Viper Actual
Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
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Futuristic Star Wars: The Last Platoon - IC
- Thread starter Viper Actual
- Start date
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- Tags
- star wars
Prologue
Viper Actual
Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
Then, 5 ABY.
ISBS Druid, perimeter defense line.
Rockets screamed as they streaked through the air before spiraling down onto the entrenched Imperial defenders. Shrapnel, dirt and debris washed over the dozens or so soldiers fighting for their lives from within trenches, dugouts and waist-high pillboxes.
The defending forces were an odd mix; Dark-green of the Imperial Army was contrasted by the white of the Stormtrooper Corps, both of which in turn were combined with a multitude of different uniforms and armor from specialized units and other Imperial military branches.
A naval officer wearing body armor a size too big screamed in agony as shrapnel singed and burned his already muddied and dirty dress uniform whereas a trio of veteran shoretroopers called out approaching hostiles from behind a wall of sandbags and thick durasteel plates.
Meanwhile a TX-225 GAVw lurched forward all buttoned up and spitting deadly laser fire from all of its weapon mounts as inaccurate bolts scorched its armored hull.
Not too far away from the defensive line- which was situated on an uphill approach leading up to the walled-off complex that was ISBS Druid- a scouting party consisting of a pair of scout troopers, some Imperial army soldiers and a lone death trooper retreated from the thick jungle curtain surrounding the foot of the hill.
As they ran laser bolts, bowcaster shots and rockets followed them, all fired by the pursuing enemy forces and liberated Wookiee laborers with the latter seemingly numbering in the hundreds.
Even now the silhouettes of dark lumbering figures could be seen between the gigantic trees and roots, hinting to what was about to come.
Seeing all of this from his elevated command position at the center of the defense line was Lieutenant Cadrick.
A man in his late forties and a veteran of the Clone Wars, Cadrick's appearance had already been weathered and scarred since before the days of the Empire.
Back then he had been a corporal serving first as a member of the planetary militia of his homeworld before being promoted to sergeant. Cadrick would go on to be an instructor on tactics for the Grand Army of the Republic before being pressed into combat during the Empire's rise to power.
A great many days, months and years had passed since then. Weapons and uniforms changed but politics and the loss of men were still the same.
If not worse.
Cadrick watched the scouting party dive into the relative safety and comfort of friendly lines just as the first hostiles cleared the treeline and entered open terrain.
Most were Wookiees but Cadrick did see some Imperial prison garbs here and there paired with the few ans unique woodland camouflage of Alliance SpecForce troops.
As soon as the encroaching onslaught entered the open the Imperial defenders intensified their efforts. An E-Web was quick to hose one part of the treeline with rapid laser fire, felling scores of attackers.
In return thermal detonators, rockets and deadly longblaster bolts began to focus in on the entrenched weapons team.
Cadrick looked to his right and pointed towards the apparent hideout of the enemy sniper, prompting three shoretroopers to nod and send a deadly mortar barrage downrange.
The lieutenant then ducked down behind cover and spoke into his headset.
"Engineer Faernik, report."
The private comms channel- reserved for squad leaders and key staff- crackled to life almost immediately.
"Lieutenant, sir, I'm almost done with the repairs! Just need to run a systems check and perform a test-fire of the engines."
Cadrick grunted in response while watching the GAVw suffer not one but too direct hits from a rocket launcher. It stopped moving- no doubt because one of the tracks had been struck- before attempting re-orient itself slowly.
"I understand," Cadrick finally said. "But the Wookiees are about to breach our lines. Once we fall back to the walls it will only be down to a matter of minutes."
"Yessir, Faernik out."
Cadrick sighed and grabbed his binoculars to continue observations. His men were holding- barely- and he'd soon have to order them all to fall back to ISBS Druid itself.
Aside from its cliff-side location and the secrecy of its existence Druid had no real tactical advantage with the latter of tve two not really mattering much when the enemy knew you were there in the first place. ISBS Druid was but a lone metal structure surrounded by a thin perimeter wall dotted with automated surveillance systems and spotlights. It had a couple of hangars for smaller land vehicles and walkers as well as a pair of warehouses for supplies.
Beyond that there were three landing pads jutting out of the structure itself of which currently only one remained occupied. It was on this pad that engineer Faernik was working alongside a team of volunteers and non-combat staff to repair and restore a cargo shuttle into working order.
The shuttle had been left behind as the ISB command staff had loaded up anything of worth and themselves onto their own Lambda-shuttle and Druid's second cargo craft, leaving Cadrick, his men and those deemed 'non-essential' by the collapsing Imperial Security Bureau.
Of course this decision had not been a popular one, as testified by the dozen corpses at the smaller landing pad after they decided to rush towards the command staff.
The pinpoint weapons fire from the ISB chief's personal guard had proven to be a deterrent enough though ultimately they too were left behind as the shuttles departed.
Even now Cadrick could hear the deep and hearty laugh of the ISB major that had left them all behind;
You will stay here, for the Empire. You will die as well- if that is what's asked of you. These are your final orders, lieutenant.
Major Tarnack was not only fat and pompous but a coward as well. His final words to Cadrick would echo in the latter's mind for as long as he lived. There were also a second voice, one of much darker tone, that spoke of revenge.
Such thoughts would have to wait however. Tarnack was long gone, as were those deemed important enough to go with him. What mattered now was winning the battle at hand or at the very least surviving long enough to escape.
One day I will come for you, Tarnack. One day.
Cadrick's thoughts were interrupted as the leader of the scouting team- Corporal Kyran Racksen, a death trooper- appeared next to him, sliding into cover while cursing.
"Karking rebels," he muttered, voice scrambler disabled. Racksen then nodded towards Cadrick.
"Lieutenant, scouting party as requested. As you can see we found the rebels- and they invited themselves here as well."
Cadrick nodded. "That I can see, corporal."
"Yes, you can probably tell by this point that we didn't manage to get a head-start on our way back," replied Kyran.
The death trooper then gestured towards the sandbag wall he was currently leaning his back against. "On a positive note I can report that they have no vehicles or aircraft as of you yet- that goes for both the laborers and the Alliance troops, sir."
Cadrick grunted. "What about the garrison?"
Racksen shook his head. "Gone, as are the reinforcements from Camp Sardo and Kachirho. For all we know they're either busy fighting their own uprisings or they've already been overrun too, if they weren't the first to go."
Cadrick bit his tongue, stopping himself from swearing in front of Racksen and the other soldiers and junior officers around him.
Command with example.
He looked up at Kyran and nodded twice. "If there's no backup coming let alone anything to divide their attention then we need to change our plans."
Kyran tilted his helmeted head. "Sir?"
"Corporal, the Wookiees view anything Imperial as something that obstructs their freedom. If we are the last ones here- truly last- then that means we are the singular bump that stands between the Wookiees and their objective. Not only that, but if we are indeed the last ones here then Alliance SpecForce will hit us hard and fast."
Cadrick paused and lowered his tone; "I don't need to tell you what happens when military special forces engage a soft target, do I?"
As if on cue another rocket barrage came soaring through the sky before crashing down into the trenchlines. Cadrick pointed towards Kyran.
"Pass the word. It's time to fall back. We're gonna have to go real soon whether Faernik likes it or not."
Just then a choir of a hundred voices roared which was immediately followed by the chorus of thousands of feet rushing forth.
Damn the Emperor, to hell with him and his schemes. Just let me get my men out of here.
Now, 9 ABY.
Horvaan, Kat's Cantina.
Back during the Clone Wars the CIS had strip-mined Horvaan of rare-earth minerals for use in construction of mighty dreadnoughts. The gas giant had been subjected to mining as well, providing the CIS with a moderate amount of Tibanna gas.
However, at the end of the Clone Wars- and during the rise of the Galactic Empire- Horvaan had been abandoned with extreme haste as remaining Separatist holdouts sought to consolidate what few resources they were still in control of.
Suddenly abandoned, most of the equipment and facilities on Horvaan fell into decay. Refineries began to rust, mines collapsed and mining vehicles were torn to shreds by violent dust storms ravaging the Horvaani Plainlands.
The planet would later be colonized during the Empire's early years by refugees, hermits and others who wished to separate themselves from the rest of the galaxy. Horvaan would become a paradise for many- or a second chance free of oppression from the Confederacy, Republic and Empire.
In turn this would make Horvaan something of an urban legend; Couriers, traders and smugglers began to whisper of a world only present on rare Clone Wars-era maps, mapped only by the Confederate military.
Thankfully these maps and starcharts are rare and few between, further immortalizing Horvaan as a mere myth.
Something I will truly be forever grateful for.
Katresh Jalaan, founder and owner of Kat's Cantina, thought to herself as she looked out her office window. Situated at a hill next to Emergence- Horvaan's largest (and only) settlement- the round cantina building with its dome-shaped third-floor office overlooked most of the sprawling settlement.
Emergence was a mix of pre-fabricated module buildings, shacks made out of junk and scrap, retired starships and hand-built houses. Kat's cantina was one of the latter, having been built by hand with help from all of Emergence. It was one of few houses constructed by the community itself with more on the way.
Sighing, Kat gently caressed her own montrals as she watched both groups and singular people walk about minding their own business.
Horvaan had this calm and tranquility which you couldn't see on any other planet, at least not any Kat had been to.
Her eyes wandered north, to the Azure Sea which Emergence shared its borders with in the form of long and even red beaches.
During dusk the otherwise blue sea would turn purple and violet, illuminating most of Emergence with a faint azure glow throughout the early hours of the evening.
A boom.
Katresh shifted her focus, this time onto two ships which had appeared far away in the clear skies above the settlement. She instinctively grabbed her binoculars to gaze upwards- as she knew that most other settlers would do as well- and felt herself tense up at the sight of one Sentinel-class shuttle and one Zeta-class heavy cargo shuttle.
Immediately her left hand began to search for the holster she had so lazily placed atop her office desk when the shuttles turned, revealing no Imperial insignia but that of some of her most lurcative customers;
Cadrick's Outlaws.
Feeling her shoulders droop slightly, Katresh both sighed with relief and muttered a curse. On any other world this long after the collapse of the Empire the mere sight of Imperial starships would have an entire village scurrying for cover.
Imperial warlords were known to be both ruthless and without mercy when seizing supplies detrimental for their continued survival on the run from the New Republic and while Cadrick and his men were friends of her Kat was still far away from feeling comfortable with seeing anything Imperial.
I guess that's one wound time won't heal just yet.
Shaking her head, Kat got up and readied herself to go down and meet her customers.
The cantina jukebox was blasting away on full volume- as always. Despite that there weren't actually that many guests currently present inside;
A couple of locals sitting by themselves, a smuggler winding down after a couple of days of flight and some airspeeder pilots talking about the latest upgrades they're looking to install into their respective craft. When the doors to the cantina opened to reveal not only uniformed but several armored (and armed) men and women the chatter stopped for a brief moment before quietly resuming.
CRO-407, the cantina bartender droid, looked up and waved to greet the newcomers. "Welcome! Welcome to K-"
"Kat's Cantina, yeah, we know, nice to see you too, Crowe." Said Kyran Racksen as he removed his slightly worn but otherwise pristine Death Trooper helmet. Like many others under Cadrick's command his face showed a general wear and tear as did his armor, with minor modifications and patchwork here and there that made it less awful to spend longer-than-intended amounts of time in.
Sergeant Val Kitressi bumped into Kyran and made a loud snort as the Death Trooper nearly toppled over, prompting some other troopers to laugh and chuckle.
"Getting old, Racksen? Or do you just need someone to tuck you in?" Kit asked, pouting.
Racksen rolled his eyes as he got back on even footing. "You were just lucky, Sergeant."
By now the members of the company were spreading out across the cantina with some getting together with their usual groups, such as squadmates and close friends. Remaining at the door however was none other than Lieutenant Haldon Cadrick himself. Dressed in the typical brownish coat of the Imperial Army he was wearing his uniform underneath it without the frontal body armor.
Once all of his men had seated himself he made a low grunt, carefully removed his officer's cap and entered the cantina proper, nodding politely towards CRO-407.
"Crowe," he said, nodding.
CRO-407 mimicked the gesture and poured an orange-tinted drink. Non-alcoholic, as per usual.
"Lieutenant," the droid replied as it placed the drink on the counter and collected a neat stack of credit chits which had already been placed there a mere second beforehand.
Cadrick nodded and took a sip which he allowed to linger for a moment before looking up. "Mistress Jalaan?" He asked with one eyebrow raised.
"On her way, lieutenant."
As if planned beforehand Katresh appeared at the foot of the spiral staircase at the back of the cantina which led up to the hostel rooms and Kat's private quarters and office above. She took a seat next to Cadrick and greeted him with a nod.
"Lieutenant Cadrick," she said while dismissing an incoming drink from CRO-407.
Cadrick bowed his head respectfully. "Mistress Jalaan."
Katresh frowned and shook her head lightly. "You know I don't like it when you use that title. Makes it sound like I'm some old Rancor." She glanced down at Cadrick's drink and tilted her head. "You really should taste one of the other drinks, Haldon."
Cadrick shrugged. "I'm on duty."
Kat frowned. "You always say that."
"The life of an officer," said Cadrick. Several of his troopers at the back of the cantina broke into laughter, prompting him to look in their direction. Someone was telling a vivid story.
Nothing to worry about.
He took another sip and refocused on Kat. "Got any work for us, Katresh?"
Kat feigned a smile and produced a holographic transmitter with one swift motion. "As a matter of fact I do. Security work. Client needs an escort. Local, here on Horvaan."
Cadrick raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening..."
Bronco
Commissar Darman
Darth
Grim Wraithe Stjerna
Jackson123
Jagson
Kloudy
ONI
Shadowfall
Solar Daddy
Worthlessplebian
ISBS Druid, perimeter defense line.
"INCOMING!"
Rockets screamed as they streaked through the air before spiraling down onto the entrenched Imperial defenders. Shrapnel, dirt and debris washed over the dozens or so soldiers fighting for their lives from within trenches, dugouts and waist-high pillboxes.
The defending forces were an odd mix; Dark-green of the Imperial Army was contrasted by the white of the Stormtrooper Corps, both of which in turn were combined with a multitude of different uniforms and armor from specialized units and other Imperial military branches.
A naval officer wearing body armor a size too big screamed in agony as shrapnel singed and burned his already muddied and dirty dress uniform whereas a trio of veteran shoretroopers called out approaching hostiles from behind a wall of sandbags and thick durasteel plates.
Meanwhile a TX-225 GAVw lurched forward all buttoned up and spitting deadly laser fire from all of its weapon mounts as inaccurate bolts scorched its armored hull.
Not too far away from the defensive line- which was situated on an uphill approach leading up to the walled-off complex that was ISBS Druid- a scouting party consisting of a pair of scout troopers, some Imperial army soldiers and a lone death trooper retreated from the thick jungle curtain surrounding the foot of the hill.
As they ran laser bolts, bowcaster shots and rockets followed them, all fired by the pursuing enemy forces and liberated Wookiee laborers with the latter seemingly numbering in the hundreds.
Even now the silhouettes of dark lumbering figures could be seen between the gigantic trees and roots, hinting to what was about to come.
Seeing all of this from his elevated command position at the center of the defense line was Lieutenant Cadrick.
A man in his late forties and a veteran of the Clone Wars, Cadrick's appearance had already been weathered and scarred since before the days of the Empire.
Back then he had been a corporal serving first as a member of the planetary militia of his homeworld before being promoted to sergeant. Cadrick would go on to be an instructor on tactics for the Grand Army of the Republic before being pressed into combat during the Empire's rise to power.
A great many days, months and years had passed since then. Weapons and uniforms changed but politics and the loss of men were still the same.
If not worse.
Cadrick watched the scouting party dive into the relative safety and comfort of friendly lines just as the first hostiles cleared the treeline and entered open terrain.
Most were Wookiees but Cadrick did see some Imperial prison garbs here and there paired with the few ans unique woodland camouflage of Alliance SpecForce troops.
As soon as the encroaching onslaught entered the open the Imperial defenders intensified their efforts. An E-Web was quick to hose one part of the treeline with rapid laser fire, felling scores of attackers.
In return thermal detonators, rockets and deadly longblaster bolts began to focus in on the entrenched weapons team.
