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- - - - - SSLA Eraidu Kriselist

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#1
Wesley Cole

Wesley Cole

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Artist: Nicolas Chacin | Source: https://www.artstati...m/artwork/axGyJ

At least that's what they'd called it before the small band had ventured out from the atmosphere of Bakura. After their jaunt from one end of the Sanctuary Pipeline to the other, Wesley was inclined to say it was more of a marathon. They'd expected five days at most from end to end but that had stretched into almost seven. Switching off and taking shifts had lightened the load but spending that much time in a confined space with anyone was a test of patience. Even so, their united purpose had seemed to ease the minor irritations they experienced. One thing was for certain - footfall on Eraidu had been a gods-send.

 

The planet itself hadn't been much to look at as they breached the atmosphere and lazily drifted ever closer to the city centre. Eraidu City. The capital, in contrast to the murky gray of the planet, was a bit more tantalizing. Large industrial towers rose from the surface, skylanes filled with speeders and low altitude craft. It was a city brimming with life. Entering one of the primary traffic lanes for incoming vessels, the XS Light Freighter they'd commandeered for the mission fit right in with the collection of vessels from all over the galaxy. After a few reroutes and another twenty minutes or so of pre-landing circling, they finally received the clearance to land at one of the depressed landing pads in the city's main starport.

 

After fending off a few ambitious mechanics and "Cockpit Glass Cleaning Service" droids, Wes had sealed the vessel, keying access to a small remote in his pocket. That should keep any prying eyes out of the ship. Not that they had anything contraband but it never hurt to be careful. Letting an exaggerated sigh escape his lips he surveyed their surroundings. So familiar and yet so different than Bakura, in fact this was the farthest he'd been from his homeworld. There was a lot less green here. At least, that was his initial observation. "Well, enough dawdling I s'pose. Places to be n'all."

 

Here on Eraidu they didn't have to be quite as covert, nothing nearly as serious as the spy holos on the net. No codewords or elaborate disguises, just a touch of discretion. The signal had been sent for their soon to be passengers to descend upon their meeting place of choice - a well traveled watering hole called the "Brazen Bantha". Named after the giant bronze bantha statue outside its doors, it was a middle class joint but provided a decent amount of anonymity andwould help them all remain as inconspicuous as possible. After a few minutes of walking from the starport, the a shimmer of gold confirmed they'd found the venue. "Well how'bout that." Wesley said, admiring the statue for a moment. "I wasn't sure it was real. What a beaut." He smiled, looking back over his shoulder at his companion(s).

 

-

 

OOC:

 

Hello! Thanks for reading. My intent with this thread is to create a natural entry point for writers/characters to get involved in our little project: The Sanctuary Systems Liberation Army. Tasked with picking up a few expats from Centares who are interested in assisting the SSLA, my character "Wesley Cole" and a few others have been tasked with picking them up and shuttling them back to Bakura from Eraidu. There are some other plans regarding this thread but I'll keep those close to chest for when the story advances!

If you're interested but aren't sure how to get involved, this is a very open thread and framed in a way that I hope is very accessible to characters of most backgrounds and/or new characters to integrate into the story organically without trying to bend too much narratively! Feel free to join as an existing joinee, picking up some new friends - or feel free to join as one of those newcomers we're supposed to pick up! If you have any questions, feel free to drop by our discord or PM us! Thanks!

 

Petra Vitalis | Chalbacca | The Major | @Sanctuary Systems Liberation Army | @Anyone Interested!


Edited by Wesley Cole, 25 July 2019 - 02:11 PM.


#2
Petra Vitalis

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Petra frowned at the statue. "Not exactly subtle," she said quietly, peering over the rim of her large-framed sunglasses at the large bronze statue. The thing was oddly detailed, but the finish had been worn in some places -- most notably its nose, which peeked out in brilliant shine from beneath intricately detailed shaggy face fur. "People must rub it for luck," said Petra, nodding up at the nose. As they passed by, she reached up and let her fingers trace across it. "Couldn't hurt," she explained to Wesley as they passed by to enter the pub. 

