STAR WARS: ASHES of the OLD REPUBLIC - Scene 1

Lanthrym________________________________________________________

An ice planet orbiting a yellow sun, Lanthryrn is a world still angry about a slight that occurred centuries ago. When the Elrood-Derilyn Trade Route was assembled, Lanthryrn and Coyn competed to be the third major stop on the route. When Coyn received the endorsement, the governor of Lanthryrn was enraged and insulted. Though that ·governor is dead, a descendant of his lives on as governor and carries on that hatred.

As a result of the trade route choice, Coyn's fortunes increased while Lanthryrn's declined. The population, fed a constant stream of propaganda by the government, is sullen and resentful. Lanthryrn is the only planet in the sector where Gamorreans are in the majority, and the politicians have openly suggested that Coyn was chosen because the Coynites "have chosen to cultivate good relations with their Human masters."

People who come from Coyn are often assaulted and their ships vandalized. Due to its weak economy and the desire to get even with the other worlds that have slighted them, Lanthrym has tacitly allowed criminals and smugglers to operate with minimal interference. Law enforcement officials are corrupt ("justice" goes to the one who pays the most) and the only real law hinges on a being's skill with a blaster. Most of the buildings are underground, fed by geothermal energy.

Lanthrym boasts a large number of bars, clubs, casinos, arenas for gladiator combat, hotels, and other establishments that cater to the baser interests. Lanthrym has a thriving black market and forgery trade. Items and weapons banned or regulated in the Empire can be found here at greatly inflated prices. Those who need false identification so that they may "disappear" are well advised to come to this world as well.

Lanthrym is also the sector's leading producer of salt and other sodium products. Aside from the profits from rare sodium compounds, the mines are a perfect form of punishment for those who exceed even Lanthryrn's liberal standards of behavior.
________________________________________________________________________

Jeril Rain


Fuar_____________________________________

Jeril Rain: stumbled down the interior walkway of Fuar Settlement Station with a terrible hangover. Despite the fog of his aching skull he still notes the blizzard has finally abated, affording a much better view of the through the transparisteel windows than the preceding icy storm allowed.

~With the storm gone, trains should get through. My contact may arrive today afterall, I better get my head right to meet him...~ Jeril paused to lean against the wall, shutting his eyes and steadying his mind, allowing the force to flow through him absorbing its healing powers.

Jeril: (Heal Self Check: = 22, restores 8 Vitality Points) ~Much better!~ He thinks to himself, blinking away the fog. ~Damned power-rationing to the climate controls is in effect again... per usual...~ Jeril cursed inwardly, stuffing his hands deeper into fur-lined pockets of his grey overcoat and quickening his pace a bit to keep his blood moving.

Lanthrym was a poor, miserable world full of poor, miserable inhabitants. Some of the richer settlements actually heated their interior corridors to a more tolerable level but Fuar wasn't so fortunate. The administrator of this particular station was stingy, even by Lanthrym-standards.

Mining settlements like Fuar excavated beneath icy craters all over Lanthrym's frozen crust seeking sodium deposits, the only mineral worth anything on this doleful ice-ball. Facilities like this one were only interested in one thing, profit from the misery of its laborers. Heating interior corridors above freezing was a secondary concern.

As he reached the boarding lobby for repulsor-trains Jeril glanced at the status monitor. The arrival of his mysterious guest appeared to be imminent and on schedule. Repulsor-trains were the regular means of travel across Lanthrym due to the frequency and severity of its storms. Airspeeders were a risky prospect at best with winds in excess of 200 kph and temperature drops as low as -60 centigrade.

Occasionally smaller starships, piloted by novices, ignored warning broadcasts on the METOSP channel attempting takeoffs or landings during a storm. Search-parties usually never bothered to search for wreckage or survivors until the storm passed, which might be several days, sometimes weeks. Locals referred to most fools caught in a blizzard as 'corpsicles' and pilots as 'flying corpsicles'.

Even during a calm between the storms the surface of Lanthrym was a treacherous place. Avalanches, hidden-crevasses, and a multitude of dangerous predators kept surface exploration to a minimum (except by droids) Every local Jeril met stayed indoors or underground as much as possible.

Only once did he strike out into the snow-drifts and glaciers on foot seeking help after the repulsor train he boarded was de-railed by a particularly sudden and violent gust leaving him stranded and many others injured. The creatures he encountered out there kept his lightsaber busy to say the least...

Jeril shivered with the memory of that day and unconsciously groped through the hidden slit in his pocket for the hilt of said lightsaber on his waist. ~Best not to dwell on that... fear leads to the darkside~ He reminded himself.

