Public Treasure Hunt: The Forsaken Shipyard

[Ken Martano]

Brakha Shipyards, Brahkarst System
25 Years Since Abandonment
(OOC Thread Here)​

It is a time of opportunity. As flashpoints of conflict erupt across the galaxy and dozens of worlds burn, the furnaces fueling the war machines of the great powers grow hungry. By feeding them with fresh materiel, the daring and the unscrupulous can make their fortunes. Steady access to durasteel and tibanna gas are far more precious than aurodium or corusca gems in this age of war. Raw materials and the facilities that transform them are king, for in the constant grind of trooper against trooper, starship against starship, the faction that can best weather horrific attrition will stand atop the mound of wreckage and blood and survive the storm.

These periods of intense, frenetic conflict have come in waves ever since the end of the Great Darkness, a few years of relative peace turning inevitably toward the horrors of war. Countless empires have risen and fallen, holding on just long enough to wreak horrific carnage in battle against each other before they and their ideals were shattered. Those empires played by the same rules, and in their ruins lie the remnants of their battle preparations.

One such fallen power, once poised to sweep across the Galactic Southeast as it had done in ancient days, was the Hutt Cartel. While the Republic, the Mandalorians, and the One Sith crashed into one another in a brutal contest to decide the fate of the Core Worlds, the Cartel built up its strength, preparing to contend with all these powerful rivals. The center of their war machine was the great shipyard at Brakha. With powerful laser drills they broke the planet and its moons open, spilling out their mineral-rich innards into the cold depths of space. It was a wanton display of gluttony and greed, intended to feed their appetite for violent domination.

When the Cartel collapsed, the half-finished shipyard at Brakha remained. And as wars consume the galaxy again, its rich resources are there for the taking...

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"Feth me," Ken Martano muttered, letting a long, slow whistle slide out from between his teeth. "The Hutts really did a number on this place."

Ken had seen destruction before. He'd watched Sith artillery lay waste to Tamwith Bay, and he'd seen the orbital strike that had shattered the ancient Jedi citadel on Rhen Var. But all that callous ruination seemed small, even insignificant, next to what had been done to Brakha. The planet and its four moons had been cored like apples, their guts ripped out with warheads and laser drills. Asteroid entrails spilled out across the system, cratered and pitted where they had been picked over by mining crews. This was devastation on a nearly unimaginable scale, making a planetary bombardment look like a child's toy sling.

Apparently the slugs had decided that gradual sub-crust mining was too inefficient, so they'd just torn open the planet's insides.

At the center of the unnatural asteroid belt that now made its slow, chaotic orbit around the system's sun lay a massive half-disk space station, built into the side of one of the larger chunks of broken planet. Huge drydocks yawned open along its surface, many of the construction facilities only half-constructed themselves. Two decades' worth of asteroid impacts had dented the immense durasteel support struts, and a number of hull breaches were evident across the station's battered exterior. Ken wondered how many of the hangar bays and assembly lines were simply open to the void after so long without any repairs.

The cartel shipyard's sudden abandonment meant it was full of dangers, certainly, but also that there was plenty of valuable salvage lying around. Who knew what kind of secret Cartel war machines and rare ores lay in its storerooms and databanks, waiting for some daring soul to liberate them and exchange them for cold, hard cash? That was Ken's main motivator these days. He had stubborn memories that refused to leave unless large quantities of alcohol escorted them out, and alcohol cost credits. He needed fuel to keep his ship moving, too. Moving away from the Empire, and away from all that had happened there.

Sitting at the controls of the Tarlu's Pride, a ragged, musty civilian shuttle he'd managed to win in a sabaac game a few weeks prior, Ken checked the scanners for a landing zone. It looked like several of the docking bays still had operational life support; the Hutts had built to last, apparently. Still, there was no telling how much of the rest of the place would be intact. He unhooked a breath mask from its strap next to the pilot's seat and strapped it on, just in case he suddenly needed oxygen - or to filter out industrial pollutants. As he turned back to the viewport, his eyes grew wide. "Feth me!" he yelled again, yanking hard on the controls.

It wasn't just life support that was still active. The shipyard's automated defensive turbolasers, receiving no pass code from his ship, had opened fire, trying to vaporize the intruder. Ken pushed the Pride to her very limited limit, narrowly avoiding the incoming volley. Only the ship's small size provided him any advantage. Like a boat abruptly cresting rough waves, the dinky little shuttle abruptly rose and fell as her pilot hauled on the yoke, narrowly twisting past the turbolasers. By the time he was close enough to the hull that they stopped firing, unable to turn close enough to draw a bead on him, sweat had slicked his bangs to his forehead.

Nearly killed already, and he hadn't even set foot in the shipyard yet. This was going to be one hell of a job...

1 Point - New Threat (Automated Turbolaser Defenses)​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Tannhauser-class freighter Infinity's Free
On approach to ruined Huttese shipyard
With an asteroid

After, what, twenty years derelict, the automated guns came as a very large surprise, the sort that left carbon scoring on one's hull and urine in one's boots. The Infinity's Free absolutely wasn't built for combat or evasion. What it could do quite well was move heavy things, and today that meant an asteroid. The Huttese planechangas - if Jerec remembered the name right - had chucked enough rocks at big rocks to make them into plenty of smaller rocks. One such rock, firmly in the grasp of a trio of tractor beams, preceded the Infinity's Free into turbolaser range. The guns hammered the asteroid mercilessly. Globules of superheated rock splashed off the freighter's modest shields or slopped through to burn spots in the paint. And worst of all, the asteroid covered Jerec's entire field of view. He was, in large part, flying the dang thing through the video feed from an R2 unit strapped to the hull.

It shouldn't have worked, and of course he realized that a little too late, once he was committed. If most of the guns hadn't been focusing on a twirling shuttle labeled Tarlu's Pride, they'd have wrecked the asteroid and the ship behind it with casual ease.

