| PROLOGUE |
Ah... Alderaan - what remarkable place! One does not even have to be a native to this planet and spend very long on it for it to feel like a second home. It's familiar beauty inspires a sense of security, and not just because of its devoted servicemen, but the welcoming architecture and friendly populace, who lies on blade-thin edge of being both intelligent and bright, yet adorably naive. What's not to love? Especially when the setting sun shines its light skittering across the top of the atmosphere, casting a pink-ish, peach color across the sky, and when the days wind down as the people prepare for the coming night. On one edge of the horizon, lie constellations while the other still basks beneath said sun. Occasionally, a flying car whizzes past the outside docking platforms.
An old, ugly-looking transport provides an eye-catching contrast if nothing else. Both of it's boarding ramps on both the port and starboard side of the rear deck were wide open for the past couple of hours, so it seemed that just about anyone could walk in. All of you who signed up for the job would know that this was the ship you’re looking for. Upon boarding, you’d see an older looking, muscular… ah,
gentleman lounging on a primitive metal stool just in between both entry points. Like the ship, the man provided about as much contrast to Alderaaan - grim n' gruff with salt and pepper hair connected to a thick goatee, and he wore a concealing black coat over himself, with an armored glove on one hand. He was a little tall for his kind, but he was far thicker and stockier and had much more to give in that regard than his height. Though he was sitting, the brighter of you could probably calculate he could stand at six feet.
He greeted each and every one of you with a stony expression, as serious a man as they come, but kept you waiting where you were, not allowed to explore the rest of the ship until the last of his latest batch of new hires finally arrived. The reason? Apparently he wanted to go through orientation once and only once. As a result, all you knew about the ship was that there were two decks. There was one
very large cargo hold that made up most of the lower deck, centered around a junk receptacle, but the upper deck was totally unknown, but logic served the wise that one could likely at least find a cockpit and an engine room. On this same deck was a maintenance bench against the junk receptacle, fixed in the center of the room, and surrounded by permex welding curtains. Sporadic flashes bright light from behind the curtain was enough to cause the whole deck to infrequently flicker. The whole place smelled richly of iron. Rust, maybe?
<LIAK'YKAM> was the first to arrive. Your visions had guided you directly to Alderaan, and perhaps its beauty was lost on you - or perhaps not, given your appreciation for most if not all things, but it was nothing like the forests of Kashyyyk. The planet was alive with the Force, practically flooding your senses, and it took you some time before you could find the ship that, for some inexplicable reason, spoke to you like familiar whispers. There was no way for you to know by this point that the captain of this ship was looking for help, but when you asked for passage, he counter-offered with a job in exchange. You haven’t lived so long to be intuitively aware that this man, who had never met you before, probably wasn’t interested in whatever skills you had… just that he wanted a wookie on board. Still, you sensed there was more to the captain than what met the eye, and that he may be who finally delivers you to where you need to be.
The captain, introduced as Varen Kray, spoke very little to you and when he did, very vaguely. You two sat in silence for some time, which you were perfectly content with.
<B-0> was the second to arrive. Rather, it might be more fitting to say you had never left him since your interview - why bother wandering around if you were just going to head back here anyways? Most of your questions were met with a lazy or vague answers, or a non-committal shrug. Your first moments with Varen began about as awkwardly when he assumed you were working for someone else and that you were but a messenger droid. You informed him that this was not the case. He asked if you were a droid for sale. You informed him,
firmly this time, that was not the case either. As strange as it must have been for Varen to negotiate with and pay a droid with a mind of its own, you could extrapolate that he ultimately didn't really care what you were as long as he could pay you to be competent at your job. You were informed that you were expected to do very little other than help with the piloting of the ship - and that the actual piloting would be done by somebody who was already hired for the job. Speaking of whom…
<BAARSUTH>, as the third to arrive, perhaps there were a few things that kept you from arriving as early as the other two had (apart from, of course, you had no idea these two would be coming along for the ride in the first place). It could be food and drink, gambling, the local races - any of the novel luxuries this garden world had to offer! On the other hand as either an entirely exclusive reason or contributing factor, is that you could have been so confident of being the best pilot around that the ship would take off when you said it could! Of course, the confidence boost you had after Varen admitted he has heard of you somewhere before might have something to do with it. This had happened just a few days ago at the start of your interview in one of the seedier bars of the city. That was just one of two things you can remember from that night… the other being how he drunk you under the table. Who would have thought that a human could drink so much juma juice and still stand? Still, there was one thing that stood out in the back of your mind: years upon years of flying ships made you familiar with different models, and you were likely certain, beyond any measure of doubt, that this ship was an absolute piece of junk… and this Varen guy wanted you to pilot it.