Cadrick looked to his right and pointed towards the apparent hideout of the enemy sniper, prompting three shoretroopers to nod and send a deadly mortar barrage downrange.
The lieutenant then ducked down behind cover and spoke into his headset.
"Engineer Faernik, report."
The private comms channel- reserved for squad leaders and key staff- crackled to life almost immediately.
"Lieutenant, sir, I'm almost done with the repairs! Just need to run a systems check and perform a test-fire of the engines."
Cadrick grunted in response while watching the GAVw suffer not one but too direct hits from a rocket launcher. It stopped moving- no doubt because one of the tracks had been struck- before attempting re-orient itself slowly.
"I understand," Cadrick finally said. "But the Wookiees are about to breach our lines. Once we fall back to the walls it will only be down to a matter of minutes."
"Yessir, Faernik out."
Cadrick sighed and grabbed his binoculars to continue observations. His men were holding- barely- and he'd soon have to order them all to fall back to ISBS Druid itself.
Aside from its cliff-side location and the secrecy of its existence Druid had no real tactical advantage with the latter of tve two not really mattering much when the enemy knew you were there in the first place. ISBS Druid was but a lone metal structure surrounded by a thin perimeter wall dotted with automated surveillance systems and spotlights. It had a couple of hangars for smaller land vehicles and walkers as well as a pair of warehouses for supplies.
Beyond that there were three landing pads jutting out of the structure itself of which currently only one remained occupied. It was on this pad that engineer Faernik was working alongside a team of volunteers and non-combat staff to repair and restore a cargo shuttle into working order.
The shuttle had been left behind as the ISB command staff had loaded up anything of worth and themselves onto their own Lambda-shuttle and Druid's second cargo craft, leaving Cadrick, his men and those deemed 'non-essential' by the collapsing Imperial Security Bureau.
Of course this decision had not been a popular one, as testified by the dozen corpses at the smaller landing pad after they decided to rush towards the command staff.
The pinpoint weapons fire from the ISB chief's personal guard had proven to be a deterrent enough though ultimately they too were left behind as the shuttles departed.
Even now Cadrick could hear the deep and hearty laugh of the ISB major that had left them all behind;
You will stay here, for the Empire. You will die as well- if that is what's asked of you. These are your final orders, lieutenant.
Major Tarnack was not only fat and pompous but a coward as well. His final words to Cadrick would echo in the latter's mind for as long as he lived. There were also a second voice, one of much darker tone, that spoke of revenge.
Such thoughts would have to wait however. Tarnack was long gone, as were those deemed important enough to go with him. What mattered now was winning the battle at hand or at the very least surviving long enough to escape.
One day I will come for you, Tarnack. One day.
Cadrick's thoughts were interrupted as the leader of the scouting team- Corporal Kyran Racksen, a death trooper- appeared next to him, sliding into cover while cursing.
"Karking rebels," he muttered, voice scrambler disabled. Racksen then nodded towards Cadrick.
"Lieutenant, scouting party as requested. As you can see we found the rebels- and they invited themselves here as well."
Cadrick nodded. "That I can see, corporal."
"Yes, you can probably tell by this point that we didn't manage to get a head-start on our way back," replied Kyran.
The death trooper then gestured towards the sandbag wall he was currently leaning his back against. "On a positive note I can report that they have no vehicles or aircraft as of you yet- that goes for both the laborers and the Alliance troops, sir."
Cadrick grunted. "What about the garrison?"
Racksen shook his head. "Gone, as are the reinforcements from Camp Sardo and Kachirho. For all we know they're either busy fighting their own uprisings or they've already been overrun too, if they weren't the first to go."
Cadrick bit his tongue, stopping himself from swearing in front of Racksen and the other soldiers and junior officers around him.
Command with example.
He looked up at Kyran and nodded twice. "If there's no backup coming let alone anything to divide their attention then we need to change our plans."
Kyran tilted his helmeted head. "Sir?"
"Corporal, the Wookiees view anything Imperial as something that obstructs their freedom. If we are the last ones here- truly last- then that means we are the singular bump that stands between the Wookiees and their objective. Not only that, but if we are indeed the last ones here then Alliance SpecForce will hit us hard and fast."
Cadrick paused and lowered his tone; "I don't need to tell you what happens when military special forces engage a soft target, do I?"
As if on cue another rocket barrage came soaring through the sky before crashing down into the trenchlines. Cadrick pointed towards Kyran.
"Pass the word. It's time to fall back. We're gonna have to go real soon whether Faernik likes it or not."
Just then a choir of a hundred voices roared which was immediately followed by the chorus of thousands of feet rushing forth.
Damn the Emperor, to hell with him and his schemes. Just let me get my men out of here.
Now, 9 ABY.
Horvaan, Kat's Cantina.
Once a mineral-rich world in the tight grip of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, Horvaan was a relatively small moon orbiting a larger gas giant in a mostly uncharted system far on the edges of the Outer Rim.Back during the Clone Wars the CIS had strip-mined Horvaan of rare-earth minerals for use in construction of mighty dreadnoughts. The gas giant had been subjected to mining as well, providing the CIS with a moderate amount of Tibanna gas.
However, at the end of the Clone Wars- and during the rise of the Galactic Empire- Horvaan had been abandoned with extreme haste as remaining Separatist holdouts sought to consolidate what few resources they were still in control of.
Suddenly abandoned, most of the equipment and facilities on Horvaan fell into decay. Refineries began to rust, mines collapsed and mining vehicles were torn to shreds by violent dust storms ravaging the Horvaani Plainlands.
The planet would later be colonized during the Empire's early years by refugees, hermits and others who wished to separate themselves from the rest of the galaxy. Horvaan would become a paradise for many- or a second chance free of oppression from the Confederacy, Republic and Empire.
In turn this would make Horvaan something of an urban legend; Couriers, traders and smugglers began to whisper of a world only present on rare Clone Wars-era maps, mapped only by the Confederate military.
Thankfully these maps and starcharts are rare and few between, further immortalizing Horvaan as a mere myth.
Something I will truly be forever grateful for.
Katresh Jalaan, founder and owner of Kat's Cantina, thought to herself as she looked out her office window. Situated at a hill next to Emergence- Horvaan's largest (and only) settlement- the round cantina building with its dome-shaped third-floor office overlooked most of the sprawling settlement.
Emergence was a mix of pre-fabricated module buildings, shacks made out of junk and scrap, retired starships and hand-built houses. Kat's cantina was one of the latter, having been built by hand with help from all of Emergence. It was one of few houses constructed by the community itself with more on the way.
Sighing, Kat gently caressed her own montrals as she watched both groups and singular people walk about minding their own business.
Horvaan had this calm and tranquility which you couldn't see on any other planet, at least not any Kat had been to.
Her eyes wandered north, to the Azure Sea which Emergence shared its borders with in the form of long and even red beaches.
During dusk the otherwise blue sea would turn purple and violet, illuminating most of Emergence with a faint azure glow throughout the early hours of the evening.
A boom.
Katresh shifted her focus, this time onto two ships which had appeared far away in the clear skies above the settlement. She instinctively grabbed her binoculars to gaze upwards- as she knew that most other settlers would do as well- and felt herself tense up at the sight of one Sentinel-class shuttle and one Zeta-class heavy cargo shuttle.
Immediately her left hand began to search for the holster she had so lazily placed atop her office desk when the shuttles turned, revealing no Imperial insignia but that of some of her most lurcative customers;
Cadrick's Outlaws.
Feeling her shoulders droop slightly, Katresh both sighed with relief and muttered a curse. On any other world this long after the collapse of the Empire the mere sight of Imperial starships would have an entire village scurrying for cover.
Imperial warlords were known to be both ruthless and without mercy when seizing supplies detrimental for their continued survival on the run from the New Republic and while Cadrick and his men were friends of her Kat was still far away from feeling comfortable with seeing anything Imperial.
I guess that's one wound time won't heal just yet.
Shaking her head, Kat got up and readied herself to go down and meet her customers.
*
The cantina jukebox was blasting away on full volume- as always. Despite that there weren't actually that many guests currently present inside;
A couple of locals sitting by themselves, a smuggler winding down after a couple of days of flight and some airspeeder pilots talking about the latest upgrades they're looking to install into their respective craft. When the doors to the cantina opened to reveal not only uniformed but several armored (and armed) men and women the chatter stopped for a brief moment before quietly resuming.
CRO-407, the cantina bartender droid, looked up and waved to greet the newcomers. "Welcome! Welcome to K-"
"Kat's Cantina, yeah, we know, nice to see you too, Crowe." Said Kyran Racksen as he removed his slightly worn but otherwise pristine Death Trooper helmet. Like many others under Cadrick's command his face showed a general wear and tear as did his armor, with minor modifications and patchwork here and there that made it less awful to spend longer-than-intended amounts of time in.
Sergeant Val Kitressi bumped into Kyran and made a loud snort as the Death Trooper nearly toppled over, prompting some other troopers to laugh and chuckle.
"Getting old, Racksen? Or do you just need someone to tuck you in?" Kit asked, pouting.
Racksen rolled his eyes as he got back on even footing. "You were just lucky, Sergeant."
By now the members of the company were spreading out across the cantina with some getting together with their usual groups, such as squadmates and close friends. Remaining at the door however was none other than Lieutenant Haldon Cadrick himself. Dressed in the typical brownish coat of the Imperial Army he was wearing his uniform underneath it without the frontal body armor.
Once all of his men had seated himself he made a low grunt, carefully removed his officer's cap and entered the cantina proper, nodding politely towards CRO-407.
"Crowe," he said, nodding.
CRO-407 mimicked the gesture and poured an orange-tinted drink. Non-alcoholic, as per usual.
"Lieutenant," the droid replied as it placed the drink on the counter and collected a neat stack of credit chits which had already been placed there a mere second beforehand.
Cadrick nodded and took a sip which he allowed to linger for a moment before looking up. "Mistress Jalaan?" He asked with one eyebrow raised.
"On her way, lieutenant."
As if planned beforehand Katresh appeared at the foot of the spiral staircase at the back of the cantina which led up to the hostel rooms and Kat's private quarters and office above. She took a seat next to Cadrick and greeted him with a nod.
"Lieutenant Cadrick," she said while dismissing an incoming drink from CRO-407.
Cadrick bowed his head respectfully. "Mistress Jalaan."
Katresh frowned and shook her head lightly. "You know I don't like it when you use that title. Makes it sound like I'm some old Rancor." She glanced down at Cadrick's drink and tilted her head. "You really should taste one of the other drinks, Haldon."
Cadrick shrugged. "I'm on duty."
Kat frowned. "You always say that."
"The life of an officer," said Cadrick. Several of his troopers at the back of the cantina broke into laughter, prompting him to look in their direction. Someone was telling a vivid story.
Nothing to worry about.
He took another sip and refocused on Kat. "Got any work for us, Katresh?"
Kat feigned a smile and produced a holographic transmitter with one swift motion. "As a matter of fact I do. Security work. Client needs an escort. Local, here on Horvaan."
Cadrick raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening..."
Bronco
Commissar Darman
Darth
Grim Wraithe Stjerna
Jackson123
Jagson
Kloudy
ONI
Shadowfall
Solar Daddy
Worthlessplebian
Solar Daddy
Synthetic Nightmare
Hailin Arko had followed close with her fellow Death Troopers as an informal clique, making her way into the cantina with a confident stride. Seeing Val and Kyran messing about the moment they got in the door put a smile on her face, invisible to the others for the remainder of her time with her helmet on. Upon passing the other two DT's, Hail put a hand on Kyran's shoulder with a nod up. "Cool off, Racksen. Take it as an invitation." Hailin's Core-World accent crackled through her uncoded modulator. She slipped by the troopers to make her way to the bar. There, she ordered her own drink before the masses could bog down the cantina with their requests. Upon receiving her drink Hailin went off to one of the as-of-yet vacant booths. Only then did she remove the helmet and set it down on the table with little care, kicking her feet up and enjoying the beverage. When mere seconds had passed and she had not yet been accompanied by her usuals, Hailin waved her hand at the troopers still mulling about, clearly on a different tempo than most of her fellow soldiers.
"You all are slower than sand crawlers, let's go! You too, Slick, someone get that gunner in here and put a drink in his hand!" She shouted over the blaring music, knowing Bastra would be one of the last members inside. Upon witnessing Kat enter the atrium though, Hailin gave a click of her tongue after downing a sip of the liquid, her focus snapped away for the time being. Her eyes lingered on the Togruta naturally, but soon found herself falling into her own mind. She couldn't unfocus her eyes even if she wanted to while her thoughts momentarily paused on images of the desert. Of Jakku.
Hail wasn't present at the battle that took place on Kashyyyk with Cadrick's group. No, she was busy fighting for her life in the harsh heat of Jakku, followed by months of space-drifting and avoidance of New Republic search vessels. She had fleeting ideas of being an outsider compared to most of Cadrick's Outlaws, having not served at the titular battle, but she was a veteran even without her presence at the Druid site. She even led her own remnant of Imperial survivors for a time before eventually assimilating with Cadrick's group. Despite constantly attempting to rend her mind from the topic, Jakku kept pulling her in like a riptide.
In a moment, her thoughts culminated and she broke free of her short dissociation. I hate sand. She left it at that and continued on her thoughts beforehand, mostly situating her facets on her squad and Kat, flipping back and forth as she sipped at her drink.
Grim Wraithe Stjerna
Grim Wraithe Stjerna
The Víkíngr, reaver of the sea, hunter of Pirates.
9 ABY.
Horvaan, Kat's Cantina.
Rockets screamed as they streaked through the air before spiraling down onto the entrenched Imperial defenders. Shrapnel, dirt and debris washed over him, pinging and bouncing off his helmet and pauldrons.
Opening and closing his jaw several times, trying to pop his ears as he peaked over one of the makeshift barricades. 'Clustered tangos! Two groups of about six! twenty meters in the open. Left flank! Free fire!' Moments later the E-web opened up and mowed down the attackers. And received return fire almost immediately.
Another explosion rocked nearby. MUCH closer this time.
He jerked awake against his chest restraints as the craft broke this planets sound barrier and shook the whole craft. Blinking slowly he yawned and looked around, stretching as best he could snugged into the crash harness.
Minutes later the ship has landed and lowered the ramp allowing everyone to exfil and move out. The Command Sargeant Major made sure he was the last one off the craft and took up the trail spot of the group. Occasionally looking behind them, checking rooftops, alleyways, shop fronts and doorways. Each time he would turn and look good E-22 was up and in a ready to fire position. He knew this place wasn't a real threat to his group, but it never hurt to remind the local populace to not mess with them.
It wasn't long before the group entered Kat's Cantina, Crix stood with his back to the wall just next to the entrance, counting each member as they entered. Nodding when he was satisfied he gave the street a nonchalant salute and entered only to be greeted by a welcomed voice.
"...You too, Slick, someone get that gunner in here and put a drink in his hand!"
Smirking under his helmet, which he shook slightly. "It had better be a double Jet Juice with a heavy Abraxin lager!" His rough voice modulated through the helmet speaker. Referring to the fortified variant of the beer that was brewed and aged in the Abraxin brandy barrels.
Stowing the E-22 on his back, the CSM removed his helmet and joined Hail and her clique of Death Troopers in the booth. Though he was not smiling, there was a very subtle hint of it on his lips. That few would catch. Hail being one of them. "You got some grit on your pauldron..." His eye giving a faint wink as he pointed at the tiny flecks of red sand on her shoulder. Knowing her feelings on sand and sand-like terrain.
Solar Daddy
Horvaan, Kat's Cantina.
Rockets screamed as they streaked through the air before spiraling down onto the entrenched Imperial defenders. Shrapnel, dirt and debris washed over him, pinging and bouncing off his helmet and pauldrons.
Opening and closing his jaw several times, trying to pop his ears as he peaked over one of the makeshift barricades. 'Clustered tangos! Two groups of about six! twenty meters in the open. Left flank! Free fire!' Moments later the E-web opened up and mowed down the attackers. And received return fire almost immediately.
Another explosion rocked nearby. MUCH closer this time.
He jerked awake against his chest restraints as the craft broke this planets sound barrier and shook the whole craft. Blinking slowly he yawned and looked around, stretching as best he could snugged into the crash harness.