At what felt like the last second but actually reflected the glacial speeds that the freighter and asteroid had attained, Jerec disengaged the tractor beams and steered away. The half-molten remains of the asteroid smashed into the nearest and most aggressive turbolaser, filling the immediate area with sparks and debris. Sparks and debris were fine: the Infinity's Free was a good-sized boat. Jerec nestled it into a section of exposed struts that could puncture and flummox smaller ships, and clamped right up against the hull. He'd need a cutting torch to get into the wrecked hallways, but - please - he had plenty. Every size and shape of cutting torch known to spacerkind.

Ken Martano

 

[Mishel Kryze]

It had been a while since Mežsrožu allowed Mishel to surface, and yet in situations such as this, it seemed prudent to yield to the other personality. The Princess Leia, a modified YT-2400 reverted back into realspace with something a thud that clacked in the back of the vessel. "C'mon girl, hang in there." Mishel hadn't been able to get ahold of the Selonian that would've normally piloted the ship. Something about being dead or missing for nearly three years may have had something to do with it. Alessandra Creed had apparently made it easy for Mishel to take the old girl from whatever parcade the ship had been sitting in.​

​

Unfortunately, the Leia was in for a brutal surprise once they reverted and neared the shipyards. Alarms went off and the klaxons blared throughout the small freighter. "CHIT TICKETS!" Mishel yelped as she pushed the Leia into a nosedive and spun, she banked right to avoid one mass of automated defenses. Mishel's eyes landed on the retribution feedback system and the bright button that bleeped at her. The Tygaran slammed her hand down on the activation button and watched as the feedback system sent the defensive fire back. ​

​

She happened to witness the globs of horror and molten crag smack into the Infinity Free just as the Leia attempted to crest upward. Which left the YT-2400 feeling the aftermath of the Infinity Free's wake, sparks, and debris slammed into the viewer and Mishel couldn't help but flinch. "Kark, kark, kark picked a bad day to leave the safety of Dosuun, kids." She said to no one but herself as she maneuvered the ship through the field of debris that floated her way. Chunks clonked and clanked off the hull. "Thank the Force for Corellian Bloodsteel."​

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"Alright, let's park it." She commented just as the Princess Leia cleared the field. "Landing struts out, easy does it." She'd get the freighter parked in what looked to be the most stable exposed strut. Once the clamps were engaged and the ramp unfolded, Mishel secured a rebreather to her face before checking her persons for blaster and lightsaber. ​

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Jerec Asyr | Ken Martano ​

 

[Dyre Redwave]

This whole system was a disaster Dyre thought to himself, he himself was unfamiliar with what had transpired though imagined that it bore some resemblance to the remnants of Alderaan after their failure to embrace the enlightened rule of the Emperor... too bad Lucky had not come, otherwise he might have beenable to shed some light on the comparison. In the midst of the destruction, somehow the automated turbo lasers had survived. Fortunately, the training of his pilots had prevented any critical damage being inflicted on their approach and though they were still in good enough condition to escape, it was unlikely that they would be returning again, not without serious risk to the ships and the pilots aboard. No... they would be finding their own way off the garbage heap, afterall, this was why they had come.

The two small cargo ships settled into the creaking floor of the dilapidated ship yard’s many hangars. Even inside the ship the creaking of the shipyards structure could be heard. Sight unseen, Dyre could tell that the station had received no upkeep in decades and had been left to fall into disrepair.

“We have low oxygen readings” the pilot of the craft said over the ship’s radio. “life support is definitely active but ventilations systems in this section of the craft are most definitely screwed.”

“Damn” Dyre muttered under his breath. It didn’t matter much to them given their armors internal systems, but it was annoying none the less. “Alright boys, we do this quick and we do it clean, no accidents, no heroics and watch your environment, damned place sounds like it is falling apart.”

As the cargo hatch opened, several speeders were unloaded and looking to their sister ship he saw that they were doing the same. Engineers and pilots were being loaded into speeders as were his troops. The men were in good spirits, truthfully, it was easier to take abandoned ships than those which were protected by armed guards so this was to be expected.

“Get us to the shipyard” Dyre ordered as he placed a hand on the shoulder of the speeder’s driver then spoke into his com line. “Keep your arms at the ready folks Hutts are sneaky bastards, not sure what defenses we will find still operational so stay alert, possibly pirates as well...”

As the speeders set off and the cargo ships which had dropped them off departed, Dyre looked at the dingey environment. It looked every bit the part of a derelict. He remembered the huts well, filthy creatures, he couldn’t refute their cunning. Among the non-humanoid species which his people had tolerated they were certainly the most useful. They had paid their taxes and been left to their devices. In some cases they had even played the role of willing servants of the Empire… though they were never above suspicion of consorting with terrorists. Their entire species did nothing without their own self interest in mind and never embraced a greater cause than their own advancement.

Zipping through the massive hallways and cargo paths he and his men remained alert. No sound, no movement, no passing shadow given the benefit of the doubt. By the faint lights in the cargo paths they made out crude images painted onto the wall, reminiscent of the gang signs that he had seen on Nar Shaddaa or the lower levels of Coruscant. The speeders stopped and Dyre jumped out to inspect the symbol painted on the wall. It looked fresh no more than a few months.

"What do you make of it Captain" one of the marines inquired.

He remembered this symbol well.... and was all too familiar with the meaning. It was a blazing claw... "Stay alert boys..." He replied his voice not hiding his frustration. "Here there be pirates. Doubt they will like us paying them a visit"

1 Point - New Threat (Pirate's Haven) ​

 

[Ken Martano]

​

As Ken maneuvered the Pride through the hangar shield, he caught sight of a few other ships making their approach as well. Word about Brakha had spread faster than he'd anticipated. It looked like he might soon be facing some stiff competition for the derelict shipyard's treasures. Alone, he was likely no match for the occupants of the larger vessels he'd spotted. He would need to be quick and quiet to make it out of this alive. So, not much different from every other job he'd ever pulled, then.

