That Cold Feeling...

[Gigdragon]

That cold feeling....that creeps up on the back of your neck. One. Joint. At. A. Time.

Death. That is what he'd come to call it in his head whenever he'd hear someone talk about it while he was eavesdropping. Though waiting for it to claim him as he was strapped down in the brig was making it a bit more terrifying then if he was free to try to fight it. Hell, he was only tied down because he tried his best to stop the ship. He wouldn't be on the ship if he'd escaped in time. Wouldn't have had to escape if he hadn't been put on this mission. Wouldn't have been put on the mission if he wasn't working for the White Talon.....well, that part he didn't regret as much.

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He'd worked for the White Talon mercenary crew for a little over two years. He loved his fellow grunts, even befriended his entire squad, especially Chummy. Well, Chummy just told them he used his 'jedi mind powers' to make him more like-able...though he really was just a good soul. The only unlikable ones were the 'owners'. They weren't our commanders, they were businessmen in it for the money. Their orders were final, but they usually left it broad enough that the actual squads, specifically the captains, had enough room to get the real ordering get done. His captain had his own nickname of course, "Red-tail". It was both a compliment and a tease because he'd earned it when he got smashed over the head with a droid arm by a jawa, which led to a streak of blood down the back middle of his head like a tail. While under the effects of that head injury, he repelled a tuskan-raider attack of at least 20 strong. Single-handed. Granted he was a mandalorian, but deeds outweigh title. The other members of the Red-Tail squad were Oni (of course), Willow, Blitz, Ghoul, and Half.​

​

They had clear roles for the average mission. Red-Tail: Leader. Willow: Healer. Blitz: Frontman. Ghoul: Recon/Stealth. Half: Boom. Oni: Support/Designated Marksman.​

That was just how the missions went. Blitz polished everyone up on melee so they could at least almost defend against him, and Oni was in charge of teaching everyone to shoot better. Things went smoothly for a long time. Then they lost a member. Chummy.

The day before a mission where they were being split among many other groups as a part of a company exercise of working well with other groups, Chummy felt a cold grip. He told Oni that it was an omen of danger, of the threat of death given to him by the Force. Of course, that couldn't be true because others had similar experiences. This of course, launched a lofty explanation of the Force that Oni regrets starting to this day. He explained that the force is in everything, everyone, but those like Jedi and Sith can shape the Force to their will. Chummy smiled at him then, and said he had fun. Goodbye.

Chummy didn't come back from that mission. Nobody did. That's why when he was told he'd be on this mission, without anyone else in his squad, he did his very best to get out of it with as many people as he could bring. Sure, he'd just finished his personal set of armor he'd been working on, his TEA-1, but he didn't think it would be enough to save him. Sure, he'd designed it after mandalorian armor, he'd even got an actual beskar chestpiece from Red-Tail. The armor was light, with moderate protection against blasters, sealing for space so his oxygen would last as long as he could hold his breath. It was a good set of armor, but it wouldn't stop a force of nature.

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"Hey guys, I get it. You can untie me now. I suppose I'll do my best to help out on this mission."

Instead of the clank of metal, instead he listened to the muffled laughter as they didn't unlock the brig door to free him. He'd just get to wait until they made landing, or if they were wary, they'd come get him after the mission. If they were alive to come back, or he was alive when they came back. The laughter died away after a moment longer, and they resumed idle chatter to pass the time. They wouldn't be in hyperspace too much longer, so everyone was being roused from their beds to prep for landing. They all knew the destination, Hoth. Winter survival gear was standard, and the ship could take it, especially in their landing zone.

The rest of the flight went exactly how he expected. They exited hyperspace on target, waited for confirmation from the outpost before starting entry, and then began descent. Of course, that was when things always went wrong. The pilot adjusted for the temperature, wind speed, wing frost, he just didn't adjust for the large chunk of ice slamming into the side of the craft and taking out 2/3 of the port wing. Oni might have been able to recover his bearing from the blow if he hadn't been tied down, instead the bow flipped and rolled, slamming him in a sandwich against the wall and ensuring everything went black.

​

 

[Gigdragon]

That cold feeling was back. Worse this time since it bit not just his neck but as an all encompassing gnaw at his flesh.

With the expected sluggish speed after being knocked out, his limbs slowly drew to center and gathered beneath him. Breaking into the fore-front of his hearing over the raw noise thrumming at his ears was the definitive scraping of his armor across the thick durasteel floors of the brig until his limbs rested beneath him. It felt like it took every once of strength he had just to push himself into a sitting position so he could assess the damage outside of his helmet. Speaking of which, there were hairline crackers scribbled across the right on his helmet, and the HUD on that side was out completely.

