Public Campfire Stories

[Zel Sharratt]

Campfire Stories
Codian Moon
Tags: Open

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"... and Tipoca city was lost to the waves of Kamino, taking their knowledge of the Jedi Purge with them. Of course, their cloning technology wouldn't vanish with them. The Empire would confiscate their tech and continue their experimentation... but that I believe is a story best saved for another time."

It was late into the evening hours at a trading outpost on the Codian Moon. It was a small port, one which saw very little traffic. The faming community was small in the area, with less of a focus on Reek breeding like further north. Here organic goods would be bartered with local neighbors, with travelers stopping by to fuel up for the journey ahead. Zel Sharratt was one such traveler, stopped for the night while his ship refueled as he began to prepare for a trip to the Galactic Core Worlds. The outpost had a campfire set up, with travelers gathered around exchanging stories of their adventures traveling the galaxy, mutterings of the paranormal and bizarre or tales of long lost loves. They were sailors, after all, just of a different variety.

Zel didn't tell old wives tales, however. He told stories of history and intrigue. The local children from the nearby farming settlement were gathered around, enamored by the wild and bizarre events that forged the Galaxy they lived in. The travelers at the outpost were less enthralled.

"He's been talking for hours," one Mirialan woman grumbled. "Does he ever get tired?"

"Just let the man speak," her Rodian companion sighed, hanging his head. "He's mandalorian. No way in hell we'd be able to shut him up."

Zel took no note of this. He was far too wrapped up in the telling of tales. It was the one way that history was preserved after all. When all records were raptured to the whims of time, even the most obscure could survive by word of mouth.

"Alright then," Zel continued, an enthusiasm in his tone, though his helmet remained static. "What else might I be able to tell..."

OOC:
This is a pretty simple thread, one open to all writers who may want to sit around this lil campfire here and tell some fun stories. It's more of a creative writing exercise for people to have fun. This is a strictly no combat zone, so if you're thinking about rolling up with an insane Sith Lord or an imperial fleet I'd suggest rethinking. It would make me very sad for the vibes to be destroyed. Thanks in advance.

 

[Masao Genji]

TAGS: Zel Sharratt

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A petite figure, reminiscent of a waif, found solace near the crackling fire, relishing in the comforting warmth that enveloped them. With delicate hands, they impaled a soft, white, puffy object onto a lengthy metal skewer, holding it over the dancing flames, and rotating it gently. As the flickering fire illuminated their features, they directed a soft, almost hesitant question to their storyteller companion, their interest piqued by the mention of Tipoca City.

"What was Tipoca City like?"​

Draped in dark garments, the small waif remained mostly silent, seemingly content to indulge in the simple pleasure of toasting their little white fluffy treats over the embrace of the heated flames.

 

[Zel Sharratt]

Codian Moon
Tags: Masao Genji

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"What was Tipoca City like?"

"Much like the other settlements on Kamino I imagine," he explained. "Long sterile halls, rooms filled with vats for cloning all kinds of things. They don't only clone other species on Kamino, they clone themselves, attempting to weed out mutations in the hope of making a perfect species."

Zel shrugged, leaning back and crossing his arms. It was not a lifestyle he could support. Relying too much on science had it's drawbacks, which was evident in the pitfalls of the Kaminoan culture. Ultimately, however, it was not his place to cast judgement. The Mandalorian was a man of history. It was not his place to taint the facts with his own biases.

"Nowadays it's little more than a ruin under the waves," Zel noted. "I've been planning to process the raw footage I collected during my expedition, but I am unsure of how exactly to publish it. Regardless, there are many bizarre things that linger in the old city, some of which I managed to get my hands on."

Before long the Blubreen had drawn something from the pocket on his utility skirt, a plastic-looking chip with the framework of a neuron within.

"The inhibitor chip," he continued, "Or at least what's left of one. It's almost completely decayed. If not for it's casing it would simply turn to dust. It's practically useless now, but hundreds of years ago this small implant would be the source of the Jedi Order's downfall. Fascinating, no? I hope to have it processed and stored on the Intergalactic Museum of History on Coruscant, but it seems that the higher-ups have little interest engaging with independent archivist like myself."

