Train Kept A-Rollin' (Galactic Alliance Dominion of Vandelhelm)

[Aeron Kreelan]

Objective : C
Post : 3/20
Allies : [member="Judah Dashiell"]


Judah Dashiell?

It was kinda funny, but honestly you couldn't blame the Icarii. She might be Prex ,but Aeron was well used to being out in the field than in the boardroom. And while she ran Omega Pyre, she wasn't like Cira who would be in the know of everyone. That isn't to say that the farmboy turned rich CEO in grunge gear name didn't sound familiar. It did.

She just couldn't put her finger in it.

It was curious how they were both basically in the same position. Not quite familiar with who the other was but there was a nagging flare in the rear of the mind. At the question of her own identity, the two toned umber and blonde haired woman would give a twitch of her lips. Both arms came crossing under her breasts, and she widened her stance.

"Aeron Kreelan," she told the man, "Omega Pyre Prex."

That held some sort of weight at least, in regards to the Private Military Company that used to contract out all throughout Protectorate Territory. "I point and shoot at things." it was a snarky reply, but laced with humor. Her eyes would drift back to the viewport. It was time to get to the shuttle.

"Contracts and pay the bills." her attention would pan back to Judah, "You part of the Alliance? Wasn't sure who was going to the shingdig and do the bulk of the talking."

 

[Kaile Vera]

Objective D
Arceneau Trade Station
Orbiting Vandelhelm
4/20

There was an avid and hungry look to the strawberry blonde's gaze. A searching, a craving that could not be denied! Kurt had dropped her off while he went to go make a delivery, and there was one thing the pig-tailed woman was bound to get this stop -- and nothing in the 'verse was gonna stop her from doing so!

Frozen. Burritos.

Arceneau Trade Stations filled just about every want and need. Heavily defended, they were pillars of economic growth and trade throughout the hyperlanes. Here you could get food, rest at the hostel, fuel, even find a bit of entertainment or two. This go around, Kaile was fixing to sate a craving she'd had since they left port out on Ord Mirit.

The place was hella busy, and to be truthful, the only action Kaile figured she'd see was the frozen burritos. Maybe if she got lucky, a basket of strawberries or so. Go figure that the Final Order would decide to be karking kathounds and ruin her quest for frozen nuna and beans delight! Ugh.

Klaxons would blare warnings, but for the most part, folk knew things should be okay. Well .. ought to be. These Trade stations were some of the most heavily defended. Arceneau didn't play games when it came to defending what was hers.

"Plumb dangit!" A huff as patrons would scurry off to their ships. "Now what are we gonna do Bobo?"

The minature Ysalamiri on her shoulder would only blink his black, beady eyes.

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Post: 7/20
Tags: [member="Ijaat Akun"], [member="Chevu Visz"], [member="Nikola Ticon"]
Objective: Ground

The first thing he was thinking of was that he needed cover. The second was that he needed to get Ijaat focused again. That was a new suit… That was just… He had no idea. Coren needed to get the Tiburons organized again and pull Ijaat back into a mindset to work in a group. When the High Plains Mando ran off, Coren was left with not much to go on. He shook his head. Job of a Commander was never done.

What he needed was [member="Spark Finn"] to be around. Girl had a barrier that was second to none. But right now? The bit of duraplast wall he found was going to have to do him. Another deep breath and a peak over the wall, long enough to get the attention of the sniper. The Force turned inward as the shot came to him. Taking it, the energy was sucked in, the heat and concussive force of the blast still hit him.

Gaining both feet, he looked up at the sniper, focus in his eyes. Another blast, and a third, and Coren grinned. The next second there was a snap-whoosh as the Commander was no longer where he was. The next frame?

That had him, back to the sniper, on the building.

 

[Veino Garn]

Decapitate the Snake
3/20

Veino nodded as [member="Coren Starchaser"] spoke and he headed off down a side street, ducking against the wall as the sniper fire opened up. He was tempted to stay and use some ballistikinesis to take care of them, but the rest were all competent enough to handle them. He hid his presence in the Force so as to not get noticed by any Sith seeking out Jedi. Then he pulled a cloak from his pack and draped it over his shoulders, obscuring most of his armor. Hood up as much as it would go around his helmet and he drifted through the street, pausing to duck into the sewer system again. He needed to get past the frontlines undetected before he could climb up onto the transit line to go the rest of the way.

