Viper Actual
Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
STAR WARS: ZEREK 1-1
MAIN
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Futuristic Star Wars: Zerek 1-1 - Main
- Thread starter Viper Actual
- Start date
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- star wars
STAR WARS: ZEREK 1-1
MAIN
Viper Actual
Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
5 ABY - Kashyyk
After a crushing defeat at Endor followed by dozens of other engagements of varying scope and scale the Empire is crumbling down piece by piece. With each engagement the New Republic grows bolder and bolder whereas the Imperial Navy and Imperial Army continue to suffer disastrous casualties. Following the Battle of Fondor Shipyards- and the subsequent loss of a key maritime resource- a small contingent of Imperial Navy vessels are redirected to a minor outpost on Kashyyyk pending new orders.
Upon arriving the vessels are ordered to disembark most of its troops and prepare to make room for invaluable materials and equipment needed for "the fight ahead".
At the same time the Liberation of Kashyyyk begins with the local population of Wookiees working alongside New Republic SpecFor teams to liberate captive slaves from Imperial rule en masse.
In the midst of this gargantuan uprising Stormtrooper company Zerek 1-1 find themselves guarding an outpost at the fringe of Imperial rule on Kashyyyk. Its purpose remains hidden, concealed by thick durasteel plating adorning the emblem of the Imperial Research Division and tight-lipped ISB agents and operatives.
The veteran Stormtroopers of Zerek 1-1 would soon be joined by rallying Imperial Army forces attempting to flee the wrath of the Wookiees. Knowing that the battle would soon be upon them Lt. Cadrick of the Zerek 1-1 asks his supervising officer for orders.
In response the grim-faced ISB colonel in charge of the operation is quick to relay his command;
"You will stand your ground until you die. Those are your orders. Trust in yourself. Trust in the Emperor's words. Trust in the Empire you've helped built."
With these words in mind Zerek 1-1 digs in as best they can around the outpost perimeter, weary eyes and shaking hands forming up to fight the Wookiees in one final, symbolic, defense of the values they've all sworn to uphold until their final breath.
"Steady, men." Lt. Cadrick said. "For we are soldiers of the Empire." The Lieutenant's voice echoed across the hastily dug and fortified trench-line. "We shall not fail, for peace and order depend on us to win." The officer paused to examine his troopers, both new and old. "Today we either die or prevail but we will do so as heroes, as valiant defenders and as brothers."
Corporal Kyran Racksen drummed his glove-clad fingers restlessly against his E-22 blaster rifle as the company commander spoke. Underneath his helmet a pair of tired and blood-shot eyes glanced left, to his brother in arms. "They can't be far off now." He sighed. "You ever thought we'd end up here? Of all places to go out on we managed to end up on Kashyyyk."
Racksen snorted and rolled his shoulders. "At least I couldn't have asked for better company." He chuckled as the distant roars of Wookiees drew closer and closer.
By now the trample of boots and feet drew unmistakably closer. The sound was almost that of a beskar hammer working a piece of armor. Rhythmic and decisive. Racksen tightened the grip around his E-22, as did the other troopers in the trench-line. Lt. Cadrick, standing atop the trench-line, readied his sidearm and aimed it at the dense jungle foliage.
"I could kill for some air support right about now though," Racksen muttered between steady breaths.
Situated at the outskirts on some isolated and cold auroran shukkhole that made one freeze their choobies off in an instant was the Icebucket Cantina.
While nowhere close to being as fancy and lively as the waterholes Racksen usually found himself in he honestly had no complaints. After all, even with its rusty and worn durasteel walls, dim interior lighting, stained floor and watered out drinks the cantina was a place of warmth and an escape from the near-constant howling winds outside.
"Karking hell it's cold," Racksen muttered as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. He exhaled a couple of times to speed up the process of getting blood flowing while glancing around the establishment which, in reality, was just one big room with a bar counter, a small stage and then some chairs and tables strewn across unevenly.
Say what you want about the Aurorans but one thing was sure:
The Pantorans were smart. Not only did House Rhili hold significant power and sway on Aurora but they had also consolidated and centralized that power. Sure, they might have fewer settlements than some of the other houses but the ones they have are significantly larger and much, much more open.
What does that mean in the long run? Well, for starters, anyone sightseeing Aurora was bound to stumble into a place owned or co-owned by the Pantorans. That meant revenue, as well as intelligence and information.
Take the placement of Rhili's settlements for example. Most- if not all- are placed out on plains. Why? Easier to defend but also easier to expand.
It also ensures that all the tourists you attract will stay. Once you're out on the plains the winds will keep you there and sooner or later you'll find yourself paying off a Pantoran for lodging, a hot meal and maybe some local tail while you're at it.
A brilliant business concept, one that House Rhili has perfected.
As Racksen admired the well-oiled machinery that was House Rhili an eagle-nosed bartender shot a glare his way, as did two Rhili guardsmen that were seated close to the cantina entrance.
Despite the curious eyes Racksen wasn't nervous. Hell, he never was.
