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Tatooine


RaveN

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Like icicles falling in a lonely cave on Hoth the Black Sun Armada emerged from hyperspace in the centre of the Tatoo system. The Golden Dawn in all its sharp dagger like glory led the charge towards the sun baked planet of Tatooine, the Marie and the St. Cathryne following in the thruster glow of the Victory II. Fighters and bombers stretched in long undulating lines in front of the fleet, an effective fighterscreen to be used if any of the Hutt or Smugglers in system thought that fighting the overwhelming force of the Black Sun was a fight they could win. The Marie trailed behind, its large sensor cluster pinging away and identifying potential targets then relaying them to the massed fighter, fighterbomber, and bomber wings. Within minutes the fighters and bombers had entered atmosphere, heading towards the civilized zones of Mos Eisley, Bestine, Anchorhead, and the dozen odd cities that began with ‘Mos.’

 

The capital ships followed only minutes behind, all designed to be able to enter atmosphere and positioned themselves of the capital of Bestine. Their comm relays urging all resistance to put down their weapons and accept the occupation while gunboats and landing craft discharged seven thousand ground troops and mercenaries to secure the large cities.

 

The invasion was not without casualties, several K-Wings and Z-95s were taken out by antiaircraft defenses, and several troop ships shot down by the defenders of Fort Tusken before the defenses were pounded into dust by the turbolasers of the giant capital ships blocking out the suns and casting shadows across the barren dunes. It would be one of the few times the Black Sun would use the full power of their fleet, and the show of force itself was enough to stop most resistance on the planet.

 

((Invasion Shot Requested on Tatooine - Level I))

 

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Ca'Aran

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Rruror'rur'rr had been silent since he had entered the meeting of so many blasphemous beings back on Onderon. In fact, he had barely spoken at all since then, except to fulfill his word to Drogan and teach him some of the basics regarding the Tusken culture, sans any history as it was blasphemous for him to dare speak it.

 

Eventually, when Drogan's ship dropped out of hyperspace above the glowing sandy jewel of Tatooine, Rruror'rur'rr could not help but smile beneath his mask at the site of the twin suns of his home. The brothers. I am home.

 

Without a word, Rruror'rur'rr strode from the bridge where he had been standing with Drogan, making his way to where they had confined Raka, his Drexl mount. Even without a saddle or other usual equipment used by the Tuskens to ride their bantha mounts, Rruror'rur'rr trusted the beast. There was some sort of bond. Willed by the ancestors it seemed.

 

As the ship made atmosphere a light in the hold blinked from red to green signalling their arrival. With a Tusken battle cry, Rruror'rur'rr's held his gaderffii in the air with one hand, holding onto a fold in Raka's neck with the other. Understanding his cry, the few crewmen outside the hold keyed the door and with a loud swoosh of air the Tusken atop his newfound steed fell from the ship and into the blistering warmth of his home. All about them ships dropped into the atmosphere to begin their oppression of the longtime invaders of his homeland.

 

Rruror'rur'rr's task in this invasion was simple. Circling away from the civilized bits of Tatooine, the duo faced off into the sprawling vast ruggedness of the Jundland Wastes. Plummeting downwards at a steep angle from so high above, even the hot air ripping through his robes felt cool. This was something Rruror'rur'rr had never thought he would experience and he was enjoying it. Circling downwards, Rruror'rur'rr could see countless brethren scurrying about The Needles, a sacred Tusken place, They were his mission. Even more so, they were his family, his kindred, his brothers and sisters. While the Black Sun fleet laid siege to the piddly Hutt defenses and moisture farms, Rruror'rur'rr just needed to keep the true locals from getting caught in the crossfire, and he wasn't giving a second thought to those blasted Jawas.

 

As Raka circled closer and closer, his shadowy form, outlined against the twin suns above created even more of a stir. Undoubtedly, the Tuskens below feared that the ancient demons who they had resisted countless generations before were returning to finish the job. Several potshots zinged past the winged duo, but the ancestor's voices cried out to Raka as they did to Rruror'rur'rr and they were able to avoid them. Panic turned to confusion at the site of Rruror'rur'rr mounted atop the beast, Gaderffii held high, a cry of battle on his lips.

 

Several passes later and most of the tribal Tuskens in or near The Needles had back tracked to their encampments. True, there were other tribes wandering the deserts, but hopefully most had settled in for the dangerous sandstorm season. Circling in within full view of his brothers, Rruror'rur'rr dismounted with a leap and a roll through the warm, gritty sands of his homeland, a visage of ancient legend reborn. Even this was enough to give his fellow Tuskens pause. Enough, at least, to allow Rruror'rur'rr to approach and explain himself, telling the story of his tribe's slaughter, his capture, and more importantly his journeys through hell and the ancestor's willing of Raka to him as a new mount and the invasion of the offworld demons to oppress those who would seek to oppress them. His story, so out of the norm, was taken in with rapt attention as the storytellers of the tribes took in each and every word, seeking to add Rruror'rur'rr brief adventures to the annals of Tusken history.

 

As swift and somewhat angry growls of debate erupted amongst the group, several scouts were sent out into the dangers of the wilderness during such a season to seek out other nearby tribes and to advise them of the truths that Rruror'rur'rr had brought to them. Even if just for the moment, many of the Tuskens would not be resisting the overwhelming force of offworld death from above. If the worst came they could go back to that which they had done for generations: resist.