<SHAI RIVELLIA> was the fourth to arrive. Your meager few months of experience picking up odd jobs hasn't yet attuned you to the art of maintaining your employment. Usually, you couldn't punch or swing your fists through an interview -
usually. You made the best mistake of your week just a few days ago after entering a cheap bar while exploring Alderaan, and you didn't take so kindly to the intoxicated devaronian who grasped your
Tchin, or the right brain-tail of your lekku. A swift jab and broken nose later, his unconscious body fell onto an angry table of spacers. Much to your embarrassment, your reflex was the difference between a peaceful night and bar-wide brawl! Your martial training was enough to defend yourself from every alien imaginable, but the moment you sensed an agitated spacer drawing his blaster on you, the human you noted earlier in your fighting as the calmest man in the building suddenly lept from his table with his passed out Trandoshan friend and disarmed him without much particular grace (slugging him in the jaw with an armored glove which you highly suspected had shattered it). Ever since then, you've been waiting for the day where you would finally board his ship as hired muscle. “Precautionary,” he says, but from what experience you do have, you know that nobody wanted muscle on board unless they were
expecting trouble.
Looking around, you notice that same Trandoshan from the other night hovering around with two others in front of the ship. Who could have imagined we’d be living in such a small galaxy? Trailing behind you was a modestly dressed stranger, though not with the intent of stalking you. He was a yellow bith who seemed a little nervous to be here, which was apparently for the same reason as the rest of the group that has so far gathered here today. He kept his big, beady eyes averted from the captain, in some strange effort to avoid eye contact with him. Bith were renowned for their extremely sensitive hearing abilities, able to pick up frequencies that most species and even some machines are deaf to. It was very likely that he applied for a spot on the bridge for some kind of communications or radar position.
<ZEKHA>, finally, was the last to arrive. True to fashion, you strutted up the platform to the shitty junk freighter with that smug, detestable little smirk of yours as if to say, “Yeah, I'm late. What are you going to do about it?” Indeed, while the pilot might know his ships, few are so acutely aware of the shortcomings of the 578-R transport like you and the captains who owned them, having seen so many junk haulers pass by time and time again. The mark of an able mechanic was anticipating what could fall off before it could fall off, and proving that knowledge in your interview is what assured Varen that there would be no leaving this planet without you on that space potato of a ship of his. Your eyes and ears caught the familiar sight and sound of a welder. Your interest piqued, you spared a glance over the impatient and irritable Captain Varen’s shoulder to see a flash of light deeper from behind the welding curtains on the other side of the junk receptacle. Varen cleared his throat to grab back your attention, and gave you a stern look that could only mean he was displeased and feeling impatient.
Whether or not any of you decided to talk to one another during your wait is up to you,unless of course you're <ZEKHA>, in which case, you may either be defending yourself from the complaints of the others or taking it all in, feeding off their misery. Still, it was at least by the time <ZEKHA> arrived when Varen finally stood up and carried the stool with him in his free hand. He looked at all of you as though he were measuring you, his eyes cutting sternly across each of your faces. One might wager to say he looked rather unimpressed if it weren’t for the fact that he was difficult to read. Even to you, <LIAK'YKAM>, whose senses was as sharp as a tack - while there were some things that perhaps his smell or body language conveyed, it was as though his mind was either guarded or utterly blank. Given how critical he seemed, something told you the latter was… unlikely, to say the least.“Let's get to business…” Grumbled a slightly raspy voice, like he was smoking tobacco since he were a child. He spoke simply but with seasoned authority and he made no effort to try to overplay his importance or lord it over you. “This will go faster without interruptions. I’ve only got a few rules on my ship and I will only say them once, so pay attention. Rule one, my word is law. Rule two, carry your own weight. Nobody will be holding your hand. Rule three: The crew. Comes.
First. For
anything and
everything. If you’re contracted, you’re not a part of my crew. You do your job, you get payed, you get out. If you cannot commit to this crew, you’re the only one watching your ass.”
The captain set his hands on his hips and gave all of you another once-over with another look of appraisal. The last point he made about the difference between being on his crew and taking a contract with him was something all of you have likely already known since your interview with the captain. On one hand you could sign a contract job-by-job and jump ship between jobs whenever you felt the going was getting too hairy. On the other hand, it is during the midst of emergencies where, although you weren’t expected to lift a finger to help, that door went both ways. You’d be missing out on an entire crew, captain included, trying their damnedest to pull you out of the fire. On the other hand, you'd be pledging your allegiance to the ship. Nothing about words are inherently binding, but deciding to jump ship would be a form of mutiny. Depending on the severity of the mutiny, your fate rests in Varen's hands. Regardless of the outcome, you have no doubt that you won't be welcomed back.
The nervous yellow bith among you started backing away, now having second thoughts. Varen predaciously watched him retreat from the ship and down the ramps, but said nothing. He looked back at the rest of you once again expectantly. His smoky voice grated the air again, “Anyone else? There’s no shame in walking away. In two minutes, I will be closing the Phoenix’s boarding ramps. You have that long to decide if you want to leave.”
As briskly as the rules were set, Varen walked further into the cargo bay of the ship, leaving you with a decision: you can remain on board and assume all the risks that comes with interplanetary travel on a transport vessel, or you could leave the ship and never look back
(but if your character were the type to do that, you never would have joined the roleplay). Surely, this job couldn’t have been so much different from the others you’ve taken. What’s the big deal with transporting cargo anyways?
While you were deciding (and presumably even talking to your new shipmates), Varen got the attention of the person behind the welding curtains and talked to them in low, hushed tones. You don’t know who was behind those curtains, but they cast a towering shadow against them. One not quite as tall as the wookie, but Varen was looking up and he wasn’t that short of a man.