---

The arrival of the repulsor-train brought his attention back to the present. A throng of miserable laborers stirred around the lobby, many of whom were fiercely-strong, tusked, Gamorreans. At times Jeril envied them, the heavier layers of body-fat around their porcine-bodies served as natural insulation against the cold. They rarely complained as much as the other species.

The trains outer doors opened with a hiss offloading a crowd of several dozen laborers, a few droids, and perhaps a dozen irritable spacers seeking to cross the threshold between the train and the warmth of the facilities interior in vain. As the crowd surged through the boarding gates Jeril finally spotted the elderly off-worlder he was waiting for trailing behind them.

Unfortunately a pair of settlement law enforcement officers also took note of his contact and meandered towards him. The local's knack for spotting an offworlder never ceased to amaze him. Jeril knew he had to distract them or they'd likely spook his guest into really making a target of himself.

Jeril glanced around and noted a particularly tired-looking tech-specialist clutching a steaming thermos in shivering fingers taking sips while he waited in line to get his facility repair permit. ~Sorry about this friend~ Jeril thought as he reached out with the force.

Jeril: (Move Object, DC 10: = 19)(Ranged Attack w/ Thermos vs. Defense 14: = 19, Hit)(Location: Chest)

As the officers pass by the techie his thermos inexplicably hurls its contents unto the nearest ones chest!

Law Enforcement Officer: -shouts- "Ahh! My uniform! You got a problem with the law buddy?!" He curses, reaching for his stun-baton.

Techie: Grows very pale as the offending thermos clatters and rolls unto the dura-crete floor. -stammers- "It-it wasn't me! I swear!"

Law Enforcement Officer 2: Pulls out his stun button reaching over to grab the techie by the collar. "You've got some nerve! On your knees!" He orders shoving the tip of the baton into the techies stomach.

The shock debilitates the poor techie instantly. As he collapses several bystanders in the crowd look at the scene with mild-amusement or mild-irritation at the excessive use of force. Meanwhile, Jeril uses the distraction to stroll up to the older man near the boarding gates.

Jeril: "Lovely weather today isn't it?" He says in a low voice.

Old man: Stares suspiciously at Jeril, but answers with a pre-arranged remark of his own. "Only if you prefer the cold to the suns of Rodan III."

Jeril: "The suns of Rodan are eclipsed this time of year. Lets go get a drink."

The old man nods and falls in beside Jeril as they walk out of the boarding lobby into the same interior corridor he entered with.

Jeril: -Hands over an identity badge- "Take this... it's your new ID badge. Forged of course. It gives you access to all the upper levels of the facility as a visiting representative of an offworld mining guild. Nobody likes off-worlders here of course, much less competing mining interests. You shouldn't be bothered so long as you wear that."

Old Man: Glances at Jeril. "You don't have a badge?"

Jeril: "I don't need one, I'm a local, or at least I've lived here long enough to be considered such. I have ID papers to prove it."

The pair continue to walk in silence around the interior corridor until they get to the other side overlooking the huge crater. Near the rim, a dozen starship hanger bays are excavated into the rock shielded by heavy blast-doors.

Old Man: Stares down at the yawning crater pockmarked with at least a dozen mining shafts surrounded by huge loader droids carrying salt-ore to the refinery depot. Jeril notes a twitch in his eye and a tenseness in his face that makes him wonder what this crater reminds him of?

Jeril: Attempts an 'Empathy Check' with the force. (The target is not aware of this mind probe)

Old Man: (Will Save, DC 12: = 19, Saves)

Unfortunately the old mans will is far too strong for Jeril to sense anything besides the obvious. He decides to simply make an inquiry.

Jeril: "What is it?"

Old Man: Swallows. "Have you ever been to Derilyn?"

Jeril: "I'm afraid not."

Old Man: "If you do, be sure to visit the ruins of Paran. It has more in common with this crater than it should." He says with a underlying crack in his voice.

Jeril: Frowns. "I don't understand?"

Old Man: "Paran was Derilyn's third largest city, the birthplace of Senator Wuxod who dared to speak against the supreme chancellor's power grab to be emperor. After his mysterious disappearance the emperor targeted our world for 'reconstruction'. Orbiting Star Destroyers effectively leveled Paran into smoking rubble. We sent aid to the blast sites, looking for survivors. That's when squadrons of TIE bombers deliberately targeted the helpless civilian shelters, leaving nothing but craters in their wake."

Jeril: Lowered his eyes. He didn't need the force to sense this mans pain. He knew it all too well. "Your part of the resistance aren't you? That's why you came here looking to buy arms."

Old Man: "Aye, I won't deny it. Will you help me?"

Jeril: Pondered his answer carefully. As a middle-man for Sawthawne the crime boss he really wasn't supposed to offer more help than his boss was willing to give. In this moment however, Jeril acknowledged a terrible guilt filled his heart. ~How can I go on avoiding the empire all these years when men like this risk everything to resist them? My master would be ashamed of me!~ Jeril took a breath and looked him in the eye. "I will help you, but first lets get that drink..." He says gesturing to a spacers bar nearby called 'The Icebreaker'.

