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Wyvernfall

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Wyvernfall last won the day on March 8 2022

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About Wyvernfall

  • Birthday 02/07/1987

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  1. Rru followed along. He did not interact with anyone and the few children that happened to bump into him while playing were met by a low animalistic growl causing them to scurry away. The Tusken stayed close to his companions. Several times he found himself blinking repeatedly beneath his mask trying to will away the fog that seemed to not only be creeping into his peripherals but also his mind as well. Anything that did not require a singular focus was ignored. It was easier that way. And the voices, his ancestors, they seemed, well, dark and distant. What he could hear from them howled for blood, for revenge against any of those, these, for wrongs they or any of their people may have perpetuated against the Sand People in the past. And there was still another voice, a strange one, unnatural as if it were frozen in time. His ancestors detested this one most of all. Had Rru seen or heard it’s source, he would surely be inclined to try and extinguish it. Shuffling after the others, he put a hand to his helmeted head as if that would stop the pounding the chittering Jawa seemed to elicit. It didn’t. One step in front lf the other. Moving. Focused. A warrior of the sands, gliding along was second nature to him, and yet, he remained focused on moving, on following two steps behind @Zeris Mons and @Klu Kiv. Into the darkness, at least that helped a little, they moved. Instinctively, Rru’s hand rested in the bend of his hooked gaffi stick, little knowing just what was to come. The. It happened, a rumbling earthen sound from above them. His comrades had sensed it and scurried for cover, but not Rru. No, he was not one of them, a coward. He was a proud son of the twin suns of Tatoo and be stood firm, only to be bowled over like a reed in the surge of a river as rocks and yowling matted fur as they fell. Cast to the side like a leaf in a gale. He did not stay down; however, oh no, the fire in his veins refused to allow such a thing as his ancestors cried for blood. Rru leapt to his feet, the fog seeming to retreat as it was overcome by a bloodlust not often displayed, even by a Tusken. He leapt forward, his gaffi stick already freed and a blood curdling howl erupting from his lips to echo down the cavernous tunnel. He fell upon the hairy beast and began to stab into it repeatedly sensing gouts of blood and tufts of fur into the dark air.
  2. The Tusken glowered at the Jawa, @Klu Kiv, from behind his shrouds. The only outward sign was a slightly off put stance as he stood silently listening to the whispers of voices only he could hear. Falling in with the rest, Rru’s eyes scanned the family gathering areas and rudimentary living arrangements constructed beneath the surface. As he walked, Rru licked his lips, the iron taste of blood a puzzling side effect. He did not remember getting hit in the face or head, but maybe he had in the thick of things. Taking note of the communal plates of food, Rru took a seat beside @Zeris Mons empty-handed. He knew tradition dictated that to refuse such graciousness may be a slap in the face. He couldn’t even understand half of what the man seemed to be blathering about and his mind was distracted. The ancestors whispered in strange riddles too, not like their host, but dark thoughts that drew all but his basest attentions from the world around them. And so he sat, trying in vain to listen, his goggles face staring off into the distance. He was drawn back to reality by Zeris’ sudden outburst. Her anger pierced the veil that seemed to be overshadowing him. He shook his head to clear any cobwebs from it. “We left the supplies,” he growled as he made sense of the explosion. “Surely the fire witch has claimed them by now. Burned them with her demon flame.” He turned a sidelong glance towards Kiv, “Send your metal pets to check.”
  3. The Tusken lay prone, every sense tingling in anticipation of the next moment. This planet and her inhabitants had been trying to kill them since they arrived, not much unlike home. What happened took him a bit by surprise, as he squinted through the light he noted that these people seemed to be something like @Zeris Mons, cobbled together, their lives dependent on machines. Beyond the rows of armed guards, he could make out children, families, a nomad living. It was something he recognized. He did not have time to ponder it much though as his comrades spoke and the attentions of the entire company seemed to turn to him. Of course they would demand that he expose his flesh to them. Their blasphemy would know no end and even if it was to save his life and those of his traveling companions, he could not, would not abandon the ways of his people so easily like @Klu Kiv did, sniveling tondo the bidding of whoever might ensure his next paycheck. Slowly and cautiously, sure to keep his hands in plain view and well away from his array of weapons he stood. Holding his wrapped hands before him, he regarded the group before him as the tension seemed to rise with each moment of non-response. His black robes were caked in dirt and dust, damp with the spray of spilled zombie blood and watery most. A low guttural growl escaped from his mouthpiece as he stood like a sentinel, almost daring those before him to make their first move, to try and force him to comply with their demands of heresy. He could sense their fear. Their existence stunk of it. Finally after what felt like forever of the armed guards nervously angling their weapons towards him, Rru shrugged the strap of his rifle from his shoulder. It would have slid down his rough-clad arm had it not been soaked in the juices of the horde he had carved through. As it were it stuck and the rifle flopped forward. The Raider caught the barrel before it swept the company. Cradling the weapon in his hands, the warrior expertly locked back the bolt, popping the unspent chambered cartridge into the air, snagged on the release it twirled in the air glinting in the artificial light. Snapping his opposite hand upward, he caught the round midair and shoved it into an empty loop of his ammo-filled bandolier without looking. Then, as if by reflex, never taking his eyes from the strangers, his fingers flew across the exterior of the weapon. In less than a minute he had dismantled the firing mechanisms of the weapon down to it’s cleaning state. Holding the pieces up, he canted his head at the mechanized strangers before just as quickly and deftly reassembling the weapon in a flurry of clicks and clacks until the rifle was complete and operable again. Pulling an explosive round from his bandolier, he held it up in the light, it’s orange fiery surface gleaming before slapping it into the gun and sliding the bolt shut. Slinging the weapon, Rru dropped his hands to his side and stared, hoping his presentation was enough to prove he was not infected by the plague they so feared. But in fact, that was not true. Not entirely. The blood of the zombie horde burned in the thick armored rags, seeping deep until they touched the man’s skin, oozing about the corners of his lips seeking purchase to spread anew.
