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Nal Hutta


Dagon

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Barga returned to his family home on the outskirts of Bilbousa, the planet's capital.

 

His mother had died several months earlier, a combination of stress, old age and being shot in the face by an assassin. The old Hutt had grown careless, and her son, not wishing to see the House of Vermiliac fall any further than it had under the incompetent administration of his mother, had arranged an accident. When that failed he simply arranged for her to take several blaster bolts to the face instead; there was nobody else to challenge his power in the family, and so no need for secrecy. Paternicide was a time-honoured Hutt method of climbing through the ranks, and the only real fallout was mild approval, though the other Hutt families still looked down on Vermiliac Kajidic, if they thought of them at all.

 

Barga slithered into the modestly sized estate, and was greeted by his stand-in majordomo, his mother's old protocol droid.

 

"Sire," said the droid in Huttese, "the spice operation on Sevarcos II has produced their first shipment."

 

"Have it distributed to our contacts on Corellia, Tatooine and Nar Shaddaa," he instructed in his deep bass. "And have some nala tree frogs brought to me. I think I've been losing weight with all this stress."

 

"At once, Sire," replied the droid.

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  • 1 month later...

A few Weequay patrolled the walkways leading a few moderately sized enclosed packages on repulsor carts into a subterranean hideout. The crates weren't encrypted, but they were locked tight and as the lead Weequay approached the hatch, he collected his black card and went inside.

 

_____________________________________________________

 

 

A few hours later the Weequay left the hideout, all of them armed and clothed in composite armor.

 

Then, as if some preordained order of a deity were pushing them to do so, the Weequay immediately reported to a moderately sized palace that Dordjooba had erected in his name while he was gone. There was another entrance to the subterranean hideout in the palace, but the Weequay seemed to stop just outside and set-up a well organized and well thought out pattern of pacing, which managed to cover quite a bit of the large Hutt estate.

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  • 6 years later...

So thick even the ship's air scrubbers could not seem to utterly purge it, as the ship slid through the hazy atmosphere like a Hutt's spiny tongue through a half-masticated nala tree frog, the mildewy stench of Nal Hutta permeated everything at the molecular level. Bare seconds passed, and already Kitaara felt unclean, as unclean as the first time she had arrived, covered in days worth of jungle filth and standing on the block at the spaceport where Makk had found her.

 

Under Haphaestus' guidance, she brought the ship to an adequate, albeit shaky, landing just inside Bilbousa, the capital city of Nal Hutta. When the landing sequence had been completed, she turned to her teacher.

 

"The being I seek is a human, a slaver named Raphazh Makk. While I know his old haunts here, he tends to travel in a circuit across the planet, and it's unpredictable where he may be at any given time. How will we find him?"

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For when devils do the blackest sins put on, they do suggest at first with heavenly shows...

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"We will attempt to establish a connection trace if we cannot find him by more conventional means," Haphaestus answered. "To get a fix on his position, you need only make comm contact with the target. If he is on the move, of course, a single position will be inadequate, but you may be able to pose as a potential customer or business partner and arrange a meeting between you."

 

The mechanical hybrid SIth Master stood and headed for the boarding ramp. "I will support you technically and strategically, but this is your operation. You may put me to work on a task if you desire and as you have need, but you must learn to rely on your own abilities and words to get you to Makk, and you will kill him yourself."

 

He looked out across the city as they disembarked. Nal Hutta was a putrid world, and Hutts had a deplorable taste for a flavor of opulence that was painfully small minded. They would gorge their appetite for food and chemicals while surrounding themselves with slaves and lackeys, pretending that they had real power. In fact Bilbousa was a motley collection of monochrome buildings and slums dotted by garish palaces and neon signs dispensing mendacious claims about dubious products, many of which had dangerous or addictive properties that made them illegal on more civilized worlds. The Hutts had subjugated the proletariat masses through economic exploitation, and thus had created an entire culture of beings who either despised them openly or did so in secret while obsequiously attempting to curry enough favor to be blessed with some inconsequential boon of credits or influence of their own to make their pathetic lives slightly less intolerable.

 

Haphaestus recognized that even armies of mercenaries and toadies could occasionally achieve military victory, and the Hutt clans had at times had substantial influence on galactic events, but their power was a pale shadow of what they could obtain through creating a powerful and versatile society through the crafting of policy and proper investment of wealth into progressive endeavors rather than glittering trinkets and expanding harems. For one such as Haphaestus himself, their lifestyle held no allure whatsoever, and even their lifespans -- which were considerable among biologicals -- were meaningless compared to the passing of galactic eras and the untold eons that he himself might witness.

 

Perhaps the greatest thing he would ever gain from this world was the blood of one of its many corrupt denizens to power his apprentice's lightsaber. "Perhaps the local directory will provide us with his business line or the location of an office he might oversee," he suggested.

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With an obedient nod, Kitaara began tracing the familiar path of the spaceport to the registration office. Many palms had been greased in this building such that she and her fellow slaves might go unnoticed. It was time to see if some of the tricks of the trade she had witnessed as a child could be used to her advantage now. With a measuring look at Haphaestus, she wondered if his opinion of her might sour if she employed some of the simpler elements of sentient persuasion to achieve their end here. The thought, however, brought the flicker of a smile to her face. Had he not been so staunch in nearly everything, bound to the utter practicality of his droid components, she might even consider the possibility that he might be developing a protective fondness for her.

 

"I will go inquire after his location," she purred, gesturing with a twitch of her lekku towards the registration counter.

 

"Excuse me," she murmured to the male of her species behind the desk. "I am looking for a friend of mine. Do you have a planetary business directory?"

 

The Twi'lek shot her a skeptical glance and rifled through some papers sitting before him. "Yes. But most people coming here already have their business plans established, they're not coming for a leisurely shopping stroll down Main Avenue."

 

Kitaara laughed, the sound fractionally too shrill and too loud to be mistaken for its false genesis. "Oh, no," she gushed congenially. "It's just that I ran into this man back on Talus who said his offices were based here. He was amazing. Charismatic, strong... he said he had a job for me."

 

The twisting knife of loathing was utterly hidden in the mask of perky possibility she presented to the desk sergeant.

 

"Well," he began hesitantly. "It couldn't hurt..."

 

"It started with an M, I think," she continued as though he had not made a single sound. "Murr, was it? Mepp? Makk?"

 

The Twi'lek visibly relaxed. "Oh, you mean Raphazh Makk, the entrepreneur."

 

"That's the one! See, I knew you could help," she leaned in coyly. Entrepreneur, was it? That's what he was going by these days?

 

The nondescript Twi'lek quickly flipped through his business directory. "Looks like we have an address for him here in Bilbousa, but I can tell you for a fact that he's on the planet. He came through here yesterday morning with another girl kind of like you. Here's the comm number," he said, jotting it down on a piece of flimsy that he thrust across the counter at her.

 

"I really can't thank you enough," she beamed at him triumphantly, crushing the flimsy in her tightening fist, a feral glint in her eye. "I'm sure I can make all the difference to his organization."

 

As she turned to stalk quietly back to Haphaestus' side, her hungry grin expanded. "We will have need of a speeder," she murmured quietly to him. "It appears the hunt is on."

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For when devils do the blackest sins put on, they do suggest at first with heavenly shows...

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Whether she realized it or not, the dark side of the Force swirled around Kitaara as she premeditated on the murder she sought to commit. Haphaestus, too, drew the power through his body, already sick of the stench of this place and seeking to make their stay brief. His eyes glowed malevolently as he stepped out into the road and his gaze came to settle briefly upon a passing speeder car and its witless driver. The Force was like a storm around the former Dark Lord as he --

 

-- crossed the street to a nearby waiting taxi speeder and paid the driver in advance for a ride to the address Kitaara had obtained. The credits Lemnos Industries was beginning to make due to their hard work on Nubia opened legal, financial pathways to getting common tasks done without need for senseless violence. Haphaestus preferred to keep a low profile when possible despite his intimidating appearance. Even for the Sith, it was better to be law-abiding whenever possible and to obtain advantages against one's enemies legally. Haphaestus had no distaste for killing his enemies or smashing his way through their defenses, and he was an excellent warrior, but such actions often carried consequences on civilized worlds that necessitated careful consideration and cost-benefit analysis lest they spiral into an unbreakable chain of further violence that led to closed doors of opportunity.

 

He had shared his views on matters such as these with Kitaara early in her instruction, but she was yet untested in the field, and he was curious to see how she handled Makk. The fact that he had not armed her would perhaps help shape her plan. In any case, he would not hold any means she used against her, as long as she was successful, on a world like Nal Hutta.

 

The taxi ride lasted several minutes and they sat in silence. Whatever Kitaara was thinking, she did not barrage her Master with questions and requests for advice. She was already capable of this task.

 

Soon the speeder arrived. "Remain here," Haphaestus told the driver. "We will not be long."

 

He rose out of his seat and handed Kitaara a clear vial. "You will need approximately this much liquid to forge your crystal," he said.

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Kitaara nodded as she accepted the vial from Haphaestus and kept her silence--only because she thought she might otherwise vomit. Taking the life of such scum seemed to be of service to the galaxy at large. No, it was not guilt: she was certain that no one would mourn him, but his pull on the purely instinctual parts of her brain could not be suppressed so easily.

