proper codes to ground control.
Luckily enough, the R2 droid remembered for him.
The fighter, and its stoned pilot, made its way down to the base on the surface.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Oct 17, 2013 9:25:12 GMT -8
Arriving out of warp, I sent the proper codes before beginning landing protocol. As i move through the landing checklist a confirmation that my personal fighter was moved to the secret hangar deep underground.
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Zechar
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Post by Zechar on Oct 17, 2013 10:37:52 GMT -8
Where are you, brother…? Zechar's mind was far afield as he stepped down into the hangar bay, trying to lay hold of those old, familiar threads that would lead him back to his 'brother.' Brother. That word, being associated with Alkor, brought a faint smirk. Alkor, his brother? Perhaps; a brother in slaughter, in waste, in devastation. The two men had not seen each other since Alkor had left him to his own thoughts in the wastes of Korriban.
Zechar had left the wastes with a new weapon and a new drive. The death of his old village, and of his old weapons, had also marked the death of his old self.
You are something new now, whispered the devil on his back. Absently, Zechar stroked the massive weapon's hilt, protruding from behind his shoulder. He barely noticed Jerec until the soldier was almost beneath his boots. The Exile stopped and silently examined the man in front of him. Unremarkably military. A model soldier; precise, poised, and stoic. Dying, but stoic; almost mechanical in his frozen posture. The disease consuming his being was plain to Zechar's eyes; Ishmael's touch always brought corruption. Nor could it help that Jerec, as stoic and unbending as he was, was being crushed under the weight of Ishmael's rotting presence. Hidden in the shadow of his hood, Zechar's slitted eyes tightened to bare slashes.
Hello Ishmael, his mind whispered. Ishmael. The man who had rescued Zechar from his grieving torpor on Mustafar, the man who had reawakened his true nature… and then abandoned him. Oh, their reunion would be interesting indeed. For now, however, Jerec was making petition for Zechar's attention. Who was this man, after all? He stank of Ishmael's influence, but Zechar could not recall ever seeing him during the time he had spent around that diseased sorcerer. That was as much as he had to go on, for now. "You're one of Ishmael's men."
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Synth - (Wraith Ordo-Duhb)
The Organization
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Post by Synth - (Wraith Ordo-Duhb) on Oct 20, 2013 6:27:37 GMT -8
After a while of travel a unknown class ship comes out of hyperspace and heads for the planets surface. Once again with its jamming devices on and actively jamming all communications and radar acquisitions.
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Miras
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Post by Miras on Oct 20, 2013 9:11:06 GMT -8
Miras awoke just moments before the klaxon signalling an eminent return to realspace began to sound through the tiny cockpit of his fighter. Flipping it off with an irritated curse, the Corellian yawned and shifted in his seat as the dazzling white tunnel of hyperspace suddenly erupted into Carida's orbit. His jump had taken him close enough that the planet filled most of his viewport, but off in the corner he could see the miniscule figures of the Republic's orbiting fleet. At this distance he couldn't count their exact number, and he wasn't interested enough in finding out to perform a scan, but it appeared to be a substantial force.
'Guess they aren't all that confident we'll stay hidden.' He mused, then shrugged. The Mandalorian threat had yet to inspire any real fear in him- though that may just be because he'd only seen the bucketheads via the holovids- and after what had happened on Glastro, he doubted anything would ever make him afraid again. What could be worse than the utter corruption of the force, bent to task by a being with no remorse, no conscience, and an insatiable appetite for wanton slaughter?
Flexing his fingers, which were suddenly clammy, Miras wrapped them around the TwinTail's control yoke and activated the thrusters. A stomp on the rudder pedal sent the nose careening to the left, so that he was in line with the coordinates for the training facility, and the fighter arced down toward the planet at about half-speed (which was still rather significant).
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