Tie Pilot 165558

Obelisk Control: "Clear comms clear comms, report Miasma team"

Miasma 1: "Miasma 1 standing by"

Tie pilot: "Miasma 3 stand by launch"

He sat quietly in his Light Duty TIE awaiting further instructions, panels glimmered with readouts as the Ion drives quietly hummed in idle wait. He was nervous but thankful for his space suit making him look confident, well trained like he spent the last 5 years waiting for this moment. This was his third patrol, but his first non drill sortie, a real combat situation.

Obelisk Control: " Obelisk 558 is aligning for hyper jump in 30, We will be jumping into orbit around the planet Lanthrym where we received a distress beacon for Imperial freighter 453 operation call sign 'Sigma'. 453 has been MIA for 2 cycles from the shipping lanes departing from Coyn, treat approach with caution."

Miasma 1: "Stay sharp rookie and remember your training, your tie should be able to handle an ugly"

Tie Pilot: "Copy Miasma 1"

He kept a cool response trying to sort out his pre flight jitters. 'It's just like the simulators right?' With a heavy shutter the ship began moving faster then light, it was a short jump as they were the closest responder to the signal. As soon as the ship dropped from light speed the hanger gates opened clearing him for launch, with a clunk of the hanger arm detaching from his fighter he jammed the throttle hard and began his flight. He breathed in deeply taking in the sights of space, and as quickly as he launched his anxiety melted away.

Miasma 1: "I got eyes on Sigma and no reds, Miasma 3 form up and begin approach."

In space the Gozanti-class cruiser was floating, engines offline and no apparent sign of activity.

Tie Pilot: "I got a bad feel-"

Obelisk Control: "Clear lines clear lines, No response from Sigma, deflectors are down and no signs of life on board"

Miasma 1: "Miasma 3 fly by bearing 453x65, keep your speed up rookie"

Tie Pilot: "Copy Miasma 3"

He aligned his Tie off the forward bow of the freighter and accelerated at peak thrust, diverting a couple ticks of power from the weapons he scavenged what he could from the little light duty. His partner dropped back but began accelerating after a set gap had been made. Sure enough as soon as he buzzed past the freighter three uglies that were mag locked to the hull detached and began to pursue him. His partner was in the best position to cover him as he lined up and quickly tagged and destroyed one of the pirates before his weapons could come online.

Miasma 1: "Good work rookie now don't get shot"

He began to turn and roll as the two remaining pirates had begin firing upon him.

Miasma 1: "One of the uglies is disengaging, I'll go after him, it's 1 on 1 rookie"

The tie screamed as he threw it into sharp turns and banks, pulling power back into his weapons he decided to make his move. Pulling hard on the stick the g forces started to weight him down into the seat, outside his canopy he saw the stray shots dip further away. His scope confirmed that he was out turning his opponent, soon the Light Duty TIE was circling hard to gain a position behind the ugly. He waited patiently checking his targeting computer for a clean shot, a humm of the buzzer and a squeeze of the triggers was followed by the flashing of an exploding ugly. He felt his heart rise, his first tag in live combat.

Tie Pilot: "target eliminated"

He could barely hld his excitement as it bled across the com channel

Miasma 1: "good job rookie tha-"

Obelisk Control: " Miasma 1, 3 Incoming unknown hyper jump signatures"

As soon as Control gave the two pilots their warning a large unknown vessel and a dozen more fighters joined the battle. The ship appeared so quickly he was fighting to pull his fighter out of its path of travel before hitting the hull of the unknown enemy vessel.

Miasma 1: "I've been hi*static*"

From the corner of his canopy he saw a flash of light as the static of Miasma 1's last message was cut short. He didn't have a moment to react in shock as the dark void populated itself with enemy fire.

Tie Pilot: "Alpha we need to go"

Static was all that greeted him, it seemed jamming was now in effect. He ducked and weaved when a stray bolt clipped the arm of his left panel, with a quick jerk the arm failed and the panel collided with the top of his cockpit sending the fighter spiraling out of control. Alarms and buzzers screamed as he fought the controls to right himself. After a couple minutes without proper orientation or instrumentation he knew his heading. The hull of his fighter began to ping with the deadly sound of atmosphere.

He was falling to the planet and fast, the remaining panel acted as a drag and culled his random spinning enough for him to make some calculated thrusts to slow his descent. Smoke and fire bellowed from his cockpit as he knew he had only one chance to make it out, with all the power he could muster from the broken fighter he thrust laterally to flatten his trajectory. With the sound of twisting metal the other panel ripped from the fuselage and the ball rolled and bounced across the ice.