 

Electric anticipation tingled to the tips of her lekku. Breathing deeply, she reached into the Force for stability as she searched the impassive face of her teacher for anything that she could take with her: a word of command or suggestion that might empower her. When no such admonition came after the briefest of hesitations, Kitaara turned on her heel and moved toward the building.

 

It was several stories tall, with terraced balconies ascending toward what looked to be a rooftop garden from her vantage point. Gritting her teeth together, she swung open the archaic front door. Immediately as she stepped inside she knew that her choice of clothing had been correct. Rather than opting for her more practical training gear or cargo pants, Kitaara had selected a short, low-cut dress that accentuated the barest bit of curve that her body was beginning to adopt after weeks of adequate nutrition and physical conditioning.

 

The inside of the office building that was listed as belonging to Makk was, in fact, not an office at all. A dingy bar and hookah den littered with equally unkempt sentient life forms: females of all types displaying their desirability for profit or barest carnal urges. They were beneath her, all of them, and yet she knew precisely how to play their game. She scanned the room for the object of her vengeance, and before long, her gaze fell on a set of broad shoulders seated at the bar.

 

Only then did the realization hit her: she had no idea how she was to perform her task. She could tackle him, get a few good blows in, and scream curses before the bouncers would escort her out. Even her use of the Force would likely not be sufficient to retrieve a sampling of his blood and retreat unscathed. The eventual disapproval of Haphaestus was obvious without necessitating any action where such a plan was concerned. Alternatively, she could probably even steal his blood without killing him outright.

 

But the growling Nexu in her gut would not allow for such an easy pardon. No, she would wield the weapons of the trade he had forced upon her, and in the end, she would destroy him with them.

 

Angling her head such that Haphaestus could hear her over the din of the place, she murmured, "You need not come with me. I will not fail."

 

Sidling up to the garishly-dressed Makk, she edged out the scarlet Togruta who was practically drooling at his elbow.

 

"Excuse me, Raphazh Makk?" she asked, sultry tone dripping like perfume from her words. He raised an eyebrow as he turned, his gaudy accoutrement accentuating the lines that the previous ten years had etched on his face rather than serving to disguise them. Hungrily, he looked her over, but there was no flicker of recognition in his eyes. The thought emboldened her further.

 

"Hello, what have we here?" he sneered, taking her blue-skinned hand in his and pressing it to his greasy lips. "I am he. To what do I owe the pleasure, miss...?"

 

"Tovaa," she interjected instinctively, substituting her brother's name where she dared not give her own. Her mind spun the web in which to trap this fly, and on an instinct, Kitaara leaned into it, weaving the foundation of her snare with her words. "Ivaani Tovaa. I have a business on Nar Shaddaa, and a mutual friend pointed me in your direction. I have a unique--product, shall we say?--that isn't, strictly speaking, legal, and unfortunately several of my importers have recently gone out of business. I am looking to replenish my stock. Current clients are getting a little bored of the 'usual', if you understand my meaning. Is there someplace we can speak in private?"

 

The small speech she gave him was heavy with insinuations. At some level, it pained her to offer the kind of speech she had overheard uttered from the man sitting before her. But she was committed now.

 

His lecherous grin expanded as he tossed back the rest of his greenish-yellow drink and slammed the glass back down onto the bar's surface before taking her arm in his. "I thought you'd never ask," he gloated. "I have a private stateroom--"

 

She held up her hand, looking at him with a deadened sarcasm. "Please, don't take me for a fool. I mean somewhere that our conversation will not be recorded. I pride myself in taking precautions to avoid blackmail," she grinned at him.

 

"I see," he drawled, but the amusement on his face did not abate. The cheeky response played into his own personal preferences. "There's a lovely open-air garden on the roof."

 

The hand that had halted him now paved the way, gesturing toward the turbolift. "Lead the way," she purred, though she did not miss the shadowy bodyguards that mirrored her movements from a couple meters' distance.

 

---

 

The turbolift belched them out into the sweltering humid air of Nal Hutta, and Kitaara had to shield her eyes against the sudden brightness; such a heavy contrast from the curated dark within. She made a show of breathing deeply the muddy, malodorous atmosphere before turning to her erstwhile business partner. "This is a nice change of pace," she grinned impishly at him. "Now, back to business. Our mutual friend has informed me that you keep a steady supply of product that ships from Ryloth, is this true?"

 

The amusement on his face utterly vanished and a wary glint took its place. "Slander. Who told you this?"

 

"Confidential, I'm afraid," she said quickly, trying to wave off his concern, "but you don't have to play dumb with me--"

 

A dawning familiarity came onto his face, and Kitaara realized a great mistake: she was now framed by the swampy jungle of Nal Hutta instead of the grimy underbelly of this scum's habitat. She had placed herself in the correct context in his memory.

 

He wore no blaster, but his hand darted to his belt where his comlink surely resided. Her arm shot out as though to hold him back, but instead, the primal urge of her fury sent him reeling, a slap from the invisible hand of the Force. Confused eyes looked up at her. "You're one of my lek-rats," he spat. "Blue Lothja guttersnipe."

 

A cupped hand lifted him aloft, the noose of the Force tightening around his neck, as Kitaara dangled him over the edge of the building, her hatred a roiling sea behind her eyes. "GUARDS!" he hollered hoarsely, but given her stranglehold, the sound came out as a whisper.

 

"How could you have forgotten, Raph?" she hissed, taking measured steps toward his kicking legs. "Did I mean so little to you?"

 

"Just business--supply and demand--please let go, I'll do anything--" he choked.

 

The playful grin on her face vanished. "I seem to remember a mere child screaming those words in the dead of night. And I wasn't the only one."

 

Climbing ivy snaked down the long wall at the rear of the building where she teased his existence. A feral grin appeared on her face as she observed this.

 

"Rot in hell, schutta." Her fingers tightened, severing his spine, then released him to tumble down five stories to the pavement below, where he landed with a sickening crunch.

 

Swinging her legs over the side, Kitaara began to scale down the side of the wall, using the creeping vines, the wide windowsills of the old-style building and the Hutt-sized ramps to her advantage. The alley where she had dropped him was fairly abandoned, but it would likely not be long until someone came looking. With only two stories left, she let go, landing roughly on her feet and rolling to within several meters of the spilled body of Raphazh Makk. Quickly unstoppering the vial that Haphaestus had given her, she placed it into the thick pool framing her victim's head like a halo. When she had taken what she needed, she straightened and walked purposefully back around the side of the building toward the taxi, brushing the dust off her dress in dark satisfaction.

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For when devils do the blackest sins put on, they do suggest at first with heavenly shows...

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Haphaestus emerged from the front of the building just as Kitaara finished her grisly task. He noticed her hide the vial with her bloodstained fingers as she approached the taxi. No one inside the building had even an inkling of what had happened, but it wouldn't take them long to figure it out, and Kitaara's face would no doubt be on some security footage, even if the act itself was not. In short, they would need to make a swift exit from the premises if they did not wish to confront an angry and violent crowd of sycophants and drug addicts which would continue to grow over time.

 

The pair of them piled into the taxi. The driver, too, noticed Kitaara's ruffled dress and blood-marked fingertips, and opened his mouth to say something.

 

"Better not to ask," Haphaestus intoned.

 

The driver shut his mouth. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking," he said after a moment. "Back to the spaceport?"

 

"Please," the Sith Master answered.

 

The ride back took 37 seconds longer than it had to get to Makk's den due to traffic fluctuations, but soon enough Haphaestus and Kitaara were back aboard their temporary vessel. "You have done well," he told her. "See how the dark side has already begun to empower you. So much more awaits if you remain dedicated to your training and education as you have been thus far. You are worthy to carry a lightsaber and this proves it.

 

"We will need access to the forge to create your crystal, so let us return to Nubia." He headed towards the cockpit, but sat in the copilot's chair this time. "I believe you will find liftoff considerably easier than landing, once you have been through the necessary preflight checklists."

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After changing out of her rumpled dress and washing the crimson stains off of her fingers, Kitaara rejoined Haphaestus in the cockpit. Conscientiously, she went over the preflight checklists until her teacher had given her the go-ahead to get far away from Nal Hutta as quickly as possible.

 

Without a single glance behind at the swampy brownish planet, their ship shot into hyperspace, destination Nubia.

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For when devils do the blackest sins put on, they do suggest at first with heavenly shows...

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  • 3 months later...

<>

 

The young twi’lek winced as a little drop of the nectarine muja juice she was carrying spilled on the wookiee shag carpeting that covered the floor of the miniature throne room located in the heart of the Immortal Soul. She froze in her tracks, fear in all its amusement leaking off of her like a hearty musk. His large amphibian tongue flicked across his lips, coating them in another thick voluptuous layer of fatty slime.

