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Savareen


Exodus

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Savareen


Astrographical Information
Region: Outer Rim
Trade Routes: Corellian Run
Orbital Position: --
Grid Coordinates: --

Physical Information
Class: Terrestrial
Atmosphere: Type 1 Breathable Oxygen Mix
Primary Terrain: Deserts, Oceans

Points of Interest: ???

Societal Information
Indigenous Species: Savarians, Humans
Immigrated Species: --
Primary Language(s): Basic
Faction Affiliation: Neutral

Defense Rating:  One

 

Description:

 

Savareen was a planet that was located at one spur of the Kessel Run, in the galaxy's Outer Rim Territories. The planet consisted of sandy landmasses and huge oceans. Savareen was also known for its famous brandy drink. The Crimson Dawn once had a business there and they chopped off the tongues of the natives.

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Great. Just great. Dump refugees on a desert planet with a moisture vaporator, half the farming implements needed to set up a workable farm, give them fewer supplies than necessary to subsist on, and expect the local population to help out. Super.

Granted, Ash was probably overlooking the fact that the Galactic Alliance had just been dealt a huge blow to its available resources what with Coruscant's moon crashing into it and all, and if anything he should be thankful he escaped with his red skin intact. But still, here he was, wondering how he was going to survive the next few days, much less get back to the galaxy proper and reestablish his life. Things had always been funny like that for him. When he was a toddler, some madman named Faust had caused the shields to drop on Coruscant, killing a significant chunk of its population to include his biological parents. Now this?

At the least, they had shelter, if it was only a couple dozen community tents, and for the time being they had water. The locals had already shown they weren't too keen on having to put up with a bunch of refugees, but nobody really had any say in the matter and nobody was around to truly accept blame for the situation they found themselves in. Except the refugees, of course, they were the outsiders, so naturally they weren't to be trusted. Already there had been several incidents of theft among the three hundred or so refugees, and a few isolated reported events with the locals, so at the least several bad apples had already cast a pall over their group.

Ash was just ready for it to all be over. He closed his eyes as he rested on his cot, trying not to think about how the rest of his belongings were now getting sand in them as literally his only personal space was directly beneath him, and there was no floor.

Super.

Maybe tomorrow things would change. Maybe tomorrow they'd all die. He tried not to think about it.

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The small settlement drew extremely weary with time and the erratic abuse of sand storms that hounded them at every sunfall. He could feel the tension bleed from every tent, and the mouths of the stragglers all around him. Countrymen, refugees, and travelers all blended upon these shores of Savareen, combing their experiences together in order to survive. Aurion was no more than a fly on the wall, wrapped mysteriously in the bleached raiment of a merchant, with no more than the clothes on his back to offer. He was a survivor, with ties to no one in particular amidst the rubble, but an affinity for helping them all. 

It had been his third night enduring the wild winds, and the harsh thrashing of small stones, in order to operate in the chaos of the nightly tempests. Reports of theft had spread like wildfire, fueling the strain on the ungainly community, but he insisted. Under the mask of pandemonium, Aurion made his way by taking from the rich and lending to the poor. There were men and women who possessed more than what was necessary to continue forward, and hissed at the mention of splitting their hoards. These were the individuals he preyed on, indiscriminate of their reasons. Rationings of food and water appeared to be divided without bias, but as a fly on the wall, Aurion watched an undercurrent of corrupted power begin to slowly surge in the administration. Desperation would reveal the wolves in sheepskin, it was only a matter of time.

He suspected the refugee Ash knew nothing of his little excursions, even though proximity to his resting place essentially made them neighbors. For now, the comfort of his cot steadied him to sleep and worked to ease his subtle wounds. 
 

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Morning came without warning. Blazing heat following freezing cold, with the humidity from the shores not making things easier on Ash, who was used to temperature controlled buildings and luxuries like hair product. Live or die, he was certain this was Hell, or at least some extension of it. His adoptive parents used to talk about it quite a lot, taking him to religious services as a kid, but he mostly just relegated that kind of talk as fairy tales meant to scare him into doing his chores. Still, it worked.

One of the things he'd been taught by his human guardians growing up was to never use his pheromones. He'd been lectured long and hard about how as a Zeltron he had certain gifts that were unfair to unleash upon the unwitting. Ash had a strong moral code, and wanted to make his way in life honestly. He'd been taught moral virtues well, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and hunger was a powerful motivator.

So, at lunch, he allowed a bit of his pheromones out. He'd been practicing over the last few years anyways, working as a waiter it was appropriate to keep customers happy, but Ash never did it to get significant tips. That was unethical. The cook at the end of the line, if he could even be called a cook, was a raggedy man. Grey hair and wrinkles told the tale of weariness and hardship that the galaxy tended to offer to most, and he was no exception. But without knowing why, he looked at Ash with a smile when it was finally Ash's turn, and at short request, gave him a much larger portion of the hardbread than most others. He stuck it in a pouch he was carrying, of course, and handed it over without so much as a second thought. The people behind him who had seen said nothing, they were mostly smiling and enthralled by Ash's handsome features.

He'd been told it was like being drunk, but in a bubbly and happy way. All Ash knew was that if others were happy, it meant he was happier, but to force these feelings on others without their explicit permission was wrong. At his cot, he stared at the pouch for a long time, thinking about what he'd done. What if it meant less for someone else, someone who needed it? But there would be more, the refugee aid personnel wouldn't let people starve, and the community was large enough here that they could make more food and water soon... Still, it weighed heavy on his mind, and for a long while he debated with himself whether or not he should take it back. His stomach eventually won out the argument, and without another thought he pulled out the bread and took a large bite.

Precious crumbs dribbled down his lips, and the taste wasn't particularly amazing, but it was food, and instinctively he continued. A small sound behind him alerted him a few bites later, and he turned to see the man who had the cot next to him staring at him. ((Aurion)) Ash was nearly certain the tent was mostly empty, there were a few people at the far end resting from the midday heat, but he'd somehow missed a man napping right next to him.

