Hestan Kantrael
Member
[member="Lahi Te'ala"] [member="Quinncolson"]
Hestan carefully avoided unholstering his blaster to shoot Quinn right in the noose-groove: it was not a thing for a professional, to have a dead Jedi on their conscience. Besides, it was not a thing Hestan found enjoyable doing.
Sarcasm, that was one thing he surely found enjoyable doing, and yet he refrained from that too: it was out of place in that moment. They all had a big, presumably empty asteroid to take care of, so he limited himself to raise a brow and shoot a fiery "I already knew that and you read it the wrong way" glance to the other human and moved on to the more pressing matters at hand.
The gravest of which, perhaps, was the horrible feeling both him and the Diathim Jedi had; now, on his gut-feelings he could count only for bragging rights, as they only were the sum of his experiences times his logical intuition, but if a Force Sensitive had a sensation of theirs it was dead sure there was something afoot there. Hookey religion or not, they had a nose for those things, it was a historical fact.
No grav or atmo... that's a bad sign. Usually, when you leave a station like these because you have done your business there, you strip the whole thing down and recycle the components, you don't leave 'em there like pretty statues. As a plus, if I were to attack a place like that, grav and atmo are the pieces I'd go first for: whoever doesn't have both breathing gear and pressurized suits is insta-dead. That weeds out the organics, but leaves property intact: awesome move if you're there to loot the place silly.
Which looked the only way possible things had gone, to him.
Hestan slowed down the engines, resorting to a slow but purposeful glide through cosmic winds to get the most out of his vessel's responsiveness as the gaping maw of the asteroid loomed in greater and greater, until it showed the fanged macro-slit of an hangar. It was completely empty, but its floor and walls were littered with tech-rubbish, scorch-marks and dark stains almost all over the place. Some crates floated weirdly around, kept aloft by the lack of artificial gravity and a couple had spilled their content of spare parts in a still slowly-churning shower of bits and bobs. It was all too evident that their side that faced the door leading inside the facility was literally covered in other scorch-marks.
As the Long Run graciously landed among the sea of wreckage, Hestan bolted into the rear section of the ship to grab a trio of small datapads with a belt hook and two void suits.
He had a somewhat weird speech to give, but to him it was of the utmost importance in those times and parts of the Galaxy.
All right, here comes the funny part. I assume we all come from different factions, meaning we owe allegiance to different people, right? If yes, that's wonderful: this station needs to be mapped and pointed on the main starcharts. Well... they not exactly work that way, but, hey,, I have no time to delve deep into the bowels of astro-cartography.
Although he was pretty sure that Lahi would have loved it as much as he did when he was explained the whole thing, he simply did not have the bloody time.
So, that's what we should do: each of you takes one of these lil' fellows and straps it to her belt. What they do is, basically, emitting a signal along with its coordinates that will be received by the Run's system and then pieced together into some sort of wire-map of the areas you will visit. It will track your steps, so to speak, but won't pick anything of the places you'll be into.
If we have to split, you'll keep in mind whatever details and stuff you'll find and then, when back here, we'll put everything together and file a report.
That's what he did for a living, in a nutshell. Charting places and crafting stuff. Not as much rad as the average person might expect, but still rad enough to have a corps devoted to it, the Frontier fellows of the SSC. Perhaps he should have joined them: he had heard they allowed almost 100% freedom of movement and so on.
Whatever you do with that report is your choice, but still remember that your government's astrographic organization or even intelligence agency might find it useful. I will deal with the SSC, here, since I'm not obliged to any faction and they're the closest.
All right, let's see what the bloody Core happened here.
He donned his helmet, clasped the security seals and then put on the void suit, mainly to seal it against hard vacuum and extend his armor's supply of oxygen, before waiting for Quinn to do the same and open the entrance hatch. He had the impression Lahi would not have needed a suit of her own, as to her weird "phasing" skill, but still handed her an earpiece with a comm unit inside.
Hestan jumped into the hangar, feeling the familiar sensation of weightlessness that gently tugged at his spine as he descended and swam in the gravity-less environment to the small door's controls to find them surprisingly intact.
He could not use his "skill" in the Force as the suit's gloves hampered his still untrained sensitivity, and that was a problem, but one thing he could easily notice. The scorch-marks on the crates were only on one side, that facing the door, and both them and those on the walls were too circular in shape not to be artificial.
There has been a shoot-out here, blaster marks everywhere... those on the walls seem deeper and more stacked than the ones on the crates. The attackers had more powerful weapons and were better marksmen, I guess.
I don't think we'll find surviving organics. Perhaps droid. Do you sense anything?
Hestan carefully avoided unholstering his blaster to shoot Quinn right in the noose-groove: it was not a thing for a professional, to have a dead Jedi on their conscience. Besides, it was not a thing Hestan found enjoyable doing.
