Tatooine

[Myth Hunter]

Myth smiled. "Kewl. We will be the best Death Strikers in the Galaxy. Do we all have our own ships?? and weapons???"

[Taren the Terror]

A ship touched down. The pilot slipped out behind the bar and made her way around it. Blending in with the shadows, Taren the Terror, stealth Master of Sith came to the door. Pushing the door forward with the force, Taren strode in. She made her way to the counter to ask for a drink when she overheard a woman say something interesting.

 

"Death Strikers?"

 

Taren was not familiar with this term, but it intrigued her. She called over to the lady named Myth Hunter.

 

"Excuse me, but I overheard the term Death Striker." She smiled. "I am well versed in many of the traditions, well informed of the political and revolutionary movements, and familiar with social and economic trends. You see, it's my job to know things. However, amongst the planets and worlds I've traversed, Death Strikers is a term that remains foreign to me. I have no intentions to intrude, perhaps I could even be of some assitance, but if I could join you, it would be most appreciated."

[Amidala Skywalker]

The Munto-Codru turns to look at the newcomer. "And who might you be?" she says, though not with hostility. "What do you want to know about the Death Strikers?"

[Kakuto Ryu]

((OCC: I spent a couple hours figuring out how to use the damn thing, so in the chance that I'm wrong then you should still be thankful Damnit!!!))

 

*KR stood out in the swirling sands, the child just behind. KR held out his hand in front of Viano.*

 

"Hand me the weapon."

 

*Viano placed the Lavenrock in KR's hand. KR shifted his fingers and got it into the correct position. KR held it out by Viano.*

 

"Hold it like this..."

 

*KR waited as the child studied the blade, then he took it and demonstrated how to throw it without actually releasing the blade. KR brought his arm over his head then whipped it out in front of him.*

 

"Then you aim and throw. Simple, no?"

 

*KR saw a wamprat hop over a sand dune, and seeing perfect opportunity to demonstrate the power of the weapon, KR threw it with all his might, hurling the spinning blade toward the unsuspecting creature. The blade imbedded itself in the wamprat's head, killing it instantly. KR grinned widely as baby wamprats came over the hill, making a wonderful cry of sorrow because what appeared to be their mother was dead. KR held out his hand and pulled the Lavenrock from the creature via the force, then handed it to Viano.*

 

"Now you try."

[Viano Zar]

Viano looked at the lavenrock and held it in his hand. He gripped it almost too tightly and cut his entire hand open on the sharp edge of the blade. His blood mixed in with the blood of the previously killed womprat. He let out a small whimper but somehow something in him prevented from crying at the pain. My son would never cry... A voice spoke to him and he looked quickly around him, forgot about it, and focused again.

 

He pulled his arm behind his head and looked to the pile of wamprats making their way around the corpse of their mother. The sun was setting now and it was getting a bit cooler. Feet planted firmly in the ground, he swung his arm around, but, lacking guidance in the force, or true strength in his arm, the four year old sent the blade spiraling in the air only to land in the desert sands a few feet from the wamp rants.

 

He looked back up at Kakuto clutching his hand that was dripping crimson blood into the dry sand.

[Taren the Terror]

Taren looked at the character who peered at her.

 

"Who might I be?"

 

Tucked her clock aside, allowing her lightsaber to catch sight, although not revealing the one on the other side.

 

"I'm a Sith Master born and bred on Korriban. Taren... the Terror, they call me. I've held court in the Shadow Halls at Korriban, upon the ashy plains of Byss, and worked in tandem with powerful Sith Lords such as Darth Heretic and Brooke(Jgod). I trained the Sith known as Barohm Zar. Only one Sith has bested me in combat, and that would be the Dark Lord Ar-Pharazon. Currently, I am on a bit of a freelance adventurer and an organzation such as yours is definitely peculiar in design. I know I'm a Sith, but I'm not onr of the evil ones who parades around destroying. That's only the make Siths, but that's a different story..."

 

Taren hoped she had struck a chord with the lady.

[Kakuto Ryu]

*KR's first instinct was to pull out his lightsaber and seal the wound the same way he sealed his own, but KR wasn't so quick to fix a problem that may be worth more unsolved. KR held out his hand and the Lavenrock came back to him. KR took a harsh tone with Viano.*

 

"It was a good first try, but you have failed. You let womprat win. He's alive and you have a deep wound. You have to get revenge. You have to kill it. You're bleeding and that insignificant meat bag is healthy, no; better, that meatbag is living well. Hate that creature, hate it, and when you are furious, try again. Kill it, kill it with your hatred for it. Use the pain of your injury and throw the Lavenrock again. Throw it into the creature's skull."