He grimaced again as he splashed down into raw sewage. This was a used pipe, unlike the Coruscant ones that were mostly abandoned. But on the plus side, it didn't smell as bad since there was more water to dilute everything. He strode on, cloak trailing in the muck and stuff floating around his legs. This would be a cloak he'd be abandoning once he got to the line. No need to obvious by smelling like waste. He traveled on, listening to the sounds of battle above him before checking rechecking his location. Good enough for now. There was a station close enough at this point.

He climbed up a ladder and pushed against the grate, pausing to stretch out with the Force. There were people up there, but no imminent sense of danger or the Dark Side. He pushed the grate up and peered out. A huddle of civilians froze when they saw his horned helmet rise from beneath the street. He looked around. All clear for the moment.

"Get underground!" He hissed at them and they bolted into a nearby building. Close enough, unless something brought it crashing down. He heaved himself out and headed for the station. Hopefully it would be abandoned.

 

[Djorn Bline]

Objective: A
Location: Somewhere in the City
Allies: [member="Coren Starchaser"] [member="Ijaat Akun"] [member="Karen Roberts"] and others that I missed.
Post: [1/20]

It was hard to describe that feeling when fighting a faction or government that someone had served in. Were there any private, traitorous thoughts in the head of Canal? Maybe, but the Protectorate was nothing but ashes leaving it open for any faction in the Galaxy come and take what they didn't build. It was best for those who didn't have the mind of a Sith Lord or a greedy Capitalist expand their influence over strategic planets. There were a few triple A worlds already taken by the likes of the Techno Union and the One Sith such as Naboo and Eriadu. Back when he was serving the Protectorate he was briefed of all the Protectorate worlds, but mostly memorized all of the triple A systems and a few double A worlds. Masses of soldiers would defend these planets from the likes from anyone, but now he didn't know the status of the structure of the military. Perhaps each world became independent on its own and paid the soldiers comprising of the once Protectorate soldiers to defend their society from the threats of the Galaxy.

All he knew was that he didn't care of what happened during the post-events of the Omega Protectorate, and he had a job to do. Just recently he renounced his position as the Chief of Security for the Techno Union, an organization he had a wild distaste ever since he deserted the Confederacy, and joined in the ranks of the Galactic Alliance. He was impressed of this new power, especially at Corusant. They resembled everything he was trained and taught to fight for: freedom and peace. Things that the common folk valued, as well as the Clone did.

His objective was clear and simple. Secure the capital from the law enforcement and other hostiles. An objective he has executed numerous of times during his service to the Confederacy and the Protectorate. Canal knew it wasn't going to be easy and every other soldier, who had common sense, should know that the capital was where veterans were made. He's seen his share of it, and the first time he ever did such a mission he was excited and treated it like a simulation. That day he truly knew the rages of war and never got hyped up for another battle. The Fett Clone wouldn't be surprised if he saw some soldiers excited and happy for their first battle. Soon they would share the same scars with him.

Running through the streets with armor made of duraplast and a DC-17m blaster with some rag-tag soldiers that were part of a platoon until they were surrounded and lost almost half of the whole unit. They lost their platoon commander and with the experience of the ex-Dreadguard he managed to retreat from an unfavorable firefight with the remaining soldiers in his platoon. Where were they heading as of now? He didn't know, but he was determined to reach the Capitol Building with the remaining soldiers under his command. "Enjoy this time to recover from that damn firefight. You all are going to need it," he recommended to his platoon. A luxury that they better take advantage of before going back in the danger zone.

 

[Judah Dashiell]

Objective : C
Post : 3/20
Allies : [member="Aeron Kreelan"]


Kreelan? Kreelan....Sounded familiar enough. Trying to put a face to the name or place where he might have met her was proving difficult. Judah was certain he had heard the woman mentioned in circles, meetings he had been in. Fondor? Salacia did hold a small naval yard there, not that they constructed many vessels.


"Pyre? Good folk. They tend to be excellent at shooting things."


The shuttle was approaching and Judah absently fixed his tie before running a hand through the dark curls that he had tried to tame into something more presentable.


"Alliance? Sure, I can be with the cause. As for talking, well....I can do most of it if you like, although your input beyond grunts or glares at these folk would be more than appreciated."


Their shuttle approached, slowing rapidly on the platform. Ramp lowered, a Representative walking down before it could fully descend. Probably a little antsy due to the ongoing battles. Judah reached out and firmly shook his hand, offering a small smile.


"Judah Dashiell, this here is my associate Miss Aeron Kreelan."


"Bastlon, I would say it would be a pleasure if we were under any other circumstances.Please, board the shuttle. They are expecting us in the green zone."