He woke up strapped to his seat, the internal visors to his helm no longer displaying information. he began to unstrap himself from the seat as he peered out the glass now covered half way in snow. Visibility was impossible as a blizzard raged on outside the wreck, He gathered his survival kit and placed a couple silvery suit patches over tears in his outfit. Per standard procedure he also stowed the on-board black box it in his survival sack before he exited the crumpled starfighter.

It was hard to stand, much less walk as icy winds pummeled his armored flightsuit making it feel very thin indeed. Suddenly a very large furry arm holding dagger-length claws emerged from the whiteout and slashed at him! His head snapped back with the force of the swipe against his helmet sending stars into his vision. A sharp pain quickly followed by another slash at his gut. He stumbled back with the survival sack batted a few meters off into the storm. He drew his KK-5 sidearm blaster pistol and began firing. A loud howl was heard as the monster perished in a hail of desperate blaster fire.

Gingerly he checked his wound and recovered the survival sack and checked its contents. ~First things first, must establish a bearing towards civlization with the comlink. I won't survive long in this blizzard!~

Powering on his comlink he was happy to hear there was a signal, but before he could home in on its source his comlink died. A claw like gash across the battery unit had incapacitated any means for him to call for help. The edge of hopelessness set in as he returned to his starfighter, using the cockpit as a shelter. ~There's no point moving on yet, not until the storm has passed~.

To occupy himself he skinned the fur off the wretched snow beast with his vibro-dagger... flash-burning the skin on the underside with his blaster set on a low-setting. It wasn't pretty, but it was better than nothing and helped keep him warm during the cold night to follow.

Once dawn arrived he moved on, huddled in the fur which actually helped keep other predators at bay. Progress was painfully slow slugging along through fresh snow-pack. To make matters worse another storm arrived several hours later. Caught out in the open it did not take long for the chilling cold to overwhelm his life support system. Unable to continue he dug himself into a snowdrift and waited for days, chilled to the bone. He was unaware exactly how much time passed. A week? Perhaps longer, all he knew for sure was his emergency ration was down to its last morsel.

When the storm finally passed he hardly had any strength left. ~ Must keep moving!~ Another day passed until true exhaustion set in. Death was surely catching up him, he wanted to lie down and let the cold take him. "I don't want to die..."

The words were hardly a whisper through his chapped lips but he heard them nonetheless. They kept him moving forward, always in the same direction. He concentrated on the landmarks in front of him, one by one, blinding out thoughts of walking in circles. ~Is that something ahead? A beacon?!~ He asked himself in a daze, imagining a sensor pylon of some sort in the near distance. Ten meters, five meters... three meters... and then he collapsed. He crawled ahead, pulling the white landscape towards him like a cloth until he felt something metallic through his glove. "I made it..." His final words prefaced silence as the darkness washed over him one last time.

Cossa, Gorg, Tie Pilot

Outskirts of Dorok's Pirate Base_____________________________

Tie Pilot said:

When the storm finally passed he hardly had any strength left. ~ Must keep moving!~ Another day passed until true exhaustion set in. Death was surely catching up him, he wanted to lie down and let the cold take him. "I don't want to die..."

The words were hardly a whisper through his chapped lips but he heard them nonetheless. They kept him moving forward, always in the same direction. He concentrated on the landmarks in front of him, one by one, blinding out thoughts of walking in circles. ~Is that something ahead? A beacon?!~ He asked himself in a daze, imagining a sensor pylon of some sort in the near distance. Ten meters, five meters... three meters... and then he collapsed. He crawled ahead, pulling the white landscape towards him like a cloth until he felt something metallic through his glove. "I made it..." His final words prefaced silence as the darkness washed over him one last time.

Click to expand...

Your hand touches a half-burried sensor pylon a kilometer from Dorok Zalander's base that detects your life signs. He dispatches a pair of roughneck pirates on swoops to respond named Gorg and Cossa. Gorg is a Gamorrean, Cossa is human. Both wear thermal overcoats with blast-vests and helmets, scarfs wrapped beneath their visors for good measure. Even so, riding swoops on Lanthryn is damn miserable business, but when alarms sound its the fastest way to check the perimeter.

Gorg: Activates his helmet-comlink, unable to shout directly at Cossa through the gusts of icy wind even though he's less than three meters away -Speaking Gamorrean- "This better not be another ice-spider!"

Cossa: Answers through his helmet-comlink-Speaking Gamorrean- "Ah what's the matter Gorg, last one wasn't big enough for you?" -Laughs-

Gorg: "Laugh it up! I'll make sure I miss this time if it comes after you."

Cossa: "I'm faster than you Gorg, it'll end up getting you even if it comes after me first!"