Slowly the scene dawned on Ash, and there was a long pause as Ash looked at his bread for a moment, before breaking off a sizable chunk and offering it to him. Not to silence him, though if Ash wanted he likely could have made him forget by distracting him with pheromones, but that would likely just cause more problems. That's how it always was, anyways, you cheat once and you wind up having to cheat again and again just to cover it up until it all crashes down on your head in a brutal tidal wave. It was better to just face the music in most cases. Here, though, Ash simply wondered if the man was hungry. It was the right thing to do.

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These dreams never end


Aurion rolled over on his side, and brushed the sleep from the corner of his cursed eyes, aches and pains still riddled his calves from his hunt. Blinking curiously, he found at his surprise, a hand extended with a courteous offering. Aurion covered his mouth with his left before he could respond, only because the yearning of a hearty yawn could not wait to escape him. He stalled for a moment, wondering if there was purpose hidden behind the gesture, but the murmurs of his own belly persuaded him against better judgment. The appropriation of food had been his sole objective for the last several sunsets, feeding those left underfed. However, when it came to his own rations, he had starved himself beyond belief. 

 

“Thank you,”

 

The tradesmen twine that composed his sleeves hung loose as he reached out, and snatched the bread piece from the outsider. Without pause, Aurion shoved the small loaf into his mouth and savored the arid taste that came with it. It was in this moment, that Aurion had painted himself with a mark that would stick with him for the remainder of his time inside of this settlement. He broke bread with an outsider, one that fell from ships not of these sands. There were those that scorned those not of these lands, rejected the instruction to share equal in the plunder that was afforded the encampment. Aurion did not choose sides, for had traveled, and had witnessed a power unlike any that ordinary man could fathom. 

 

“I am born of Savareen, what brings you here, stranger?”
 

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Born of Savareen...Ash's mind raced a bit, realizing his social faux pas. Well, at least this local was talking to him. That was an improvement. But why was he sleeping in the refugee tents? Maybe it was something to do with cultural property norms? Or maybe he just found a nice tent to get out of the midday sun for a bit. Most of the cots looked empty, anyways, and they were close enough to the settlement that practically anyone could come and go as they please.

"I, uh...I'm from Coruscant. Its moon crashed into it. That's why there's a lot of offworlders here right now, we were kind of dumped here as refugees by the Alliance. I don't really have anywhere else to go. Much less the means to get there."

Why did you tell him so much? Ash momentarily felt vulnerable. But with a deep breath, he suppressed the feelings, simply allowing things to be. It wasn't like it mattered much anyways, the truth of the matter was he was vulnerable, a stranger in a strange land. And that was when Ash noticed that he couldn't really feel anything from the person who he'd shared the bread with. Normally there was some kind of emotion he picked up on and reflected. He'd had to suppress it many times since coming here, else he risked starting fights and kicking off a chain of events that could easily end with his death. But this...it was kind of nice. He didn't have to worry nearly as much, and it was calming.

"I'm Ash. What did you say your name was again?"

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  • 2 weeks later...

".. The name is Aurion,"

 

Colorless pupils met cardinal ones, the differences between the two were quite noticeable. One from the sands, and one from the stars. Aurion watched for a moment to discern what Ash actually was, but distracted himself so he did not stare for too long. He was a creature he had not witnessed before this, but his physical characteristics closely resembled what was familiar to him. It mattered not, the two were interconnected as bread was broken within their encampment. Eyes were everywhere, and from here, they would have to walk with caution. Aurion shifted his weight closer to where the out-lander sat, brushing the prussian blue from his face, speaking in a quieter tone. 

 

"There are some inside the camp that would see the outsiders disappear, will the Alliance come back for you?"

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"I...I don't know."

Ash swallowed hard as the words escaped his lips, cementing the fear he had been avoiding for so long. Desperation had begun to set in among many of the refugees, and as a Zeltron, Ash felt it loud and clear. Using his breathing exercises, he slowly calmed back down, suppressing the negative emotions. He never expected to have to use them in a place like this, but he was glad his parents had forced him to learn them at so young an age. Still, something else was nagging at the back of his mind, and in an effort to shift the conversation a bit, decided to blindly stab at it.

"It's strange. Normally I can feel what other people are feeling. Emotions, the like. My people are empaths like that. But from you...from you I get nothing. I can read some of the locals, but not you. And I apologize as I say this, it's not really something I can help."

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  • 2 weeks later...

"Don't sweat it. Could just be my stubborn nature." 

 

Aurion chuckled lightly, masking the discomfort in learning what it was this individual was capable of. Perhaps his training was the reason Ash was unsuccessful, or an even more clouded reason he was unfamiliar with. Did Ash know what a Jedi was? This was no time to disclose such information, the universe was a much darker place now, and none could be trusted to hold their tongue. Besides, the last Aurion had heard, there was a bold bounty for all practitioners of the force, and he could be the last of his kind. Aurion pressed his palm against the warmth of the sand beneath him, seiving through with the loose terrain as if all the secrets of the land lay just below.

 

"Besides, if others know what you and your people can do, imagine the fear they have of you? These people are a territorial kind, living off of a land that offers scarcity. Be careful with your truths, Ash."

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Ash paused for a moment. He hadn't considered that. On Coruscant, most were at least familiar with Zeltrons, and usually they knew that being around a Zeltron meant having a good time. Here however, he was a stranger in a strange land. Many of the locals might have never even left their homeworld before, and they wouldn't know the finer details of some of the other humanoid species that inhabited the galaxy.

"I hadn't thought of that."

He lowered his voice even further, wondering if this new friend was really a friend. At the least, he spoke friendly enough. And after all, as far as Aurion was concerned, the supposed secret was already out.