Casually, the broad-shouldered man dressed in surplus fatigues, heavy duty boots and with a cloak over his torso made his way over to the bartender.
While strolling over Kyran nodded towards the two Pantoran guardsmen and flashed a quick smile before moving on.
There were multiple patrons inside the cantina though nobody seemed to pay him any extra attention. Aside from the barkeep and the two guardsmen- all Pantoran- there were a couple of other Rhili natives, two Sullustans donning flight-suits, a Zabrak, a Bith and a Trandoshan. Finally there were also a lone, holographic, Twi'lek on the stage dancing around a pole, accompanied by the slow rhythm of some looped cantina background noise.
Racksen chuckled quietly to himself as the combination of people inside would make for a great joke- one he'd try on his brother-in-arms later.
For now however, Kyran was set on getting a drink. Hell, maybe even a hot meal.
With a toothy grin he placed one arm up on the counter and nodded towards the bartender. "I'll take a glass of something good but nothing too fancy," he said while using his other hand to place a small stack of credits on the counter.
The bartender nodded and collected the credits with one quick motion before nodding back at Kyran. "Want something to eat as well? We have some warm meat broth on the boiler right now."
Kyran nodded and presented more credits. "I'll have some of that as well," he said. While the bartender got to work Kyran took a seat on one of the stools. As he sat down the boxy muzzle and barrel-shroud of his E-22 was exposed from underneath his cloak.
If the guardsmen paid any attention to it however they didn't show it. Unsurprising, considering that more or less everyone seemed to be packing heat inside the cantina. Even the bartender looked like had a small holdout blaster tucked into his waistband.
I sure do love the frontier.
Racksen didn't have to wait long for both his drink and broth to arrive. The latter was steaming hot and oozed with warmth. Cupping his hands gently around the bowl of broth, Kyran closed his eyes and allowed the smell and warmth of the meal to fill his lungs before taking a sip from the drink.
Nodding to himself, Racksen was pleasantly surprised to see that the drink wasn't too shabby. After taking in two spoons of the broth it was clear that the food wasn't all that bad either. He made a mental note to himself to come back to this place if there was any time left over after the job.
After another two spoons Racksen picked up his communicator- a modified military model, popular among planetary militias- and sent Row a message;
Rendezvous-point is green, no tangos.
Kyran paused, smirked slightly and added: Good food too. Almost better than the officer's mess.
With the message sent Kyran tucked away the communicator and continued to enjoy the meal in front of him, waiting for his second half to arrive.
Bronco
After a crushing defeat at Endor followed by dozens of other engagements of varying scope and scale the Empire is crumbling down piece by piece. With each engagement the New Republic grows bolder and bolder whereas the Imperial Navy and Imperial Army continue to suffer disastrous casualties. Following the Battle of Fondor Shipyards- and the subsequent loss of a key maritime resource- a small contingent of Imperial Navy vessels are redirected to a minor outpost on Kashyyyk pending new orders.
Upon arriving the vessels are ordered to disembark most of its troops and prepare to make room for invaluable materials and equipment needed for "the fight ahead".
At the same time the Liberation of Kashyyyk begins with the local population of Wookiees working alongside New Republic SpecFor teams to liberate captive slaves from Imperial rule en masse.
In the midst of this gargantuan uprising Stormtrooper company Zerek 1-1 find themselves guarding an outpost at the fringe of Imperial rule on Kashyyyk. Its purpose remains hidden, concealed by thick durasteel plating adorning the emblem of the Imperial Research Division and tight-lipped ISB agents and operatives.
The veteran Stormtroopers of Zerek 1-1 would soon be joined by rallying Imperial Army forces attempting to flee the wrath of the Wookiees. Knowing that the battle would soon be upon them Lt. Cadrick of the Zerek 1-1 asks his supervising officer for orders.
In response the grim-faced ISB colonel in charge of the operation is quick to relay his command;
"You will stand your ground until you die. Those are your orders. Trust in yourself. Trust in the Emperor's words. Trust in the Empire you've helped built."
With these words in mind Zerek 1-1 digs in as best they can around the outpost perimeter, weary eyes and shaking hands forming up to fight the Wookiees in one final, symbolic, defense of the values they've all sworn to uphold until their final breath.
"Steady, men." Lt. Cadrick said. "For we are soldiers of the Empire." The Lieutenant's voice echoed across the hastily dug and fortified trench-line. "We shall not fail, for peace and order depend on us to win." The officer paused to examine his troopers, both new and old. "Today we either die or prevail but we will do so as heroes, as valiant defenders and as brothers."
Corporal Kyran Racksen drummed his glove-clad fingers restlessly against his E-22 blaster rifle as the company commander spoke. Underneath his helmet a pair of tired and blood-shot eyes glanced left, to his brother in arms. "They can't be far off now." He sighed. "You ever thought we'd end up here? Of all places to go out on we managed to end up on Kashyyyk."
Racksen snorted and rolled his shoulders. "At least I couldn't have asked for better company." He chuckled as the distant roars of Wookiees drew closer and closer.
