Public The Great Imperial Shooting Competition [open to shooters and spectators]

[Konrad Harrsk]

Avilatan, Ord Mantell

Down in the valley spectators of all kinds shuffled and chattered as they prepared to watch the shooting competition. The shooting range was at about 100 yards in length and at its end, black holograms with white markings hovered, propped against sacks to register the shots. Imperial banners hung high on poles and stormtroopers casually patrolled the area.

Today, after five shots, someone was taking home 20,000 Underworld credits.

OOC rules:

1. Send 200 UCs participation fee to Gat Tambor
2. Five targets, five posts.
3. Roll a d20 for each of your five shots, screencap the result in your post. The higher the roll, the better the shot. Write it however you want.
4. The highest score at the end out of 100 possible points wins the race.
5. Enjoy the big reveal at the end.

Big inspo from Jend-Ro Quill 's fun dice-based threads (Quill, 2021).​

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

A beggar's change, Konrad thought, rolling his eyes at the flashing 20k projection in the sky.

He only signed up to show these fools who the greatest marksman in the galaxy was. And if you don't know - it's him. Of course. Who else?

The bell was hit and shots rang across the field. He held his breath, narrowed his aim and pulled the trigger.

Shot went astray.

"Huh?..." he turned red, "Cl-cl-clearly this rifle is rigged! I will not make a fool out of myself in front of this rabble. Sancho! Bring me another gun."

 

[Jerec Asyr]

"Ah gorRAMMIT."

Jerec holstered his gun and cracked his long fingers, trying to loosen up a bit before the next shot. He shuffled his huge feet in search of a better body alignment, a better shooting stance. He rolled his neck, which is kind of a process when you're Ithorian.

The presence of stormtroopers was clearly the deciding factor that had thrown him off. That shot had sucked.

The next would not. No indeed.

He drew the blaster again and started lining up his shot...

 

[Cord###]

Shoot! [1d20]=14

Cord walked into his lane, inspected the provided hardware and selected his blaster. He looked it over once, and again, then put it on the table. Pulling out a cigar he put it to his lips and lit it. With a puff of smoke Cord picked up the blaster, looking down the iron sights at the holographic target in front of him and fired.

It landed in a strong position, just left of where the heart would be on a traditional near-human. Not worth the points of a headshot, but not enough to put Cord out either. He put down the blaster and took another puff of smoke, before exhaling a ring towards a nearby "No-Smoking" sign.

 

[Beltran Rarr]

First Shot:

[1d20]=6

Beltran looked down at his hand-cannon and sighed. "Focus, man." He muttered to himself.

 

[Lao Pak]

Lao Pak didn't like violence. That's what the YVH was for. But Lao Pak DID like CREDITS.

"Hold this," he said, pilling his luxuriously plush nexu lined coat into the waiting arms of his droid partner. The puffy coat was far too bulky to shoot in and he didn't want to get ozone on it. That smell was so hard to wash out.

"Lao Pak got this in the bag." He licked his lips, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. And sneezed. The bolt wasn't even close.

"That not how this supposed to go." But his turn was over. He had to move aside for others.

 

[Trajan Fett]

Twenty thousand credits. Volker previously expected a tall line of contracts aligned with the Enclave in what was brewing to be a war with their once masters...however, one of the adversaries seemed to tap out and thus- before eventually pursuing his lust for blood in the Second Hyperspace War once more- Fett would seek to make the easiest twenty bands of his life.

He set his helmet off to the side, confident someone would badger at him to take it off even if he swore he'd disabled the heads up display within. Down to the balaclava of fireproof material beneath, Volker aimred down the sights of his carbine, his ever-trusty dealer of death and slowly pulled the trigger.

The bolt made purchase on the target, hitting pay dirt on one of the inner rings- but still not a bullseye.

He leaned the stock of the carbine against his hip as he looked to his work.

"A good start." Still four more to go.

Not time to get cocky...yet.

 

[Djorn Bline]

In Scout Trooper armor with a blaster rifle in hands he stood meters away from his target. Looking like another Imperial marksman, wanting to veil his face to the public as this event was not only just open to Imperial citizens and soldiers.

He sneered when Konrad Harrsk shot and missed his mark. An embarrassment for the lad.

“At least I won’t have to worry about you from a distance, Harrsk.”

Elevating the rifle to where the scope was aligned with his eyes, stock resting on his shoulders. Breathe in; breathe out.

Breathe in.

Fingers pulled the trigger and ozone rose up from the shot of the blaster.

“Not bad.”

Though he could’ve done better.

Spoiler

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

ooc: every 24-30 hours from this post im gonna be starting the new round. it's a one liner post so i think the time in between is chill enough.

"Hmph. Believe me, Bline, if I wanted to end you - it was always going to be personal." he tilted his chin up as Sancho gave him a new rifle.

Lining up his next shot, Konrad pulled the trigger once more.

"Referee, it misfired!" he lied, the shot was somewhere over the hills and far away.

"Denied."

"Why you, crooked-nosed knave--"

"Master Harrsk, please. The issue is clearly with the gun, I will find you a new one."

"With haste Sancho, or you will be lined up on the range next."

RACER	FIRST ROUND	SECOND ROUND	THIRD ROUND	FOURTH ROUND	FIFTH ROUND	TOTAL
Konrad Harrsk	4	3
Jerec Asyr	8
Cord###	14
Beltran Rarr	6
Lao Pak	5
Trajan Fett	16
Djorn Bline	12

 

[Cord###]

Shoot! [1d20]=1

Cord took another puff of the cigar, lowered the pistol, and fired. The tibanna gas was heated, but the sound of pressure escaping the blaster was audible. Something was wrong. Gas fired out of the blaster but veered left and down, hitting the ground. It wasn't a full blaster bolt, half of the bolt had fired backward. The blaster exploded and shrapnel flew about his lane. Other shooters were shielded from his firing lane, but Cord was hit in the chest with little screws and straps of durasteel from the blaster. His hand smoldered. Cord grit his teeth and let out a scream of pain. It didn't take long for an imperial official to walk into his lane behind him.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to put out your cigar. We have a strict no smoking policy on range."