 

<

 

There was an upheaval of laughter from the crowd that surrounded the dias, and a mandalorian bounty hunter slapped his knee a little too overenthusiastically. Typical of the slag of bounty hunters Kalimore like to keep around him at all times. A great many of them were simply too lazy or scared to do much standing up to him, and this one was no exception. Kalimore whisked out a flabby arm and grabbed the goblet of juice, draining it with one gulp before hurling it into the head of the slave girl. He didn’t want any more spills from her. Other than the blood she was now coughing up all over the nice shag carpeting. He rolled his large eyes and one of the pig like Gamorreans put her out of her misery. He sighed and the music continued, leaving a partially naked corpse the only thing to not be dancing.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Kalimore flicked through the holonet channels with his goopy fat fingers on an all-too-small remote transceiver and a gurgle of frustration escaped his bulbous throat. The slave girl, a slender underage echani with pearl white hair, flinched noticeably and climbed up a little further on his folds so that she could reach the remote. With the expert precision of a girl long used to the task of navigating holonet channels she flipped the huge wall display to a quad viewing of three podraces and a slam ball tournament. He appreciated the slave, she was his best, and one whose cybernetic unit made her the most loyal and deadly of any of the slaves in his court and she was pretty in the human way. He preferred slaves that had enough meat on their bones to resemble his own mother, but fat slaves were not commonly found on Nal Hutta.

 

She deposited the remote back in his slimy hand and scooted back down to the dias seating she usually took, her legs dangling off the meter fall to the shag carpeted decking. He saw a transmission on his comm for a shipment of slaves offworld, several thousand...He accessed his stocks and noted that such an order would deplete him to half his stock and with a couple more pushes of oversized buttons he ordered his hunters to find him ten thousand more. That would surely be enough to cover his operation expenditure. Especially if the GA was falling, there was ample opportunity to exploit now undefended populations. He licked his puffy lips , the terror in the galaxy was palpable, it was so delicious to behold.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Public Transport. Yuck!

 

Ambrose Veshok hefted his bulky duffel in one hand and wiggled his way off of the overcrowded transport ship into the swelling sweltering masses of Nal Hutta. The Stormtrooper had never been a fan of public transport in any form, be it nerf drawn cart, citi-hooverbus, or interstellar taxi services, but when duty called for it, duty called for it and he followed. His bulky bag contained the bare essentials, Veshok’s storm trooper armor and gear, his DLT-20A slung openly over his shoulder and his Flechette pistol and a duo of grenades, one concussion one stun tucked into the folds of his baggy poncho-esque travelling garb.

 

Undercover work, yet another thing Veshok didn’t like. Imperial stormtrooper Corps were the elite, despite the rumors to the contrary regarding their shooting abilities. Veshok’s eight marksmanship ribbons would attest to that. However, Nal Hutta was not exactly Imperial Remnant turf; nor was it on the radar for Imperial takeover any time soon. Instead, he and his squad, The Frozen Jexxels, had been called off from their return to Carida and rerouted to Nal Hutta via ‘unofficial’ means. Their mission: Establish a forward base and await reinforcements.

 

Veshok’s commanding officer had already studied plans of Bilbousa, Nal Hutta’s capital city, and selected a supposedly mostly abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city – mostly. Nearby was where Veshok and the others from his squad were supposed to meet up. Once there, they’d suit up. A quick raid and the warehouse should be theirs. Fortify it. Await further orders. The plan was simple, provided no Hutt thugs decided to bring a bevy of working-class girls for an all night swinger; and if they did? Well, then there’d be a bit more bloodshed and some newfound freedom for the oppressed and underprivileged of Nal Hutta.

 

With a knowing nod at his travel companion, a fellow undercover stormtrooper, the duo moved within site of one another but not close enough to be associated by the casual passerby. Soon enough the crowds had thinned and the duo found themselves picking their way through the litter lined Hutt controlled alleys nearing the warehouse. Rounding the corner of a dilapidated building just as the sun was setting, the duo ran headlong into the remaining members of The Frozen Jexxels.

 

Veshok offered a quick smile at his comrades and faux salute to his C.O. before they were ordered down an alley attached to the alley they were in. There the squad unloaded their duffels, each donning an identical light gray storm trooper uniform complete with black body glove underneath. In the span of less than a quarter of a standard hour the ten man squad was suited up, identical symbols of Imperial authority and morality. Giving his rifle a quick check to be sure it was at full power, Veshok, officially designated RG-126, was ready to go.

 

The ten man team spread out. Before them was the derelict warehouse. Aside from the main loading port, which appeared to have not been opened in several years, judging by the debris and rubbish that had accumulated in front of it, there were only 3 doors into the warehouse. Specs on buildings of a criminal world like this were next to impossible to obtain; but with the right connections in Imperial Intelligence one could get plans for similar warehouses built elsewhere in the galaxy. If those plans were anything to go by most of the warehouse was a large empty space, sans whatever was being stored there, with anywhere between one and five rooms lining the backmost walls.

 

With a single command, the entire squad worked like a well-oiled machine. Training together for years there was hardy another word uttered between them; there did not need to be. They knew each other, how their brothers acted, who would go left, who would go right, and when. Inside, a single engineless hulk of a construction loader sat parked, listing heavily towards its right side sat surrounded by a chaotic array of tools and parts, long since abandoned. As the doors crashed open almost in unison, sending a duo of Nunas scampering for cover under the loader.

 

Finding the main holding area clear, the teams broke formations from their entry and divided up to secure the loader and the rooms. Veshok and comrade moved into the second of the three rooms.

”Imperials. Don’t move!” Veshok ordered as he rounded the corner and found a cowering Vodran with his face covered in his shoulder, curled in a ball on the floor with his hands in the air. Another homeless washout courtesy of the Hutts

Clearing the room and leading their single prisoner back out into the main room, the Vodran was added to a group consisting of a dirty twi’lek woman and her two children, a drunken Balosar who was slumped on the floor drooling on himself, ”Had to stun ‘im” one of his fellow troopers explained, gesturing to the drooling mass with the barrel of his E-11. The only other person they had found was an extremely old and crippled human dressed in filthy rags ranting about being a veteran of the Clone Wars.

 

”Get them up and out of here. These should be enough for their troubles and to keep their mouths shut,” their C.O. ordered, flicking a fistful of Peggats at the group.

 

Veshok and three others quickly escorted the group, dragging the passed out drunk several blocks away. A quick sweep of the area confirmed there was not any immediate threats to the group, and with that Veshok and his brethren returned to the warehouse, where the remaining troopers had already started securing the doors and setting up an ad hoc command post in the first of the rooms.

”As usual, nobody got hurt.”

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News of Imperials infiltrating the capital city of the Hutts would carry a hefty price on the black market, and even heftier prize when reported to the Hutts themselves. Though the imerial’s exact numbers were not known, the twi’lek and the old drunken Balosaur individually went to separate brokers on planet and sold their information for a price enough to get them off the slimy congested planet, and perhas even a cadet placement for the older twi’lek son, should she save the money right. Of course being the amazing mother that she was, she spent it all on ryll and glitterstim within a week. Which the hutts were all to happy to provide.

 

Kalimore himself was not all too distressed initially about the rumours of imperials taking over a derelict warehouse in the middle of the capital. But…..

 

There had been those holocommunications about ending slavery and the sith galaxy wide. Perhaps they would strike here? A neutral world? Kalimore decided to play it safe and dispatched a twenty man team from his palace to investigate. They were not heavily armed men, but they would do the job to clear the building, even it it was empty. The rodian commander Delashan gestured to a homeless vagrant in the street to move away from the building as the trandoshan beside him leveled a plex launcher at hte main entryway.

 

With a whoosh a long plume of fire errupted at the door and the men entered, their blasters up and ready to engage.

 

((1))

((So lets play at tactical squad movement. Lay out where your men are and how they react to this group of hodgepodge crappy criminals breeching their outer defenses. Considering their setup was not quiet and you had set up defenses, you should have a few seconds to respond before the blast hits. This will end in a duel of npcss and yourself versus Delashan and his men

 

Use your men tactically, and I will do likewise.))

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The squad had only been in place for a few hours. In that time, they had been able to set up a makeshift command post as well as secure the three standardized doors as best they could; finally, they, in typical militaristic imperial fashion, had taken to tidying up some of the mess and debris lying about until the main room in the warehouse, save for the hulking shell of a loader, was truly empty. All of this had been done without the removal of their standardized storm trooper armor or weapons left out of reach.

 

So when the 1st of the three exterior doors shook, gently alerting the entire building to something and dissolving in a line of fire, the group was not entirely unprepared.

 

Inside the first of the three small adjacent rooms, the one that had been converted into a sort of command post for the time being, the team’s C.O. Staff Sergeant Al’far-Vani Quin’tonna was bent over a three dimension hologram of an offsite Imperial Officer, Quin’tonna was a hardened man; born and bred for generations in an old militaristic family on Coruscant that stretched back to the days of the Old Republic, he had quite literally spent his entire life preparing for military service. Next to him stood Sgt. Ambrose Veshok who, up until this point had been working at a stubborn speck of scoring along the barrel of his rifle. As the outside door went up in flames, SSgt Quin’tonna’s head shot up looking to the door as he grabbed his E-11 that had been setting on the table, ”Rocket fire,” he said as both he and Veshok spun to the door, Veshok kneeling, his DLT-20a leveled around the partial cover of the doorframe in the direction of the incinerated doorway; above him, Quin’tonna’s E-11 was aimed at the point of entry, standing behind and above Veshok.

