Spoopy Scary

Dungeons and (Krayt) Dragons, Star Wars: The Price of Freedom

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<ALL OF YOU>

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<SHAI RIVELLIA>, <LIAK'YKAM's> meditation had something of a calming effect on you. You know from your Force training what this technique was, you've seen it done many times in the battlefield, where a powerful Force user could bolster the spirits of their allies or make their enemies tremble with fear. There was something about this power that caused your fear and insecurities to subside for the time being, allowing you to think with much greater clarity and act with more confidence. As a result, you receive a +2 bonus to attack and damage rolls for 1 hour. Continuing on, all of the different conversations happening right now, such as the one between Woo'rah and <ZEKHA>, and <BAARSUTH> and <B-0>, and with <LIAK'YKAM> meditating, no one was really left to notice you pull out the remains of your weapon... no one except the captain, that is. He didn't seem necessarily bothered by the presence of the broken device, but he looked at you with a stern gaze that suggested it might not be such a wise idea to so carelessly show it off in the open. He glanced between you and the pocket it came from and that was that, and he looked back at the rest of the crew.

<ZEKHA>, Your jabs at Woo'rah's height and originality didn't look as though they unsettled her very much. In fact she looked rather satisfied, as if she had somehow won in a battle of temperament of some kind, probably taking your comeback as a defensive reprisal to her teasing. Regardless, her smug attitude reverted back to the bored expression you first saw her with as you explained the risks of a bad seal in the combustion chamber, almost to the point where it's hard to tell if she's still paying attention.

Woo'rah idly chewed on the chewstim, leaning her back against the workbench as she sat on the flexiglass container as she "listened" to <ZEKHA's> lecture on engineering. Though she didn't look very impressed, she did at least give him a shrug, as if that was a sufficient enough gesture of acknowledgement. In a brief lapse in her chewing and blowing pink bubbles, she did say, "Well, you know what you're talking about. I'll give you that."

The twi'lek sat up in her seat and grabbed one of the empty mini-missile shells lying on the workbench, and held it in front of <ZEKHA's> face. She continued, "These babies don't work if I don't have the proper seal on them. Jump packs are basically two missiles strapped to somebody crazy enough to try it. Grenades and mines, they work the same way - sort of. You can't just half-ass the seal if you want a good pop! If I couldn't fix the damn thing myself, I'd already be dead."

She leaned back again and returned the shell to its spot on the bench. "I appreciate the concern sweetie, but stay in your lane."

<ZEKHA>, There was a moment of realness there that one might not have expected to see in her when you first met a couple minutes ago. No snappy comebacks, smart-ass remarks, or dismissive comments - she talked to you on an equal level of sorts, likely out of respect for your profession. Still, there was a sense of pique that betrayed her otherwise polite answer. She certainly comes across as a woman who is prideful in what she's good at, and considering how many twi'lek girls were sold into slavery or became indentured, it takes a little imagination to figure how she got to this point.

"Alright, I think we've been gabbing long enough. Let's get to showing you lot the ship." Varen declared, gathering all of the crew's attention. He was quick and snappy with his address, and while he didn't appear particularly impatient, he was at least eager to get orientation over and done with for everyone's sake if not his own. He stretched his arms out, gesturing to the cargo hold everyone was in.

"Right now we're in the cargo hold. This hold can carry up to forty tons of cargo, is approximately twelve by ten meters, and comes equipped with a junk receptacle and a workshop." The captain pointed at <ZEKHA> and explained, "If something that's not the ship needs to be worked on, you come here. You will have to share with Woo'rah, however. Learn how to coordinate and prioritize your time management."

The twi'lek woman casually strolled from one side of the party to the other, making a bee-line towards a hammock that was stretched between two large cargo crates which were secured and tightly fastened to the starboard wall of the hull. It was high up enough that Woo'rah had to pull herself up before she could let her back fall into the hammock, but when she did, she cradled her head with her arms as she rocked side to side with it with one of her legs carelessly hanging down from the side of the hammock.

Varen continued, "You already know where the two boarding ramps are at the aft of the Phoenix - one on the port side and one on the starboard side. Facing the fore, these 578-R models come with two forward crawl spaces on the port and starboard sides with the stairwell to the upper deck in-between. It leads directly to the bridge. This ship has been refurbished to that both of these crawlspaces serve as crew cabins. The starboard side is the captain's cabin - my cabin. You can find me there or on the bridge most of the time if I'm not making my rounds. The port side..."