 

It was dim inside -- not to the point of being seedy, but definitely dim -- so Petra pulled her sunglasses off and tucked them into her pocket, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. A cursory scan of the environment. "I don't see him." She asked the hostess for a table in the back and followed her back. She ordered a drink and took up a perch facing the door so she could see if Drexel Volcata entered. In the meantime, she messaged his comlink, asking for a status update. 

 

"He should be here by now," she muttered to the group. "I wonder if something happened. Anything on the LO scanners?"

 

Wesley Cole | Chalbacca | The Major | Alaric Marãll | @Sanctuary Systems Liberation Army


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#3
Alaric Marãll

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“Old Man,” the girl’s voice sounded hesitant, unsure, as she examined the massive statue warily, as if she feared it might spring to life any moment and consume her. “What is that?” Alaric was so caught off guard by the question that he glanced around for a moment.

 

“What are you talking about, Mynock?” He asked, confusion crossing his face. She pointed to the statue. He stared at it for a moment and then said, “I’d guess it’s brazen.” He said with a shrug, pointing to the sign.

 

“First of all,” she sighed, exasperated, “it’s bronze not ‘brazen.’” She rolled her eyes. “Secondly, what is it?” She made more exaggerated arm motions gesturing towards it. “Like, what is the statue of?”

 

“I don’t know what your asking, Mynock.” He said, starting to get annoyed. “It’s a bronze,” he threw the emphasized word back at her, “statue of a bantha. Just like the sign says.” He noticed the faintest spark of recognition in her eyes and then began to smirk. “You mean to tell me you don’t know what a bantha is?”

 

“Well, like, I recognize the word, I just. . . . you know? Like, I’ve never seen one.” She said quietly, embarrassed.

 

“Mynock!” He exclaimed, laughing loudly. “You ain’t never seen one before? That like saying you’ve never seen a speeder.” He took a moment to compose himself. “Where you been all this time, girl?”

 

“I can’t exactly envision one of these things wandering the streets of Coruscant, Old Man. What have you been, it’s not like we spend much time with,” she examined the immense figure again, “farm animals?” She guessed.

 

“Sithspit Mynock, we are going to have to get you out of the core more often.” He sighed. “You know, I grew up out on the Rim. Way far away from all the big city lights and the attractions. And these bad boys,” he slapped the statue, “when they’re real, they are as vital as water, I tell you what. You load ‘em up with stupid amounts of weight, saddle ‘em up, and ride ‘em into town two weeks away and never once have to stop to water ‘em. Hell, I’d trade you in for a smaller bantha. Be more useful and eat less.”

 

“Oh yeah, cause I’m the reason we never have any credits.”

 

“You certainly don’t help, Mynock.”

 

“Neither does gambling when your bad it.”

 

“I’m a good gambler!”

 

“That’s not how I remember our last trip to the Calypso.”

 

“Pipe down, girl,” he shook his head and wandered indoors. Scanning the place for the bar and then approaching with a confident swagger and ordering four drinks, downing two immediately so he could carry the remainder. He sat over at a table and examined the room. This place was nicer than his usual haunts. A lot nicer.

 

“What are we doing here, again?”

 

“Meeting some folks. Some kind of gang or cell or something. Don’t particularly remember the specifics. Sounded like a good way to earn some credits and have some fun.”

 

“There’s plenty of jobs, Old Man. What makes these folks special?”

 

“If I understood, they provide the transport. And, seem like good folk. Got themselves a cause.” She shrugged. Alaric had been attempting to obtain a ship for some time, not that he was a competent pilot, but he liked the unbridled freedom owning a ship represented. The ability to just take off and go. But just when he had nearly saved up enough to buy a space-worthy vessel, something would go wrong. They’d lose a haul, have to pay for rabid relocation, purchase new identities, bribe a few officials, or pay down a debt to a particularly nasty Hutt. It was always something. Normally, it left them homeless, hungry, and within need of a quick job. They’d get back on their feet, start saving up again, and then the same thing would happen, and the cycle would continue.

 

“I didn’t know we were looking for cause, Old Man.”