 

In the third room, Lance Corporal Gurn Slavnak, once a questionable interplanetary arms dealer who had enlisted into the Imperial Army to avoid jail time on some backwater planet or another, plopped his helmet on at the sound of the doorframe outside disintegrating. Explosions were no stranger to the grizzled ex-criminal. Explosions were, as he might say, his spesh-ee-al-ity. Glancing out the door to the left and right he saw Vaniquin’tonna and Veshok’s partially obscured forms in the doorway two rooms down, guns aimed past him at the now enflamed doorway. Slavnak wordlessly assumed a similar stance in his own doorway as ‘Duke’ came scurrying over from where he had been with his fellow troopers. In truth, Duke’s name was Alpha Von Alphastein; supposedly he was the discredited heir to some fortune somewhere or another, but he refused to talk about. History didn’t matter at this moment though, as Duke fell into a kneeling position underneath Slavnak in the doorway, another duo of rifles aimed at the breach point.

 

From where Alphastein had scurried away from, the remaining trio of troopers with just whispers and hand signals broke away from their discussion on Zeltrons or Twi’leks and who made better lovers.

 

The Thundering Diplomats a.k.a. Breten Kess and Ben Hadel, from the peaceful world of Naboo and Alderaan respectively, found cover within the decrepit loader’s yawning toothed bucket that was held just above the ground by the hulking once-machine. Both rehelmed in the moment it took them to spin around to cover; whilst their third comrade, Arro Flynn, a trooper that straight out of military boarding school took cover behind the bulk of the decrepit hulk, completely obscured from the entry point, eying the dual doors and sealed loading port should a surprise entry come from that direction.

 

Jan Plontrani, yet another criminal, albeit with rather violent tendencies, who had enlisted in the Imperial Army but had been transferred to the Stormtrooper corps after showing his military proficiency, moved to cover. Standing at the backdoor, which had already been secured with a crossbar and lock, stepped backwards several steps, his rifle aimed at the door, whilst he glanced between his own door and the doorway that had been breached. He only stopped moving when he found himself standing next to

VaniQuin’tonna and Veshok in the doorway of the first room, rifle still directed at his assigned doorway.

Similarly, the Mandalorian Amis Zaz, who had been watching the second yet-unbreached door, took up cover behind a nearly man high fallen tire from the loader; putting the loader between himself and the breach point but still keeping his eyes on his assigned door.

 

Finally, Corporal Luke Skynova, the once Hutt slave, freed by Imperial raid years ago, let out a cry of ”Breach!” as he back peddled away from the door towards a nearby packing crate that had been set up several steps from the door. In one swift, well trained movement, a standard Imperial concussion grenade on his utility belt was in his hand and armed and hurtling through the air towards the breached door, ”Grenade out”. The small explosive flew true and clattered through the fire and smoke out the now breached door as he leveled his rifle at the doorway, awaiting with his fellow stormtroopers the first sign of enemy combatants before opening fire.

 

All in all, eight out of the ten troopers had their rifles leveled at the breach point ready to lay down an unhealthy barrage of lethal laser fire at whoever streamed through the door first.

 

((1))

 

((Actions taken by PC: Ambrose Veshok, and identified tactical NPCs:

All swiftly moved to cover and readied their weapons for the first sign of enemy combatants. One NPC, nearest the breach point lobbed a grenade through the door. As soon as your guys make it through the door, shots will begin being fired.

I figured I’d let you call the hits on your own NPCs as you know them better than I do. Let me know if any of this needs changed. Glad this is a training scenario!))

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((Well done, now lets see how you handle losses in the second post.))

 

THe breach was opened and the twenty odd members of Kalimore’s court came charging through the smoke and rubble, blasters up and ready. Delashan taking up the middle rear. It was him that saw the cylindrical grenade spin lazily through the air and land at the feet of the charging troops. He grinned, his green skin parting to show rodian incisors and he reached out with a botted leg to trip a charging Gran female, Joplip he believed her name to be, so that she landed square on the imperial grenade. Her breach leaving her lungs in a whoosh as she cried out in surprise, about to shout out in protest before the grenade went off, splattering the Ascendancy crew with gore, meat, and viscera. Even if it was a concussion grenade, confined beneath the Gran it had channeled its ‘bang’ up and through her dead body. A fast death. Better to die instantly, Delashan thought, than to bleed out like a gutted pig on the end of an imperial vibro bayonet.

 

Though well spattered with blood, the charge didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop, they were promised freedom for the dispatch of this imperial garrison, and even Delashan wouldn’t give up on that. He strode through the grey smoke with his Dl-44 up wishing for all the world that he wasn’t stuck here with a little explosive in his neck. He would do what it took to survive.

 

The Ascendancy crew spilled through the opening like water through a siv, opening up with their blasters at the first imperials they saw. Delashan counted a few of them before their fire began to pick off his men. The twin Twi’lek girls, Miral and Tre went down hard, Tre screaming in her high pitched voice, clawing ineffectively at the smoking hole in between her beautiful breasts. Miral had been caught in her left lekku and throat by a double shot of an imperial carbine, and was laying in the pool of rapidly expanding blood and brain matter, foaming red blood bubbles at the mouth while her life expired. Her appendages strangely straight and her hands curled up, her blaster firing into the roofing on automatic mode, her finger curled around the trigger. A keen example of decerebrate posturing from the fatal brain injury. What a waste of beautiful flesh.

 

Delashan gestured and his men began to take cover and return effective fire at the imperials. Delashan himself letting loose a trio of high powered blasts at the imperial behind a crate. He winced as a blast tore through the permacrete at his side, and he returned fire before reaching to his side and pulling a cylindrical cryoban grenade from its pouch. Removing The safety pin at its base with a long practised pull, he lobbed it at a cluster of troopers.

 

This would be a long fight.

 

((2))

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Cpl Skynova was the first trooper to be encountered by the influx of nasty alien scum or as they were taught to say now, non-human sentient beings; i.e. nasty alien scum His grenade was enough to welcome the newcomers to their Imperial battlefield; sadly, after getting off several quickly squeezed off rounds at nearly point blank range into the incoming array he took several shots as well. One in particular bore a hole through the center of his white domed helmet and into his head, tumbling the experienced soldier tumbling backwards silentl in the din of battle, save for the crash of plastoid armor plates on the duracrete floor.

 

"Man Down!" came several cries from the rest of the squad as they poured forth even more withering blaster fire into the oncoming Hutt enforcers, the dual grouping of many of the troopers allowed for one to provide devastating yet fairly accurate automatic weapons fire while the second operated their weapons in single or three round burst mode, aiming and picking off individual enforcer after individual enforcer as they tried to make their way to the little cover that was afforded in the interior of the warehouse; a beautiful mess for the enemy given the troopers time early having cleaned up what they could, leaving most of the area around the entry point completely exposed; that is, unless these troublesome locals felt like hiding behind the still-warm bodies of their fallen comrades.

 

Inside the first room, where SSgt Quin'tonna and Sgt Veshok were alternatingly picking off the invading horde, Plontrani had been watching his assigned door. Given the invasiveness of the initial breech, it was easy enough to assume that no one was coming through the back door....yet. Lying prone, he snaked his way along the floor until he was peering around the kneeling Veshok and able to open fire as well at the Hutt horde.

 

Meanwhile, the mandalorian trooper who had been watching the other door, poppoed a smoke grenade off his belt activating it in the same motion, sending it skittering around his rubberized cover towards the onslaught, a grey chokingly dense fog spewing into the air and quickly filling much of the enclosed area.

 

Flynn, who had until this point been hidden behind the main frame of the decrepit loader, stempped up on a makeshift step, popping over the top of the loader to rain down fire from a higher angle at the incoming enemies. Grenade!" he cried, seeing the cylindrical object rotating through the air from the hands of Delashan.

 

Hearing his cry, Veshok was able to quickly locate the twirling and tumbling grenade soaring high above the heads of the combatants via the electronic tracking abilities of his scoped DLT-20A; with two smooth buttery trigger pulls, the grenade exploded BOOM mid-flight flinging cryoban fire suppressant through the air all over the battlefield; lowering the temperature significantly throughout the enclosed space. Conveniently, The Frozen Jexxels were part of the 73rd Cold Weather Combat Battlegroup; not to be fooled by their current standard stormtrooper fitout as opposed to their usual cold weather combat gear. The decrease in temperature only served to make the entire grouop feel more at home. A fire fight and cold? Isn't this what snowtroopers lived for?

 

((2))

((Casualties -1))

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One down

 

The armour was all the confirmation he needed. Slapping his wrist, Delashan opened a comm to his master and relayed the single word. “Confirmed.” As his master reacted with a bellow of anger and likely began smashing all kinds of glassware beside him, Delashan returned his focus on the battle, which was admittedly going very poorly for the Ascendancy. Belehedron the token Nubian male in the force had taken three rounds and was crying for his mother against the screaming background of the battle. One by one his men were getting gunned down all around him. While they were beginning to command accurate fire on the stormies from their now covered positions they were still taking heinous fire. A stray bolt from a trooper laying down at one of the back doorways picked up a human slave girl from her position behind a fallen pile of rubble by her shallow chest and slammed her against the duracrete wall behind her. She had fight left in her though, even after the sickening crack her head had made when it hit the duracrete. She growled and with one hand covering the seeping wound in her chest she triggered her rifle at a stormtrooper. While she got off several blasts towards the troopers, the next hail of fire hit her young body and lit it up like a dagobah storm. Her lithe form twitched and began to slump forwards as two bolts hit her in the abdomen, drilling through her pelvis and kidneys before exiting her back. The next and ultimately fatal bolt caught her in her squinting hazel eye, blowing out chunks of eye socket and brain matter, flipping her lifelessly on her back. Her loose fitting, ragged clothes on fire.