Gorg: Sneers inside his blast helmet. He was heavy it was true, even by Gamorrean standards. There wasn't much on this miserable planet he could outrun, even on his swoop. The repulsorlift engine was already whining near overload carrying his extra bulk. If he tried to push it to full-throttle he might not make it back. ~I should get my own swoop with an upgraded engine!~ He reminded himself.

The pair continue on, two streaks in the wind, circling the perimeter towards the signaling sensor pylon. Each swoop was modified with a large cowling/windscreen to keep the brunt of the wind off their faces. Both Gorg and Cossa had heavy-blaster carbines, grenades, and several other weapons at their disposal to deal with intruders. As they approached the pylon, each one slowed and surveyed the area, looking for movement in the rocks and snow drifts. All there was to see was a huddled form at the base of the pylon, half covered in some sort of bloody fur.

Gorg: "What is that?"

Cossa: Glances at his data readout "Looks dead to me... according to the sensor it's still alive, barely." Cossa said halting his swoop a few meters from the pylon. Cossa was an older pirate, shrewd and experienced in the ways of killing. He knew a possible trap or decoy when he saw one. "Gorg, keep your eyes open and cover me!" He grunted hopping off his swoop before his boots sunk a good half-meter into the fresh snow-pack.

Gorg: Throttled his swoop down to an idle, hefting his blaster carbine into his hands, glancing around in case of ambush.

Cossa: stepped closer to the pylon, slowly pulling a vibro-dagger from his belt ready for anything. ~Ok what the hell are you!~ He wondered, leaning forward to prod at the fur with the deadly-sharp tip of his weapon. Immediately the fur slid off revealing a familiar black flightsuit!




The Tie Pilot's suit was heavily caked with snow and ice as if he'd crawled his way through the drifts for days. He noted his helmet was heavily raked by claw marks, likely from the same creatures fur he wrapped himself in. He was also clearly unconscious and no threat.

~Tough bastard!~ Cossa muttered inwardly, removing the Imperial Munitions KK5 blaster pistol from the pilots holster, just in case. "Hey Gorg! You won't believe this!" He called out over his helmet-com.

Gorg: Hesitated to climb off his swoop, largely because it would be embarrassingly difficult to remount it once he started wallowing in the snow. "What is it?"

Cossa: "Get your fat-ass over here! I need help dragging him over to my swoop!"

Gorg: Relented with more curiosity than actual obligation. He fell twice on his way over to Cossa's side but shares his disbelief when he actually sees the intruder. "What in the hell?!"

Cossa: "I think I shot this one down myself, never imagined I'd see him again!" He laughs.

Gorg: "Screw him, let him die. He deserves it!"

Cossa: "No doubt he does, but lets ask him some questions first. Help me get him unto the swoop."

Gorg: "What if there's more of em out there?!"

Cossa: "Imps? Nah, using decoys isn't their style. Hurry up my balls are freezing off!"

Together, with much cursing, the pair straps the unconscious pilot to the back of Cossa's swoop and head back to the pirate base...

Jeril, Old Man



Icebreaker Spacer Bar__________________________________________________

Jeril leads the way into the 'Icebreaker' Spacer's Bar. As they enter both men take a second to savor the warm air inside, hot enough to seriously consider removing gloves, scarfs and overcoats.

Jeril: Exhales the last bit of icy air in his lungs. "Ah, the business office..." He says matter-of-factly.

Directly before the sliding double doors is small diamond-shaped table made of heavy duty transparent plastic bisected by a transparent sheet. On either side of this shield is a rather large ice cube (weighing about 20 kg's). One cube is green, the other is blue. The section of the table beneath each cube is are highly chilled cooling plates so the cubes don't melt even in this hot room. Before each cube in the surface of the table is a small triangular hole opening into a holding box. Affixed to the table are two tools... a 2kg sledgehammer and a small cutting laser.

Jeril notes the question in the old mans eyes and explains. "It's a contest... who can break down the cubes fast enough to place the most pieces through the hole before time runs out in 30 seconds. I currently hold the record."

Old Man: Nods plainly, obviously uninterested in childish games.

As Jeril leads the way to the bar a cute bar-maid smiles and calls over to him. "Back so soon?!"

Jeril: Smirks. "Business as usual!" He answers leading the old man to one of the secluded tables (#4 on the diagram). There are no doors ensuring privacy, just blue-plastic bead curtains, but its better than nothing. "Have a seat." Jeril says, removing his overcoat and taking a chair with his back to the wall.

Jeril is dressed in nondescript locals garb. Grey Wool Trousers tucked into warm boots, long-sleeve cotton tunic, wool sweater. The only things about his dress that differ from a typical administrator is the spacers utility belt around his waist and the blaster in a shoulder-holster. (His lightsaber is kept in a leather sheath with a concealing flap)

Jeril is in his mid-thirties, 1.75 meters tall, 75 kg's, bright blue eyes, pale-skin, thick, straight-black hair and a few days worth of stubble on his face. His eyes are currently clouded with uncertainty, but hopeful about making a change.