 

((Invasion Assist))

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Monitoring the situation from the bridge of his gunship after dropping his tuskan comrade closer to the unoccupied desert Drogan chose to assist with the landing of troops around the larger cities. His gunship had come in outside of the normal defenses of the city and while he was not normally one for sneak attacks the opportunity was to good to pass up. Even as the anti aircraft defenses began assaulting the Black Sun ships and transports he brought his gunship in low near what he thought was the nearest ship hanger and began to lay waste to its anit aircraft defenses and hopefully with the light guns some damage to their space craft.

 

As the defenses registered the new assault Drogan chose to use that moment to retreat back above the desert and fall in with the invading ground forces. It had been to long since he and his men had a good fight and he intended to the make the most of it. Landing proved strangely easy as his smaller ship was ignored for the most part. Not the natives brightest move but that was their decision. Setting his ships autodefense systems he lead his entire crew out into the city. His plan was failry simple. Find and destroy any command units, or really anyone orginizing a resistance. He had faith his elite squad could eliminate most enemies with ease and if not they could always pin them down till more troops arrived.

 

Stepping into the heat and feeling it pulse in his armor he couldn't help but smile. Turning to his men he drew is heavy blade and a heavy blaster "Remember to die with honor, and should I die as well I will see you on the other side and we can sing of our glories together." With a rousing cheer he and his Thrysians entered the city, eliminating any soldier that resisted.

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Zalis landed upon the sands of dessert that looked coarse and irritating. Rather annoying like a whinny kid she had read about. Real boring stuff for her. Stepping off her ship, Nimbus, she moved towards the main Hutt cartel area to strike up a deal. This time around, she wore something that was sure to warm up the Hutts to anything she may have to say. As she walked in to the main area, she dropped her coat to draw attention to herself, while at the same time, she picked up a drink full of whiskey or something much stronger than that and began to drink it as she approached three Hutts sitting along the back wall of a grand hall that they had at a remote site on the planet’s surface. She continued to walk into the center as she finished the drink. Her two droids followed her, but they carried with them each a box looking thing.

 

"Mighty Hutts... what a sad sight to see. The galaxy has been breaking around you. The Galactic Alliance and the Imperial Remnant are making things so much harder for you guys to get the good things in life, life Spice, slaves, and all things that attract business for you. But you should have no fear, I come bearing an offering to make life so much easier for you. I present for you, seven pounds of death sticks and seven pounds of the best spice... All for the price allowing me and my associates the freedom to claim this planet. I of course will allow for you to remain, in order to help set up smuggling again throughout the entire outer rim..."

 

Zalis remained in the main hall dealing and negotiating a margin that would please everyone for over three hours. More than enough time to distract them from the hostile takeover taking place on the planet, but also to help gain their support.

 

((Invasion Assist Shot))

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Black Sun vs Tatooine:

 

Tatooine is one of the easiest planets in the galaxy to take. With only a few cities and a total population that barely breaks 6 figures, there's no organized resistance. There might be a few annoyed crime bosses in remote locations that resist Black Sun control, but Black Sun can certainly set up shop on Tatooine. The Tuskens and Jawas are really a nonfactor, caring little for the change in power.

 

Invasion Shot Successful

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The Black Sun were efficient and ruthless in their conquest of the sparsely populated world of Tatooine. A little applied force here and there, and suddenly the fleet was hailed by a hundred different representatives of various clans and hutt crime lords, all pledging their allegiance to the Black Sun. Delta ordered the Fleet to array and prepare for the next jump as the civilian contractors began their construction of a trading facility in orbit called…

 

Wayfarer’s Rest

 

Resembling a crescent, the new trading station was laid out with hundreds of ducking stations and hundreds of trading and bazaar platforms as well as high class casinos, hotels, and the jewel of the Tatoo system. The Twin Sun’s Hotel complex. The highest class 10 star gambling and vacation resort. All with stunning view of the binary star system. Every twelve hours guests would be delighted to see the sunrise on the far side of the sandy planet and be treated to amazing delicacies imported from across the galaxy. Delta pulled strings from all over and booked free trips to the system to most traveling and luxury cruise lines for the first few weeks of operation.

 

Alongside it was built a simple Golan I (Completion 11/18/2017)

 

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Ca'Aran

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Zalis left the main hall after the deal had finished. She made her way over to a cantina to enjoy more whiskey, Coreillan rum, and other strong drinks to help her deal with the misery of the hot sandy planet that was always a haven for smugglers and dealers of the vice of life. As she walked in, she made sure her presence was well known by shouting at the top of her lungs.

 

"HAPPY BLACK SUN TAKE OVER DAY!!! DRINKS ARE ON THE HOUSE!"

 

As soon as the crowd cheered, she walked closer to the bartender and whispered to him. "Save the better stuff for my agents. They deserve the best."

 

She then placed a credit card down to pay for the drinks and moved to a corner of the cantina to go over her next move, review funds, and to drink heavily without judgement from others. Life was always better while drinking.

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"Here here!" Shouted Rose with enthusiasm her beskar covered fingers cracked loudly on the fake wood countertop of the bar. Her buy'ce or helmet in common tongue was sat beside her on the bar top. The HUD dark and blending into the perfect black of the T visor. Rose’s armour was a deep blue with orange and black runes engraved over the heavy iron. It all clashed with her bright blue hair and when she spoke her hands moved in intricate gestures along with her words in the kinetic side speech of a Lorrdian. A long scar arched from one brow to her temple which was covered by a layer of HUD interface cybernetics that arched around her right ear across her face. The pauldron on her shoulder held the tri scratch of the Kyr'tsad. Marking her a skilled warrior.

