| The Purge - Act I: Survivors Guilt; KotoR Era | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 6 2014, 01:17 AM (47 Views) | |
| Dreamer | Apr 6 2014, 01:17 AM Post #1 |
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The Dreaming Dreamer
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A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...![]() THE PURGE Act I: Survivors Guilt It is a dark time for the Galaxy. Following a Civil War that nearly destroyed the Galactic Republic, both the ailing Republic and Jedi Order are left on the verge of collapse. From the remnants of Revan’s Sith Empire, Sith Lords, are vying for control of its dissolving power. Upon the broken surface of Malachor V three have risen amidst the legions as a triumvirate. Seeking to finish their domination of the Galaxy the Sith attack from the shadows. This begins a mass Purge of the Order leaving what is left of the Jedi to hide. It was how it has always been this far outside of the illuminated core of the Galaxy, away from the presence of Coruscant, away from the meddling of disillusioned bureaucrats and their babbling mouthpieces. It was the Outer Rim. Galactic law was merely a behavioral guideline. As there was very little Galactic Republic could do to enforce them. Busied with recuperating their losses after the Jedi Civil War, unless a new threat rose to threaten valued systems and trade routes the Outer Rim was of very little concern to the Republic. For most that is what they enjoyed. Smugglers would be so kind to barter with the law in so many words. Pressuring the officials into corners of their offices explaining rather poignantly, that as long as they did not interfere with them things would stay peaceful. Leverage like that was very rare. After all the politics of the Outer Rim was born of corruption. This is likely why the many atrocities committed in Hutt Space and the Kanz Sector was largely ignored. In a broken Galaxy still lickings its wounds from the aggression of three major conflicts within less than a hundred years of another, it was a plentiful time to be a criminal. Or like many who suffered the weight of these wars to simply be forgotten. 43 A.R. (After Restoration) Umbara System, Expansion Region Nox Presidia – Port City, Umbara The bleak expanse of an endless void was deterring to most who sought travel to Umbara. For Avan it was a welcomed sight as he peered out of his cabin’s viewport. It was nothing for light years spanning on light years that he could see. Merely the faint dotted specks of light and the dimmed presence of the Systems Sun denoted that there might be life out there. This was a reprieve for the exiled Jedi, his mind would not be shocked to remember, and the moment he touched the surface his memories would be banished with whatever cheap liquor or ale they peddled in these corners. Hand pressed against the transparisteel window he sighs as his thumb curves as if to caress the faintly illuminated aura of the planet. Clusters of cities dotting and stretching continents it was a haunting tapestry dividing the habitable realms of the Shadow Planet. “Far, far away…” The elder gentlemen murmured beneath wild growth of facial hair, chin shocked in white, as strands of silvery gray streaking his dark and unkempt mane. A worn expression in his visage spoke of a satisfied demand. The things that he had done in the name of justice and war were not things one could take back. For a man like Avan who sensed the ebb and flow of life, the vile taint of aggression was now a corruption that seeped. All that he could do was run away. Away from the memories, away from the people, away from those he once cared for. For the things he could not change and did not spare the patience to mend. It was entity born of all his actions and it chased him to the dark corners perhaps here far, far away they would not bother him such anymore. Against the blank expanse piercing its absence with the vibrant thrust of its sublight engines the shuttle nears the surface sweeping between the low traffic skylanes. The myriad arrangement of passing lights reveals the white hull of the salvaged Herald-class Shuttle, distinct red and gold colored marking denote the company of the ship. A repurposed remnant of the Star Forge and Revan’s Sith. It’s current owner over a span of almost five years had inflicted so much damage to varying parts of the vessel, that it hardly warranted repairing. Avan Exellius not the sentimental sort, never did he hold onto keepsakes, nor did he bother with the affairs of his vessels. This light-freighter however had stayed consistent for him. Perhaps the last place he could truly call a home and as time went out he replaced the damaged hull plates, the broken terminals, the dying hyperdrive core, even the jammed up twin turbolasers. Bit by bit the vessel became an amalgamation of new running parts on an old frame. The hulls were reinforced, shielding improved, primary functions were slaved and redirected for a single pilot, and at the cost of some cargo capacity the hyperdrive core and sublight engines fully refitted. The twin turbolasers were replaced with independent axial mounted dual-turbolasers on both wings. It did not have desired complement of concussion missiles, but the blistering range, speed, and pace did enough to keep Avan out of serious harm, as he slaved the automated systems to a companion T3-Series Astromech Droid through various after-market modifications. The White Talon, as it was named by the Devaronian Engineer, Reagar, who performed most of the repairs of the ship, roared in its path weaving path progressing towards Anchor-3 Hangar Spire. Blinking holo-terminals guide the ship into one of its deployed open landing trays. The structure was a bright torch in the dark reaching high into the atmosphere. Deployable 100 meter plates stretch four per ring connected by a turbolift station. It was a dark world where parts attempted to mimic the ecumenopolis’ of Coruscant or Denon, but the rampant