The Pride groaned as she set down in the derelict landing bay, her aged and unsteady landing struts struggling to keep her evenly upright. She was still in better condition than her surroundings, though. The hangar walls were heavily pitted with corrosion, and the glow-panels flickered ominously, struggling to illuminate even half of the cavernous space. As Ken walked down the ramp of the Pride, he could feel the acrid staleness in the air. He was glad for his mask - the oxygen recyclers here weren't working very well.

Once, asteroid miners would have docked here to offload the minerals they had ripped from Brakha's cooling remains. Now, however, the binary loadlifters were silent, their massive pallet arms drooping as they stood in their charging pods. The new command they awaited would never come. Still, their looming bulks were creepy, and Ken kept a hand on his blaster as he crept across the hangar floor toward the door that would take him deeper into the shipyard. One could never be too careful.

Taking a deep breath from his mask's filtered supply, Ken cycled the first door out of the hangar. Immediately the world was pulled out from under him. He found himself tumbling down the hallway beyond in a rush of air, totally out of control. Pain lanced through him as his shoulder slammed hard into the far wall. The rush of air was hurricane-loud in his ears as he desperately scrambled for something to hold onto. The back of his head slammed into a pipe, and he tasted blood where he'd bitten his tongue.

His vision hazy after the impact, Ken was only dimly aware of the long hallway he was being pulled down. Fighting through the pain, he realized that he must have opened a door leading to a hull breach - and that he was hurdling toward hard vacuum. As he flew, borne by the escaping atmosphere, toward another open bulkhead door, he thought fast. Drawing his blaster, he squeezed off a shot at the door control panel; it was a gamble, but it was all that he could think of. The bolt slammed into the controls...

... and the door slammed shut. Ken smashed into it, his momentum flinging him hard into the durasteel, and he slumped down the wall to land in a heap on the deck plating. For a moment he just lay there, breathing hard. Gingerly, he reached one hand up to the back of his head. It came away wet with a trickle of crimson; he'd hit that pipe hard. Head injuries, he knew, were dangerous, but immediate treatment wasn't really something he could conjure up here on this scrap head. He would have to make do.

Slowly, usteadily, the scavenger got to his feet. He reached into his satchel for a quick-seal bandage, realized he'd used his last one, and pulled out a rag instead. He was pretty sure he'd cleaned it since using it to wipe down the Pride's power couplings. One hand holding his blaster, the other pressing the rag to the back of his head, he let the glow-rod at the end of his gun lead him. He wasn't too sure where he was, but some kind of mineral storage must be near the hangars, for when the harvesters unloaded.

His light fell across a bit of wall graffiti - a clawed hand surrounded by fire. "Great," he muttered. "Pirates got here first."

1 Point - Suffer an Injury (Head Trauma)

Jerec Asyr | Mishel Kryze | Dyre Redwave​

 

[Dyre Redwave]

Having returned to his speeder and the sizable group continued on their way down the long halls, weapons at the ready. He was grateful that his helm filtered all but the strongest of scents as he could not imagine the dilapidated structure having anything other than an unpleasant odor. Minutes passed as they continued down the hallway, passing only the occasional bits of pirate-gang graffiti on the walls.

Without notice the speeder, along with those behind, began to slow. Dyre turned to the driver. “What’s the matter” he asked. “Why are we stopping.”

“Might be an error sir” the driver began. “But I swear my helmet display just picked up lifesigns on something ahead. Just a flash. Should we just ignore it?”

“No” Dyre said, his voice more agitated than concerned. “Keep going, slow and steady. Better slow than risk disaster.”

“Yes sir” the driver acknowledged. He kept the speeder moving forward but the speed drastically reduced.

As they moved forward he saw the source of the frustrations and jumped from the ship to cautiously approaching. Near the end of a long hallway, upon the filth covered floor lay a corpse, zabrak, recently deceased, bearing the scorch mark of a blaster shot to the chest. He had likely wandered out here to die. Dyre felt little sympathy for the man but doubted any man would wish to die in a place such as this.

Dyre took a moment to look down the hallway and saw a sealed door behind which he could hear the sounds of banging and the muffled speaking off men and women. He spoke into his calm, keeping his voice low. “Marines to me, now.” Without hesitation his team of marines disembarked their speeders and moved to get in place. Dyre looked to the men pointing to two with rotary blaster cannons “Cover me” he ordered before slowly and quietly moving to the end of the hallway.

Dyre quickly inspected the door and upon finding it to be unlocked and operational drew and prepped a flashbang. Raiding his hand he gave a countdown via finger. 3…2…1… Dyre set the flashbang, opened the door and hurled it into the room while the men at his side turned their heads and fired wildly into the room.

Dyre turned to take cover himself but before he could do so a blast from inside the room caught him in the left shoulder. His armor had prevented the shot from being lethal, but his arm felt as if his very veins were on fire. A pained groan emerged uninvited as he worked through the pain and forced himself to the wall for cover. A loud blast of flashbang echoed from the room with the noise dampeners of his and his men’s helmets preventing temporary deafness. He couldn't give orders in his present condition but his men knew well enough what to do.

The remainder of his men rushed into the room and blasts of blue could be seen as they set about stunning all inside. Dyre clutched his shoulder. One of the men had already run to get a medic. They sprinted to acquiesce to the unspoken request and though it only took a few short seconds for them to get there, each one felt like an agonizing eternity.

The medic sprinted to his side kneeling and looking at the hit. “Nasty hit sir” the medic said as he looked over where Dyre had been struck.

“You don’t say?” Dyre winced as he laughed gently. He couldn't give the illusion of weakness to his men, not when they depended on him.