  4. “Let’s go.” @Zeris Mons growled as she rushed past. A few moments later, @Klu Kiv followed suit, a horde of shambling flaming monsters completed the onslaught. Hefting his rifle upwards, Rru cleared the spent casing and inserted a fresh round. Looking up at the horde, Rru jumped to his feet to hurry after the others. He knew it then. He knew it now. The ancestors whispered, urging him to fight against the very instinct that boiled in the man’s blood. This was not a fight they were going to win. The smoke. When its tendrils clawed at the cloudless sky back home, it meant armored reinforcements were usually on their way, hellbent on murdering anyone they perceived as a native of Tatooine. What that meant here was anyone’s guess. On a world like this, given the trio’s brief experiences, it was not going to be friendly. Like a blur, Rru charged after the others; intent on getting away, even if it meant someone had to carry the smelly Jawa. That did not occur; however, the ground began to quake, bits of chipped stone rattling against the cobbled ground. The roar of water behind them drew Rru’s attention. Over the heads of the flaming zombie horde a wall of frothing black water roared into view. Rru’s body tensed. Of all the enemies and all the challenges he had faced, this was a new one. Water was a rarity on his homeworld, a sacred one at that. To have it tumbling towards them with bone crushing power was nearly inconceivable and Rru stopped, standing there slack jawed in shock. He may have stood there until he was overcome had it not been for the blathering of Kiv. It was becoming a mind-grating thing, but it was enough to pull the Tusken Raider’s mind back to reality just in time to see Kiv get yanked below ground by a mechanical hand. Not another one . . . Run. The ancestors urged him and Rru responded on instinct. The steep walls of the canal channeled the zombies and the water directly towards the three offworlders. They might be able to outrun the horde. The water was a different story. Zeris and Rru, maybe. Augmented as they were, they could hope to flee; but the Jawa. Always the Jawa. There was little escape and the Jawa had been taken. The force grew around Rru, he bent his knees and leapt. Arcing high into the air, unnaturally high, Rru somersaulted and came to land atop the canal. He spun around as the water began to consume the horde. They did not even flinch. Over the roar, the Jawa’s screeching scream carried. He was in trouble, again. Rru sighed as his shoulders slumped. Zeris was still in the canal and his only known ride off the cursed world. Kiv was, Rru swallowed before he could think it, almost family. He would be no better if he left a cowardly son of Tatoo to die on this damned world. The ancestors whispered, their spirits curling about the firm wraps about Rru’s arms and robes. Exhaling in a I’m-going-to-regret-this-type of sigh, Rru doge off the lip of the canal straight toward Zeris. He tackled the cybernetic warrior through the opened hatch, his foot catching the handled and slamming it shut behind them as they clattered to the floor, and atop the Jawa with a crash. Rru tried to roll gracefully out of the pile up, but it was anything but as he flopped to the floor, his foot brushing against the armored toes of one of the men silhouetted by the near blinding bright light. It was such a contrast to the dull world above. Rru tensed, his hands moving slightly prepared to spring from the ground listening for the spirit’s guiding urges leaving the talking to the jabbering rodent or the spacefaring malefactor.
  5. The next approaching zombie had it’s head entirely removed from what had been it’s neck in a bloody spray of flaming goo and superheated blood. It would have been a clean cut, had it been made with a lightsaber. As it had been done with a beskar forged gaderffi however, it was efficient, albeit gruesome. Rru did not stop to consider this; however, as he spun about again to take on another surging trio of attackers. A spear to a knee, twisted to blow the joint entirely while sweeping the zombie’s other leg, fluidly carried into a reverse thrust of the flanged club end of the weapon into his companion’s chest. The sickening sound of crushed bones into rotted flesh was only accentuated by the sucking sound the wound made as Rru rripped the weapon clean, dropping low and spinning the barrel of his cycler outwards tripping the third before leaping forward like a predatory beast. Letting the rifle hang off his shoulder and with gsffi in one hand, Rru quickly drew his stone blade and gouged the third zombie’s eyes from it’s head before looking up at the shout from their pilot. He really needed to learn her name. She had done wonders in a fight so far. Maybe it was part of her curse, just like those amalgamated limbs. He did not have time to think on that; however, not in the midst of battle. He was content to have her on his side. When she pointed, his eyes followed. No language was needed for that sort of communication. Leaders always seemed to distinguish themselves, especially those who were too cowardly to join the fight, sending their underlings in their place. With a war whoop, Rru leapt forward intent on fulfilling another old Tusken tradition. Find the biggest and baddest thing on the field of play and take it out. Apparently the ancestors had not been satisfied by the other behemoth’s he had fell this day. The urged him forward, but then just as suddenly, as the gout of flame spewed from the witch’s hand, they urged him to drop. Rru had lived too long with the spirits to hesitate or even question and his leap forward propelled him face first into the soil. It was then the zombie he had just beheaded exploded in a wave of heat and a spray of boiling juices. Decidedly an unpleasant way to go he assessed. Even more unpleasant to get bathed in the aerosolized spray. Pulling himself to a crouch, Rru eyed the fire witch. He had heard of them before and they were not to be trifled with. At least he had his own demon, he noted as Zeris barrelled through the horde like some sort of sand monster drunk on bad hubba gourds, albeit minus the two extra arms. Another explosion rocked the battlefield and this one Rru recognized. That was a mechanical explosion, an offworlder’s weapon. Perhaps the Jawa had found some use after all. All he needed was a push, literally; although, judging by his screaming, that had probably been an accident too. Slipping his knife back in his waistband, Rru grabbed his gaffi and broke into a crouching run. He swung the steely beskar, smashing shins, knees, and more than a couple heads before he cleared the bulk of the crowd of flaming monsters. The work of the witch he recognized. Like a sandy vortex he slid under clumsy blows and seemed to fold around others unnaturally in the flash of an eye until he made it close enough to Zeris. He jerked his head at the smoldering gap that the Jawa had blown in the, thankfully, dry canal wall. “Time to go.” He bellowed, his ears still ringing from the exploding zombie corpse. Looking from the hole to the flame spewing zombie-demon-witch, he hooked his gaffi in it’s apportioned loop and dug a large round from his bandolier. Shrugging the worn leather strap from his shoulder, he began to run towards the entrance. Like clockwork, he pulled the bolt back and ejected the spent casing from his cycler. Even on the run, the actions were smooth, borne from a lifetime of practice; albeit that was mostly in hunting more mortal foes or their cursed machines; but the premise was the same. Sliding the next round into the weapon, he locked the bolt forward diving for cover near the rubble from the blown hole. Clutching his rifle, Rru peered around the boulder for his comrades, bringing the witch into sight. Even across the battlefield, with the ancestral guidance of his forefathers, Rru was confident he could take the shot; whet that would do, would be anyone’s guess. He settled the reticule on the woman’s head. It seemed the surest way to end her; afterall, the other zombies seemed to go down when their head ceased to exist. His finger settled on the trigger. Slowly, the Tusken inhaled, staring down the sites of his weapon, lining up the shot. He exhaled, putting pressure on the trigger when he heard yet another cry from Kiv. Out of the corner of his eye, Rru saw the little rodent pursued by two much larger flaming abominations. Swivelling, he leveled the rifle at the two and fired. The shot echoed in the din of the battlefield as the massive slug tore into the chest of the first zombie behind the Jawa, erupting from it’s back in a fount of blood, guts, and flaming putrified organs before it tore into the second; dropping them both in heaps on the ground.