 

What a kriffing waste. Given another half a decade she could have been useful. Why did he send me with kriffing children to do this?

 

Delashan winced as the cryoban went off immaturely, chalking it off to a faulty huttese grenade system, he peaked around the corner and watched as a smoke grenade sailed by to scitter at his feet. Being a practiced shockball player, Delashan kicked it behind him, to empty its load uselessly in the open Nal Hutta Air. That action was not without a cost, and a bolt caught his armour pauldron and spun him back down behind duracrete rubble. He groaned and he waved his hands to the trandoshan and the reptile fired his plex launcher at the laying down trooper who had tossed the grenade.

 

He had not managed to make sure his exhaust tube was clear, and managed to toss a rodian a meter into the wall, taking him out of the fight. The plex launcher would cause quite the explosion and concussive blast, and would hopefully take a great deal of the troopers out or at least flush them from their positions. Meanwhile, the rest of Delashan's men dug continued the assault. Three of them began to work themselves up the northern wall, in an effort to flank the stormtroopers in the main room while the others began to concentrate their fire on keeping the rest of the troopers surpressed.

 

((3))

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Whilst the smoke grenade did not have it's desired impact; however it was a moot point as the round from the plex launcher struck the loader where several of the troopers had taken cover, igniting what bits of flammable tidbits that were still affixed to it. The bigger issue was the creaking of the aged loader as it toppled backwards and fell. As the loader fell, The duo of troopers that had taken refuge in the loader's bucket dove out in an effort to avoid being thrown. The first of The Thundering Duplomats, Ben, took a round in the shoulder, sending him careening in a backwards uncontrolled somersault a cry of anguish, "AURRRRRGH!!!" escaping his lips as he came to a rest facedown in the hazy air. His fellow, Breton, barely had time to dive out of the way as the follow up shots to his brother's injurious shot zinged through the air past him too much like the b-grade holos children the galaxy over watched with obscene amounts of laser fire and the hero walking through unscathed. With a dive and a roll, he was besides Ben, dragging him to safety with one hand, firing wildly towards the goons with his other; quickly skooching backwards out of sight on his knees.

 

Meanwhile, Flynn turned and leapt with the direction of the tumbling loader; his armor crunching wickedly as he hit the ground and rolled, still conveniently keeping the overturned loader between he and the onslaught of Hutt enforcers. With a groan, he lifted his head to look about, the pain of his full-fledged duracrete belly flop convincing him that the lack of white hot laserified death peircing his body was enough to show that he was out of harm's way for the moment at the very least.

 

The loader thundered to the ground, sending dust, debris, and countless-year old spores of who knows what alien diseases mixed with rust particles of bygone ages into the air. What became of the Mandalorian trooper, Zaz, was not immediately known to his fellows. Regardless, he was pinned under the fallen loader. Injured? Alive? nobody knew. At the very least he wasn't responding to the outworldy inaudible comms between the squad. The only thing known for sure was that Zaz was out of the fight and not raining death down on their newfound friends.

 

Back in the doorways of the adjacent rooms, shots zinged by as the five troopers there ducked in and out trading fire with the oncoming enforcers. Trooper Plontrani who had been lying on the floor swore loudly as blaster fire sent chunks of duracrete flooring spraying up directly in front of his face. The resulting mini-explosion of his rifle's compressed Tibanna gas was enough to burn his hands, even through the protective palms of his armor. "Gah!" he cried as he picked himself back up, cradling his singed hands behind the cover of his two comrades, Veshok and Quin’tonna. Both of whom continued to pop off well placed rounds and streams of blaster fire accordingly towards the troopers. Closer to the combat mess, int eh third room, Slavnak and the Duke continued unabashedly continued to engage. Fear was not part of the Stormtrooper modus operandi. As the Duke continued to pop in and out, up and down, laying out blaster fire towards the area where the Plex launcher had been fired, Slavnak ducked back inside,"Time for a little bit of fun boys," he chuckled into his comms before he pulled not one but two T-289 gas grenades from his belt and hefted them together in his right hand. In his left hand, he held a simple flash grenade. Ducking behind Duke's kneecaps, staring between the white clad knobby joints, he sent all three grenades twirling through the air, low to the ground towards the oncoming baddies - because obviously the stormies had to be the good guys. They were wearing white after all!

 

((3))

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The PLEX launcher seemed to have its desired effect and had toppled a good deal of cover and stormtroopers, but for now Delashan was all too aware that he was loosing men and women fast. 6 down out of the original twenty. Admittedly they were garbage, all relatively untrained slaves, but it still carried an air of tragedy. His Trandoshan friend began to reload the PLEX launcher as Delashan swept the room with his sight. Another young man in his prime had been cut down cruelly by laser fire, laying still where he had crouched for cover behind a box of supplies. Then a flashbang as well as two gas grenades took out the flanking manoeuvre faster than a Nerf against a gamorrean with a shockball bat. The three slaves were vomiting and crying out in pain, blinded by the flashbang and dulled by the gas. Within seconds the trio were unconscious and useless. Now he was down to eleven. Kriffing eleven. If Kalimore cared at all about this he would bring the kriffing fire down on these imps. And up above, he was.

 

He gestured with his blaster and Alderria, another young slave girl, by the look of her chest and body, in the middle of puberty, tossed a well primed Merr-Sonn G-20 Glop grenade into the mix of stormtroopers. Intending to keep them pinned down in their cover so they could be finished off, helplessly trapped by the mire of the adhesive, and more prone to the delicious vibroblade work that Alderria was so good at. When the hiss of the adhesive grenade went off, having been set to explode upon impact, the group of slaves charged full tilt at the stormtrooper positions, with the Trandoshan ready to fire the plex at anything too stubborn to be flushed out. With Delashan leading the charge, his DL-44 firing relentlessly at the Imperial troops as he ran from cover to cover straight to their positions. Their armour would greatly encumber them in hand to hand. His shoulder screamed in pain with every bolt he fired as he held the DL44 in one hand and his comm in the other. As he ran, he watched a stream of red bolts blow the back out of another female slave's head. She dropped, her dark skin contrasting with a white tunic suddenly wet with blood and brain matter, the flechhette rifle scittering uselessly in front of her lifeless hands. Kriffing ten now. If they got within a few meters that would be it. That's all they needed.

((4))

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The gloppy grenade erupted in a spray of foamy nastiness pinning the largest single contingency of troopers to the floor, those sheltered behind the Loader. Hidden from view at the moment, but quite obviously known to be there, there was little the trio of downed troopers could do, stuck to the floor with a quickly hardening foam that was harder to escape than Fambaa poo on a hot Naboo summer day. While out of sight, for the moment, from the oncoming blaster fire it was only a matter of time before the Hutt-Slime Thug-Wanna-Be-Bad-Boys got around to them. If that happened in the next 5 or so minutes of this thus short lived firefight, things might not go to well for the exposed trooper brethren.

 

Along the wall, where the three adjacent rooms provided a decent means of cover and concealment, the remaining two troopers in the closest room to the advancing barbarian horde, continued their pulse of battle, blaster bolts expertly placed towards any advancing enemy combatant. Duke and Slavnak worked in tandem providing a near constant stream of uninterrupted blaster fire as they ducked in and out, never fully exposing themselves to the onslaught. Was it worth it though? It seemed to be effective enough in stemming the tide until Duke knelt to fire off several more shots and took a bolt to his thigh. With a cry of anguish he rolled backwards into cover cursing in a plethora of languages that if thought out and translated to a single language really did not make a whole lot of sense. This was combat though. Did anything really make that much sense? Pulling himself against the wall, his blaster clattered to the floor next to him as he held the still smoking hole in the legplate of hi armor. The worst thing about blaster bolts is that they just burned so crinking bad!

 

In the furthest back corner room where Veshok and his comrades were delivering their own Imperial brand of death towards the Hutt slaves and slavers, the battle unfolded just as quick;y however, given their slight distance from the other goings on, they were afforded a mere fraction of a moment more to respond. Having shaken off the duracrete explosion in front of his face that had peppered his helmet with bits of debris and now having lost his rifle in a holo-worthy explosive shot-out-of-his hands moment, Trooper Plontrani quickly re-evaluated his options. His hands still stung from the explosion; thankfully storm trooper armor even at weaker points like the palms of one's hands was more than efficient enough to bear the brunt of almost any battlefield damage that one would hazard to throw at it - although the whole blaster immunity thing was still apparently a work in progress....

