Couple thousand words down but I've stalled out. Trying to get into the fight-scene mood and finding the well a tad dry tonight. Haha.
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~ In Memory of the Dragoons ~
For valor, so long as it lasts.
For valor, so long as it lasts.
Most Recent Posts
@Dark Wind -- No objections. I am about one post away from ending the Aundus arc I wanted with Kujata. I will try to get that written in the next few days to close him out for the two week gap; following that, we shall see, I guess. In retrospect I would have been better served with a character closer to everyone else. Haha.
@Dark Wind -- You really don't need a good computer for Baldur's Gate. It came out in 1998! Haha. And I don't think the expansion (which just released 18 years later) requires a whole lot more in the specs department.
Good to hear. Might check it out if I get a chance, then!
Also, has anyone here played the new expansion to Baldur's Gate -- Siege of Dragonspear? I'm only an hour or two into it but it is absolutely hitting all the right notes. Don't know how it would be for someone who isn't laden with nostalgia for the series, but to me it feels like coming home. Pretty amazing thus far!
Also, has anyone here played the new expansion to Baldur's Gate -- Siege of Dragonspear? I'm only an hour or two into it but it is absolutely hitting all the right notes. Don't know how it would be for someone who isn't laden with nostalgia for the series, but to me it feels like coming home. Pretty amazing thus far!
Posted! And it doesn't suck, I think? So ... progress. I'm hopeful I can return to form soon.
@vancexentan -- Let us know how it is! I'd be curious, at least. I read the comic a long while back and remember enjoying it.
@vancexentan -- Let us know how it is! I'd be curious, at least. I read the comic a long while back and remember enjoying it.
“...you don't think I'd be fool enough to stick around here, do you?”
Going My Way?
The Aundus-Valay, Above Zetrea
Outer Rim
“Captain Cyrarr Kul,” sang a sibilant human voice with utter sincerity, “if you do not have this ship operational in the next five minutes I will put a blaster bolt through that thick skull of yours and I'll make it as painful as possible.”
And she held the barrel of her pistol to his head to prove it wasn't beyond her. One slender finger rested against the firing pin, and her other hand hovered near the other blaster at her waist; he would be aware of both and would no doubt be considering exactly how far she'd be willing to go to speed him up. But then, he would also know that if she shot him she'd be bantha fodder herself, and so he just grumbled a bit and continued on as if she wasn't there.
Irritating. Ruuana wasn't used to being ignored. She withdrew her weapon and puffed out her cheeks, then holstered it in a smooth, unbroken motion. Beneath her feet the ship's deck rocked and rolled and somewhere beyond the cozy little spacecraft's hull she thought she could hear the sounds of another massive explosion perforate the Aundus's once-beatific facade.
If there was any sort of humor in the Four Hearts of the Galaxy – which was unlikely – it would be directed at those who'd thought the massive opulent ode to excess was a good idea in the first place. Content with their shipyards and their warfleets, the Zetrean brainiacs imagined that the galaxy would bend before them and that they'd be safe from harm, safe to show everyone just how rich they were, and how respectable they'd become.
If thine credits shimmer in thy account, then verily they art ripe for the plucking.
Someone said that. Probably. Or maybe she'd imagined it? Pah. Whatever.
A row of lights flared to life on the console before her white-maned Cathar companion and he let out a stoic grunt of joy. Or so she assumed. Hard guy to read, this Captain Cyrarr. Very firm, very manly. Pride of the pack or whatever. Ruuana didn't much care of folks like him usually and she'd done her fair share of mockery at their expense, but right now he was basically the only thing keeping her in the black. How the mighty are fallen.
“Tick tock,” she murmured, looking out beyond the Captain to the expanse of stars beyond the viewport.
Sweeping arcs of turbolaser fire stitched the stars together above Zetrea, raining a nightmare of crimson and emerald light into and through the ships that battled between them. Plumes of molten slag and flaring chemical flares marked a thousand silent graves as their pilots fought and died amidst the chaos, their screams echoing nowhere save in the darkness of space.