 

“We ain’t,” he admitted, downing his third drink. “Just looking to pass the time.” He spotted a pair walk in and examined them for a moment, “that’s probably them. Let’s go introduce ourselves.” He stood up, finished the fourth drink, now feeling the effects, and began a confident approach. “Howdy partners,” he said still a good way off, never a man subtlety, “name’s Alaric. Mighty fine to meet y’all.”

 

Petra Vitalis Wesley Cole 


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Struggle. Survive. Resist.


#4
Wesley Cole

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"Certainly not." Wes commented in reply to Petra's quip about luck. As she reached up and touched the statue for good luck an amused smirk stretched across his lips. "I suppose it couldn't." he said, following suit. The man had to blink a few times as they entered the establishment, the change in lighting a stark contrast to the brightness of the outside. As if he knew who they were looking for, Wesley scanned the joint but didn't really glean much in the way of information. If Petra said their man wasn't here, he probably wasn't. Concerning though. At the question of LO scanners, he slowly reached a hand to his pocket, adjusting his grip so his hand and the device could remain hidden from view but the screen was viewable at a glance. "Nothing yet, but I can't tell with all the interference." he mumbled back. An uneasy tension gripped at his stomach. In a galaxy as large as this and so far away from home, it felt like the ceiling could very well close in on them. *Just my luck.* he thought to himself.

 

"I've got zilch." he commented after a moment, replying to Petra's inquiry before letting the device slip back to the bottom of his pocket. "Might could be a decent time for a dram, hey?" Wes nodded in the direction of the bar. As he took a step in that direction, movement from the corner of his eye caught the Bakuran's attention. A man, a woman, approaching. He resisted the urge to put his hand on the small grip concealed beneath his outer layer and forced a smile as they were addressed. "Do we know you?" Wes asked, eyebrow raised. The man introduced himself, the only polite thing would be to return the greeting. "Name's Wes." he replied. "What can we do for ya?"

 

Alaric Marãll | Petra Vitalis | Chalbacca | @Sanctuary Systems Liberation Army



#5
Alaric Marãll

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Alaric had approached the pair without a hint of shyness and he feigned hurt when the gentleman asked him if they knew each other. He went ahead and introduced himself but then cast an overly dramatic glance over either shoulder before almost whispering, “We ‘pose to pretend like we don’t know each other’s business? Hell, never been much good at secrets,” he shook his head and resumed speaking at a normal volume. “It’s mighty fine to meet ya Wes. As I said, name’s Alaric.” He extended his hand to shake before answering. “What can you do for me? I’m a simple man, Wes. What I most enjoy is drink. And women. Not in that order. What I third most enjoy is driving out Sith and Imperials, watching them cower and flee, and take blaster bolts in the back as they do it.” He smiled. “I’ve been in this business a very long time, you see, and I’ve killed more of those bastards than I’ve bedded women or had drinks,” he paused for a moment, “well, at least more than I’ve bedded women.” He shook his head. “Now, from what I heard, you was looking for some Sith-fighting, Imperial killing folks to hook up with and go after the various bastards out in the galaxy. I also heard you provide transportation. Both of those are very important to me.” While he was shouting, it was also clear that he didn’t have much concern for being overheard.

 

Alaric suddenly seemed perplexed as he realized that he’d forgotten something. It was the traveling companion. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her forward. They were an odd pair, he was, generously, in his early sixties. She was fifteen at the oldest. Both of them had the dispositions and the scars of folks who had seen more gun fights and full bellies, and the girl regarded the pair suspiciously.

 

“This here’s Mynock. She’s a little tick that stuck onto me some time ago and hasn’t ever let me go. She comes along with me, mostly to, you know,” he shrugged, trying to come up with examples, “carry my guns, she can cook not all bad, and, you know, covering fire, things like that.” He nodded, satisfied with his introduction. “So, we gonna go, or stick around and have a few drinks? I’m open to both. And partial to the latter.”   

 

Wesley Cole Petra Vitalis | Chalbacca | @Sanctuary Systems Liberation Army


dDjrx0X.png  gBJUrdu.png  hAtInPD.png

 

ImDika2.png

 

Struggle. Survive. Resist.