  6. Rru turned from the approaching horde as the Jawa nearly crashed into him. Hastily the shorter being tried to shove the projectile into his arms. Tusken culture was many things, most known among them was a revision of technology, living in the ways of their ancestors. What should have been obvious, but was often overlooked, was the Tusken affinity for weapons, even firearms. So even if Rru was not entirely sure what he had just shot. The Jawa babbled franticly about it messing up the mechanical abominations his companions came to depend on. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively behind his shroud. Maybe this was not the time for such a thing. The hulking abomination slammed into the ground with a thunderous crash that Rru felt the tremors of beneath his feet. He shoved the torpedo away, back into Kiv’s arms. The Tusken was surprised Zeris had handled the thing alone. So much for his theory of betreyal. He felt ashamed that he had thought such a thing. It burned his cheeks with embarrassment. He should have known better, even if she had give herself over to the shackles of technology she still was redeemable. As the horde alighted, literally and figuratively beyond her, Rru shook his head. The problem with slug throwers, even more so than blasters, was ammunition. It was limited. It was heavy. A quick recap indicated limited supplies of both the incendiary rounds from Kiv as well as his standard Tusken-honed sniper rounds. Not near enough to handle the advancing tribe of . . . things. Besides, they were already on fire. They seemed to like it. What a strange world. As Eyes shot upward, the Jawa did what he seemed second best at. After scrounging and stealing, this particular specimen seemed keen on squealing like a rat in a trap. Rru took the launcher and forcefully shoved it alongside the torpedo into Kiv’s arms. Before Kiv could protest too much Rru grabbed the Jawa by the waist and hefted him up to eye level. “Make yourself useful, cousin,” he snarled; after all didn’t Kiv keep calling Rru his big cousin? Now mind you, useful to a Jawa and useful to a Tusken might be two different extremes. This was no better conceptualizer then when Rru heartily hefted the Jawa, launcher and torpedo over the edge of the rooftop towards the closing horde. Useful, in this context, was pretty obvious, fighting, or at the least cannon fodder to buy time for the blasted boloball of a droid to find an escape. Rru did not wait to see how the Jawa landed. Shrugging his rifle across his shoulder and chest with his bandolier , he launched himself forward. The ancestral voices of generations of Tusken warriors urged him forward. Their eyes saw what his did not, their disembodied spirits hastened his movements and carried him on a nonexistent gale. Somersaulting forward like a bullet from a gun, Rru landed in a puff of sand and dust, well beyond the Jawa, between his teo companions, glinting beskar gaderffi held loosely in his hands glinting against the moonlight. It would have been a sight to see, had he remained there; but the Tusken was already on the move. With a snarling war whoop to draw the attention of the inferno’d horde, Rru charged. The force, his ancestors, surged around him, empowering the desert warrior with superhuman reactions, speed, and perceptions. A trail of dust plumed into the air behind the Tusken as he closed with the horde. The first zombie he met, he drove the pointed end of his gaderffi into the beast’s gut. In a single fluid motion, he brought thr flanged clubbed head of the weapon up and around to slam it into the abomination’s face. Meanwhile, the pointed end tore a furrow through the flesh of the zombie, ripping a massive gash in it’s gut as it exited and the club end slammed into the zombie’s head with a sickening and solid crunch as blood spurted everywhere. Rru did not stop, however; his momentum carrying him forward. Launching into a carwheel over top of the zombie, the club freed itself with a sickening sucking sound. Rru brought the bent end of his traditional weapon down atop the head of the next zombie, collapsing the skull and compressing the spine unnaturally beneath the weight and momentum of the beskar as he landed on his knees. The zombie toppled to the side as Rru’s weapon swung out at ground level carching the ankles of several closing flaming monsters and pulling their feet from under them. As the zombies fell to the ground, Rru leapt up, his rough sand-filled robes swirling about him in a plume of dust and dirt. He lunged forward and with the skill of a butcher let out a gutteral cry as he drove the speared end into the downed monsters time and time again, each time eliciting a gout of blood and sucking wounds that clawed in vain at the metal rod of destruction. And still they came. Rru looked up as even more zombie’s advanced. He could feel the heat that came from their sizzling bodies. The flames licked the night and flickered in ghostly off of the Tusken’s goggled and weapons. Clothed in black, he was a specter of destruction and the voices of his ancestors not only carried him, but whispered in the ears of his foes telling of their coming doom. As the zombies charged, Rru spun, seeing Zeris entering the fray, her mechanized limbs a dervish of destruction all their own. Driving forward, Rru stabbed his gaffi stick forward. It smashed in the front and out the back of the beast’s skull and still Rru drove forward, his weapon sliding through the skull as he held the crooked end by the flange. He drove the spear into a second zombie’s flaming head and then a third, stopping only as he ran out of spit upon which to skewer his attackers. Then he ripped the gaderffi out, filling the air with aerosolized blood, bits of brain matter, and bone. Rru roared defiantly, more of a beast than man as he spun, his gaderffi caving in the cranium of the attacker to his right. Meanwhile, he grabbed the rifle slung over his shoulder and slammed the butt of it into neck the attacker on his left, dropping to his knees as he felt for the trigger. And as the ancients whispered, Rru pulled the trigger. An incendiary round fired from the weapon back behind Rru, towards a column of zombies that had given chase to the Jawa. Rru did not even have to look as the round found it’s mark in the chest of another zombie and erupted in a thermal explosion of destruction that turned flesh to ash and blackened and cracked the bones that remained. Spinning around, Rru snarled ready for whoever came next.