 

“What does the Black Sun want with such a desolate world as this? And do they need mercenaries?”

 

-Translations-

 

beskar - Mandalorian Iron

buy'ce - Mandalorian Helmet

Kyr'tsad -Deathwatch Breakaway sect

 

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Behold the Rose of Sharon is burning in the valley 

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After spending days convincing his brethren of the truth of his journeys beyond the suns into the hells of space and the bowels of the demonic techno-dependent evils of their past, and proving his newfound kinship, Rruror'rur'rr was welcomed back with a feast no living Tusken had ever seen. Tribes from the furthest regions of Tatooine's barren sands, where no mortal offworlder had set foot in lifetimes, made their way to The Needles to commemorate this momentous occasion; their brother, who was once dead, was alive again! he had been blessed by the ancestors and had returned to their home with knowledge of the demonic would-be overlords and a newfound powerful mount to lead them into a time of blessed peace!

 

As the day of feasting grew near and hubba gourds, black melons, roasted Wamp Rat, and a thousand other delacacies harvested from the unforgiving wilds of Rruror'rur'rr's home or plucked from vanquished foes were gathered aplenty in preparation, many more tribes of Tuskens arrived at The Needles until the entire area was filled with tents, banthas, and the sound of running children. Never before had such a gathering taken place since the time that the overlords had devasted their once green home world. As the camp grew in size daily, news from the furthest reaches of Tatooine was shared. Some information was of little importance while others were highly important. New wells being discovered. The latest locations of any of Tatooine's untold numbers of feared beasts. Expeditions vanquished for trespassing. Many of the tribes that arrived spoke of seeing the oppression of the offworlders by metal beasts from the sky. The same likened to those that brought the offworlders to their home in the first place. Poetic justice at its finest in many of the Tusken's eyes. Amongst all this news came word of a ship, a ship that Rruror'rur'rr recognized. His offworlder friend, though to speak that aloud would be blasphemous, Drogan, had been found. Even now, whilst the owner and his men were away, many Tusken warriors had surrounded the ship at great distances, rifles leveled in preparation for the slaughter when the owners did return.

 

With barely a word, Rruror'rur'rr set about gathering some of the best warriors across the tribes, and they on their banthas and he mounted upon a low flying Raka set off over the sandy dunes and rocky peaks towards where the ship had been sited. He saved my life. I will not let him be killed this day. Rruror'rur'rr steeled himself with the thought and led the band of ragged looking desert hardened warriors silently through the sands.

 

Eventually, they arrived, fanning out Rruror'rur'rr and his entourage found the other Tuskens who had been lying in wait and told them of the joyous news of Rruror'rur'rr's return from beyond. Now, they would be afforded the honor of seeing their newfound comrade in action, he had promised, when the raiders returned to their metal coffin from the sky!

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Of course we'd celebrate this trifling victory in a gor'ram bar.

 

The look on his face was more sour than the very drinks everyone around him guzzled down in the stupendous glory of their achievement. Taking down some over grown slugs and planting a flag in this litter box was no grand achievement by his standards. There was no conquest. Hell, these people probably wont even notice the difference between the Hutts we took down and the Vigos we replaced them with. This planet's citizens didn't feel conquered, not even liberated. This invasion was just another group of thugs to them, throwing their weight around while everyone else just tried to go about their lives. Oh, so there was a fancy new resort in orbit that would bring the planet income? Yeah right. All profit gets put right in a Vigo's pocket. If anything, these civilians might get a job cleaning the joint or dealing some cards, but that will just get swept up in the rising costs of living with this new, sparkly thing in orbit. This was not how you conquer.

 

Staring off into the distance, Bolt caught himself absently reaching for a glass in his detatched repulsion. When his fingers slipped over nothing and his stare turned bewildered at the empty table the grizzled veteran sneered at the memory of his sobriety, recalling for just a second why he didn't have whiskey in front of him. It was either that or going back to feeling nothing at all in that drenched oblivion he so neatly used to wrap himself.

 

Gods, why am I even in this dive? He wondered to himself as the narrow beam of his lighter sparked a cigarette. He was here because of her, and that precious little taking care of her made him feel. This was her fight, her reason for getting up in the morning, and she was his, so er fight was his fight. He took a draw off his cigarette as he looked across the bar at the warriors she had assembled, partially through contacts in Black Sun and some through her own efforts in searching for the galaxy's best and boldest. They fit the bill for warriors, maybe even Deathwatch material. He chuckled at himself at the thought of that righteous Mandalorian cause he had left behind so many years ago. The true Mandalorian way. That helmet probably stunk to high heaven after covering so many sweaty heads.

 

As his cigarette burned down, Bolt lit another, and another as the celebration carried on, wanting a drink and hating himself for it.

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“Kriffing Dustbowl, reminds me of that home which I shall never see again till this damn curse is broken.” A voice hissed in Dost, emanating from behind a cloak made up of several different golden-brown colors, melding fairly well into the sand all around him. A gust of wind knocked the loosely held hood from atop his head, revealing the scaly features of a Trandoshan well beyond his youth. Several scars could be seen even against the hard scales of his face, some marred as by claws and blade and some by blasters. He shifted the hood back up, hiding his face but for the red of his eyes. The weapons stored in a row across his back shifted as he walked from the freighter he had bartered for passage on, traveling far for this event.

 

A planet had recently fallen, and planets taken over usually meant people needed to be hunted down, and hunting meant credits and honor. The Trandoshan headed for the local tavern, hoping they would have a drink strong enough to punch through his constitution and give him at least a buzz. “Or perhaps someone who wishes to arm-wrestle or brawl, been too long since I’ve had good fight, prey never wanted to struggle man to man, or… Trandoshan to whatever they were.”