#6
Drexel Volcata

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The alleyway behind the pub was full of dumpsters and garbage. At any given time, one could find between one and three of the waitstaff and line cooks smoking, chewing the fat, or shooting dice. 

 

Drexel knew all this because he had spent a significant amount of time moving back and forth through the Brazen Bantha, entering through whatever door he could. His arrival, and the delivery of a transport full of resources and weapons to a resistance cell on Eriadu had gotten him a little more attention than he would have liked, and despite his best efforts, when he arrived at the alleyway, he could see a pair of Imperial troops at the other end, questioning a trio of pub employees. 

 

"Hell," he muttered. He dropped into the alley, keeping to the shadowed triangle nearest the wall, and stepped into the kitchen entrance quickly. He stood near the open door, pressed to metal with his neck craned, straining to hear outside. It was just as he feared; the clatter of trooper footsteps was getting louder. Drexel ducked into the staff room and slipped on a black server's tunic, snatching a tray of cheap beers from the pass before stepping through the swinging door into the pub. His eyes scanned the place, and -- not seeing what he was looking for -- began moving through the crowded tables. In the back room, he alighted on the familiar faces of Petra Vitalis and Wesley Cole at a table with a small group. 

 

He set the tray down; the ale sloshed onto the tray as he pulled a chair over from the next table and spun it around to straddle it. "Drink'em if you got'em, people," he said without preamble. "Quickly though -- we're about to have company." He looked around, his head cocking to one side as his eyes found a youthful-looking young woman. "Maybe not for you," he amended, glancing at Petra and Wesley for an introduction -- or an explanation. 

 

Alaric MarãllWesley ColePetra Vitalis



#7
Thalliesin Bard

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Thalliesin and his vanguard stood outside the Brazen Bull.

"I'm not certain we'll find anyone here fit for service"

"Arrgggghgh"

"Gorgona says she remembers this place being rather rough and rowdy last time she was here"

Thalliesin turned to the small Toydarian.

"What did she really say?"

the Toydarian just smiled "You really wanna know?"

"No... No not really"

Gorgona went through the door first and the sight of a heavily armed wookiee obviously caught a few stares....Okay almost everyone was staring.

 

And they continued staring as the Vanguard walked in one by one,Wookiees, Trandosians, Twileks, and other species fifteen in all, and each heavily armed.

 

Then entered Thalliesin a tall figure in armor, with not a blaster, but a mace at his side moved towards the counter.

 

"A round for all those who are in this fine establishment"

 

With that he slapped down a bag of credits.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



#8
Wesley Cole

Wesley Cole

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"No, I really do.." and then Wes realized. Was this their contact? Petra hadn't recognized him, but maybe that meant their contact was in trouble. Unease gripped at his heart. Nervously he extended his own hand, eyes meeting their new acquaintances. As the man's brief monologue continued, Wes began to loosen up - had this man been one of the fabled FOSB or another Imperial agency, he wasn't getting those vibes. Of course, the Empire did like to employ the least assuming for their unconventional duties. "Sounds like we've found exactly who we're looking for then, eh?" As Alaric paused and his expression changed, the Bakuran native raised an eyebrow. An expression of understanding washed over him as the man shuffled forward his traveling companion.

 

"It's nice to meet you both, Alaric, Mynock." he nodded. "I'd love to get a drink, takes the edge off all the travel." Just as he was about to flag down one of the servers, a subtle commotion appeared, dark hair and a set of particularly wide eyes. Accompanied by a tray of drinks, the man had pulled up a chair for only a second before laying it on them. This must be their contact. "Perfect timing mate!" Company was never what you wanted to have in this line of work but he wasn't about to pass up that drink. With a shake of his head, Wes retrieved one of the tall glasses and shrugged his shoulders. "Bottoms up chaps." In an instant, he'd quaffed the entire beverage. With a stout return of the glass to the table he spoke, eyes darting back to the latest arrival. "Time to get a move on yeah? Oh. I'm Wes. Petra, Alaric and Mynock." he continued, nodding to each in turn. "Lead the way then!" he said expectantly, scanning the venue. Couldn't let their guard down now.