  7. As fast as he had appeared, the Jawa was gone. Muttering something about ammunition after eyeing the launcher Rru had found. instinctively, the Tusken chalked it up to the cowardice synonymous with the stinking rodents people. It was right up there with thieving, only, for some reason Kiv had left the launcher. He hadn’t time think about it though as the monster barreled toward them seemingly intent on their demise. Was everything on this planet focused on killing them? Were one of his companions wearing some sort of tracker that broadcast their location to the whole world? They had come here for one feller, and so far he seemed to be the ONLY one they could not find!! He’d suspect the Jawa, but their demon-amalgamated comrade had leapt from the safety of their roof to face the monster head on. Either she was suicidal or she was in cahoots with the demons here. After all, was she not the one who brought them here? Rru, shook his head. The beast was coming closer. Staring down his rifle, he shook his head. He doubted his earlier tricks with the rifle would be effective here. The launcher glistened in the starlight. The Tusken worked his fingers as he pondered the weapon, keeping the circulation going in his fingers. Finally he lat his prized cycler on the rooftop to grab up the launcher. He regarded it for a moment. The design was foreign, but projectile weapons seemed to carry similarities across the cosmos; in a matter of moments he hugged the weapon’s butt and stock into his shoulder. His sight naturally fell down the targeting array, a red glassy design with a phosphorescent yellow crossed circle in the middle. Obvious enough. Rru did not even know if the thing was loaded, but he focused the targeting reticule on the flaming monster. With a sigh? He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, unless you counted the audible clank of the trigger flipping some sort of mechanism in the gun itself. Rru sighed. So much for that. He relaxed the weapon in his arms as he stared out at the advancing for. This was not good. The beast’s roar echoed across the newest battlefield. The Jawa had fled. Their pilot had apparently gone back to rejoin her demon ilk or die in some machine-induced fit of stupidity. Rru stood, he inhaled, held his breath, and exhaled. He would accept his fate as only a true Tusken could. The ancestors whispered encouragement in his ears. He would die, here, on a world not his own; a just punishment for his own sins, for not being their for his people in their time of need. Ka-Chunk!!! The internal workings of the launcher clanged in the cold air and before Rru could react, he was knocked backward by the projectile that leapt from the weapon’s mouth. A missile arced out through the sky. The unexpected recoil knocked the weapon painfully into Rru’s shoulder as he tumbled to his behind. The missile trailed forward crashing into the ground several yards in advance of the beast. There it seemed to sit, internal timers counting down before: The entire night sky erupted in shocking blue light against the purple starlit sky, a ball of expanding blue lightning filled energy crackled as the missile detonated in an ever-growing expanse of destructive ionic energy. An ion torpedo, mind you, Rru had no idea what it was; but it sure looked dangerous, in a beautiful flay your flesh from your bones sort of way. Had he not know the thing came from the launcher in his hands, the Tusken would have been quick to attribute it to the supernatural. Leaping back to his feet, Rru squinted at the bright crackling explosion. Hoisting the now-unknown empty weapon above his head he let loose a joyous war cry, challenging any who might dare try and take them on! They were not dead yet, not by a long shot. The Tusken had wanted and the spirits had spoken, in electrified beautiful and deadly judgment. Boy had they spoken!
  8. The ancestors, they urged him onward, into the cold. Rruror’rur’rr did not have to think. He simply followed their urging and direction. Beyond instinct, it is what gave him an advantage in combat, or so he thought. It is also what made him run like the wind across the desolate world, keeping easy pace with the robotic legs of the amalgamated woman. So when she pointed out the jutting duracrete structure, the ancestors did not voice any concern. In fact, they seemed keen on the idea and Rru was not one to object. It was cold, too cold if you asked him. With the dark sky and the cold wind, it was colder than the coldest night back on Tatooine. Running towards the building, the Tusken took a lap around the building. Windowless. One door in on the ‘front’ side. One door out on the ‘back’. Both were solid. What a strange building. It might be that they could not even gain access. Or not. Apparently the Jawa had put his thieving skills to good use and got them inside. Rru shrugged. Better than nothing. He slipped in with the others, cautiously looking about. What a room. It looked like countless other buildings he and his tribe had ransacked back home. Off worlders, interlopers, heathens, all of them, come from beyond the stars to take up residence and steal the divinely given gifts of the indigenous persons. Nothing to worry. This place was nothing to stop and stare at. Nothing looked to be a suitable weapon. Taking the stairs three at a time, Rru bound up the narrow staircase along the side wall into the shadowy windowless darkness. Pulling his gaffi free, the nomad dropped into a stalker’s hunting stance. He squinted into the darkness. Shiffling forward he felt, each of his senses honed to a razor’s edge. The ancestors whispered in his ear. Even if he could not see, they could, and they led him. Across the cluttered room to a ladder. Rru shook it to make sure it was secured to the wall before he began to climb, stopping only before hitting his head on the locked hatch that led onto the roof. Hooking the point of his beskar tribal weapon through the metal loop of the lock, he twisted the shaft. Leverage did the work. The lock popped off with a bang as it clattered down to the floor. With a creak of rusted metal, Rru swung the door open. It slammed on the roof. Cautiously he stuck his head out. Heating and cooling units, ravaged by the wind and time, a dilapidated comm relay, nothing really out of the ordinanry; well, until . . . Rru rounded the central towering compressor unit. Lying on the rooftop, tucked just beneath the unit was some sort of launcher. Rru dug at it with his toe, pulling it out to see it better. He canted his head as he regarded the large maw of the barrel, whatever this thing, it shot something BIG. The intricate targeting scope was something else entirely. A roar resounded form where they had recently come. Squinting against the darkness, Rru tried to peer into the distance, to see what he knew had to be pursuing him. He could not see anything. Dropping prone, he shrugged the aged cycler from his shoulder and brought it to rest before his eye. Scaring down the primitive scope, Rru could finally see it. Some ugly beast lumbered toward them blowing through whatever stood in his way. Throwing his head back, Rruror’rur’rr let loose a traditional Tusken war cry. He hoped the Jawa would hear it and his lifetime amongst the sands would come back to him.