Looking around the room though, he fair well. His armor had quite a few scrapes in it now, and the helmet was dented slightly, but the bed he had been tied to was doing a ugly, sharp imitation of a pretzel, while the what Oni knew was one of the walls closest to the exterior ship was buckled a bit. It wasn't massive damage to that wall, but for the thick walls of the containment cell to be bent, the ship had been hit hard.

Equipment check was dismal. His zabrak vibroblade was in perfect condition of course since it was nestled in its sheath, but his blaster had been crushed beyond functioning, his datapad was smashed, and he was suddenly very glad he didn't bring any thermal dets. The rest of his gear was kept in his personal locker until landing, so he had to hope it survived. Frankly he was glad to be alive at all, standing was a bit more difficult as his senses started waking up. His armor was providing some temperature control, and the ship probably still was offering some as well, but he currently missed the cold for how much he was aching. Even if nothing was broken, there was definitely going to be some impact bruising where there wasn't plating, and while his strength was returning, so were the rest of his senses.

With those senses came the sounds. Under the howl of the blizzard outside, under the steady thrum of the emergency power buzz, was the sound of flesh tearing. That sound was accompanied by sounds of movement over the paneling, the sound of teeth gnawing at bone, and the sound of heavy breathing. He only knew of one predatory beast on Hoth, wampa. Oni unleashed in his mind as many curses as he'd ever heard before settling to the problem at hand. Out came the vibroblade, but he did not yet flick it on.

Click, clank. Click, clank.

As quietly as he could in his armor he moved over to the door of the brig. Of course that had survived the crash, but he was a little grateful. He might not have had a chance to wake up if it hadn't. This was the first obstacle, but he knew it wouldn't be the worst. Dropping into his favored melee stance with his left hand back, blade in hand and the right hand forward for blocking, grappling, and other free-arm movements he kicked the door to the brig once as he flicked on the blade with that threatening ominous hum as his reward. The other sounds greeting his ears were far less enjoyable. Like the stressed bolts giving way on the cell door so the bars that would've separated him from the wampa fell to the floor with a clang...and the resulting growl that felt like it shook his bones.

His hands started to shake as the dossier for what damage wampas were known to do replayed in his mind instead of a flashback of his life, which might have been more welcome. He heard the scrabbling of claws on metal and he took a hop-step back into the cell for better room. A black horn and a tuft of red and white fur was the sudden trigger for a sea of adrenaline as the wampas visage came into view. Two black horns from either side of its head. Massive head of white fur, patches soaked red with blood or stiff from frost outlined the black pits the monster had for eyes. A wide maw of jagged yellow teeth with bits of flesh poking out in between the spaces. It had about 2/3 a meter of height difference over Oni, was bulkier, and definitely stronger with vicious looking claws on its hands and feet.

Oni's hands weren't shaking as the wampa pressed in to the doorway of the cell and made a good attempt at a goring with its right arm as Oni stepped into attacking range. His hands weren't shaking when a well placed chop separated that paw and those claws right at the wrist from the beast. Nor did he shake as it tried to pull away, slowed and cramped by the limited space of movement as Oni set into it, thrusting repeatedly into the chest where he thought vitals organs might be. It blocked a stab sure, and a heavy paw dislocated his right hand, but the beast couldn't stand up to his assault, to bloodloss and stab wounds. His hands still didn't shake as it succumbed to injuries and went limp onto the crimson flooring and scattered snow. His hands had no reason to shake, because compared to an Acklay, a wampa wasn't terrifying at all.

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After cautiously investigating the rest of the ship, he was glad to find that he hadn't been the only one to survive the landing, but seemed to be the only one still in the ship who remained alive. Four members were missing, but based on the lines of frozen blood trails leading out the opened cargo hatch, they didn't walk out of their own free will. On the bright side, at least one of them had to have been alive to open the cargo hatch, which Oni shut to at least seal out the cold some. Still, the fact that the door hadn't been closed meant his wampa companion hadn't given them time to shut it.

He'd tidied up as best he could inside. Thrown out the leftovers of the wampa he'd skinned, of the crewmates who'd been getting chewed on, thrown out the useless scrap. This ship wasn't going to be flying anywhere again, he was good with repairs...but the spare parts had been pretty trashed as well. He was able to restore power, but since the cockpit seemed to be in the worst shape considering he couldn't open the door and it was the part buried into ice-cliff it probably wasn't holding anything important. It might be the location of some of the missing crew though. As far as equipment goes, he had managed to scrounge up a DH-17, a DC-17 weapon system, a thermal det, a flamethrower pack, and of course tons of power cells. Of course, it helped that he was able to power on the electric range so he could cook the wampa meat he supposed was edible, melt some snow, and of course warm himself up.

