A Crash Landing and a Junk-World (Galaar/Voroll)

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Political Envoy ​

(Fel and CIS)​

​

​

The two factions came to meet each other in neutral space above the junk world of Raxus Prime. It was seemingly like every other meeting to discuss supply routes and trade prices, two ships docking on one neutral ship with a small contingency of guards.

Galaar was the only non-droid guard to the CIS officials, well, he and his strill were the only two and for this reason he was one of the four guards selected to enter the envoy-ship and keep watch as the diplomats did their thing. he never liked their kind much, it was always words and never anything meaningful. Galaar had his weapons clad all around him, on his belt there were three various pistols, his back had a sniper and vibrosword on it and his chest was some kind of repeating rifle which he affectionately referred as a "Deecee". Not that anyone here knew that.

He was clad in his retrofitted and personalized Katarn rig. It was designed to mimic old Mandalorian designs with its bulky chest plate, angular shoulders, and most notably a technologically glowing blue T-Shaped visor. Even under the armor it was simple to see he was a man built to be a killing machine. The armor itself however, was dapple camo with green, grey, and brown patches, on one shoulder a fox was printed in and on the other there was a hawk. His chest was clad with a painted mythosaur skull. He looked far more like a mercenary that the infamous "Dread Guard" which was sending rumors across the Galaxy.

The diplomats got right to work it seemed, moving to the table and awaiting the Fel delegation.

@Voroll Dey Astaar

 

[Voroll]

The Fel shuttle, which had been slowly manoeuvring itself to dock with the envoy-ship, held at least three Imperial Knights, two of which were more senior Knights of the Order while the other two were Cadets; learning their place and how they could be of use to the Imperator and the Imperium as a whole. It was thought that such an operation, to assist and oversee the defence and continued prosperity of the Fel diplomats to the Confederacy would be a good enough task for the inexperienced. It required little strength, if all went smoothly, but a good eye for possible danger. Which, apparently Voroll was good at.

He stood with a diplomat to his right and a Knight on the right side of him, with a Knight directly behind and the other Cadet diagonally behind. They could protect the diplomats if need be, and for this specific operation, the empathy had been given a temporary lightsaber and red Imperial armour to use for show, mainly. It turned out to be lighter than his usual get up of white Royal Stormtrooper armour and sword, but lacked significantly the heavier plating the Knights-proper had on their armour.
A cheap disguise, if anything.
As far as he was aware the lightsaber worked and had a plain, polished metal hilt with an assumed white blade; although he had no reason to ignite such a weapon in front of esteemed VIPs like the diplomats.

As they walked down the clean hallways and corridors, escorting those important people to their destination, Voroll spotted a number of droids and what seemed to be a dirt-spotted man. When they came closer, it appeared to be the colour of the armour; dappled with greens, browns and greys of differing shades. Of course there were logos and skulls across the armour that gave the impression of him being ‘out of place’ amongst the small group of droids.
But then there was something else about him: Voroll could not pick up anything he felt. It was as if a droid was under the armour, but that was absurd considering droids required nothing in the way of armoured bodies like his. Muscle and bones, however, did. So unless the mystery being felt nothing at all, no slight feelings of anything towards his surroundings, he could only possess a less-than-tissue processor similar to a computer than a brain.
Something immediately did not sit very well this this being.

@[member="Galaar CC-252"]

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar looked across the room as the Imperial Knights entered, his T-Shaped vision hiding the motions of his eyes as he went from each man to man to size them up and try and figure who they are and what they did. It was a fun game on a mission like this. Little did they also know that there was Calypso music blaring inside of that sealed world of his helmet. His eyes suddenly stalled on Voroll and the other cadet, they seemed... a tad young to be strutting around with lightsabers; their armor wasn't bad looking in the least.

One of the diplomats looked up at him and asked him a low question and seemingly referred to him as CC-252. He nodded, gave a simple yessir, and went to searching through his datapad. What he noted he did not like, three ships entering the system by hyperspace. They seemingly had legal merchant transponders so he brushed it off as nothing and then looked down at the diplomat and said something in return who in his own turn went back to discussing a complex system of trade-route defense and who should be responsible for it in this region with the Fel Reps.

Kark it all, I'd like some action.

