Chrome Galactic Alliance Dominion of Malastare Hex

[Sal Katarn]

Dodj City
The Dusty Dram

The way she peered down her nose at him wasn't exactly inspiring kind thoughts. Made her seem taller too, maybe even a bit taller than him. She wore arrogance like most people wore cloaks. A special kind of haughty. One he knew all too well. Almost made him wish he was back riding drag in a nerf herding outfit.

Almost.

Sal's chin tilted down a bit and a long strand of greasy hair that'd been tucked behind an ear slipped loose. The rest of his body didn't move an inch, but for all that gave off the impression of bein' coiled tighter than n' adder. Eyes of tarnished gold didn't flash with hate or fear, or a threat of violence. They just stared.

Seconds ticked by, 'til at last the man gave a left shouldered shrug.

"Some days."

He set the card down and picked up the glass of whiskey.

"S'pose that depends on how much I get paid."

A rustling came from the rafters, followed by whoosh of brown feathers as a huge shrike dropped down from the ceiling to land with a plonk on the table. A few eyes turned and the barkeep stopped cleaning a glass for a moment, lips twitching with some sort of restrained emotion, then he glanced at the rifle sitting behind Sal and thought better of it. The avian, for its part, dug long talons into the wooden surface, head moving between man and woman with those odd, jerky motions common to birds.

Hello Ka.

Sal's expression remained neutral, though the corner of his mouth might've tweaked up a bit. He swallowed the contents of the glass and put it back on the table, forefinger and thumb on the rim, rotating it slowly.

"Why?"

[member="Vehanv Kiva"] | [member="Cameron Centurion"]

 

[Vehanv Kiva]

It was likely that Kiva was indeed taller than [member="Sal Katarn"]. She was likely larger than the majority of patrons in this room. Intimidation often was perceived by physical presence before a mental. If you could conquer both, you’d conquer most. A lesson from her master of old. The fact that the human’s head dipped ever so slightly in response was a mark of submission she’d pocket for later.

But that later may take some time to get to. How had she not noticed before? The fact that she’d wanted to extend an offer to the rugged bar fly must have blocked her awareness. She’d marked everyone in here as useless. Doesn’t matter. It was now a problem.

“Agh!” The large lady’s palms clenched and shoulders hunched and the blaring intrusion.

Cameron would find the information at the ready. Not much had happened in her life since her previous life to her recent awakening in the carbonate tomb by the legion of dark ones. Or, at least she thought they were dark; it had been mostly empty when she actually woke up. The tomb robbed.

Doesn’t matter. Vehanv would make the connection for him. As soon as [member="Cameron Centurion"]’s presence reached out to her, she recognized it. At first, it wasn’t exactly clear - the most recent interaction she’d had with anything aligned to that was with Alathor. Not Centurion.

The last living being she’d known from the previous life; it was as fresh as anything she’d known in the past weeks of her partial resurrection. Alathor had been the last person she’d seen — she hardly expected to see him now. Oh. She planned to kill him.

Her first reaction was much like her presence. Very physical.

Without consideration of anybody else in the establishment, her hand was quickly filled with the ever-familiar grip of her weapon’s hilt. A slight lunge weighted the buoy of her knees for additional reach; what with the dark corner selection for optimal brooding and observation and whatnot. Good thing this place was as makeshift as it wasn’t large. The long tendril, unactivated, released toward the direction of intruder with lightning fast (ha!) reflexes. The end found a surface to curl about. A wrist, perhaps?

It was on that contact that raced back to her, the whip being an extension of self, that the anvil that was rattling in her mind took a different touch of familiarity. Her grip loosened. The quarrel with this one was more tolerable. The slack evidenced and she straightened.

The connection for her was less dusty; and her ability to talk to him was much easier than him. Good thing he had that cloak on - or he’d be confusing her way more.

You’re very strong now.

Aaaaand now she had an audience.

 

[Cameron Centurion]

The Sith Lord's eyes almost immediately widened the very second recognition began to take route. Cameron was so surprised in fact, that he withdrew his presence from [member="Vehanv Kiva"]'s mind just a touch. In an instant, the Corstris native was transported back to his first decades of life. He relived everything from the brutal slaughter of his parents to the repeated mental and physical torture at the hands of a dark, foreboding entity. The fact that Alathor had been his biological father all along only further incited Cameron's irritation some thirty years after he'd already killed the man.