“If you weren’t wearing that armor your heart would be cooked somewhere between medium and well right now. You obviously have a pulse so that isn’t the case.” As the medic spoke, he rummaged through his satchel and drawing out a hypodermic needle set about filling it from a vial in his pouch.

“Better living through chemistry time?” Dyre asked.

The medic nodded. “Definitely time for some chemistry” the medic said as he inserted the syringe through Dyres undersuit near the shoulder joint. “That should help with the pain, but don’t use that arm if you can help it. You could do permanent muscle damage if you work it too much before we get you some proper treatment.” The medic then stood and offered an arm to help Dyre stand.

“Wegsphere and beer for a week once we are done then?” he asked in jest as he took the man’s hand and got to his feet. The medic laughed though didn't respond, content that Dyre was once more in fighting shape, or at least as close to fighting shape as he could be at present, returned to join the remaining support staff.

Dyre took a moment to stand as the pain begin to dwindle, albeit slowly. Not wanting to be delayed he followed his men into the room which had been cleared. They had stunned and collared every being in the room which hadn’t been killed in the initial barrage. Among them, the man who shot him, which he now recognized to be a male twi’lek.

Dyre approached and looked down at the man who stared up at him. Being stunned removed your ability to move but it didn’t not remove one’s consciousness. Had he been able, Dyre would have removed his helm just so he could look him in the eye. But with the door open, the oxygen levels in the room were no doubt equalizing with those in the cargo paths, and so he decided against it.

Dyre drew a pistol and pointed it at the man who looked up at him in terror. He had seen that look before, countless times. It never failed, they were always cocky and trigger happy until they realized they were outmatched…

It reminded him of his first military opperation as a young lieutenant, the look of shock on some smug Alderaanian noble’s face who claimed he had no ties to the terrorist elements. A terrified man will do many things, he recalled, in the case of that man, with the sudden death of his eldest son at the hands of Dyre’s men and with some subtle insinuations about what fate might befall the youngest should he refuse to talk he had proven more than happy to fully reveal information on informants and those funding terrorist operations on the planet. But that had been so very long ago, and so very far away.

He returned his focus to the man below him, that same look of terror was in his eyes. "You shot me" he said calmly as he looked down at the man who only stared back at him "What you did, was in error". Then, with neither formality or any sense of urgency, he drew his sidearm and unloaded five blasts into the mans face before kneeling and removing the collar, somewhat singed from the blasts of his pistol, from the corpse's neck.

“Take anything worth a damn and bring the prisoners… a little oxygen deprivation will be good for them” he yelled to the men who were sweeping through the room. "We have places to be, get a move on, you can look at the prisoners later!"

He walked from the pirate's quarters down the hallway and back to the speeders, again taking a seat in the front vehicle. Allowing himself to rest while the others dragged out the prisoners and tossed their motionless bodies into the storage areas of the speeders. A few crates of ration sticks were also brought out during the second trip of the men. As he watched he moved his left arm gently, though the pain was still present it was not the burning sensation it had been prior to the injection. He could also tell that the limb was noticably weaker and though it would heal, that was no consolation while aboard this damnable station. No doubt there were more pirates scattered across the station and he could only guess what else, but for now, they were free to continue upon their way, their speeders swiftly traveling down the dilapidated cargo paths towards the primary shipyard.

1 Point - Suffer an Injury (Shot in left shoulder, extremely limited use of left arm)
1 Point - Experience a Flashback (First Militay Field Op 'Terrified Eyes') ​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Jerec toggled the hatch controls and a blast door hissed open. He'd rested the cofferdam flat up against a clear patch of the station's hull. Cold, low-pressure air made his ears pop - the ship's atmosphere rushing into the cofferdam. Since there was no telling what was on the other side of the hull, he sealed the door behind himself and got cutting. He'd gone with a massive old torch as old as he was, a classic Koensayr KUT-42. The beam slashed deep into the station, punched right through.

It cut quickly, but not quickly enough. To his surprise he found his breath getting rough. The cofferdam felt like it was closing in on him - he even checked. This space was smaller than his cell back on Benson's Sanitorium, and though he wasn't much of a claustrophobic on a normal day, something about the cofferdam set him off. Maybe it was the tight space coming so soon after the near miss with the automated turbolasers. That had to be it.

By the time he finished shearing a door in the bulkhead, his cut lines had gone from perfect to straight-up ragged, jagged, amateur hour nerf dren. He powered down the huge torch and shoved the irregular block. It slammed down inside the station, revealing a T-intersection of hallways, one of which had a blazing claw painted on it. Breathing hard, he set down the huge KUT-42 and stumbled into the station for a closer look at the universal symbol of space piracy.

"Ah jeez."

1 Point - Experience a Flashback - imprisonment in the Iniquitous Sanitorium​

 

[Ken Martano]

Warmth trickled down Ken's neck, staining the collar of his jacket with droplets of crimson. He pressed the rag harder to the back of his head, then winced; he hoped he was just imagining the sensation of bone grinding against bone. The wound wasn't clotting as fast as he had hoped, though he should have known better. He'd seen enough scalp wounds to know that they always bled like crazy. He wondered if the Hutts had ever gotten around to installing medkits on this heap, or if they ever even would have.

But then, whatever pirates were infesting the place now might well have some with them...

The glow-rod at the end of Ken's blaster tracked along cold, dingy walls as he advanced, one careful step at a time. Every footfall seemed blasphemously loud, disturbing the desolate sanctity of this forgotten side passage. The presence of that painted insignia, however, proved that others had come this way before him. He wondered if the pirates had gotten in through the hull breach rather than landing in the hangars. Their presence certainly explained the active defenses, and why the place still had power.

Finally, Ken reached another bulkhead door. He knew that boarding squads often carried special sensors that could detect whether a section beyond was pressurized, but he could barely afford to keep his blaster charged and his ship flying, so those were a little out of his price range. There was nothing for it but to cycle the door and find out. Taking a deep breath, he cycled the controls. The door gradually slid open, metal grinding on metal thanks to lack of maintenance. No rush of air. No chaos. It was safe.