Judah nodded and stepped back. Shootings and shuttle boardings didn't stop one from being a gentleman when possible.


"After you Miss Kreelan"

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Location: Near the city
Objective: B (Ground)
Allies: [member="Nikola Ticon"] | [member="Chevu Visz"] | [member="Coren Starchaser"] | [member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Veino Garn"] | [member="Matsu Ike"] | [member="Canade-Kel"]
(3/20)

Ijaat didn't stay long inside the building really, a minute tops and he had cleared out the two teams of snipers inside it. Three had died rather swiftly to controlled bursts of fire from his rifle, the A-10 had cycled back to rest behind his shoulder and cool its' barrel from the firefight. The last one was hurdled bodily out of the window across the street they had been coming down when fired upon, and through the window of the next building. Photoreceptors in Ijaat's helmet clicked and whirred as they magnified, seeing the mangled pulp of a body slumped against an interior wall in the building across the street.

With that building clear, Ijaat churned through the building, and with a chatter of rounds, shot out the window, leaping clear. At the apex of his leap the repulsors whined as the steering vanes from the back of his armor flared and pushed, propelling him onto the roof. With that, Ijaat unlimbered the power-hammer from it's mag-clamp on his back. The sword wasn't a practical weapon for such deployments, and so he had opted with his second favorite melee weapon. With a heft, he spun the hammer about and cracked it to the skull of a man drawing a bead on [member="Coren Starchaser"]. It was a messy way to die when unarmored, he had to admit, as the skull all but evaporated into gore.

Striding towards the spotter, he grinned ferally behind his visor and raised the hammer, preparing to strike again. The spotter screamed, drew his pistol, dropped it to the roof surface and then promptly began to flee the other direction. Ijaat merely stretched his left arm, hand splayed with fingers wide, hammer dropped to the roof surface for a moment. A pulse and beam fired from the palm of his left hand and the spotter froze in place, and then was promptly lit on fire in a brilliant halo of orange and yellow flames from a wrist mounted flamethrower, and picking the hammer up in a double handed grip Ijaat promptly slap-shotted the body high into the air with a swing, and then again leaped from the first rooftop to the next, the one Coren was on, striding across the surface as the rifle dropped into his hands from the mag-clamp on his back designed just for it.

Still, he remained silent.

 

[Anastasia Rade]

Objective: B, Ground
Location: City
Allies: [member="Chevu Visz"] [member="Matsu Ike"] [member="Coren Starchaser"] [member="Nikola Ticon"] [member="Veino Garn"] [member="Ijaat Akun"]
Post: 3/20

Roger that! Don't burn down everything and be discrete when you do take someone down. Ana could defiantly comply with this but it wasn't how she normally operated. Mandalorians came in guns a blazing and they were not discrete in anything. You could hear them coming from miles away. They were not the cleanup crew type but she could be especially in this situation.

The snipers would take out the easy prey but not all of the Sith were going to stand at the window and take pot shots at the alliance coming into the city. Ana had a feeling that there were some hidden further in the city probably holding civilians as hostages or worse. She could sense pockets in the city but before entering a building she wanted to get a little further out and stay closer to the group at least for the moment.

"There are pockets of Sith in both directions. We should be cautious in case they have hostages." Ana would have suggested that they split into groups, work in smaller numbers but this was not her mission. The fact that she wasn't exactly a Rally Master anymore was something that she would need to get used to. Being a supporting cast member didn't mean that she wouldn't speak up when she had something to say.

 

[Audrey Starchaser]

Objective: Talk with Sarge
Location: OPS Leviathan
Allies: [member="Sarge Potteiger"]
Enemies: N/A
2/20

All those warships were pretty intimidating to the space-challenged Starchaser. Coren insisted that someday soon, she'd have a ship that would keep her from crashing into swamps on Xagobah. Sorry, Dawn Treader. Until then, she'd learn stuff from this tall guy named Sarge. When Sarge asked her what she knew of him, her blue eyes widened. The night before she left for Vandelhelm she had asked Miri to trawl the Holonet for information about the man. Not to be creepy or anything, of course. She was just a curious kitty. Miri gave her more than she'd expected, and from her assessment of the soldier, he seemed to be quite an enigma.

"Um, I know that you were decorated soldier in the Omega Pyre, and you were Lord Protector. Aaaaand, you use to be Force Dead, but now you're not which is kind of mind-blowing."

She also knew a few other things about him, some Holo-drama level stuff about the kidnapping and death of his wife. Starchaser might have been somewhat naive, but even she knew it would be inappropriate to bring up here.