Chills ran up and down her spine. It was horrifying. Even at a distant remove like this she could almost feel the terror. If the lunk in white armor taking up the pilot's chair would hurry up and get the damn ship working, she'd be out there amongst that terror in short order. Depending on the piloting skills of a foot soldier with a field promotion. It was all sorts of comforting. Honestly.
She turned from the viewport and blew a strand of curly hair from her eyes, absently pulling out both blasters and spinning them, an old habit to calm the nerves. Her father would be furious if he could see her doing it, but he was pretty damn far away now. And … probably wouldn't be seeing her again. Not for a while, at least. Wasn't exactly the time for a homecoming. Not with this enemy fleet tearing Zetrea apart.
No, she could only hope he survived. And her mother, too. And her brothers. All those morons who hadn't the sense to flee at the first sign of danger. Not that there'd been much warning. Too much to consider. She entertained a number of what-ifs and why-fores for a while longer, only returning to the Captain when another blare of electronic humming pulled her back.
She tapped one of his ears with a blaster barrel, the appendage flickering at her touch. “How about now?”
“Now,” he grunted. A massive hand soared out and slammed up a lever and the ship shuddered, whirred into a roaring blast of its ion drive, lifted just off the ground – then came back down and went nowhere.
“Not good?” Ruuana asked.
The Cathar soldier snarled. He reached out, pulled the lever into its starting position, then pushed it back. Again the ship shuddered and the drives kicked in, but again it went nowhere. “Impossible.”
“Are you sure you know what you're doing?”
Her compatriot slammed his fists into the command console a few times. Then stood and kicked the console's underside, eliciting only the solid thunk of his white combat boot as it met solid plasteel. So much for that, huh? She laughed at him then, and he didn't seem to take too kindly to it, but what could he do? He knew who she was. It wasn't like he was going to tear her limb from limb or anything.
A moment of silence passed between them. “So,” Ruuana said. “Do we want to maybe commandeer a different ship?”
“Best one in the hangar,” he replied.
“Well sure. But I bet I could hotwire my way into another one. All I need is a hydrospanner and a little bit of silver tape...”
She trailed off as she caught the tail end of a noise she couldn't quite place. The Cathar, too, seemed taken aback by it. They both waited until it came round again, and around it came: A knocking at the door, so to speak. Pardon? There, again – a knock at the loading ramp of the ship. As if someone was politely requesting the door be opened. Interesting.
Without much to say, she led the way. Blasters in hand and her soldier friend in tow, Ruuana slipped her slender frame through the homey ship and its circular passageways to reach the ramp, and, with a nod to Cyrarr, she hit the ramp's button with the butt of a blaster. Both sprung up into firing positions as the ramp descended, but wavered a bit when she beheld exactly who it was who'd found manners somewhere in the dying hulk of the Aundus.
A tiny little Jawa in robes far too decorative and gaudy to be anything but a misguided fashion statement, and a tall human with onyx skin, a level stare, and a blasted lightsaber in his hand. And, oddly, seemed utterly soaked in sweat. Okay then. They was a strange pairing, she'd grant them that, but it wasn't like she was doing much better.
“Yes?” she asked, breaking the silence.
At which the Jawa performed the most flawless of Zetrean Court bows. He straightened into a regal posture when it was complete, palms outwards in the stance of a supplicant. She laughed again.
But the Jawa brushed off her humor with deadly seriousness. “Humble Leej introduces himself, and his honorable Jedi companion Krata-”
“Kujata,” the supposed Knight interjected.
“-Kujata, of the large and famous Order of the Jedi. Very close personal friend to Leej and scourge of all enemies of the galaxy, yes? Big time, Leej and friend. Very big time.”
Ruuana looked from one to the other, then back. “And I assume your very big time mouth is about to ask for a ride?”
“Just so,” the Jawa replied graciously, if a little brusque.