 

He shouldered open the door, the shouts of the soft-skinned raising loud, drunken quarrels, calls for drinks and laughs of inebriated joy filling the air as a cry of “Drinks on the House” rang out. Ignoring both the other patrons and the outside world, the scaly humanoid kicked the door shut behind him as he shouldered his way toward the bar. Finally reaching it and followed by a chorus of drunken protest, he pushed back his hood, rasping, “Trandoshaaa Ale. I hunt escaped onessssss. Planet rulers enemiesssss. Hunt creditsss and killssssss. Borsk hunt blood.”

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The invasion, if it could be called that, had gone well. The combat they had managed to find had been rather slight but at least it gave them a chance to stretch their legs. For the next several days Drogan had allowed his men some controlled leave and also had partaken of a little raiding as they stocked the ship with food and drink as well as some trophies and payments for assisting the Black Sun with their invasion. He had kept his ship at the ruined air field and smiled every time he came and went knowing that his instincts weren't wrong and that they were being watched. He had his men coming and going in pairs or groups no bigger then three. He knew anyone wanting to ambush them would want to catch them all outside because if even 2 were in the ship terrible things would happen.

 

it was later on a rather boring day when Drogan suddenly wondered what had happened to his strange tuskan friend, if friend was the right word. He would hate to have to go to war with the Tuskan but then again they may go to war with him. He had ordered his men to always go about fully armored, not only for defense since this was a newly conquered world, but because he thought it would be right to honor the traditions of the natives, the real natives.

 

Stepping off the ship he did his standard weapons check and felt his armor heat a little in the late afternoon suns. Turning to scan the dunes he could sense they were out their, watching, waiting. He almost hoped they would make their move but with his six soldiers on the ship he doubted they would risk it. But who knew, maybe they would try for him alone and hope he died before the ship could react. Either way this would be a good day as he intended to go into the city to gather the last few supplies that he wanted and to see what the next steps were for he and his men.

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Zalis threw back her drink of whiskey followed by a wild grin of playfulness that any born killer would pick up on that she intended to stir the pot. She turned towards the Mandalorian who openly asked a question. She stood up from her position in the booth, and took to standing on the booth and decided that her response would address her, along with everyone else in the cantina.

 

"We claimed this dust ball to annoy Jedi with course and irritating sand. Plus, having access to many cantinas is always a bonus. It's why I drink. But to answer your other question, of course we are hiring."

 

Her eyes stayed playful as they turned to look at a Trandoshan who asked about credits and bloodshed, two things that she knew were favorites of her and Delta. With a grin, she continued to address the growing crowd.

 

"If you are willing to fight, bleed, and take orders without question, I have need for you. If you have a lust for battles, I have a need for you. If you have a craving for the vice in life, I have a need for you. Black Sun has many enemies that thought we could be wiped out by an air assault. But they sit in their own corner of the galaxy, believing the lies that they tell themselves. Lies like they have peace with others. Lies like they are protected by fleets. Black Sun isn't in the business of spreading lies. We work and sweat throughout the galaxy. We know the pain of what this galaxy is really going through. We plan to force others to see that pain, by turning it loose on them."

 

She then leaned down and picked up another glass full of whiskey and held it high in the air.

 

"If that is something you can get behind... Lets drink and work our details."

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Rose’s blue eyes flashed with suppressed anger at the mention of the Jedi. Once a powerful force, reduced to nothing, their grandmaster assassinated while they did nothing. Weak foolish religious idiots in their high towers that sat back and judged the galaxy. The weak deserved death. And the strong the credits made from killing them. She let a smile etch across her face and took another long drink from the ale she had in hand and motioned to the barkeep for another.

 

“Credits for killing weakness? You speak my language Sunner, how much per head or are we talking price per campaign?” She tried not to let the nervous edge creep into her voice as she asked the question. She had no ship since paying off the last debts and this seemed like the elusive big break she had been yearning for.

 

She looked over her shoulder to the other Mando’s in the room she had met and worked with in the past in the bounty hunting and Merc realms of Outer Heaven. She gestured at Bolt who was glaring at the world and his sidekick Saint to join her at the bar. She didn't know much about them other than their deadly reputation and scowling demeanor. She grinned at them with a but of girlish and drunken excitement.

 

“This Sunner is paying big bucks vod! A break at last, come on over here.”

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Behold the Rose of Sharon is burning in the valley 

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Encrypted Comm. for Delta73 --

 

 

  • I ask of you to dine in this feast.
    Your ascendancy over the forests of Onderon was the roar.
    But now I ask you of more
    Bleed this place dry, Blood Prince
    Our enemies must suffer.

 

The coordinates are as follows: R-XX. Employ an outsider for the sweep, keep visibility low. Rendezvous here, and we shall meet once more.

 

- The Spider.

 

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The great ever weaving spider had spoken, dark words enchanting and siren in nature. Delta let his eyelids drift closed as he reveled in the power that he could feel flow through the datapad imbedded in his arm armour.

 

Kriffing sick, time to beat the drums of war and wax poetic about the clone wars.

 

He immediately began to compose a comm to his friend and one time death partner Zalis who he knew was on the surface.