The captain pointed at <BAARSUTH>.

"That cabin goes to the ship's pilot. I'm warning you lot right now that the cabins upstairs will not be as comfortable. They are right next door to the engine room and the walls are not soundproof, but I must have my pilot be well-rested and as close as possible to the bridge so that he can respond in a moment's notice."

"I'm a special case." Woo'rah sarcastically inserted, staring at the ceiling from her place in the hammock. Varen ignored her and looked at the rest of the crew.

"Bo is a droid, and they don't have much use for bunks. So Bo, when Baarsuth turns in, you stay on the bridge. I don't want the cockpits unmanned for any reason. The rest of you can sort out your cabins upstairs however you like. They fit two people each," he said looking at <ZEKHA>, <LIAK’YKAM>, and <SHAI RIVELLIA>, “but I would prefer if Zekha stayed in the port side cabin, since the the blast door to the engine room is through there. Are there any questions before we head upstairs?”

Baybridge: Halcyon Days [Superpowers/Semi-Sandbox]

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_{@FernStone by @Surtr}

Courtbridge, Prince Edfield_

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Before the mutant that was charging at Kei could continue, it was suddenly frozen in place. It loudly groaned as it twitched, and attempted to resist, but an irresistible force was cast upon it.

A red aura surrounded the monster as Ada walked up to it's side, with Megan carefully peeking through. Ada pointed towards the nearest exit, before she said, "Go. Take the little one, and leave." Kei left, and Ada pointed a finger at the creature's skull. It extended with a blade at the very end of the tip, before it pierced it's skull. Dropping harmlessly to the ground with a thud.

The little one didn't need to see that, her psyche was probably already damaged by this event. When they left, Ada continued.

With every step the woman took, she traced the former humans back down to their source: An abandoned store deep within the mall. The shutters were destroyed, but Ada merely willed them away with telekinesis. It was a disgusting mess of gore from the transformations, and the untimely massacre of the drug dealer. Ada slightly winced at the sight, but marched on as her shoes were stained with blood.

Ada shook her head slightly as she continued to march forward, but she suddenly stopped, and knelt down. Putting a finger on the floor, seemingly touching the blood. Instead, she was merely sensing another not-so-distant memory. The memory of the man who started this with a canister... so it was a gas that did this? Was it terrorism, or...?

Then Ada saw a detail that wasn't apparent to the naked eye.

"Oh... she's behind this?" Ada stood straight up, and looked at Megan. "We need to find Adora, we have to leave soon as possible."

Megan raised an eyebrow, as Ada grabbed onto her shoulder.

"There's other things we have to attend to."

The two sunk into the ground, disappearing into nothingness.

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_{by @Spoopy Scary & @Surtr}

Believer - Silent Partner

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Courtbridge, Prince Edfield_

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While the situation at the mall was getting far more out of hand than it needed to be, RAVEN had no real efficient means of cleaning up the mall.

A black sedan with the RAVEN symbol on the hood rolled up to the scene, and Maximilian Cornell got out of the back seat of the vehicle. Wearing a black suit, and a long coat that matched. He walked up to the other RAVENS. They quickly gave him a "Sir!" before he marched on past.

"How is the situation in there looking?" Maximilian asked one of the RAVENS... before he turned his head as a blood red tear in the middle of the air appeared. A golden light surrounded him as he briefly considered summoning Echo, but a group of terrified civilians came running out before the portal closed. "... And what's that?"

"We are unaware, sir!" One of the RAVENS said. "It just keeps popping up!"

Another RAVEN spoke up. "We have teams in the mall handling the mutants, sir! But, there are too many of them, and too many civilians in the way."

Maximilian Cornell shook his head, as he realized with every second that passes, the situation got worse and worse. He put a hand on his chin, and thought about it for a moment.

"... Could we be of assistance, Chairman?" The voice of Graham Morris surprised Maximilian as he turned around. He saw Michelle, and a new lady... of short, well-built, stature, and Hispanic descent.

"Mr. Morris, what are you doing here?" Maximilian asked. "This isn't an official operation against ZODIAC."

"We know... but MAVERICK is all about protecting the people from what they cannot hope to fight," Graham started off, his invisible hands behind his back. "We will lend you our services."

The hispanic woman stepped up, and said, "I can enhance the powers of someone for a short amount of time." She said. "Maybe that can help?"

"Even if enhanced... my Echo can't handle all of them."