Cyrarr rolled his eyes and gestured at them with his blaster rifle. Can I shoot them? She shook her head just a tad. Not yet. Not yet. Maybe in a minute. She wanted to see where this would go, and it wasn't like the damned ship was going anywhere.
“And in return?” she asked. “You don't seem to be in a very good negotiating position.”
“Leej is wealthy business man, and good friend is Jedi. All kindly beings help Jedi, is it not so? Is it not duty of the good, and of the honorable?”
“That's not exactly a convincing argument. You don't seem to be much of a businessman, and your friend has a lightsaber but that doesn't make him a Jedi. Hearts Aflame, I could grab a pair of those stupid things and wave them around like a ninny, but that doesn't make me a Double Jedi, does it?”
Rankled, the Jawa slipped a hand into one of his sleeves and withdrew a silvery cylinder. The yellow suns of his eyes narrowed and seemed to glow a bit brighter. “Oh, Leej could find other ways of convincing lovely lady with splintered glass tongue...”
But his companion put a hand on Leej's shoulder. “I really don't think that will be necessary.”
“Leej does not give a Krayt Dragon's deadly dangling deathstick what kindly one thinks!” He flipped a switch on the cylinder and an electrified barb telescoped out, arcing with vicious light.
It complemented the dull red of the emergency lighting, Ruuana noted. She pointed her blasters squarely at the small but clearly dangerous little fellow. “Try it, pipsqueak. I'll roast you like a Gizka kebab.”
The theoretical Jedi spoke up. “I propose an alternative. If you let Leej here board your ship, I'll let you go.”
“You'll let us go?” Cyrarr chimed in, chuckling. “You and what army?”
Brilliant red light hissed to life from the hilt in the warrior's hand, flooding the hangar with a deeper sort of crimson. “Well, a single Jedi is a pretty good army on his own. But I wasn't being metaphorical.” He grinned. “I'm literally keeping you here. You did realize your ship wasn't taking off, right?”
Ruuana blinked. “What?”
“The Force, ma'am. And it's really damn exhausting, so I'd appreciate if you'd just clear the way so I don't have to keep doing this. Might actually burst something, or give myself a hernia of some sort – I'm not a damn Consular, you know.”
Not one to impress easily, Ruuana scoffed and affected her best doubtful stare. “Prove it.”
From the belt inside his long, tattered cloak another lightsaber emerged, carried by some unseen hand to float about a meter to Kujata's left. It spun in lazy circles there for a moment, and then he stretched out his free hand and it soared into his grasp.
A real Jedi, huh? Well alright then.
She lowered her blasters, and Cyraar did the same.
“Welcome aboard,” she said, and before the words were even halfway out her mouth the Jawa was already on the loading ramp and trundling towards the ship. His companion made no move to follow. Instead, he returned his lightsabers to his belt and hooked his thumbs into it as well, as if thinking very hard very suddenly.
As he wiped a handful of sweat from his brow the Jedi gave his Jawa companion a half-hearted salute. “Take care of yourself, Leej,” he laughed. But it seemed to Ruuana to be a halfhearted laugh; a little bit empty. A lot shallow.
The Jawa turned and his whole body indicated some sort of colossal frown. “Jedi wishes to die? Leej could have obliged, or the armored warriors that Jedi slaughtered.” He huffed. “Kindly one should not be stupid. Come on to ship, idiot.”
Not one to really give two ounces of care when the whole of the Aundus continued to implode around them, Ruuana cleared her throat loudly. “You have one last chance, Jedi. Going once...”
But he'd already begun to turn back towards the entrance to the hangar. Leej stood there for a moment longer but Ruuana didn't bother giving him any more chances, and instead hit the loading ramp switch again as Cyraar made his way back towards the pilot's chair.
Moments before the loading ramp sealed itself Ruuana saw the Jedi turn back with a look of sudden realization.
“Oh,” he exclaimed. “Hey, wait! Leej, you still owe me money!”