  9. Wiping the crumbs of the ration bar from the stubble of his beard, Rru sighed audibly. Gingerly he leaned back on the junk heap to his back letting the weak sun beat down on his exposed face as he closed his eyes. For a moment, he smiled. Peace seemed to flow subtly about him and the spirits lay silent as the breeze ruffled his hair. It was then that he heard it, the voice. It was not the same as those of his ancestors, fierce and warlike, filled with strength, conviction, and compassion for their people, for their lands. “Keep left at the fork and follow the paths along the opposite side of those canals. You will find us that way.“ The voice was old and feminine, a specter on the wind. Rru’s eyes blinked open. He pursed his lips as he pondered the voice sitting up and looking about. There was nobody there. The world was still, save for the breeze. Something smelled. It was awful. The desert nomad clenched his teeth as he suppressed the urge to vomit. Reaching down, Rru quickly began to redress himself. Something born on the wind seemed to approach. Whatever it was smelled off, dangerous even. The Tusken’s mind was drawn inexplicably back to the massive mutant beast that had tried to eat their ship. He shuddered. Slipping his rifle from his shoulder, he scrambled back toward the group, grunting a primitive warning towards the group. He saw the droid, Eyes, who had dutifully left him alone as he ate. The little metallic being poked furiously at the Jawa. Maybe there was something to the little abomination. There was no time to think about it now. Something foul approached. “Get up! Keep your voice down.” He snarled, waving furiously at group. He nodded at the Jawa, his head lifting into the air, sniffing at it like a dog. He felt the wind against his waving robes. He could smell them. He knew from where they were coming. It was the way they wanted to go. They couldn’t smell them, at least, not yet. Scrambling up the pile of junk, Rru stared down the barrel of his cycler, the scope brought into focus the approaching horde. “Demons.” He hissed before sliding back down to the others. Looking at @Zeris Mons, he pointed to @Klu Kiv, “Can you carry it?” He asked. “We must be as swift as the wind.” Without waiting, Rru ducked into a quick run at a ninety-degree angle from the approaching horde. He ducked and wove beneath jutting beams of fallen structures and around giant jutting fingers of buried metallic beasts of industry. They needed to get out of there quickly. Avoid the fight. It was an old Tusken philosophy. At least for the moment. No sense going into battle without every advantage possible. This world, well, they did not know it well enough to have every advantage; but being overtaken on an open field by an unknown foe was plain foolish. And so they ran, deeper towards the Umbraside of the world, the cold seeping like tendriled claws to rake at the Tusken’s flesh. ‘Run!’ His ancestors urged and they were seldom wrong. Their ancient words of wisdom leading him on.
  10. Rru walked all day. It was a rough walk and they hd to pick their way through mazes kf debris, shrapnel, and junk several times. Several more times, the Tusken had to stop and wait. Shaking his head he would mumble to himself, reminding himself that there was a reason his people lived within the sands. They did not need massive rolling fortresses provided by offworld masters to survive in their home. It showed here. Striding forward with his weapons slung comfortably across his body, he had to stop when he got too far ahead. It did afford him the chance to look for threats; not that he found any of significance. This was truly a wasteland. After their attackers had fled and the beast destroyed there had been nothing; nothing but the chittering of the Jawa and his droids. The lack of transitioning suns only spoke to the unnaturalness of this place. Tales spoke of ancient offworlders destroying the once lush world of Tatooine when Rru’s ancestors dared to stand in defiance against them. They refused to be made into slaves. Their entire world had paid for their perceived sins. This world too had paid, perhaps they were still paying, entrapped in a portion of their joint histories unspoken of in the thousands of years since. Finally, when their legs had tired sufficiently and the whining of the rodent had grown unconsolable did they stop. Rru made a thorough check of the perimeter of the parking lot and the nearest obstacles and points of cover beyond. Yet again, he found nothing. Returning to the group, Rru warily accepted a sealed ration pack plopping to the ground beside the others. Opening it with some difficulty, he held the bar up to his face mask and smelled. He withdrew in disgust throwing the ration bar instinctively. He snorted in disgust. “What you think Lone Raider? Place interesting, yes? Far from home, but still active yes?” Rru studied the Jawa for a moment. Was he serious? “Active?” He asked, a little concerned that the atmosphere may have gotten to the poor Jawa’s brain. “We have seen nothing all day. I fear we may be trekking upon sacred burial sites.” He shivered against the less-than-cool shadowy air. “Even the ancestors are touched by the dark punishments wrought upon this world. We should be very careful.” “No need to be tense though, Eyes does good job. Demon droid maybe, but useful demon, no? Come, you tell Kiv what you think of place, yes?” Rru shrugged his shoulders as his stomach growled hungrily. The Tusken exhaled sharply through his nose as he looked down at the hastily abandoned ration bar. Leaning forward, he scooped it up before rising to his feet. He pointed a tense warning finger at the Jawa as he shook the ration bar and barked an unintelligible desert warning. Turning he stalked off towards a mound of junk at the edge of the parking lot to eat alone. Such was Tusken culture. He would eat alone. To remove one’s outerwear in front of any but immediate family was punishable by death. As the sole survivor of his tribe, Rru was condemned to eat alone, ungazed upon by eyes . . . or, well, Eyes evermore. Walking around the pile, Rru looked all about, checking and double checking to insure he was alone. Squatting on his haunches, Rru began to remove the heavy wrappings about his head first to a point that he could remove the moisture retention mask. He then began to unravel the lengthy wraps about his right hand until it was exposed to the foreign air. The Tusken shuddered, before taking the bar and holding it to his face. He grimaced again, pausing to force himself to take a bite of the dried ration bar. It tasted like it smelled. He snarfed it down anyway. The faster it was done, the faster the taste would be gone from his tongue.