Yet...in all of the negative memories, there was one spot of...fondness? No, not necessarily fondness but certainly an aura of non-hostility which was about all the young Centurion could have hoped to have back then. The sudden movement of a large Shrike in the woman's vicinity drew Cameron's eyes and attention. The moment it had landed in front of [member="Sal Katarn"], Cameron sensed the impending attack but merely allowed it to happen. This girl... She clearly hadn't changed...for better or worse.

Before he could say anything, he felt the slack in the whip as he came to his feet and pulled it off his wrist. The folds of his dark blue and gray cloak glided lightly over the floor as the large Sith Lord approached the slightly shorter Guardian. Given the dim light of the establishment, his dark Sith tattoos were not clearly visible on his exposed upper torso. They were the only things that had remained from the past...reminders of what he had survived and how it shaped his life. More importantly, they'd be the only physical thing about him that Kiva recognized...apart from his silver-green gaze.

Stopping just short of a slightly more well-lit area, Cameron addressed the woman verbally. "You're not dead."

A pause.

"I am not surprised." It was not so much a nod to her abilities as it was to the proclivities of their former...overseer. Silver-green eyes slowly tracked in the direction of the man Kiva had been speaking to, but he did not say anything to the man, instead shifting his gaze back to the Kiffar.

 

[Sal Katarn]

Sal quirked an eyebrow. The unexpected arrival of Ka might've been a little surprising, but he didn't think - Katarn palmed his pistol a heartbeat after her whip appeared in hand, uncoiled. He kept the blaster under the table, leveled in her direction, and clicked the safety off.

That's when things got real interestin'. She lashed out at a cloaked man in the corner, whip snapping 'round his wrist. The man stood up, tall and imposing, with silver-green eyes. And that voice... Katarn's hackles all went up at once and his throat suddenly went dry as a desert valley.

By this point, everyone else in the establishment had either unholstered a weapon, or were making their way toward an exit. The barkeep's front hands were noticeably not visible, hidden just beneath the bar. Sal didn't like that one bit. In fact, he couldn't say he was much of a fan of how any of this was turning out. From the way Sith spoke it was clear he knew the tall woman intimately. Not in the 'been a while, nice to see you,' way either.

When the Sith glanced at him, Katarn gave another one shouldered shrug. No dog in this fight. Hell if he would be dying in someone else's reunion. He hadn't even been paid.

Still... Sal ran a tongue over sharp canines, nostrils flaring slightly. Forcerich blood. The curse tugged at him, insisting he watch, demanding he stay.

It'd been a while.

[member="Cameron Centurion"] | [member="Vehanv Kiva"]

 

[LT-137]

Objective One: The Burning Fields
Location: The Sweltering Path

Bestride one of Choli's technological steeds; I cast my gaze out into the sand-swept ocean of endless sand and felt my heart sink ever so slightly at the ghastly sight of what lay beyond the refinery. Two of this world's massive gangs, clashing en masse and fighting for what precious few droplets of Mitro-boosted fuel remained within the facility afore us all. Even from this far out, I could hear the distant cries of agony and felt something muted stir beneath my leather-bound breast. Ever since they had crash landed on this benighted world, my nights were peaceably spent - no longer tormented by the voices that constantly whispered of the myriad possibilities that lay before me. It was like this world had snuffed out my minute connection to the Aether, and had given me a sense of peace that I hadn't felt since before I was taken as a Slave. It was a welcome change, but the sensation soon soured as I started to miss their erroneous prognostications.

Lifting my bandana ever so slightly, I pulled out my canteen and poured a mouthful of the warm and gritty water atop of my tongue. The flavor was far from anything I desired, but it had slowly become an acquired taste during our enforced stay upon Malastare. Had I felt like giving it more thought than it deserved, my tongue would've let the salt scorched taste sink deep into the meat of my mouth - leaving me with a disgusting aftertaste as the water swam down my throat. Instead, I merely capped the canteen and tossed back into the baggage compartments of my mechanical steed, to be discarded and retrieved when the need for fluids presented itself. Locking the compartment and replacing my tribal coverings, I reached out to grasp ahold of my improvised spear. Pulling it free from the sand, I felt a flourish of heat blossom within the palm of my leather bound hand. The metal was hot, baking under the heat of this accursed alien sun. It wasn't the only thing that broiled under the solar radiation, but despite the discomfort I endured - it kept me from being burned alive. My genetic disorder did not pair well with the radiance of the system's star, and with a distinct lack of medical supplies, there was little I could do if I were caught out of my clothes in the open during the day. At least the nights were something to look forward too now, what with the eternal silence resounding within my mind.

