Jump to content

Recommended Posts

Mordecai gazed in awe at the sight before him. A super star destroyer, up close. He'd seen them before, on Carida as a child, but that had always been from the surface. Now there was one before him, several times larger than even the city he'd grown up in. Even so, however, with all its might and glory before him, he was skeptical. Yes, an SSD was powerful, a weapon of fear as much as it was a weapon of strenght, but it was a double edged sword. Expensive, and a target. What it had in fear, if it were destroyed it would give just as much hope to their enemies. It was slow and cumbersome, as well, and susceptible to a number of strategies

 

As they boarded, Mordecai fell behind his master. Clearly this was the flagship... but who was in command?

 

"My lord, who commands this vessel?" he asked. Whoever it was had to be important. Either an officer of the highest prowess, or another sith lord, and likely a dreadfully powerful one at that.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

There was an extremely loud clang that woke Tros from whatever small amount of sleep he was attempting to get on their way to Kessel. He turned to see Vrax sleeping in a seated position next to the storage unit. He was snoring rather loudly to the point of his own noise was drowning out the engines with their soft hum. As he sat up, Bex Krohl walked past him wearing nothing but the skin on his back as he was double fisting some form of whiskey he was unaware that they had on the ship. 

 

“I’m going to make clothing a requirement on this ship.” Tros didn’t look up as he said it, but instead rubbed his neck, which was now stiff. He looked around for his buy’ce, but remembered that he left it in the main cockpit. As he stood up, he was suddenly face to face with Bex; who looked completely confused. 

 

“I thought you were into men.” With an annoyed face to match the confused face of Bex, and also to openly show his own disappointment with the statement. “Not when they look like you.” Tros then left nothing to be discussed as he walked past him, muttering rather loudly- “We’re going to need a bigger ship.”

 

Walking into the cockpit, he spotted Vulios sitting in the copilots chair- staring blankly off out at the viewport. His own buy’ce was off and resting next to his own, and the blue light of hyperspace made the feeling in the cockpit feel much more relaxed then the main hold. Letting out a massive sigh, he sat down in the pilots chair and let his body sink in. Vulios didn’t move a muscle, but spoke. 

 

“A bigger ship might not solve the problems you’re running into al’verde. You need a fleet. But that depends entirely upon what our actual job is. You haven’t really told anyone yet.” Tros kept his own eyes on the console before him as he though more about what his response should actually be. The main job might steer some people away from his now small crew. But why was he afraid to lose the following he currently had? He couldn’t really say. Letting a moment pass, he finally turned his head and spoke quietly. 

 

“A competitor of Black Sun employed a group of smugglers to fetch Spice from Kessel. Word has it, they have been uncovered for also stealing Coaxium from the vaults on the side, which has put this competitor into an extreme disadvantage against Black Sun. So, our job is to teach this crew a lesson. Payment for delivering both the Spice and Coaxium to them on Savareen and teaching this crew a lesson is Thirty Five thousand credits.”

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

I was silent for most of the trip, choosing to be mindful of my own company rather than mingle among the masses. Outside of Rose, I was much of an outsider even among my kinsmen, a Dar'Manda whether this Tros chose to see it or even speak it. So after boarding his ship, I found myself a quiet place to reforge my armor within his hold, finding what little scrap material I could use for the process. Much of it was durasteel, a bit of leather, and a few bits of cloth. It wasnt much, but I couldn't leave myself exposed if I went into battle anytime soon.

 

I laid out my cuirass and pauldrons to the side, gazing over what little remained of my ancestor's ancient armor. To myself, it was shameful, almost pathetic, and deep inside I wept at what I had done to it. As the last of my Clan, i should have taken better care of it. Yet, alas, i could not dwell upon it for long. This crew, thos Tros, they were Manda, and their hearts sung for battle just as mine had just recently and partially still ached for. I needed to be ready should the moment come, lest i be left wanting. So i began.

 

Most of the durasteel were no more than left over shrapnel by the looks of it, so i forced to make greaves out of an old chainmail fashion, hammering and bending each piece into the next until a pattern began to form. And beneath it, i layered leather to lay against my thighs to keep from chafing. Yet, i was presented with some large chunckes of metal that i was able to use to make the vambraces and shin guards for the singular pair of leather boots I had found amidst the leather and cloth. Slowly my armor was beginning to take form before my eyes as I flowed into the process, disgusted in some aspects, but mesmerized in others.

 

I held little left by the time most of the armor was complete, just a little cloth, leather and enough durasteel to forge half a helm. So I instead chose a different path than I had before. Forging what was once known as a bevor, I managed to encompass most of my cheek and jaw line as well as my neck by wrapping it around and sautering it together. With what little material I had left, I added cloth, leather, and a few slivers of durasteel to skirt over the embarrassing greaves and leather boots in a robe like fashion.

 

Wiping the sweat from my brow, I stood up, saying a bit from both exhaustion and my legs having numbed from sitting too long. It was unorthadoxed for Mandalorian Armor, but it would have to do... at least for now. 