The old man didn't dress warmly enough for his trip here to Lanthrym that much is clear. He wouldn't last five minute outdoors with the overcoat he has on. Nothing else is remarkable about his dress. He has about the same height as Jeril but much slighter built. His demeanor is very serious, no-nonsense. A man out of patience. He takes the chair opposite Jeril, clearly tired from his journey, eager to get to business.

Old Man: "Whats the price for heavy weapons?" He asks wearily in a low voice.

Jeril: Gestures for patience. "Hey relax, there's no need to rush the particulars. Let's have a drink first."

Old Man: Frowns. "Time may be a luxury for you, but people back home suffer more everyday we can't fight back!" He says bitterly.

Jeril: "Sure, I get that... but I can only help you properly if I know you better. My employer expects certain things from me, and going around our usual arrangement isn't one of them... if you catch my drift?"

Old Man: Leans back regarding Jeril differently. "I see... so instead of the 'regular arrangement' you're suggesting we do business man-to-man."

Jeril: "Let's be honest with each other. You told me something true about yourself earlier and I appreciate that. I understand your hatred of the empire, truly I do."

Old Man: "Why do you say that?"

Jeril: Takes a breath, clearly hesitant to speak of his past. Just then the barmaid knocks outside the curtain sparing him the pressure for another moment.

Barmaid: "Drinks?" She asks pleasantly.

Jeril: "Sure Vela, come in." He says.

The cute barmaid enters, blonde-and-blue-eyed with a sweet smile.

Vela: "What'll it be?"

Jeril: "The usual please."

Vela: Nods and turns to the old man. "And you?"

Old Man: "Whisky... and coffee."

Vela: Nods and twirls back through the bead curtain.

Jeril: "I should introduce myself. I'm Jeril Rain, of Coruscant."

Old Man: Blinks. "Coruscant?! We don't get so many core-worlders out here. Nice to meet you Jeril, I'm Melvor Khamp. I suppose you came out here to get away from the Empire?"

Jeril: Nods. "Of course, same as so many others... except I was there at the start of it. I witnessed things that should never have happened... terrible things! Truly dark-deeds!" He says sadly, staring out the transparisteel window overlooking the crater, unconsciously sliding his sleeve up to rub a tattoo on his forearm.

Melvor: "Whats the tatoo?"

Jeril: "It's a copy of my masters tattoo. The one he carried before the emperors henchmen killed him."

Melvor: "Master? Were you some kind of slave?"

Jeril: "No, not a slave... a student. My master was a Jedi." He says with some hesitancy.

Melvor: "Jedi?!" He exclaims.

Jeril: Raises his hand quickly. "Not so loud!"

Melvor: Stares. "I've never met a Jedi before!"

Jeril: Leans forward, lowering his voice. "What kind of Jedi earns a living arranging black-market dealings for a crime boss? I'm no Jedi!"

Melvor: Blinks. "What happened to you?"

Jeril: Sighs. "It's a long story..."

Cossa, Gorg, Tie Pilot



Dorok Zalaster's Pirate Base_________________

Centuries ago, before Lanthrym was bypassed from the Elrood-Derilyn trade route, Dorok's Pirate Base was a government weapons-research installation. After funds dried up the military downsized considerably. Many such installations were decommissioned and abandoned. In time, officials started 'leasing' closed facilities to the highest bidder. Practically any sort of private enterprise can legally occupy military-grade bunkers on Lanthrym for the right price.

As the swoops circled back towards the base Cossa switched his helmet-com to base-frequency

Cossa: -Speaking Basic- "Cossa & Gorg reporting back. Perimeter is secure. Deactivate proximity mines!"

The base com-channel crackled and hissed momentarily before a familiar voice responded in the hollow, clipped-tones of a droid.

Mad Dog:-Speaking Basic- "Password?"

Cossa: "Mad Dog!"

Mad Dog: "Acknowledged, proximity-mines deactivated."

Dorok was nothing if not paranoid. Proximity mines were just one of many security measures he used to guard the base, 'Mad Dog' being another. Mad Dog was Dorok's favorite security droid, a very old and very twitchy experimental prototype. Dorok found him trapped in a bunker with the bones of several dead officers here on this very base. The ancient droid barely had any juice left in his power cells, yet still managed to kill two pirates before he shut down.

Dorok had him reprogrammed but the old circuits tended to glitch now and then, occasionally with dire consequences. Cossa hated trusting that frazzled toaster with his life but Dorok wouldn't have it any other way. Mad Dog amused him greatly and could always be trusted to remain impartial towards his men and serious about security protocols.