What she wanted to learn? Now that she wasn't as sure about. Chevu, Coren's apprentice basically knew that thing that Force-puking thing, and Coren had those weird monk powers. She loved sabers, but wasn't in love with sabers. It was all up in the air. Hopefully Sarge could help her narrow it down.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Audrey Starchaser"]

Objective: Talk
Location: Leviathan Ventral Hangar


The figure gave a nod of his head, reaching up to twist his helmet. There was a hiss of equalizing pressure and the helmet was settled in his lap, cradled between two massive hands. His head, almost small compared to the armor, was likely what she'd been expecting considering the images of him as the Lord Protector - if she'd been shown though. Strong jawline, weathered features, ink-lines for veins, and bottomless black voids where his eyes should be.

Those voids seemed to shimmer like the surface of a lake at midnight, showing he did have eyes... they just weren't human anymore. An unkempt mess of brown hair curled around his head, leading down to a wild man's beard that was more akin to undergrowth than facial hair. His right cheek was pockmarked like the surface of a moon, and the burn scar across his throat was the faded promise of death.

He was not pleasant to look at by any means, but his mouth held the promise of an easy smile at odds with the harshness of his facial features.

"That, Audrey, is a long story." He says, sounding every bit as old as he looked. "I was a Jedi, once. Preacher." If Miri was looking that up, too, then she would find that the major action of said Master was talking down a Mandalorian warfleet from bombarding Coruscant from orbit. "I mastered what is known as the form of Soresu, though I don't much believe in forms. A blade, any weapon really, is an extension of your body.

It is best used in a manner most comfortable to you. Be that defense, or offensive." His lips curled downward into a faint frown.

"I am not a teacher, Audrey. I'm a facilitator. I provide wisdom, guidance, but planned lessons are a little beyond me. I teach through experience, not lecture. I've been at the forefront of more battles than I care to count, and I've killed enough people that I have problems sleeping at night." He hardly sounded sorry for himself. This was life, it was fact. But he was just trying to be honest with the girl.

"I don't pilot. I can't use the Force to speak into people's minds. The thing that gave me the ability to use the Force also locked my mind away. But what I can do is teach you to fight, and more importantly, I can teach you to survive."

His was a tale of survival, alright.

It was now, when he was no longer important, no longer recognized on sight, that he realized just how much had occurred over the years. He wouldn't speak these things aloud, that was not his style. But he could see how people often got lost in their accomplishments. "If these aren't things you wish to learn, that is your prerogative. But the offer is there. My training is the promise that you can hold your own in a fight, and that others will be glad to stand alongside you in battle."

 

[Chevu Visz]

Objective: B, Ground
Location: Exiting dropships
Allies: [member="Coren Starchaser"] [member="Nikola Ticon"] [member="Veino Garn"] [member="Anastasia Rade"] [member="Matsu Ike"] [member="Ijaat Akun"]
Post: 5/20

As soon as Master Rade mentioned pockets of Sith, a company of Final Order soldiers and Sith apprentices emerged from a nearby alley, advancing quickly on Chevu and her Padawan. The Mirialan stepped forward protectively. Their numbers were greater than expected, and as facing a forest of red blades was intimidating enough to her, she shuddered to think about how her apprentice felt. Brown eyes flashed to Ticon, and she wove some mental reassurances into his head.

Sabers will quickly get us overwhelmed. Use the Force to throw to fling them into the alley walls. I will do...something else.

The Mirialan Knight reached into the force. She knew a technique that her pacifist Sullustan Master taught her. Malacia, a power meant to disable attackers using nonviolent methods, like potent dizziness and nausea. Originally perfected by a Thisspiasian Master, Malacia attacked opponents' nervous systems and blood flow, causing system distress. It did not cause any permanent damage to the victims, therefore was not considered a dark-sided power. As Chevu hit the first wave with the power, soldiers began to double-over, groaning and clutching their stomachs. A couple of them even feel to their knees, bodies folded over retching miserably.

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Objective: My Own

Location: Old Mineshaft

Allies: [member="Kix Tal'Verda"]

Rook had gone renegade. So far as the Galactic Alliance was concerned, he was a deserter. The commander had his reasons. There were greater threats than the Sith in this galaxy. Threats that had set the events in motion for his family's death. The Sith had unknowingly followed the design of the galaxy's puppeteers to the letter; in the process Rook's family had been brutally murdered by a Sith acolyte. A man he'd once considered a friend.