"What about her?" The RAVEN that Maximilian was talking to threw a thumb at Andrea. "She took down one by herself."

"But..." Maximilian realized that she was a DOVE, before he merely shook his head, and walked over towards her. He was unsure of how he should approach her, and ask. But, he was going to do his best. He cleared his throat as he asked. "... Hello, excuse me?"

The blonde girl and one of the DOVE medics looked up to see the seasoned RAVEN agent. They shared a glance to one another and Andrea nodded. Her caretaker left her alone with Maximilian and Andrea turned in her seat to face him, apparently winding down from whatever headache was wracking her skull just some few minutes ago. She remembered seeing him in that briefing room just over a week ago before the DOVE rally, when she was delivering the papers he was supposed to be using for the speech (likely one of many candidates). So much has happened since then that quivering and getting nervous in front of the man just seemed so silly. Especially in the face of what they were dealing with right now. She stood up and faced the man. She would've tried a smile to greet him, but right now, she couldn't bring herself to force one. There was nothing to smile about. She said, "How can I help you, sir?"

"We have an agent of MAVERICK here who can put an end to this," Maximilian started off, he crossed his arms. "But, we need someone else for her to put her talents to good use."

He looked over his shoulder at the MAVERICKS... it was stupid of them to be here, but whatever it took. "Let me just cut to the chase; she's a power booster, and some of the RAVENS recommended you to have your power enhanced. Would you be up to the task?"

Andrea blinked a couple times and refocused on Maximilian, looking at him in disbelief. She asked incredulously, "Me?"

"I know you probably weren't expecting this," Maximilian said as he crossed his arms. "But, I'm willing to do whatever I can to bring this bloodshed to an end." He landed a fist into an open palm, before he focused on Andrea.

"So, I repeat," Max started off. "Are you up to the task?"

Andrea thought carefully about the man's offer. She wasn't exactly sure of what it entailed. What would amplifying her power even do? What were the repercussions? Did she have any powers beyond her eyes and the connection to her... what, spirits? Apparitions? Would she be too sensitive to function? But on the other hand, the sort of potential available to her was... if she could just find every mutant in the mall...

"I'll do it." She answered. "There are dozens of mutants still inside and about as many civilians..."

"Come with me then," Maximilian said as he gestured for the Intern to come along with him. He walked valiantly towards the three MAVERICKs that gladly lend their help to RAVEN to bring this situation to an end. "I'd like to introduce you to the agents of MAVERICK."

Michelle merely waved and said, "Hey." She started off. "Agent Gallus, here."

"So, uh, you're just a DOVE?" The hispanic woman started off.

"Just barely." Andrea answered.

"What's your power? Just so I'm sure to boost you enough, because...."

"Don't be so shy, Carmen!" Michelle said, elbowing Carmen in the side. "If Maximilian trusts her, then so do we. We don't have a whole lot of time either."

Carmen nodded her head, as she looked at Andrea. "Stick your hand out when you are ready."

"Alright." Andrea muttered. She took a deep breath, and after a few seconds of working up the nerve, offered her hand to Carmen.

Carmen sighed as she grabbed onto her hand, and suddenly a green light sparked inside of Carmen. Glowing brightly through her skin, and illuminating her nervous system, until it was transferred into Andrea's body. Starting with her hand, her nervous system slowly lit up all the way to her feet. Before it faded when Carmen broke contact. Andrea would feel strong, but the feeling of strength faded as the enhancements did.

"... Make sure to tell her that you just shaved ten years off." Michelle teasingly "whispered" loudly enough for Andrea to hear it. Andrea would've smiled knowingly at her, aware of her teasing, but she was far too preoccupied with something else. As Carmen's power surged through Andrea, the next thing she knew was that the number of apparitions she saw in the next moment looked to have tripled. They were everywhere, floating every which way, and her connection to each and every one of them almost felt tangible.

Carmen ignored Michelle, but she still had a warning for Andrea, "Alright, make sure to be careful, you'll ash if you go at it too hard."