By now the trample of boots and feet drew unmistakably closer. The sound was almost that of a beskar hammer working a piece of armor. Rhythmic and decisive. Racksen tightened the grip around his E-22, as did the other troopers in the trench-line. Lt. Cadrick, standing atop the trench-line, readied his sidearm and aimed it at the dense jungle foliage.
"I could kill for some air support right about now though," Racksen muttered between steady breaths.
* * *
9 ABY - Aurora
Situated at the outskirts on some isolated and cold auroran shukkhole that made one freeze their choobies off in an instant was the Icebucket Cantina.
While nowhere close to being as fancy and lively as the waterholes Racksen usually found himself in he honestly had no complaints. After all, even with its rusty and worn durasteel walls, dim interior lighting, stained floor and watered out drinks the cantina was a place of warmth and an escape from the near-constant howling winds outside.
"Karking hell it's cold," Racksen muttered as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. He exhaled a couple of times to speed up the process of getting blood flowing while glancing around the establishment which, in reality, was just one big room with a bar counter, a small stage and then some chairs and tables strewn across unevenly.
Say what you want about the Aurorans but one thing was sure:
The Pantorans were smart. Not only did House Rhili hold significant power and sway on Aurora but they had also consolidated and centralized that power. Sure, they might have fewer settlements than some of the other houses but the ones they have are significantly larger and much, much more open.
What does that mean in the long run? Well, for starters, anyone sightseeing Aurora was bound to stumble into a place owned or co-owned by the Pantorans. That meant revenue, as well as intelligence and information.
Take the placement of Rhili's settlements for example. Most- if not all- are placed out on plains. Why? Easier to defend but also easier to expand.
It also ensures that all the tourists you attract will stay. Once you're out on the plains the winds will keep you there and sooner or later you'll find yourself paying off a Pantoran for lodging, a hot meal and maybe some local tail while you're at it.
A brilliant business concept, one that House Rhili has perfected.
As Racksen admired the well-oiled machinery that was House Rhili an eagle-nosed bartender shot a glare his way, as did two Rhili guardsmen that were seated close to the cantina entrance.
Despite the curious eyes Racksen wasn't nervous. Hell, he never was.
Casually, the broad-shouldered man dressed in surplus fatigues, heavy duty boots and with a cloak over his torso made his way over to the bartender.
While strolling over Kyran nodded towards the two Pantoran guardsmen and flashed a quick smile before moving on.
There were multiple patrons inside the cantina though nobody seemed to pay him any extra attention. Aside from the barkeep and the two guardsmen- all Pantoran- there were a couple of other Rhili natives, two Sullustans donning flight-suits, a Zabrak, a Bith and a Trandoshan. Finally there were also a lone, holographic, Twi'lek on the stage dancing around a pole, accompanied by the slow rhythm of some looped cantina background noise.
Racksen chuckled quietly to himself as the combination of people inside would make for a great joke- one he'd try on his brother-in-arms later.
For now however, Kyran was set on getting a drink. Hell, maybe even a hot meal.
With a toothy grin he placed one arm up on the counter and nodded towards the bartender. "I'll take a glass of something good but nothing too fancy," he said while using his other hand to place a small stack of credits on the counter.
The bartender nodded and collected the credits with one quick motion before nodding back at Kyran. "Want something to eat as well? We have some warm meat broth on the boiler right now."
Kyran nodded and presented more credits. "I'll have some of that as well," he said. While the bartender got to work Kyran took a seat on one of the stools. As he sat down the boxy muzzle and barrel-shroud of his E-22 was exposed from underneath his cloak.
If the guardsmen paid any attention to it however they didn't show it. Unsurprising, considering that more or less everyone seemed to be packing heat inside the cantina. Even the bartender looked like had a small holdout blaster tucked into his waistband.
I sure do love the frontier.
Racksen didn't have to wait long for both his drink and broth to arrive. The latter was steaming hot and oozed with warmth. Cupping his hands gently around the bowl of broth, Kyran closed his eyes and allowed the smell and warmth of the meal to fill his lungs before taking a sip from the drink.
Nodding to himself, Racksen was pleasantly surprised to see that the drink wasn't too shabby. After taking in two spoons of the broth it was clear that the food wasn't all that bad either. He made a mental note to himself to come back to this place if there was any time left over after the job.
After another two spoons Racksen picked up his communicator- a modified military model, popular among planetary militias- and sent Row a message;
Rendezvous-point is green, no tangos.
Kyran paused, smirked slightly and added: Good food too. Almost better than the officer's mess.
With the message sent Kyran tucked away the communicator and continued to enjoy the meal in front of him, waiting for his second half to arrive.
Bronco
Bronco
I pull levers
As the speeder glided to a halt, Row found himself cracking a grin at the message he held before him. Quick to reply, he typed his response into the half frozen keys of his own communicator.
Convenient that I lost my appetite then. Sounds good, any sign of our mysterious host yet?