Pulled out of my momentary reflection by the words of Torque Catcher, and those that were gathered all around me, I brought my spear in closer and throttled the engine of my improvised swoop bike.

"I am awaited," My lips had spoken, before my parched mind had even come to understand what they had said. Throttling my engine once more, I set off towards the refinery with the spear in hand. "I am awaited!" I repeated, much louder than before. Madness had seemingly taken over my mind, and out here such a thing was dangerous - especially when your comrades in arms had come to depend on you to keep their sanity in check. Nevertheless, my swoop had speared down from the barren line of once verdant trees and tore the earth free from it's resting place as I rushed towards the sand-encrusted refinery - eager to reclaim my dwindling hope and restore whatever remained of my wits.


| [member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Berric Kelso"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Encouragement Gets"] | [member="Alexandra Russo"] | [member="Triam Akovin"] | Lucius Varad | [member="Aedan Lochlan"] | [member="Tela Uolmi"] | [member="Areiana Slayer"] |

 

[Vehanv Kiva]

Thick lips twitched ever so slightly as the extended weapon slithered across the floor and she looped it in her palm while it slowly whirred back into its hilt.

Why Alathor never actually killed her wasn’t clear. Perhaps because of the army she commanded. Striking her bond with them would have turned several forces against him at once - although, he was a powerful Sith. That hardly would have been reason enough. It could be that he expected to live for quite a long time, and just put her on hiatus until she was necessary once more.

Now, looking at this being who felt very much like Alathor and the Centurion she’d known long ago, she realized that seeking reason was irrelevant now. Why his physical had changed, that too was curious. Save for the markings and eerie gaze and whatnot. They hadn’t been close - but those eyes were difficult to ignore no matter the relationship. Forgetting wasn’t even an option, considering the implied recency of the past to her resurrection.

If both she and [member="Cameron Centurion"] were alive, it likely meant Alathor wasn’t. Her knuckles tightened, fists clenching at the realization that the murder of the man who had induced her into carbonite would not be hers.

“Curious, you being here. Now.

What are you doing on Malastare, Centurion.”

She pointed the hilt at [member="Sal Katarn"], gaze pointedly looking toward the levelled blaster then back at his rugged maw. “You are an assassin of sorts, aren’t you?”

 

[Cameron Centurion]

The Sith Lord allowed his eyelids to slide shut over his silver-green orbs as the subtle waves of darkness radiating off of [member="Vehanv Kiva"]'s very soul washed over his presence within the ether. Even after the tall, athletic woman asked her question, Cameron remained content, evaluating every aspect of Kiva's presence within the Force. It was almost an intimate affair.

Exhaling softly, Cameron allowed his eyelids to slide open as he focused his gaze on the woman once more. "The right never belonged to you. Your irritation, while understandable, is wasted. Spare no more of your emotion on those that slight you." The Sith Lord quite certainly had not meant to preach, but Vehanv was as close to his first friend as it got. Everything about her reminded the Sith Lord of his past, it called to a part of his soul...a fraction of the young Cameron that still lived somewhere within him. He'd changed, certainly. That was an inevitable result of life among the galaxy for multiple centuries.

There was much that Kiva had missed. Much she needed to learn. At the same time, her ignorance of the modern galaxy would probably end up being the one thing that gave her undeniable strength. In the...freshly awakened woman, Cameron saw an opportunity. He desired not a pawn or a lackey. An equal was...equally useless to Cameron. The Sith Lord merely wanted to be impressed by an entity of darkness again.

Darth Ashmedai wanted to mold Kiva into that which he would never truly be again.

Or so he thought.