@[member="Voroll Dey Astaar"]

 

[Voroll]

The diplomats went off to do their business, and from what little Voroll managed to find out it pertained to trade routes and the like. All very interesting, to more politically-inclined beings, or those with a greater sense of galactic politics than the twenty year old. But, he had little time to actually study anything remotely galactic or political with the training regime he had been placed under back in Fel space – in fact this mission gave him a little reprieve from the constant drills, the studying and the etiquette. A nice, relaxing day.
He continued to think this much even when the Knight to the right of him tapped his ear-piece. He had been contacted for something, but what that something was mattered little. He did not relay the message to the other members of his Order, but apparently kept it to himself.

Many minutes passed between the representatives from both governments discussing the details of some very basic plans. A number of times the blue eyes of the empath travelled over the mysterious armoured being and the droids that stayed with him, they darted away when his helmet moved, trying to look at something else. Maybe under the helmet he had been seen was being played with, maybe this was some plot by the Confederacy to psyche out the other guards. Or maybe not.

But then all went dark. The lights in the hallway died, as did those in separate rooms leading from it. The Knight to the right, whose name escaped Voroll, instantly tapped his communicator to see what the issue was, but even that had been disrupted. The most the group of Knights managed to hear was “trans-… pir-…” before their communicators went dead as well.
All four of them drew their lightsaber hilts, ready for a fight, or to expect their diplomat dead.
“What have you done?” The oldest Knight said in a tone that showed confidence, despite his quick words.

@[member="Galaar CC-252"]

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar clicked straight into action as the lights went dead and the Knights drew there weapons, his own blaster was pulled and the droids went into action as well, the whole room was soon illuminated by a light on Galaar's shoulder, well, at least it partially was. "Well, this is a wonderful way to start a karking diplomatic summit, haar'chak! Stand down, this isn't our doing!" The diplomats all fell silent, allowing the soldier to handle this situation.

The lights and comms dead wasn't the worst of it though, suddenly the whole transport rocked and the sound of impacts against the hull could be heard, soon after an explosion, and then alarms. The diplomats were already panicking. Galaar quickly did a tac-rep both ships of the Fel and CIS were destroyed by a Tulak Hord class Destroyer flying pirate colors. Ex-Sith Pirates, lovely. Not only that but the ship they were on had its engines and bridge killed and they were being boarded. Galaar would look across at the Fel guards.

"We better get our shebs to the escape pods, friends."

@[member="Voroll Dey Astaar"]

 

[Voroll]

The darkness was illuminated, at least on the side of the Fel, by the ignition of lightsabers, one after the other. Knight, Cadet and Knight each held their shining white blades of contained energy firmly in their grasp, and while Voroll held his hilt, he did not thumb the ignition switch. The others gave him a look after a few seconds; their faces clearly displayed from not only the torch of @[member="Galaar CC-252"], but from their own beams of light. He looked on, seemingly oblivious to their shifting eyes, to the droids and the representatives who grew visibly restless.

“Good idea!” Admitted the Fel diplomat. A short, stout man of about late-middle age (for a human) with greying hair swept over to cover a large bald patch atop his head. His plump body instantly turned to follow that of the CIS representative and their contingent of guards.
Forced to remain behind, the Knights of the Fel were less than displeased. Voroll knew as much not even from the use of the Force, but from their grumbling and way they walked; it was not calm or graceful, but thuds in protest, not dissimilar to a child storming away after being scolded.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar was quick to work, leading them out the door the CIS entered. He could smell the dissent from the Imperial Knights behind him, being a soldier for so long in so many horrid situations made one accustomed to it. His boots hit the ground with oddly soft thuds. It was obvious he was trying to be stealthy.

The scent that flooded the room after the door went ajar was not stealthy. There was a deep, pungent, brutal musk that filled the hallway and outside there was a dog-like creature whose jowls were coated in blood; it sitting on its haunches next to two bodies with a pleased look on its face. It was a Strill. "Kandosii Lor'ika! Kandosii!"

At this the strill gave what seemed to be a happy yarp and trotted over to them, Galaar would point at the diplomats. "Aran Lord Cabur." The musky animal, nearly overwelmingly musky, looked at the diplomats and the Imperial Knights and trotted right next to them. There was a sound the sound of blasterfire in the distance but for now this corridor was clear.