  11. Rruror’rur’rr stood there with his hands on his hips regarding the majestic fallen demon beast and rider. Before he could decide how to begin slicing, the Tusken’s attention was called away by one of his fellow sojourners. Pursing his lips beneath his mask, he shook his head. The voices of his ancestors whispered to him. They urged him to turn his attention to the Jawa and the cyborg. He really did not want to. Gutting such a exotic monster, it seemed so much more simple. Oh how he longed for a simple existence. With a sigh, urged forward by voices only heard by the himself, Rru turned. He tucked his knife away and stepped towards Zeris. “Your friend,” he spoke matter-o-factly as he wondered exactly who they were after or how they might find him on this vast wasteland of a world. Here, even the ancestral voices seemed tainted with an evil that permeated from this world. They whispered to him. They enjoyed the kill of the monster, even if it had little purpose beyond the bloodshed. The winds whispered all about the Tusken. On the heat of this devastated world, they spoke. Images of the quarry, Oka Geb, played from Zeris’ foreign mind to Rruror’rur’rr’s barbarian one. The coarse sands of the world blew about the nomadic tracker as he knelt. Rru scooped up a handful of sand, studying it as he allowed it to flow through his fingers in streams of elemental earth. As the land of the sand fell, it was whipped away by the wind, vanishing into the eternal sunset sky. Rru’s eyes scanned the horizon, the voices of his ancestors blending the past and the present. A once teaming city and before that rolling hills and rivers, giving way to the accelerated claws of decay and madness as an unnatural evil shadowed the land. Brother turned against brother and the world about them came crashing down until it was nothing more than this, that which stood around them now. His ancestors, they were not of this place, not of these sands, born by them and consumed again in death. No, they were the spirits of Tatooine’s faithful, the warriors who had grown haughty like these. Dependent on the artifice of false promises and prophecy, they had stood strong in the day of damnation and they had fallen in it, their children sheltered by the very boiling of their blood. The warm winds that blew about Rruror’rur’rr grew cool, cold even, like a cloudless desert night carrying upon them the false promise of a looming storm. In it’s grasp, Rru could see the marauders, they that had to take them before they even touched this accursed land. He felt their bloodlust, their greed for things so small. Their ignorance and unwillingness to give up grasping at the straws of the galaxy would be their undoing. Even upon a world such as this, a fallen sister to the plate-glassed ancient son of Tatoo, the firstborn and soul heir to a legacy of folly, these had not learned. Like the newcomers who sought their fortunes among the sands of his people, refusing to forgo their adulterous ways, these marauders too forsook their own. The spirit world implanted memories, those of the fallen, of the past. The guidance of the ages sought out the face of one man, a being known not to their son, but to that of his companions. They traced these marauders footsteps through the sands, following their winding ways backwards until they intersected with that of Oka Geb. His sinful folly, like that of so many Rru had seen, had led to an intersection with those too who desired naught but destruction and he had set upon, ravaged by the mighty. The voices hissed to Rruror’rur’rr as he stood, the winds dropping to a slight guiding breeze. His body was tense; they sought punishment, to kill these sinful ones; ones whose fate seemed to mirror but were unintwined with those of his people, of Tatooine. His ancestors visions and desires seemed darker than before. This world was a cursed place, for it even tainted the eternal dead. Rubbing the last grains of sand between his fingers, Rru looked to Zeris and Kiv. “The one we seek was set upon by the same death worshippers who attempted to sacrifice us.” He pointed out through the hills of devastation. “If we can follow their path, we may yet find him. If we are lucky,” he gave Kiv a playful kick, “this one won’t loot whatever remains of him before we have what we came for.” He waved to the others, “grab what you can carry. We have a long journey ahead of us and these sands may not be as forgiving as that of our home.” The paths of repulsorlifts were hard to track, but in the wilds even they left telltale signs; disturbances upon the earth. Hulking wheeled catapults in the other hand; well, those were pretty easy to track, as long as they did not tarry and the tracks were obscured by the evening and morning winds. The Crate would be of little use. The catapult tracks might be visible for now, but a ship might destroy them prematurely, and when they began to fade, foot travel would be a necessity. “Maybe your demon-droids could guard her vessel from raiders,” he gestured to Kiv’s droids and The Crate. No sense tracking just to lose their only means of escape. Even Rru recognized that. He knew that the false representations of life the Jawa liked to hide behind were threatening. His people had developed special means to fight them. Hopefully they could keep their means of egress secure. Maybe they could even fix it. It did look a bit banged up after it’s hard landing and encountered with the demon and its rider.
  12. Rruror’rur’rr slumped, letting the barrel of his rifle fall to the ground as he saw the rider slump over. For the moment, at least, they were not being attacked. The first time since arriving at this accursed world. He closed his eyes, rolling to his back as his tensed bruised muscles relaxed, if but for a moment. Then he heard it, that high squeaky voice. Every muscle in his body tensed at the sound. He groaned in pain as slowly he sat up. “Your ancestors are not my ancestors, for if they were, they would even now command me to strike you down for your cowardice.” He growled, making no effort to hide his disdain for the little rodent; and then he was off, prattling on about yet another chance to gain ill-gotten booty, this time from their pilot. He wasn’t wrong, the law of the desert said that property left abandoned belonged to he that found it. Still, he doubted the diminutive being could even reach the foot controls , much less repair or pilot what was left of the ship. He had seen Jawa workmanship before. But he was right, they owed it to their ‘team’ to check on one another. It might be the inly way they survived this hellhole. Slowly, as his muscles grated in protest, he stood up, picking up his weapons and scattered gear as he did so. Slowly, the Tusken Raider began to trudge through the blistering sand towards the haphazardly cockeyed Crate. He could feel the heat still radiating off the dead abomination. As he approached it he paused. Around the other side he heard the droid aboard the ship. It prattled off something about protocols and parameters. He shook his head, it was not his problem. It probably meant that Zeris was alive at least. He turned his attention back to the hulking mound of meat. Back home, to leave such a prize to waste was unheard of. Rru had no tribe to provide for here and he did not know the anatomy of such a beast; but he did know, such creatures generally held some sort of worthwhile prize, be it bile, pearl, or fang. Placing his hands on his hips, the Tusken canted his head as he surveyed the monster. Where could he start? The only obvious place was the head; but what was he looking for? The meat should be baked already, but somehow, it was not. If anything, such a excretion would be incredibly useful. Fingering the knife in his bandolier, Rru pondered on where to start.