He'd been referring to the one responsible for dragging the two out to Aurora. Whoever they were, they seemed to have both Row and Racksen's number; information on past ops, contacts, and dealings. None of the three alone painted either man in a very good light, especially not for the New Republic authorities this caller had been threatening to contact. The upside was that this caller also had an apparent job for the two, the completion of which might stay their hand from punching in an NR frequency and letting slip about some ex-Imperial mercenaries. It would have been nice if that might was a would, but playing the game of hurry up and wait was nothing new to either of the mercs.
Row shoved his gloves back on and took a wide step out of the speeder. He found himself on a dock of sorts, lit by swinging fusion lanterns and hugging the side of a sudden incline in the terrain. The speeder, which he'd now dipped back into to retrieve his duffel, hovered over what was probably some kind of ancient frozen river. He'd just pulled his bag over the vehicles side when a sharp tug kept it in place, the driver gripping its back strap tight. He was a rather plump Pantoran, bundled up in a certainly itchy looking cloak, scarf, and duster. His hands were adorned in gloves of the same wool-ish material, but his heartier fingers remained uncovered to the elements.
"Forgot to mention the foul-weather charge, looks like the blizzard jumped to a-uh.... cad three a couple leagues back," he poked away at the speeder's console, reading off supposed information. Following his request, Row placed a gentle hand against the side of his jacket. Within, dangled the form of a compact blaster.
"You better be turning in then," he smiled. There was silence between the two, before finally Row's duffel was released by the driver.
"Feff'n tourists," he grumbled before kicking the speeders accelerator in frustration. The engines sprung back to full load before he blasted off down the tight frozen valley, disappearing around a bend in the opposite side. Row watched the bottom of the slope until he'd lost the whine of the engines, their cry replaced by a building wind.
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The dock had been below the main settlement, series of open stairwells allowed fresh arrivals to climb up the steep slope and into town. Row adjusted his bag as he finished his climb, walking bent through the icy blast down a rather empty street. The residents of town had long ago taken shelter in their homes, the windows of which bathed his snow covered path in warm golden light. The much dimmer lights, strung across the street from roof to roof seemed to be slacking on the job. Regardless, the settlement looked nice enough.
He trudged on, scanning the mostly two story home and shop combos for a specific cantina. The brick and brass buildings, usually adorned with exterior heating pipes, were unfortunately labeled everything but. Swinging sings displayed twinkling ads for groceries, minerals, and technical repairs above locked store fronts. Still, Row continued his search, his only respite from the dropping temperatures being his jacket and mercifully scattered steam vents along the avenue's shoulder. He stopped, considering pulling out his communicator once more, before he turned to face a tight alley. Sure enough, beaming through from the end of the darkened pass, was a front reading Icebucket Cantina. Row was quick to trot up to the ferrocrete building, exceptionally duller than the town's other buildings, and step inside the automatic door.
Once inside, there was little difference in temperature. Granted, his breath was no longer visible, but surely not every bar on Aurora was this cold. He stepped further inside, unzipping his jacket as he passed by two of town's patrolling officers. He didn't pay them much mind as he approached the bar, immediately spotting the only human in the establishment. He slid onto the stool next to him, dropping his duffel with a sigh to the ground. "Y'know just once we should pick a tropical gig. Like really hunt for one, make a spreadsheet or something before whittling them down. I'm thinking Onderon, maybe Scarif once a few more resorts move in," he put his forearms on the counter top, flipping up a quick hand to the bartender for some service. "The hell even needs taking care of here?"
Attachments
Viper Actual
Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
Racksen was about to respond to the message when another patron stepped through the door. Dressed in expensive-looking winter wear with knee-high boots and a lavender face-scarf was a slender Pantoran woman. As she stepped inside she undid the scarf, revealing what could only be described as beautiful- exotic even- features.
High cheekbones, a small but elegant nose and plump lips were all joined by smooth skin and almond-shaped eyes of a deep yellow, almost golden, color. She took a deep breath and examined the room. Instinctively, Kyran felt himself straightening up for the woman's gaze was not that of someone seeking companionship but rather that of authority.
As her gaze wondered Kyran noticed the two guardsmen straightening up as well with their faces expressing the same fear that a conscripted soldier showed during inspection. The other patrons seemed to react as well, although not to such a strong degree as the guardsmen.
When the Pantoran's gaze eventually landed on Kyran she paused, smirked slightly and entered the cantina proper. She walked past the guardsmen, Racksen and more before sitting down at an empty table at the far end of the room opposite the door. As she passed Racksen however she whispered; "Let me know when Row gets here. The Baron does not like to wait."
Kyran watched the woman without blinking but eventually raised his glass in a silent toast once she was seated and facing him. She returned the gesture with a nod before whispering, presumably into a hidden communicator on her person.
After taking another spoonful of broth Racksen typed up a response;
Not yet, but I think I just made contact with one of their underlings. Looks like local royalty.
Just as Racksen was about to send his message however he was joined by the familiar presence and voice of his fellow ex-Imperial comrade. Smiling, Kyran replied without moving his head too much;
"The more we freeze our choobies off the more appreciation you'll have for the warmer gigs when we'll sweat our choobies off instead and vice versa."
Chuckling, Racksen continued. "I was just about to message you. Think I made contact just now or, rather, our contact sent someone to check us out. Told me to let her know when you were here."