 

“Lady of credits, I do need a company of mercenaries post haste to do a thingy that will be kriffing sweet. I have deposited five million in the joint account to draw from so you don't need to worry about spending your own. Overpay them and promise them even more. Many won’t live long enough to see the last payment. Though that's a secret, yeah don’t share that. Heh. Anywho, meet me aboard the Marie with your men and women in tow and we will then depart from our rendezvous.”

 

To compliment her efforts, he placed a large mercenary contract on the local boards to join the black sun fleet for quote “Danger, Glory, and many credits.” Promising ten thousand credit signing bonuses.

 

In space the Black Sun war machine prepared for a long and dangerous journey. The Marie testing its long range sensors and super powerful electrotelescopes for a stealth journey.

 

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Ca'Aran

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Zalis couldn't help but grin from ear to ear as the Mandalorian seemed excited enough to sink her metaphorical teeth into anyone that she told her to. Although, even if it wasn't metaphorical, Zalis didn't care. She began to climb down from the table when her comm buzzed with a message from her favorite Vigo, Delta. Her grin only grew bigger upon hearing the details of his message. Tossing her glass to the nearest wall, she let it shatter as she spoke again.

 

"The time to hire has gone from soon to now! Five million credits for each person who signs up to carry out their first mission for Black Sun!"

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The hum of nerves coalesced with the pounding of her heart as Terra stepped through the vast passenger ship, The Avastian Jewl. On bare feet and without armour, the journey was vastly different than any other time she had traipsed amongst the bourgeoisie and aristocrats within the shipping business. There was no parting of the crowd to let her through, or hushed words of fear. Now there was only the disdain of the patrician upon a beggar. In a former life, she may have ended the humiliation in a bloodbath, but now she had more to gain and to lose.

 

She slipped past a crowd of Ithorians, listening to their rippling voices, to the debate they were holding on climate change and the ill smells upon the slightly moving air from the oxygen scrubbers, and ran into a squad of mercenaries that made a perimeter around a noble. A quick knee aimed at her chest sent her sprawling, and she turned it into a somersault with the momentum. From the HUD, she could see they were armed with scatterguns and sonic weaponry, all things effective against her in her current state of affairs. Unarmed there was no reason to fight. Terra skirted the group, allowing them to pass before darting into a turbolift to the lower levels of the ship. As they descended, the smell of rotting sweat began to invade her nose.

 

“Girl, if you need credits, I can put that pretty mouth of yours to good work!”

 

Terra turned to look at the other occupants of the turbolift, a group of university-aged males, who were undoubtedly slumming amongst the downtrodden as part of their fraternity pledge. She looked over the finely dressed speaker from the group, a sandy-haired portly man, and took an involuntary step back as he began to unbuckle his trousers. The turbolift’s decking felt cool upon her feet. His mates cheered him on with inane words of encouragement. She cleared her throat and flashed them a smile, showing her sharpened fangs of darkmetal. The doors of the turbolift rushed open and she stepped out, leaving the men confused and wary.

 

The ship shuddered under her feet, and she could feel the ship’s hyperdrives powering down through the decking. It was far too early for such an end to the trip, they had at least another day of hyperspace travel to endure. The young woman sped up her footsteps, picking her way across the grimy decking, avoiding the excrement and trash that had been piled up in the hallways by the crewmembers and vagabonds. As she passed a viewscreen, she saw the reflected glow of sandy Tatooine, and an all too familiar sight, the Corevette, The Marie.

 

“…Passengers of The Avastian Jewel, we have made an emergency stop at the planet of Tatooine to deal with an attempted mutiny. However, it would appear we have gotten pulled into the range of a pirate fleet, please stand by for further orders.”

 

As screams of panic and the rush of boots began to fill the halls, Terra slipped a credit chit into the nearby holocall center. She accepted the charges and methodically typed in the number of Delta’s comlink

 

“Before you vape this passenger liner, let me get off first. Dock up on…”

 

She scanned the vessel-map that was beside the holocenter, squinting her robotic eyes to see past the lines of graphitti

 

“Deck 223-A.”

Terra

To the Death...

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Delta grinned widely as he saw The Avastian Jewel appear from hyperspace to join the dozens of other hyperliners that had been diverted by crew mutiny and bribes to come to the newly built Wayfarer’s Rest resort. Such was the power of Black Sun Credits. An away shuttle was sent to the vessel upon hearing Terra’s message and he sent her a comm in return.

 

“Don’t worry fam, we ain't vaping anyone that can spend money. Thoug the lower class economy members of the passengers will likely be sold into slavery. Gottah pump those numbers up since the Empire went all wacked and took out Nar Shaddaa and Hutta. Anywho see you in a sec little one.”

 

The black sun agents dispatched from the Marie took over the liner by force, escorting the rich and powerful from the liner before descending to the lower decks to begin pillaging. Every Black Sun member carried the description of Terra, and did not apprehend her when she was found. On her ride back to the Marie she was treated to a buffet of Blood Jello and other treats that the girl had enjoyed when last Delta had seen her. She was also given a datacard with mission specs for the upcoming operation to memorize.

 

Right away to work.

 

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Ca'Aran

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Not often in the galaxy did an offer like the one the red-haired human had just yelled into the bar, drawing the attention of all. As voices began clamoring for her attention, for a chance to sign up for the ridiculous bonus, enough to set up many of these scum for life, Borsk frowned at the push, the more veteran members amongst the mercs and hunters assembled taking a moment to consider the offer. He murmured to himself as he watched the commotion, his raspy voice growling out in his native Dost, "That bonus is insane, this mission must be ridiculous. The Black Sun was always a little crazy, but this must be ridiculous. Lots of these morons are gonna die no doubt, is that a Ewok with a blaster pack operated slingshot? The dregs of socity have gathered, and a few of the professionals. Honorless scum. Still, 5 milllion is alot of credits, and if I survive, well this sword is going to kill me anyways eventually. Credits and the blood of fools."