  13. The Tusken’s heart tensed in his chest, the closer the beast loomed. It was truly terrifying. Even he, the fearless desert raider, would be a fool to not acknowledge such a thing. Not that he would let that show. Beneath his rough-hewn black robes, worry began to set in even as he continued in his task. The voices of his ancestors swirled around him, filling him with a sense of urgency and turning the anxiousness he felt into a burst of speed and strength. Explosive discs flew faster and further while the Tusken kept his attention on the approaching mega-behemoth. Not that he needed to, with every ground-rumbling step, Rru felt the temperature grow. The air about him becoming hotter and hotter until even he was uncomfortable. Sweat poured from his body, caking his specially designed robes to his body. It sent a chill down his spine. Wether this was out of fear or a simple biological combination of his heat-reducing robes and sweat-drenched body would be debated later. KA-BOOM!!!!!!!!!! The first mine detonated beneath the goliath’s foot sending concussive waves through the air as the ground beneath the beast erupted. It was not like Rru heard Zeris’ crying command. The reverberations of the first detonation ringing in the warrior’s ears and the pinpoint focus he had on the monstrosity before him drowned the scream of the biomechanical woman’s speeder bike as she rocketed aboard. Maybe, somewhere in the back of his mind, Rru knew she was there; but in that moment, if you asked him, he would have denied it. Still, he felt the urge to press the fight. As the megalith loomed closer with every ground-quaking step, Rru sent mine after mine flying towards it. The detonations were nigh instantaneous as they rocked the monster’s body, impacting with mutant flesh instead of the ground. The concussive blasts finally sent the Raider tumbling, unable to stand against the force of the tidal fire he now fought to slow. Picking himself up from the dirt, the warrior leapt to his feet, gaderffi in hand, glinting orange against the fiery inferno of the monster. Not that it would do much good, but the weapon was a part of him as much as the claws of a panther came out when threatened. The roars of the creature tore at the Tusken Raider’s ears, already ringing from the kinetic successive explosions of a dozen or so anti-vehicle mines. He crouched, his head swiveling about as even the ancient voices of his forefathers urged him to flee. Just as he turned, the shriek of metal against stone drew him short. Looking over his shoulder, Rru was horrified. The beast was not intent on him, the crumb who had inflicted pain and anguish, like a spray of tarantulan hairs to the body, on the creature and it’s amalgamated rider. The ship, The Crate, that he had sought to try and defend was now the target of the creatures wrath. One end heft high in the air, there was little the Tusken could do, but instinctually, he knew he must. Lives were at stake and his cover was, well, compromised. A gout of flame engulfed the end of the craft. Belched from the maw of the monster, Rru could feel it’s intensity as it shambled forward trying to claw and rend the ship, The Crate’s hull screeching in pain against the solid rocky soil that cradled it He cringed. Could anyone survive such a direct blast? He dove for cover behind the nearest dune of sand and metal, the pile of earth absorbing some of the most direct heat. It was fortunate that he did, for even as the gout of flame stopped, the beast took one last step forward just as the telltale sound of a ship’s systems powered up. The sound of blaster cannon fire peppered the air; but Rru only felt it for a moment. The creature reeled from the assault and in doing so stepped squarely on the crate of remaining mines. Such pressure, even on unactivated explosives, combined with the heat was enough. The entire crate detonated. BOOM!!!!!!!!!!! It carved the earth for a hoverball field length in every direction. Dirt and debris erupted into the air flew skyward and then rained back downward. Dust hanging heavy in the superheated air. The Tusken was sent tumbling across the ground, end over end as his cover was engulfed and consumed by the fireball. The shockwave leaving him dazed and confused against a distance outcropping of jutting rusted durasteel. His eyes seam before him as he took in the scene in the distance. The beast had fallen, but if it was dead or merely injured remained to be seen. The Crate had toppled haphazardly back to the ground. A short ways off, Rru saw his cycler lying in the dust. slumping forward, he felt his body cry out in protest. Even for a hardened desert nomad, being cartwheeled across the dunes hurt a fair bit. Using his arms, which seemed to hurt the least, Rru drug a swath through the sand, pulling himself towards his trusted weapon. Finally, he grasped it, pulling the stock into his shoulder as he gingerly raised the barrel from the sands. A quick check revealed a loaded explosive cartridge. Staring down the scope, Rru focused on his ragged breathing. Each breath bobbed the barrel of his weapon as he sought to bring the creature into focus. There! He saw it. The rider. Fused to the back of the felled monster, the creature on it’s back lived yet. He flailed as he beat at his monstrous mount, bobbing in and out of sight of Rru’s ragged bobbing scope. Slowly, as he caught his breath, the Raider’s weapon settled. The calming breath of his ancestors offered a sense of peace, of hope. He would not die here. Not this day. Slowly, carefully, the rider came into view, the crosshairs settling squarely on the being’s torso. CRACK!!!