Minutes later the ship has landed and lowered the ramp allowing everyone to exfil and move out. The Command Sargeant Major made sure he was the last one off the craft and took up the trail spot of the group. Occasionally looking behind them, checking rooftops, alleyways, shop fronts and doorways. Each time he would turn and look good E-22 was up and in a ready to fire position. He knew this place wasn't a real threat to his group, but it never hurt to remind the local populace to not mess with them.
It wasn't long before the group entered Kat's Cantina, Crix stood with his back to the wall just next to the entrance, counting each member as they entered. Nodding when he was satisfied he gave the street a nonchalant salute and entered only to be greeted by a welcomed voice.
"...You too, Slick, someone get that gunner in here and put a drink in his hand!"
Smirking under his helmet, which he shook slightly. "It had better be a double Jet Juice with a heavy Abraxin lager!" His rough voice modulated through the helmet speaker. Referring to the fortified variant of the beer that was brewed and aged in the Abraxin brandy barrels.
Stowing the E-22 on his back, the CSM removed his helmet and joined Hail and her clique of Death Troopers in the booth. Though he was not smiling, there was a very subtle hint of it on his lips. That few would catch. Hail being one of them. "You got some grit on your pauldron..." His eye giving a faint wink as he pointed at the tiny flecks of red sand on her shoulder. Knowing her feelings on sand and sand-like terrain.
Solar Daddy
Worthlessplebian
Worthless pleb
9 ABY.
Horvaan, Kat's Cantina. Or is it?
An imperial-issued speeder bike screamed through the forest like a lightsaber through wood. Hot on its heels were laser bolts thrown from the ingeniously designed bowcasters. The open air slams against him as he snakes through the wroshyr trees.
"First ones in, last ones out! He hollered. Pushing on the right handlebar forward, the repulsor-powered bike veered to the right and escaped his pursuers. His vision narrowed as the trees and greenery melded into one scene. "Oh, kriff!" The trooper's head ducked before the words left his lips, a line of metallic cord, near-invisible to the naked eye, had almost divorced his head and body.
The momentary shift was all that's needed to lowside against the dirt and vegetation. The scout trooper chambered his arms and legs against his body, allowing his scorched armour to take the brunt of the slide.
Just barely stopping, adrenaline pumping, he moved with a small limp. Sweat accumulated beneath his helm, soaking into the black body glove below his neck, down his spine. He secluded himself within the vegetation. Big, hairy feet passed by his hiding spot. Except one lingered around the fallen bike. The trooper tenderly unholstered his SE14-r then his vibroblade. He leveled the muzzle and...
Psfiuuu, psfiuuu, psfiuuu, psfiuuu, psifuuu...
Hisssss!
Prejet awoke with an unsettling groan and a heart-pounding headache. His hand swam up through the chest restraints to support the helmeted head. If nothing else, joining up with Cadrick's outfit wasn't a boring decision. He supposes that's par for the course with mercenary companies as he surveyed the friendlies on-board. He does express mild appreciation for their work, if nothing else, he's at least secured his future for now.
He spots Bastra lurching against his restraints. At least, Prejet knew that he was not the only one suffering from half-memory dreams. Although from where Prejet suspects they're going, that headache that he's nursing will be the least of his worries. He stretched out the kinks in his musculature. If there's one thing for being a lightweight: it's that these crash harnesses aren't as oppressive. A few minutes later, they landed on Horvaan.
As Prejet stepped off the landing ramp, he breathed in that air, not minding at all if it was leaden with sand, snow, or fuel fumes. The collapsed E-11s adhered tightly to his back as he walked with the rest of the troops in the frontline. "First ones in, last ones out." He muttered to no one, but himself. He remained vigilant, although his body language didn't show it. Eyes flicking from rooftop to rooftop, street corner to street corner.
Prejet posted up to a pillar near his commander once they entered the cantina. He folded his arms across his chest, waiting for whoever was in charge to greet them. A togruta, not unexpected, but surprising. He tapped his fingers across his forearms while he listened for a spell.
His eyes lingered on the togruta. Jalaan if Prejet heard his commander correctly. The sight didn't last long as he meandered over to the bar to get a drink. "Durindfire" The helpful robot delivered his fluorescent drink, an eerie, ghostly glow.
He spun around to spot Bastra joining the DeeTees' table, Prejet only shrugged his shoulders and asked: "Why not?"
He sauntered over there, his scorched scout trooper armour would make one mistake that he was a part of their little clique. He swung off his helmet, letting the dark hair finally breathe and his unblemished face free. The emeralds in his skull locked eyes onto Slick as he cracked an injoke between him and Hailin. The young man freely smirked as he scooted into the booth. "What's wrong, Shore? You miss building sandcastles on the beach?" He adopted a wider smile, equally teasing the Command Sargent Major and giving him a playful elbowing.
He lifted up his glowing cocktail as a greeting and a toast. "Barely landed and ol' Cadrick's already hounding for an assignment."
Grim Wraithe Stjerna
Solar Daddy
Horvaan, Kat's Cantina. Or is it?
An imperial-issued speeder bike screamed through the forest like a lightsaber through wood. Hot on its heels were laser bolts thrown from the ingeniously designed bowcasters. The open air slams against him as he snakes through the wroshyr trees.
"First ones in, last ones out! He hollered. Pushing on the right handlebar forward, the repulsor-powered bike veered to the right and escaped his pursuers. His vision narrowed as the trees and greenery melded into one scene. "Oh, kriff!" The trooper's head ducked before the words left his lips, a line of metallic cord, near-invisible to the naked eye, had almost divorced his head and body.
The momentary shift was all that's needed to lowside against the dirt and vegetation. The scout trooper chambered his arms and legs against his body, allowing his scorched armour to take the brunt of the slide.
Just barely stopping, adrenaline pumping, he moved with a small limp. Sweat accumulated beneath his helm, soaking into the black body glove below his neck, down his spine. He secluded himself within the vegetation. Big, hairy feet passed by his hiding spot. Except one lingered around the fallen bike. The trooper tenderly unholstered his SE14-r then his vibroblade. He leveled the muzzle and...
Psfiuuu, psfiuuu, psfiuuu, psfiuuu, psifuuu...
Hisssss!
Prejet awoke with an unsettling groan and a heart-pounding headache. His hand swam up through the chest restraints to support the helmeted head. If nothing else, joining up with Cadrick's outfit wasn't a boring decision. He supposes that's par for the course with mercenary companies as he surveyed the friendlies on-board. He does express mild appreciation for their work, if nothing else, he's at least secured his future for now.
He spots Bastra lurching against his restraints. At least, Prejet knew that he was not the only one suffering from half-memory dreams. Although from where Prejet suspects they're going, that headache that he's nursing will be the least of his worries. He stretched out the kinks in his musculature. If there's one thing for being a lightweight: it's that these crash harnesses aren't as oppressive. A few minutes later, they landed on Horvaan.
As Prejet stepped off the landing ramp, he breathed in that air, not minding at all if it was leaden with sand, snow, or fuel fumes. The collapsed E-11s adhered tightly to his back as he walked with the rest of the troops in the frontline. "First ones in, last ones out." He muttered to no one, but himself. He remained vigilant, although his body language didn't show it. Eyes flicking from rooftop to rooftop, street corner to street corner.
Prejet posted up to a pillar near his commander once they entered the cantina. He folded his arms across his chest, waiting for whoever was in charge to greet them. A togruta, not unexpected, but surprising. He tapped his fingers across his forearms while he listened for a spell.
His eyes lingered on the togruta. Jalaan if Prejet heard his commander correctly. The sight didn't last long as he meandered over to the bar to get a drink. "Durindfire" The helpful robot delivered his fluorescent drink, an eerie, ghostly glow.
He spun around to spot Bastra joining the DeeTees' table, Prejet only shrugged his shoulders and asked: "Why not?"
He sauntered over there, his scorched scout trooper armour would make one mistake that he was a part of their little clique. He swung off his helmet, letting the dark hair finally breathe and his unblemished face free. The emeralds in his skull locked eyes onto Slick as he cracked an injoke between him and Hailin. The young man freely smirked as he scooted into the booth. "What's wrong, Shore? You miss building sandcastles on the beach?" He adopted a wider smile, equally teasing the Command Sargent Major and giving him a playful elbowing.
He lifted up his glowing cocktail as a greeting and a toast. "Barely landed and ol' Cadrick's already hounding for an assignment."
Grim Wraithe Stjerna
Solar Daddy
Last edited:
Darth
spacefaring vagrant
Kashyyyk
Imperial Defensive Lines
Four years earlier...
Imperial Defensive Lines
Four years earlier...
A fusillade of rockets screams overhead as two corpsmen struggle to hold down a wounded army trooper. Leto and Veila have taken cover in a small crater at the frontline. Blood has soaked through the man’s grey-green fatigues. He's screaming and writhing, unable to keep himself still. Leto holds a near-empty bacta canister above his head, an IV running to the wounded trooper's exposed forearm. Meanwhile, Veila fiddles frantically with a medical clamp. Her hands slip along the bloodied cloth as she tries to stem the flow of blood from a gaping wound in his left leg. An artery has been severed--the trooper has only minutes...
“We’re going to lose him if you don’t stop that bleeding!”
Leto puts the bacta-canister on some debris above his head. With his hands-free, he takes the wounded trooper by the shoulders and firmly presses him to the ground.
“I know, I know! Give me a moment!”
Veila uses her free hand to spread the wound, and the other to squeeze the clamp through. Leto checks the monitor on his wrist—the trooper’s blood pressure is dropping rapidly.
“Now would be great Veila!” he says.
“Hold on damn it!” She strains momentarily, burrowing her hand into the wounded man’s leg. The man lets one final pained cry before falling out of consciousness. Luckily, it gives Veila the moment she needs.
“There…” she says, “I think I got--" Veila is interrupted by a sudden torrent of red mist. She wipes her ocular lenses with her sleeve and discovers that a bowcaster bolt had struck the wounded trooper; his head and skull vaporized by the impact.
"Shit..." Leto grits his teeth.
"Kark!" Veila rips her helmet off and slams into the ground with both of her hands. She springs upright and starts toward the Wookie line shouting and cursing, blaster bolts and rockets whizzing past.
"You karking animals!" she screams, "Why can't you just give us a chance!"
"Damn you!"
"Veila!" Leto yells, "What the kark are you doing?" He jumps up and tackles her to the ground. Leto seizes her firmly by the shoulders. Veila's face is a visage of hot fury, her eyes wet with rage.
"Calm the hell down!" Leto shakes Veila, trying to snap some sense back into her, "You're no good to anyone dead!"
Veila growls and shoves Leto aside. She seems as though she's going to say something when she's interrupted by a sudden cacophony of roaring voices. The earth begins to shake as hundreds of heavy footfalls begin to rumble toward them.
The Wookies... They're charging...
Kriff it... Kriff it all...
"We can't stay here, Veila" Leto rolls over and grabs a smoke detonator from his belt, "We have to move -- now!"
Veila peeks her head over the wall of the crater and sees a blur of bodies surging toward their position. The Wookies race through the cluttered battlefield, they wield crude melee weapons and fire their bowcasters wildly, sending volleys of bolts indiscriminately at the Imperial line. Leto hurls the smoke detonator over the side before raising his weapon to fire; squeezing a burst from his blaster.
"Now Veila!" he yells, "Displace!"
Horvaan
Kat's Cantina
Present Day...
Leto was never a huge fan of bars. They were often teeming with shady characters, sad has-beens, or annoying drunks--and they always managed to smell like fresh rancor piss. He'd seen his fair share of unsavory individuals back on Coruscant when he was a child. Bars and pubs brought back lousy memories indeed. But Leto felt encouraged to participate among his comrades, even if it meant faking a smile.Kat's Cantina
Present Day...
"You all are slower than sand crawlers, let's go!"
It didn't take long for their group to get comfortable, letting loose quips as soon as their boots hit the cantina floor.
"...Someone get that gunner in here and put a drink in his hand!"
The DTs had squeezed into a booth in their usual clique, calling Bastra over to share a drink.
Another trooper joins their little gathering, this time the Scout Trooper, Castus. He too joins the banter.
"What's wrong, Shore? You miss building sandcastles on the beach?"
Leto can't seem to put his finger on it, but Arko and the other Death Troopers have always seemed rather strange to him. Even after knowing them for years, he still can't shake the feeling. During the war, Leto always felt an ominous gloom when death troopers took the field--they always seemed to be less human than his Stormtrooper comrades. Their voice modulators would scramble their voices, making them sound more like monsters than men. He'd seen firsthand their combat capabilities. Leto knows Death Troopers to be efficient, precise, and utterly ruthless in battle. But now, seeing Arko's pale face and short black hair--laughing at jokes and downing drinks; Leto wasn't sure what to think of them.
You know what, on second thought...
Maybe a drink does sound good right now...
Where's Veila?
I'm sure she could use one too...
Leto starts off towards the bar. He shuffles past a pair of Scout Troopers and squeezes beside one of the cantina's regulars.
"Tender?"
"I'll take two Revnogs," Leto says, "I'll take 'em neat."
Mentioned:
Solar Daddy
,
Grim Wraithe Stjerna
,
Worthlessplebian
Interactions:
Commissar Darman
Last edited:
Shadowfall
Freshly cut.
9 ABY, Now.
Horvaan, ISBS Druid
Within the slate-tinged scout trooper helmet of VN-7222, music played directly into his ears. He rigged the thing's transponder unit to take local radio frequencies and link them up to his personal device for times like these, just sitting around and waiting to dock to shore. He learned a while back that certain external parts to most vehicles were considered to be expensive in most systems, and how to identify them. As he dug through his rucksack at his feet, he pulled the heavy thing out. It was about the size of his forearm, and about as thick as a bantha's horn. It's a "catalytic converter" or so it was called. Full of expensive materials inside, and also could be modified to make the emissions a little smoother on the air, or so he was told.
To be frank however, he sawed it off a reb's airspeeder because he thought it'd be funny. Selling it for cash was a tertiary thought. His secondary thought was locked on pawning off a few extra baubles he nicked off from the quartermaster to the locals for some easy dosh. He managed to shove a pair of boots, two EC-17 holdout blasters, a few extra cartridges, and a whole-ass wet-weather cape that wrapped everything up into his rucksack. A few extra credits on the side never hurt anyone, and arming the friendly-ish civilian populace against the New Republic was what the Outlaws were all about, right? After all, he was sure that nobody would miss any of the stuff he was selling anyways.
As the craft began landing procedures, Sharn checked his pockets one more time. Identification, check. PDA, check. DLT-19 checked and on safety. EC-17 number one, check. Blurrg-1120, check. Minimum "on the town" requirements were met, any other guns he managed to store on him were just for showing off or if he got captured. After all, how could his captors find the blasters if he didn't even remember where they were?
5 ABY, Then.
ISBS Druid, Hell.
The ship's ramp lowered, and blaster fire pinged off the durasteel plating. The rebels didn't even give them a chance to even try and negotiate for surrender, and when everyone ran for backup at the same time, there wasn't anyone to stop the wookies' advance through the desolate trenches. Sharn caught his breath and checked his wounds as he watched the battle unfold, having made a mad dash just to get to the ISBS Druid. Just shrapnel and a few blaster grazes. The scars would make for a good story if he survived. He turned his head back to the battle, unslung his rifle, and aimed for the overgrown ewoks.
PZZSHUMP PZZSHUMP PZZSHUMP.
With all of its soaring canopies and overgrown foliage now burning as the battle raged, Sharn always considered Kashyyyk to be a green hell. He wouldn't let himself die in it, but with the screams of the dying and the smell of his own burning flesh, Sharn was half-certain he was already dead.
9 ABY, Now.
Horvaan, Kat's Cantina.
The hiss of the ramp extending was something that could pierce through the loudest of riots if you were standing at the right spot, so many getaways and deployments were associated with the distinct sharp noise of the ship. At least, they were home. Or the closest thing he'd consider home anymore. They still got odd looks from the locals, but when didn't they get odd looks anyways? The outlaws were a ragtag bunch of former imps, barely half of them even had the distinct white armor of the stormtrooper core, he'd stop and stare too.
Sharn strode directly from the ship to the crew's local haunt as if he were a man on a mission. He had a singular goal in mind: sell all of his surplus before anybody found out, and directly convert it into credits to pay for his tab. As long as nobody ratted on him, or caught him before he could exchange money for alcohol, he'd be golden. After all, what could he do, pay it back? The money was already gone at that point! Flawless, foolproof, genius, even.