"I...worry. There is much unrest among the refugees here, and a lot of tension between them and the locals. Much more than is openly said. I fear open hostilities are about to break out. Last night, I..."

He paused, again wondering if he was sharing too much information. Still, he was in it this far with the stranger.

"...I had a dream. The settlement burned, bodies everywhere. The sands ran dark with blood. The only refuge was in the sky. I had a similar dream before Coruscant was, well... you know. I think something really bad is going to happen."

Another pause as he reflected on what he'd said, realizing slowly that these dreams weren't that uncommon. 

"I overheard one of the Alliance administrators talking a few days ago. There's supposed to be a relief ship coming tonight to drop off more supplies. I think trying to convince the captain to grant me passage anywhere else is a good move. You... you should come too."

Why did I say that? Ash almost couldn't help himself. What was it about this man that made him feel so comfortable? Still, if Aurion's mere presence was what caused him to realize the impending danger and formulate a plan to get away from it, then perhaps inviting him along was a good thing. Ash just worried that if things came down to it, he wouldn't really be able to look out for anyone else but himself, and he could barely do that well as it was.

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The mention of a dream, one that hoarded blood and fire, such words arrested the attention of the wanderer. Aurion froze, the sound and interest of another relief vessel passed through his ears. He heard what was said, but blood and fire danced inside of his eyes now, as if he knew what Ash spoke of, better than anyone could ever understand. Even the lift of his chest stopped moving, and his breathing slowed to a desperate crawl, was he even breathing at all? There was a quiet between them now, an awkward tension that did not better itself the longer the silence lived. This is where the dead neutrality of color inside of his eyes really made sense, an unimpassioned gaze that saw more than what lips could tell. "How is this possible?" 

 

You see, Aurion knew this dream well. It came to him in his first sleep at this settlement. The first moonrise, and the first time he had found decent rest in well over a month. Exhaustion stole him, for the miles traveled and the worlds crossed, Aurion began to lose sight of things. So, when the heaviness of tire forced him asleep, that is where he saw it. The sand drank of blood, and became a tide of red death. The fire consumed whatever it could, from flesh to hope. Yes, Ash was correct, there were bodies everywhere. Men, women, and children burning whether alive or dead. The dream was not a dream, but perhaps a warning. For the man in the dark that held the torch to all of that chaos, standing and smiling in the dance of destruction, was Aurion himself. Did this Zeltron know?

 

"If you'll have me."

 

Aurion smiled, and reached out to shake his hand.

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Ash couldn't have known what that handshake meant. Neither of them did, really, though Aurion might have had some guess. That one moment of destiny, shattering the spiderweb of what if and realigning their future to a much narrower outcome. One of danger, hope, despair, redemption, pain, joy... Their clasped hands represented the beginning of something greater than the sum of both of them, of intertwined fates few had the opportunity to experience.

But to Ash, in this moment, it was just a handshake. A beginning. A pact, hopefully one which would see them safely from this nightmare. 

That night, the unmistakable whine of the freighter's engines alerted them that the time was right to move. Ash had his small bag of clothes slung on his shoulder, and had readied himself to talk to the captain...persuasively if the need arose. Aurion was supposed to meet with him near the landing area, but Ash hadn't seen him in the few minutes it took for him to jog over. That, and there was an eerie glow coming from the nearby settlement, as if the locals had lit a bonfire for some kind of celebration. Ash rounded a corner, and the ship itself came into view, the crew busy offloading supplies. As there was a few minutes worth of time, he figured he'd wait for Aurion.

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"Psst."

 

Aurion crept low, and rounded the same corner. A hint of distress covered his expressions, perhaps it was panic, but the uneasiness was hard to address. He did not have much to collect for this, but loose ends needed tying, and through his farewells he could sense the commotion that awakened in the settlement. Slowly, his fresh presence here had become welcomed mostly, for he became a beacon of candour in the midst of those in the settlement that were low on the priority list. The low-hanging fruit had a savoir in him, but there was a danger in him that many began to question. "Ash, there is unrest everywhere, I saw a gathering on the way here. They seem to be rallying, but it is nothing festive." Aurion looked over both of his shoulders as he spoke in a hushed tone, his face and features now covered by a kaleidoscopic desert shawl. His darker skin tone was harder to discern while dusk ruled over the land, but his monochromatic optics somehow shed light where no source could be found.  "Our window is closing, you sure about this?"

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"Not really. This whole thing seems crazy. But I still have a really bad feeling that if we don't, we're never leaving here."

Hefting his bag on his shoulder, he approached one of the crew, greeting them with a smile befitting the best customer service he could muster. The crewman spoke up first, though, gruffly rebuffing him. As he talked though, his features began to smooth out, beginning to be affected by Ash's pheromones.

"Look, there's nothing for you here, you're going to have to get food in the line like everyone else does. What, uh...what are you doing here, anyways? This landing zone is off-limits."

Not backing down, Ash held his smile, warmly responding to the man. "We're looking to talk with your captain, perhaps? We have a very lucrative offer in exchange for passage off this rock."

The man smiled, displaying teeth that looked to have only been taken care of by liquor and death sticks for the last several decades. "I'm the captain, sonny. What's this lucrative offer?"

"We used to be ore prospectors working for a Coruscanti-based company. We happen to know the location of a very rich deposit of kyberite, and are willing to give you that information after you transport us to wherever you happen to be going next."

The captain scratched his chin, mulling the offer over. It was apparent he'd only heard of the mineral in passing, which was fortunate because Ash had only heard of it in passing from a customer at the restaurant he used to work at before becoming a refugee. It was a simple lie, but an effective and highly tempting one. "Isn't that the stuff that they find those crystals in? I got a buddy that does mining on the side, he might-"

"CAPTAIN BRONSON!"