Seeing through the doorway his comrades pinned down behind the loader by the glop grenade and knowing that at least one of them, if not all of them by now were injured in some way, Plontrani did the only thing he could think of in the heat of the moment. Given the highly effective sensor systems and the Multi-Frequency Targeting and Acquisition System built into every standard storm trooper helmet and the seemingly mostly helmet-less opposition, smoke grenades would be more than effective if positioned right. Grabbing two smoke grenades that they had originally brought along with their equipment to establish a forward base for signalling incoming troops the 'old fashioned way' if needed, he pulled the pins on both and hurtled them not towards the oncoming enemy but towards his fellow downed troopers situated about the loader. Almost as soon as the grenades came to a jarringly sudden stop as they landed in the foamy viscous gloopy glop they spewed forth their contents sending forth two streams of emerald particled plumes throughout the relatively enclosed warehouse. In a matter of moments then entire internal affair should be nothing but a beautiful green haze; well, at least to those who were not equipped with state-of-the-art battlefield optics built conveniently right into their helmets. That, at least, was the plan that the trooper was going for. As far as they knew, they were still outnumbered and outgunned by who knew how many gangsters, thugs, miscreants, slaves, and second-class-citizens working for who knew what local crime lord or enforcer. Survival, while always high on the list of mission parameters was eking towards the number one spot. It was hard to try and radio offworld for backup. At this moment, the troopers were alone. And rules were meant to be broken.

 

Of the remaining two troopers with the smoke wielding Plontrani, Veshok could see the Plex wielding badboy readying his next shot. Given the devastation caused by the last one and their tightly compacted cover a missile towards any one of their adjacent rooms spelled almost surefire pain and suffering followed by capture and torture or if they were lucky: death. Quiclky swinging his rifle around so that he had the Trandoshan and more importantly the explosive charge the lizardy beast was working to load into the launcher, Veshok took a deep calming breath, he could not miss this shot. Not if he wanted to keep his fellows alive. Do. Or do not. There is no try. The words of a long forgotten sage echoed in his mind, something an instructor at the academy had told him once, he thought, maybe. "you've got this." Veshok whipsered to himself more than anyone; though to anyone listening on the comms perhaps it might offer a glimmer of encouragement. With his hands as steady as his mindset, the trooper from Concord Dawn expertly squeezed off one, two three shots that hurtled from the barrel of his DLT-20A towards the Trandoshan and his explosive charge.

 

 

The third trooper, the squads Commanding Officer, snarled beneath his expressionless helmet, clearly able to still pick up the advancing enemies through the smoke as it began to thicken;

 

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

 

his rifle thundered expertly, clearly switched over to autmoatic fire as he sent searing hot blaster bolt after searing hot blaster bolt tearing into the enemy's advancing ranks. If this didn't let up soon, he had one other idea up his proverbial sleeve. Sanctioned? No. Potentially life-saving? You bet! Though it may set them back a bit mission parameter-wise.

 

((4))

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[[ Assets Secured ]]

 

With a single call, Dordjooba’s assets began to close down. From a few cities over, ranging to the outskirts of the Nal Hutta capitol, Dordjooba’s warehouses and factories went into emergency lockdown. Even Dordjooba’s palace, abandoned to time, was locked down tighter than a Siberian Prison. The mercenaries tasked with guarding his textile, pharmaceutical, and weapon factories remained in their positions tasked with guarding the personnel and premises against Kallimore’s influence.

 

_________________

 

[[ Fleet Command ]]

 

The Hand of Valour plowed into Hutt space with the presence of a mighty hammer. Fighters arrayed in tight formation and flew in a holding pattern at the edge of the Y’toub system. The Shockwave Class Assault frigate sat, assessing its forces one final time before taking the offensive.

 

Dordjooba, Weyler, and Tanus sat looking at a holo-projection of Nal Hutta from the Command Deck. Names, faces, designations and framework simulations were being projected over the planet with varying degrees of accuracy. Because, if there was one notable quality about the Imperial Navy, it was the detail they put into everything, including careful and methodical planning.

 

“Master Hutt,” Tanus began, pointing to various names and figures on the holo-projection, “I am supervising our fighter compliment, the 11th Wing. Or, as they like to be called, the ‘Crimson Caridan Combat Spiders.’ Rest assured, although they have been on standby for quite some time, they are still a perfectly capable fighting force. Even for a relative newcomer, such as yourself.” The Chiss’s eyes squinted slightly, but he nodded dutifully. The wing is composed of four squadrons, each of them with their own squadron leader.”

 

A logo flashed across the holo-projection, indicating that it was the visual call sign for the 11th wing Starfighters.

 

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The old Chiss raised a gnarled finger to four pictures on the holo display before clearing his voice and continuing to speak. “First, let me introduce your Tie-Defender squadron leaders. Rose Squadron is led by Sergeant Regis Carr. He’s a middle-aged officer from Carida’s own blessed shores and he is a level-headed man with little marks on his record. Sergeant Hilla Vandross heads up the Blood Squadron, and although hard to manage at times, you’ll never find a more capable Tie pilot. Second,” the chiss’ gnarled finger moved to the second set of pictures and names, “here are your Tie-Bomber squad leaders. Sergeant Adda Kare of Rufous Squadron, a Chiss from the homeland, has a bright future ahead of her but is still a bit green around the edges. And, last but not least, there is Sergeant Caleb Amek. He was a top ranking pilot from the Old Empire and has seen a great deal of change come to the Galaxy. He recently returned from time spent on leave and is eager to prove himself. So, Dordjooba. Orders?” Tanus smiled with a vicious turn and his words oozed with derisive prejudice.

 

“That won’t be needed Tanus. Dordjooba and I deliberated before we made our way to this blasted planet.” Wyler interjected, sensing the rising tension between the Chiss and Hutt. “He suggested that we send half of our troop complement to the surface to assist the forward squad there. Dordjooba said he had an agent on his way to Nal Hutta and that his agent understands he will be responsible for the troops we send. I am a little hesitant trusting our finest to an agent I’ve never met, but Dordjooba assures me that I will not regret my decision. Anyway…” Wyler made to continue, but Dordjooba cut him off.

 

The Hutt’s face did not change. A serious expression hit him and did not go away. He looked to Ravir Tanus without returning his derision and then shook his big head as he tried to process the level of information he had to sift through.

 

“So, the plan is that we engage any fleet forces above the planet and give cover to the troops as they make landfall. Wyler is offering to assist me with coordination regarding the Hand and I trust you will not let me down regarding our starfighter team. Correct?” Dordjooba’s serious expression broke for a moment as his big blue eyes probed the old Chiss.

 

But Ravir Tanus’ face was an enigma. There were so many wrinkles that even an expression of sheer joy would look like derision. “I will do as I am told.” He bowed his head woodenly and proceeded to follow Dordjooba and Wyler from the Command Deck to the Bridge.

 

The Hand of Valour continued stalling at the edge of the Y'toub system. The 11th starfighter wing flew a holding pattern nearby, eager for orders. Each squadron leader did a ready check and Tanus reported that all fighters were ready to engage when the call was given.

 

Meanwhile, 1000 troops filled up transport vessels and readied themselves for a trip to the surface.

 

Hutt/Imperial Forces - - -

 

1 Imperial Shockwave-Class Assault Frigate

2 Squadrons of Tie-Defenders ( 12 per squadron - 24 total )

2 Squadrons of Tie-Bombers ( 12 per squadron - 24 total )

2000 Ground Troops w/transport ( for boarding or ground assault ) (1000 of these are being delegated to ground assault ).

 

 

____________________________

 

[[Kaldesh - Ground Forces ]]

 

Riding a commercial shuttle from Nar Shaddaa to Nal Hutta was a little harder now with the Gems in charge of crime. But Kaldesh managed alright. He had the money, it was just a matter of who’s palm to grease and why. Which, although difficult to ascertain for some, was a little easier when you spoke the languages of crime and loot.

 

With his feet on the ground, he realized two things. One, this was the first time he’d ever been on Nal Hutta. And two, he slowly began wondering to himself why the Hutts valued this planet so much. It smelled like the south end of a northbound Gamorrean and it looked just as bad. The smell was so bad it began to stick to the inside of his mouth. But, he was here for Dordjooba. He’d be expecting Imperial regulars soon - what was all that about anyway? There was a story, that was for sure. And he’d be in charge of supervising them, which was an even more surprising notion.

 

Supervising Imperials? A Trandoshan? Kaldesh was a little confused by the subject. But orders were orders.

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Two more slaves went down hard, twitching their remaining seconds out in seizures of pain and gore, but at least four of them got close to the troopers in the first room, the smoke was acrid and choking but the troopers had not moved from the positions they started at before the smoke, so even slightly blinded, the slave would be able to find them. Their blasters throwing deadly bolts into the dark and thick smoke as they charged by the glop genades spewed remnants, some of the automatic fire hopefully finding purchase in the white clad stormtroopers. They would deal with the stuck stromtroopers after they finished off the dangerous ones. The stormtroopers had an advantage, but unknown to them and the slaves themselves there was another plan at work.

 

Alderria beside him, Delashan charged behind the main group, letting them enter the room where Veshok was. A well aimed bolt whizzed over his shoulder and dropped the trandoshan like a sack of bricks onto the permacrete floor, his PLEX launcher useless and unused. Delashan fiddled with his comm as he crouched behind a permacrete mound, selecting the 9 slaves that had made it close to the holed up stormtroopers he set his final act in motion.