“Lies,” the Jawa muttered as he passed Ruuana. “Vicious, unfounded lies.”
Her last glimpse of Kujata was of the laugh he caught himself up in. A laugh that actually felt real this time.
Going My Way?
The Aundus-Valay, Above Zetrea
Outer Rim
“Captain Cyrarr Kul,” sang a sibilant human voice with utter sincerity, “if you do not have this ship operational in the next five minutes I will put a blaster bolt through that thick skull of yours and I'll make it as painful as possible.”
And she held the barrel of her pistol to his head to prove it wasn't beyond her. One slender finger rested against the firing pin, and her other hand hovered near the other blaster at her waist; he would be aware of both and would no doubt be considering exactly how far she'd be willing to go to speed him up. But then, he would also know that if she shot him she'd be bantha fodder herself, and so he just grumbled a bit and continued on as if she wasn't there.
Irritating. Ruuana wasn't used to being ignored. She withdrew her weapon and puffed out her cheeks, then holstered it in a smooth, unbroken motion. Beneath her feet the ship's deck rocked and rolled and somewhere beyond the cozy little spacecraft's hull she thought she could hear the sounds of another massive explosion perforate the Aundus's once-beatific facade.
If there was any sort of humor in the Four Hearts of the Galaxy – which was unlikely – it would be directed at those who'd thought the massive opulent ode to excess was a good idea in the first place. Content with their shipyards and their warfleets, the Zetrean brainiacs imagined that the galaxy would bend before them and that they'd be safe from harm, safe to show everyone just how rich they were, and how respectable they'd become.
If thine credits shimmer in thy account, then verily they art ripe for the plucking.
Someone said that. Probably. Or maybe she'd imagined it? Pah. Whatever.
A row of lights flared to life on the console before her white-maned Cathar companion and he let out a stoic grunt of joy. Or so she assumed. Hard guy to read, this Captain Cyrarr. Very firm, very manly. Pride of the pack or whatever. Ruuana didn't much care of folks like him usually and she'd done her fair share of mockery at their expense, but right now he was basically the only thing keeping her in the black. How the mighty are fallen.
“Tick tock,” she murmured, looking out beyond the Captain to the expanse of stars beyond the viewport.
Sweeping arcs of turbolaser fire stitched the stars together above Zetrea, raining a nightmare of crimson and emerald light into and through the ships that battled between them. Plumes of molten slag and flaring chemical flares marked a thousand silent graves as their pilots fought and died amidst the chaos, their screams echoing nowhere save in the darkness of space.
Chills ran up and down her spine. It was horrifying. Even at a distant remove like this she could almost feel the terror. If the lunk in white armor taking up the pilot's chair would hurry up and get the damn ship working, she'd be out there amongst that terror in short order. Depending on the piloting skills of a foot soldier with a field promotion. It was all sorts of comforting. Honestly.
She turned from the viewport and blew a strand of curly hair from her eyes, absently pulling out both blasters and spinning them, an old habit to calm the nerves. Her father would be furious if he could see her doing it, but he was pretty damn far away now. And … probably wouldn't be seeing her again. Not for a while, at least. Wasn't exactly the time for a homecoming. Not with this enemy fleet tearing Zetrea apart.
No, she could only hope he survived. And her mother, too. And her brothers. All those morons who hadn't the sense to flee at the first sign of danger. Not that there'd been much warning. Too much to consider. She entertained a number of what-ifs and why-fores for a while longer, only returning to the Captain when another blare of electronic humming pulled her back.
She tapped one of his ears with a blaster barrel, the appendage flickering at her touch. “How about now?”
“Now,” he grunted. A massive hand soared out and slammed up a lever and the ship shuddered, whirred into a roaring blast of its ion drive, lifted just off the ground – then came back down and went nowhere.
“Not good?” Ruuana asked.
The Cathar soldier snarled. He reached out, pulled the lever into its starting position, then pushed it back. Again the ship shuddered and the drives kicked in, but again it went nowhere. “Impossible.”