He approached a table with some familiar faces, a few of the jockeys that he'd raced a few times, and picked up a few more simple speeder tricks and tips from.
"Bo'tek! You're not dead!"
"Not yet gentlemen, and I brought a few souvenirs for you as well, for the right price."
This wasn't the first time he'd done this sorta thing. In fact, when the lads were gambling, he put up a few little bits he picked up from his last mission up as ante just to liven the match.
"Alright, what knick-knacks do you have today?"
Sharn smirked under the helmet as he pulled out the bundle from his bag, unwrapping the collection of military stuff he had.
"I've got to get rid of all of this, so we'll make this a game. Everything has to go, and we'll put this stuff up to auction, starting bid for each item at 15 creds, go!"
Their eyes glimmered with excitement as bids were quickly made and items were sold at lightning speed. The first thing to go were the boots, then the blasters, then the ammo for the blasters (each item sold separately, as he insisted), and then it took a little convincing that the wrap was in fact a cool wet-weather cloak and not some fabric he had found. All in all, he made nearly 450 credits off that one stint, which was certainly not the asking price for any one of these individually, but he did have 450 credits he didn't have before. Thanking his trusty lads who no doubt were enjoying their new toys, he sped over to CRO-407.
One of the medics was at the counter by the time Sharn finished his business.
"I'll take two Revnogs."
As Crowe began pouring, Sharn interjected. "Make that-" He paused, did some quick mental math, ran out of patience for math, and opened his stupid mouth again. "- a round for everyone, on me!" That should eat into his 450ish credits, he'd just have to order a few more drinks for himself and all the credits would have suddenly disappeared, and nobody could definitively point fingers at him. Foolproof. He pushed the small mound of credits across the bar like a normal person would, and not like an unhinged idiot.
"Of course, sir." The droid said, readying several glasses.
"I'll also pay for yours too, by the way. Like we're on a date, or you're a hot twi'lek! Don't get any ideeaas!" He teased Leto. Heart beating fast, he finally pulled a seat from the bar and slumped into it, letting his back armor clink off the counter.
Yeah, drinks for everyone? His team will love him and definitely not ask how or why they're getting drinks, and if they did, it was simply end-of-mission festivities. Foolproof. He should've been the emperor because Sharn Bo'tek's plans were impeccable.
int:
Darth
mentions: whoops! literally everyone in the bar.
Horvaan, ISBS Druid
Within the slate-tinged scout trooper helmet of VN-7222, music played directly into his ears. He rigged the thing's transponder unit to take local radio frequencies and link them up to his personal device for times like these, just sitting around and waiting to dock to shore. He learned a while back that certain external parts to most vehicles were considered to be expensive in most systems, and how to identify them. As he dug through his rucksack at his feet, he pulled the heavy thing out. It was about the size of his forearm, and about as thick as a bantha's horn. It's a "catalytic converter" or so it was called. Full of expensive materials inside, and also could be modified to make the emissions a little smoother on the air, or so he was told.
To be frank however, he sawed it off a reb's airspeeder because he thought it'd be funny. Selling it for cash was a tertiary thought. His secondary thought was locked on pawning off a few extra baubles he nicked off from the quartermaster to the locals for some easy dosh. He managed to shove a pair of boots, two EC-17 holdout blasters, a few extra cartridges, and a whole-ass wet-weather cape that wrapped everything up into his rucksack. A few extra credits on the side never hurt anyone, and arming the friendly-ish civilian populace against the New Republic was what the Outlaws were all about, right? After all, he was sure that nobody would miss any of the stuff he was selling anyways.
As the craft began landing procedures, Sharn checked his pockets one more time. Identification, check. PDA, check. DLT-19 checked and on safety. EC-17 number one, check. Blurrg-1120, check. Minimum "on the town" requirements were met, any other guns he managed to store on him were just for showing off or if he got captured. After all, how could his captors find the blasters if he didn't even remember where they were?
5 ABY, Then.
ISBS Druid, Hell.
The ship's ramp lowered, and blaster fire pinged off the durasteel plating. The rebels didn't even give them a chance to even try and negotiate for surrender, and when everyone ran for backup at the same time, there wasn't anyone to stop the wookies' advance through the desolate trenches. Sharn caught his breath and checked his wounds as he watched the battle unfold, having made a mad dash just to get to the ISBS Druid. Just shrapnel and a few blaster grazes. The scars would make for a good story if he survived. He turned his head back to the battle, unslung his rifle, and aimed for the overgrown ewoks.
PZZSHUMP PZZSHUMP PZZSHUMP.
With all of its soaring canopies and overgrown foliage now burning as the battle raged, Sharn always considered Kashyyyk to be a green hell. He wouldn't let himself die in it, but with the screams of the dying and the smell of his own burning flesh, Sharn was half-certain he was already dead.
9 ABY, Now.
Horvaan, Kat's Cantina.
The hiss of the ramp extending was something that could pierce through the loudest of riots if you were standing at the right spot, so many getaways and deployments were associated with the distinct sharp noise of the ship. At least, they were home. Or the closest thing he'd consider home anymore. They still got odd looks from the locals, but when didn't they get odd looks anyways? The outlaws were a ragtag bunch of former imps, barely half of them even had the distinct white armor of the stormtrooper core, he'd stop and stare too.
Sharn strode directly from the ship to the crew's local haunt as if he were a man on a mission. He had a singular goal in mind: sell all of his surplus before anybody found out, and directly convert it into credits to pay for his tab. As long as nobody ratted on him, or caught him before he could exchange money for alcohol, he'd be golden. After all, what could he do, pay it back? The money was already gone at that point! Flawless, foolproof, genius, even.
He approached a table with some familiar faces, a few of the jockeys that he'd raced a few times, and picked up a few more simple speeder tricks and tips from.
"Bo'tek! You're not dead!"
"Not yet gentlemen, and I brought a few souvenirs for you as well, for the right price."
This wasn't the first time he'd done this sorta thing. In fact, when the lads were gambling, he put up a few little bits he picked up from his last mission up as ante just to liven the match.
"Alright, what knick-knacks do you have today?"
Sharn smirked under the helmet as he pulled out the bundle from his bag, unwrapping the collection of military stuff he had.
"I've got to get rid of all of this, so we'll make this a game. Everything has to go, and we'll put this stuff up to auction, starting bid for each item at 15 creds, go!"
Their eyes glimmered with excitement as bids were quickly made and items were sold at lightning speed. The first thing to go were the boots, then the blasters, then the ammo for the blasters (each item sold separately, as he insisted), and then it took a little convincing that the wrap was in fact a cool wet-weather cloak and not some fabric he had found. All in all, he made nearly 450 credits off that one stint, which was certainly not the asking price for any one of these individually, but he did have 450 credits he didn't have before. Thanking his trusty lads who no doubt were enjoying their new toys, he sped over to CRO-407.
One of the medics was at the counter by the time Sharn finished his business.
"I'll take two Revnogs."
As Crowe began pouring, Sharn interjected. "Make that-" He paused, did some quick mental math, ran out of patience for math, and opened his stupid mouth again. "- a round for everyone, on me!" That should eat into his 450ish credits, he'd just have to order a few more drinks for himself and all the credits would have suddenly disappeared, and nobody could definitively point fingers at him. Foolproof. He pushed the small mound of credits across the bar like a normal person would, and not like an unhinged idiot.
"Of course, sir." The droid said, readying several glasses.
"I'll also pay for yours too, by the way. Like we're on a date, or you're a hot twi'lek! Don't get any ideeaas!" He teased Leto. Heart beating fast, he finally pulled a seat from the bar and slumped into it, letting his back armor clink off the counter.
Yeah, drinks for everyone? His team will love him and definitely not ask how or why they're getting drinks, and if they did, it was simply end-of-mission festivities. Foolproof. He should've been the emperor because Sharn Bo'tek's plans were impeccable.
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Viper Actual
Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
Racksen scoffed as he made himself comfortable in his seat. "Yeah, sure, to dance with the devil?"
Kitressi laughed before putting one hand in front of her face in a playful manner. "D'awww, you're gonna make me blush, Racksen."
The Death Trooper scoffed once more before nodding towards Hail. "I bet I will, Kit. You can pass on any official complaints to Comedic Officer Hail. She'll get you sorted right quick," he said with a toothy grin.
Kit laughed and shook her head before focusing onto Crix and Prejet, nodding towards both. "Hello boys, ready for some some R&R?"
Both Kit and Racksen raised their respective glasses in a toast as well with the latter shrugging as he did. "Oh you know the LT, a stationary target is a dead target and whatnot."
Racksen then turned serious and took the time to look at everyone at the table. "First in!"
Kit, as well as some other members of Cadrick's forces seated at nearby tables, chimed in in near-perfect unison; "Last out!"
With that they all downed their respective drinks, either taking a sip or chugging it down completely. Racksen shook his head and nodded towards Cadrick and Katresh, their local contact and mission broker- among other things.
"So," he began. "What do you guys think she's selling him in on? Track down some pirates? Armed escort?"
Kit leaned forward and grinned. "Uncontrolled mayhem," she said, batting her eyelashes.
When a fresh round of drinks arrived- courtesty of Sharn- the Death Troopers exploded into a violent cheer. Sergeant Kitressi even stood up with a drink raised into a toast, a serious and almost aggressive expression on her face;
"To those that gave it all!"
Racksen raised his own drink. "Kashyyyk!"
Another trooper chimed in; "Jakku!"
The list went on as more and more took the opportunity to pay their respects. Despite all the commotion the locals already present at the cantina didn't seem to mind the noise with some even nodding and joining in on the toasts- even if they might not understand why or what was being honored a free drink was a free drink after all.
Back at the counter Cadrick raised his own glass briefly before clearing his throat and looking back at Kat. "You were saying?"
Katresh activated the holgraphic transmitter with a gentle tap. The device came online with a chime and flickered for a bit before showing a Providence-class dreadnought resting on a rocky plain surrounded by large and uneven cliffs.
Cadrick raised an eyebrow out of sheer disbelief while pointing towards the hologram. "You're telling me there's a Separatist dreadnought here in Horvaan?"
"Formerly Separatist," said Kat with a sly smirk. "It was left behind when the Separatists fled Horvaan. My contact says it was scuttled and sent onto the surface due to engine malfunctions."
Grunting, Cadrick use his hand to gently rotate and zoom in on the ship. It was still relatively intact, seemingly with little to not exterior damage aside from impact marks at the prow and a large gaping hole near the stern. "What type of malfunction are we talking about?"
"One of the engines imploded. The entire aft is filled with hyperdrive fuel and toxic radiation."
Cadrick nodded. "Sounds dangerous."
"Very," said Kat, nodding as well. She slid the device closer to herself and zoomed in on the bridge. "Client needs access to the bridge computer. Apparently they need some high-value intel from the central computer systems. If the bridge is inoperable of inaccessible that means going to the main computer core for a direct data extraction. They require you and your men to provide armed escort and to help with heavy lifting. Aside from that they've told me that you are free to loot anything intact within the ship- that includes munitions, weapons, vehicles and even droids- should you so please."
Cadrick narrowed his eyes. "Kat?"
The sly smirk returned as Katresh returned the device over to Cadrick's side of the counter. "Yes?"
"What's the catch?"
The smirk turned into a devilish smile. "One point five million B1 battle droids that never received the shut-down command."
Cadrick forced himself to not let his jaw slack, nor to go completely pale as a response to those words. "What? How?"
"Ion storms here on Horvaan coupled with insulating properties of the minerals around its crash-site. They never got the signal and as far as I know that means there's a high probability of at least security droids patrolling the ship."
Cadrick sighed and rubbed his neck. "That complicates things." He locked eyes with Kat. "Payment?"
"Five-hundred thousand up front, plus all the loot you can carry."
"Anything else?"
Kat nodded. "The client may be able to issue the shut-down command locally- should you be able to escort them to the main data core at the heart of the ship, located within a reinforced midship section accessible from the hangar bay."
"When?" Asked Cadrick, eyes still firmly locked. Kat smirked.
"Two days. At dusk, when the Azure Sea glow the brightest. There's an incoming storm due to pass by the ship- it'll mask your approach from any sensors that may be intact."
"I see," replied Cadrick. He turned towards CRO-407. "Crowe. A drink please. Something heavy."
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"Look I don't know what you want from me Warrant Officer..... I told you, that wasn't me or my guys..... No that's not any proof it was me or my guys.... Well if anything could walk away it'd probably be the boots.... No Warrant Officer, just an obser-.... Oh you're gonna take it up with somebody. Who and how?"
It seemed the day wasn't jovial for every member of the company. As the cantina's denizens toasted times gone, hands held high and gripping libations, one jump trooper was busy jamming his own against a comm link. It seemed whomever was on the other end wasn't particularly thrilled with their day either. As the trooper weaved through tables, most of which were occupied at this point, sitting parties had a chance to pick up the aggravated garble of noise escaping his helmet. The ship's quartermaster was on another warpath and seemed to be marching right up Corporal Row's ass. Thankfully he saw the bar drawing ever closer. Surely it would provide safe harbor from the raging torrent that was the current conversation.
"Tell you what Warrant Officer, you find a single formal accusation form on board and I'll fill it out for you," with this final proposition he'd tap his wrist, gladly jumping off the frequency and returning to the away team's channel. The trooper had also finally arrived at the bar, leaning into the counter as if clinging to wreckage at sea. A tired gloved hand received his free Revnog, the other peeling away his grey helmet to allow for a greedy gulp of the beverage. Before tipping back the glass he'd raise it in his own delayed toast, taking a moment to remember everything that led up to these last couple of years.
Then, 5 ABY.
ISBS Druid, 50 meters ahead of primary defense line.
The corporal watched through range finder as the scouting party returned. A roughly squad sized element burst out from under the canopy below, high stepping through lush open terrain the best they could. Most all took a few brief tumbles, no doubt over roots or into divots concealed within the waving grass. The squad had abandoned bounding through their withdrawal some time ago, with troopers randomly turning to squeeze off a few bolts before continuing to rush towards Druid. The brush below springing to life with movement was probably a trustworthy indication as to why.
"And that's all friendlies through, teams," came his sergeant's call over their frequency. "From here on in, if it moves it fries," the man was your classic squad lead, morbidly pleasant at all times.
"Good copy, 2-1 standing by," the corporal would ready up his team's status, watching as his sergeant's team (1) hunkered down into concealment on the neighboring tree. Being jump troopers, Row's platoon rarely found themselves in very orthodox positions. In this particular instance, ISBS Druid's jump trooper element found themselves just ahead of the facility's defences. Dotting the burned out husks of the area's long vacant Wookie settlement, the idea was to support the scouting party's return from above. Leaning out and down of his window, a quick survey of below seemed to call for just a bit more manpower. Regardless, the corporal shouldered his blaster. He took a final scan to either side, confirming that his fireteam had also taken up positions within their structure. A few steps back and the corporal found himself at the home's front door, squatting down he'd press into its frame and level his carbine. "Steady fellas, we're flies on a wall," he droned, in part to calm his own nerves. For a few minutes there was silence, the team listening to a melody of rustling foliage and echoing alien whooping wafting up from below. Ever so slight adjustments were made at their windows and breaches. The faint metallic sounds of weapons being handled, combined with the hushed clumps of boots on wood, signaled that this tree's troopers were ready to go.
"Open up!" came the sergeant's final call. Within the moment, an unnatural gale of red lasers rained down between the towering trees. Row contributed his own bursts, helping to spray the darkened interior of their position with near continuous flashes of scarlet hues.
9 ABY.
Horvaan, Kat's Cantina.
Back in the present, Row had halved his Revnog in but a few swigs. Placing the mug back down with a clink, he lounged about the bar top. Taking in his surroundings, he thought how odd an array of kitted troopers must look drinking out on the town, especially an array as mismatched as their unit. For instance, glancing to his right was a scout trooper. Not unheard of, but definitely rarely seen around a contingent of death troopers and Imperial Army personnel. Unheard of, at least nearly, was the trooper just past the scout. Half fatigues half armor, trauma troopers looked out of place amongst any unit. But that wasn't to say they weren't welcome in any unit either. Specialists in designation, but miracle workers to the corps, they were comparable to special forces in how they operated. Years ago he would have been chomping at the bit to ask the soldier all manner of questions, but today he was just another remnant clinging to life raft that was their orbiting cruiser.