There were rations, some water skins, survival gear for Hoth. Stuff that should be all you need....in good conditions. These were not good conditions. These were not okay, livable, poor, or even bad conditions. His conditions were dire if he was going to survive. He had food, yes. Heat, some. Water could be made when needed. Hoth was cold though. No person was ready to brave Hoth alone. After checking how far he was from the outpost, it would be weeks before he arrived there on foot. It would take him about that long to run out of supplies and die.

He had to do something. So, he decided he'd start his logs. He'd always been told that logs were a way of reminding yourself what needed to be done while filling time........and for identifying what led to your demise if they are ever found. So, he started the log program in his helmet.

"Oni-Karat Sevas personal log entry one. Age is twenty-four. Current location is Hoth, a few miles from the equator. Current status is...."

His voice broke off as if running away from the words that came next. The heavy reality of everything that happened came crashing in from the floodgates of suppression and necessity. He alone had survived a fatal crash on Hoth, and had to immediately defend himself against a wampa. He felt the gripping void of thought that his death knoll that had sounded before he left for the mission had been passed onto these men by his actions, and may still await him in the endless cold of Hoth. He could rely on no one else, or expect any rescue crews. He couldn't call someone for help or rely on someone more seasoned for the wilderness. His own weight became too much for him as he sunk to his knees with a heavy thud, hands fumbled at the seam to his helmet as it was suddenly too tight, he needed more air and the helmet was blinding him. His vision swam as his bumbling fingers managed to free his head of the helm and he gasped the frigid air in as his cheeks were nipped at by the cold, fed by the lines of tears trickling down his reptillian face. With a sob he managed...

"Status....alone....end log.."
​

 

[Gigdragon]

Sleep came far easier than the uphill battle he'd imagined. In fact, when he settled onto one of the cots, he expected to spend the next few hours staring at the ceiling. Instead, he awoke to the smooth metal forming his current roof. His sleep couldn't have been restful, however, since sitting up had the difficulty of being dressed in lead. With a disheartening effort, he heaved his legs aside and off the cot to put him in a proper sitting position. His thoughts dulled as indecision of how he should approach the day was replaced by mechanical routine. He'd start this day like any other.

First he stretched out, keeping with his flexibility exercise to maintain his range of mobility. Next came cardio workout, then he used some of the heavier debris for muscle tone, then mock-fighting the air.

His uniform motions carried him forward for some more of the wampa meat. Rations would be saved for when he left. He hydrated, checked his armor and assembled weaponry, and then geared up. His trained responses ended as he stood above the departure hatch, the weight of the armor and weaponry he bore weighed down on him again, the cold winds resumed making the outward damage grind against itself. He couldn't.

After all his preparation, he turned from the ramp as his predicament re-asserted itself in his mind. Hoth is cold. He'd lapsed on such an obvious fact with the ship keeping him warm, but he had the solution. After cannibalizing some winter gear, he added the wampa pelt to it, and retro-fitted it over his armor. It would be more effective under the armor, but then he couldn't wear his armor....and he wasn't about to do that.

Once again, he stood at the top of the ramp, but now the weight was gone, now the guilt of his survival was gone. There was a new sense...a new feeling in his body. Adventure. He could succumb to the cold and die, but he was not about to do so in this ship. It wasn't his ship, and there was already going to be more than enough ghosts on this thing. Taking another small detour, he powered down the ship to conserve fuel, leaving only the rescue beacon on. It would last for years before it would go out, but probably be buried by snow long before then. Next he kicked the release pad and the hatch opened, snow trickling in through the open hatch.

And he left the ship.

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It was a few hours before he first spotted his pursuer, but dismissed it since it was much too human looking to be anything else. Instead of braving the snow and open land, he'd decided to stick close to the cliff the ship had smashed into, and things had been going well. He was cold, bitterly so, but he didn't feel like he was freezing to death, just a little nippy. His main problem was the person following him, every few feet of trudging through the waist-deep snow he'd look back to find them there. They were wearing some kind of flowing robes that couldn't be warm, which is what kept him from approaching the stalker. If it could survive in some ratty robes, it wasn't human.

Well, apparently it was. After a solid half of hour of ignoring it, he looked back to find it a few paces behind him. It was human, but they had no arms. He hadn't realized it from the distance, but the sleeves of the robe just hung there, empty at its sides. Propelled some by fear, he'd sped up considerably, only to look back and find the man reaching out to him...with one of those empty sleeves. His blood burned hot as he kicked away with his legs, propelling himself from the man. His hand went to his blaster so quick he'd fired four shots in the time it took for him to yell "Stay away!"