 

*KR held out the Lavenrock. KR's facial expression was harsh, and he seemed like he were going to hit Viano if he didn't take the Lavenrock.*

[Myth Hunter]

Myth looked the sith over. She was an impressive sight. With Lightsabre and all. And she might fit the Death Strikers well...

 

"Well, it's nice to meet you Taren. Why don't you take a seat??? The Death Strikers were a group of women on my home planet. They helped defend the people during a small war that broke out when I was young. My mother was one of the commanders. I learnt a lot from her. We use anything and everything we can find in the way of ammo. Rocks, sand, food... This might actually suit you."

 

Eyeing the sith warily, Myth took a sip of her drink, letting Taren think it over.

 

"Still interested??"

[Taren the Terror]

"I am very interested."

 

Taren sat down, finally sensing some introductory acceptance with the ladies. She felt at ease, because well, as someone force sensative, it was simply to feel these people. The mood had changed.

 

"So, what has brought you to these desert lands?"

[Viano Zar]

Viano looked at the wamprat and picked up the lavenrock. He gazed quickly into KR's eyes showing him that he was not afraid of him nor anything and looked back down to his wound. It's healed??? What in the world...it was bleeding too seconds ago...now there is no trace of it?? Viano shook his head quickly and out of pure anger at the wamprat threw the lavenrock again.

 

The wamprat's skull split into two, the sound of bone cracking made a slight echo, and blood gushed forth.

[Amidala Skywalker]

Induran spoke. "Actually, we met up on Courascant. We met on Myth here's home planet," she gestured at the woman sitting next to her. "A few standard days ago, I received a communication from her. I wasn't busy, so we got together. In The Last Call on Courascant, we decided to do something interesting together. So we came to Tatooine." Indy shrugged.

 

"I don't really know why we came here, but it's been relaxing just catching up with each other."

[Kakuto Ryu]

*KR's arms went strait up and Kakuto bursts out with laughter as he watched the Lavenrock split open the worthless creatures skull.*

 

"Sweet! Nice shot Viano, nice shot indeed. I couldn't have hit that at your age, in fact, if our roles were reverse then I might have hit you."

 

*KR gave Viano a minute to process. KR was almost behind Viano. After a moment KR held out his hand and the Lavenrock returned to him once more. He handed it to Viano and the child put it away in a little holster of sorts that KvC had sent with it.*

 

"Put that someplace safe. Maybe sometime later we'll practice it again. Right now I want to get back home. We've been out for too long."

 

*KR lifted Viano onto his shoulder then walked to his ship, setting him down and bucking him up before KR closed the doors and took off, heading back to Mimban...*

[Myth Hunter]

Myth shrugged. Her past was... not all that stable. "Well, some time ago I recieved some training from a Jedi Master. But I never followed through... the Jedi stole my sister away from me. And every now and then I sense which path I need to take. I may not follow the jedi, but I know when to listen to intuition. So when I saw myself with some people on Tatooine... well, you can tell."

 

Trying not to give away too much info, but letting them know her reasons, she gave them what she could.

[Taren the Terror]

"My sister was also stolen by the Jedi, in a sense. I had a twin whom was at the head of the Jedi Council, but it was that sense of Jedi duty which led her into a battle with Lord Ar-Pharazon. She was slain atop the skyscrapers at Midsengard. I have learned to put it behind me now. May I take a seat?"

[Amidala Skywalker]

"Of course," Indy said, scooting over to make room for the newcomer. "I'm not force-sensitive myself, but I understand what you're talking about. My best friend growing up became a Jedi. We had known each other since we were born. We were both orphans, so we stuck together on the streets. A Jedi came and took him away when we were both seven. I heard they we reluctant to take him in, but he didn't have any family to get attached too. I don't know where he is, but sometimes I miss him. So I guess, in a way, the Jedi stole him from me too."

[Myth Hunter]

Myth looked between the women sitting at the table. The Strikers were looking like a promising lot. But it was still small.

 

"Ok, we need a base of some sort... and a way to build an army. Death Strikers are usually women... Hapen warriors initially. Men were always in the background roles. Supplies, training, all that sort."

 

Myth looked around, the cantina. The hot dry weather... well call me an Aussie and ship me to Hoth. I feel at home.

 

"How do you feel about basing it here... or would you prefer to have a cooler climate???"

[Amidala Skywalker]

Induran shrugged, a somewhat amazing thing to see for one not used to being around a Cordu-Ji. I guess here is fine. It's little hot and dry, though. How about somewhere we can all be happy? I suggest Bestine, Taanab, or Vortex."

 

She looked around the table. "Well, it's a suggestion anyway. Wherever you think would make a good base is fine with me."

