Lord Gaius
Chosen
He swam through an ocean of darkness, deep within the recesses of his mind. Hurricanes of behemoth size churned up the seas. Thunder and lightning assaulted the planet on all sides. The weather was constantly unstable, making any form of permanent settlements an outrageous idea. Yet below the waters it was calm, peaceful. A species thrived below. The emerald green skin of Hasjo glistened with moisture. His large, clawed fingers ran through the water, pulling him forward as he swam. Powerful arms obeyed his command. Muscular legs kicked against the currents. Enormous waves threatened to send him tumbling under - not that it truly mattered. This was his peace. This was his harmony. The planet of Glee Anselm, home of the Nautolans. The great storms only made him yearn for home. They did not inspire fear into his heart. He quickly spun his legs, confronted by a tidal wave. The water came crashing down upon him. The Nautolan twirled, kicking his feet fruitlessly in a poor attempt to regain his composure. It was no use, the force of the currents was too strong.
His eyes flexed. Light burst to life in his senses. He shot to his feet, his twin hearts racing. Metal clunked and large boots thudded. A probe droid floated before him, regarding him with it's sensory eye. He did not think that this droid was simultaneously placing a live video feed straight back to the command bridge. He gripped the E-11 blaster rifle and fired three shots into it's belly. Effectively disabling the machine. The metalloid turned to find the shaft was otherwise empty. The groan of elevators had been consistent, but otherwise it was safe - for now. He wanted so badly to go back to his dreaming, but he needed to save Maya, and her son. He felt rejuvenated. He had his time to hibernate and meditate, drawing in on himself. Empowering his senses, his body. He had been doing it ever since he was chained on that wall in the medical bay. He slapped the blaster to his weapons belt. He made his way to a metal grate. Hasjo treaded carefully, avoiding pipes and mechanism. Each step of his durasteel boots echoed loudly. He reached down, placing armoured fingers between the metal poles. Fingers curled around the metal, and he heaved. The grate protested, but not for long. A loud wrench-snap roared in the elevator shaft as he finally pulled the grate free. Below was a ladder, leading into the maintenance access ways. They were dark, long, thin corridors that stank of grease monkeys.
Often running parallel but behind main crew corridors, the maintenance accessways were dedicated halls and crawlways that provided dedicated access to maintenance and engineering-related systems. They were typically narrow passages that lead to the inner workings of the ship to provide access to areas not easily reached by conventional corridors or compartments. They are not normally fully illuminated like standard corridors until required. These areas also provided an alternate means of deck-to-deck access by means of interdeck ladders. Normally, crew could use an elevator or a staircase, but in the event a staircase could not be reached or power failure had disabled elevator usage, the maintenance accessways allowed the crew to climb or descend a retractable ladder to reach other decks of the ship. The labyrinthine system of maintenance accessways throughout the ship was as widespread as that of the standard crew corridors; perhaps even more so.
Hasjo Hallu dropped down the hole. This wasn't his first rodeo. The Field Marshall of the Sixth Battalion had been in a number of conflicts across the galaxy, large and small. From the war of Chaeronea, an all-out slaughter between the major factions of the Galaxy, to the Skirmishes on Cholganna, where he and his men held off a significantly larger force of New Order forces. Though the whole cloak and dagger had never been his thing. He was an upfront man, but without his weapons, he had to be smart about this. Flickering red lights danced upon his vision as transmissions from Veles echoed out of loud speakers located upon the corridor intersections. He swiftly rounded a corner, moving at a brisk jog to warm his muscles up. A thunderous roar that likened the sound of charging cavalry followed behind him. He was a heavy beast when within his suit. He found a solitary ladder that indicated the Engine Room. The Main Engineering was a four-storey high compartment.
When Veles said all non-essential, he really mean't all non-essential. The main engineering was packed with the grease monkeys, or in other terms, technicians and mechanics. They were essential in keeping the ship running, making sure there was little failure in the engines. That is exactly what Hasjo had come to do - to a certain degree. He raised the blaster and fired three shots, causing the crowd to run. They had been warned over the intercoms, and now took that warning seriously. Hasjo took the nearest ramp, taking himself up two levels. Gliding past platforms and monitoring stations. Even past the location of the hyperdrive. That was not his target. He found the retractable exhaust couplings that kept the ship with power. They were massive things not easily destroyed, lest you knew what you were doing. The problem with rogue Jedi on an enemy ship - they tended to cause trouble. Hasjo moved to the monitoring station and began booting the systems, fingers slapping against keys. By now the entire ship would be alerted to his whereabouts, but he had no other options. He knew the likelihood of his escape - miniscule. But he had to try. He was attempting to open the exhaust couplings, and only a few more keystrokes away he would achieve this. Just. A. Few. More . . . .