 

Borsk began to shove his way through the crowd toward the girl who had called out the mission, moving most of the smaller, desperate individuals out of his path without a second thought. One of the mercenaries attempted to obstruct his passage, which quickly ended as Borsk drove his heavy scaled fist into the temple of the unaware gunner. The only other injury of his passage ended with the unfortunate passerby getting wacked in the nose by the heavy butt of his LS-150 rifle, Borsk passing on without even noticing the injury.

 

He reached the red-hair, ceasing his motion with a slight nod, and switching to his rusty version of the language of the soft-skins, "I'm in."

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All around him were people frothing at the mere mention of quick and what they assumed to be easy money. Money that they would inevitably turn around and waste on this same fluid garbage they were currently stupifying themselves in. Sure, he couldn't completely discredit them for falling to the bottle. He himself had spent countless years lost to it before Saint came along. But he obliviated himself to stop feeling that pit of dispair always gnawing at him from the inside, not under a pretense of living a life worth celebrating into the ground. Taking a life was easy once you turned everything off, but if you never had anything turned on in the first place you were a psychopath. If you were willing to kill for simple monetary gain, with no regard to the quality of the life you took, then you were even more frakked up in the head. That's why he always detested the Sith and their absolute disregard for anyone but themselves. The Jedi were righteous pricks, but at least they had a measure of respect for their enemies.

 

"Credits for killing weakness? You speak my language Sunner. How much per head or are we talking price per campaign?"

 

As sober and irritated he was being surrounded by this ilk, the cry of greed and sheer callousness that sang above the chorus of drunken revelry grated him like an entire day without a cigarette. Even under the booze boosted courage Bolt could smell fear. A large part of him wanted to simply ignore them all, but Saint said that this was the only way to build up the old Watch. He would have, too, if the source of his irk hadn't cast her slovenly gaze direct at him.

 

"This Sunner is paying big bucks vod!" Gorramit she's talking to me. "A break at last, come on over here."

 

"Call me brother again and it'll be your jaw that breaks, pup."

 

The words spilled out before he had a chance to catch them, but once they were out he found he didn't care if they did. He had seen warriors of fortune come and go countless times in the past, always first to talk and first to rush forward and catch shrapnel the at the mere mention of credits. None of these cretins new war, or even gave pause to the implications this mission would stir. Black Sun was going to throw the entire galaxy into a bloodbath for the prospect of making a quick buck. Soon they would be aligning themselves with an even worse kind that would kill you for the sport of it. Only two people in this cantina really knew what they were getting into, and the other one was sitting right next to him.

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Rose let the grin that she had originally made linger on her face for a few seconds before it fell off into a frown. Anger shot up her spine and she slammed her hands down on the bar in a burst of rage. Her glass that was clutched in her hand shattered and a half litre of ale spilled onto the bar and the floor. She dropped the remains of the shattered glass and wiped the blood from her hand across her face, leaving a crisscross of a bloody streak across her brow and chin. A warrior's facepaint. At least for the Shogunite Mandolorians. Her voice was soft and beautiful in its low tones as she crossed the room in a bound.

 

“Now now vod, we are brothers and sisters in appearance and armour only, I was trying to be nice old man.”

 

The deadly tones of her voice broke into a giggle as she got within punching range of the older Mandalorian. She bowed mockingly and let out a laugh.

“No but really sorry to insult you with my presence friend. I am Rose…”

 

Her bright eyes looked across his features with a look bouncing between desire and respect.

 

“Honourably at your service.”

 

She stuck her non bloody hand out in a traditional greeting. It was an end for theatrics, she had heard a lot about this man and his crippled friend and had nothing but respect for him and her.

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Behold the Rose of Sharon is burning in the valley 

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When the two ships enter the atmosphere of Tatooine, Chess signals Oz to land the Minx within walking range of the drop-off point. The co-ordinates given by Booster Rann place them almost in the centre of Mos Eisley, which means jockeying with other hopeless layabouts for a decent landing pad. Chess manages to finagle a private bay after smooth-talking through the airspace controller, while Oz lands the Minx just on the edge of the Outskirts.

 

A tall Falleen with an imposing brow and a scraggly ponytail approaches the cargo bay, just as Chess is signing the docket. Chess eyes the being’s curly goatee, wondering if that’s the reason behind the name “Fuzz”. The Cathar tucks their datapad under one arm and hold out one hand, inviting the Falleen to shake it.

“I heard you would be waiting for me. Fuzz, I presume?”

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The roughly 20 Tuskens that had Drogan's ship surrounded from as close to 50 yards and as far as a couple miles out watched in absolute silence, unmoving invisible sentinels against the sandy dunes and jagged outcroppings. With the site of a single being standing outside, they waited. Waited until the opportune moment. The warriors had heard the tales of their newly returned brother from beyond the stars. While some of them doubted his stories, there was some truth. His tribe and his bantha had been slaughtered; it was not hard to prove that; and then here Rruror'rur'rr had suddenly appeared riding through the air atop a fearsome beast no tales of their history had ever spoken of, with these strange tales of hellish worlds and demonic beings against whom he had battled - and won. Whatever had happened, at the least, their brother had earned a chance to prove himself. Rruror'rur'rr and a band of warriors had come from The Needles to join the other warriors, settling in to watch with the others; not, assuming command.