"Hey, Sharn," he lightly slapped the scout trooper's shoulder padding. "Make sure you ditch the gear you’re peddl'n before we rotate out, or its my ass. And no I didn't rat you out..." another swig from his mug. "...just yet. Bet another one of these might seal my lips," he chuckled, bouncing the mug in hand before setting it back down. "Who's your date?" the trooper nodded over to the medic, being sure to send a raised hand in greeting while he did so.
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It seemed the day wasn't jovial for every member of the company. As the cantina's denizens toasted times gone, hands held high and gripping libations, one jump trooper was busy jamming his own against a comm link. It seemed whomever was on the other end wasn't particularly thrilled with their day either. As the trooper weaved through tables, most of which were occupied at this point, sitting parties had a chance to pick up the aggravated garble of noise escaping his helmet. The ship's quartermaster was on another warpath and seemed to be marching right up Corporal Row's ass. Thankfully he saw the bar drawing ever closer. Surely it would provide safe harbor from the raging torrent that was the current conversation.
"Tell you what Warrant Officer, you find a single formal accusation form on board and I'll fill it out for you," with this final proposition he'd tap his wrist, gladly jumping off the frequency and returning to the away team's channel. The trooper had also finally arrived at the bar, leaning into the counter as if clinging to wreckage at sea. A tired gloved hand received his free Revnog, the other peeling away his grey helmet to allow for a greedy gulp of the beverage. Before tipping back the glass he'd raise it in his own delayed toast, taking a moment to remember everything that led up to these last couple of years.
Then, 5 ABY.
ISBS Druid, 50 meters ahead of primary defense line.
The corporal watched through range finder as the scouting party returned. A roughly squad sized element burst out from under the canopy below, high stepping through lush open terrain the best they could. Most all took a few brief tumbles, no doubt over roots or into divots concealed within the waving grass. The squad had abandoned bounding through their withdrawal some time ago, with troopers randomly turning to squeeze off a few bolts before continuing to rush towards Druid. The brush below springing to life with movement was probably a trustworthy indication as to why.
"And that's all friendlies through, teams," came his sergeant's call over their frequency. "From here on in, if it moves it fries," the man was your classic squad lead, morbidly pleasant at all times.
"Good copy, 2-1 standing by," the corporal would ready up his team's status, watching as his sergeant's team (1) hunkered down into concealment on the neighboring tree. Being jump troopers, Row's platoon rarely found themselves in very orthodox positions. In this particular instance, ISBS Druid's jump trooper element found themselves just ahead of the facility's defences. Dotting the burned out husks of the area's long vacant Wookie settlement, the idea was to support the scouting party's return from above. Leaning out and down of his window, a quick survey of below seemed to call for just a bit more manpower. Regardless, the corporal shouldered his blaster. He took a final scan to either side, confirming that his fireteam had also taken up positions within their structure. A few steps back and the corporal found himself at the home's front door, squatting down he'd press into its frame and level his carbine. "Steady fellas, we're flies on a wall," he droned, in part to calm his own nerves. For a few minutes there was silence, the team listening to a melody of rustling foliage and echoing alien whooping wafting up from below. Ever so slight adjustments were made at their windows and breaches. The faint metallic sounds of weapons being handled, combined with the hushed clumps of boots on wood, signaled that this tree's troopers were ready to go.
"Open up!" came the sergeant's final call. Within the moment, an unnatural gale of red lasers rained down between the towering trees. Row contributed his own bursts, helping to spray the darkened interior of their position with near continuous flashes of scarlet hues.
9 ABY.
Horvaan, Kat's Cantina.
Back in the present, Row had halved his Revnog in but a few swigs. Placing the mug back down with a clink, he lounged about the bar top. Taking in his surroundings, he thought how odd an array of kitted troopers must look drinking out on the town, especially an array as mismatched as their unit. For instance, glancing to his right was a scout trooper. Not unheard of, but definitely rarely seen around a contingent of death troopers and Imperial Army personnel. Unheard of, at least nearly, was the trooper just past the scout. Half fatigues half armor, trauma troopers looked out of place amongst any unit. But that wasn't to say they weren't welcome in any unit either. Specialists in designation, but miracle workers to the corps, they were comparable to special forces in how they operated. Years ago he would have been chomping at the bit to ask the soldier all manner of questions, but today he was just another remnant clinging to life raft that was their orbiting cruiser.
"Hey, Sharn," he lightly slapped the scout trooper's shoulder padding. "Make sure you ditch the gear you’re peddl'n before we rotate out, or its my ass. And no I didn't rat you out..." another swig from his mug. "...just yet. Bet another one of these might seal my lips," he chuckled, bouncing the mug in hand before setting it back down. "Who's your date?" the trooper nodded over to the medic, being sure to send a raised hand in greeting while he did so.
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Synthetic Nightmare
Hail responded with a chuckle while leaning back in her seat. "Ms. Comedic Officer Hail to you, Racksen." She capped off their joking fit with a smirk, just in time for their new arrivals to the party. Finally, the aforementioned Slick had arrived along with Prejet right after him.
Hail Gave a smirk in response to Crix's remark while raising her glass as a hello to Prejet arriving at the booth. With an exaggerated motion, she flicked the sand on her pauldron off in the direction of Slick. "Make sure to keep me out of all your sand-related activities, Slick. Sandcastles are all well and good until a bucket's-worth ends up in my modulator." She finished her sentence just as the drink pressed to her lips for another swig.
Hail's voice was one of many giving cheers to the free drink. When the chorus ended, Hailin made quick work of the rest of her drink, ready for her second to drop by. Naturally, when Racksen gave the first half of the motto, Hail joined in on the final bit. "Last out!" The next round arrived and like the others in their vicinity, Arko was no exception to the cheer that rang out through the bar.
While she gave her respect to each name that came before and after the mention of Jakku, it was on that particular callout that Hail gave a grimace with a fully extended arm to the cheer. Hailin was aware of the fact that those who fought at Jakku were outnumbered in Cadrick's Outlaws, which made it that much more somber for the Death Trooper. Even the mention of it brought a chill to the otherwise solid visage of the Arko girl.
It didn't take long for conversations to spring back up and the mood to lighten again, which thankfully pulled Hailin from her thoughts lingering on that desolate planet any longer. Finally, after focusing for far too long on Cadrick and Kat, wondering just what was being said, she spoke up to those around her. "I don't like that look Cadrick's giving. Bet 50 credits it'll be an absolute massacre she's about to walk us into."
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By word or by bolter, Inspiration comes to all men
Leaping out of A cargo speeder before it even had time to stop. Velia Just stared at the half empty bed. In there was supposed to be a ninety day loadout of medical supplies for the whole group. What she had instead. Was maybe a months supply for, at best, two thirds of their band. Simmering in her anger and frustration. Velia just sighed as she turned to the astromech driving the speeder. "Listen, get these back to the shuttle and loaded. And don't drop anything. We can't afford to lose any of this."
As the speeder took off. Velia Dropped her shoulders and let out a frustrated sigh. Deciding to deal with their Medical supply problem later. The still kitted Trauma Trooper entered Kats Cantina. Looking around, Velia took a moment to observe the various groups around. Of course the DTs were together, with a couple additions this time. The boss looks to be securing another job. And Leto seems to have already got her drink In order. Rolling up behind the Other Trauma Trooper. She gave a double to his shoulder, sitting down beside him as she removed her helmet and removed the Bun keeping her hair up. Before saying anything. Velia lifted the waiting drink and just downed the thing. "Next time, you can get the supplies we ordered."
As the speeder took off. Velia Dropped her shoulders and let out a frustrated sigh. Deciding to deal with their Medical supply problem later. The still kitted Trauma Trooper entered Kats Cantina. Looking around, Velia took a moment to observe the various groups around. Of course the DTs were together, with a couple additions this time. The boss looks to be securing another job. And Leto seems to have already got her drink In order. Rolling up behind the Other Trauma Trooper. She gave a double to his shoulder, sitting down beside him as she removed her helmet and removed the Bun keeping her hair up. Before saying anything. Velia lifted the waiting drink and just downed the thing. "Next time, you can get the supplies we ordered."
Grim Wraithe Stjerna
The Víkíngr, reaver of the sea, hunter of Pirates.
His two drinks arrived, the one in a short glass was a deep and vibrant red that almost looked like it should have flammable vapors coming from it. The other in a taller glass was a luxurious amber with a thin tan foamy head. Holding the shorter glass to catch the few grains of sand. "Then you're gonna love where I've planned the next training session." This time a devilish grin formed just as he threw back the Jet Juice.
"What's wrong, Shore? You miss building sandcastles on the beach?"
Taking the playful elbow in the the good humor it was intended, and returned an elbow as well. Only slightly harder then was given. "And what if I do LT?" Lifting his fortified ale to check his glass to Prejet's own drink.
Racksen then turned serious and took the time to look at everyone at the table. "First in!"
As the rest of the squad answered in unison, Crix looked at Racksen, following suit and taking a quick sip. "Corporal, you know the rule. You said it, so next rounds on you."
Taking a long slow drink, enjoying the cool fizzy strong drink sizzle softly down his throat and spread through his chest. Closing his eyes for a moment to savor the feeling. When a voice carried over the general din of the cantina.
"- a round for everyone, on me!"
The CSM turned his head to look at who has made such a ridiculous proclamation. 'Sharn. Of course.' His next drink was a forced sip through thin lips. Shaking his head and turning back to Hail, Prejet and the rest of the Death Troopers.
Sergeant Kitressi stood up with a drink raised into a toast, a serious and almost aggressive expression on her face.
"To those that gave it all!"
TC-2051 stood abruptly, his stool scooting back and squawking across the floor and came to attention with his glass head high! "KASHYYYK!" Using his diagram for his rough and tenor-baritone voice to sound out around and above the squad. Then turning to Hail and a somber look on his face, he held his glass a bit lower in salute. "Jakku!" Then downed the remaining pint before sitting.
Taking a moment to sip the fresh and free Jet Juice, his other hand resting on the new pint of fortified ale. Listening to the raucous din as it increased back to it's previous volume after the respectful salute.
"I don't like that look Cadrick's giving. Bet 50 credits it'll be an absolute massacre she's about to walk us into." Hail said.
He smirked and added. "Wanna add 10 that Sharn got the credits by doing something to pissed off the Quatermaster?" Holding the Jet Juice to his lips taking a sip of the potent spirit forward cocktail.
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"What's wrong, Shore? You miss building sandcastles on the beach?"
Taking the playful elbow in the the good humor it was intended, and returned an elbow as well. Only slightly harder then was given. "And what if I do LT?" Lifting his fortified ale to check his glass to Prejet's own drink.
Racksen then turned serious and took the time to look at everyone at the table. "First in!"
As the rest of the squad answered in unison, Crix looked at Racksen, following suit and taking a quick sip. "Corporal, you know the rule. You said it, so next rounds on you."
Taking a long slow drink, enjoying the cool fizzy strong drink sizzle softly down his throat and spread through his chest. Closing his eyes for a moment to savor the feeling. When a voice carried over the general din of the cantina.
"- a round for everyone, on me!"
The CSM turned his head to look at who has made such a ridiculous proclamation. 'Sharn. Of course.' His next drink was a forced sip through thin lips. Shaking his head and turning back to Hail, Prejet and the rest of the Death Troopers.
Sergeant Kitressi stood up with a drink raised into a toast, a serious and almost aggressive expression on her face.
"To those that gave it all!"
TC-2051 stood abruptly, his stool scooting back and squawking across the floor and came to attention with his glass head high! "KASHYYYK!" Using his diagram for his rough and tenor-baritone voice to sound out around and above the squad. Then turning to Hail and a somber look on his face, he held his glass a bit lower in salute. "Jakku!" Then downed the remaining pint before sitting.
Taking a moment to sip the fresh and free Jet Juice, his other hand resting on the new pint of fortified ale. Listening to the raucous din as it increased back to it's previous volume after the respectful salute.
"I don't like that look Cadrick's giving. Bet 50 credits it'll be an absolute massacre she's about to walk us into." Hail said.
He smirked and added. "Wanna add 10 that Sharn got the credits by doing something to pissed off the Quatermaster?" Holding the Jet Juice to his lips taking a sip of the potent spirit forward cocktail.
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spacefaring vagrant
Before the droid could carry out its task, a familiar voice rang out from behind Leto. He turned to find the face of Sharn Bo’tek, sporting a set of slate-tinged Scout trooper armor.
“Make that a round for everyone,” Bo’tek said, “On me!”
Leto had seen Bo’tek many times, but the two had never properly met. Leto was rather unsure of what to think of the man. He’d heard rumors that Bo’tek would often come into possession of items he wasn’t supposed to. Troopers who had sour opinions of Bo’tek had called him a “scoundrel” and a “two-bit liar.”
“I’ll pay for yours too, by the way,” Bo’tek said. He leaned his head toward Leto. “Like we're on a date, or you’re a hot Twi’lek!” he said, “Don’t get any ideas!” Bo'tek smiled and slumped himself into an empty bar stool.
The troopers who dislike Bo’tek likely have good reasons. Leto could tell he had quite the charisma. People like him usually have two types of friends–the ones that love them and the ones that want to ring their necks. But, the man was buying him–and the rest of the troop–a drink. He was generous (if not obnoxious). He decided to give Bo’tek the benefit of the doubt–for now at least. A roar of cheers rang out in the cantina among troopers and regulars alike. Many of Cadrick’s troopers gave toasts to battles gone by.
"To those who gave it all!"
Some were loud and raised their drinks proudly. Others were solemn and paid their respects more subtly.
“Kashyyyk,” a Scout trooper said.
“Jakku,” said another.
“Ryloth.”
Leto raised his glass in a solitary toast. He briefly recalled the faces of old comrades. Leto had a brief moment of silence before finishing his drink. Before Leto could thank Bo’tek, another trooper appeared at his side. It was Codary Row, a Jump trooper. He taps Bo’tek on the shoulder.
“Hey, Sharn,” he says, “Make sure you ditch the gear your peddlin’ before rotate out, or it's my ass. And no, I didn’t rat you out.” He takes another swig from his mug and chuckles. “Another one of these just might seal my lips.” He looks at Leto and offers a wave.
“Who’s your date?” he said.
“Name’s Leto,” he said “Leto Pavan.” He picked up his glass from the bar and raised it in greeting. Leto is about to say something else when he feels a jab in his shoulder. He glances behind him just in time to see the back of Veila’s head slip by.
“Next time, you can get the supplies we ordered," She said before slamming the Revnog back in one quick swig.
She doesn't sound too happy.
Guess the vendors must've been stupider than they looked.
“And this…” Leto gestured to Veila with his thumb, “This is Veila Aquilin.”
“I've seen you two plenty,” Leto said, “But I don't think we've ever properly met.” Leto grabbed his empty glass and raised it towards Bo’tek.
“Thanks for the drink.” He placed it back on the counter and tapped his finger. The droid wheeled about and refilled both Leto's and Veila's glasses. Leto threw back another drink before gesturing towards Cadrick and Katresh.
“So,” Leto said, “What do you think?”
Miss Katresh always had work for us.
Her jobs usually sound simple–straightforward.
Yet, they always seemed to complicate themselves.
I suppose that’s not much different from any other work we take.
As the saying goes: plans rarely survive contact with the enemy…
“Something interesting I hope…” Leto said.
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“Make that a round for everyone,” Bo’tek said, “On me!”
Leto had seen Bo’tek many times, but the two had never properly met. Leto was rather unsure of what to think of the man. He’d heard rumors that Bo’tek would often come into possession of items he wasn’t supposed to. Troopers who had sour opinions of Bo’tek had called him a “scoundrel” and a “two-bit liar.”
“I’ll pay for yours too, by the way,” Bo’tek said. He leaned his head toward Leto. “Like we're on a date, or you’re a hot Twi’lek!” he said, “Don’t get any ideas!” Bo'tek smiled and slumped himself into an empty bar stool.