 

Inside the rooms where the stormtroopers were held up, while still taking massive casualties, the slaves finally made entry. One by one they were gunned down, filling the doorway with their bodies, and only three made it within melee distance where…

 

They and all the other slaves, dead or alive around the bunkered down stormtroopers exploded. The explosion stated from the thick slave collars they all wore, the detonite charge taking their heads and likely most of the room and stormtroopers with them. The collars, designed to stop runaways and anyone that would help them, were incredibly deadly. The final fireworks to a deadly duel of fates. A sad realization for the slaves that thought they could earn their freedom by killing stormtroopers, but they did knida earn their freedom. Delashan thought, at least spiritually.

 

After the explosion settled, he and the young Alderria readied their weapons to kill any who remained.

 

((5))

 

(( A good duel my friend. Very well done))

 

 

______

 

<>

 

Kalimore was outraged, there would be blood to spill...

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While the glop grenade kept our three potentially injured, but definitely stuck, troopers behind the loader from doing much of anything; that did not mean that they couldn't pour several blaster bolts in the general direction of the slave horde advancing towards their white armored brethren. Highly accurate standard expected stormtrooper shooting? Far from it! Still, shots whizzing towards the passing masses should be enough to cause considerable confusion and delay.

 

Meanwhile, the first room was quickly overwhelmed. Slavnak stepped around the corner; delivering a firm butt-stroke with his rifle across the face of the first intruder into their less-than conveniently sized room for the number of people trying to fit inside. At the same time, Duke, who was seated in a less than convenient position on the floor was able to still pop off numerous rounds as the swarms of baddies came into the room. It was a very effective, albeit short funnel. As the dead and dying fell, and more crowded into the room; quickly rendering blasters next-to-useless, but before hand-to-hand combat became a real option the room exploded. Slave after slave erupted in waves of blood, brain matter and chunks of duraplast wall rattled about in a cacophony of hellish death. Duke, who was seated actually fared better of the duo seeings as there was really nowhere to launch him but into the flooring he was already seated on. One of the blessings of being a member of one of the most highly advanced militaries in the world was cool toys; in this particular case: Armor. While unable to completely dissipate a direct blaster bolt at close range the armor did wonders in staving off most other battlefield effects, including mass amounts of kinetic energy and flying debris, be it brains or bricks. So while thoroughly unpleasant; injury-wise, Duke, save for his leg, remained relatively uninjured. Tomorrow he would be sore. Definitely! In the mean time, Slavnak was blown from his position by the door, nearly face to face with the now exploding enemy; close enough that he could smell the sweat on the slaves' bodies, not that it mattered in those milliseconds as his armored body was sent hurtling the short distance into the crack where wall and ceiling met with a crunching plastoid sound, leaving his unmoving body to tumble back to the ground with a crash moments after the explosion dissipated.

 

Further back, with their minuscule timed advantage, Veshok and Quin'tonna's dual rifles thundered, pulsing in tandem so that the roar of their two rifles continued in one never-ending growl of spitting red lasery death; Even as the slaves neared, they continued to fire, backing around the corner on either side of the door; Veshok taking a knee, ready to take out anyone that entered the room at the knees or biological equivalent whilst Quin'tonna aimed for cranial and blood-pumping based centers. That; however, was not all, as their third comrade, still rifleless, stepped up after the first few slaves dropped and given his prior history as a rather violent criminal enforcer himself, planted a flurry of armored palm heel strikes into the next slaves face.

 

KABOOM! The slaves that had managed to make it into the room with the three troopers, albeit not as many as the other room, erupted. White bucketed helms adjusting nearly instantly to try and lessen the rapidly brightening impact on their wearer's eyes. Still, it was a fairly standard reaction to shut one's eyes as their body was blown back by a bright and sudden shift in motion. All three troopers were blown back into their perspective walls. All three grunted as there plastoid backed backsides struck the duraplast coating over the durasteel walls. That is gonna hurt!

 

Sliding to the ground, rifle still held in his hand, partially by sheer bodily reaction to grip onto whatever one was holding when knocked off their feet and partially by the magnatomic adhesion grip that came standard on such weapons, Veshok was able to see through the pie sliced wedge from his location through the angled doorway the still tow advancing Hutt thugs. Through the smoke and blood splattered air he clumsily hefted his rifle up to his other hand, the gun landing with a satisfying smack in his off hand and angled in the general direction of the two. He did not even bother to aim down the scope or the site; at the once Galactic Imperial Academy controlled by the original Galactic Empire, Veshok as well as any other stormtrooper recruit had been taught that in such close quartered combat, aiming was not necessarily a necessity; point-and-shoot was decidedly an option and one of many they trained in extensively. In general, most troopers shot where they were looking, either naturally or through countless hours of training. Somewhat dazed as he might be from the blast, his training had taken over completely. Rifle leveled at Alderria and Deleshan he fired off several bolts.

 

((5))

 

((Time for a mod decision!))

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Few things of note here, mostly because I understand this was a learning duel, so I'll give some critical feedback. The large majority of these posts were lobbing grenades back and forth. I would avoid that in the future, especially against opponents who can wield the Force, unless they are part of a larger strategy at play. Firstly because it doesn't really get anyone anywhere in the duel if they handled it like you guys did by losing roughly one man per post until the latter end, and secondly grenades can easily backfire, as both of you demonstrated a few times. The writing style changed up a lot from post to post, and that was mostly in Ambrose's posts. That's fine, that's kind of expected, and I got the idea that for the first couple posts you were largely mirroring what Kalimore was doing. In a firefight, flanking is essential. If you can catch your opponent in a crossfire, chances are you can overwhelm them easily. Another tactic to read up on that you guys could have capitalized on is the 'fatal funnel' of a doorway, I'd recommend reading up on MOUT training. So while the grenade chucking could have been the main show, there should be set up from one post to the next, maneuvering and lining up your pieces for the checkmate. Give them an attack to respond to, but that's not the overarching point of a duel. Try to get some kind of end game in mind, and adapt if your opponent unwittingly messes up the strategy somehow. Duels are won and lost largely in the last few posts.

 

All that being said, you guys wrote a decent story and you both put up a good fight, but in the end positioning clearly falls to Ambrose being the victor.

 

Ambrose gets the next ("victory") post.

Immediately reachable by  charlesjhall@gmail.com

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((VICTORY POST))

 

KZZZT. KZZZT. two blaster bolts flew from the maw of the Veshok's powerful rifle and found their marks squarely in the two remaining Hutt minions, Alderria and Delashan. Delashan fell like a bag of durabricks, silent save for the thud of his body hitting the ground. Alderria on the other hand was not quite as lucky in her final moments. Whereas Delashan took a round directly to his chest and heart stopping him instantly, Alderria' took a round to her upper chest, leaving a rather singed hole in her side; collapsing a lung quite effectively. With a scream of pain, she fell clutching her side, clattering to the ground alongside her weapons, writhing in pain as she rolled about clutching her wound and gasping for precious air.

 

Dazed for the moment, silence, save for the screaming of Alderria took over, at lesat for the moment. Slowly, Veshok picked himself up off the ground as did several other troopers; several, but not all.

 

Slowly walking, as a man who was too old and had seen too much, Ssgt. Quin’tonna walked over to where Alderria lay screaming in pain; wrenching his flechette pistol out if it's plastoid holster he did not even hesitate as he pointed it down at the suffering slave and pulled the trigger twice, bringing silence to the haze of battle. Elsewhere the other troops watched before returning to checking their wounded or dead. Veshok shook his head, "Ain't right," he muttered to himself We aren't the Empire's Goons anymore. as he looked down at the cradled head of Cpl Skynova held in his hands, Poor guy was freed from these nasty Hutt slavers only to return an die amongst them. Sad. Lowering the man's head slowly to the ground he looked about at his comrades. Three dead; one unaccounted for, plenty of bruises and sprains. Not a good final tally for a group of Elite Imperial Stormtroopers; but they had survived. Those confined by the glop were eventually freed.

 

The Mandalorian trooper was still unaccounted for and the explosive slave-based charges had fried their communications array as well as any scanner equipment they had brought along. For now it was 6 troopers in various states of wear and weariness with their state of the art suits, whatever equipment on their belts had survived the blasts of exploding slaves, and their wits.

 

Gathering up their dead and stripping them of what could be of use in the field they carted their fallen comrades into the second and only non-blasted room, lying them in some state of respect until they could return for them.

 

Now...to find Zaz Veshok thought as he set down his last fallen comrade, his back crying silently in protest as he walked to the nearest non-breached door and tried it. "Still secure." as his fellow trooper tried the other door and nodded the same

 

If Zaz didn't go out a backway. Where did he go?

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((Some filler while we wait for the Imperial Fleet))

 

Emma checked the oversized bag that was strapped around her waist with its large red medical cross, hypo syringes of pain reliever, bone stabilizers, disinfectant sprays, synthflesh, diagnosis datapad, check. All there. She had been ordered to stay out of the fight until the end and then come in to treat the wounded. And with that ear splitting explosion and a few scattered rounds later she was quite convinced that the whole ordeal had settled down. She hooked a thin finger under her slave collar and wished she had a plasma torch to cut it off with, but knew it was her duty. It was what she had been flashtrained for anyway. With a swipe of her hand she pushed her braids over her ears and walked gingerly over the rubble at the door, her bare feet expressing the dire state of the slave soldiers that seemed to occupy the ranks of Kalimore’s army.