Kyran took another sip from his drink. "She mentioned you by name."
As he set down his glass Racksen laughed as if telling Row a joke or a humorous story. "On my ten o'clock. Corner-table. See her?"
Meanwhile, from behind the safety of her table, Iessa Rhavo watched the two mercenaries with great interest. She feigned straightening out her pastel blue hair, currently tied up into a long braid, which put her concealed communicator closer to her mouth as it was attached to one of the cuffs on her jacket.
"They are both here, shall I present myself?" She asked, awaiting the response of her superior.
Bronco
I pull levers
A worried voice responded to Iessa, quick and exasperated. "The situation's deteriorating Iessa, drag them here by their ears if you must!" there was a sudden pulse of static on the end as another voice took command of the comm link.
"Stick to our agreed approach, the Baron can hold for a little longer. Remember, anxiety reflects anxiety. They'll cooperate once we shed some more light on the situation, approach." the transmission terminated with those instructions.
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Back at the table, Row had spotted the woman in his peripherals. The bar tender had approached yet again, Row ordered his drink whilst acknowledging Racksen's information. "I'll take the nog please, no broth for me, ate on the way over thanks," with a nod the bartender moved to prepare the drink. "Not exactly who I'd imagined. Definitely haven't seen her before...sober anyways," he'd throw another sideways glance her way just to be sure. "Well if it's some vengeful one-nighter that's got us by the balls I'd like to clarify that I am not responsible for wasted Codary," his drink arrived and he took a deep exploratory swig from the mug.
As he drank, he felt a new arrival hop up on the stool beside him. One final glance to his side revealed the woman had approached. "Mm," he returned the mug to the table, "Nope, you're definitely a stranger," he opened the conversation.
She exhaled in amusement, "It certainly wasn't friends who summoned you," she replied. "Savareen Ale if you'd please," she raised an elegant hand to the bartender. The pantoran turned to what he presumed would be another commoner, only to shoot up straight at her presence. He stood in shock for a moment, rag dangling between two idle hands. "At your earliest convenance of course," she added with a knowing grin. With this he'd snap out of his stupor, give a shallow bow, and briskly make his way to the top shelved bottle.
"Well that's a relief, I owe too many favors to friends-" he put a friendly hand upon Racksen's shoulder, "actually that's probably both our cases, huh boss?"
"Stick to our agreed approach, the Baron can hold for a little longer. Remember, anxiety reflects anxiety. They'll cooperate once we shed some more light on the situation, approach." the transmission terminated with those instructions.
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Back at the table, Row had spotted the woman in his peripherals. The bar tender had approached yet again, Row ordered his drink whilst acknowledging Racksen's information. "I'll take the nog please, no broth for me, ate on the way over thanks," with a nod the bartender moved to prepare the drink. "Not exactly who I'd imagined. Definitely haven't seen her before...sober anyways," he'd throw another sideways glance her way just to be sure. "Well if it's some vengeful one-nighter that's got us by the balls I'd like to clarify that I am not responsible for wasted Codary," his drink arrived and he took a deep exploratory swig from the mug.
As he drank, he felt a new arrival hop up on the stool beside him. One final glance to his side revealed the woman had approached. "Mm," he returned the mug to the table, "Nope, you're definitely a stranger," he opened the conversation.
She exhaled in amusement, "It certainly wasn't friends who summoned you," she replied. "Savareen Ale if you'd please," she raised an elegant hand to the bartender. The pantoran turned to what he presumed would be another commoner, only to shoot up straight at her presence. He stood in shock for a moment, rag dangling between two idle hands. "At your earliest convenance of course," she added with a knowing grin. With this he'd snap out of his stupor, give a shallow bow, and briskly make his way to the top shelved bottle.
"Well that's a relief, I owe too many favors to friends-" he put a friendly hand upon Racksen's shoulder, "actually that's probably both our cases, huh boss?"
Viper Actual
Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
"Understood," replied Iessa, nodding. This better be worth it.
*
Kyran chuckled in response to Row's statement. "I'll keep that in mind, I do so much prefer sober Codary." Racksen grinned. "Better decision-making skills."
As the Pantoran woman seated herself and ordered something to drink Kyran's earlier observations were reinforced almost immediately when the bartender reacted the way he did. He glanced over his shoulder at the two guardsmen and noted that neither were drinking. In fact, they were paying great attention to both Kyran himself and Codary as well. One even looked like he had scooted himself back a little bit.
Classic. Bears the hallmarks of a quick draw-artist. Kyran looked away and took another sip of his own drink. Too bad that shit don't work like they do in the holovids.
He'd seen enough aspiring gunslingers go down before they even got their blaster out of its holster. Hell, Kyran had shot a fair amount of wannabe-gunslingers himself. As had Codary. When Row addressed him he glanced at the Pantoran lady, pretending to be uninterested. In truth he was curious- and even more cautious.