[Bishop Of Battle]

*What started as a black speck in the sky that dropped from hyperspace, ended as Bishop's Sith Infiltrator landing in the deserts of Tattooine a ways from Mos Eisley. Sensing impending doom with animal like instincts, the primitive Tuskan Raiders abandoned their stoops and picked up their nomadic camp as hastily as they could. When he approached the burned out and ravaged remains of a farm, it was devoid of life. Charred fire pits still smoldered and trash remained, but nothing living peaked at Bishop as he entered through the twisted and broken front gates. Explosive marks, now thirty years old, were worn but still recognizable on the broken metal doors that had once protected the villa from idle raider attacks. The souls of the restless still loomed strong to his heart, but they remained locked in the shell of the place. He climbed through the shattered house, up to a distantly familiar room. A bed, torn to shreds but still recognizable, stood in the corner. A stray explosion had knocked out a portion of the wall by the window, destroying a play chest. What toys remained were in shambles within the drawers. The rest had been destroyed or stolen. He sat down on the edge of the floor of his old room, looking out over Tatooine's dunes.*

[Darth Grief]

Tearing out of hyperspace, howling like the severed head of some opprobrious beast vomited from the depths of the blackest pit ever conceived by human or inhuman despair, flew the ship possessed by Darth Grief.

None knew whence he came.

Only one knew why he came.

The Falleen who had long been lost to the wiles of the dark side of the Force caressed the controls as a dictator caresses his slavering lapdog. The pulse within him had awakened once more.

Every once in a few years, amid his lapses of hibernation on long-forgotten worlds, the dark side would pulse through him. The heartbeat of a dead god more alive than any man. It had Darth Grief in its fingertips, and continuously fondled his tiny, power-addled mind, twisting it in all directions a hundred times each second.

All Darth Grief could make of the thrumming pulse was that he felt the urge, once more, to take life.

A great deal of life.

Not since he had predatorily hunted Airleas Lianahan through the jungles of Dagobah had his hunger for flesh been so rancorously enflamed. He was drawn to the scent of innocence and nubility as a moth to the flame that consumes it...

 

In such a grievous manner did the Falleen called Darth Grief, or Nyfe Merdir by birth, arrive at Mos Eisley's outskirts upon the planet Tattooine.

 

His ship was a Z-95 Headhunter of modified design, painted in disgusting black with a radar- and laser-reflective mix which allowed it to slip through most active detection systems unnoticed. The fighter was called Maleficus by name, although the only monikers which people of any world called it were "Aberration" or "Steelshower". The former name came from the dripping look that the reflective paint took on when the craft flew through sunlight...

And the latter name came from the actions which the pilot of the Headhunter invariably would take once the craft would come to a halt in midair above a planet.

 

The cruel Falleen at the controls smelled the flower of innocence within Mos Eisley, blooming among weeds of villainy.

On his command, the wretched starfighter drew to a dead stop a mile above and out of the Mos Eisley spaceport and cantina, perched a short distance away from the standard trafficking lanes.

 

Inside the cockpit, the silent figure withdrew a rifle and began to assemble and load it.

[Bishop Of Battle]

*Bishop rose with the looming night. Coming death was an oder upon the air that smelled so sweet. The twin suns of Tatooine drifted past the horizon and he made his way down the stairs of the shattered villa. Tusken Raiders stood in the distance. A few had ventured close enough to near his ship, but scattered as he approached. Bantha's wailed on the horizon as his presence permeated them. The women and the children of the nomadic tribe hid behind the thick coats of their rides.*

 

"It is time to bury the past."

 

*Behind him, cracks formed on the surface of his once home. The walls shattered and fell within eachother and the sands swept up into a maelstrom. When he was done, a wind swept dune covered the remains of the past. He continued to his ship and climbed inside.*

[Amidala Skywalker]

"Oooh!" Indy paused and looked excitedly towards the band playing in the cantina. "I love this song!!!!" She got up and quickly started dancing to the music, dragging Myth and Taren with her.

[Darth Grief]

From behind his binoculars, the figure in the ship wiped the drool from the corners of his mouth.

He sat down in the seat of his cockpit and pulled from his pocket a long metal clip. His spindly fingers pried from the clip a single cylindrical slug, tipped by uncommon Bespin crystal, which he held up to the light of the suns. Within the translucent point of the slug, vile toxins and abhorrent acids stirred, waiting for the moment at which they would be violently injected into the body of their target.

 

The Falleen slid the slug into the chamber of his rifle, where it clicked into place. Behind it, he attached the remainder of the clip, so that the rifle's bolt-action mechanism would be able to insert multiple crystal-tipped slugs without manual reloading.