The Sith Lord offered no explanation to his original statements. She would understand well enough. "I'm quite certain that as far as curious presences go...you have me beat, Kiva." Just as Cameron was about to open his mouth to make another comment, he slowly tracked his head to the left. His gaze settled on the bartender, locking eyes with the man. Tilting his head slightly, the large Sith raised his left hand to casually scratch the side of his chin. Straightening his head, Cameron shrugged his shoulders slightly before lifting his hand off his face just enough to rotate his wrist a quarter-turn swiftly.

The barkeep's neck snapped and the man's body collapsed to the ground.

Curious silver-green eyes surveyed the bar. Several looked prepared to, you know, be gunslingers. For a brief moment, Cameron glanced back to [member="Sal Katarn"] and Vehanv. "Social experiment. Don't mind m---" Cameron's final statement faded to the rather loud sound of a superheated blaster bolt erupting out the barrel of a weapon in confined corners. The Sith Lord outstretched his right hand, absorbing the energy from the blaster into his palm with...noticeable pain, but long it had been since pain typically registered in the Sith Lord's facial features.

Why was he on Malastare?

Boredom, mostly. Who was going to mind if Dodj City burned, really?

The Galactic Alliance, probably. The Sith Lord did enjoy an audience.

Plus it was like job security for, [member="Amorella Shamalain"], his wife. He would knock 'em down for her to build 'em back up.

Number one husband.

 

[Sal Katarn]

The hilt pointed right at Sal. Wasn't really a big fan of that, for obvious reasons, though it wasn't the first time an imperious woman'd jabbed a whip in his direction demanding answers. The corner of his lips twitched up at the memory.

"When it suits me."

Barely got the words out before the Sith started talkin' again. Shrike and man exchanged glances. The raptor's feathers ruffled, wings spreading open slightly. Caught in the middle of a family squabble, or somethin' close enough. Didn't seem as though the fella recognized him though, which suited Sal just fine.

The Sith gestured suddenly and the barkeep's head twisted one hundred and eighty degrees in the wrong direction.

Aw hell.

That was about when the shooting started. Pretty much everyone else left in the room opened fire on the tall stranger with whatever big iron they had on hand. Sal grimaced and glanced back at Ka. The bird was preening himself.

"S'about right."

Katarn grunted, then pulled a smoke from his breastpocket with his free hand, gun still held under the table with the other, and placed the stick between his lips. He fished in his pants for the lighter. Where'd I put that-

A blaster bolt ricocheted off the table and into the wall beside Sal's head. Gray whisps curled from the glowing embers in the charred surface of the table. Katarn paused, then bent down and lit the smoke in the embers.

Hoping not to catch a stray, Sal leaned back in his chair to watch men die.

What, you thought because he moonlit as Alliance SpaceOps he'd help every poor fella tryin' to get himself killed? Don't count on it.

[member="Cameron Centurion"] | [member="Vehanv Kiva"]

 

[Vehanv Kiva]

The right to kill belonged to whoever could take it. The fact that she’d missed her opportunity, and simply gone to dreamland for over four centuries meant that no, it was not her right. She’d lost that when she rolled over and played into the hands of the Sith Lord. Nevertheless, she still sought revenge on everything that was Alathor. Her lips merely pursed in reply to [member="Cameron Centurion"]’s probing of her emotions; swimming around in her aura like a fish in a whirlpool.
A fish with a really good sense of direction…Okay. Bad illustration.

Her lips twitched in amusement to the reality of his admission, that her appearance was indeed a foreign idea. She didn’t know what time she was in, who controlled the galaxy, or what status Malastare even had amongst the stars. All she knew, was that she wanted control of its reserves to use for trade, or for her own ship. But she didn’t want to get her own hands dirty, she wanted to see if she could still control someone to do her bidding and dirty work. Cue [member="Sal Katarn"].

The saloon-esque establishment broke into Chaos when the barkeep dropped to the floor. The patrons had already been agitated from her whip display, but now they were reacting. Violently.

It confused Kiva.

Fear was at the root of the actions taking place, but the display of how the plebs reacted to the emotion was different than she was used to. Fear was driving them to a fighting reaction, interested in self preservation rather than the typical scramble and flee approach she had grown used to so many years ago. What, in 480 years, had changed enough to give measly interlopers the audacity to fight back when supernatural powers were on exhibition?