From there, the Dreadguard had made his way to Vandelheim. He was aware of the Alliance for here -- it was of no concern to him. His quarry had moved into a sect of abandoned mines a few klicks away from the planet's capital. They were no doubt watching the events unfold from their dens: sure in the fact that no soul would ever come for them amidst the chaos.

One had.

With a grunt, Rook kicked the door inward. The aged wood splintered under his heavy boots. Then it exploded inward, clearing a path. Rook took a moment to make sure his FoF tag was offline, shut his comms down, and bare his rifle. Taking a deep breath, the commander began his descent.

 

[Kix Tal'Verda]

Objective: Also, his own.

Location: The Old Mineshaft

Allies... (Kinda?): [member="Rook"]


Kix was a soldier. A Mandalorian. A warrior trained from his birth to bring death to those who stood in his Aliit's way. Eight Years ago, however, Kix was pouring over Galaar's old comm records and found disturbing signs. He never knew how Calico and Galaar came from the Clone Wars to this era of time. He had always assumed that it was through benign means though. However, that seemed less the case. Some kind of mechanical beings yanked them from their existence here. Puzzle pieces connected to both Calico and Galaar's death in this way. It was a lead, a lead along time coming to reforge the broken remnants of his own past. It compelled him to find the Architects for a simple question: why?

In the persuit for awnsers that pulled him away from his clan and set him adrift. He had tracked his prey to the mines on this world. DC-17m loaded, armor donned, and eyes on the prize he stood in the entrance to the hole in the ground that may hold what he so long sought. His plasteel boots made several strides before him before a loud, shattering noise caused him to hit the dirt. On his back his blue-visor lit up in the dark and zoomed in on the doorway behind him. His features pulled into a deep frown as a figure made its way in.

"Haar'chak!" He spat, before on instinct, let a burst of blue plasma free from the barrel of the gun in his hands. They were warning shots, aimed wide. "On the ground!"

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Objective: A Vendetta

Location: Old Mineshaft

Allies? [member="Kix Tal'Verda"]

Rook wasn't the type to just fire. When he saw the sharp blue glow of the T-shaped visor, the Commander fell into action. It looked like one of the Architects servitors: organics wired with chips in their heads. They served as foot soldiers. It was the first sign that his suspicions were correct: the Architects were here! That theory was dashed, however, as the creature spoke. Servitors did not speak, they growled. This was a human then -- one likely in league with his quarry.

Just another obstacle.

"Like hell," he growled, shields flaring as the blue plasma fire crashed against his arm. Holding his rifle to the side, Rook shoulder charged Kix. He was as big as the Mando, though pound for pound he had more meat on him. The MK-II armor was the second iteration of the famous Katarn kit, and a whole lot heavier than its predecessor.

Rook had a mission. This stranger -- whoever he was -- had no right to stand in his way.

 

[Kix Tal'Verda]

Objective: Mess up Rook!

Location: In the Shaft...

Allies: [member="Rook"]

Kix roared: "Ash'amur di'kut! Oya oya!" It was a bloody, heated cry for battle as he watched the unknown fighter charge him. He threw himself forward at the same moment and the two would meet in a glorious clatter of thickly armored plates. "Picked the wrong bloke to fight!" Kix assured his foe. His hands would reach quickly to grasp Rook's shoulder plates and hook underneath them, trying to use their connectors to the body suit as a sort of hold. If it worked, he'd drop down, slam his armored head into Rook's stomach and attempt a toss over his head and onto the ground. He prayed to Manda it'd work... This schutta was a fatso.

 

[Djorn Bline]

Location: City
Objective: B
Allies: [member="Anastasia Rade"] [member="Ijaat Akun"] [member="Coren Starchaser"] [member=Karen Roberts]
Post: [2/20]

Five to ten minutes had passed by sine the Clone had given his platoon a chance to take a break from the firefight they just recently escaped from. He wouldn't have given this time to his brethren when he and the Dreadguard were still a unit in the Confederacy. In fact, he wouldn't have given them a break at all unless they marched for hours or if they won a firefight that was turning point for any party. He was too easy on these soldiers. He always despised being in units that weren't his own kind, his own blood. There were a lot of differences between an average conscript and a clone. While it does take time to train a clone it surely was more effective and efficient than regular soldiers. Of course, this was Canal's own personal opinion and accepted the fact that he would have to cooperate in units that were diverse.