The captain was cut off by a yell from one of the on-site Galactic Alliance refugee organizers, running up to the landing zone. "It's the natives! They've gone crazy! They're rioting and heading this way! We need to get out of here, now!"

Ash's stomach sank. So Aurion was right, as was his dream. The captain paused for a moment, his brow creasing as he thought. He gave a long stare at Ash and Aurion before motioning for them to get on the ship. "Fine. Looks like we can't stick around to debate the finer details of your lucrative offer. We'll talk in transit. You two and you-" he pointed at the refugee organizer, "Get on the ship. Hastings!" he practically screamed into his comm, an older model that looked to be in a state of disrepair. "Fire up the engines, we're leaving ahead of schedule. Ask questions later, just do it now."

Ash shot Aurion a brief look, before turning and hastily walking up the cargo ramp. This was it.

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  • 2 weeks later...

The scene unraveled at a pace that was too fast, and the actions of men and monsters drew nearer as the seconds ticked. Ash was speaking, words exchanged between people who were both uncertain and fearful. Aurion could sense it, he could feel the dread that crawled all about them. The ship roared loud however, and the flickers of fire in the distance were muted in contrast to the thunderous vessel. Panic was a fascinating feeling, it could be felt in the stomach, it could be felt in the throat, and there was nothing one could do to wash it away once it came over you. Wandering alone, far from the places he had called home, dulled him to these sensations he could now feel in the air. 


 

"It's the natives! They've gone crazy! They're rioting and heading this way! We need to get out of here, now!" The man shouted.



Before he could chime in with the ebb and flow of power at his tips, the crew barreled up the ramp, while Ash turned back to shoot Aurion a look of confirmation. “This was it.” Aurion played at the shawl that covered his features, readjusting the edges to make sure it hid enough while the gusts of the cargo ship intensified. Ash turned and entered the vessel, but Aurion froze for a moment more, all he could manage was to stare down the swarm headed his way. His extraordinary eyes, searching the faces of the mob. The dissection of their features was important, a guilty plea of the orchestrators of unrest, a confession of those that would continue to seed turmoil in the lands of Savareen— his home. Before the ramp could close, Aurion hissed and neatly pitched himself inside the hold. The bells and alarms of the craft were louder here, and as he stood to recover balance, he noticed the mess of supplies strewn across the floors. Perhaps he could turn back and cut down those that would arrive with fire, and hand out provisions to those that sorely needed them. This was not how he would have done it, but he could not bend time to his will as he could command the Force around him. "No one can know what I am." 

 

The thought just left his mind, and he could feel the transport lift weight from the gear linked to the landing pad. Weightlessness hushed over the passengers, and would feel like freedom, narrowly escaping tragic bloodshed. If he stayed, was that what the dreams warned against? Carnage without prejudice. "Ash! We——". Aurion yelled out-loud, but the alerts sounded off even louder than before. The force of a locomotive punched into the ship mid-flight and blacked the power completely, Aurion hadn't managed to grab hold of anything to brace himself and whipped across the cargo hold into the opposite wall. Red lights, fueled by a secondary source, wheeled ceaselessly while the pandemonium of emergency sounds remained deafening. One of the crew was dead, Aurion could feel when the pressure of impact blew the life from his eyes. He was too shaken to see if he had lost his new friend, with his eyes squinted, the world spun just enough for nausea to take hold of him. The ship was still flying, but for how long was the question. Aurion was slipping from consciousness..

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"Ash! We-"

 

Ash whirled at Aurion's shout. Something felt distinctly off. Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to follow through on that thought as the shock wave from something hitting the ship sent him careening face-first into a nearby wall. The one small mercy he had was being knocked unconscious quickly, though it really only meant that the headache when he woke would be that much worse.

 

Meanwhile in the cockpit the pilot fought the ship controls as the ship hurtled away from the encampment. For a while, the ship gained altitude until another subsystem failed, making escape to space impossible. As they hurtled back towards the planet, there was one simple thought on the pilot's mind: he was a leaf on the wind...

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The provisions dropship recoiled with failures and careened treacherously close to the hills of sand and mountains of rock. The distance traveled was far, throttled at unmanageable speeds, with a blemished cockpit. There were wanderers abroad that looked to the skies and witnessed the strain of the aircraft, pointing upward to the black smoke that fumed from the engines. Aurion blacked on impact, but his senses were needled from the constant blare of alarms. He winced, and remembered his experience whenever he was thrown under duress. His hands searched, a quick inspection of his own body turned up no evidence of mortal wounds. He could hear the deepness of his own breath over the racket, the exasperation buried deep in his chest. Rolling onto his side, and pressing his hands against the cold of the steel beneath him, Aurion leveraged his weight against the speed at which their airship moved at. If he moved too fast, a miasma of distress threatened to black his mind once more, which meant a measured canter was the only option.

 

“Ash! Get up! Brace yourself!”


 

Aurion barked loud, and somehow, the words did not just echo off of the walls, but roared inside the mind of the companion he had schemed with. The sound of a powerful draft thundered as their conveyance spiralled downward, the metal that bounded the structure of it began to peel viciously away. Time was nearly out, Aurion had no choice. He reached outwards and towards Ash, ignoring the other individuals that ragdolled to and fro. There was a strange force that clutched at him, dragging him towards a support beam to steel himself against impact. If they died, then this is where the Force would end their stories. If the two lived, perhaps the Force was not finished with him after all.

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  • 4 months later...

The arrival of Swift Justice over Savareen was rather uneventful compared to its arrival and departure from Kessel. The planet looked dirty from space, and that was about as far into Tros’ own imagination that he would allow for himself to go. He stood behind Vulios as his own buy’ce sat upon the floor. Bex sat within the comm officer’s chair staring rather blankly between Tros and the planet. There was a very distinct awkward silence that hung within the air of the cockpit, which was broken by Vulios. “You’d be more comfortable sitting in the co-pilots chair… or the pilots chair- it is your ship after all al’verde.”