“Are you sure you know what you're doing?”
Her compatriot slammed his fists into the command console a few times. Then stood and kicked the console's underside, eliciting only the solid thunk of his white combat boot as it met solid plasteel. So much for that, huh? She laughed at him then, and he didn't seem to take too kindly to it, but what could he do? He knew who she was. It wasn't like he was going to tear her limb from limb or anything.
A moment of silence passed between them. “So,” Ruuana said. “Do we want to maybe commandeer a different ship?”
“Best one in the hangar,” he replied.
“Well sure. But I bet I could hotwire my way into another one. All I need is a hydrospanner and a little bit of silver tape...”
She trailed off as she caught the tail end of a noise she couldn't quite place. The Cathar, too, seemed taken aback by it. They both waited until it came round again, and around it came: A knocking at the door, so to speak. Pardon? There, again – a knock at the loading ramp of the ship. As if someone was politely requesting the door be opened. Interesting.
Without much to say, she led the way. Blasters in hand and her soldier friend in tow, Ruuana slipped her slender frame through the homey ship and its circular passageways to reach the ramp, and, with a nod to Cyrarr, she hit the ramp's button with the butt of a blaster. Both sprung up into firing positions as the ramp descended, but wavered a bit when she beheld exactly who it was who'd found manners somewhere in the dying hulk of the Aundus.
A tiny little Jawa in robes far too decorative and gaudy to be anything but a misguided fashion statement, and a tall human with onyx skin, a level stare, and a blasted lightsaber in his hand. And, oddly, seemed utterly soaked in sweat. Okay then. They was a strange pairing, she'd grant them that, but it wasn't like she was doing much better.
“Yes?” she asked, breaking the silence.
At which the Jawa performed the most flawless of Zetrean Court bows. He straightened into a regal posture when it was complete, palms outwards in the stance of a supplicant. She laughed again.
But the Jawa brushed off her humor with deadly seriousness. “Humble Leej introduces himself, and his honorable Jedi companion Krata-”
“Kujata,” the supposed Knight interjected.
“-Kujata, of the large and famous Order of the Jedi. Very close personal friend to Leej and scourge of all enemies of the galaxy, yes? Big time, Leej and friend. Very big time.”
Ruuana looked from one to the other, then back. “And I assume your very big time mouth is about to ask for a ride?”
“Just so,” the Jawa replied graciously, if a little brusque.
Cyrarr rolled his eyes and gestured at them with his blaster rifle. Can I shoot them? She shook her head just a tad. Not yet. Not yet. Maybe in a minute. She wanted to see where this would go, and it wasn't like the damned ship was going anywhere.
“And in return?” she asked. “You don't seem to be in a very good negotiating position.”
“Leej is wealthy business man, and good friend is Jedi. All kindly beings help Jedi, is it not so? Is it not duty of the good, and of the honorable?”
“That's not exactly a convincing argument. You don't seem to be much of a businessman, and your friend has a lightsaber but that doesn't make him a Jedi. Hearts Aflame, I could grab a pair of those stupid things and wave them around like a ninny, but that doesn't make me a Double Jedi, does it?”
Rankled, the Jawa slipped a hand into one of his sleeves and withdrew a silvery cylinder. The yellow suns of his eyes narrowed and seemed to glow a bit brighter. “Oh, Leej could find other ways of convincing lovely lady with splintered glass tongue...”
But his companion put a hand on Leej's shoulder. “I really don't think that will be necessary.”
“Leej does not give a Krayt Dragon's deadly dangling deathstick what kindly one thinks!” He flipped a switch on the cylinder and an electrified barb telescoped out, arcing with vicious light.
It complemented the dull red of the emergency lighting, Ruuana noted. She pointed her blasters squarely at the small but clearly dangerous little fellow. “Try it, pipsqueak. I'll roast you like a Gizka kebab.”
The theoretical Jedi spoke up. “I propose an alternative. If you let Leej here board your ship, I'll let you go.”