A shame really. History was to be shared with the world after all. Slowly but surely it would. He'd simply have to take it one step at a time.

 

[Valves Miskor]

Valves sat a little back, his feet up and resting. His hat tilted down to keep the smoke from his eyes, as he rested. At the mention of the inhibiter chip, he couldn’t help but let out a slight chuckle. To Valves, the idea that the great Jedi Order, over nine hundred years led an army of clones that were programmed to betray them was a little ridiculous. Why wouldn’t they check for such programming? Was such programming even possible, clones weren’t droids after all. Surely the mystical order would have had some level of foresight to help protect them. Either way, stories of events from over nine hundred years ago never really interested Valves. He was a man of the now.

Kicking his legs off the log they were resting on, he leaned forward. He flexed his left mechanical arm. Rolling his shoulder a bit to loosen it up. “If we’re trading stories, who wants to know how I lost my arm?”

 

[Masao Genji]

LOCATION:
TAGS: Zel Sharratt Valves Miskor

Masao, the pale and enigmatic guest, sat near the crackling fire with a thoughtful expression. In his slender hands, he held a metal skewer with a soft, white marshmallow, carefully rotating it over the warm flames. The marshmallow started to turn a golden brown, and he watched it with a focused intensity as if seeking perfection in the art of roasting.

As the marshmallow reached the desired level of toasty goodness, Masao skillfully slid it off the skewer and placed it between two graham crackers. He reached for a piece of rich, dark chocolate and nestled it atop the marshmallow, completing the trio for a classic s'more. The small waif, draped in dark cloths, had a subtle smile on their lips as they crafted the delightful treat with practiced ease.

"Would you like one?" Masao inquired, his voice soft and inviting, as he held out the s'more to the Mandalorian storyteller. He held up the small sweet offering it over.

Masao continued to make s'mores, occasionally offering one to the Mandalorian and anyone else who showed interest. Despite his reserved nature, there was a warmth in his actions—a genuine effort to connect and bridge the gap between himself and the others around the fire.

He looked to the fellow who spoke about his arm and tilted his head curiously. " I bet it hurt... did it hurt?"

 

[Zel Sharratt]

Codian Moon
Tags: Masao Genji , Valves Miskor

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"Would you like one?"

"Why thank you," Zel answered.

The man took the s'more, lifting up his helmet just enough to where a hint of blue skin and the scruff on his chin could be seen, and just as quickly as it had been lifted it was down again. The s'more was gone. He didn't 100% subscribe to the more fringe practices of his creed, but he didn't really show his face. After all, history could only be recorded in earnest by those not looking to promote themselves. The Blubreen had no face he could tie a reputation to.

“If we’re trading stories, who wants to know how I lost my arm?”

"Sure," he shrugged. "I don't see why not."

It wasn't old lost folklore or some story that could point him to the next big find, but it passed the time. And regardless, Zel couldn't do all the talking himself, even if he'd very much like to.

 

[Valves Miskor]

“I wasn’t always this devilishly handsome” he said with a semi sarcastic tone. “I spent some time in a monastery, learning the way of the sword.” He gestured to himself. The dirty looking cowboy smirked. “You can tell, can’t you?” He said with even more sarcasm. “Anyway,” his tone became much more sincere. “As you can probably guess, Monasteries and Temples have secrets.” He flexed his mechanical left hand absent-mindedly. “Some worth uncovering, others are meant to be secret.” He took a deep breathe. Fishing a packet of cigs from inside his coat pocket. A disgusting habit. One he was trying to quit.

“So, several years ago, I found myself taken in by a strange group of monks. A hodge podge group of different races. Kind of a halfway house in mid rim.” He paused. Reminiscing of that time in his life. He wasn’t going to say the only reason he wound up in said Monastery was because he was on the tail end of spice problem. Spiralling out of control, in desperate need of help. “So, this group of Noble monks, who I thought were looking to help wayward souls, was a front.” He could look back on it now with fond memories. They really did help him get clean. “Taking in strangers when they are at their lowest. Only to twist their minds.” He lit up a cig and took a long drag.

“Anyway, I spent four years in the Monastery before I uncovered its secrets, and subsequently lost my arm.”