As if to tempt the already unreadable fates, there was another commotion at the front of the establishment. As if a wayward warlord himself had kicked down the front door and waddled in with all his cronies, a tall armor clad man raucously declared a round of drinks for the bar, met with an equally enthusiastic response from its patrons. *What fresh hell...* Wes wondered. Was this the company their contact had been talking about? Somehow he doubted it but it presented problems anew for their exit strategy.

 

 

Alaric Marãll | Petra Vitalis | Drexel Volcata | Thalliesin Bard | @Sanctuary Systems Liberation Army


Edited by Wesley Cole, 06 August 2019 - 09:06 AM.


#9
Thalliesin Bard

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Thalliesin Bard had come for one purpose and one purpose only, warriors, fighters, pilots, anyone or anything who would join his cause.

"Are there any among you who thirst for adventure, for glory or for riches?"

various cheers echoed through the room.

"Join me in my journey...in my quest and all that and more shall be yours."

Thalliesin turns to a group at a table {Wesley Cole} "what about you? there is an air of adventure about you."



#10
Drexel Volcata

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Drexel half-turned, his eyebrows raising as he caught sight of Thalliesin Bard. An intriguing figure, no doubt, with some kind of bad-ass armor to be sure. Still -- a random man calling on an entire bar full of patrons to join him on a quest? That was straight out of crazytown as far as Drex was concerned. He turned to fully face him, instinctively putting himself between his friends -- and the strangers with his friends -- and this newcomer. What in the hell was going on here?

 

"Look -- I gave at the office, so why don't you -- " Over Bard's shoulder, a pair of Imperial troopers appeared in the doorway from the kitchen. There was a beat, then one raised his blaster

 

"You there," the trooper called, pointing his blaster at Drexel. "Hands up." The other trooper lifted his shoulder-mounted comlink and began muttering orders -- calling for backup, no doubt. 

 

The pilot picked up the tray of beers -- whichever were left, anyway -- and after an aside to the group ("We gotta boogie, gang.") he walked towards the troopers with the tray, feigning ignorance. He feigned broken Basic, ignoring the shouts to put his hands up until he was within two meters of the trooper, then -- CRASH! -- he leveraged the tray to fling the beers at the trooper, then used the tray as a makeshift blade, jamming it between the breastplate and the helmet. The trooper made a satisfying, if sickening, squelching sound. The blaster clattered to the ground. 

 

That's when the shooting started.

 

Thalliesin Bard | Wesley Cole | Alaric Marãll | Petra Vitalis



#11
Thalliesin Bard

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As this was going on Thalliesin gave Gorgona the look, the look that says things are sixty-sixed.

As the tray made it's way through the trooper Gorgona let out a roar, a roar that caused a few of the patrons to leave in a hurry.

 

at that point several things happened at once...Gorgona and the others of the vanguard started dodging lasers and returning fire

The small Toydarian grabbed the bag of credits on the counter.

And Thalliesin Bard...Laughed, right before he charged at the other trooper crushing their blaster hand with hismace before swinging back around and crushing his skull.

 

Drexel Volcata.


Edited by Thalliesin Bard, 06 August 2019 - 11:14 PM.


#12
Alaric Marãll

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Alaric nodded at Wes’s comments, always up for a drink. He was on the verge of responding when his companion tugged on his arm, an attentive eye may have noticed her cheeks flush a few moments earlier. She gave him a look, a look he had come to know very well. It meant she was annoyed. He couldn’t begin to fathom why. “Just one minute gent,” he responded. It was common for Alaric to bestow a nickname, willingly or otherwise, on everyone he interacted with who left an impression on him. He was beginning to think he should come up for one for Wes. These were the thoughts at the forefront of his mind as he was led off a small distance by the girl. “What is it, Mynock?”

 

“I told you, Old Man,” she whispered, quiet but fierce. “I don’t like it when people call me that.” She cast a cautious look over her shoulder, more concerned with someone overhearing that the name bothered her so than she was with Alaric’s proud declaration that he enjoyed hunting Imperials.