“You'll let us go?” Cyrarr chimed in, chuckling. “You and what army?”
Brilliant red light hissed to life from the hilt in the warrior's hand, flooding the hangar with a deeper sort of crimson. “Well, a single Jedi is a pretty good army on his own. But I wasn't being metaphorical.” He grinned. “I'm literally keeping you here. You did realize your ship wasn't taking off, right?”
Ruuana blinked. “What?”
“The Force, ma'am. And it's really damn exhausting, so I'd appreciate if you'd just clear the way so I don't have to keep doing this. Might actually burst something, or give myself a hernia of some sort – I'm not a damn Consular, you know.”
Not one to impress easily, Ruuana scoffed and affected her best doubtful stare. “Prove it.”
From the belt inside his long, tattered cloak another lightsaber emerged, carried by some unseen hand to float about a meter to Kujata's left. It spun in lazy circles there for a moment, and then he stretched out his free hand and it soared into his grasp.
A real Jedi, huh? Well alright then.
She lowered her blasters, and Cyraar did the same.
“Welcome aboard,” she said, and before the words were even halfway out her mouth the Jawa was already on the loading ramp and trundling towards the ship. His companion made no move to follow. Instead, he returned his lightsabers to his belt and hooked his thumbs into it as well, as if thinking very hard very suddenly.
As he wiped a handful of sweat from his brow the Jedi gave his Jawa companion a half-hearted salute. “Take care of yourself, Leej,” he laughed. But it seemed to Ruuana to be a halfhearted laugh; a little bit empty. A lot shallow.
The Jawa turned and his whole body indicated some sort of colossal frown. “Jedi wishes to die? Leej could have obliged, or the armored warriors that Jedi slaughtered.” He huffed. “Kindly one should not be stupid. Come on to ship, idiot.”
Not one to really give two ounces of care when the whole of the Aundus continued to implode around them, Ruuana cleared her throat loudly. “You have one last chance, Jedi. Going once...”
But he'd already begun to turn back towards the entrance to the hangar. Leej stood there for a moment longer but Ruuana didn't bother giving him any more chances, and instead hit the loading ramp switch again as Cyraar made his way back towards the pilot's chair.
Moments before the loading ramp sealed itself Ruuana saw the Jedi turn back with a look of sudden realization.
“Oh,” he exclaimed. “Hey, wait! Leej, you still owe me money!”
“Lies,” the Jawa muttered as he passed Ruuana. “Vicious, unfounded lies.”
Her last glimpse of Kujata was of the laugh he caught himself up in. A laugh that actually felt real this time.
Wording properly is a beast sometimes! 
I have no real excuse for how long it's taking to get my next post up. Been very busy; nearing a project deadline at work and it's murdering my brain power completely (and requiring lots of hours outside the normal workday to boot). I think my mind is really just a scarcely-burning ember in the midst of a field of ash at the moment.
I have no real excuse for how long it's taking to get my next post up. Been very busy; nearing a project deadline at work and it's murdering my brain power completely (and requiring lots of hours outside the normal workday to boot). I think my mind is really just a scarcely-burning ember in the midst of a field of ash at the moment.
Swear I'm going to have a small army by the time this is all done...
Might not be such a bad idea, given how much attrition we're likely to see in combat with the Mandalorians. Haha.
@Sohtem -- Woof. Not ideal. I think I realized the problem right after I wrote that, actually. Was trying to force a plot thread that didn't make sense given the way things have shaped up for my characters, so my brain was automatically shutting me out. May have a solution but it might be less bombastic than the original scheme. In the short term anyway.
...cus' Kujata's all busy dealing with ya' know... Lasers and shit flying around.
And he's sorta been stuck in that limbo for weeks! Poor guy. It's like his writer has lost the ability to string words together these past few weeks. Haha.
Still alive. Just ... not making any progress. Not sure why. I think my vacation totally threw me out of the groove.
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