Mercenary work was tough and a lot of cases a contract complete meant leaving bodies or grudges. Personally Kyran preferred the former. Dead folks can't bear any grudges. Unfortunately for him that wasn't always something he could control and he'd rather go down fighting than get ambushed by some fool holding him or Row personally accountable for something they were merely being paid to do.
He raised an eyebrow towards the woman next to him. "First off," he started, "We'd like your name."
The woman rolled her eyes and interjected; "Iessa Rhavo, risk management."
Unbothered, Kyran continued; "And secondly, if they're not friends then who or what are they?"
"Your next payday," replied Iessa. "A very generous one at that."
Glancing at Row, Racksen looked back at Iessa and grunted. "And what would they have us do, exactly?"
Iessa smiled. "Risk management."
Kyran didn't look entirely satisfied with that answer. He took another spoonful of broth and chew on it for a couple of seconds before looking at Row. "I'm on the fence. Your call on this one." He paused. "I'm not sure I'm looking to repeat that thing we did on Raxus."
"It got quite messy," Kyran finished before continuing to eat.
Bronco
I pull levers
As the group conversed, Iessas's drink arrived. The bartender was quick to drop it off, gently clinking the glass down on the counter before rapidly backing away. She smiled to the man, pinching the tall drink by its stem before Kyran mentioned the two's past experience on Raxus. "Ah yes, the Raxus job," she recognized the event. A knowing grin sprung across her face before she tipped the ale to her lips, after her sip she continued. "Well we certainly wouldn't want a repeat of that fiasco. Though, if anything, I'd surmise it does display your adaptability," she placed her glass down and clasped her hands, taking a moment to flip a bang out of the way before cutting to business. "Gentlemen, our offer is time sensitive. As much as I'd love to digress into your...escapades...we simply don't have the time," she straitened in her seat, eyes settling sternly in turn on those of the mercenaries. "You will be operating this evening, a short transits distance from here. Rest assured this lack of information will translate to a raise in payment, along with the possible expunging of any records we've opened on you. Do you accept?"
Row had been receiving her pitch with pursed lips and a leaned posture. He rolled his fingers across the bar top, considering what was to be risked and what could be gained. His free hand went for the nog, gulping it down as he met the gaze of their possible employer. The mug was set down with a hollow thunk, Row rolling his head over to consult Kyran behind him. "And we figured the Empire withheld information," he chuckled. After a little laugh, he'd turn back to Iessa, pointing an amused finger accompanied by a toothy grin. "Now, you do realize the less information we get, the more likely everyone walks away disappointed right? You've got your mercs, we're taking the job, exquisite blackmail, bravo... but that doesn't mean we're gonna win," he leaned forward, gaze locked with Iessa. "We need information on the terrain, friendlies, baddies, our objective. You let is loose somewhere, without a brief, and we're just as likely to work against you than for you," he finished.
it was Iessa's turn to consider an offer, the woman crossing her arms in thought. She idly twirled her braid, slowly beginning to nod in understanding. After another sip of her ale, it seemed she could bear conceding. "Seems logical enough. Unfortunately such details are prohibited to be revealed...here that is," she promptly stood, straitening her winter wear and sliding her credits towards the back of the counter. She shot her gaze to the two guards present, sending a curt nod in their direction. Immediately they moved to depart, rising from their seats and taking positions on either side of the bar's door. They stood, sentinel like, with their hands respectfully clasped at their wastes.
"Nice goons," Row tittered from on his stool. Iessa sighed, cocking her head at the mercenary.
"Mr. Row, as our new agreement stands, it's you two who are the goons," she began her march to the door, hardly waiting for the new hires. Row got up to follow, nudging Kyran in the side with a boyish grin.
"Mr. Row," he imitated with a hushed snicker.
Row had been receiving her pitch with pursed lips and a leaned posture. He rolled his fingers across the bar top, considering what was to be risked and what could be gained. His free hand went for the nog, gulping it down as he met the gaze of their possible employer. The mug was set down with a hollow thunk, Row rolling his head over to consult Kyran behind him. "And we figured the Empire withheld information," he chuckled. After a little laugh, he'd turn back to Iessa, pointing an amused finger accompanied by a toothy grin. "Now, you do realize the less information we get, the more likely everyone walks away disappointed right? You've got your mercs, we're taking the job, exquisite blackmail, bravo... but that doesn't mean we're gonna win," he leaned forward, gaze locked with Iessa. "We need information on the terrain, friendlies, baddies, our objective. You let is loose somewhere, without a brief, and we're just as likely to work against you than for you," he finished.
it was Iessa's turn to consider an offer, the woman crossing her arms in thought. She idly twirled her braid, slowly beginning to nod in understanding. After another sip of her ale, it seemed she could bear conceding. "Seems logical enough. Unfortunately such details are prohibited to be revealed...here that is," she promptly stood, straitening her winter wear and sliding her credits towards the back of the counter. She shot her gaze to the two guards present, sending a curt nod in their direction. Immediately they moved to depart, rising from their seats and taking positions on either side of the bar's door. They stood, sentinel like, with their hands respectfully clasped at their wastes.
"Nice goons," Row tittered from on his stool. Iessa sighed, cocking her head at the mercenary.