 

The very words made Bex go from looking at Tros to the planet with the intent of trying to keep his focus there. He let out a breath he was unaware he was holding in, which forced him to speak. Our ship vod. We’re a crew now, much like we’re going to get paid together. Just take us in to the coordinates given to us by the Zann Consortium.” Tros then picked up his buy’ce and walked out of the cockpit and into the main hold. He quickly found Vrax who was simply standing in the middle of the hold waiting for him. He didn’t have his buy’ce on, and his face made it clear he was waiting to talk to him, so Tros gave a simple nod to give him the okay to talk. 

 

“Dimaal wants to cargo loaded in a different spot from where we get paid…” Vrax’s eyes were cold and locked in to his commander. His voice was also very stern, yet Tros knew better, he was worried. “I know Vrax. He altered the exchange details. The Zann Consortium has been known for not paying out contracts in order to keep credits themselves. It’s why I’m altering how many are supposed to collect the credits.” Vrax nodded his head and put his buy’ce and looked over to Monilar. “Will he join us then?” “No, he will.” Tros lifted his finger and pointed towards Canderous. “Get him prepared.”

My-Almas-Way-Creation (1).png

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For most of the trip from Kessel, I had remained in prayer, my chin resting upon the metal that rose above my breastplate and encompassed my head, hands stretched out with my palms facing me. But as i felt the shift of the ship as it exited hyperspace, i gathered myself to my feet and headed back to the main hold where most of everyone had gathered.

 

Most of them were either cleaning their gear, a couple were playing a game of chance cube against the paneling, and the rest were going about their duties. So I sat down and began to sharpen my blades with a wet stone. There was something about the soothing sound of metal against stone that had always calmed my nerves, and not that I was nervous here and now, it did help relieve some of the tension I had been holding onto since our departure upon this job. 

 

I was new to the group, and knew very little, if any, about my comrades other than we had served Mandalore and Kad Ha'rangir without question and utter obedience. But i was still new, and after having been alone for so long after my stint as Mandalore Dar'Manda, I had grown complacent until Rose and Rru fell into my life.

 

I had finished one blade and was about done when I noticed Tros walk into the hangar and briefly overheard him and Vrax talking when I saw Tros point in my direction. So I sheathed my blade across the small of my back and walked over, my eyes still draped in the leathered cloth that covered my eyes.

 

"You have need of me, Vod?" I questioned, my tone echoing my relief. "I am ready."

darmanda.png

Formally Known as Hunter Of Shadows/Dark

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  • 1 month later...

Tros simply nodded his head towards Canderous and began to walk himself off the ship. He was ready to get this all over with. The amount of fuss that took place from the beginning made it difficult for him to feel motivated to work and deal with The Zann Consortium. He would deal with everything that Dimaal was doing at the time that it needed to be dealt with. Stepping off the landing ramp, he was hit by wind from the sea and the smell of sand and salt filled his nostrils. He stood at the bottom of the ramp and looked around. He waited for about thirteen seconds before Vrax and Canderous both made it to the bottom of the ramp with him. 

 

"Dimaal wants cargo loaded there, and us the get paid there... Which means he already has people in position to do a cleanup sweep when he goes to claim everything. What are your thoughts?" He knew that Vrax would't waste time, and of course was the very next voice he heard. "Monilar will be able to hold the cargo with Bex. Although now that I said that out loud, I have a strong feeling you don't really want to hold onto the cargo. So have Bex stay here and keep the ship ready for take off?" "Monilar can take the cargo himself as we finish up business with Dimaal. The goal will be to identify who is second in command and keep them alive when Dimaal turns on us. Any input Canderous?"

My-Almas-Way-Creation (1).png

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  • 2 months later...

A loud explosion filled the sky near where Tros Ardell and his crew had landed their ship. A single freighter burst from hyperspace inside the atmosphere, falling towards the ground in smoke and flames. A weak distress signal briefly emanated from the craft before it impacted upon the planet's surface not two hundred yards from Tros's position, skidding through rock and soil to come to a nasty halt.

 

Inside, AE-615's sensors began to power down, its damaged micro fusion reactor unable to continue functioning. His self-repair systems had been compromised, Kul'rorr was dead, and Aegis had failed to carry out its secondary and tertiary programming. One hope remained, but the statistical probability of events occurring in the order needed for it to develop to fruition was calculated as extremely low. Cutting main power, Aegis switched off what he could to stem further damage to his chassis, attempting to conserve any remaining energy to aid the startup sequence, if he was ever restarted.

It was the end. And the beginning.

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Tros suddenly looked towards the sky upon the loud thundering sound of an explosion. His eyes caught a glimpse of what looked like a chunk of metal falling towards the ground not far off from where the crew were currently at. Vrax immediately looked at Tros with some hesitation. “Dimaal’s doing?” Behind his buy’ce, he narrowed his eyes. “I doubt it. But it could mean trouble regardless…” He quickly scanned the surrounding area to see what was present and to think through what was happening. If it was going to be a trap, this could complicate things. “Better get everyone up there. I’ll scout out the clunk that fell. If Dimaal is up to something, we better keep as many advantages as we can. Go make the deal. I’ll give support if that turns out to be nothing.”

 

Tros didn’t wait for a response, as he knew that Vrax would give none anyways. So instead readied himself to move out quickly towards the crash. Deep down, there was something in the back of his mind that told him something was up. Whatever was going on, he needed to be prepared. Even as he walked away, he was checking on his DE-10’s to make sure that they were ready for whatever might be found over the small hill. Upon reaching the top, he looked out and observed the wreckage through the scanner within his buy’ce. There didn’t seem to be any sign of hostility, and his scans were showing no signs of life. Linking up his comm to Vrax - “Vrax, it could be nothing. No signs of life. I’m going to go in close to check it out…” There was a sound that began to fill the air. Almost like another ship approaching. When he looked up, he couldn’t see anything. “Keep your eyes peeled. I’ll keep this frequency open until I’m done scouting.” 