 

“Mynock,” he snorted, not bothering to keep his voice down. “You need to stop being so self-conscious. It’s your name. It’s a good name. It ain’t Alaric—or ‘Wes,’ that’s a good one—but it’s a fine name all the same.” He grabbed her shoulders with both hands, “embrace it. Be the mynock I know you can be. You’ve already got the parasite part down pat, girl.” She forced his hands off her shoulders, frustrated.

 

“It’s not my name. It’s just what you insist on calling me. And I don’t want you sowing the seeds that I’m ‘Mynock’ across the whole galaxy. We’ve talked about this!”

 

“The only seeds I plan on sowing across the galaxy have nothing to do with your—”

 

“C’mon Old Man,” she said, interrupting. “Please?”  Alaric sighed; he was too sober for this. No one told him having child-soldier-companions could be so much work. His expression was clearly annoyed but he relented, nodding as he held his hands up in surrender. “Thanks.” She meant it.

 

“Just tell ‘em to call you something different, then.”

 

“You introduced me, it look weird if I asked to be called something different. They’d wonder why I didn’t do it in the first place.” He looked at her confused and so she clarified. “You do it.”

 

“Me?” He huffed, “Mynock, you are this close,” he held his fingers close together but could see in her eyes she was serious. He huffed again. “Fine,” he sighed before muttering, “biggest pain in my keister since I took that First Order blaster bolt back on Bakura.” They rejoined the group and Alaric said, forthrightly and somewhat out of the blue, “the girl’s name is Aliénor.” She didn’t appreciate the directness of the statement but he didn’t care and she accepted it. The pair settled in at the table, several drinks before them which Alaric was moving through as if he was in a race with some invisible lush. Still, he had the wherewithal to place his hand on his holster when a unrecognized man approached the table. He seemed like he was friendly with the rest of the group so Alaric refrained from shooting him, nodding as he was introduced and adding a “Aliénor,” before adding in a mumble, “apparently.” He didn’t really pay the man much attention until he suggest Mynock wasn’t old enough to drink. “This girl here drinks grown men under the table on a nightly basis,” he said, a challenge in his voice. Begrudgingly, but with conviction, he pushed his last drink to the girl who hesitated only a moment before bringing it to her lips and downing. . . . about a quarter before she spat and broke into a coughing fit.

 

“Sithspit Old Man,” she said through the coughs, “You could fly a rocket with that stuff, what are you drinking?” Her expression clearly suggested that, if she did drink as often as Alaric had suggested, it wasn’t anything hard.

 

“Hell Mynock,” he complained, “you got one chance to impressive Flyboy here,” he said, making an assumption of the man’s profession based on his swagger, “and you go and kark it up. Ain’t gonna get a second chance ya’ know. I try so hard. . . . and you spat out good liquor.” A frown settled on his face for all of two seconds before a new man, and a walking carpet, arrived, offering free drinks to everyone in the establishment, that got his spirits up—figuratively and literally. It put Alaric in a good enough mood that he didn’t flinch when the newcomer approached them, offering them a life of adventure. Alaric had been a pirate before, and this seemed like the same pitch. He wondered if the man was planning on producing a x-marked map. Before he had the opportunity to decide between calling the man ‘Big Spender’ or ‘Captain Flint,’ Flyboy suggested it was time to leave. A conclusion at odds with the one Alaric had reached when he saw the troopers. Things were just starting to get fun. And then they got very fun. A firefight erupted between the Imperials and the Flyboy and the walking carpet. He turned to Mynock with a smile, “how do we handle gun fights,” he asked as she handed him the rifle from her pack, he assembled it with expert speed.

 

“Always stay low, always move fast, and never take a blaster bolt to your ass,” she recited the rhyme instinctively, it had been her first nursery rhyme as a child. Alaric had taught it to her.

 

“Good girl,” the older man responded, fiddling with the trigger of his rifle and moving to engage.