The troopers who dislike Bo’tek likely have good reasons. Leto could tell he had quite the charisma. People like him usually have two types of friends–the ones that love them and the ones that want to ring their necks. But, the man was buying him–and the rest of the troop–a drink. He was generous (if not obnoxious). He decided to give Bo’tek the benefit of the doubt–for now at least. A roar of cheers rang out in the cantina among troopers and regulars alike. Many of Cadrick’s troopers gave toasts to battles gone by.
"To those who gave it all!"
Some were loud and raised their drinks proudly. Others were solemn and paid their respects more subtly.
“Kashyyyk,” a Scout trooper said.
“Jakku,” said another.
“Ryloth.”
Leto raised his glass in a solitary toast. He briefly recalled the faces of old comrades. Leto had a brief moment of silence before finishing his drink. Before Leto could thank Bo’tek, another trooper appeared at his side. It was Codary Row, a Jump trooper. He taps Bo’tek on the shoulder.
“Hey, Sharn,” he says, “Make sure you ditch the gear your peddlin’ before rotate out, or it's my ass. And no, I didn’t rat you out.” He takes another swig from his mug and chuckles. “Another one of these just might seal my lips.” He looks at Leto and offers a wave.
“Who’s your date?” he said.
“Name’s Leto,” he said “Leto Pavan.” He picked up his glass from the bar and raised it in greeting. Leto is about to say something else when he feels a jab in his shoulder. He glances behind him just in time to see the back of Veila’s head slip by.
“Next time, you can get the supplies we ordered," She said before slamming the Revnog back in one quick swig.
She doesn't sound too happy.
Guess the vendors must've been stupider than they looked.
“And this…” Leto gestured to Veila with his thumb, “This is Veila Aquilin.”
“I've seen you two plenty,” Leto said, “But I don't think we've ever properly met.” Leto grabbed his empty glass and raised it towards Bo’tek.
“Thanks for the drink.” He placed it back on the counter and tapped his finger. The droid wheeled about and refilled both Leto's and Veila's glasses. Leto threw back another drink before gesturing towards Cadrick and Katresh.
“So,” Leto said, “What do you think?”
Miss Katresh always had work for us.
Her jobs usually sound simple–straightforward.
Yet, they always seemed to complicate themselves.
I suppose that’s not much different from any other work we take.
As the saying goes: plans rarely survive contact with the enemy…
“Something interesting I hope…” Leto said.
Interactions:
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Mentions:
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Worthlessplebian
Worthless pleb
Prejet took a swig from his ghostly drink. "R&R?" He questioned before circling his finger. "Everyday is R&R when I'm with this company." Prejet chuckled into his beverage. A lot of boundless energy packed into a thin package.
He raised an eyebrow looking at Racksen while dancing his fingers around his glass. "Preachin' to the choir, Corporal. Like I always say, speed is life." Just as the words left his mouth, he received a retaliatory elbow strike from Crix the Slick which got an involuntary laugh out of the scout trooper. "Nothin' wrong with it, I was just thinking of buying you a bucket and spade. D'ya like red or yellow?"
Racksen then toasted their get-together with the line: First in,
They got a toothy grin from Prejet as he lifted his glass up and harmonized his voice with theirs. "Last out!" That motto became something of a charm for him in the closing days of the war, even before Kashyyyk. Muttering it to himself like a ward against bad luck before deployment. He was thinking of painting it on the front fin of his speeder bike.
The Sergeant Major then goaded Racksen. Prejet only shrugged his shoulders, the rules are the rules. That was a lesson he learned when he first shared a drink with Crix.
He allowed the luminescent liquid to pour down his tongue and down his throat. Despite its glow, it was surprisingly cold. First cold like Hoth, then a fiery aftertaste. No closed eyes here, but they did flutter when he set the glass down. "Whew, I love this."
A rambunctious voice rang out in the cantina hall. Someone dumb enough—Oh, wait, it was Sharn. Prejet's thoughts interjected as he deduced the identity of the generous drinks donor.
When Sergeant Kitressi stood up, Prejet almost but mimicked her in speed, his stool shoved back with a screech. Although he had a subdued look about his face, complimenting the softer yet still loud way he spoke. "Kashyyyk!" Yea, Kashyyyk.
He was not the only one who had reservations, he spotted the ice-y streak across Arko's face. Like Slick, he lowered his glass salute and somberly cheered about Jakku. The moments in the forests hadn't left his mind. He furrowed his brow as the reminisces continued, but stopped himself so as to not ruin the reprieve so quickly.
The vibro-knife in Prejet's shoulder holster was smoothly freed as the scout trooper flourished the deactivated blade. Listening closely to the table's occupants as another round of Durindfire came to him.
He stopped twirling his blade then touched the point on his index finger's pad. He released the grip, balancing the dangerous blade. It's a good thing his hands are gloved, otherwise they'd see the small cuts on his fingers as he tried to perfect this party trick.
"Who? Sharn? Naaaahhh, can't be." The Lieutenant proclaimed with a sarcastic edge while turning his head to Slick. Prejet didn't have the Command Sergeant Major's uncanny ability to perceive people's acts and intentions, but he's heard a rumor or two about Sharn's extracurricular credits.
"It's here on Horvaan," Prejet responded to Hailin. "Listened in on their convo before they got out of earshot. And that's a surefire way to get 60 creds. Here, I'll toss in 30 if it has anything to do with the Clone Wars." He let the blade drop into his other hand and resheathed it before continuing. "I doubt we'd get a clean ride to fresh credits anyhow." He grabbed the glass. "Let's just hope we don't..." he took a big sip from his durindfire, but instead of drinking it, he puffed up his cheeks and let the glow seep through his skin, a fleshy-red and green before swallowing. "Explode."
Interaction:
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Grim Wraithe Stjerna
Mentions:
Shadowfall
He raised an eyebrow looking at Racksen while dancing his fingers around his glass. "Preachin' to the choir, Corporal. Like I always say, speed is life." Just as the words left his mouth, he received a retaliatory elbow strike from Crix the Slick which got an involuntary laugh out of the scout trooper. "Nothin' wrong with it, I was just thinking of buying you a bucket and spade. D'ya like red or yellow?"
Racksen then toasted their get-together with the line: First in,
They got a toothy grin from Prejet as he lifted his glass up and harmonized his voice with theirs. "Last out!" That motto became something of a charm for him in the closing days of the war, even before Kashyyyk. Muttering it to himself like a ward against bad luck before deployment. He was thinking of painting it on the front fin of his speeder bike.
The Sergeant Major then goaded Racksen. Prejet only shrugged his shoulders, the rules are the rules. That was a lesson he learned when he first shared a drink with Crix.
He allowed the luminescent liquid to pour down his tongue and down his throat. Despite its glow, it was surprisingly cold. First cold like Hoth, then a fiery aftertaste. No closed eyes here, but they did flutter when he set the glass down. "Whew, I love this."
A rambunctious voice rang out in the cantina hall. Someone dumb enough—Oh, wait, it was Sharn. Prejet's thoughts interjected as he deduced the identity of the generous drinks donor.
When Sergeant Kitressi stood up, Prejet almost but mimicked her in speed, his stool shoved back with a screech. Although he had a subdued look about his face, complimenting the softer yet still loud way he spoke. "Kashyyyk!" Yea, Kashyyyk.
He was not the only one who had reservations, he spotted the ice-y streak across Arko's face. Like Slick, he lowered his glass salute and somberly cheered about Jakku. The moments in the forests hadn't left his mind. He furrowed his brow as the reminisces continued, but stopped himself so as to not ruin the reprieve so quickly.
The vibro-knife in Prejet's shoulder holster was smoothly freed as the scout trooper flourished the deactivated blade. Listening closely to the table's occupants as another round of Durindfire came to him.
He stopped twirling his blade then touched the point on his index finger's pad. He released the grip, balancing the dangerous blade. It's a good thing his hands are gloved, otherwise they'd see the small cuts on his fingers as he tried to perfect this party trick.
"Who? Sharn? Naaaahhh, can't be." The Lieutenant proclaimed with a sarcastic edge while turning his head to Slick. Prejet didn't have the Command Sergeant Major's uncanny ability to perceive people's acts and intentions, but he's heard a rumor or two about Sharn's extracurricular credits.
"It's here on Horvaan," Prejet responded to Hailin. "Listened in on their convo before they got out of earshot. And that's a surefire way to get 60 creds. Here, I'll toss in 30 if it has anything to do with the Clone Wars." He let the blade drop into his other hand and resheathed it before continuing. "I doubt we'd get a clean ride to fresh credits anyhow." He grabbed the glass. "Let's just hope we don't..." he took a big sip from his durindfire, but instead of drinking it, he puffed up his cheeks and let the glow seep through his skin, a fleshy-red and green before swallowing. "Explode."
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Mentions:
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Shadowfall
Freshly cut.
To his surprise, nobody did question where the drinks came from, or why they were getting them, and they were getting passed around like hotcakes. Nice. If there's one thing he loved about being in the closest thing he could be to the old corps, nobody asked stupid questions, especially if they got something out of it.
The trooper pulled his helmet off his head and set it on the ground, out of the way, and finally gripped the cold glass everyone else had in their hand for a toast.
"Kashyyyk!" Racksen yelled.
"Jakku!" Said another.
"Ryloth." He heard nearby.
"Nar Shaddaa!" He shouted, quickly downing his drink in a few gulps. The soot, the rain, the darkness only illuminated by blaster fire, the inferno. He was lucky to survive rebel capture and a sector of Corellia collapsing altogether, even if he was the only one in his squad that survived that first wave.
He sniffed, then sneezed, brought out of his stupor by a tap and the voice of the only person who would care about how he got those extra credits.
"Hey, Sharn," Said Corporal Row.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK
"Ah, Corporal Row." Bo'tek greeted, dropping his voice an octave lower.
"Make sure you ditch the gear you’re peddl'n before we rotate out, or its my ass. And no I didn't rat you out..." Row gestured to his drink. "...just yet. Bet another one of these might seal my lips."
Sharn giggled. "Bold of you to assume I didn't have another one on the way already." He swiveled in his chair to face the bar and jerked a thumb to Row's drink at Crowe, who seemed to understand the message.
“Who’s your date?” The jump trooper finally asked. Sharn shrugged. "I dunno. Medic." He flatly answered. Thankfully, I dunno introduced themselves.
“Name’s Leto,” he said “Leto Pavan.” A second medic joined him, mumbling something he couldn't quite pick up.
“And this…” He gestured to the other medic, “This is Veila Aquilin. I've seen you two plenty, but I don't think we've ever properly met.”
Sharn thought about why he's never properly met the pair of trauma troopers before. After all, he did manage to get some form of injury, big or small, while he was on duty. He absentmindedly gave a dismissive hand gesture toward Leto's thanks for the drink. Then, it clicked.
"That's because I hate needles, and I've never passed out while on duty with you guys. No offense." He nodded to himself, recounting all those times he thought to himself 'bacta will patch it up!' and never bothered to get himself checked out by a professional. Maybe... maybe he should stop doing that.
Nah.
“So,” Leto said, “What do you think?” He gestured to Katresh and Cadrick. “Something interesting I hope…”
"Yeah, I think they're in love too." He sipped his preferred drink of choice, a Bothan Screw. "I mean, honestly, the lieutenant deserves it, what with his keeping this shit together and making sure we don't die, right? Honestly, we might get better missions because of it."
He stirred his drink idly in thought. "Yeah, I hope so," Sharn said wistfully, imagining what the two would look like together in his head until it hit him that Leto was probably talking about the type of mission they'd be doing next.
"Oh, you mean the type of mission we're getting?" He smiled and tapped the side of his temple. "Probably a deathtrap, as usual. I just hope we get to blow something up while we're at it, or steal some shit that sells for something big."
Interactions:
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(Leto)
Commissar Darman
(Veila)
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(Codary Row)
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The trooper pulled his helmet off his head and set it on the ground, out of the way, and finally gripped the cold glass everyone else had in their hand for a toast.
"Kashyyyk!" Racksen yelled.
"Jakku!" Said another.
"Ryloth." He heard nearby.
"Nar Shaddaa!" He shouted, quickly downing his drink in a few gulps. The soot, the rain, the darkness only illuminated by blaster fire, the inferno. He was lucky to survive rebel capture and a sector of Corellia collapsing altogether, even if he was the only one in his squad that survived that first wave.
He sniffed, then sneezed, brought out of his stupor by a tap and the voice of the only person who would care about how he got those extra credits.
"Hey, Sharn," Said Corporal Row.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK
"Ah, Corporal Row." Bo'tek greeted, dropping his voice an octave lower.
"Make sure you ditch the gear you’re peddl'n before we rotate out, or its my ass. And no I didn't rat you out..." Row gestured to his drink. "...just yet. Bet another one of these might seal my lips."
Sharn giggled. "Bold of you to assume I didn't have another one on the way already." He swiveled in his chair to face the bar and jerked a thumb to Row's drink at Crowe, who seemed to understand the message.
“Who’s your date?” The jump trooper finally asked. Sharn shrugged. "I dunno. Medic." He flatly answered. Thankfully, I dunno introduced themselves.
“Name’s Leto,” he said “Leto Pavan.” A second medic joined him, mumbling something he couldn't quite pick up.
“And this…” He gestured to the other medic, “This is Veila Aquilin. I've seen you two plenty, but I don't think we've ever properly met.”
Sharn thought about why he's never properly met the pair of trauma troopers before. After all, he did manage to get some form of injury, big or small, while he was on duty. He absentmindedly gave a dismissive hand gesture toward Leto's thanks for the drink. Then, it clicked.
"That's because I hate needles, and I've never passed out while on duty with you guys. No offense." He nodded to himself, recounting all those times he thought to himself 'bacta will patch it up!' and never bothered to get himself checked out by a professional. Maybe... maybe he should stop doing that.
Nah.
“So,” Leto said, “What do you think?” He gestured to Katresh and Cadrick. “Something interesting I hope…”
"Yeah, I think they're in love too." He sipped his preferred drink of choice, a Bothan Screw. "I mean, honestly, the lieutenant deserves it, what with his keeping this shit together and making sure we don't die, right? Honestly, we might get better missions because of it."
He stirred his drink idly in thought. "Yeah, I hope so," Sharn said wistfully, imagining what the two would look like together in his head until it hit him that Leto was probably talking about the type of mission they'd be doing next.
"Oh, you mean the type of mission we're getting?" He smiled and tapped the side of his temple. "Probably a deathtrap, as usual. I just hope we get to blow something up while we're at it, or steal some shit that sells for something big."
Interactions:
Darth
(Leto)
Commissar Darman
(Veila)
Bronco
(Codary Row)Mentions:
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Last edited:
Bronco
I pull levers
Row's responding chuckle would seem sapped of joy, but good natured none the less. His posture made the trooper's mental exhaustion quite apparent, practically collapsing onto his forearms whilst leaning into the bar. He'd follow Sharn's gesture, watching it arrive to the droid's receptors before the machine began motoring about its' task. The immanent refill did its part in boosting his attitude. "A brilliant maneuver as always, specialist. Let's see if we can scrounge up some vweilu nuts too, " came his thanks. Just as the milky concoction hit the counter, movement drew his attention back to the newly introduced Pavan.
“Next time, you can get the supplies we ordered,"
“And this… This is Veila Aquilin. I've seen you two plenty, but I don't think we've ever properly met.”
Row raised his fresh drink to Veila in greeting, before sipping away its first couple of inches. Returning it in arm's reach on the counter, he'd place a gloved hand over his chest. "Good to have you two. Name's Row, Codary," the same hand would then clap back down against Sharn's armor, this time palming the rear of his chest plate. "And this scrapper here, would be one specialist Sharn Bo'tek. But I'm sure you've heard of him already," Row gave the scout a brotherly jostle, shaking up his armor a bit before returning his glove to the 'nog.
The trooper took another swig as Leto drew their attention to the CO.
“So,” Leto said, “What do you think? Something interesting I hope..."
Sharn was quick to provide his thoughts on the matter. They were his usual blend of the unit-wide attitude and his own garnish, topped with some misunderstanding. Such a combination made for the trademarked Specialist Bo'tek's opinion, which often roughly translated to Corporal Row's headache. As expected, said corporal quickly stooped his head in response. It'd take a moment for the man to speak.