 

Tros began to pick up the pace. He wanted to check it out quickly and get back. If Dimaal was trying to pull something over them, he would want to be present to help his small crew in the fight. As he got closer he could make out that it was a ship of somesort. Wrecked and burned up. His buy’ce began to pick up a very weak distress signal. “It’s a ship Vrax. Badly damaged and emitting a very weak distress signal. Still no signs of life. I’m going to see if there is anything worth purging then I’ll head your way.” There was a quick click followed by the sound of rapid breathing. “Hurry- Dimaal is playing us for sure. Looks like a second crew of some sort. I have no doubt a firefight is going to break out soon.” Under his breath, he let out a curse as his pace went into a flat out run towards the downed ship. Making almost a slide towards the ship, he pried the door open and began to walk through. Smoke and debris made the entry almost hard. 


There was little on the ship that seemed to be worthy of purging at first glance, some weapons here and there and a few power sources caught his eye, but nothing worth him lingering over. Then he spotted something… It was small and faint, but his buy’ce picked it up rather quickly. A suit… or maybe armor of some kind that looked much more complicated than anything he had seen before. Almost after taking three steps towards it, his comlink went frantic. “Ardell! Vrax and Bex are down, Dimaal is down. They have the rest of us pinned. Please adv-” The link went dead. Chaavla! He had a feeling that Dimaal would be the downfall of this short lived crew. He was already down Vrax, Bex and Vulios. Who knew who else was still alive or would be by the time he got out of there. He needed to do something and fast.

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A chance.

It was not cognitive thought that operated, but rather a lower level subroutine, a small lightweight fragment of a program meant to measure certain fading sensor readings and act based on certain conditions. Ambient light level, atmospheric content, heat signatures, electrochemical readings, all fed from internal systems of the ship undergoing a cascade failure and rapidly collapsing. Minutes longer, and the statistical odds of recovery in a workable time would have risen exponentially as the distress signal gave out and a controlled scenario became wildly uncontrolled.

 

But the subroutine triggered, having determined a humanoid of sufficient compatibility was immediately present. One last long shot, a sequence fired off to the dying ship controls, only managing to control internal lighting and minor console indicators. From Tros's perspective, an arrow made from small specks of light behind the collapsed suit slowly flashed, managing three cycles before completely dying, indicating a rod that had punctured the back of the armor under the right shoulder blade, conveniently the side that currently faced him. The internal lights also flashed rapidly, quickly blinking out a succinct message in Morse code before also falling dead. Remove foreign object. Right rear pectoral. If anything, Tros's HUD might have picked up and translated, but either way the message should have been loud and clear.

A dark, thick blood slowly oozed from the puncture. Inside Aegis was the corpse of his creator, Kul'rorr, having suffered severe blaster wounds from eroded spots on the armor that had been shot through, and a fatal injury from the rod, unfortunately puncturing the armor as he fell in battle. But despite that failure, Aegis had calculated and executed a successful extraction, hoping to complete his secondary programming with another pilot. Now, it all led to this. The rod had shorted out a critical circuit in the micro fusion reactor. If Tros managed to remove it, Aegis would once again be able to power up and begin to repair itself; and more importantly, resume its mission. 

What Aegis hadn't calculated, what he simply couldn't completely account for despite a massive tactical database, was the situation that they now both found themselves in. He was an AI, and did not believe in luck, but they would need a great deal of luck if they were likely to survive their immediate circumstances.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Tros felt slightly off, almost torn between two objectives. To race out and help and to stay and find a better solution to the mess that was currently being created outside with his fellow vod. But the fact that the ship… it felt alive somehow, almost trying to get his attention. Lights flickered for a moment, but seemed to fade itself into a guiding light of sorts, pointing him on towards what looked like armor. It was then that the armor itself seemed to blink on and off, a code. Tros was used to seeing such codes when he would scan and hack messages over the Holonet. He didn’t catch all of it, or if he did, he didn’t understand it. 

 

Remove foreign object? What the hell does that even mean? Leaning in, he began to fumble around the armor to see if there was something that maybe he was missing or just simply couldn’t see. It looked like basic armor that was connect to a device of some sort. Letting his hand move around, which was slightly difficult with the body that still occupied the armor and the blood that seemed to be oozing everywhere from the body, he did manage to feel something that felt off. Could this be it? It feels jammed or locked in…Starting to pull heavily upon what he had grasped with his hand, he wondered how stupid he looked if someone else was simply watching and waiting to kill him at the most opportune moment. 

 

After a few hard pulls and removing a small part of the armor to get a better angle, he was finally able to remove a device. He tried to look at it, but it was still covered in the oozing blood and didn’t look like something he had seen before. He then heard a sound that sounded like it was still far off in the distances, but wanted to confirm. “Anyone on Swift Justice, report… Again, report…” 

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Several small lights blinked on underneath the back armor plating, as the short causing the micro fusion reactor to malfunction was removed. Slowly it fired up, trickling more and more power to the systems. Within seconds, power to critical systems was restored.


 

Spoiler

>power threshold reached

>initialization sequence

>powering main systems...error: damage to substructure detected in sections 14, 16, 27, 134, 135, 195, 301, 307, 433, 577, 589, 590

>repair subroutine active...error: damage to repair unit

>repairunit repair subroutine active...success

>re-allocating system resources

>estimated time to completion 293044ms

>internal diagnostics active...ERROR: CRITICAL FAILURE - PILOT
>>>PROTOCOL3 CRITICAL FAILURE: PILOT REPAIR UNAVAILABLE

>>>PROTOCOL1 ENGAGED

>external sensors...online

>scan in progress...replacement found

>phoenix subroutines active...success

>booting primary systems

>higher functions engaged

>command override engaged

>tactical analysis in progress...