 

She produced her own weapon and dropped down, dodging between fleeing patrons as she made her way towards the front door. The troopers had entered from the kitchen, so they couldn’t go out the back. If more of their buddies showed up from the front, they’d be in a real bind. She made her way to the front entrance, taking cover behind the large bronze bantha and watched. Reinforcements, sure as anything.

 

“Wow,” she whispered, “you guys are fast.” She waited until she had a clear break in the patrons fleeing and laid down suppressing fire with her blaster. The troopers, clearly well trained, leapt behind a low wall/bench structure on the other side of the street and began to return fire. “Low, fast, ass,” she muttered to herself, careful not to get shot as she returned fire in occasional bolts, “Old Man!”

 

“Yippee Ki-Yay Motherkarkers!” Alaric shouted as he kicked the opened the doors of the Brazen Bantha, firing three rounds from his Volley Gun, essentially a rail gun made mobile. The weapon had the ability to pierce even some lightly armored vehicles, and the brick wall was instantly shredded as the rifle spat seven projectiles per shot. Still, just on the off chance that any of the enemy survived, Alaric produced a small grenade which he hurled over. It detonated a few seconds later, annihilating the bench, the sidewalk, and half the street.

 

“Kark Old Man,” the girl cursed. “Where’d you get that?!” Alaric shrugged.

 

“Must of one it playin’ cards, just woke up with a few one day.” He turned his attention back to the pub, “I hope y’all have a plan for whereabouts we’re going.” He examined the crater of destruction his weapon had made, satisfied that there were no Imperial survivors, “I suspect more will be with us shortly.” 

 

Wesley Cole Petra Vitalis | Drexel Volcata | Thalliesin Bard | @Sanctuary Systems Liberation Army  


dDjrx0X.png  gBJUrdu.png  hAtInPD.png

 

ImDika2.png

 

Struggle. Survive. Resist.


#13
Thalliesin Bard

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"Huh, impressive." 

Thalliesin turned to the scruffy looking ruffian turned bombadier.

 

"My plan, is to get to my shuttle, and leave this planet before a veritable army arrives to enact revenge."

 

While saying this Thalliesin signaled with his hand causing his vanguard to start heading out.

 

"Your plan is for you to decide, however might I suggest coming with me, my shuttle is hidden outside of town and should be a safe bet...

or, you can do something else, alone, without sixteen trained fighters backing you up. Your choice"

 

And with that, Thalliesin starts following his vanguard out of the city.



#14
Wesley Cole

Wesley Cole

    Rebel with a Cause

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    • Character Bio
  • 11 posts

The moment Wes had looked past Bard and seen the troopers peering towards them he'd known things were about to go pear shaped. As Drexel began talking he could read their contact's body language - they needed to be ready. The second indication that things were about to get messy in a hurry was Drexel's gathering up of the tray. *Oh hell.* As the brews went flying towards the troopers and the tray found itself jammed between the hard parts in their armor, Wes jumped into action. Kicking out at the table with his leg it fell to the floor - a makeshift and extremely temporary piece of cover. In the next instant, he lowered his shoulder and shoved the woman next to him. "Get down!" he shouted, ducking himself just in time to hear and feel the heat of a blaster bolt screeching above their heads before fizzling out into the wall.

 

Frantically Wes' eyes darted around the room, ears ringing, heart pounding. He felt like a rat in a cage. Their primary exit had been denied to them, undoubtedly the fracas would draw more troopers to the bar and surrounding area. They needed to get out, and fast - and not the way they'd come in. As the shouts and screams erupted from other patrons at the repeating blaster fire, Wes blinked hard a couple of times before realizing they weren't totally helpless. The initial shock of the situation had begun to fade and the weight of the antiquated blaster at his hip drew his attention. Fingers curling around the wooden grip he drew it free of the weathered leather holster and with a quick peek above the overturned table fired towards the entrance. With what little glance he was able to get, he saw Drexel still ahead but only in short flashes between the exodus of former patrons. The ground shook as the grenade their new friends had thrown exploded, a new wave of adrenaline pulsing through Wes' veins. *Stay focused.*

 