With grim intent he raised the binoculars to his eyes once more, fondling the trigger of his rifle with his other hand. Far below and away from him the cantina of Mos Eisley sprawled upon the dusty plain, a tall building with only a few windows to entrap the midday sun inside. Through the largest of these windows the Falleen peered, searching with his binoculars the way a perverse prowler searches through bedchambers in the night.

It was no accident that the creature's sadistic grin widened as he spied Induran through the hole in the wall. Without a care in the world the girl danced, swinging Myth and Taren by the hands, to the tune of music the Falleen could not hear.

It was no matter, anyway. His mind was permeated by a tune that blocked out all other noise, a requiem demanding innocent blood that sang profanities to his curdled brain.

 

Darth Grief growled in glee as he lay down his binoculars and raised the rifle to his eye to replace them, opening the cockpit a shade to give himself a clear line of sight. Through the weapon's telescopic viewsight he could spy Induran from a mile's height and distance as though she were right in front of him. He flicked a switch on the side of the weapon and the scope's view became augmented by infrared signatures, causing the girl's form to dance in spectra of orange and red to Grief's baleful eye.

 

Unbeknownst to the joyful dancing girl, Grief centered her left temple in the crosshair of the scope, laughed slightly to himself, and tightened his finger upon the trigger.

[Taren the Terror]

Taren had not had so much fun since she was younger and her sister and her would dance with their brothers friends. Dancing was bringing back good memories!

 

"Induran? Myth? Do you gals always have this much fun? I haven't done this in years, and I almost forgot how much I miss it!!!"

 

Taren clapped.

 

"Play louder!"

[Myth Hunter]

Myth twirled around. A smile spread across her lips. "We always make sure we have some sort of fun when we get together. Dancing is the best fun."

 

Clapping the band as they finished off one song and started up another, Myth bagan to bob to the music. The girls dancing caused quite a few strange glances at them... but mixed up in their dancing, they were totally oblivious.

[Darth Grief]

From within the Z-95 Headhunter hovering, canopy slightly ajar, a mile above the scalding wastes of Tatooine, the silhouette of Darth Grief double-checked his aim, and with extreme delight pulled the trigger. For his own personal enjoyment he had not bothered to equip a silencer, so that all would become, an instant too late, aware of the doom that befell them.

 

The blistering crack of the high-powered rifle shattered the air of the Tatooine afternoon.

 

Spinning in a gyroscopic rotation, the crystal-tipped slug whistled at twice the speed of sound through the traffic lanes and into the spaceport. In one ten-thousandth of a second it spanned the length of the port, threaded the window in the cantina, and with a dull, hard thud struck Induran's temporal lobe with enough force to have blown a hole through the wall.

Of course, Myth couldn't have heard the rifle's report. Only the sound of the vicious slug's impact registered to her. However, the look on Induran's face at the moment she died would be one that would be burned into Myth's memory for as long as she would live.

 

The impacted girl's face registered not surprise nor astonishment, but a sickening, world-devastating despair as the unseen projectile cracked open her skull and bent her neck into a repulsive lolling angle with the force.

To Induran, it was as if all the hope she had ever known, all the faith she had ever put in mankind, was obliterated in an instant. It was as if for one terrible moment she was watching God revoke the promise of salvation he had given to all the human race.

But the shattering despair ended just as quickly as it began, for the bullet of Darth Grief put an end to Induran's life fully as it blasted out the other side of her skull and showered a nearby table and those who sat at it in bright gore. The girl gasped at the moment of impact and clutched Myth's hand with all her strength -- though whether from her own fear, or from the random neural signals created from the destruction of her motor cortex, none would ever know.

 

The corpse of Induran sighed and released her friend's hand, and fell in a broken heap onto the floor of the Mos Eisley cantina. All who witnessed the scene were paralyzed by shock and horror, though in the background could be heard the sound of a single young girl weeping...

 

A mile away, out, and above, Darth Grief inspired, and reloaded.

[Taren the Terror]

Taren was in shock!!!!

 

"AHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!"

 

Blood spattered all over her and tears begin to run from her eyes.

 

"Myth... What... Happened...?"

[Hutt Fleet Commander]

A small platoon of Hutt Guards continues their route through Mos Eisley listening and watching closely.

[Amidala Skywalker]

[[{Just wondering...do I get any last words, or did I die instantly?}]]

[Darth Grief]

OOC: You died instantly. The bullet caused complete destruction of the limbic system and brain stem, causing immediate loss of all vital processes.

[Amidala Skywalker]

OOC: Okay, then.

By the way, you should try to write a fanfic or something--you have good descriptive writing.