@[member="Voroll Dey Astaar"]

 

[Voroll]

The doors slid open to reveal, just behind them, a creature sat with what appeared to be red dibble around its snout and neck. When it moved towards @[member="Galaar CC-252"], its size was made apparent; at its full height it was near-enough half of the doors, which were built to allow access to even taller species. It trailed in paw prints of blood as well as sprays across the floor and up the walls of the previous room. Pools of the stuff were forming around the necks of two unfortunate victims of this creature.
What attacked the senses more than the sight of the blood – which still poured from punctured and lacerated flesh – was the thick stench that trotted in with it. It hung heavy in the air, so much so that it could almost be chewed. Not that any of the party would volunteer to do so; since it stank worse than cat piss on blue cheese. Yet the droid in the camouflage armour had shown affection for such a beast, or at least Voroll assumed it was affection. He spoke in Mando’a – the words could have meant anything.
It came closer… it stood next to the consul and he visible reacted by covering his nose. So did the Imperial Knights, who were now all pushing to be at the back of the group, away from the malodorous critter.

The distant sound of blaster fire brought Voroll back from his thoughts of how to remove this smell from his skin (since he assumed it would eventually stick to it if he spent too long in such close proximity to it), and it was then he recognised his need for a blaster of some description. A lightsaber was all well and good, but he had no formal training with utilising it. There was a much better chance of hitting one of these attackers with a blaster than a blade.

He moved through the group, cautiously to avoid creating too much noise, through the doors and to the bodies that lay on the floor. If the group of men, and machines, behind him looked between themselves to give condemning stares, Voroll did not know it. He searched the pair of bloodied corpses that were just beginning to turn blue at the lips. He looked not for credits (although credits help everyone), not for jewels or keys, but for weapons. One of the duo, who had died farthest from the door, held a small rifle: one that could easily have been wielded with either one hand or two. While the other had two pistols.
Snatching up them all, the pistols were handed to the CIS and Fel representatives.
“These are yours should you require their protection.” His tone was formal, just as much as his choice of words, but did not portray anger or contempt. It was almost blank. He kept, for himself, the smaller rifle. It was a good size for a blaster, similar to one he had trained with. A smile grew across his face and his confidence rose when he held on, even in a situation like this one.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

As soon as the weapons were handed out, Galaar grinned under his helmet and spoke rather out of turn. "Sure is the best idea to give a soft-meat a blaster?" His helmet tilted and there was chuckle that sounded from the speaker, slightly dimmed but still clear as day. He took point once more and lead the group down the hallway.

The clone was incredibly careful not to step on any bodies, his rifle aimed expertly. It was obvious that he was a soldier, a professional one in the least. The Strill, the stinking dog like animal, was still wandering next to the Fel Delegation, eagerly staring up at them with slobbery jowls now and then as if hungry. Galaar started cutting around a corner carefully, only to pause, slouch his shoulders as if dejected and then suddenly... There was a stream of green blaster fire flying in all directions around him. It was obvious that one or two bolts hit him with lethal intent, yet the clone still yanked himself back around the wall as if unharmed.

"Three men, one Nikto with a rotary blaster... The men are Sith Imperial gear. Also... Kark that burns!" He suddenly shouted before ducking around the corner and returning fire.

@[member="Voroll Dey Astaar"]

 

[Voroll]

“You never know, one of these days a soft-meat might just save your aars with one of these. I’d rather have that opportunity than not.” Voroll returned to where he was previously stood with a smile on his face. It seemed obvious from his tone that he returned the humorous jibe at the man in armour. Yet still his face nor name had been mentioned despite him taking the lead. Maybe it was not a droid. Whatever it was, it was definitely not natural.

The lightsaber, that had yet to be even tested, found its place back on a clip on the belt of the boy while the more comfortable blaster stayed in his grasp. He was almost shoved aside, when the chorus of laser fire bounded past Galaar and against the wall, as the trio of Imperial Knights – who made use of their lightsabers and training in such areas apparent with deflecting spins and countering twirls. From the smirks plastered across their faces as they made their way down the hallway, closing the gap between the small group and the pirates, it was almost clear they thought it was them saving the day.
“Thanks for saving us all, fellas.” Voroll grumbled from the back after realising he had just volunteered for keeping their ‘6’ covered.

@[member="Galaar CC-252"]

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar watched as the Knight's went to work. He shook his head and looked toward Voroll. "Bathrobe saber-jocks, eh?" His HUD soon signaled that his armor was ready to take another few hits. The soldier rounded the corner, now was his time show off. He aimed down the sights of his rifle and took a deep breath. Everything seemed to zoom in and go slower... There was soon a flash of blue and Galaar managed to hit the Nikto three times in the head in between the lightsaber swings.