"Then it's a good thing I have all of you nearby... isn't it?" Andrea said quietly. She had no intention of killing herself today, but how would she know how much is too much? She sighed and closed her eyes, and at the faintest notion of her will, her mind's eye darted from link to link, seeing from the perspectives of each of the hundreds of apparitions at once. Through the surrounding parking lot, to inside the mall - she saw Francis fighting his way through the mutant legion, he saw agent Meifeng protecting a little girl, the pimp and some of his friends, a cluster of children, a mysterious old lady and a young woman by her side. Their thoughts seemingly radiating off of them in a way she hasn't heard before, and not just because her senses were amplified. No, when she focused on the old woman, it was like there were hundreds of voices echoing from her. Not overwhelming or loud, but her mind was crowded and chaotic. And it wasn't speed, it was like there were a hundred individual people in one person... how could that woman sort out such madness? Even Andrea had trouble finding her way through the disorganized, tangled web of thoughts - but it was like moving through a crowd in a way, so with the help of multiple apparitions reading the surface thoughts of this woman, she could filter the irrelevant information.

It was when the woman touched the blood that Andrea heard her thoughts as loudly as one might hear a megaphone - '...so it was a gas that did this?' Andrea heard. She hesitated to do anything, just taking a moment to process all of the information coming her way. Then a name came, 'Britney,' which had belonged to the face of an African-American girl. An old friend. In the moments that followed, the two women were gone. She had no idea who that old woman was, but she was onto something. Still... her focus shifted to the mutants within the mall - there was something else she had to focus on right now. She tracked down the remaining mutants in the mall. All thirty-two of the lumbering monsters. A single breath taken in, a single word breathed out: "Scream."

Each and every single one of them fell to their knees, and even outside of the mall, the RAVENs manning the barricades could hear a cacophony of pained roaring echoing through the halls. The sounds of their agony ripping through the air. The agents both outside and inside the mall heard her voice in their minds, 'All of the mutants are held down. Now's your chance.'

The tide of the fight was turned in favor of RAVEN in an instant. They were quick to capitalize on this, by whipping out their containment foam sprayers and hosing down as many of them as they could in the time-frame allowed. A majority of them were captured, as the remaining civilians took the opportunity to escape.

Francis was still running around, frantically trying to lead the monsters away. Okay, he knew that the kids got away, but he also knew that losing them wasn't as easy as one-two-three... especially when he used his sole flashbang as a distraction. He shook his head as he kept running. His throat was burning, but adrenaline was keeping him going until his heart explodes or something. He was trying to stay positive in this dark, dark, day. He heard the collective roars of the monsters behind him... and the sound of their stomping... stopping. He looked over his shoulder to see the horde of monsters clenching their heads, and falling to their knees. Before Francis came to a stop. He heard the voice of Andrea - he didn't know how she did it, but she did! Francis didn't waste a second of time as he rolled a containment foam grenade at the monster's feet. It exploded in a triumphant display, and bound most of the monsters to the ground. He stopped for a moment to take a deep breath, kept his shotgun held tightly in his hands in case something went wrong.

He quickly moved his way towards the exit - he needed to regroup - but as he went along, he saw that the situation was being cleaned up nicely. He couldn't believe it, a damn miracle fell from the sky and saved them. Francis managed to run out the door, and made it to the RAVEN garrison. In one piece, too! He felt like he lost what little body fat he had left running, but, hell, he's alive. He ran up to his fellow RAVENS, and was greeted by the shining golden copy of Maximilian standing at around twelve feet. Francis smiled, and Echo did the same as a silent nod to keep going. He kept going until he encountered Maximilian Cornell.

"Agent Jean-Pierre, are you alright?" Maximilian asked, worried about his team mate.

Francis smiled as he got up on a barrier and sat down. "I'm perfectly fine sir... just a lil' tired." He said. "The situation?"

"The situation is looking brighter by the minute," Maximilian said. "All thanks to her, and MAVERICK."

"MAVERICK is here?" Francis asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes... We couldn't have done this without them," Maximilian said with crossed arms. "... But, I feel as if we're revealing a hand too early to the enemy."

"Doesn't matter, anymore, Max," Francis said with a raised eyebrow. "We gotta work with the cards we've been dealt."

He looked at Andrea for a moment, but said nothing, deciding to let her concentrate. Sweat was beading on her forehead, her face and eyes wrenched, but her expression softened for a moment. He saw the corner of her mouth curl up into smile for a second before returning to her concentration.

---

It really was hard dragging a limp, fully grown, woman... especially one like Meifeng who was fit as they come.

