Craede

JOB NEEDED! Be it Sith apprentice, Jedi killer, bounty hunter or bartender! I will take the job. Nothing is to extreme for me! Of course, pay will be in order. So come on! ((OOC: Sorry.. this is mainly of boredom...))

Craedes ship sailed through the blackness of space.

After what seemed like months, Craede finally got fed up with waiting for the Imperials to call him. They aren't calling... he thought. I'm just fooling myself. He finished up the MRE he'd found and returned to the site in whence he'd come. It was abandoned. Sadly, he took his ship and left the atmosphere.

Last Day! Craede was borderline dead. He was completely dehydrated, and starving, too. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt a hand push him over. Shade covered his whole body, and he welcomed it like a warm hug. A pause in the action, and then a thud! He blinked a few times, and then realized he wasn't dead. The 'thud' was a package, and upon closer inspection, he found out it was an MRE. He welcomed it, and then tore into it like an animal. After five minutes, Craede realized something; where did it come from? He looked around, and saw a Jedi and another person. The Jedi looked like he was bulliing the other. And I thought the Jedi were supposed to be peacefull.. he thought. Craede finished the meal, and he stood up, refreshed. When he started to walk though, he stumbled. Not from a physical problem, but from a datapad. After reading it, he assumed it was the other that dropped it. Half walking half stumbling, he went over to thank. "Ahem. Sir, I'd like to thank you. On behalf of the Hell Hounds, I would be honored to trade my life for you." Craede looked at the "Jedi." He didn't seem very.. Jedi-ish. "Jedi, you are a disgrace to your kind. I've seen better acting SITH than you! I bid you two farewell. Again, on behalf of the Hell Hounds, you are welcome anytime. By the way, my name is Craede." With that, he turned around to return to the Hell Hound base.

((OOC: Sorry, forgot. I'll post five days here)) Day 2 Craede walked along. He had enough energy for now, but he didn't know for how long. His canteen bumped on his shoulder, and his blaster hung from a slit in his pants. The desert behind him was scuffed with trooper armor footprints. He'd wanted to become a trooper, but didn't know this was part of the process. Craede stopped, unscrewing the cap from his canteen. 7/8ths remained, and he took another eight. As he was screwing the cap back on, he heard a growl come from behind him. He dropped the canteen immediatly and took out his pistol. But it was too late. The thing jumped on him from behind, and slashed at his armor. He felt the claws penetrate the armor, and rip his skin open, shedding blood. Craede hit the ground hard, his breath now removed from his body. He attempted to shake the thing off, but to no avail. Finally, after many elbowings, he managed to hurt it enough so that it scampered off a few feet. Craede stood up quick, grabbing his pistol and aiming it at the thing. He fired of a shot, and then a few more. Some hit the beastie, but most missed. What did hit, didn't inflict much damage. The thing charged again, but Craede had anticipated the move. He rolled to the side, and hit the thing as he was jumping over his head with the butt of his gun. It flipped over, its stomach revealed. Craede took advantage of this, and sent multiple shots into the things stomach. It stopped wiggling, obviously dead. Craede holstered his gun, and moved towards the thing. It was small, but it sufficed as a pillow. He'd need rest to heal his back. Craede still felt the slashings on his back. The dead body also served another purpose: to ward off other predators. Slowly Craede lied down, and fell asleep. Day 3 Craede woke up, and was immediatly hit by a wave of nauseating pain. He back felt swollen, and it hurt immensly. Aside from this, he was OK. Looking at his makeshift pillow, he discovered it was covered in flies. He made sure he had his water and gun, and moved on. Wait, I have an idea... Craede turned back, walking up towards the corpse. He aimed it in the direction he was walking. He had hoped to use it as a landmark, helping him find his way back. He then resumed his walk. The desert held no pity for him. It's dry air surrounded him, and took his thirst and served it to him. Craede's water sufficed him, and another eight was gone. He stopped. Not 30 feet in front of him was a huge pool of nice, ice cold water. It looked like a lake, but in Tatooine? He began his walk again, slowly at first, but then accelerating until he hit a run. When he was three feet away from the lake, it dissapeared. It shimmered out of existence; Craede had fallen for one of the greatest tricks of nature: a mirage. He fell, his mind totally let down. Involuntarily, he closed his eyes, and fell into a sleep. Day 4 Wake up... wake up, although he didn't want too, he followed his thought's directions and awakened. His body felt shriveled, almost like he was shrinking. "But.. thats... not possible." He throat was dry, and he cackled when he spoke. He removed the cap from his canteen, down 3/8ths of his water. He didn't care about conserving it any more. He highly doubted he would live. At first, the quest seemed possible, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed impossible. Craede shuffled along in the desert. His armor felt 300 pounds heavier now, and he debated taking it off. He considered: If I take it off, they'll probably make me buy another one. That would be unpleasent, as the whole reason I joined the Imperials is because I had no money. The alternative is that I keep it on, and risk dying. Man, the odds just keep getting better, don't they? He kept the armor on. The twin suns beat down on him, and he sweat more than he'd sweat in his life. Water flooded his helmet, making him choke on the sweat. He took it off, and gulped fresh air. Day 5 After 4 miles of walking, he finally fell down, not able to get up. His canteen bounced away from him, and he didn't attempt to get it. The blaster touched his hand, and an idea came to him. Suicide. That's it. I'm going to do it. Slowly he pulled out the blaster and put it up to his head. But before he could do it, fatigue tore at him, and he slept.