 

Lying flat on his stomach, partially buried beneath the hot sands, his archaic rifle cleaned and propped, angled at the ship and the armored being standing outside, Rruror'rur'rr watched and waited. The man he could view through his scope was most assuredly his newfound comrade, Drogan. The question was, What is he doing? Standing there. Waiting? They wouldn't take just the one knowing that there were others aboard the ship. For now, they would have to wait.

 

Still, Rruror'rur'rr knew it was time to act. The man standing there was the closest thing he had to a friend and had even brought him home; and now, despite the sweltering heat, stood outside in the beating sun doing....nothing.

 

As the voices of the ancestors swirled through and around his mind, Rruror'rur'rr knew, Drogan was waiting for him. Without a word, the massive winged beast rose up from beneath the sand where he had taken shelter, unaccustomed to the deathly twin suns' rays, as a phoenix rising from the grave with an angry cry, flinging a plume of dusty sand far in every direction. Atop the buried Drexl rode Rruror'rur'rr, as they shot skyward a Tusken battlecry on his lips.

 

His brothers did not know what Rruror'rur'rr was doing, assuring that they would stick to their instincts and allow the crazed returned one to show his colors; after all, perhaps the loss of his bantha or his time offworld had fried his brains more than the desert heat ever could.

 

Shooting into the sky, the winged duo cast a shadow over the sands as they circled about and shot down towards Drogan, landing in a crash of sand and animalistic cries.Rolling to a dismount a fair distance from Drogan, Rruror'rur'rr in his identical Tusken garb, leveled his rifle at Drogan, speaking in a low growled basic, "You wish to learn of our ways still?" Disarm yourself and your men. You shall come with me and they shall stay with my brethren. It is time to learn." With that, he tossed a pile of rough hewn robes and goggles, sans anything decisively Tusken in Drogan's direction. "Wear these."

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The drunken rhythms of revelry and untested bravado pervaded the cantina as unblooded children made their claims and spoke of dreams of glory. The galaxy had been been riddled with rot and slumbered restlessly as that great enemy Peace held it bound selfishly like an obsessed lover. Father, no doubt on edge in the presence of so many siren songs of his past, sated his own black desires with the spilling of blood.

 

“This is about far more than credits. Normally one would say that this is a time of rebirth for our people, but that is not true. How many of us can say that we know our clan, or have descended upon the holy fields of battle astride fire and bes’uliiks? We are Mandalore’s unwanted children, Dar’manda for remembering and honoring the past. Once I took such pride in my title of outcast, because I thought it made me stronger to live outside the stagnant institutions of the Protectors, but now on the verge of battle I have found new purpose for my pride. The people on Mandalore, so consumed with foolish shame over the purity of purpose that our ancestors had, have abandoned the means of greatness while avariciously clutching the trappings of greatness to their puffed chests. They deny the crusader heritage of our past, yet they will not surrender the flesh of a true warrior, or the holy weapons of the faithful. Clinging to the fading memories of who we were, they squandered that legacy until their weakness became a mewling cacophony that brought raiders to set foot on once sacred Manda’yaim.

 

I see among us both Dar’manda too young to know themselves from true battle, and Dar’manda too old to remember. The way is lost amidst the tangling vines of peace, while the false dream of civilization pours duracrete on us to make us mortar for statues for their wayward gods of profit, acceptance, and the faceless homogeny of a galactic culture with no past, no identity, defined only by compromise to make everyone settle. I thought I was proud because being Dar’manda made me stronger, but now I know that the pride I feel comes from being truly Mandalorian. If I am soulless it is because I have cast my soul onto a holy pyre of conflict, and the vacant black within has been illuminated by the holy devils of past crusaders who have descended from the burning afterlife to suffer the unworthy who blight their grand achievements. The graves of our glorious dead will be defiled no longer by these Chakaar who would defile our people.

 

I may not know the way, but on the coming battlefield I will light a beacon for all true Mandalorians to find Providence. While the weak perish in the festering embrace of Arasuum, the true scions of Mandalore will find succor in the fires of Kad Ha’rangir’s eternal war, and should we prove worthy, the glory of crusade will be ours once again.”

 

Portia knew that while most Dar’manda had no love for the controversial current Mandalore and Resol'nare, it didn’t exactly translate into the religious zeal that Portia had. Mercenary life was too gray for the absolutes of faith, and elite soldiers would rather trust in their own skills than the hopefully benevolent gaze of almighty beings. But Portia wasn’t a mercenary or bounty hunter, she was born into war more honestly, orphaned at a young age by conflict and rescued by one of the soldiers that the conflict had brought.

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"I hope the delivery is intact." Fuzz oozed with a less-than-trustworthy smile, taking the docket and flipping through it and nodding before taking the Cathar's furred paw in his own cool reptilian hand briefly before pulling it back and surreptitiously wiped it on rag hanging on his leather belt alongside his skin-tight black bantha leather pants. "You are late enough as it is and Booster's customers are anxiously awaiting their delivery." With a wave of his hand, a small army of ASP-series droids grated and squeaked towards the ship to offload the Gunga-Glow; a series of "Affirmative" and "Yes" echoed across the bay's walls.

 

Turning, Fuzz ran his hand over his bald head and down his ponytail, gesturing Chess to fall into step with him. Walking out of the docking bay he continued to speak in his smooth-boarding-on-the-edge-of-sleazy voice, "Now.....about that other business," he whispered as he held out a credit chit to Chess, "For services rendered." Then producing a second chit he looked Chess in the eyes and inclined his head at Chalum's Cantina down the way a short distance, "For futrue services."