It enraged Kiva. Their fear infuriated her.

How dare they. How dare they think they could defend themselves from the darkside. Something within her shivered, the elixir of swirling terror and her own baffled anger reverberated through her blood; imbuing her muscles with the breath of The Force that Alathor had taught her to tap into.

The wild woman didn’t have the same familiarity with energy eating as her old mutual apprentice did. She was at a disadvantage there when plasma started tearing up the air. The assassin-folk guy who she planned to hire seemed equally confident in his own abilities to stay safe. She wasn’t sure at this point if she admired that and wanted to hire him, or if she wanted to kill him for disrespect.

Didn’t matter.

The light whip activated once more, this time the crimson glow radiated from the tendril. The ignition of the weapon spoke to her more muted Force abilities, as opposed to the telekinetic potential the other Sith used. Like a heat seeking missile, the whip travelled lengths and whips, back and forth from her personage around to the ankles, waists, weapons, and other areas where it could wrap throughout the place. That would teach them to fight back. To even think they could stand a chance. Leave the mark behind. This was better than heads on a stake.

“I had a plan not to stay long. There’s a fuselage dictator I want dead.” Gaze transferred to Katarn as she paused her actions, small wisps of smoke curling from the edges of her coat and shoulder; the fortunate aim of a patron somewhere. She didn’t seem bothered by the pain, despite the charr it left on her skin. Her tolerance was muted not only to attitude, but physical infliction as well. Listless and somewhat unimpressed, she continued pointedly; "That’s where you come in.”

There was a deafness that fell on ears beyond the conversation. Those who had been excitedly firing on the duo had either ceased to breathe, or had decided their fear that drove them to fight would encourage self preservation to manifest as flight, and scrambled from the graveyard that was once a bar.

 

[Republic Engineering]

Objective: One - Refinery Clash
Location: The Burning Fields
Allies: None at Present, Astarii Saren - Enslaved and Crucified.
​Enemies: Eviscars - [member="Davon Karr"] | [member="Lok Munin"] | [member="Nia Siroc"]


They were upon the Krimzon Kult before those raucous Gamorrean's had known what hit them. The porcine humanoids were far too rowdy to bear witness to the black-armoured spearhead surging towards the advancing curtain of ramshackle vehicles, laughing when they should be watching, and feasting when they should be fighting. Were the Kaptain sane enough to understand the minute complexities of open field warfare and combat, he would've sent scout riders and divided his force into several overarching fangs, that would close in upon their prey at a moment's notice. Instead, the Kaptain, like the enemy apparently, had elected to fly headlong into one another and batter the stunted humans into a gummy paste. Thus, as the two lines had met - Thunder had erupted from the clash of steel and flesh. Gamorreans, by the dozen, were dragged from their improvised vehicles and met their grizzly fates beneath the Eviscar suicide sleds. Nothing whole had remained after the repulsor craft had glided by, but a thick red mist to paint the sand beneath a vibrant hue of garnet. That had elicited a chorus of hoarse laughter from the Kultist's nearby, finally coming down from the elation brought to them by the ingested Giggledust. Now, they had responded as one would've expected them too, with Violence.

As the Dugs had made their way towards the heart of the roving formation, the Kaptain watched on as his second most prized possession was slowly being swarmed by the rowdy natives. Of all the things these blasted Humans had to bring, it was the local populace! He had spent weeks raiding their last surviving villages, and now here they were - seeking to deny him what he believed was rightfully his. They would pay. They would all pay! With the elation of rage slowly filtering through his veins, the Kaptain stalked down the length of his racing vehicle and grabbed the stunted driver's shoulder with a meaty palm.

"Go Fasta!" He barked, "I want to Hit 'em wit me Choppa."

The Green skinned Porcine squealed as the grip tightened, compelling him to do what the Boss had said. An audible smash could be heard as the Driver slammed on the acceleration pedal, forcing the Crimson plated truck to race forwards. Oh, he was going to teach these Humans a lesson, one that they would never soon forget. His taloned fingers sunk into the meaty flesh of the driver, forcing him to squeal ever louder, and depress the pedal so hard that the Kaptain could hear the rivets beneath buckling under the Gamorrean's muscular bulk. Had the Greenskin broken the mighty war rig, it was doubtful that he would've lived long after the damage had been done. It wasn't going to be an easy fix, and if Redfinga had to hear his Techboy ramble on about a lack of parts ever again, someone was going to eat the business end of his battleaxe. And oh, how he wanted to hit something or someone right about now.