"Go out into the Dune Seas and survive. We will com you when to come in. Now get out of here," the officer said. Craede already didn't like him, but what can you do at this rank? "Aye aye, Sir," Craede responded. Craede took the pistol and canteen, which he strapped over his shoulder, and left. He carefully noted the direction he went in, so he had at least a small idea of which way he'd come from. The pistol started to get sweaty in his hand, so he shifted hands. He'd come at least a mile since the camp, and already he felt lonely. Much better. I work better when I'm alone. Shielding his eyes, he continued the long march. His water canteen hit his hip, making a slish shlosh, slish slosh sound pattern. He stopped walking, and undid the canteen strap. Craede was having a hard time, so he dropped the pistol and unscrewed the cap. Despite the fact that he wanted to drink all of it at once, he knew he'd regret it; he didn't know how long he'd be out here, anyway. After he took his drink, he redid the cap and picked up his pistol. There's no way I can keep this in my hand, he thought. So he ripped a slit in his pants, right near his upper leg, and stored the pistol there. The cold, metallic gun touched his leg, and sent a warm shiver up his spine. Already he felt dehydrated. He'd have to fix that.

The transport ship came out of hyperspace fast, maybe a little to much. It maintained speed until it came within proximity of the sand-surrounded planet, at which he heard the engines quiet down a little. The other stormtroopers also heard it, because they began to re-pack their bags and whatnot. Craede himself put his magazine away and stood up, stretching a much-needed stretch. A loud THUD! was heard through the ship, announcing the end of their monotonous trip, and the exit ramp was lowered. Craede was the second one out, and on to Tatooine. There, he went to the camp, and saluted to the highest-ranking officer he denoted by the medals, ribbons and other assorted badges. "Sir, Private Craede sent here by request of Evan Kerry. He requested I be trained as a Hell Hound. Orders, Sir?" He held the salute.

All of a sudden, Craede heard "Finally someone with the balls to interrupt my thoughts. Tells me you have guts, and lots of them. I think you would do well with the Hell Hounds. Head to Docking Bay 653 and take the shuttle to Tattooine for Hell Hound training." Craede nodded. "Yes sir. I will do that." As Craede was leaving, he heard a mumble. "Never interupt me again without my permission, or your guts and balls will be on this floor. Got it?" Craede turned back around and looked at the metallic floor upon which Evan was referring to. He looked back up and said "Aye aye sir. Loud and clear." With that, he left for docking bay 653. Looking around, Craede tried to find 653. He followed a promising hall, counting in his head. Six-fifty one.... six-fifty two.... Ah, here we are: Docking bay six-fifty three." He opened a hatch, and stepped into a transport. Fifteen minutes to take-off. Thank you for flying Imperial Spacelines. He sat down and took a magazine. Fifteen minutes later, he was off for Tatooine.

Finally, he found someone important looking (Evan). Craede slowly approached the man, not knowing what to say. And then he realized: I'm supposed to be in the army, not in some wussy place. Reflecting back upon this thought, he stood upright and spoke to the man after giving a salute. "Sir, I am Private Craede. I will be frank, sir, I have no clue what to do." Craede stood with the salute still present, awaiting a response.

The docking transport ship hit with a thud. Craede braced himself against the cold, hard steel and in turn, prevented a fall. Otherwise, the trip went unhindered. The exit ramp lowered, and Craede, along with about 50 more troops, exited the gargantuan ship. What the hell am I doing? he thought, lost in concentration. He walked blindly across the floor, looking for someone important.

Real Name: Craede Merimerria Nickname: Craede Age: 16 Species: Human Height: 6'0" Weight: 125 Hair: Brown Eyes: Brown Sex: Male Homeworld: Coruscant Alignment: Neutral Clothing: Normal Clothes Weapon: Blaster Non-Force User Inventory: Few credits, computer skills Posessions: Ship, called Craedes Hound