The suit of armor stirred from where it rested, slowly rotating so it could see Tros with its front sensors. 

"You...you must...help. Tactical analysis...complete: Ragnarok scenario imminent. You will not survive without my help, nor I yours. You will need to remove my pilot and take his place."

Latches and hermetic seals hissed open on the suit's back, mechanically peeling away to reveal the bloodied body of a Wookiee, short for its species. Removing the body and dealing with the viscera was one thing, but in order to fit, Tros would need to remove his own armor.

"Estimated three minutes remaining to comply before this position is overrun."

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Tros turned his gaze back towards the armor as the commlink was silent. It seemed to be moving on its own, but then distinct words came out, making the request for Tros to put on the armor. The very fact that there was radio silence made the sense of urgency even more heightened without the armor speaking. He made the decision quick, he would do as it asked. 

 

Being far from careful, he began to remove the body that was currently residing within the armor and was just as quick and careless in putting it on in a hurry. He would worry about his personal effects later, for the moment, survival was far more important. The smell within the armor was rather disgusting, the body of the wookiee did not make things easy. He felt a slight twinge of guilt at removing his own beskar’gam, but much to his own thoughts, he could easily get it back later. Upon taking it all off, he quickly hide it within the ship and then moved rapidly to get himself into the armor the must have held an A.I. of some sorts to be able to speak and communicate to him. 

 

Parts of fur from the wookiee remained, as did some blood, but being a veteran of war and a bounty hunter himself, such things were nothing more than a small inconvenience to him. As he finished putting in on, the weight of the armor felt so much more than what he was used to, but he would find a way to manage. Maybe the AI would allow for him to use it without the drag of the weight upon it fully activating…

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((My sincere apologies on the lateness of this))

 

Spoiler

>sealing armor...sealed

>air cycling active
>baseline bioscan initiated...success
>pilot critical systems monitoring established
>HUD initializing...success

>repairunit reports status green

>repair subroutine active...success

>deploying repairunit


As Tros finished stepping into the armor it began hissing shut around him, encapsulating the Mandalorian. While there was still some residual gunk and smell in the helmet, it quickly began cycling the air, at the least removing the smell. The screens in front of his eyes lit up, offering a full view outside the front of the armor with tactical information overlays. The overlays were all nonfunctional, including a small localized radar, a debug text readout of AI actions and comm traffic, Tros's own heart rate and breathing patterns, as well as other significant area hazards and objects of interest. As the cockroach-like repair bot crawled across the sensor to weld and solder a spot on the external sensors, Aegis noted Tros's heart rate spike, and small speakers activated in the helmet's earpiece with the AI's voice at an appropriate level attempting to calm him.

"That is a repair drone, pilot. Do not worry, it is repairing my functions. My primary programming includes a provision to attempt to protect you at all costs, as you are now registered as the new pilot of this unit. We may have time for pleasantries later, but in a few moments we are likely to enter combat. Ready yourself."

 

Spoiler

>haptic feedback systems repaired

>haptic feedback systems active
>movement assistance systems repaired

>movement assistance systems active
>external sensors repaired

>external sensors active

>WARNING: EXTERNAL THREAT DETECTED

>>>repairunit recalled
>PROTOCOL3 ENGAGED - PROTECT PILOT

>PRIMARY WEAPON HOT
>>>ERROR: VIBROSWORD MISSING
>COMMAND OVERRIDE ENGAGED...ERROR

>>>HAPTIC FEEDBACK SYSTEMS REQUIRE CALIBRATION

>>>MOVEMENT ASSISTANCE SYSTEMS REQUIRE CALIBRATION
>>>UNKNOWN SYSTEM ERROR: OVERRIDE UNAVAILABLE

>>>PILOT CONTROLS ENGAGED

 

After a few more seconds and several spot welds later, Aegis's external sensors sprang to life, filling the HUD with a flood of information, but only two things were highlighted, both in red on the radar as well as red clouds of current approximated positioning of the targets through the walls of the ship.

"Pilot. Threat detected. Fifty metres and closing."

Aegis twitched, attempting to move, at which point Tros noticed several small shocks in his leg muscles, causing them to try to move inside the armor as if he were moving with the armor...but it didn't work. Something wasn't quite synced up, and it was clear the intelligent suit of armor had trouble moving.

"I require your assistance. While I am unable to help guide your movements at this time, you should now have full control over the movement of this unit. Bioscans indicate that you are physically a competent being and capable in the realm of combat. Trust in yourself. You can do this."

Aegis was unaware of the true potential Tros brought to the realm of combat, but nonetheless the sentence was enhanced by the barrel of the heavy repeating blaster mounted to the armor unit's left arm spinning up menacingly. These next few minutes they would need to trust each other, but the odds of survival Aegis had been calculating continue to rise.

((Feel free to describe the two approaching targets, they can either be from the pirates who were following the ship Aegis was on, or the enemies Tros was dealing with. The suit should handle rather unwieldy at first, overcompensation and undercompensation of movements would be likely until Tros's muscles get used to the bioelectric haptic feedback system. How long that takes is up to you, but I had planned on doing something later that manually improves things.))

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This hissing sound of the suit sealing itself made his own heart spike, in nothing else but sheer fear of not being able to get out. It calmed down upon seeing his own heart rate on the HUD before him. The smell suddenly quickly became the least of his worries as the AI spoke, giving slight reassurances and even picking up a threat, to which he could now see on the HUD. He tried to see if he could study the movements, but soon had what felt like shocks in his upper calves, which was once again followed by the sound of the AI's voice within his head. For some reason, he tried to turn his head to find the voice, but did so in vain. Realizing that he needed to act, he bent down and picked up both of his DE-10 blaster pistols and began to move towards the exit of the crashed ship and slightly towards a far better tactical location to take on the oncoming hostiles. 