Jennifer was struggling to carry Meifeng, and it made her wonder if she should start hitting the gym. Could she even get muscle mass? Ugh, didn't matter. Jennifer's head was darting in the direction of ever cry, or even any odd sound. Because with Meifeng in such a shitty state, it was up to Jen and... this mystery boy, to keep her and Lijuan safe. But, the pained roars were not ignorable - Jennifer's head darted down a hall to see the hulking monster pinned down by... something? She raised an eyebrow at the sight, but kept moving. This seemed to be the work of another Metahuman. Ugh, this was making Jen's head hurt, and she was close to the exit.

She could see the doors now! Exit! Freedom!

Hope made Jennifer burst with energy as she pulled Meifeng with all the strength that she was saving up throughout the whole trip. What was actually a minute felt like a second as she finally pushed through the doors, and didn't waste a second in saying, "Hey!" She loudly shouted, "They need help! I think she's having a heat stroke!" She added on, but as she looked over her shoulder, all she saw as Lijuan on the shutters - the boy was gone. They didn't even know his name, but yet he helped them.

RAVENS were quickly swarming the trio, but there was not a single mark on Jen. All because she regenerated before they got a chance to see anything. Except for maybe some blood.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Six of One Thousand Steps: The Hunt Begins

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26th of Sun's Height, Late Afternoon

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The news of Ashlander magic did not take long to spread. From those surrounding the mouth of the mine, the mutterings spread like wildfire. Through the town, through the docks, the taverns and shoppes, amongst the guard, and when the mutterings spreads amongst the guards, they’re inevitably carried to the Saxhleel camps just outside the gates by the patrols. While the tensions weren’t easy, that information was not shared with the lizard men of Black Marsh through love. No, the nords seemed to revel in taunting the refugees - perhaps if they are lucky, the argonians were next - perhaps their dunmeri masters would finally take them off their hands - perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. ‘Perhaps if everyone were lucky, the Ashlanders would kill every racist in Dawnstar,’ Wylendriel thought, but then she closed shut her eyes in shame. When will these intrusive thoughts finally end?

She sat alone with a few of the refugees in a tent, among whom was the Saxhleel warrior she had saved just the day prior, Vija-Nim. A raj-deelith, an elder or teacher, who was introduced as Wuska and was particularly grieving for Pakseech Tzinasha. She was with a third; a mother, named Inan. All four surrounded Tzinasha’s lifeless body, who lay on hay and soft mud. Like, the others, Wylendriel had the feather Tzinasha had given him laid out in front of her as she sat on her knees. Before, she was ignorant of the feather’s true meaning, but now she could see how significant to the Saxhleel it was.

Everyone who was present had one. Vija-Nim, a great warrior who had apparently saved his life on many occasions. Wuska, his best friend and closest confidant for many years. Inan, his daughter and mother to his granddaughter. Then herself… the savior. She had inspected the cuts on his body and hadn’t found any traces of residue. It had to have been done by a thin metal blade. The murderer aimed for vital spots that had soft scales, so they knew where in an argonian to stick the blade. They had to be well acquainted with their physiology, especially to assassinate one adorned with robes. The rest seemed convinced it had to have been a dark elf slaver, or at least they were a slaver at one time. It was only more damning when one of the lowliest of the Saxhleel claimed to have seen the glint of red eyes escaping the scene, but there was no proof otherwise.

For a while now, the four had sat in silence in honor of the saxhleel who had so much love and wisdom to give, but soon that silence would have to be broken if they were to ever find out who was responsible for Tzinasha’s murder.

“Wuska, my sweet Wuska, there is no need to cry,” said Inan, “Tzinasha was my father, and your egg-brother, xhu? He had the marsh in his veins, surely he has rejoined the one.”

“That is not the problem we face.” Vija-Nim said, looking to Wuska knowingly. “We all rejoin the one in the end, that is a clear river. But Tzinasha was swept away by dark currents run with poison - murdered, and more will follow if we let the murderer go unpunished.”

“It is not the death he deserved.” Wuska sobbed.

“We will bring the wrongdoer to justice, this I promise.” Vija-Nim assured solemnly. “Our sun-blessed friend is here to help us. She has once before, she promised she will again.”

Wylendriel bowed her head before the others once more like she had when she first saw them upon entering the tent earlier ago. She raised her head and gave Tzinasha’s cold body an endearing look with reddened eyes that were long dried of tears before even today. She hid the burning seething she felt inside her chest well, but those well familiar with it could find it leaking out through the piercing gaze. Her lips moved, with at first nothing coming out, but managed to contribute to the conversation after some hesitation.