 

She skidded to a stop when she saw that the only people that were alive were imperial Stormtroopers. She put her hands up instantly, showing that she had no weapons of any kind. Though she knew if Deleshan or Kalimore were watching they would probably trigger her collar and send her head on a mission to space. She pointed to her white armband with the medical cross on it as if to emphasize her innocence.

 

“I...I...I surrender! I’m a medic! Please don’t shoot me!”

 

She was a child soldier after all, surely the imperials wouldn’t just up and drill her in the head with a blaster bolt. Though she figured her chances were about 50/50.

Details:

 

Emmaline Fieldgrey

Appearance:

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Age: 13

Flashtrained as: Medical Support, trauma surgeon

Equipment: Slave Collar, medical supplies, surgical kit,

Clothing: Ragged red tunic.

 

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Mother-Kriffing Son of a Bantha! There's another one! exclaimed one of Ambrose's combrades as he levelled his E-11 blaster at the girl , as the rest of the stormtroopers, instantly swung about from whatever they were doing to level their own blasters at the ragged pint-sized slave, "DON'T MOVE!" came cries from several of the white-clad warriors in unison as the girl's hands shot upwards and she offered an explanation.

 

Nobody moved, "She's got a collar," commented another trooper, gesturing slightly with his rifle at Emma's slave collar identical to those that had just tried to send them through the roof of the warehouse.

 

"She's also got meds," Ambrose growled as he eyes the seemingly innocent girl, Those karking slimebags sending children in to die so that they can sit in their sandfly infested slime. What is wrong with them? I wonder if ol' Palps had the right idea sometimes....

"Whatcha got in the bag missy?" he asked, trying his best to sound semi-nonthreatening through the vocabulatur of his helmet which made most stormtroopers sound as identical as they looked.

 

While waiting to hear out the girl's explanation, the half-dozen troopers kept their guns trained on the girl before one mused, "We've just got our field kits. She's got better stuff it seems."

 

Nodding, Ambrose slowly lowered his rifle, "you boys stay back. If she tries anything...." he left the statement hanging in the air as he slowly took several steps towards the obviously scared girl, affixing his rifle so it dangled off his waist, "Whats your name kid?

I am not going to hurt you.

I just need to see your supplies.

DO you know how to get that thing gesturing at the explosive collar about her neck off?"

 

He asked each question slowly as he advanced, trying to present an aura of non-threatening compassion in comparison to his dirty white armor and gun-wielding comrades behind him. He continued talking until he was standing right next to the girl; where he gently reached to take the bag of supplies from her before directing her back, "Why don't you go have a seat over there, gesturing to the loader, "and gnaw on this. It isn't very good, but its all I got." he pulled a ration pack out of a puch on his belt and handed it to her, NUNA SALAD SANDWICH & ZOOCHBERRY COBBLER the ration read, his favorite oh well, she needs it more than I do right now

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It had been a few days since both Karys and Hayley had left the orbit of Myrkr...much to the delight of Karys and he imagined Hayley too. She had suffered far worse in that jungle while devoid of the force, now the force and it's embrace welcomed them once more like an old friend long missed.

 

Luckily for them there had been some medical supplies aboard the barabel ship they hijacked from Myrkr to deal with the worse of the injuries sustained. And now the two unlikely allies were again being thrown into the fire in a manner of speaking. It appeared the battle here was well underway, at least the various blips and dots on the map seemed to indicate that was the case.

 

Yet none of that was of Karys concern. The Sith were not here to render aid to any side of the conflict, the conflict would serve only as a cover for his goal and aid in the pairs infiltration of the planet.

 

As he looked up the transponder signal, the massassi couldn't help but chuckle a little at the name The Stinky Bantha, clearly the one who thought up the name was something of a joker. After the brief moment Karys recalled his objective.

 

His orders had been very specific, to find a jedi and fight them. Only then would he receive the reward he had long been denied...only then would his rebirth be truly complete. The massassi would see it done, one way or another. He had looked inside the cargo hold, apparently this ship was stocked with weapons intended to be delivered to Kalimore which provided the two a opportunity to infiltrate the planet just as they wished, that was if Kalimore would treat with them and allow them permission to land.

 

He only hoped their disguise would hold. Mercenaries working on the barabel pirates behalf, not that he was too concerned if it fell through, if that happened they would fight their way through the chaos until the goal was met. Karys decided to leave it to Hayley to do the talking while he prepared himself below deck.

 

Even so Karys could feel the chaos ensuing through the force, endless and glorious as it was. He could feel lives literally being snuffed out all about outside the ship, all around Nal Hutta. It was a shame he wasn't here to join the fray much as such a battle enthralled him. But then he fathomed there would be other times...other wars and battles to fight. For now a small taste was good enough, he looked forward to seeing his true enemy for the first time at least.

 

To fighting the jedi, it was what he had been training for all his life. This would be his defining moment, his time to prove his worth in the eyes of the Sith...and he would be damned if he would let them down again, it was his time to awaken.

 

Placing his saber up one sleeve, he concealed the tu'kata fang well and secured his other weapons tightly. With that done the massassi sat and meditated, focusing on the chaos around him and drawing it in. Using it as fuel to light the fire he felt deep inside. To feed his darkness.

 

Closing his pupiless yellow eyes, he focused. Soon he was floating as the darkness surrounded him.

 

And so it begins. Destiny approaches.

https://jedirp.net/topic/4851-trodai-narat-iv-adas-darth-akheron/

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 "Only in my pain, did I find my will. Only in my chaos, did I learn to be still. Only in my fear, did I find my might. Only in my darkness, did I see my light." - Darth Akheron

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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Emma shook her head, the white blonde locks from her Echani heritage bouncing off her bare shoulders. She gratefully surrendered her bag to the imperials and sat down where ordered to. She took the offered ration and held the foil plastine packet in her hands, silently reading the directions before popping the stay fresh seal. She looked up to Ambrose as she fished out the contents and spread them out on her lap. With her spare hand she gestured to her collar.

 

“You can disable the explosive charge which is over my throat with a well aimed if painful blaster shot, its like fifty fifty ittle go off though, if you have a Centek datapad and cable I could probably disable it manually. Those are expensive though, which is why we slaves never see any of them. Even if you disable it, it’ll take a surgeon to take off as its implanted and sealed around my C5 vertebrae. So don’t pull or push too hard on it.”

 

She stuck out her tongue mockingly at him as she drizzled the water from the pack over the dehydrated polystach and salad mix. With a stir of her finger, the ration meal materialized. She giggled delighted, before she returned her crystal blue gaze on the stormtrooper. From his pauldron and patch he was from… She tilted her head to read the aurebesh, the 73rd something or rather. She extended her hand in the standard galactic greeting, some bits of polystarch and salad still clinging to her finger. SHe laughed and licked it off before re extending the hand.

 

“I’m 2518-F22207M, the ‘M’ stands for Medical designation. I’m a flash trained trauma and combat surgeon. Though my real name is Emmaline Arden Fieldgrey, that’s all I know from before the flash training. My bag is filled with the stuff for my designation. Im happy to help you and your men out if you need it.”

 

She returned her gaze to the food and began to devour it.

 

IT WAS SO GOOD

 

______________________

The Stinky Bantha was hailed by Kalimore's fleet as it arrived insystem, its transponders matched a mercenary gang, so the ship was asked to join the flotilla and assist in the defense of Nal Hutta against a joint 'Jedi and Imperial threat.'

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Taking the bag of medical supplies, Ambrose turned and expertly tossed it to his comrades, one of which who caught it and began to dole it out as needed. Every trooper was trained with some level of field medical skill and while by no means an expert could treat simple injuries and even blaster wounds so as to at least render them non-life threatening..mostly.

 

Ambrose, meanwhile took a step closer to the girl and squatted down beside her as she readily delved into his ration pack, popping his helmet off to reveal his soldier-like haircut and grim features and setting it on the ground beside him he spoke, "I've got a number designation too; though mine isn't nearly as long as yours and I don't have any sort of designation. My name is Ambrose," taking her hand in his own with a smile. "I don't have anything that fancy," he explained in regards to the requested datapad, "But I'll leave it to you, we're the best shots this side of the galaxy, if you want we can try and disable that thing," he continued gesturing at his partners and then at the slave collar about her neck, "Its up to you though; like you said, it could go badly. If you want to go free, I'm willing to give you a hand; but I'd hate to see the Hutts blow you up cause you're talking with us. So you can decide; you can come with us and if you want we can try and blast that nasty lock on your heart or not. Otherwise, you're free to walk out of here back to whatever life you want and we won't hurt you. It is up to you my little friend.

 

Noting how quickly the girl devoured his ration pack, Ambrose smiled and pulled another from his pouch. His supply was limited, but he knew that he could make due a whole lot better than this little girl.Kriffing Hutts; Always stuffing their wide-mouthed frog headed faces while probably starve the poor thing to keep her skinny enough for.... he didn't want to even finish the thought, given the girl's age. Hutts were not known for their morality. Glancing at the list of enclosed foodstuff, Ambrose grimaced, PICKLED SPACE SLUG & MANDO ORANGES, how can that even be an option anymore?!?? With a shrug of his shoulders he offered it to Emma, Probably still better than anything those slimy overlords give her. "Here, take it. On the house. he smiled.

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