Blowing out a sign of relief, Ken advanced into the hallway beyond. It looked like he'd managed to circle back into the outer hangar bay circuit, which was good - he might be able to get his bearings and figure out how to get back to the Pride, for one, and he was still willing to bet that there was access to storage rooms not far from where the ships bearing crates of rare ore were unloaded. The first thing that struck his eye, though, was a true stroke of luck: a wall-mounted emergency kit.

Ken checked his corners carefully, then advanced across the hall. He holstered his blaster and pulled the corroded aid station open. His eyes narrowed; it looked like someone else, probably the pirates, had picked it over first. All of the valuable components, like painkillers, were long gone. But a few of the bandages had been left behind, and as much as he would've loved to have a couple of tablets of symoxin to take away the throbbing in his injured skull, bandages were what he needed most.

Carefully lifting the rag away, Ken unwrapped a quick-seal bandage and wound it around his head, making sure that it tightly covered the gash he'd sustained when he hit the pipe. He would need a real doctor's examination as soon as he could get one, so he'd better be able to afford it when the opportunity came up. Re-drawing his gun and letting the rag fall, he once again began to advance down the corridor, letting the soft green glow of his only source of illumination slowly banish the shadows.

Suddenly, sounds echoed up the corridor - an explosion, than an outbreak of blasterfire.

Ken flattened himself against the nearest wall, listening. It sounded like a full-scale firefight. Someone had come here in force, and it sounded like they'd made contact with the pirates. Whoever won would soon sweep the station, he suspected, either to strip it of resources or to find and eliminate any remaining intruders. He was going to need to work fast. As the blasterfire faded, another sound echoed up to him - the steady hum of a cutting torch. A moment later, close by, there was a slam of metal on metal.

Ken turned the corner, blaster up, and found himself almost face to face with Jerec Asyr , who was staring at yet another painting of the feared Blazing Claw. Immediately he backtracked a step, his gun sights pointed warily at the first living being he'd encountered at Brakha. "You're staring at that logo same as I did," he said slowly, keeping his breathing steady as his heart raced, "so I'm guessing you're not with the pirates. I don't really want to kill anybody today. Maybe we can help each other."

Dyre Redwave | Mishel Kryze ​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Ken Martano

A man comes around a corner and points a blaster at you, you point a blaster right back. Jerec did so, albeit shakily. That cutting torch was a heavy one and his possibly-extraneous space suit made for an oppressive work environment.

"Makes sense to me, and no, I'm no pirate." He lowered his gun. "Jerec Asyr. Salvager, prospector." He pointed through the gap he'd chopped, into the cofferdam space. "That hatch right there is my boat, the Infinity's Free. I've got, uh, medpacks if you want to deal with that head wound. Gotta put the torch back inside anyway."

He holstered the gun and started lugging the KUT-42 back aboard. The airlock hissed open, revealing your average tramp freighter and no markers of piracy.

1 point - help someone out

 

[Mishel Kryze]

The derelict shipyards were beyond still, a haunting reminder of what the wartorn galaxy often left behind; death. She was only half surprised it hadn't been stripped of every single piece of metal yet. Mag-boots clipped to the floor, they created a heavy thud as she flashed a small light from one side of the corridor to the other. A glimmer of red light drew her attention and her curiosity got the better of her. A gasp escaped her the moment she saw bodies. So people had attempted to strip this place. Bodies floated, decay had set in and the stench finally reached her. Mishel involuntarily evacuated her breakfast on the side of the corridor.​

​

She gasped for breath and struggled to stand upright. Her back found the cold durasteel wall of the corridor, Mishel shook her head in an attempt to snap out of whatever just hit her. "Nothing you haven't seen or smelled before." She told herself, either as a Ren or a Jedi - death was everywhere in the galaxy. Mishel was reminded of Dagobah as she staggered to the left and away from what was the mouth a t-shaped intersection. Dagobah was hot, humid and full of bogs and swamps where death and decay were slow and vile. ​

​

Mishel's shoulder slammed into the right side of the corridor. Dagobah was when the First Order released her she'd no longer have to fear their death squads. A strange move to simply release the former Ren at that time, and yet she still could not get over how many dead Imperial and Alliance soldiers laid strewn one on top of the other. The Tygaran felt a cold sweat form along the back of her neck as she held herself upright. The derelict shipyard seemed to fade and in its stead, the - humid, swamps filled with dead men of Dagobah. ​

​

It had been just after Utapau and Mishel needed direction, a Jedi Master to guide her - that's where she met Coren. Coren Starchaser changed a lot of things for Mishel. She swore a hand popped out of the bog and grabbed her leg. The Tygaran closed her eyes shut, she could hear the faint voice of her other personality Mežsrožu in the back of her head. Mežsrožu taunted her, scolded her for being so weak-minded Mishel cut back, "I am not weak, just what in the Sithspawn was back there though?" Mishel pushed her fingers into her eyes as she tried to wipe whatever it was from them. A thin film came off of her eyes, "the kark...?"​

​

Mežsrožu guessed that it was a trap set by the Hutts or one of their Sith lackeys, Darth Arcanix might have a better idea of just what it was. "It hit like the fear crystal, but ... worse." Mishel spoke to herself.​

​

The Ren persona responded, "because it is, the crystal only makes you believe that you're seeing it - this one played with the chemistry in your mind, and appeared to come in gas form perhaps dispersed by the bodies. Should go back and examine them, later."​

​

Mishel put the flashlight into her mouth and got out a datapad, "in any case." She continued with the flashlight in her mouth, "let's mark it and figure out where we're supposed to be going, and maybe upload the data on this shipyard. Case any other smuggler comes through here should be aware of the fear gas." The former Jedi had been acquainted with fear spells thanks to Taeli Raaf which perhaps explained her rather quick recovery. Anyone else might suffer a worse fate and if those bodies were of any indication the likeliness of such was very high. Mishel took a deep breath and exhaled hard, "right okay time to keep going."​