“He was a soft old leaf, to be sure.” The priestess agreed, facing Wuska. Then she looked to Vija-Nim and nodded to him brusquely, saying, “Let us get to the matter at hand. The ash shells the guards were speaking of, do they mean anything to you?”

Vija-Nim shook his head. “Perhaps not to me, but to Wuska…”

Wuska followed up on the warrior’s cue, “Ashlander magic. I have seen it many a time in Morrowind.”

Then Inan spoke, “My father was not found with any ash shells. What does that mean?”

“It could mean two things.” Vija-Nim suggested. “One, there is more than one of them, which would mean the dark elves have followed us here. Or two, the enemy didn’t use magic for your father, they stabbed him in his softest scales. Many dunmer know where to kill us.”

Wuska hissed, “They killed him from behind, xuth, like a reeking thin-scale.”

“There’s a third possibility.” Wylendriel added, prompting looks from the other three. “There could be a murderer among us and a dunmer taking advantage of it.”

Vija-Nim held his chin for a moment, absorbed in thought. He looked back and nodded, “That too is possible. The deaths began with an elf girl, then Tzinasha. The nords make no effort to hide their hatred for us. No reason for an Armiger to target them, but the iron mine? That’s where weapons and armor are made. Indiscriminate slaughter by a trained warrior. A Thane was also killed, part of Dawnstar's leadership.”

“But the girl and my father… if an Armiger is here, couldn’t they have also taken them, spin the locale into chaos? Jazechniim saw red eyes.” Inan asked.

“Whatever the case, we know that there is a dark elf in the Pale.” Wuska said. “If we find them and deliver them to Seth, we will know for sure after a time.”

“You would wait for more to die?” Vija-Nim questioned.

“That is all we can do.” Wyledriel answered. “If there’s a second murderer, then we’re looking for a nord who hates non-nords in a nord town that hates non-nords. We know there’s a dunmer. We ought to start there.”

“Forgive me sun-blessed,” replied the warrior, “but when we met - when you pulled me back into the river - you swam in pure streams. If the passing of our egg-brother has poisoned that river, then I would not see you swim in these rapids for your own good.”

“You misunderstand me.” Wylendriel rebuked. “My devotion to Kynareth is as much as it is to Y’ffre. Murderers take more than they need, they harm the natural order. If wolves kill without eating, we cull the wolves. Us bosmer believe life is a cycle, not a river from here to there.”

“That is quite a bloody religion.” Wuska commented. “You believe what you will. The Hist watches us all.”

“Ah-- anyways,” Inan began, attempting to change the topic to something far less offensive and back to what actually mattered. “There was evidence from the high elf girl’s murder. A bone dagger.”

“Bonemold.” Wuska immediately answered. “A traditional dark elf weapon.”

“That depends on what kind of bone it is. Some nords like to use bone for their hilts and handles sometimes.” Vija-Nim proposed, but Wuska remained unconvinced.

“Nords also like their weapons, especially when they have bone in them. Give them names like Mead-Licker or things stupid like that. Wouldn’t leave them inside the girl like that.”

Vija-Nim nodded and looked to Wylendriel with confidence. He said to her, “It’s looking more and more like these deaths were by the hands of an Armiger. It would moisten my scales to know there is no second killer.”

“We still cannot let our guard down.” Wy insisted. “You cannot be too eager to believe it is a dunmer alone behind it.”

“Why can’t I?” Wuska hissed, standing to her feet. “Because of some preening mammal licker sings a song of justifying hate or racism? Because I’ll be the first to admit it, I hate the dark elves! I’d see them battered against jagged rocks before I believe they aren’t evil!”

Vija-Nim and Inan both stood to their feet along with Wuska, raising their hands gently and bringing Wuska back down to relax. Vija-Nim gave Wy an apologetic look while Inan shot an irritated glance her way, likely for getting the elder woman so worked up in the first place. The priestess sighed. Tzinasha’s death was taking its toll on everyone, even her. Normally, she wouldn’t be so…

“Inan,” said Vija-Nim, interrupting Wy’s thoughts, “who was outside when Tzinasha fell?”

Fortunately, Vija-Nim’s words gave inspiration for new thoughts. If Tzinasha was outside, then...

“Just a few.” Inan answered. “I will see if our egg-brothers saw anything else last night. I will let you know if I find anything.”

“Vija…” Wy started, “have you checked for prints?”

The warrior paused for a moment, then the spines on his head wilted as he hung his neck low. “...No, I did not. I stayed to protect the camp.”