His armored head would turn back toward Voroll as he ducked back into cover and drew his vibrosword off his back, the rifle being placed back in the webbing on his chest. "A blaster is generally the best choice, ad'ika." Ad'ika meant kid. Though it was unlikely Voroll knew that.

The armored figure went to join the Imperial Knights on the front when the whole ship suddenly shook violently. Fire alarms started to sound and the steady hum of the engine suddenly died and was replaced by a rather uneasy shaking and the groaning of metal.

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

Bathrobe saber-jocks? Brilliant term to refer to people such that those “putting their lives on the line” for everyone else. Everyone else being the politicians and those who fired blasters. He could not help a smile and a laugh, even if it was a short, aerated laugh that caught against the inside of his nasal passage.

Beads of sweat trickled over the Fel delegate’s head onto an already damp face. It looked as if he had just stopped splashing water over himself. At least with these people Voroll could sense something, even if it was fear. And despite their uncontrollable emotions he did envy their lack of ability to perceive how another was feeling as tangibly as he could. It was a guessing game for them, based around what they saw and what they could hear, not what they felt stirring deep within their own beings.

Voroll’s brow furrowed, for just a second, when the unknown term left the concealed mouth of Galaar, when just as suddenly the level flooring shifted, throwing the droids, politicians and remaining Imperial Knight in sight from their balance. Luckily the other wall caught his slide before his head could have smashed against it. He arms shot out to stop the hopelessly Force-less delegated from meeting a fate of beds and dented, bleeding skulls.
“What the chit was that?! His voice was loud, clearly full of uncertainty and fear, possibly amplified by the emotions from near-crying delegates.

@[member="Galaar CC-252"]

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar's eyes quickly flashed to his HUD even as he skid back from the sudden tip; his armor more than capible of taking the rock and shake of their new found environmental hazard. It was what he say on the link he had with the ship which concerned him. The engines were just blown out entirely and the ship was rapidly falling into the planet's atmosphere. His strill went skidding across the metal next to him making some kind of sharp yelling sound as it did so. Not good, not good, not good. I'd rather be in a Rakghoul nest than this kind of crash.

Galaar's voice suddenly boomed out, even over the rapid vibrations and twisting sound of metal that was around them. "Move up the hall! We need to get into that door," he pointed at it, it was the ships small med-bay while he offered his hand to the nearest person next to him to help them up, which happened to be Voroll, "before this ship lands on that hunk of junk below it! Shift it people!"

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

The extended hand was met with a warm smile and a quick thank you that may have been lost through the sudden feeling of gravity shifting, again, as the ship shifted in its descent. It allowed them easy access down the hallway; as if running down a hill. Within moments they were at the other side, close to the door that @[member="Galaar CC-252"] motioned to, but likewise were the bodies of the two bloodied pirates. The pair of corpses slid, slowly at first, down the corridor. They gained so much speed that they rolled and flipped, towards the group at the other side, which caught one of the Imperial Knights who thought they could challenge him to a lightsaber duel.
Of course he was unsuccessful, and careered into the wall on the now-bottom end of the hallway. The corpse had landed so awkwardly that all its weight fell onto the skull of the Knight, cracking it against the clean metal plating that had now been splattered with flecks of red. The lightsaber had not even been ignited.

The first personal casualty had been that of an arrogant man who oozed the same shade of red as he wore. It was when the pirate corpse fell from the dented face of the once-living Knight that the delegates really flipped out emotionally. They felt angry, fearful, disgusted and sick all at once. Their feeling of disgust and nausea were intense, but at that moment Voroll did not feel as though it overpowered their common sense. What he did start to suspect was his decision to give them blaster pistols.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar didn't miss a beat, sidestepping the second body with seeming ease. It was all instinct, the clone had been trained for situations like this. At this moment adrenaline was running through his system. He could taste its coppery metallic sheen over his tongue and seemingly hear it pound through his brain like nothing ever could. It was his live-giver, his savior, something had been taught from a child. It was the most exhilarating, joyful, pleasing feeling that he had so far ever felt in his life.