 

Just as I had finished dressing, I noticed Tros walking by. Grabbing the last piece of cloth i had, i tied it around my eyeless lids and began following him, and by the time i arrived, overheard the last bit of his conversation. "It isn't much as far as payments go for such a job..." I spoke in jest, leaning against the cockpit's entryway. "But it'll buy me some solid material to rebuild my armor properly."

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Tros leaned back in his chair and allowed for his full weight to be tested in the strength of the chair. His own eyes darted out for a second to watch to star lines streak past the viewport as he mulled over Canderous’ comments on the situation. He didn’t need to actually see Vulios’ face either to catch from his peripheral vision a look that suggested he also felt the same way. Letting out a very loud sigh, he placed both of his hands on his stomach. 

 

“No. It’s not. But it is a starting point. And it’s work. Bounty groups normally don’t make a name for themselves that quickly. Nor do pirates. We have to start somewhere.”

 

His own eyes now looked to Canderous. In doing so, he also moved his head to gain better vision of the man. The clothe that covered his eyes stirred a sense of wonder within him, but decided to not ask such a question. He himself was a private man. Having to force someone else to talk about their past just seemed like a very rude thing to do. So instead he decided on a different direction. 

 

“So Canderous… I know you know much about Kad Ha’rangir. But what do you know of Hod Ha’ran?”

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Tros brought up a good point as I stood there, my arms crossed with the fitting of my armor still tense from the fresh additions as I stared out into the staticed lines of hyperspace through my force vision, its allure always quite fascinating to me despite having only ever seen it'a true form through cybernetic implants I once adorned. It was a beginning, and any beginning was better than an end.

 

"Only what I remember from my childhood, stories told by the Elders of my Clan." I spoke in earnest, my face turning from the forefront to his own. "But I've never been one to rely on divine luck. I'd much prefer to make my own."

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Tros slowly nodded his own head in acknowledgement of Canderous. Luck was something that he himself was never found of actually acknowledging-despite having grown up for a good portion of his life on Corellia. It was interesting for him to see that Canderous only acknowledged- or maybe just worshiped – Kad Ha’rangir. It wasn’t really a bad thing, as at least he could tell that Canderous was a man of conviction and devotion. He felt slightly bad that he himself had started to have his own faith shake. Or rather, he began to doubt that there was even a god of his people anymore. 

 

There was a slight beep that took over for a second before Vulios turned it off and informed the other two occupants of the cockpit that they were about twenty-five minutes from drop point. At the word, Tros stood up and put his buy’ce on and looked at Canderous. 

 

“Alrighty then, let’s get the others prepared. It’s time we make our own luck and future.”

 

Before Tros left the cockpit, he placed his left hand upon the shoulder on Canderous and gave him a slight nod before moving on. Although he did not make it very far out of the cockpit before standing face to face with Vrax. 

 

“Fierfek Vrax! How the bloody hell can you do that.” Vrax gave a slight chuckle behind his own buy’ce. “Reach my age and you’ll understand.” With a slight tilt of the head to look around Vrax, he moved to allow for Tros to see the situation on the main hold of the Swift Justice. Bex was now fully clothed and armored up, along with the rest of the crew. They were all preparing their weapons for the mission and seemed to be focused on what was coming. Tros then felt the hand of Vrax upon his own shoulder as the older veteran guided him with a slight push forward. Tros understood what Vrax was nudging him to do. 

 

“We’ll be dropping out of hyperspace on the outskirts of the Maw within a few minutes. Our target is a Baleen-class heavy freighter named Mute Decree. It’s cargo of 12 crates of Spice must be retrieved unharmed, along with any Coaxium that they may have upon their ship. Word has it that there are at least 6 crew members, but there could be more, as the ship has been outfitted the house more. Upon collecting these materials, the Zann Consortium has requested two things. The first, that their ship be grounded indefinitely. Along with that, they requested that the crew make sure that they learn a lesson to never steal from the Zann Consortium again.”

 

Tros now looked around and eyed everyone. “If there are no questions, get ready to board the ship.”

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

As my conversation with Tros took place, there was something off about the man. His movements, his reactions, his words... they seemed to hint at a sadness within. It perplexed me, making my wonder in silence as to what troubled him, if anything troubled him at all and my mind wasn't just merely playing tricks upon me. It was a difficult thing to read, my sight completely different compared to how others saw the Galaxy, and was why I never mentioned it when Tros spoke and began to leave the cockpit.

 

"Right." Was the only words that escaped my lips, placing my hand upon his own as it sat upon my shoulder, griping it with a firm shake before releasing it and turning to follow him to the others.

 

Moving past Vrax and Tros as they conversed for a brief moment, I would join the others after retrieving my weapons from the main hold where I had spent much of my time earlier, the twin beskar blades once again adorning my back. I only wished Hati had been able to join us, feeling a sense of loss over my companion as i moved to rejoin the group. She needed to stay with the Fleet, and I needed to find my purpose. In time, we would be whole again.

 

As the others drew their weapons to the ready after Tros revealed the plan, I unsheathed the twin blades, giving Tros a strong unwavering nod. Perhaps he was my purpose.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

×
×
  • Create New...