  14. Rruror’rur’rr spun to a stop atop a nearby dune. All about him lay the fallen, knocked out, broken, or dead. No one stood nearby. The closest ganks and company had turned tail and began to flea, abandoning their downed craft. They urged their worn vessels, their prized heavy high-atmosphere auto-sphere catapult back into the debris fields, the maze, from whence they had come. Had he been a Jedi or even a Sith, the field of strewn foes would have been almost artistic. It would have been mesmerizing, a dance of destruction or preservation had it not been so . . . barbaric. A weapon of primitive Tusken origin formed from Mandalorian Iron did not cauterize wounds as it passed. It did not stem the flow of blood as it seeped into the hot sands with a steaming boil. Such a weapon was not a more elegant weapon for a more civilized age; no, this one was formed in the devastation of a world that had stood against a galactic menace. It had been forged in the fires of the lasers that turned a fertile world to glass, honed upon the relentless winds that had turned the world to sand. And as the voices of Rru’s ancestors led his every step and motion, so too did they hum with the weight of beskar as two ancient cultures bound as one wrought their combined histories of survival and mastery in battle on this far off world. Raising his weapon above his head, the blood-soaked Raider let out a fetal war cry to the sky, its echo haunting the fleeing raiders who for years would debate exactly what had happened, who they had shot from the sky, and why they had lived through the onslaught of demon, droid, and mercenary. Even as he celebrated the flight of one foe, Rruror’rur’rr felt the boiling heat of a Tatooinian heatwave press against his mind. It was a warning, a slight change in atmospheric pressures, the guiding touch of the ancestors on even the most calloused faithful raised in such a barbarous environment. It was the power of the suns driven like a herd before the lash, fire before the storm. Swiveling from his place above the field of battle, the Tusken’s cry was cut short as in the distance he saw it. No, he felt it before his eyes could register such a thing. Standing at 60 plus feet tall cloaked in smoke and flame with a cry that shook the air even from a distance, the Tusken knew a true monster of hell when he saw one. To take a great Krayt took a tribe. He recalled the last time had had battled one, of the losses of so many offworlders, of the losses he himself sustained. He had not lived through it; only resurrected by his ancestors to complete a still unknown task. He did not need to understand the high pitched screeching of the Jawa. If anything, he was almost becoming accustomed to it even if this time it may have been even more excitable, if that was even possible. Leaping, Rruror’rur’rr slid into a sprint down the sand as he dufked from sight quickly outdistancing the Jawa and his ragtag crew of machines. Racing past the downed ship, the Tusken slowed as he beheld The Crate. He had been offworld before and even he knew a thing or two about getting around. Landing here meant there probably was not a space port or at least one they could readily access. Many of these star-strewn sojourners were attached to such craft, much like a Tusken and his Bantha. To leave this one . . . Rru’s eyes turned to where Zeris rocketed away from yet another explosion as it’s reverberations were absorbed into the planet itself; yet another incentive to their attackers that they were not easy prey. She would be no different and she was his ticket off this forsaken world. The downed ship, their only even somewhat conceivable hope. And so Rru slowed, diving for cover behind the hulk of freighter as it smoldered in the ground. His gaderffi would be of little use at this point he feared, but, Rru’s mind wandered to a possible solution before alighting on one. Charging into the ship, the Tusken began to desecrate what remained of any neatly organized piles of supplies. Most had been thrown asunder by the crash; but in the chaos, Tru managed to find it. He had to shove a heavy wad of cargo netting off the crate, but there it was, the box full of mines. Given Kiv’s fearful reaction and even a rudimentary explanation, Rruror’rur’rr knew the explosive laden pressure discs were not something to be taken lightly. With the screech of nails on deckplates, Rru pressed his back to the crate as he forcibly walked it towards the maw yawning to the world outside until the crate tumbled out and open. Hopping down, the Tusken held a pair of mines up in each hand as he grunted at the passing security droid. It was worth a shot. Hitting the activator switch on the first, Rru would have 15 seconds before the weapon was active. He sent it frisbeeing through the air where it landed with a grav-locking thump on the ground before burying itself just beneath the loose sandy surface. And so he continued, mine after mine, all while keeping a watchful eye on the approaching abomination.
  15. Clasping his rifle over his head, Rru let out a final angry sand-clad bellow to the sky before dropping back to his covered position and leveling the battered cycler back onto the rapidly devolving battlefield. Whatever these raiders were, they clearly had not expected this much of a fight. Clearly they were not true warriors, he mused noting how the rabble disintegrated before the onslaught of mechanized demonry his allies unleashed upon their attackers. With he, a cursed and condemned, yet saved holy protector of Tatooine by their side, there was little chance of loss. CRACK His rifle rang out again, sending a smoking trail chasing along from a fleeing skiff’s engine compartment. Wait for it . . . The vehicle continued on it’s haphazard pursuit as it rounded about for another pass, her aged deckgun thump thumping in a steady bass line of the song of chaos that seemed to carry across the trash-strewn lands. It turned and continental to bear down towards where Rru and @Klu Kiv were positioned, raining down red blaster bolts. Crink. Chink. Another round locked into the chamber of the sandblasted weapon. Wait for it . . . Rru took aim at the exposed pilot of the craft. He really would rather not get run over. If experience had taught him anything, unmanned craft had a horrible tendency to veer hard to the left or right when their control was not conscious to guide them. Wait for it . . . KABLAM!!!! WHOOSH!!!!!! The incendiary round had burnt its way into the engine block, carried partway by the kinetic energy of the Tusken’s shot. The rest boiled down to the eruption of the explosive ammunition in a contained space as it engulfed the already heated motor, eventually igniting the mixture of volatile and flammable liquids within. With a battlefield shaking explosion the entire skiff and anyone or thing within 20 feet of the thing were engulfed in a greasy fireball of billowing black smoke. Bits of skiff, baked gank, and other unidentified bits sprayed outwards in every direction. Even Rru paused for a moment, impressed by the shot. That sleazy Jawa sure knew how to get his hands in some interesting stuff. Shouldering his rifle on its strap, Rru slid down the mound of metal careful not to snag on any jutting pieces of razored junk. Alighting to his feet at the bottom, the man’s gaderffi fell into place in his hands. The thing was more an extension of his being than a separate weapon at this point. Whirling about in a vortex of black sackcloth and glinting beskar, the phantomed sandman swung. His weapon gave a low whuuuuump as it cut through the air and lethal speeds before it’s club-spiked end impacted grizzily into the armored cranium of a gank killer rounding the mound of metal. The mercenary dropped like a sack of hubba gourds. Had he been clad in the traditional robes of a Jedi and had his metal tribal weapon been a humming blade of energy, the kill would have been graceful, something almost holovid-quality-esque. As it was, the sucking sound of the weapon leaving the crushed cranium was anything but pleasant. Not that any of that was processed by Rruror’rur’rr as he gave himself over to the moment; his every action led by the guidance of his ancestral voices, their spirits empowering his every action. He was already spinning away, somersaulting in a spinning airborne maneuver over the volley of heavy blasterfire the fallen Gank’s two brethren unleashed where the Tusken had been standing. The glinting beskar lashed out ripping the throat from one Gank. A moment later the opposite end of the weapon caved in the head of the second. And before their bodies hit the sand, Rruror’rur’rr landed behind them, gaderffi held out to one side, blood dripping from the pointed ends. Running forward, the warrior hooked the ankle of the next mercenary, a haggard looking Gammorean, toppling it to the ground and kicking his axe across the sands out of reach. Using the momentum, Rru pressed forward, gently clanking the rounded bend of his weapon against the Jawa’s nearest droid companion. Just enough to be slightly irritating and catch the mechanical being’s attention. He let loose a low guttural snarl that needed no translation, stay out of his way. And he was off, a whirling dervish upon the battlefield, carried by the force itself, manifest in the guidance of his Tusken ancestors. It was no wonder the primitives of yore saw the Jedi and Sith as demons, wizards, and messengers of the gods.
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