"Mr. Row, as our new agreement stands, it's you two who are the goons," she began her march to the door, hardly waiting for the new hires. Row got up to follow, nudging Kyran in the side with a boyish grin.
"Mr. Row," he imitated with a hushed snicker.
Viper Actual
Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
Kyran merely offered Codary a quick glance as his brother in arms spoke for the two of them. Whether the employer liked it or not they would eventually have to disclose some information, lest Row and Racksen find themselves geared up for a vastly different assignment in unknown terrain within neutral or hostile territory. Not a great combination exactly, something the two of them had learned on Raxus after an employer got a little bit too secretive and trigger-happy.
That too was a bad combination. But hey, at least everyone involved walked away safely from that one. Excluding the employer.
When Iessa signaled for her two henchmen to follow her Kyran glanced at the two men. Still on edge and ready to pull their blasters on Row and himself. Perfect.
Racksen looked at Row just in time to catch the mimicry, making him shake his head in response with a faint smile on his face. "Careful," he worded silently. Having already paid for both food and drinks Kyran got up and joined Row at his flank. He looked at Codary and nodded towards the two guards- whom had now stepped outside to scout the surrounding area- before holding up his right hand and curling his trigger-finger twice.
It was a silent signal and one of many that Racksen and Row had developed. In the context of their current company it roughly translated to 'Be careful of the trigger-happy goons'.
Racksen then looked forward, attempting to get a read on Iessa. She turned around just then and met his inquisitive glare with an ice-chilling stare that was followed by a brief smirk before she looked away. Kyran thought he could hear a faint 'Hmmph' but it could've been any of the patrons still seated inside the cantina as well.
As the entire entourage stepped outside Kyran frowned. "So much for that warmth," he muttered to nobody in particular.
Iessa glanced over her shoulder. "Don't worry, Mr. Racksen. The quicker you and Mr. Row complete the arranged contract the quicker you may return to the warm comfort of a cantina or hotel."
She turned away before adding; "Assuming you live that long."
That too was a bad combination. But hey, at least everyone involved walked away safely from that one. Excluding the employer.
When Iessa signaled for her two henchmen to follow her Kyran glanced at the two men. Still on edge and ready to pull their blasters on Row and himself. Perfect.
Racksen looked at Row just in time to catch the mimicry, making him shake his head in response with a faint smile on his face. "Careful," he worded silently. Having already paid for both food and drinks Kyran got up and joined Row at his flank. He looked at Codary and nodded towards the two guards- whom had now stepped outside to scout the surrounding area- before holding up his right hand and curling his trigger-finger twice.
It was a silent signal and one of many that Racksen and Row had developed. In the context of their current company it roughly translated to 'Be careful of the trigger-happy goons'.
Racksen then looked forward, attempting to get a read on Iessa. She turned around just then and met his inquisitive glare with an ice-chilling stare that was followed by a brief smirk before she looked away. Kyran thought he could hear a faint 'Hmmph' but it could've been any of the patrons still seated inside the cantina as well.
As the entire entourage stepped outside Kyran frowned. "So much for that warmth," he muttered to nobody in particular.
Iessa glanced over her shoulder. "Don't worry, Mr. Racksen. The quicker you and Mr. Row complete the arranged contract the quicker you may return to the warm comfort of a cantina or hotel."
She turned away before adding; "Assuming you live that long."
Bronco
I pull levers
He'd returned the gesture with an undecided shrug of nonchalance. This wouldn't be the first time they worked alongside bravado-pumped guns, and it certainly wasn't going to be their last.
As the group exited the bar's alley, a fresh gust of winter wind blew down mainstreet. Iessa's braid flapped like a flag as she turned her gaze. Moment's later a speeder approached from the same direction, guided to stop before the group by one of the flanking guards. It couldn't possibly be a standard civilian vehicle. The fuselage was designed as a wide defensive bulwark but still crafted with solemnity in mind. Once waved down, the same guard briskly moved to open its tall sliding door near the cockpit. The interior showed even more distinct signs of the craft's dignification. Iessa was the first to climb aboard its velvet steps, turning in the hatchway to further address the men. "Thank you kindly officers, dismissed," With this, she'd disappear into the vehicle, the officers snapping quick salutes before gradually backing away from the speeder. Both mercenaries could still feel their gazes upon them until they were fully inside.
Lavish was the best way to describe the vessel. A deep violet rug ran down between two parallel rows of couch-like seats. The bulkheads were plastered in their own wallpaper, foggy grey with white crystalline designs, and sported silver metal light fixtures. Of course, like any good government transport, a dark wood bar occupied the tail end of the interior. All in all, the combination of the speeder's furnishings made it probably one of the nicest craft either mercenary had been aboard. An impressed whistle escaped Row as he took his seat, taking a moment to brush the cushioning with hand palm. "So we rolling right up to the a.o. in this or...."