“Coastal village, summer night - there’s bound to be mud.” Wy said. “I’ll look for prints and track them if I can find them, see where they--”

“Vija-Nim!” Blurted out a voice of a Saxhleel that came from outside the tent. The warrior inside rolled his eyes and stood up.

“What?” He answered, annoyed.

“There is a khajiit outside asking to see Tzinasha’s body. Says she’s part of the investigation for the mercenaries.”

“And?” Vija-Nim pried further, looking at Wylendriel with a questioning look. The priestess shrugged. She had no idea there were any khajiit in Ashav’s service.

“I don’t trust cats.” Replied the argonian. Vija-Nim sighed and placed a hand on Wylendriel’s, standing up with her. He nodded with respect to the elder and the matron and looked back to the priestess.

“You too work with the mercenary now, xhu?” He asked. “My egg-brothers and egg-sisters have been hurt enough as it is, I do not wish to risk their safety any further. See if this khajiit is who they claim to be. Work with them if so, find justice for Tzinasha. My place is here, protecting my people.”

“I understand.”

“Our nest is yours. Rains at your back.”

She had bid her farewells to three argonians and carried Tzinasha’s feather with her, sticking the plume back into her braid and left the tent to face the ebbing daylight - had she truly be gone for so long? Ah, still, she saw an armored khajiit out in the road waiting expectantly. If she were not the only khajiit nearby, she would’ve been given away by the nervous darting of the eyes of the refugees between herself and the cat-woman. She did not know her temperament and warrior-woman did not likely care for hers, as small as the priestess was, but even so, she’d only approach with so much caution. If she was lying about who she was, then she’d find that she had very little patience left.

She stepped forward, her robes brushing against the tall grass, and looked up at the much taller khajiit.

“Good afternoon! I hear you’re working for… who?” Wy asked. There was a bit of a challenge in the tone of her voice, like she was expecting to hear the right answer instead of asking a real question. Her face was still, but her fingers were twitching in anticipation, though not nervously.

Dungeons and (Krayt) Dragons, Star Wars: The Price of Freedom

Walks is currently away for the weekend, so what will happen is I will be waiting for word from him. If he can write up a post and text it to me, I will post in his stead. If for some reason he cannot, just assume Liak is just sitting contently by your side, humming as she grinds herbs into powder. She does find sitting in silence to be enjoyable, after all!

Side note: it did not occur to me while reviewing Shai to remind you twi'leks are tall and their average height are two meters. I just assumed Shai was short!

Dungeons and (Krayt) Dragons, Star Wars: The Price of Freedom

There's room on the ship for one more. But any future applicants may have to wait to start writing until an opportunity in the roleplay presents itself. As of right now, the ship's boarding ramps are closed.

Dungeons and (Krayt) Dragons, Star Wars: The Price of Freedom

---

<SHAI> AND <ZEKHA>

---

<SHAI RIVELLIA>, your contempt for the other twi’lek on board didn't go unnoticed by Woo’rah, but for a moment you saw the look of boredom on her face cease and be replaced with entertainment, chewing on her gum with a wide smile before she turned to talk to <ZEKHA>. It was almost as if she were looking at you like you were prey, but whether or not she actually took you seriously seems unclear. Though you do not sense you're in any danger around her, it was your lifetime of warrior training that helped you recognize the relaxed, disguised poise of a prepared and readied hunter. Perhaps she could see the same in you.

<ZEKHA>, likewise, the taller twi’lek swiveled her head around to face you upon addressing her as “Woosie”. It was a look that spoke a thousand words as if to ask you, “Did you seriously just call me that?” But her eyes didn't betray any anger or offense, it was more like she was either surprised or impressed that you were ballsy enough to say it to her face. Her expression went dry as soon as you got to your point.

“Tell me, little man; as a master engineer,” Woo’rah mocked, “do ya take care of the tools of your trade?”

She didn't wait very long for <ZEKHA's> answer before stepping back towards the welding curtains, and sliding them wide open to reveal maintenance bench with what looked like nothing but a pile of broken junk on it.

<ZEKHA>, Upon closer inspection, you recognized some of the metal plating being part of a chassis and a brand that revealed Aratech origin. They were a company renowned mostly for repulsorlift tech. You realized that this piece of junk were the burnt remains of what used to be a jetpack.

“She's an Aratech Screamer.” Woo’rah explained. “Some nerf-herding spacer got a lucky shot and blew part of the shell off, damaged the fuel cell. The cell exploded a couple seconds after I ripped the straps off.”