Sarcasm, that was one thing he surely found enjoyable doing, and yet he refrained from that too: it was out of place in that moment. They all had a big, presumably empty asteroid to take care of, so he limited himself to raise a brow and shoot a fiery "I already knew that and you read it the wrong way" glance to the other human and moved on to the more pressing matters at hand.
The gravest of which, perhaps, was the horrible feeling both him and the Diathim Jedi had; now, on his gut-feelings he could count only for bragging rights, as they only were the sum of his experiences times his logical intuition, but if a Force Sensitive had a sensation of theirs it was dead sure there was something afoot there. Hookey religion or not, they had a nose for those things, it was a historical fact.
No grav or atmo... that's a bad sign. Usually, when you leave a station like these because you have done your business there, you strip the whole thing down and recycle the components, you don't leave 'em there like pretty statues. As a plus, if I were to attack a place like that, grav and atmo are the pieces I'd go first for: whoever doesn't have both breathing gear and pressurized suits is insta-dead. That weeds out the organics, but leaves property intact: awesome move if you're there to loot the place silly.
Which looked the only way possible things had gone, to him.
Hestan slowed down the engines, resorting to a slow but purposeful glide through cosmic winds to get the most out of his vessel's responsiveness as the gaping maw of the asteroid loomed in greater and greater, until it showed the fanged macro-slit of an hangar. It was completely empty, but its floor and walls were littered with tech-rubbish, scorch-marks and dark stains almost all over the place. Some crates floated weirdly around, kept aloft by the lack of artificial gravity and a couple had spilled their content of spare parts in a still slowly-churning shower of bits and bobs. It was all too evident that their side that faced the door leading inside the facility was literally covered in other scorch-marks.
As the Long Run graciously landed among the sea of wreckage, Hestan bolted into the rear section of the ship to grab a trio of small datapads with a belt hook and two void suits.
He had a somewhat weird speech to give, but to him it was of the utmost importance in those times and parts of the Galaxy.
All right, here comes the funny part. I assume we all come from different factions, meaning we owe allegiance to different people, right? If yes, that's wonderful: this station needs to be mapped and pointed on the main starcharts. Well... they not exactly work that way, but, hey,, I have no time to delve deep into the bowels of astro-cartography.
Although he was pretty sure that Lahi would have loved it as much as he did when he was explained the whole thing, he simply did not have the bloody time.
So, that's what we should do: each of you takes one of these lil' fellows and straps it to her belt. What they do is, basically, emitting a signal along with its coordinates that will be received by the Run's system and then pieced together into some sort of wire-map of the areas you will visit. It will track your steps, so to speak, but won't pick anything of the places you'll be into.
If we have to split, you'll keep in mind whatever details and stuff you'll find and then, when back here, we'll put everything together and file a report.
That's what he did for a living, in a nutshell. Charting places and crafting stuff. Not as much rad as the average person might expect, but still rad enough to have a corps devoted to it, the Frontier fellows of the SSC. Perhaps he should have joined them: he had heard they allowed almost 100% freedom of movement and so on.
Whatever you do with that report is your choice, but still remember that your government's astrographic organization or even intelligence agency might find it useful. I will deal with the SSC, here, since I'm not obliged to any faction and they're the closest.
All right, let's see what the bloody Core happened here.
He donned his helmet, clasped the security seals and then put on the void suit, mainly to seal it against hard vacuum and extend his armor's supply of oxygen, before waiting for Quinn to do the same and open the entrance hatch. He had the impression Lahi would not have needed a suit of her own, as to her weird "phasing" skill, but still handed her an earpiece with a comm unit inside.
Hestan jumped into the hangar, feeling the familiar sensation of weightlessness that gently tugged at his spine as he descended and swam in the gravity-less environment to the small door's controls to find them surprisingly intact.
He could not use his "skill" in the Force as the suit's gloves hampered his still untrained sensitivity, and that was a problem, but one thing he could easily notice. The scorch-marks on the crates were only on one side, that facing the door, and both them and those on the walls were too circular in shape not to be artificial.
There has been a shoot-out here, blaster marks everywhere... those on the walls seem deeper and more stacked than the ones on the crates. The attackers had more powerful weapons and were better marksmen, I guess.
I don't think we'll find surviving organics. Perhaps droid. Do you sense anything?
If you both concentrate into the Force, you find that the pall of dark emotions is thicker than ever but with a mighty effort of concentration you both manage to pierce it and glimpse flashes of red, blurry figures, more flying robes the shape of a man than actual people, hunched behind the crates sending flashes of bright red light to other, equally blurred, figures of no better recognizable colors that answered with blue and green bolts of light in wide sweeping cones.
You do not sense, though, other living "beacons" in the flowing Force.
The presence of the other Jedi helps you concentrate