[member="Maya Whitelight"]
[member="Darth Veles"]
[member="Darth Shara"]
His eyes flexed. Light burst to life in his senses. He shot to his feet, his twin hearts racing. Metal clunked and large boots thudded. A probe droid floated before him, regarding him with it's sensory eye. He did not think that this droid was simultaneously placing a live video feed straight back to the command bridge. He gripped the E-11 blaster rifle and fired three shots into it's belly. Effectively disabling the machine. The metalloid turned to find the shaft was otherwise empty. The groan of elevators had been consistent, but otherwise it was safe - for now. He wanted so badly to go back to his dreaming, but he needed to save Maya, and her son. He felt rejuvenated. He had his time to hibernate and meditate, drawing in on himself. Empowering his senses, his body. He had been doing it ever since he was chained on that wall in the medical bay. He slapped the blaster to his weapons belt. He made his way to a metal grate. Hasjo treaded carefully, avoiding pipes and mechanism. Each step of his durasteel boots echoed loudly. He reached down, placing armoured fingers between the metal poles. Fingers curled around the metal, and he heaved. The grate protested, but not for long. A loud wrench-snap roared in the elevator shaft as he finally pulled the grate free. Below was a ladder, leading into the maintenance access ways. They were dark, long, thin corridors that stank of grease monkeys.
Often running parallel but behind main crew corridors, the maintenance accessways were dedicated halls and crawlways that provided dedicated access to maintenance and engineering-related systems. They were typically narrow passages that lead to the inner workings of the ship to provide access to areas not easily reached by conventional corridors or compartments. They are not normally fully illuminated like standard corridors until required. These areas also provided an alternate means of deck-to-deck access by means of interdeck ladders. Normally, crew could use an elevator or a staircase, but in the event a staircase could not be reached or power failure had disabled elevator usage, the maintenance accessways allowed the crew to climb or descend a retractable ladder to reach other decks of the ship. The labyrinthine system of maintenance accessways throughout the ship was as widespread as that of the standard crew corridors; perhaps even more so.
Hasjo Hallu dropped down the hole. This wasn't his first rodeo. The Field Marshall of the Sixth Battalion had been in a number of conflicts across the galaxy, large and small. From the war of Chaeronea, an all-out slaughter between the major factions of the Galaxy, to the Skirmishes on Cholganna, where he and his men held off a significantly larger force of New Order forces. Though the whole cloak and dagger had never been his thing. He was an upfront man, but without his weapons, he had to be smart about this. Flickering red lights danced upon his vision as transmissions from Veles echoed out of loud speakers located upon the corridor intersections. He swiftly rounded a corner, moving at a brisk jog to warm his muscles up. A thunderous roar that likened the sound of charging cavalry followed behind him. He was a heavy beast when within his suit. He found a solitary ladder that indicated the Engine Room. The Main Engineering was a four-storey high compartment.
When Veles said all non-essential, he really mean't all non-essential. The main engineering was packed with the grease monkeys, or in other terms, technicians and mechanics. They were essential in keeping the ship running, making sure there was little failure in the engines. That is exactly what Hasjo had come to do - to a certain degree. He raised the blaster and fired three shots, causing the crowd to run. They had been warned over the intercoms, and now took that warning seriously. Hasjo took the nearest ramp, taking himself up two levels. Gliding past platforms and monitoring stations. Even past the location of the hyperdrive. That was not his target. He found the retractable exhaust couplings that kept the ship with power. They were massive things not easily destroyed, lest you knew what you were doing. The problem with rogue Jedi on an enemy ship - they tended to cause trouble. Hasjo moved to the monitoring station and began booting the systems, fingers slapping against keys. By now the entire ship would be alerted to his whereabouts, but he had no other options. He knew the likelihood of his escape - miniscule. But he had to try. He was attempting to open the exhaust couplings, and only a few more keystrokes away he would achieve this. Just. A. Few. More . . . .
[member="Maya Whitelight"]
[member="Darth Veles"]
[member="Darth Shara"]