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For all your discrete toiletry and shipping needs

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A bewildered look creased his brow as Bolt watched the young woman completely lose her shit at the bar. Stll holding her booze the girl slammed her fists into the bar, causing a rather dull thud muffled in the sound of the crowd as she sliced open her hand on th shards of broken glass. She must have been drinking the light stuff, because the drink in her open wound didn't appear to burn. Even weirder, she wiped her bloody, booze covered hand across her face to make an X like she was from a Shogunite clan. Portia must have forseen what was about to go down, because she excused herself from the table and headed into the thick of the crowd, no doubt aiming to recruit a keen few to the squad.

 

In spite of the attempts at intimidation with the war paint, the girl took on a coy, seductive tone as she approached, which he would have found sexy in a messed up, crazy chick way if she hadn't started the conversation off doing the exact thing he had warned her against. Now Bolt was a both pissed off and a little turned on, which confused him and pissed him off even more. As if this little schutta knew anything about being a warrior. She bowed, laughing as she did so and he felt a righteous fire burn out from his gut to the tips of his fingers, twitching them refixively as he squeezed a trigger that wasn't there. As she ended with Honorably at your service. and stuck out her hand for a handshake of equals, Bolt could take no more. What did this money grubbing whore know of honor?

 

He reached out and clasped her hand fiercely, shaking it once to let the tension of the situation in her muscles lacken before he pulled with all his might, dragging her across the table. Before she could make a move his other hand was crashing down against the side of her face. With no where to recoil her jaw took the full force of his blow, cracking with ease for the large man. Still clutching Rose's hand Bolt flung her off the table, still seated with his eyes on Portia as she deliver the same speach he had heard her rant a hundred times before. His hand fell below the table and drew out his slugthrower in case Rose remained conscious and wanted to carry on the fight, but for now he was content enough to let the lesson lie now that he had shown that he wasn't a liar.

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Nothing quite like getting punched in the face by a man that you look up to eh? Rose flitted in and out of consciousness until she felt her back hit the floor of the bar. She could hear a general gasp from the crowd and a tradtitional ‘no blasters’ cry from the barkeep. She moaned as she struggled to her feet, the room spinning before her and a good amount of blood leaked from her mouth to pool at her feet. She tried to grin but she couldn’t manage much more than a sneer as one side of her face really didn’t do very much at all. So she expressed herself using the kinetic language of the Lorrdians. He had a strong right hook, and she had lost the fight already.

 

She brought her hand up and felt the broken bone. She groaned and bowed to Bolt before turning away and digging into her medical kit. With a great amount of pain she straightened the two bones using her fingers and stapled them together with the medical bone splint that was in her kit. The duraloid splint molded to her jawline and stapled itself around the bones. Quite painful but effective in a battlefield. Testing the movability, she turned back to Bolt and let out a laugh that was surprisingly friendly. She liked him. A lot.

 

“You punch well sir, I learned my lesson.” She coughed and ran her delicate fingers across her jawline, which was now covered in a duraloid patch. Certainly did wonders for her appearance.” I would hope that you will use that strength for something like building our culture from the ashes it currently inhabits. And teaching young pups like me their place.” She winked at the older man, surrendering the fight, and not wishing to end up a bloody pulp from the slugthrower. “Now let me buy you a drink and let us mission together, perhaps we can be friends in time, and you can even teach me something.”

 

She turned to the barkeep and ordered their best Kuatian Scotch as well as signed her name under the mercenary contract being offered by this Black Sun.

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Behold the Rose of Sharon is burning in the valley 

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For getting her jaw broken, Rose seemed to recover stoutly, all that ire and angst wiped away with a good thump and some bacta with what smelled like Kuatian scotch. His nostrils flared at the memory, but the thought didn't even occur to him to take the offer. The revolver slipped back into the holster at his thigh as he stood up from the table.

 

"I don't drink." He said as he lit another cigarette.

 

He looked Rose over again, now that he was standing and could get a full measure. A tad scrawny, but still worth a tumble even with the jaw brace, and a fair amount of crazy to boot. She wore the newer style of armor, with plates only covering the vital areas, and the color was enough to scream 'shoot me first'. Her weapons were few, but they seemed at a glance well modded and calibrated. Maybe she wasn't the type of Mandalorian he was looking for for Death Watch, but she was the kind Portia would no doubt invite. It was the ones with no fervor of their own that she looked for so that she would have someone else to throw that righteous rhetoric at.

 

"As far as our culture," He paused to consider his words, not wanting to immediately discredit Portia's cause. "That shit starts with the individual. You can't sit around waiting for the return of some bygone golden age. You want better Mandalorians, be a better Mandalorian."

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She shrugged, grabbing both shots and downing them. Letting out a hiss when they passed her bit tongue. “More for me then.” She flicked the pen back at the Black Sun lady and turned back to the smoking epitome of Mandoa.

 

“I have dreamed about restoring the past, but not much we can do since most of the Kyr’tsad went down with Hadrian to that shite king. A bunch of posers just died too, but I think they were more cosplayers from the holo reports how they were mowed down like laundry caught in a barbwire fence.”

 

She extended a thin hand towards the large man.

 

“Then teach a pup like me to be more like you. I’m willing to learn old man.”

 

She let out a laugh and walked towards the door, following the Black Sun towards the shuttle.

ROSEOFCSHARON.png.1c839ef05c26256052b4d3a8e8030872.png

Behold the Rose of Sharon is burning in the valley 

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