Together, Cossa and Gorg bee-lined for the vehicle-hanger under the watchful eye of two snipers on overwatch duty and several security cameras. Gorg was relieved to power down the swoop again as they parked them near the others. Gorg was never sure the damn things would keep flying. Old-Sal, the base mechanic, was meticulous with his maintenance efforts but rather forgetful in his old age. Cossa's com-channel crackled again in his helmet before he removed it.

Mad Dog: "C-o-s-s-a, who is the prisoner strapped to your swoop? Security cameras show a body with you when you entered the perimeter. Sensors also detect three life signs."

Cossa: Rolled his eyes within his helmet. Explaining things to a droid was so annoying. Mad Dog especially was rather slow, he had to sound-out peoples names like a child. "Acknowledged Mad Dog. Captive is unconscious and half frozen. Not-A-Threat. Please inform Dorok we have a prisoner."

Mad Dog: "Acknowledged."

Gorg: Hefted his bulk off the swoop and removed his oversized helmet. -Speaking Gamorrean- "Remember Cossa this was your idea!"

Cossa: Hmmphs and hangs his helmet on the Swoops handlebars. -Answers in Gamoreran- "Grab that cargo-sled! Lets get this imperial-corpsicle to the infirmary and see if he can be thawed."

Jihahna, 2-IB-X

Fuar Settlement Station_________________________________

Fuar Settlement Station: "Approaching Vessel, this is Fuar Settlement Station. Identify yourself." Said a hoarse, very bored voice over the open spacers channel.

Freighter Captain: "This is Captain Gria Vaghr of the Black Starlight."

Fuar Settlement Station: "What is your destination and cargo?"

Gria Vaghr: "Docking bay nine. Miscellaneous goods, one passenger and one droid."

Fuar Settlement Station: "Activate your transponder beacon."

Gria Vaghr: "Stand by..." He says pushing buttons on the com panel. A blinking light and a waveform-profile of the ships transponder code appears on the readout. Moments pass.

Fuar Settlement Station: "Transponder signal received. Proceed to docking bay nine, 'Black Starlight'. Do not deviate from your present course. We are tracking you on our scopes. Prepare to present your credentials and submit cargo to inspection after landing."

Gria Vaghr: "Understood docking control. Over-and-out." He said closing the channel with a flick of a switch.

Gria's Z-10 Seeker lowered altitude and banked towards Fuars great crater at a leisurely speed. ~It is good to be back. My mission was technically a failure, but the fringer I picked up in the Arkanis sector should make up for that!~ He thought cracking a smile.

Hrakians were humanoids of similar builds to humans. Their bald heads had feathered ruffles instead of hair and eye-ridges in lieu of brows. In addition their feathers and skin tone were shades of gold with very dark eyes.

As the blast doors opened Gria angled the Black Starlight into the bay, dropping it on its skids on the nearest open landing pad a tad ungracefully with a sudden thud that shook the whole ship.

Burkis: -Speaking Sullustan- "Easy you oaf! I won't replace landing struts again I warned you once already!" His Sullustan copilot exclaimed in the loud burbly language of his people.

Gria Vaghr: Smirked -Speaking Basic- "Relax my many-jowled friend! We are back safely, just as I promised!"

Burkis: -Speaking Sullustan- "Very funny! You wouldn't dare make such comments towards Sawthawne!"

Gria Vaghr: -Speaking Basic- "No I probably wouldn't, but he might consider it a compliment coming from you!" He chuckled grabbing his BoSS secure datapad and exiting the cockpit. Procedures here were a mere formality of course, anyone docking in bay 9 was a guest of Sawthawne. Port officials and inspectors in this particular bay didn't take their work too seriously... or else bad things happened to them.

Before he made his way to the landing ramp he paused by the bunks checking on his passenger. Jihahna was her name, a native of Tatooine of all places. Her demeanor towards them on their voyage back was cautious to say the least. ~Not that I blame her, a price on one's head is not an easy thing to live with.~ Her health also appeared questionable. The medical droid she brought on board was always prodding her with needles and doing tests. ~So long as she lives long enough to share her information with my employer I'm happy!~ He thinks with great satisfaction.

"We've arrived!" He says with a wide grin. "I'll take you to Sawthawnes place straight away. Be sure to give a fake name to the inspectors if they trouble to ask. Oh and I have to warn you, it's a lot colder here than you're probably used too." He says grabbing a thick overcoat.

[Jihahna, 2-IB-X: What do you do?]