photosensitive foliage weaved in and between the seams and cracks. It was strange on the street level to deal with a natural lighting from these plants. Nature evolving lambent petals pluming in a colorful chemical iridescence that sprawled the cities, plant life unlike any the Exiled Jedi had ever seen. And it wasn’t as if nature encroached and invaded the planet’s civilization. No, the Umbaran’s had seemed clever enough to incorporate their native foliage into the sprawling city sectors. He’d seen some utilize blossom covered vines to cover the sides of buildings, trail busy corridors, and navigate the narrow alleyways. Umbara was unlike any living planet that Exellius had known. Dim lamps spread every few blocks as if they wished to keep it dark, only enough light to let you know where you were going. However he had a theory it was also a means to keep the unwitting foreigners from prying into their business. He was no fool to believe that this planet run by anything other than criminal means. Only one time had he met an Umbaran outside of the Ghost Nebula, and they served as an informant for the Sith Empire. Pale skin and lacking any distinguishing body hair that he noticed, an Umbaran was a resourceful kind of person, and are never to be trusted with secrets. Especially those secrets your life depended on. “Marius Leto?” A wiry framed man spoke his gaunt chalky cheeks straining the expression. Eyes were narrowed and serpentine, but Avan believed that to be a trick of the dim lighting. The skulking overseer of the port side cantina seemed skeptical. Perhaps it was his state of dress? A drab patched up duster jacket and a wardrobe that seemed to predate fashion, the Exiled Jedi did not appear to be as he portrayed himself to be. Digging a firm heal of a boot to the duracrete sidewalk he gives a deep laugh as he attempts to push pass, “Perhaps you’ve heard Onderon is falling on hard times – I won’t be any trouble.” There was no persuasion of the Force not that he believed he could effectively utilize it anymore. A firm hand pad his chest as the Umbaran Overseer, clad in what looked to be a studded leather jumpsuit, reassessed the man’s information on his small datapad. “It says here you are wanted on Malastare for grand theft of a speeder, and…” Before the man could even finish the list Avan realized this for what it was worth. The Cantina Overseer hadn’t bothered calling for the law, nor did he send the report of his presence, and that slithery thin lipped smile spoke louder than this faux pantomime. Pulling out a small credit chit from his inner jacket Avan stiffly presses it into the man’s chest as he leans in sternly, “500 credits says I was never here.” The smile settled into a satisfactory gaze as the Overseer pockets the chit letting the foreigner move past. “Pleasure doing business with you…” He says to Avan satisfied with the payout of his shakedown. As it has been said, never trust an Umbaran. The pale skinned skulks were oilier than your regular criminal, and less bashful about taking what they wanted from a dying child. Perhaps that was a broad generalization, but Avan had only encountered a handful of their kind, and that was the second who gouged him for credits. Scoffing the tired man lifts the collar of his duster as he approaches the Neon Arch of the “Vixus Clutch”. Here the man had resolve to drown out the white noise of his conscience and drink until properly sedated. One boot after the other he enters the cantina filled with low whispers and flagrant fumes of incent. Approaching the bar two scoffed fingers tap the surface as the once Jedi demands, “Give me the best you’ve got.” In a broken Galaxy criminals flourished, the blind cared little to see, and old demons simply wander to forget and be forgotten. On the surface of the Shadow Planet all would be forgotten for a price. |
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| Dreamer | Apr 6 2014, 01:22 AM Post #2 |
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The Dreaming Dreamer
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The obfuscating presence of the world seemed to leak into every expanse of the city. Even the lights inside the cantina were specifically dimmed. One would figure it was to be sensitive to those with low-light vision, but Avan knew all too well this was merely to satisfy the illegal activities of its customers. It provided a little legal loophole where the Overseers could claim plausible deniability. So if someone were trading contraband, information, or any other service that might not be strictly legal it would not be the business owner’s responsibility. As long as they looked away the law enforcement would not have to bother investigating. This was an understood rule of Umbara, which what made it a proper ally of smuggler organizations. For the former Jedi this did nothing to quell the stench that lingered in from over thirty seven sectors and the rims. But Avan didn’t know which was worse the musty smell of the cantina or its piss poor choice of liquor they served. Like someone yoked a Bantha’s bladder then poured into his glass. The bite was decent sure, but the taste foul taste lingered in his mouth for far too long to be worth twelve glasses it’d take to forget it. Barely half a glass through with his drink the man set it down on the bar with a noticeable thunk, his teeth biting back a bitter grimace. “Overpriced swill…” Avan groans his weary eyes sweeping the entire cantina. The Onderonian’s other hands washed over his ragged face as his mind began to wander. When you traveled through most of the known Galaxy and interacted with many different races across it, it was difficult not be reminded , after all over so many years things just sort blend together. Green eyes settled on a pair of Duros chattering to themselves. When was the first time he met one of them? He was barely fourteen, when things were much simpler. Master Gru, a stern but kind old Ho’Din always said the Duros were some of the most