"In my personal transport? Hah. Not if you want to keep your payment," she snorted. The craft accelerated smoothly, cozy lights from the streets outside dancing upon its interior. She travelled silent and fast, pivoting easily around turns whilst managing to kick up seldom a flake of snow. Those within would soon notice that they seemed to be travelling at a slight incline, the road zigzagging upward with every corner. They were climbing the town of Abara Brun, the buildings outside reflecting a steady rise in the quality of upper districts. Brick, plaster, and copper materials were being replaced with varnished woods, white combo-plaster, and shining bronze/aluminal structures. The height limit of lower Brun was smashed as well, thick wind-resistant towers pushing out of the glowing skyline. They were adjoined by a slightly shorter wall, forming a kind of keep atop the town's slope. Manned by roving guards, just dots when viewed from far below, their lanterns could be seen patrolling back and forth. The speeder was soon upon this wall's gate, shielded by a traditional portcullis that seemed to be retrofitted to project rayshields. Instead of horizontally running beams, the vertical strips were filled in-between with translucent orange energy.
Of course, the keep's wall was guarded by far more than a just a gate. Pustulous turrets popped out from the main structure, these positions all clinging roughly a third of the way up the wall. The two directly flanking the gate sported fixed repeaters, each manned by a dedicated gunner and assistant. On the ground level, a guardhouse jutted out from the main wall, acting as the control point for patrols roaming the immediate grounds. A fireteam of four meandered about the road running through the gate whilst sporadic counts of troops exited and entered the house. "Allow me to be the first to welcome you within Tindnum Hald, or The summit's keep in the galaxy's wider known tongue," as Iessa introduced their lodging, two soldiers from the fireteam approached, conversing with the recently disembarked pilot.
(oh GOD that was a lot to slug through)
Attachments
Viper Actual
Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
Iessa's personal transport reminded Kyran of some of the modified luxury speeders he'd seen in use by both high-ranking imperials and corporate executives, as well as those of diplomats and senators from rich and wealthy imperial worlds. After giving it a quick glance Kyran turned his attention towards the two guardsmen whom looked less than enthusiastic to be dismissed.
Crisp salutes or not Racksen knew that the two men would've felt much more comfortable if him and Row were- at the very least- unarmed. He'd been in a few similar situations himself during his earlier career though unlike the two Pantorans he'd been lucky enough to have a onyx-black helmet shielding his face, preventing anyone from figuring him out too much.
Upon boarding the craft Racksen did his best to mask just how impressed he was with the interior. Indeed, the transport had obviously been furnished for the very elite of Auroran society and that much was obvious. Silently, Kyran ran a gloved hand along the silky smooth and polished wooden furniture just behind the couch-like seats.
"Impressed?" Asked Iessa, half serious, half joking.
Kyran spared her a momentary glance before nodding slowly. "I am. It's some impressive craftsmanship."
Tilting her head slightly, Iessa studied Kyran with a somewhat warmer gaze. "One would think that two mercenaries of your background and caliber would have seen many transports such as this, no?"
Racksen snorted and grinned. "We have," he said, still grinning. "But usually we see them from the outside and through the scope of a launcher."
If Iessa was intimidated by the comment she didn't show it. The Pantoran simply grunted, smirked and looked away.
As the craft eventually reached an impressive-looking bastion Kyran remained silent. It was a bad habit of his, falling silent as soon as he started to study something of interest. Codary had told him many times that it was an obvious tell. Still, if my silence gets their focus they're less likely to see the blaster jutting out of my cloak.
Upon disembarking Kyran crossed his arms and took in the sight of the wall, its defenses and the soldiers loitering about. He glanced towards Row, muttering; "Well it sure is one big keep."
Crisp salutes or not Racksen knew that the two men would've felt much more comfortable if him and Row were- at the very least- unarmed. He'd been in a few similar situations himself during his earlier career though unlike the two Pantorans he'd been lucky enough to have a onyx-black helmet shielding his face, preventing anyone from figuring him out too much.
Upon boarding the craft Racksen did his best to mask just how impressed he was with the interior. Indeed, the transport had obviously been furnished for the very elite of Auroran society and that much was obvious. Silently, Kyran ran a gloved hand along the silky smooth and polished wooden furniture just behind the couch-like seats.
"Impressed?" Asked Iessa, half serious, half joking.
Kyran spared her a momentary glance before nodding slowly. "I am. It's some impressive craftsmanship."
Tilting her head slightly, Iessa studied Kyran with a somewhat warmer gaze. "One would think that two mercenaries of your background and caliber would have seen many transports such as this, no?"
Racksen snorted and grinned. "We have," he said, still grinning. "But usually we see them from the outside and through the scope of a launcher."
If Iessa was intimidated by the comment she didn't show it. The Pantoran simply grunted, smirked and looked away.
As the craft eventually reached an impressive-looking bastion Kyran remained silent. It was a bad habit of his, falling silent as soon as he started to study something of interest. Codary had told him many times that it was an obvious tell. Still, if my silence gets their focus they're less likely to see the blaster jutting out of my cloak.
Upon disembarking Kyran crossed his arms and took in the sight of the wall, its defenses and the soldiers loitering about. He glanced towards Row, muttering; "Well it sure is one big keep."
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