"Double time, troopers! I've given you all more time than I should've given you. I will not be responsible if you can't match my pace. Am I understood," he announced to his soldiers and was responded back with "Yes, sir," from each and every one of them. They weren't clones, but he would make them act like him. Yes, he admitted that he wasn't the super soldier that could take on legions of soldiers by himself but if there was something that couldn't be disputed was that he had much more experience on the battlefield than the men under his wing.

They ran through the streets, ready to aim and fire at any suspected hostile that opposed the Alliance. They couldn't be laying down on the job while other fought their battles. That wasn't the nature of a veteran. Coming up on a crossroad of the street they were on Canal noticed a company of Sith and Final Order soldiers charging in great numbers towards [member="Chevu Visz"] and her padawan. "Light 'em, soldiers," he ordered his platoon and right after his command blaster fire was spewed out towards the hostiles. It would buy their allies some time in escaping from the large numbers of this company. With common sense, the Clone and his men sought for some cover to not be out in the open and be shot by enemy fire. All he could think was that it was a long time since he had seen a red lightsaber in person.

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Objective: Murder

Allies? [member="Kix Tal'Verda"]

Location: Riding the mine shaft

"OOMPH!"

Rook was sent crashing to the ground. A string of curse fell from his lips on impact. His armor was well suited for this kind of CQC but that did not mean the impact wasn't going to hurt. Seeing in here was an issue in itself. If he turned on his night vision, the overwhelming blue glow of his opponent's visor would blind him. Rook's only choice was to feel around in the darkness. Luckily, his opponent had made a critical error. He'd allowed the commander to get under his legs.

With a boisterous roar, Rook slammed his plated boot into the Mando's right shin multiple times, stomping with a fury only rivaled by an old woman trying to stomp out the womp rats in her kitchen. His fists grabbed at the warrior's ankle. His expression was one of serene focus. He did not have time to waste. Not on something like this.

"I've no time for this. Surrender," he growled, "You won't keep me from your masters!"

 

[Kix Tal'Verda]

Objective: F... OH KARK THAT'S THE GROUND!

Allies: [member="Rook"]

Location: The Mines

Having your leg grabbed was never fun. Falling face first into the ground was never an enjoyable experience either. It didn't matter if your armor was specced to take concussion from small explosives. It still bruised and chaffed worse that falling off an enraged bantha which them defecated onto you as a last insult.

In such, it was a string of curses that left the speakers on his helmet (many of which cannot be stated on this board!) -censor censor censor- as he rolled onto his side to slam his knees into Rook's chest as they tussled like angry children on the bedrock.

"Masters? Masters! No! You surrender your masters or I'm going to feed you to my karking strill!"

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Location: Mines

Objective: You get the idea by now.

Allies: Eheh. [member="Kix Tal'Verda"]

What?!

This one spoke in the Mandalorian tongue. The Architects had employed their ilk many times in the past; mercenaries bought with coin and promises of glory. Rook had little respect for their kind. Even less so given their rather open betrayal of the Republic after declaring a military alliance just a few days before. They were the filth of the galaxy: not to be trusted. It was just his luck that he'd run into one just as he'd managed to corner his quarry.

"Explain," the soldier demanded, "If you're not in the employ of the droids, then why are you here?"

Rook pushed up to his feet. He made sure to keep a pace or so between himself and the Mandalorian -- no point giving the guy an easy swing. He took a moment to run a preliminary scan of the mines -- one designed to pick up the droids' signals. Far below the planet's surface, something pinged back. They were here.

"You're not one of the soldiers. This area has no strategic value, so explain. Quickly."

 

[Kix Tal'Verda]

Location: Mines

Objective: Negotiations...?

Allies: [member="Rook"]


Kix quickly rolled to his feet and pulled out the archaic DC-15 pistol on his hip. He pointed the gun right at his armored foe. He had little illusion it'd puncture that bantha-fat armor the man was clad in, but it may knock it him off balance. The soldiers words quickly passed through his head and he artfully made a reply as quickly as possible: "Who are you to command me, pup?" He demanded in common. A fairly Mandalorian way of asking: rank, your agenda, how do I avoid killing you.

The old Dreadguard wouldn't say a thing first. Too much was riding on this. It was far to pivotal of information to let any common soldier in a fancy hard case know his plans.

However, there was a skittering above the two and suddenly a thick, harsh, musky scent would permeate the small tunnel. It reeked of some sort of animal. A smirk couldn't help but cross Kix's face as his grey-furred Strill (mentioned so easily earlier) had crawled its way above the two and was now clinging to the grooves in the stone face with his razor claws. It gave a soft hiss but stood its ground for now, flanking the odd soldier.