"So everybody check their fire," he'd begin, slowly raising his cranium and addressing those on both sides. A lazy grin spread across his jaw. "because the specialist needs more credits for our tab." Row then found himself mulling over the question himself, absently staring in the direction of their commander and employer. He took a second to watch them converse, the two seemingly rather conserved in both mannerisms and expressions. A hologram glowed between the two, but even if it wasn't constantly shrouded by the pair there was little chance he could make out its miniature subject. The only tell Row could read was Lieutenant Cadrick's need for another round. He hummed to himself as he watched the drink pass into the officer's grasp, "Now a'days, it could be anything. Odds are the Lieutenant'll steer us right."
"So, trauma trooping!" came the corporal's sudden change in subject. He turned with a seemingly restored vigor, facing the two medics in their seats. "I don't think I can name a single regiment that had a dedicated element of you guys. Who'd you run with?"
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Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
Racksen snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course, m'lady," Racksen replied with a deeply sarcastic tone. He then bowed his head- in a sarcastic manner as well- before looking over to Crix, shaking his head;
"If you're setting up another trench drill I'm deserting."
After the words escpaed his lips Racksen fell silent, frowned and wrinkled his face. "You know what I mean," he said, shrugging.
Kit took another swig from her drink before responding to what was being said at the table. She carefully cupped her hands around her glass while staring at Cadrick and Katresh, seemingly lost in thought. "Well, a mission is still a mission- even if it's poodoo." Kitressi then shrugged. "I just hope the payment exceeds our expenses. Been a while since we could afford a proper resupply."
Racksen on the other hand was not concerned with the mission but was apparently more invested in the wager currently being organized. He placed a credit chit- worth 20CR- on the table and slid it over to the center of it with a grin on his face. "20 it'll be something fun that won't involve any type of sand."
Chuckling, Kitressi crossed her arms over her chest. "You think too much, Kyran. Didn't I tell you not to do that?" She then nodded in the direction of Cadrick and Katresh. "Besides, Miss Jalaan's been feeding us good contracts and intel these past months. If she sets us up somehow she stands to lose just as much as we do."
"By now we must be her favorite freelancers, though I do wonder why the L-T haven't branched out a little. You know, to find other employers."
"I know why," announced Racksen as his drinking glass returned to the table. "Because she's hot."
Kitressi rolled her eyes in a not again-type of gesture.
"In a way she reminds me of this Zeltron I used to date while on leave," continued Racksen. He held up both hands and cupped them in the air in front of his chestplate. "She had this massive ra-"
THUNK
Racksen grimaced and slowly reached to the back of his head with one hand. He rubbed it gently while also turning towards Kitressi slowly, blinking. Kitressi's helmet still hovered over Racksen's head as she raised her free hand to mask the expression on her face.
"Oh no, I'm such a clutz." She snickered. "Good thing there's not a lot to damage in there."
Feigning a smile, Racksen then narrowed his eyes. "Very funny, Val."
Back at the counter Crowe was pouring up a second drink for Cadrick. This one however was the same non-intoxicating one he'd ordered initially. Sighing, the weathered Imperial lieutenant looked back at Katresh who now sat with her elbows propped up against the counter and with her hands balled up underneath her chin.
"So," began Cadrick. "Who's the client? Do I want to know?"
Kat shrugged. "Pantoran. Non-military as far as I know, though my background checks aren't as detailed nor as conclusive as those of a certain intelligence service."
"Former intelligence service," Cadrick said.
"In some parts of the galaxy, yes. But you know as well as I do that the Empire isn't really gone, Haldon." Katresh then straightened up. "Regardless, she's neither with your people nor with the New Republic. That much I know."
Cadrick grunted. "Any idea what she wants with the data?"
"Not my business," responded Kat. She smirked before continuing; "But if I were to guess I'd say she might be looking for old Separatist depots, warehouses or other points of interest. The data on a vessel as old as that dreadnought predates the Clone Wars."
She leaned in, still smirking. "For all we know there could even be maps and charts leading back to assets once controlled by the Trade Federation."
"That being said, for all we know she could just be looking for something as simple as the location of downed Republic ships to salvage or maybe she wants to see if the starcharts hold any currently unmapped hyperlanes," finished Kat, shrugging once again.
Cadrick nodded. "Client's got a name?"
"Miss Rhavo."
Bronco
Commissar Darman
Darth
Grim Wraithe Stjerna
Kloudy
ONI
Shadowfall
Solar Daddy
Worthlessplebian
Worthlessplebian
Worthless pleb
"Don't I know it?" Prejet wrinkled his face, almost an eye-drooping frown, but not quite. He slid two credit chips across the table near Racksen's, one twenty-CR while the other was thirty. The scout trooper was hedging his hopes on the job, not just because they could use a resupply, but also because he wanted to have a few spare leftover to kit out his speeder bike, poor thing hasn't seen an upgrade in months.
Prejet propped his head up with his hand as he listened to Kit's thoughts on Miss Jalaan's lengthy employment of their services. An eyebrow was raised, causing his forehead to crinkle. "Yea, I agree," Prejet affirmed with his dulcet tone. "She isn't dirty pooling us anyhow, someone would've caught onto it." His eyes moved, almost nodding to Crix and Hail and several others in the bar. "Or maybe we didn't and this is our last escapade for the Togruta." He took his head off his hand and lifted up the luminous drink. Just as the cup edge pressed on his lips, giving his countenance an eerie glow, his sharp, small nose casting a shadow-line up his forehead, he spoke. "Kidding, kidding." He give a smile that was a tad wider than he wanted, then drank it down.
He set the glass down with an audible clink as Racksen announced his brilliant deduction. The scout trooper waited with bated breath, he wants to see what weighted conclusion can Racksen dredge up.
Upon hearing it, Prejet pinched the bridge of his nose, but had a smirk as wide as a luxury barge. It looked as if he was saying of course, of course with a drawl.
The Death Trooper began speaking about this Zeltron fling he used to have, Prejet looked up just in time to spot Val swinging the bucket. Eyes widening in surprise then winching with puckered lips when dome met chrome-dome. He tried to stifle a laughter, but his lips quivered with a pfsshh-type sound then exploding into a hearty belly laugh. He slapped the edge of their table as joyful tears began to well around his eyes.
He wiped the tears away. "Ohoho, come on, Rack, it was an accident." He gave Kit a cheeky wink for her efforts and flicks across the table an extra credit or two to treat herself.
As the mood shifted, the scout trooper looked to his fellows and proposed a question. "I've heard rumours about remnants of the Empire. On the holonet. Thought about linking up again, but then I got skeptical, not that they don't exist, but don't wanna settle all my nuna eggs in one nest. Plus who knows what blaster-brained officer is leading that motley crew." As if they weren't a motley sort themselves, but at least Prejet trusted Cadrick.
He looked over to Hailin and Crix the Slick who knew what he meant by his next sentence, from his own personal experience that he shared between them. "If there's ONE thing," He lifted up a finger. "that I don't miss from the Empire is that we no longer have officers too big for their britches gaming the system to gain an advantage. Sure, you'd get an officer with gusto and talent, but then you'd have four others trying to steal the rug from under him."
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Mentions: The rest of the outlaws.
Darth
spacefaring vagrant
"So, trauma-trooping?" Row changed the subject, directing his attention to Leto and Veila.
"I don't think I can name a single regiment that had a dedicated element of you guys," he said, "Who'd you run with?"
"The 212th" Leto said, "We spent most of our tours on Ryloth, trying to pacify the insurgency there..."
"Us corpsmen usually don't run in 'large' elements anyway, we get attached to units that need us--the 212th saw fit to deploy 'trauma-troopers' so deploy we did."
"Veila and I sat on that damned rock some five years--give or take..."
Leto glanced over to Veila. Talking about Ryloth never brought up fond memories. The planet was hot and humid, Leto couldn't remember a single day when he wasn't marinating in his own sweat underneath his fatigues. Worse was their enemy--the Twi-lek rebels. The insurgents fought a game of cat and mouse, delivering critical blows to Imperial strong points before melting away. Rebel cells were extremely difficult to destroy completely. The Imperial troopers took to calling the Twi-leks "tail-heads" as a derogatory reference to the fleshy tails attached to their heads. Leto never picked up the term however, he found it to be in bad taste. Despite the Twi-leks being their enemy, Leto developed a sort of respect for them. They fought smart and used every advantage available to them. Leto was unlike many of his former comrades in this way. Leto could recall several of those who served on Ryloth that developed a deep hatred for the planet and Twi-leks in general. Leto did not take to this sentiment, but never expressed his opinion openly.
I'm not entirely sure what we're doing there...
It's not like the planet held abundant riches or resources...
It was a karking dust-bowl
I suppose it never really mattered in the end...
None of it...
Leto realized he had fallen silent. He forced out an awkward cough before clearing his throat to speak again.
"Glad that mess is over and done with..." he faked a laugh before taking another swig of his Revnog.
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Nearby:
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"I don't think I can name a single regiment that had a dedicated element of you guys," he said, "Who'd you run with?"
"The 212th" Leto said, "We spent most of our tours on Ryloth, trying to pacify the insurgency there..."
"Us corpsmen usually don't run in 'large' elements anyway, we get attached to units that need us--the 212th saw fit to deploy 'trauma-troopers' so deploy we did."
"Veila and I sat on that damned rock some five years--give or take..."
Leto glanced over to Veila. Talking about Ryloth never brought up fond memories. The planet was hot and humid, Leto couldn't remember a single day when he wasn't marinating in his own sweat underneath his fatigues. Worse was their enemy--the Twi-lek rebels. The insurgents fought a game of cat and mouse, delivering critical blows to Imperial strong points before melting away. Rebel cells were extremely difficult to destroy completely. The Imperial troopers took to calling the Twi-leks "tail-heads" as a derogatory reference to the fleshy tails attached to their heads. Leto never picked up the term however, he found it to be in bad taste. Despite the Twi-leks being their enemy, Leto developed a sort of respect for them. They fought smart and used every advantage available to them. Leto was unlike many of his former comrades in this way. Leto could recall several of those who served on Ryloth that developed a deep hatred for the planet and Twi-leks in general. Leto did not take to this sentiment, but never expressed his opinion openly.
I'm not entirely sure what we're doing there...
It's not like the planet held abundant riches or resources...
It was a karking dust-bowl
I suppose it never really mattered in the end...
None of it...
Leto realized he had fallen silent. He forced out an awkward cough before clearing his throat to speak again.
"Glad that mess is over and done with..." he faked a laugh before taking another swig of his Revnog.
Interactions:
Bronco
Commissar Darman
Nearby:
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Bronco
I pull levers
"Glad that mess is over and done with..."
"Yeah, just in time for the next batch of messes," Row took one final greedy pull from his 'nog, finishing the drink before gently pushing the mug away. Crowe was quick to scoop up the spent cup, garnering a sideways wave of thanks from the man. "God this galaxy's so karked," he breathed, face momentarily rebearing signs of strain. Thankfully the trooper blinked such thoughts away, returning to the present conversation.
"I can't say we ever dropped onto Ryloth," he'd begin, visibly filing through what operations he could remember. "I guess... Utapau could've been similar? Then again we spent most of those months fighting in the planet rather than on it." Row shifted on his stool, taking a final moment to rack his brain for any more similar deployments. A restrained shake of the head confirmed one couldn't be found.
"With the 212th though, now that had to have been some good company. The 91st never did get to fight with any legacy battalions. I'm guessing they'd circulated out the remaining clones by the time you'd two gotten there?" Crowe had suddenly arrived back before him, not with a drink, but the vweilu nuts Row had mentioned some time earlier. With a now very broad smile, the jet trooper praised the droid. "Heeeey! You're a life saver buddy. Remind me to ask Ms. Jalaan how much you cost."
He was quick to clutch a small handful, before moving the bowl into the middle of the assembled group.
Interacting With:
Darth
and
Commissar Darman
In Vicinity Of:
Shadowfall
"Yeah, just in time for the next batch of messes," Row took one final greedy pull from his 'nog, finishing the drink before gently pushing the mug away. Crowe was quick to scoop up the spent cup, garnering a sideways wave of thanks from the man. "God this galaxy's so karked," he breathed, face momentarily rebearing signs of strain. Thankfully the trooper blinked such thoughts away, returning to the present conversation.
"I can't say we ever dropped onto Ryloth," he'd begin, visibly filing through what operations he could remember. "I guess... Utapau could've been similar? Then again we spent most of those months fighting in the planet rather than on it." Row shifted on his stool, taking a final moment to rack his brain for any more similar deployments. A restrained shake of the head confirmed one couldn't be found.
"With the 212th though, now that had to have been some good company. The 91st never did get to fight with any legacy battalions. I'm guessing they'd circulated out the remaining clones by the time you'd two gotten there?" Crowe had suddenly arrived back before him, not with a drink, but the vweilu nuts Row had mentioned some time earlier. With a now very broad smile, the jet trooper praised the droid. "Heeeey! You're a life saver buddy. Remind me to ask Ms. Jalaan how much you cost."
He was quick to clutch a small handful, before moving the bowl into the middle of the assembled group.
Interacting With:
Darth
and
Commissar Darman
In Vicinity Of:
Shadowfall
Mission 1
Viper Actual
Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
Kit returned Prejet's wink but remained otherwise silent, a smirk slowly spreading across her face. Racksen on the other hand was anything but amused and simply glared at Prejet. "Careful," he started. "I might make you vanish in the middle of the night if you're not nice." Racksen said with a half-stern, half-sarcastic tone. The Death Trooper's threat was of course empty though also a hint to something of a myth where most Imperial citizens seemed to view the black-clad armored troopers as something of a bad omen.
The truth wasn't that far away, though Racksen couldn't really claim to ever have helped make someone disappear in the cover of darkness.
Kitressi nodded in agreement. "I'll drink to that," she said while also elbowing Racksen playfully. For all the good things related to the Imperial military the constant competition for fame and glory among its officers- of all branches- would ultimately help the Alliance and other resistance groups rather than help further the Empire. Most soldiers and veterans especially would each have at least one or two stories related officer's being greedy, careless or outright incompetent- sometimes in the heat of battle as well.
"I will, however, miss some of the food. Not the pre-packaged meals you'd have in the field nor the brown mush that you could drink while on EVA-assignments but the steaming hot and fresh mess hall-dinners and lunches."
Kit then shrugged. "Best I had was Nerf-steak at an officer's mess near the end of the war. Granted, the mission that followed was absolutely poodoo but I think the great food helped alleviate some of the anxiety beforehand."
Back over at the bar counter Crowe was busy serving the closest patrons- including one very chatty jet trooper- while Cadrick and Jalaan continued their own conversation close by. The lieutenant placed an empty glass on the counter and shook his head lightly in response to Crowe. He turned half-way towards Kat and spoke;
"I don't suppose you can quarter some of us here for a day? Dropship bunks aren't the most comfortable."
Kat smiled and nodded. "Of course, beds and breakfast will be on the house. Make yourself at home."
"Thanks, Kat." Replied Cadrick. He looked away from his employer to observe his troops. For now they'd be allowed to drink for another hour or two. After that however they'd need to get some sleep and after that they'd have an entire day to prepare themselves.
Let's just hope I brought enough troopers with me.
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER
Horvaan, Horvaani PlainlandsTWO DAYS LATER
Approaching the Sovereign Will
The gradually intensifying winds made the compact but sturdy Sentinel-class shuttle bob and sway with the erratic movement being paired with the rattle of stowed equipment and the echo of pebbles and rocks slamming into the hull. For now the storm wasn't nearly strong enough to risk integrity of the craft- much less force it down to land in cover- but the crew would still need to monitor the weather closely.
Despite the chaos outside it wasn't uncommon for some troopers to find their calm whereas for some the sounds reminded them of days best forgotten. For Lieutenant Cadrick it was the latter, as the sound of dirt and gravel reminded him all too much of debris spraying onto his helmet while ducking inside a Kashyyyk trench-line.
He did have to be an example for his men however and as such his face remained completely neutral- save for his slightly tense eyes and clenched jaw.
The cargo compartment was relatively dark with a dim red light barely illuminating the two rows of passengers on either side of the bay. At the center of the bay were a couple of medical crates, a packed down E-web and two 74-Z speeder bikes secured tightly on a pair of ceiling racks.
Cadrick hoped that none of this equipment would be needed yet he'd be a fool of an officer if he didn't prepare his troops and himself for combat. After all, one and a half potential armed threats was anything but 'light resistance'.