With a quick look over his shoulder, Wesley took note of the reinforced bar wall - hadn't he seen a door behind the bar? Probably leading to a kitchen but there had to be another way out. At worst, it would provide them with more cover than the table they were currently - *Fzat Fzat* The sound and concussion of blaster bolts peppering the table he was hiding behind reinforced his thoughts and underscored the immediate need to find better cover. "Over the bar, on my go!" he shouted, hoping Petra could still hear him over the din. Counting down from three, he gave the go ahead. "GO!" Simultaneously he popped up from behind cover, squeezing the trigger on his blaster pistols as fast as he could in hopes it would give them enough time to seek refuge behind the bar. After a few seconds, Wes made the dive himself.

 

Petra Vitalis | Alaric Marãll | Drexel Volcata | Thalliesin Bard | @Sanctuary Systems Liberation Army



#15
Alaric Marãll

Alaric Marãll

    Character

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  • 31 posts

“Why thank you,” Alaric responded to the large man and warband leader when he was complimented, “I’ve got some experience blowing up these bucket heads, oh for the good ole’ days.” He smiled and shook his head, inspecting the carnage he had unleashed. “Now why would you want to get out of here before the army gets here, that’s when the fun starts, Old Boy!” He laughed and reloaded his volley gun, “I’ve never seen a variable army I couldn’t kill real good like.”

 

“Veritable,” the girl added.

 

“What’s that Mynock?”

 

“He said ‘veritable’ not ‘variable.’”

 

“What the hell’s a, a. . . a veritable?”

 

“I think it’s like, like a word that enhances another word?”

 

“You mean like ‘kark?’”

 

“Kind of,” the girl nodded.

 

“Well, I ain’t never met a karking army I couldn’t kill.” He turned his attention back to the Bard, “and you got me figured for the wrong kind, Old Boy,” his voice was lower now, still jovial but in less good humor. “You might have sixteen ‘trained fighters,’” he said mimicking the man’s voice, “but I got myself and that’s always been more than enough for me. And then I also got Mynock there. She,” he trailed off, “she don’t do much,” he lowered his voice, “between you and me, I don’t even know why I keep her around cause, well. . .” he had a spark of realization before adding at normal volume, “she does know words good. So there’s that.”

 

“Kark you, Old Man.” He waived her off. Then he heard the sounds of another scuffle back inside the cantina, a smile appearing on his face which did not at all match the girl’s wide eyes. “These folks attract trouble, Old Man.” She said to him, “we should get out now, while the coast is clear. We don’t need this kind of heat.”

 

“And miss all this fun, Mynock?” He finished reloading the weapon. “I think not.” He nodded his head towards the door. “Let’s get in there, help out our new friends. Yippee Ki-Yay,” he shouted loudly as he kicked in the door and began firing with skilled procession at anything that appeared hostile. He could see some of his new associates penned down behind a table, he found the troopers keeping them there and opened fire, forcing them to take cover from the rounds which could pierce the shallow tables and walls they chose to hide behind, but they’d only fall back further behind harder surfaces. “Keep ‘em penned, Mynock. I’m gonna have a word with them folks,” he said gesturing to the table. He had only started moving towards them, moving from cover to cover in the fierce gun fight, when the pair suddenly emerged and bounded over the table and towards the bar. “Come on girl, we’re gonna get left behind.” He looked back and saw her nod. He laid down covering fire so she could move safely, leaping over the bar, before he ran to join her.

 

As he ran, he spotted a single shot glass, full to the brim with an enticing clear liquid sitting on the bar, somehow it had managed to survive the chaos that had erupted here. He kept his eyes on it as he ran towards the bar and as he jumped and slid across it at high speeds he reached out to grab it. Instead, he knocked it over and spilled the alcohol on himself, causing him to curse and shake his head in disappointment. He realized his contacts were already back in the kitchen and out the door.

 

“Y’all owe me a drink,” he shouted as he moved to follow them.

 

 

Petra VitalisAlaric Marãll | Drexel Volcata | Thalliesin Bard@Sanctuary Systems Liberation Army


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Struggle. Survive. Resist.