With the Kaptain's rig surging forwards to defend one of the paired tankers, those aboard the infested craft began to fight with whatever they had on hand in order to protect their Boss' property. One of the largest Gamorrean's, bearing a pair of wickedly knapped metal axes, threw his arms wide and unleashed a mighty bellow. Every iota of bestial rage was poured into that savage cry of war, souring the atmosphere atop the impaled tanker. This call to arms was echoed through the rest of the Kult, spreading from one Gamorrean to another until all atop the Tanker were bellowing with one thunderous roar.

"WWWWWWAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"​

Emboldened by their betters, those of lesser standing within the Kult began to unleash the contents of their primitive magazines into the encroaching Eviscars. While they were far from accurate marksmen, some solid slugs they cooked off would account for something - be it a waste of spent lead striking nothing more than the sand beneath or (If luck would have it) burrow through sand-scoured steel and possibly embed themselves within exposed flesh. It didn't matter which path their bullets had taken, as soon as they were spent and lacking moar dakka, the Greenskins used their spent slugthrowers as clubs in their off-hand, while they wielded mighty cleavers of crudely knapped metal.

War had come to Malastare, and though they had regressed into the Dark Ages of Technology, the realm of Chaos would relish in the slaughter to come.

 

[Nia Siroc]

Objective Uno
E: [member="Astarii Saren"], The Kult
A: [member="Lok Munin"], [member="Davon Karr"]

There they were, not far now, and her blood ran cold when she heard the war cry of the Gammorean. Her hand moved across to her left hip and she drew the blade. The durasteel shone bright in the blazing sun but it felt wrong. The blade was mostly meant as a one-handed weapon and wasn't heavy, but the balance was more towards the tip with the solid blade.

More, this whole situation felt wrong to her. When Nia saw them level their primitive solid ammo weapons, her eyes widened and she ducked behind the frame of the skiff, yelling "Down!". Her instincts proved right, hearing the crack of primitive guns firing seconds later. This was getting worse rapidly.

 

[Cameron Centurion]

Flashes of crimson danced throughout the The Dusty Dram. As blaster bolts illuminated the dark interior, which was now rapidly filling with smoke form the pure heat being poured into the air, two distinctive shades of crimson blurred through the very same air with decisive, precise movements. A couple of times, Cameron came close to being subject to some element of [member="Vehanv Kiva"]'s lightwhip. Close... Rather than fall prey to the rapid snaking of Kiva's weapon, the Sith Lord timed his own movements around the coiling and uncoiling of the Kiffar's attacks.

By the time the 'spectacle' had ceased, Cameron was walking casually back towards Kiva. Blood dripped with the viscosity of honey from the face of the Sith Lord's weapon. By the time he had returned within vicinity of the pair, Vehanv was explaining to [member="Sal Katarn"] the purpose for her visit and, more curiously, the reason she was even speaking to the man. Silver-green eyes drifted briefly in the direction of Sal, making a silent note, before returning to Vehanv.

 

[Sal Katarn]

They died badly.

The whip crackled to life, a glowing red snake that hissed and snapped throughout the saloon. The undulating ribbon of energy flowed from man to man and left only pieces behind. Reminded Sal of the way a child's fingers took a living bug and turned it into scattered wings n' twitchin' limbs. Anything else in the way met a similar fate, more than a few chairs lost a leg or back at the crack of her lash.

Weren't long 'til the tall stranger joined in with his sword. Blaster bolts ricocheted off walls, hitting anything but those two. The smart ones started to run. The rest joined the barkeep.

Smoke soon choked the Dusty Dram and it had nothin' to do with the cigarra in Sal's mouth.

When the last echoes of gunfire faded, Sal squinted through the gloomy haze. Bodies lay slumped on tables, hunched in chairs, or unceremoniously dead on the floor. Where they weren't bleeding out, their wounds smoldered with orange embers. The smoke smelled like cooked meat.