​

She came to a cross intersection and looked left and right before heading forward toward a set of doors. She furrowed her brows and looked for manual operations but they seemed to have been ripped out in what looked like desperation. A small application of the Force allowed her to push the doors apart, if only just enough so she could squeeze through. "Kark, too many dang Ronto Wraps and Nuna Wings." Mishel sucked in her gut and shoved herself through the small space and fell to the ground on the other side.​

​

The flashlight rolled to a set of boots, "oh..."​

​

Mishel looked up and found that there were two sets of boots and blasters. "uh, hi..."​

​

Jerec Asyr | Ken Martano ​

[+1 Describe a New Threat; Fear Gas/Bodies]
[+ 1 Experience Flashback to Important Life Event]​

 

[Eocin Chiyat]

Equipment: "Jackal" ACR, "Nascticiri" Combat Knife, & a "Corporis" Skinsuit (No Gloves).
Interacting With: Feel free.
---

Not as abandoned as he had been led to believe - unsurprising, given the, ah, dubious nature of his Rodian contact. Still, he had not come where he was by quitting at the first sight of trouble, and the potential for valuable data was simply too great to disregard.

Sliding his entirely civilian shuttle towards the station, he was in too much of a hurry to scan for weapons, eyes widening slightly as an alarm blared. Automated defences. Just perfect.

Shifting the controls with inhuman speed, he just barely dodged the first barrage, though the second clipped his engine block, causing a rather unpleasant sounding explosion. Spinning violently, he calmly shifted the vessel into a vacuum-exposed assembly hall, manoeuvring thrusters struggling violently to compensate for malfunctions across the board.

With a violent bang and the painful screeching of metal on metal, his shuttle finally settled down - though not before sending him flying face first into the controls as the inertial dampener gave out with a pitiful hum.

Chassis integrity at 97%. Minor damage to skin and auxiliary sensors.​

Groaning on reflex, though he saw no need to keep his pain sensors active during situations such as this, he reached up to stroke the jagged scar in his facial synthskin, revealing the dark metal beneath. Could have been worse, far worse.

Pushing himself away from the wrecked console, he put on his skinsuit's helmet - for protection, though not from vacuum; it had been long, so long, since he had needed to breathe. Touching a wall, then tearing the hidden panel open when the mechanism failed to work, he pulled forth a knife and a rifle, attaching the former to his skinsuit's toolbelt. It had been a long time since he'd wielded a weapon in self-defence, but who knew who had been in the already docked ships - pirates, perhaps, or worse yet competitors.

1 Point - Suffer a Close Brush with Death (Shuttle Destroyed)​

 

[Ken Martano]

It was a relief when, as one, Ken and Jerec Asyr lowered their guns. There would be no killing just yet.

Ken had stared down a lot of guns in his time. He'd spent most of the war against the Sith, if you could call a sequence of losing guerrilla actions a war, aboard League of Voss capital ships, but he was no stranger to firefights. In the dangerous business of supplying an insurgent movement you ended up dealing with a lot of violent and shady types eager to double cross you, and that meant he'd been in dozens of confrontations even without counting the several times Ken had been trapped on worlds the Sith were in the process of invading.

He'd killed people, too, and not just in impersonal fleet battles where you never saw the other pilots as their craft went up in flames. Few enough to count on one hand, but that hardly seemed to matter once the line had been crossed. He remembered every one of their faces. The first had been on Raxus Secundus. The sky had been falling on Tamwith Bay, the trade-rich city turned to mud and slag by Sith artillery. General Dietrich Marr was their commander, leader of the elite and pitiless Blackblade Guard.

They called him The Hangman, because he was infamous for stringing up the corpses of dead insurgents as a warning.

Ken had crawled up the beach at the city's edge, soaked and shivering after being forced to swim from his escape pod. The Sanguine Heart, the cruiser he'd served on since the war began, had just been vaporized overhead. Half the people he knew were dead, but the adrenaline of terror kept it from his mind. There was no escape from Raxus, only a chance to hide. When the Sith trooper had crossed his path, Ken hadn't hesitated. A single point-blank blaster shot had punched through the dark armored helmet.

It had melted the faceplate, and as Ken started into the charred features of the young woman he'd just killed, the one intact bright blue eye frozen in terror, he had wondered. Had she wanted to be there? Was she one of the Blackblade Guard's ruthless butchers, or was she a terrified conscript, just hoping to survive one more battle and return to a family that worried for her every day?

Ken shook the memory away. The darkness of that war was always threatening to drag him under; he needed a stiff drink. Bending over, he helped the other scavenger lug the heavy cutting torch back up the ramp of his ship. He kept his eyes up, watching the other man warily. There was no telling yet if they were really going to cooperate, or if the other man would put a blaster bolt in him the moment he turned his back. "Thanks," he replied to the offer of a medpack, "but this'll hold me until the job's done."

It wouldn't be smart to take "medical supplies" from someone he wasn't sure he could trust just yet.

"Ken," he said, extending his hand to shake. He'd thought about adopting an alias, but he doubted even the Sith soldiers he'd fought had any idea who he was; he'd been too small-time for that. As he reached for Jerec's hand, though, a thud made his head snap back toward the hangar doors. A woman had just stumbled through, almost on top of where they were standing. Ken's hand flew back to his blaster, and he pointed it straight at where Mishel Kryze had tumbled. A puff of strange gas drifted in after her, and his eyes narrowed.

"This place is starting to get real karking crowded... Who the feth are you?"

Outside, a bright flash of light indicated that the auto-defenses had just blown apart another would-be intruder. Ken's grip tightened nervously; he needed to get what he'd come for and get out of here, pronto.