Confusion was his main emotion when he rose from his improv angel. His shots had been accurate, he'd watched two of the shots go through the chest, one through the head, the other into the outstretched...sleeve....and the man just disappeared. Even as he shook the frost from him like a dog, he rose to only one set of footprints from whence he came. That robe would have made some impression in the fresh powder, but there was none.

Instead, there was a monstrous howl beating against the ice walls around him, no doubt drawn to blaster-fire. Out came the data-pad to check his location, it wasn't a complex map with live feed. It just simply told him where he was in relation to the ship where he'd started, and the outpost that was his goal. He tucked away the datapad and gave a look around, before resuming his trudge through the snow, hugging the cliff.

When he found a cave, out came the vibro-blade once more. He trusted himself more with a blaster, but it wouldn't help as much in close range. He flicked on the switch so the crunch of ice under his boots was complemented by the the rhythmic hum of the blade. The cave was simple, and looked naturally occurring, some smooth surfaces, and some jagged from erosion and shifting ice. The cave came to a jagged end of icicles, and there did Oni sit to chew on rations.

Of course, as soon as he pulled off his helmet, it felt like his face had been coated in ice. It hurt to blink, and his face felt like it was going numb. Great, not only was he being pursued by a phantom, his face was going to fall off. To counteract this, Oni stuffed his mouth full of as much of the de-hydrated food as he could, then put his helmet back on. Chewing as warmth slowly filtered back into his face. Not much warmth, but at least it didn't feel like he had traded his helmet in for one made of ice. He chewed grumpily on his food, and after swallowing that mouthful, just resigned himself to going hungry for as long as possible. Once more he rose to his feet, the traction on the edges of his boots keeping him with okay footing on the ice flooring as he made his way for the entrance.

Once there, his vibroblade found itself humming ominously in his palm once more. Oni's stance careful as he backpedaled one foot at a time. This wampa was different from the other. He saw now that the first one must've been old. This one was younger, healthier, stronger, smarter. It didn't charge at him, but moved slowly towards him....this was going to hurt.

 

[Gigdragon]

He barely saw the first blow coming. His mentality was still trying to use the last fight as some gauge for how this one is supposed to go. It left him almost completely unprepared for the low arcing swipe. He had to twist his body unnaturally to move out of the way and keep his footing. The onslaught began with the same lack of circumstance. He couldn't move his blade fast enough to catch the beast and dodge.

It came with the slip of his left boot on fragile ice that cracked into pieces under his forward move. It kept him from being smashed into the floor by the countering movement of the wumpa, but his next step wasn't fast enough. Sure, the metal protected him from the sharpness of those claws, but it did nothing for the force that sent him skidding from the actual blow. A carelessly merciless pressing of the wumpa scored a clean, bloody streak up the left arm as his vibroblade bore into it...before the force of this thing's body sent him sprawling and sliding, the mirror-like glass throwing all manner of bearing out the window.

His senses were thrown into further disarray by the beasts roar as it's paws easily matched the ice and it tackled into him, trying to tear his head off. This was where he was glad for that locking mechanism to keep it secure under pressure....he was feeling the pressure from this beast. Being jerked around threw his aim, and his fist thudded ineffectively into the beast's ribs..there was supposed to be a blade in that hand.

The cave went white as he was somewhat aware the the wumpa had slammed it's fists on his helmet, the visor cracking. The sudden rush of cold was likely the only reason he stayed conscious at all. Something more than his helmet broke as he lay stunned, the wumpa wrenching at his helmet again before slamming onto his chest. He didn't feel it. He didn't feel any of the blows as he tried to make himself move.

Where the strength came from, he had no clue. His body surged up as the beast's claws found purchase under his chest-plate and found flesh to encourage blood from, his battered helmet slammed into the monster's face, and then again. It threw him and he knew he'd hit the wall. He charged back in and jumped onto the thing. Beating uselessly into it's chest before it threw him once more. Still, he felt nothing, gripped more by madness than tactics, but something had disturbed the ice-hunter.

The reptillian features under the mask were grim as he dove in again, only to be slapped away. It had enough of this surprisingly sturdy meal and lumbered in for the kill. It's sweeping hand thudded into the wall behind Onik as he dove in again, finally finding his mark in the other arm of the beast. Stabbing at it viciously as it was the closest thing to him. As it tried to pull back, he pushed off the wall he was against and tackled....recklessly stabbing and slicing as he was pushed away, pummeled by the lumps of flesh.

He had no idea when it had died, or when he stopped mutilating it. He only came to his senses as he slashed at the robed figure that had stood next to him.

There was a....warmth that passed through him as the blade found no purchase...and he was gone again.