interesting characters in the galaxy. While never trust them in a fair trade, they were people of stories and adventure, and if you get one to talk you were hard pressed not to enjoy the things they’d tell you. Avan remembered clearly how Pella, a Durosian trader on the Anaxes Station, told him of her Ancestors initial voyages into the greater expanse of the Galaxy. It was if she were there to witness it. There memories were clearer as holo-recordings something Avan did not have the privilege of. His memories were muddled and confusing, blurring together, pieces of things he’d swore he’d never forget lost to time, and now he struggled to remember the sound of that Duros’ voice. Scenes of his life filtered pass before he clenched his eyes shut feeling a burn. Fields on fire under an alien sky and the endless screams of the innocent suddenly flashed before him. For a mere moment he feels his chest tighten as he breathes in, then his hand seizes the drink, it’s bitter sting and foul flavor stealing him back to the present. It had been so long since then… The exiled Jedi turned his case to the bar top as he leaned in tapping it. It was an order as he desired something a little stronger to steal his mind away, far, far away from the wars that continued to rage in his sleep. Bleary eyed feeling the heat Avan took in a deep breath of air. And then it happened Avan felt the sharp nudge in his back. Damn it… he silently curses in his mind. If only he had not taken those two drinks he’d like to believe, but was more like if it was only a decade ago when his senses were sharp, when he feel the flow of the world. There was a time these three Umbaran thugs standing behind him dressed like Socorran Gangsters. They smelled even worse so at least had one sense still left. “Mr. Leto, interested parties say you swing some big credit…” A rotted tooth enforcer issues as he leans in a mouth that seemed blackened with tar. His pale hand grips at the Onderonian traveler’s shoulder the other hand tucked into the man’s back. Avan’s glance shifts to the side. Great a hold-out blaster, he thinks to himself as a wry smirk catches the corners of his mouth. “Oh I swing more than that pal.” Avan sarcastically claims. The Umbaran Enforcer merely tightens that grip whilst digging the barrel of his holdout into his back. Now they were getting somewhere. “Yes so we were told, and it seems you have reason to keep confidentiality, it’ll cost a little more than five-hundred credits.” Well that’s perfect. Never trust someone who will cut you with a secret. Doesn’t matter that you paid them, it only matters that you keep paying them. Then only after they drained you dry it is most likely that they will carve you up anyways. Avan knew better than to trust the Overseer as he probably should have walked away. But no, instead his desire drink clouded his better judgment. The stink of the Umbaran’s breath reminded him of what the Masters on Dantooine would have told him. Rants about physical attachments and desires were a detriment to one’s awareness. It was too late now. This man held a peculiar and violent swagger. He was perpetual symbol of trouble walking like a fool in public, and he didn’t do well with the bathing it seemed. No, there was more to it, Avan could feel it like an uneven seam in the Force. It was a brief but familiar glimpse but it is enough prompt a response, “Novik right?” That name exploded into his mind as if from distant recollection, he could feel it unnerve the man and the grip of his hand leave his shoulder. But not the blaster – that was firmly pinned against his spine. “Yeah, I know few things too.” Avan digs it in playing a bluff easing back against the hold-out and lifting his hands. “Now get to the point.” That sharp tone rattled the Enforcer but he kept his ground hissing, “Meet us out back in five, we’ll discuss your terms.” Novik palms his blaster quickly into his jacket’s cuff then just a swiftly pulls out into the crowd with his cronies. “Yeah, we’ll discuss something…” His words chime in distant response as he digs out another credit chit. It was clear he wasn’t going to be welcome here, not for long anyways. Eyes shifting either way this former Jedi was about to ditch out. Though the Overseer was likely still out front and it left very few options, and it wasn’t like there was a side entrance he could easily move out of. So what were his options then? Well the was the simple out the back where Novik and his coterie were likely waiting to extort or ply any credits he had left on him. Then there was the front where the Overseer, likely employing Novik or at least employed by the same people as Novik, would inform them and then he would be followed to be extorted. A bunch of Gizka sucking dirt-bags is all he could think about the situation. He stands firmly now with boots marching through the crowd with a determined purpose. By accident he is shoved into a booth by a surly Trandoshan ranting loudly with a pair of Twi’lek women. After a moment holding himself in place as the bipedal lizard went on Avan looks across from himself to see a human. Well that is rare. He mentally chimes though he finds her to be rather unassuming going over a rather battered datapad, looking like the kind of girl who was going to get blindsided by the thieves of this planet. With a deep groan and smelling of cheap liquor the former Jedi lifts out of the booth with his knuckles on the table. “Watch yourself out here kid, they’ll rob you blind.” Is what little advice he could give with a slight slur. There was nothing peculiar about this woman but as he stepped away he gave her an odd look. Something moved up his spine like there was something he wasn't getting, but it made no sense, and in the end he left it to the effects of bad alcohol. Now the man is gone out of sight having slipped into the background and towards the back exit of the Cantina, out of sight before he could really question his intuition. |
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