She paused for moment, looking thoughtful. With a wink she added, “Never a dull moment with Varen around.”

She walked over to the furthest side of the bench, biting her lip with a smug look on her face. It was obvious that she was trying to shake the engineer’s nerves at least a little bit. At the other side of the bench, there were empty metal shells and capsules and a containment unit on the floor beside the bench made of flexiglass, allowing one to look inside and see the cache of detonite inside. Ingredients for explosives. The woman sat down on the sturdy box, nearly bringing her down to <ZEKHA's> height, and continued.

“I take care of the tools of my trade. I don't really care about people's questions.”

Dungeons and (Krayt) Dragons, Star Wars: The Price of Freedom

You've done a good job in showing Shai's emotions and thoughts without giving away or explaining too much. A picture is worth a thousand words! If you're careful, you can write more with less.

(Granted, I still have to provide enough to give all of you something to work with!)

Dungeons and (Krayt) Dragons, Star Wars: The Price of Freedom

---

<ALL OF YOU>

---

<BAARSUTH>, Your eagerness to talk with the captain about your concerns over the ship had you follow him quickly, but that same eagerness to talk with him did in-fact cut off whatever conversation he was having with the mysterious person or persons behind the curtain, prompting his irritated response. It was fortunate that it was <ZEKHA> who had come to your rescue, as his answers were likely far more forgiving of your doubt than your new captain would have been.

<ZEKHA's> grand introduction and gesticulating brought on a slight, amused roll of the captain's eyes as he glanced back inside the curtains. It was at the end of the dug's little spiel that the sounds of the burning jet of a welder were extinguished, followed by a heavy thud. It was after a brief pause did a feminine voice called out in basic from behind the curtain, addressing <BAARSUTH> almost condescendingly, "You're talking about the motivator? Common problem with these junker ships, but anyone worth half their weight in bantha fodder would know to replace that and the windows as soon as they get their hands on one."

A pair of gloved hands ripped open the curtains and another twi'lek woman poked her head out to see the rest of the crew with a bored and dry expression on her face, as if she wasn't entirely interested in getting to know the lot of you. Her skin was a lighter blue and she wore a cotton white shirt on matte leather pants with the slightest bit of violet make-up on her face that covered her upper lip, made a stripe down the center of her lower lips, and were around her eyes which winged off to the sides of her face. She was chewing loudly on a chewstim and made no efforts to hide it or come across as any more ladylike than the rest of you. However, what was most noticeable over all of these was that she looked and was built like an amazon. Her height was above average for most twi'leks, but that also meant she was just an inch or so shy from being seven feet tall. She continued, and by the sound of her voice, didn't seem terribly excited to be here, "...Since nobody bothered to answer your question yet."

"This is Woo'rah Sha." Varen introduced. Woo'rah leaned into Varen a little bit and briefly flashed a peace sign to the rest of the crew as she blew a pink bubble from her chewstim (and popping it near the captain's ear, much to Varen's annoyance), all while bearing that same uninterested look on her face. The captain continued, "she is here on contract as an escort, and not the fun kind. She ain't much use to us on board the ship, so you ain't got much reason to be bothering her."

Woo'rah didn't seem very bothered by Varen's comments - in fact, she seemed to ignore his words entirely and gave a little smirk while still retaining the bored look in her eyes, staring directly toward the other twi'lek on the ship, <SHAI RIVELLIA>. Woo'rah snorted out of amusement a little bit and commented, "Short."

"So, with that settled..." Varen said as he walked towards the starboard side of the cargo bay. He pulled a knife switch that was on the wall. "If any of you have anymore concerns for me, then I regret to inform you that your time is up."

As though to punctuate Varen's point, the ship shuddered and rattled as the boarding ramps began closing.

"Whenever all of you are ready for the tour of the ship, we can begin. Take your time to introduce yourselves to each other. You'll want to know who's got your back once Baarsuth and Bo flies us into a moon."

<B-0>, A curious thing, that man. You, as long as you can remember, can only recall being referred to by either your designation - B-0 - or "stupid droid". A letter and a number, but never two letters, and most certainly never two letters which formed a humanizing name - save for once a long time ago.

Dungeons and (Krayt) Dragons, Star Wars: The Price of Freedom

---

| 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.

Dungeons and (Krayt) Dragons, Star Wars: The Price of Freedom

This man deals in absolutes. He must be a sith.

@JunkMail