Katarn's stomach rumbled rebelliously. His lips curled in disgust. Ka had no such compunctions. The shrike hopped off the table and toward the nearest body.

In the sudden silence, the woman made an offer. No, more like a demand really. Sal's eyes narrowed slightly and he took a long drag on his smoke, thinkin'. He opened his mouth and released a puff of white-gray.

"And if I say no?"

Ka looked up from a corpse, beak glistening red.

[member="Cameron Centurion"] | [member="Vehanv Kiva"]

 

[Liliane]

Location: Unknown | Malastare
Objective: 3 - handle personal business
Allies: The Galactic Alliance
Enemies: Enemies of the Galactic Alliance
[ 01 ]

~ A Few Days Ago ~

When she started to think about it, Lilin found out she hadn't really ever been to the planet of Utapau despite its proximity to the Galactic Alliance, its interesting cultural and historical matter and many other factors taken into account. But she was packing her things that day to get to the planet as fast as she possibly could. Her life nowadays consisted of several humanitarian aids, meaning she was busier than ever before. But this time, everything was different.

The girl had left the New Jedi Order's headquarters a while ago to live in her own real home again, meaning she was farther away from the planet than she would have wanted to be. But that was OK, she would most likely still get there on time.

She took her lightsaber tightly into her hand, looked at it for a moment, and then attached it to her belt in one swift motion, heading back to packing other things. She would have to take her blaster with her, as well as some first aid packages. Yes, she knew that the locals most likely had their own packages, but she preferred her own. At least then she could be sure that she had everything she needed with her.

She took one more glance at the flat she was going to leave once again and then headed off. Her ship was not too far away, but she still decided to run.

Yet things didn't always go like she wanted them to.

 

[Alexandra Porte]

Objective: 1
Location: Racing to the prize in the Burning Fields
Gang: Rogue-X
Allies: Rogue Leader/One (Torque Catcher-NPC) [member="Aedan Lochlan"]/Two [member="Tela Uolmi"]/Three [member="Berric Kelso"]/Four [member="Loske Matson"]/Five [member="Alicia Frost"]/Six [member="Choli Vyn"]/Seven [member="Encouragement Gets"]/Eight [member="Asmus Janes"]/Nine [member="Areiana Slayer"]/Ten @Alexandra Russo/Eleven [member="Lucius Varad"]/Twelve & [member="Triam Akovin"]
Enemy: TBD
Post: 2

Russo took the binoculars back, then slipped them into her speeder bike's saddle bag and pulled up the pair of goggles that had been resting around her neck onto her already dirt-smeared face. The brandy-eyed brunette adjusted them to make sure there was a good seal, then she tied a bandana around her nose and mouth to keep from breathing the dust that was going to be kicked up in the Rogue-X gang's race to the fuel dump.

Revving the heavily modified engine several times, Alleycat kicked the speeder bike into gear with her booted foot and sped off across the barren land with her usual piloting flair along with the other Rogues; Eleven's long sun-kissed brown tresses waving in the wind behind her. They were going to be so ratted by the time this was done it might take days to get a comb through them. The thought of a long, hot bath with a bottle of something strong after this was all over really sounded good and would have to keep the Taanabian motivated to finish strong. Course the booze and soak would be even better shared, but that was wishful thinking.

 

[Davon Karr]

[member="Astarii Saren"] | [member="Lok Munin"] | [member="Nia Siroc"]

Davon held them steady as they closed above the tanker. The gamorreans and dugs shouted challenges across the space. Those that had ammunition fired the odd shot, but both were gearing up for the crunch. Davon's honed instincts kicked in and he ducked. A spear hissed through the air just over his head. He swore.

"Calling a switch!" he shouted, before the crew echoed his cry.

"Switch!"

"Switch!"

The dugs, so quick across the decks, rushed to the opposite side of the skiff and made their way onto the boarding plates. Davon yanked on the controls bringing the skiff up and over the tanker. They went up and over and came down on the far side. The dugs and boarding parties leapt across the gap as the gamorreans struggled to move to repel them. Another vehicle pulled up on the far side of the skiff. A bulky warrior leapt up and started to clamber towards him, scythes getting in his way. Davon curtly brought up use scattergun and fired. The creature squealed as it fell away. He reloaded the scattergun with a one handed flick of the lever arch. He wedged it on the console in front of him and tried to load another shell with one hand.