Suddenly the light switched from red to green, followed closely by two rows of shining white lights turning on as well.
"One minute out," said TP-3389- nicknamed 'Skyfire' by her peers- over the shuttle intercom.
Cadrick turned to his right, looking at the client;
Miss Iessa Dhavo was a Pantoran female in her seemingly late thirties. Like most of her people her eyes stood out in great contrast to her pale blue skin and pink hair, though unlike most other Pantorans she was dressed in a more utilitarian fashion with a reinforced coat, utility pants and a set of heavy-looking boots. The coat did no doubt hide at least one or two holdout-blasters and the boots looked as if they could magnetically lock onto any metallic surface.
Despite her rather mercenary-like appearance she was still rather striking- something that could not be said about her two companions, who were a Quarren and a Weequay of which both wore surplus military fatigues, rudimentary body armor and all kinds of utility pouches and spare power cells alongside two very customized blaster rifles.
"Ready?" Asked Cadrick.
"Always," replied Iessa without as much as a smile. As Cadrick stood up so did Iessa, followed closely by her two bodyguards.
On the opposite side of the bay Kit and Racksen stood up as well with their blank visors staring holes into the two mercenaries. The Quarren appeared somewhat bothered and decided to look away whereas the Weequay flashed a row of golden teeth at the two Death Troopers.
Cadrick nodded towards Iessa before looking around the bay. He cleared his throat and turned on their internal platoon communications;
"Alright troopers, you know why we're here already but for simplicity's sake I'll say it again; We are to enter the Sovereign Will through its hangar bay, secure a foothold and then escort the client to either the bridge or the central data core onboard the ship. Once the client has secured the data we'll bring in our heavy shuttle to help transport anything we scavenge. We are free to loot anything and everything except for the main data core memory as well as any stored starcharts- those are for the client."
Cadrick paused to look at all the troopers. "We'll be splitting into two squads once we've secured the hangar. Aurek will consist of Death Troopers only and will handle the security of the client. Besh will consist of everyone else and will move ahead to secure the crew quarters and then the bridge. As all of you know these ships are capable of carrying a great deal of Separatist droids, vehicles and ordnance. However, I don't expect the Seppies to have scuttled a fully crewed and loaded ship and I find it unlikely that there will be one point five million B1s waiting for us.
That being said there may still be some security teams active still operating on standard protocol and they may even consider us hostile. If you have to engage then do so but I'd prefer it if the droids didn't swarm us right away. If you find or come across anything of importance I want you to call it out. There'll be plenty of hallways and corridors between both teams so let's do this one carefully and by the book."
Cadrick raised his chin slightly. "Questions?" He glanced at Miss Dhavo. "Anything to add?"
"Don't blow up the ship," responded the Pantoran, giving everyone an icy stare.
Bronco
Darth
Grim Wraithe Stjerna
Kloudy
ONI
Shadowfall
Solar Daddy
Worthlessplebian
Solar Daddy
Synthetic Nightmare
Hailin was ready for their next mission and fueled with passion to do her job well. Escort missions for herself and the fellow DT's weren't a favorite of the Arko, but it beat a whole lot of other missions she'd been on in the past. Not to mention, playing bodyguard reminded her of the Empire, where she'd stand just barely out of the way for almost all of Admiral Piett's public matters. Being aboard the Executor alongside Piett was her highest honor to date, and she thought of her original squad daily. The seven others were like a family for Hailin during her service, with most dying in the Executor crash or later on during the vicious days of survival on Endor's moon. Only one other had progressed past that fateful day, Tylo, who perished between the dunes and scraps of Jakku.
Hailin corrected herself, reminded that it was after all the good parts of the Empire that this mission reminded her of. Stately individuals dedicated to the productivity and efficiency of the government, moving pieces on a board and handling hundreds of thousands of lives with their decisions. She enjoyed being near that echelon of society, even if she'd never enjoy the splendors of it. No, Hailin was alright with looking from the outside in. She enjoyed being the menace the populace imaged Death Troopers to be. Knowing that, should anyone attempt to take the life of those she guarded, it would not only be futile, but one quick way to go.
She was seated alongside the other DT's and glared over at the client's muscle through the visor of her helmet. The look from the two V.I.P.'s bodyguards had Hailin once again enjoying the status of a Death Trooper. Sure, the one Weequay was adamant about sizing up the squad of elite troopers, but seeing the other bodyguard - Iessa's chosen, no doubt - turn away gave Hailin a boost to her confidence. That's right. You're not the best soldiers here. Not by a long shot. Don't worry, we'll keep your precious employer safe for you.
Hail did not respond to Cadrick's question. She knew her position on this mission and had no doubts they'd carry out their orders without a hitch. With her E-11D in hand, she awaited their arrival at the destination eagerly. Time to get to work.
Hailin corrected herself, reminded that it was after all the good parts of the Empire that this mission reminded her of. Stately individuals dedicated to the productivity and efficiency of the government, moving pieces on a board and handling hundreds of thousands of lives with their decisions. She enjoyed being near that echelon of society, even if she'd never enjoy the splendors of it. No, Hailin was alright with looking from the outside in. She enjoyed being the menace the populace imaged Death Troopers to be. Knowing that, should anyone attempt to take the life of those she guarded, it would not only be futile, but one quick way to go.
She was seated alongside the other DT's and glared over at the client's muscle through the visor of her helmet. The look from the two V.I.P.'s bodyguards had Hailin once again enjoying the status of a Death Trooper. Sure, the one Weequay was adamant about sizing up the squad of elite troopers, but seeing the other bodyguard - Iessa's chosen, no doubt - turn away gave Hailin a boost to her confidence. That's right. You're not the best soldiers here. Not by a long shot. Don't worry, we'll keep your precious employer safe for you.
Hail did not respond to Cadrick's question. She knew her position on this mission and had no doubts they'd carry out their orders without a hitch. With her E-11D in hand, she awaited their arrival at the destination eagerly. Time to get to work.
Worthlessplebian
Worthless pleb
Prejet stood at attention in his scorched Scout armour like a statue of charred wood. He was primed and ready for this mission, like all of Cadrick's missions, really. As fate or the Force would have it, Lieutenant Castus had gotten the funner, thought with sarcastic distaste, portion of this sortie. Actually, he'd be lying to himself—and he was, sometimes—if he didn't admit that this WAS fun. The exercise of his martial abilities, to not just sit idle, but to have your adrenaline course through veins, to have muscles tighten like never before, to hear your heart pumping gallons and gallons of blood per minute. Prejet pondered if this thrill-seeking behaviour made him unhinged, then he looked to the Quarren and Weequay mercenaries with his eyes alone then brothers and sisters at arms, deciding that if he was wondering it then he most likely isn't unhinged.
The E-11s clutched tightly to Prejet's lean, slender figure by strap. He'd spent the last hour methodically, precisely checking his gear. Going over the entire panoply with a fine-toothed comb, like he was scrubbing the barracks back at boot camp. The man who nicknamed him Clatter formed his visage in his headspace, the scout questioned why his old memories were being dredged up at a time like this. It would've gotten an amused chuckle at another time, but discipline wasn't in short supply with him today.
Cadrick debrief was brief and simple, he had no questions pertaining to the mission exactly, but did felt a gambler's satisfaction that he'll be paid out his share for guessing that it was related to the Clone Wars with the Seppies and their predecessors. The chances were slim to none, especially since droids were unfeeling, barely-thinking units, but he wondered if there were war trophies. Clone armour, a blaster rifle, he was looking to snag anything. Hell, he'd take a shoulder plate if possible. Maybe the organic Seppie commander, if he existed, was an unflinching narcissistic with a pathological need to collect objects.
Then it dawned on him that his sniper rifle might be unfit for CQB... Great, the man thought. Oh, well, he can borrow a standard issue E-11 later or just rely on his SE-14r, though the latter would leave him with reduced firepower.
"All information data or just the main data core and starcharts?" Prejet voiced his curiousity. Again, not exactly pertinent to the mission, but the scout was intrigued by the client and it could be helpful to know not to fire with disregard to his environment if he spots a datapad or stick.
The E-11s clutched tightly to Prejet's lean, slender figure by strap. He'd spent the last hour methodically, precisely checking his gear. Going over the entire panoply with a fine-toothed comb, like he was scrubbing the barracks back at boot camp. The man who nicknamed him Clatter formed his visage in his headspace, the scout questioned why his old memories were being dredged up at a time like this. It would've gotten an amused chuckle at another time, but discipline wasn't in short supply with him today.
Cadrick debrief was brief and simple, he had no questions pertaining to the mission exactly, but did felt a gambler's satisfaction that he'll be paid out his share for guessing that it was related to the Clone Wars with the Seppies and their predecessors. The chances were slim to none, especially since droids were unfeeling, barely-thinking units, but he wondered if there were war trophies. Clone armour, a blaster rifle, he was looking to snag anything. Hell, he'd take a shoulder plate if possible. Maybe the organic Seppie commander, if he existed, was an unflinching narcissistic with a pathological need to collect objects.
Then it dawned on him that his sniper rifle might be unfit for CQB... Great, the man thought. Oh, well, he can borrow a standard issue E-11 later or just rely on his SE-14r, though the latter would leave him with reduced firepower.
"All information data or just the main data core and starcharts?" Prejet voiced his curiousity. Again, not exactly pertinent to the mission, but the scout was intrigued by the client and it could be helpful to know not to fire with disregard to his environment if he spots a datapad or stick.
Shadowfall
Freshly cut.
Cleaning his weapon was always Sharn's default when waiting for the 2-second debrief they'd receive right after the lights went green and they hit the ground. After all, it was a nice weapon. A DLT-19 heavy blaster rifle, a long and heavy thing capable of range and whatever else Sharn decided to use it for, after all, the dents along the barrel were there not just for show. Plus, he insisted on keeping the damn thing as is for "clout" and "street cred", so those rebel bastards "know I'm a crazy son of a bantha", and "I don't feel like spending the creds to replace the fraggin' barrel, zog off. Works fine as is." Plus, if it stopped working for whatever reason, the storm commando made sure to pack at least 3 holdout blasters of varying make and model on his person, and a small collection of various det packs and thermal detonators, very typical of walking hazard Sharn Bo'tek.
He'd been stealing glances at the client and her men from under his helmet, wondering when they'd pull something stupid. That's always how it was with him though: Sharn never had a good experience with mercenaries, despite his change of employment. Sure, he didn't fill out any tax forms, but the idea of working with non-imperials bothered him. How could he trust them? It wasn't like they had a rug pulled out from under them as he and the rest of his comrades have. In fact, they probably had more business with the collapse of the empire, which irked him a little more. However, at the end of the day, they were simply jobbers the client brought along, they weren't personal friends or bodyguards, so he mentally categorized them as meatshields, and moved on with his day. Easier said than done, but then Cadrick's voice commanded Sharn's complete attention, something he was thankful for. He hadn't paid any attention the last few times the mission was explained.
Team Aurek would consist exclusively of buzzkills to escort the client, and team Besh (his team) would get to loot the ship while walking to all the fun spots? Based. A sense of relief washed over him as he set his rifle horizontally on his lap. He was hoping to at least capture a handful of B1 battle droids for target practice and menial work. After all, who wouldn't want to own a few B1s for fun? They can be terrible at a whole bunch of things all at once, and be hilarious while doing so. He'd have to work on the sales pitch, but he was sure he'd figure it out by the time he got to shoot them.
Cadrick finished his short explanation (which he missed about half of again. He'd bother Prejet later about it when they were on the ship) and left the floor open to questions.
"Don't blow up the ship." Translated, this meant that the group wasn't allowed to blow up the whole ship, so explosives weren't off-limits. Sharn made a mental note to set charges as they went, waited his turn, then opened his stupid mouth.
"Speaking of stuff we're allowed to shoot, can we take some of the droids? Are they free to just grab? I plan on taking at least twenty to forty or so when we're done."
He'd been stealing glances at the client and her men from under his helmet, wondering when they'd pull something stupid. That's always how it was with him though: Sharn never had a good experience with mercenaries, despite his change of employment. Sure, he didn't fill out any tax forms, but the idea of working with non-imperials bothered him. How could he trust them? It wasn't like they had a rug pulled out from under them as he and the rest of his comrades have. In fact, they probably had more business with the collapse of the empire, which irked him a little more. However, at the end of the day, they were simply jobbers the client brought along, they weren't personal friends or bodyguards, so he mentally categorized them as meatshields, and moved on with his day. Easier said than done, but then Cadrick's voice commanded Sharn's complete attention, something he was thankful for. He hadn't paid any attention the last few times the mission was explained.
Team Aurek would consist exclusively of buzzkills to escort the client, and team Besh (his team) would get to loot the ship while walking to all the fun spots? Based. A sense of relief washed over him as he set his rifle horizontally on his lap. He was hoping to at least capture a handful of B1 battle droids for target practice and menial work. After all, who wouldn't want to own a few B1s for fun? They can be terrible at a whole bunch of things all at once, and be hilarious while doing so. He'd have to work on the sales pitch, but he was sure he'd figure it out by the time he got to shoot them.
Cadrick finished his short explanation (which he missed about half of again. He'd bother Prejet later about it when they were on the ship) and left the floor open to questions.
"Don't blow up the ship." Translated, this meant that the group wasn't allowed to blow up the whole ship, so explosives weren't off-limits. Sharn made a mental note to set charges as they went, waited his turn, then opened his stupid mouth.
"Speaking of stuff we're allowed to shoot, can we take some of the droids? Are they free to just grab? I plan on taking at least twenty to forty or so when we're done."
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Bronco
I pull levers
"You're going to haul out between twenty and forty battle droids? I hope you're not lookin for any help with that," the specialist would hear next to him. Just in time for the mission brief, Row had stirred from one of his flight induced naps. The trooper rolled his shoulder under the crash harness before stretching his arms up and behind his head. The routine would provoke a small final yawn, his face scrunching before returning to its slightly-fatigued idle state. "I didn't miss any of the brief did I?" he'd ask those seated around him before scooping up his helmet. The armor had been sitting over his knee.
The trooper had yet to don the grey bucket, instead resting it in his lap. He'd found checking one's gear to be a far easier task without being behind a visor. The E-11 Airborne was first to be examined, Row popping it out of the slot between himself and Specialist Bo'tek's seat. A quick unfolding of its stock allowed for easy shouldering and a glance down the weapon's site picture. Satisfied that the apparatus had held zero, Row would cease aiming at the deck of the shuttle and begin a visual inspection of the weapon. It wasn't long until he was once again satisfied, propping the weapon barrel up between his shins.
Moving on to his armor, Codary began patting himself down in order to ensure the entirety of his kit remained attached. A belt of varying launcher rounds currently wrapped snuggly around his waste, the webbing buckling at the small of his back right under a flame retardant flap of kevlar. This was to protect from the jump pack exhaust, the straps of which he gave numerous tugs to make secure. Along his torso were three drab ammo pouches, yet only one filled with power cells, the other two would be reserved for scrounging. Continuing his check, the trooper felt both his se-14r sidearm and detonite gel applicator on their opposing thighs. He rounded off his inspection as he felt an ifak square in the center of his upper chest. "Time to take the dive," he recited to himself, now stooping his head into his helmet.
When next he spoke, it was behind the filter of his armor's mouthpiece. "So who's running Besh on this one?" came his question again to those around him. He'd glance back and forth down the rows, trying to match ranks to armors. The single downside of being a mixed Imperial remnant, aside from the obvious drawbacks, was establishing a familiar chain of command amongst ever changing elements. On their first ride out, Row had sworn it was the differing combat doctrines that would be the main issue. Thankfully, their average mission was on par with skirmishing and thus combat doctrines were rendered rather moot. Still, unfamiliarity with the operation's command structure could be equally problematic.
His visor settled on Prejet Castus, a scout trooper he'd recognized due to his combination of conventional imperial armor and custom carrier vest. If memory served right, he'd be the ranking officer within team Besh. Row threw his chin at the man, hopefully the nod garnering his attention. "Lieutenant? You running this show? Volunteering to take up the rear sir," he'd jest with a little hand raise. Though he formed the statement for the sake of a joke, Row thought that perhaps a jet trooper in the rear might actually hold some merit. It'd certainly make better use of his verticality than sticking him towards the front of their movements.
Interacting with:
Shadowfall
and
Worthlessplebian