1 Point - Experience a Flashback (First Kill)

Eocin Chiyat | Dyre Redwave ​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Mishel Kryze Ken Martano

Jerec kept his blaster down - the girl squeezing through the wall gap didn't strike him as a threat. Gas or vapor puffed against the mask of his space suit. He set the big torch down inside his ship, went back out, and sealed the hatch.

"So. Hi. I'm Jerec Asyr, I'm here to salvage, and I'd just as soon go all day without firing this blaster. Gonna go out on a limb and guess you're both here for the same reason, unless you're running from pirates or some such. I'm open to collaborating. Plenty of good stuff here for all of us."

He squinted at the breached bulkhead through which the girl had just climbed. Thirty seconds' work disengaged a component, a really nice one. Jerec held it up.

"For example, Ubrikkian structural tensor field projector head. Market value maybe eight, nine hundred wupiupi. Guarantee the local pirates don't have a clue."


1 point - claim loot in 3rd post or later

 

[Dyre Redwave]

Dyre and his men, at length, came to the primary shipyard, though much to his disappointment, he found that it was in far worse condition than he had hoped. The speeders stopped before they passed through the shield gate to the yard itself to inspect the yards environment status. The two returned shortly shaking their heads. “Environmental controls are down sir” one replied as they returned, when we pass through the gate, we are in vacuum.

“Damn” Dyre stated, while their suits meant they could survive in the void of space, they could certainly not do so indefinitely. “What about the control tower? Life support systems still operation there?”

The engineers began to scan the large control tower. They both nodded to one another before replying to Dyre “Still operational” one of the engineers replied… “mostly.”

Dyre sighed. “Mostly will have to do then… toss the prisoners out… no sense wasting out time with them at this point.” After given the order the prisoners were thrown to the ground, executed with a single shot and had their collars removed, in Dyre’s eyes, this was a far kinder fate than simply letting them die in void of space. With the grim task completed they began to move once more, and as they passed through the shield gate, they were greeted by the silence of the void as their speeders made for the control tower.

While it was one thing to know in ones mind the size of large spacecraft, it was another entirely to see their massive forms when you were on the outside and looking at them. As they sped past the ships docked in the yard Dyre stared in awe. There were many things in the galaxy worth a great many credits but here and now, this was the treasure he sought.

When they arrived to the control tower, Dyre breathed a sigh of relief. He and a small team of engineers took an elevator to the upper levels. He looked around the command tower, completely oblivious to what he was looking at. As he walked around the room he turned to the engineers who had set about their work. “I have no clue what exactly is going on in here” Dyre said honestly. “Anything that will help us get these ships out of here?”

“Yes sir” one of the engineers responded quickly. It was no secret among his men that Dyre was not the most ‘technologically literate’ and this was far from the first time that his engineers had needed to simplify things for him. “We have access to power controls but no real understanding of what controls what controls what… we will need someone on the inside to give us a better idea. We need to get those turrets offline. As far as removal of ships we simply clear out a gap then tractor, tether and slave.”

“I’m just going to pretend I know what that means and it isn't just some kind of space magic.” Dyre said with a sigh. “Should I get inside to check the power situation though?”

“Better off using the radio” the engineer replied pointing to a communications station in the corner of the room. “Scanners showed a few other ships approaching as we were inbound… just broadcast across all common public channels and see if you can’t get ahold of anyone, pirates may monitor it but they definitely won’t reply, don’t want to give themselves away to us. Better than making a needless ‘void-walk’.”

“Agreed” Dyre said taking a seat at the com station. He began to configure the com console and soon he was broadcasting.

“This is…” He paused, not wanting to reveal his identity… “Captain Bucky, I have access to the ships systems power controls but the interface is severely damaged. I am trying to restore power to necessary systems and disable automated defense.”

Dyre leaned back in the chair and waited for a response…

Tag: Jerec Asyr Ken Martano Eocin Chiyat Mishel Kryze

 

[Eocin Chiyat]

Equipment: "Jackal" ACR, "Nascticiri" Combat Knife, & a "Corporis" Skinsuit (No Gloves).
Tags: Dyre Redwave | Jerec Asyr , Ken Martano , & Mishel Kryze.
---

Frowning at what remained of his ship, the cyborg sighed. Broken beyond repair, unless he was inclined to scavenge for parts and spend weeks or even months doing repairs. Better just to find another way off the damn rock, but first he would have what he came for.

Trodding soundlessly across the vacuum-exposed hall, he reached what looked like a semi-functional airlock, right hand shifting into a strange-looking multitool as he sliced it open, stepped through the environmental shield, and closed it behind him. The life support systems, at least, seemed to be working mostly properly. Odd, but not unwelcome - organics got so precious if you vented their atmosphere.

Mouth quirking into a smile at the open broadcast, he quickly calibrated his internal comms systems, responding soon after the transmission ended. "Greetings, Bucky..." Spacers always had such odd names. "... this is Erkhin. Do you, by chance, have access to the Cartel manufacturing data? If so, then I propose an alliance of sorts, as I am reasonably close to main engineering." Better not let his true identity be known - one could never trust scavengers not to try to collect a ransom - but one also couldn't swing a spanner where he was from without hitting an Erkhin.

Of course, the cyborg had no clue that main engineering was infested with pirates.

 

[Ken Martano]

After a moment, when the strange woman still hadn't moved, Ken lowered his blaster.

It was always a good idea to be wary of suddenly-appearing strangers, he had learned. On the battlefield you generally knew when friendlies were coming your way, so the approach of anyone you didn't know about was usually bad news. But the whole reason he'd gotten involved in that drukstorm of a war was to do the right thing, to help people who couldn't help themselves. Ken had walked away from the League of Voss only when they'd been ripped out from under him, and their ideals still had some hold on him.