Cossa, Gorg, Tie Pilot

Dorok Zalaster's Pirate Base_________________

As the cargo-sled pushed through the infirmaries double-doors, jazzy-music echoed off the walls. Within the infirmary three surgical tables (including one in an air-tight isolation chamber) are ready along with a myriad of useful, (if not outmoded) medical equipment. A dark-purple alien with flowing white hair & mustaches, blue eyes and a tail raises a bushy-eyebrow at your arrival.

Cossa: "Doctor Tenya, We found this tie-pilot collapsed near the sensor pylons, wounded and half-frozen."

Tenya: -Speaking Basic- "Get him on the table in the containment chamber. Remove his helmet and flightsuit." He says standing slowly from the desk where he was scanning a datapad, reaching to turn off the music and turn up the temperature in the in the containment chamber.

Once your on the table and largely unclothed doctor Tenya feels your pulse and examines the ragged bandages around your abdomen.

"Grab a bacta-bandage!" He barks, removing the old bandage so he can disinfect the wound.

Cossa: Does as instructed, un-chagrined by the order. "Damn something clawed him good!" He remarks.

Gorg: -Speaking Gomorrean- "Fifty credits says he dies."

Cossa: -Speaking Basic- "I'll take that bet!"

Tenya: "Anyone not trying to save this mans life may leave." He says calmly.

Gorg: Huffs -Speaking Gamorrean- "Suits me." He says stomping out of the infirmary.

Tenya quickly stitches the wound with a specialized tool, placing the bacta-bandage over his work after its finished. Then he takes a blood-sample, inputting it into a machine that identifies your blood-type before he starts an IV and a synthetic-blood transfusion with fluids warmed to greater than normal body temperature.

Cossa: "Will he live?"

Tenya: "Perhaps." He says matter-of-factly. "We have machines monitoring his vitals and fluids warming his organs to combat the hypothermia. We'll know soon enough."

Cossa: grabs the flightsuit and the gear, placing them on a table sorting through them quickly. "Oh a vibro-dagger... nice..." Cossa says slipping that into his belt.

Tenya: Frowns. "Really?"

Cossa: Winks. "Finders-keepers!"

Tenya: Shakes his head and goes back to his desk.

Cossa: Quickly rummages through your survival bag spotting the black-box you removed from the tie-fighter. Wordlessly he slips it into his overcoats inner pocket while the doctors back is turned so he has no idea he took it. "Nothing else worth a thing in here!" He snorts stepping away from the table moments before Dorok pushes through the infirmary doors.

[Tie-Pilot: You feel yourself returning to consciousness. Make a Listen check please.]

Tie Pilot 165558

His eyes open fluttering briefly adjusting to the lighting of the room. His chest is heavy as he struggles to breathe, each breath shaking with a deep chill. He tries to wiggle his fingers and toes to check if they are in fact still attached, but the numbness serves to only cause more worry. He can hear muffled voices around him
[listen=6 fail] but is too disorientated to make heads or tails of what is being said. He tries to focus on the people around the room, facial features cloths and other items that may be important to finding out where he ended up. In his labored breath he tries to form words but his voice does not seem to obey his command as of yet.

"Wheh...*cough* wher... I?"

Jihahna:"Thank you Captain, your services have most satisfactory"; Jihahna says with a polite smile and the extension of her living hand to shake his. She looks through the cockpit to the snow and ice outside. "The cold will be an adjustment, I agree. As for a name, I have decided on Kyrrie Darscus, parts salvager and mechanic from Mos Espa." She wraps her all-temperature cloak around her, ready to depart, ~Though, whether this false identity will be sufficient, remains to be seen~. With a polite smile, she takes a step back, ready to follow the pilot. "Waiting on you".

As she turned to leave, she noticed her surgical droid 2-IB-X 'Anne', standing patiently to her right. Anne wasn't purely a surgical droid... She was... Unique.

With built-in HK-50 motherboard and legs she had managed to scavenge from a centuries old sandcrawler, Jihahna wasn't initially aware of what she had found, only that the parts were compatible and the best fit for the damaged 2-IB unit she had purchased.

After heavy chassis stripping and modification and the addition of B2 battle droid servo motors to its arms, 'Anne' has become efficient in conducting most tasks. Her CPU, which has only been running at 15% effectiveness, needs upgrading eventually, but Jihahna has wondered if for about the same money, she may be able to pay to have the current one repaired to its original efficacy. She manually severed the HK memory core from the unit, something to deal with later, maybe get a specialist to eventually decode the centuries-old data and the combat programming within, however finding the right person for the job won't be cheap.

As a result, 2-IB-X has been adapting quickly to her new surroundings, though she has a somewhat... Quirky personality.

Since being powered up, she has insisted on being referred to as a 'she' and informed Jihahna that she had chosen the name 'Anne' for herself. Jihahna has cautiously gone along with the droid and has since had no other issues with its behaviour.

She smiles at the surgical unit "Well Anne, I assume you are ready for Departure?"