 

[Beltran Rarr]

Second Round:

Beltran took a moment to collect himself before returning to the firing line. He lined up his shot, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Finally, just as the last of his breath escaped his lips, he fired.

[1d20]=18

Beltran wasn't a man who generally showed his emotions, so his face remained relatively impassive, though the glint in his green eyes showed satisfaction.

"Better, Rarr," He murmured to himself. "Better."

 

[Jerec Asyr]

"Shavvit all to a sideways feth."

Jerec glared daggers at the nearest troopers, whose presence continued to throw him off. In his heart of hearts, though, he could almost admit the truth.

Shooting was a perishable skill. Jerec spent far too much time selling rusty ships, procuring salable items, finessing backroom arrangements, tweaking the noses of the more fortunate, singing anti-Jedi propaganda songs of his own composition in shadowports, failing to live up to his dead teacher's legacy, and chasing panxenosexual tail to be much of a gunslinger.

 

[Trajan Fett]

There was little time spared for adjustment when Volker took up his carbine again, aiming down the sights, leaning into his grip of the rifle, squeezing it comfortably in his hands before he fired off another shot with a precise and carefully squeezed pull of the trigger, sending the blaster bolt down range.

Once more, it hit paydirt in one of the zones closer to the bullseye, but still no cigar- even still, it was only about up and left from his previous shot by an inch and a half or so.

Not improvement, but not a bad shake regardless, Volker nodded once.

Unto the next one.

 

[Djorn Bline]

“I sure hope your knife play is better than your shooting…for your own sake,” he retorted back to Konrad Harrsk . Another smug look behind his helmet when the Shadow missed his mark yet again.

“You’re better off writing angry letters than fighting battles.”

Raising his rifle yet again, aiming through the scope. Confident after his first shot and the embarrassing display of Harrsk’s performance.

A shot rung from his rifle and…

“Dammit.”

…barely missing the target, hitting the far edges of the target. Disappointing.

“Can’t win them all.”

Spoiler

 

[Lao Pak]

Another trigger pull, another dissapointment. At least he could say he was consistent.

"Something wrong with this blaster. L9! Get Lao Pak new one!"

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

THIRD ROUND​

Right in the chest.

"I was just giving you an advantage, Blind." he scoffed, an air of arrogance filling his nostrils. "Surely you have understood by now that without a handicap - you stand no chance."

A glance at the rest of these fools around him, "The same goes for the rest of you, serfs."

SHOOTER	FIRST ROUND	SECOND ROUND	THIRD ROUND	FOURTH ROUND	FIFTH ROUND	TOTAL
Konrad Harrsk	4	3	18
Jerec Asyr	8	6
Cord###	14	1
Beltran Rarr	6	18
Lao Pak	5	5
Trajan Fett	16	14
Djorn Bline	12	7

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Konrad Harrsk got a sour look normally reserved for customs inspectors with their backs turned.

"Watch your mouth, patunka," Jerec spat out of four separate throats. "Some of us are trying to shoot here. Ain't like that last shot of yours was anything but pure luck, ya stanked-up casual."

 

[Hazel T'hess]

It was an event for the greatest marksman in the galaxy…right…great. The petite, five foot two woman squared up to the mark, taking a deep breath as she held up the rifle not suited for her at all. "Alright…so…fuck Vlad for daring me..., bastard.....arrgh. Whatever." She huffed and puffed and lifted her mentor's Angry Owl against the stand, propping its legs on either side. Aiming down sights she pulled the trigger, releasing her first shot.

"HO'FUCK!"

The power and sound sent her backward, but…to anyones disbelief…it was a hit? She actually hit the target and not herself or one of the troopers patrolling along the range. [11]

Hazel dusted off her pants and brushed the grime from her shoulder. She felt the impact of its heel slam into the bone. "Ow ow ow oww…ok…ow…" she whined, looking around her at all the much taller, hardened marksmen. Shrugging her shoulders she went for another, slightly worse then the last...but this was to be expected. [8]

Once more, she sent her last shot soaring, another hit…what in the? [16] And this time around she was closer to the bullseye than her previous attempts. She did a little dance, holding up her middle fingers at the target. "Fuck you Doc for sayin' I suck at shooting! Ha!" Perhaps this was not the event for the hot headed field medic. YIKES.

Spoiler

 

[Cord###]

Shoot! [1d20]=4


The stormtrooper quickly realized there had been a malfunction in Cord's weapon.

"Medical to Lane 12. Repeat, Medical to Lane 12." The stormtrooper called over his commlink. "Sir, we'll have to pull you out-"

"No!" Cord screamed at the stormtrooper. Cord might not have been a sithy sith, as in sacrifice a planet to fuel ghost powers, but he was sith enough not to admit defeat. Certainly not in front a storm trooper.

"Another blaster. Your sidearm?" Cord asked. The stormtrooper looked at him moment, then pulled out his sidearm and gave it to Cord. Cord put the weapon in his offhand, leveled it at the target, and fired. It went maybe centimeters off the target's left shoulder. Not good for much, but better than his last shot.

 

[Trajan Fett]

Another shot rung out from the Mandalorian's carbine. Dead on, center mass- damn near text book shot. But still, not perfect. Regardless, he peered down the firing line and while he might not've had the best third round- the skill showed for itself.

Malfunctions and excuses aside- he was comfortable in feeling out that he was going to take the crown of best shot on the day.