As Jerec Asyr pulled his salvage from the walls, Ken carefully approached the hole the woman had crawled through. Wisps of thick green gas still swirled behind it, and the warning lights on his breath mask blinked rapidly and ominously if he got too close. Whatever the stuff was, it was potent. Flexing his arms, Ken tugged the fallen slab of durasteel back into position to plug the hole as much as possible. It would at least slow the gas's progress into the hangar bay. Then, with a sigh at his foolish high-mindedness, he took off his rebreather.

Walking over to Mishel Kryze, he gently placed the mask over her face, letting fresh air circulate into her system to purge the lingering effects of the gas. Ken knew he would be exposed now if the gas broke through, or if he took a sudden trip into an airless section of the station again, but some part of him couldn't just leave someone who seemed to need his help. As he straightened, though, he noticed something on her belt - the unmistakeable form of a lightsaber. His eyes widened, and he stepped back quickly, hand on his gun.

He really, really hoped he hadn't just helped a Sith. Not after everything their kind had done to him and his.

"Station components are well and good," he finally said, turning back to Jerec, "but a single crate of the stuff that's supposed to be stored here, waiting to go on those assembly lines, should be worth five or six of those at a minimum. The problem will be finding a safe route to the storage rooms and getting inside them." At that moment, Dyre Redwave 's message sounded over the station intercom. Ken raised an eyebrow as he listened. "And we'll need to do it soon."

"I get the feeling that some of the people trying to get at this station's treasures are here in force."

1 Point - Help Another Character (Provided Breath Mask)

Eocin Chiyat ​

 

[Mishel Kryze]

Mishel found herself on the business end of a blaster and surprisingly, mostly to herself, kept her darkside to herself. She was about to say who she was when another person intervened, "I like you." She whispered and then once more as she was about to say something the one with the blaster pointed in her face, instead placed a mask over her. "Thank Ashira," she said with gratitude, the Tygaran rolled to her feet and dusted herself off. ​

​

"I am indeed after a few treasures, although-" She paused to hear Dyre Redwave 's message. "... Bucky? Really? What kind of karkin' schutta..." When the message ended, she turned her attention to the two gentlemen before her.​

​

"Don't go that way," Mishel gestured with a thumb over her shoulder, "got hit with fear gas, stuff was pretty potent and well-engineered." ​

​

Still had one heck of a headache though, still, she supposed that was to be expected. "Right well, first thanks for the mask, and uh for not shooting me." Although that might not have ended the way he wanted it to. Keeping Mez in check wasn't going to be easy if that had been in the case. "Second, hi, names Mishel Kryze and third not a Mandalorian, was-am married to one? It's complicated."​

​

"So, now that we're all mostly acquainted - which way?"​

​

Ken Martano | Jerec Asyr ​

 

[Dyre Redwave]

Dyre looked to the men behind him. “Do we have that?” he asked uncertain what exactly the man wanted.

“Yes sir” one of the engineers replied moving to assist him and pointing out the file in question.

“I have what you are looking for Erkhin” Dyre replied to Eocin Chiyat “In exchange I need you to find a power terminal nearby and see if you see any identification numbers on it. You get me that and help me run some tests restarting systems in your area to bring ventilation back online and shut down the automated defenses and I will send you whatever data you want.”

As he waited for a reply Dyre turned to check on his men. They had set themselves to using the tractor beams to clear out larger pieces of debris from the asteroid field in the hopes of getting the large ships through without them being ground to dust. While not perfect, it was the best that could be done until they had control of the ship’s defenses. Launching big asteroids into smaller ones to make them even smaller. While there was no getting these ships through the field unscathed, not without their shields being online, it was becoming feasible to get get them out in a single piece and for his purposes, that was good enough., for his buyer, they needed only be operable.

Tag: Eocin Chiyat

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Ken Martano Mishel Kryze

"I didn't think Mandos got married, unless they do it in armor or something." Jerec made his voice deep and hoarse. "This is the way."

He yanked another multi-hundred-wupiupi component out of the bulkhead. "The big take might be elsewhere, but this is a good take and it's here. And you know what's elsewhere?" He pointed at the ceiling, meaning the stationwide intercom. "Bucky. And pirates. So I'm gonna keep salvaging right here, deploy some guard droids, keep my ship as a semi-fortified fallback point in case you run into more bad things. You're both welcome aboard."

1 point - I'm helping

 

[Eocin Chiyat]

Equipment: "Jackal" ACR, "Nascticiri" Combat Knife, & a "Corporis" Skinsuit (No Gloves).
Tags: Dyre Redwave | Jerec Asyr , Ken Martano , & Mishel Kryze.
---

Ventilation? How useless, but he would play along. The deactivation of the automated defences, at least, was something he could get behind.

"Copy that, Erkhin out." Breaking into a leaping jog, the cyborg surged down the corridor, sensors in body and helmet both working in tandem to analyse his surroundings, searching out the nearest terminal while simultaneously looking for potential threats.

Turning yet another corner, his eyes flickered to an almost imperceptible thread, following it to the shrapnel mine buried in the wall plating. Crude, but effective. Someone must have already claimed this husk for themselves. "Be advised, my section is booby-trapped. Concealed explosives."

Neatly stepping over the thread, he approached a terminal, eying the obvious wear of time - and the limited repairs carried out, at some point. Definitely claimed by someone, though their engineering aptitude left much to be desired. Calmly calling in the station's identification number, though he had to make use of his ocular sensors to discern a few smeared numbers at the end, the man seemed content to calmly ignore the locals' clumsy attempts at security. Compared to the turbolasers, it was barely noteworthy. It would take more than an IED to end his existence.

Opting to directly interface with the terminal, he would await this "Bucky"'s instructions, likely skipping quite a few steps on the way. The security software was two decades old, after all - hardly a challenge to one such as him. This would not take long.

1 Point - Describe a New Threat; Booby Traps
1 Point - Cooperate with another Treasure Hunter​