 

On his way towards the exit, a single figure appeared within the opening, weapon drawn in a scouting mode. Most likely trying to make sure that everyone else could enter. Upon the HUD, he could see that there was at least one other on the outside waiting for a single to enter as well. He was fast to analyze that taking the one on now would result in a tighter fire fight that could have him ending up like the Wookiee. With the split decision, he moved to hide behind a fallen panel and readied one of his blasters. Luckily for him, the HUD still showed the position of the hostiles entering, which was now both of them entered the main opening that was his way out. Now, he would have to wait for them to come to him. 

 

It didn’t take too long, as one of the hostiles approached and Tros already knew what his move was. He made a quick lung at them to turn the hostile around and use them as a shield to shoot at take the other out. But for some reason, he didn’t compensate fully for the new weight of the armor, so instead of doing what he thought he would, he ended up failing around with the one towards the ground. Upon both hitting the ground, Tros decided that he still needed to shoot the other one, and lifted a blaster to shoot, only to have him miss by a good five meters. Shit. It now turned into a full out trigger-happy situation and all Tros could do was keep the blaster going until the other fell to the ground from getting hit. 

 

The other kept trying to elbow him to release the somewhat tight grasp he held over his neck/shoulder. It made his accuracy much worse, but now that he took one down, he needed to deal with the one he was holding. With the way the armor felt, he didn’t think he would be able to get his blaster turned around in time to shoot him accurately, at least not without hurting himself. So, he used the butt end of the blaster to slam it over and over again into the hostile’s head until the life signs stop showing on the HUD. Pushing the body off of himself, he knew that the blaster fire would have drawn attention to himself, so he needed to get up and moving now, but it was a slow process as he still wasn’t able to get a feel for how the armor would react and move with him in it. Saying his thoughts out loud, he hoped that the AI would respond to him. “Isn’t there something you could do to help me move better?”

 

 

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Aegis was a young AI relatively speaking, freshly activated merely a few months ago, and what happened next was what a biological might refer to as a spectacle. Completely foregoing the suit's heavy repeating blaster in favor of his own pistols, Aegis immediately recalculated their chances of survival as low, until, that was, Tros went to work. The kills were ugly, clumsy even, though mostly that was because the movement systems in the armor still hadn't been fully calibrated to Tros's musculature. That process that would take several hours, time they simply didn't have at the present.

"Pilot...I will attempt to manually compensate for anticipated movement, but unfortunately the movements will not feel completely natural until the system calibrates itself to you. It operates by detecting electrochemical signals sent to your muscles by your nervous system, a complete mapping of which usually takes hours in tandem with physical activity. You may experience slight static discharges due to feedback until the process is finished, and movement might be slightly sluggish. Focus on moving normally until then."

Aegis began shunting most of his processing power into assisting the system, rapidly constructing makeshift algorithms that fit on top of the movement system's coding to supplant expected inputs. It was a stop-gap measure at best, but it would have to do. Tros would likely feel like he was wading through mud at first, the weight of the armor not being properly counterbalanced from the system causing the phenomenon. Before Aegis was finished, the comm on the waist of the man whose head was bashed in crackled to life.

"Fosh, come in, what's your status? You're taking forever over there. We need you and Biltzen back ASAP, there was a nice juicy opportunity over her but now we're taking fire and it's all hands on deck. ...Fosh?"

 

In the helmet, Tros's HUD updated its tactical readout, having intercepted and triangulated the unsecured commlink frequency. 

"Pilot. It is a statistical probability that we are unequipped to handle this situation. The men pursuing this unit are likely equipped with heavy ordinance. Recommend retreat. Preloading SERE tactical precepts. Unless you have an idea for a viable means of escape?"

Subtly, Aegis also included information for working systems on the HUD for Tros to see, to include basic controls for the suit's built in heavy repeating blaster weapon system.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Great, I’ll just have to get use to this thing for the moment. The thought of having to adjust wasn’t something Tros wanted to deal with, but circumstances didn’t really give him that option. In fact, life seemed to be handing him nothing but more complications with the comm that came through. Shit- the single word that explained the day so far and how he felt about this new voice he’s never heard of before on the comm system. Quickly, he began to move more rapidly towards the exit even as the AI spoke letting him know that it also favored an escape at this point. Although his movements felt like he was better off running through mud, he did his best to push through. 

 

As he moved, the AI threw up the tactical readout of the armor, which included repeating blasters built into the armor. Why the hell am I using these then. He quickly tucked them into the armor in a way that he would be able to keep them, as for some reason he felt fond of the new blasters. As he moved, he saw from the HUD that there was indeed movement incoming, yet life signs near his own vessel seemed to be… empty. Letting out a quick sigh that most likely his own team was wiped out, he decided that pursuit of his ship would be the best means of escape by this point. 

 

As he moved in the general direction, the armor resisted, or rather felt like it was resisting the entire time, but slowly, whether through his own body getting used to it, or that the system as able to pick up exactly what Tros wanted and needed, movement began to seemed to get slightly better. As he got himself into a position over a hill that allowed for him to see his own ship, Swift Justice, he could see two figures both with his eyes and on the HUD coming in at a ninety-degree angle. They could now clearly see him and were beginning to make an attempt to cut him. Let’s test the weapon systems… Lifting his left arm to have the repeating blaster fire, he was truly struggling to get it firing as he ran towards the ship. It was beginning to fluster him, and he said out loud – “Help!” And he couldn’t tell if the words were enough for the AI to help, or if he finally figured it out, but he almost fell backwards upon the weapon springing to life, blasting off many shoots in the direction of the two hostiles trying to cut his approach off. 

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