 

[Nia Siroc]

O: One
A: [member="Davon Karr"]
E: Krimson Kult

With that, they were well and truly engaged. The biggest difference Nia noted between her durasteel sword and her lightsaber was the blood. At least the energy weapon was clean, cauterizing wounds. Now the blood sprayed on her as she drew the point of her weapon from the throat of the Gammorean.

At least the goggles shielded her eyes from the jets of blood and the porcine alien collapsed whilst clutching at his throat. She tried to but was entirely successful in ignoring the sticky gurgling sound he emitted. Nia told herself she had to do it but that didn't make it any easier. Moving on instinct, she turned to engage the next opponent.

 

[Micah Talith]

Objective 3: Do you own thing.
Bum Kark No Where.
Zilobeast lands

​

Sometimes, a series of unfortunate events lands you in the poodootiest of situations.

Micah Draith Shamalain Talith gave a groan. Everything hurt. His arms. His back. Hell, his head, hurt. He had the vague notion that he was on his back; and that it was hot. And not arm pit of the jungle hot. But an arid sort of hot that reminded him a bit of being baked under the Twin Suns.

There was a sort of lethargic sensation to him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. What was it? Hell, what happened? Another groan echoed within his helm. At least he thought he still had his helm. Where was [member="Vexen"]? It barely registered in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite sense her.

"Uggggggh...." the voice modulator gurgled his groan.

"Veeeeeeexxx!"

 

[Choli Vyn]

Objective: 1
Approaching Burning Fields
[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Berric Kelso"] | Choli Vyn | [member="Encouragement Gets"] | [member="Alexandra Russo"] | [member="Triam Akovin"] | [member="Lucius Varad"]

---

Did not have to tell her twice.

A rev of her speederbike and Choli was off. " I can distract them!" she called out, moving up ahead. Being smaller and due to the modifications she'd done on her own bike, she had a bit of kick to her speed when she wanted. Short bursts, nothing major, but it would allow her to get a bit of an upper hand.

"Go!" she waved them off towards the burning fields. Off in the distance, the thick, black plumes rose high. Black soot and dust devils made it difficult to see within the fields. Not to mention the havoc it made to the lungs. However, the burning fields also offered up a good place to hide.

Time to use a bit of her speed.

 

[Allyson Locke]

Objective 1: Highway to the Danger Zone
Location: Chilling like a Villian a few kilometers ahead of Rogue-X
[member="Choli Vyn"] [member="Loske Matson"] [member="Asmus Janes"] [member="Berric Kelso"] [member="Encouragement Gets"] [member="Alexandra Russo"] [member="Triam Akovin"] [member="Lucius Varad"]

Being the type to do her own thing, Allyson had worked on her x-wing kept it in good shape minus stripping the engine and taking scraps into a speeder bike. Her helmet protected much of her vision and the breather she had purchased previously had come in handy. The fields and their burning made things difficult, but Allyson was able to manage. For the most part she had dealt with conditions similar to this on Corellia at one point or another. The thought made her nose wrinkle as she sat upon the bike and watched everything from a distance. She had left before the others were even ready to go.

They didn’t pay much mind to her, which didn’t bother her one bit. They seemed like a tight knit group and she was new to the squad. Minus Asmus, she didn’t know anyone else. Rolling her shoulders back, her attention returned to the fuel that everyone was gunning for. It seemed everyone was more interested in fighting each other instead of working their way around everything. Either way, Allyson knew she was close and should probably wait for everyone. A trill of beeps came from the slot under the seat of the speeder. Her small BB unit made noises of irritation as he wasn’t a fan of where he was.

“I know we could just go in their take what we want and get the heck out of here. But I'm part of a ‘team’ you know.” More beeps as he reminded her that she was never a team player and she could just take care of them. “Nah, let's wait for them to get here. They’re smart.” Musing over the idea of seeing the others arrive as she had been here for some time made her laugh. Pulling a death stick from her jacket she paused.
“Yeah not a good idea, I might lose my head here.” Shoving the death stick back into her jacket, she pushed up her aviator glasses and sighed. “Force they’re slow.”

Spoiler

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