He stopped right at the door and looked to the diplomats, shouting at them once more in hopes to get them inside. "C'mon shift your haar'chak shebs! Inside! Inside! I want a caf before we hit the dirt!" The first diplomat, a Fel man, was basically grabbed by Galaar and thrown into the room. His hand outstretched for each man after, intent on being the last one in.

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

The first man inside the medical bay was the Fel delegate, and he was essentially thrown in by the clone – clearly in a rush to get everyone inside. Voroll made an effort to try and get in second to assess the room, just in case any pirates popped up from behind counters.
Inside it was dark, just like most of the other rooms on this powerless space station, and nothing discernable could be made out amidst it. The delegate was audibly quivering and whining about what was going on, even going as far as to blame the Confederates for it. He was only thinking of national defence, but the Confederacy were allies with the Imperium and had to be kept as such.
The room lit up as an Imperial Knight behind Voroll ignited his lightsaber. In that moment the delegate’s face was full of mixed emotions, but stunk of fear. Making his way over to him, his voice lowered but was thick is contempt. Stern words of warning was issued to the man, but were quiet enough so that not even the droids could pick up voices on their sensors. After Voroll moved away, the delegate was quiet and stuck to a corner by himself.

A medical bay was both a good and bad place to be in the event of a starship falling out of orbit. It provided little protection from the effects of gravity and the moving cupboards and instruments could easily hurt someone, but with the same regard just the location could be used to help treat injuries, if there were any. Plus it appeared to be near the centre of the station so that little damage could actually occur to the interior of the room.
“Nice choice of you to bring us here.” Voroll commended @[member="Galaar CC-252"].

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar would turn his armored head to Voroll after the man spoke. "Its the center of the ship on this level and has its own artificial gravity systems, plus there's the med tables, if you really wanna buckle up." The ship was shaking violently now as it entered the world's atmosphere, lights flickered on and off and the ship progressively got more bumpy. " 'Sides... If this goes as I think it is we may as well tuck our heads down and kiss our shebs." He patted Voroll on the shoulder before moving to brace himself.

"I'd get ready folks! Impact is less than likely 40 seconds out, more likely more." It was a good thing Voroll couldn't feel his emotions; he was a swirling void of fear himself. The clone had always agreed that he was bred to die early that didn't mean he wanted to however. His heart was throbbing under his suit of armor and he bit down on his tongue as his strill whined at his side. It was most certainly afraid.

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

So this place would hopefully be the most protected when they actually crashed into the surface of Raxus Prime. The Junk World. Oh what beautiful things awaited them on a world where ‘the droids go to die’, Voroll found himself wondering of mass, lined graves much like for humanoids. But then he remembered droids were usually more efficient and may offer to recycle their parts after deactivation.

He hopped across the room, from one side to the other, to try and find something to hold onto. Each hop seemed to last more than it should do, a brief second or two longer of bliss and floating amidst the rocky emotional states of each individual in the room, bar @[member="Galaar CC-252"]. He tried to forget how to feel, what emotions felt like while he hopped, because, honestly, it was the best thing in the world. Perhaps if he had the run of a starship he would turn off the artificial gravity and just float.
He finally found a cabinet with two adjacent handles that could fit his left arm. It was certainly better than nothing. Plus it appeared to be locked, so his arm would hopefully not snap in two when the starship made contact with the junk below.

In that verbal silence, where the only thing that broke such a golden rule was the groaning and burning and bending of thick metal outside of this room. When that was ignored, however, the faces of those who had survived the initial invasion of the starship by these unknown pirates were more than Voroll needed. Each way he turned, to each face that filtered from being dark to light and back to dark, he felt a torrent of emotions. They worried, they feared, they boiled with anger and the worst, they filled, quickly with regret. It seemed to push out all the other feelings they felt. Regret. It was deep and painful and gave Voroll a lump in his throat. His breathing became harder and he could visibly see his vision being refracted, possibly by tears forming in his eyes.

He feared, too. Perhaps this would be the last thing he would ever remember: this sterile room with a group of strangers, most of whom he had yet to know their names.
“I-I’m Voroll.” He cleared his throat eventually. “It’s been a pleasure meeting and working with you all.”
There was enough time left for some of the others to introduce themselves. One Imperial Knight did just that, the younger of the Cadets, who was less arrogant than the actual Knights. His name was Braynaar and he probably would not survive this crash.

Seconds later, gravity caught up with them and pulled their feet to the floor, before they were thrown about the room. Voroll’s head was thrown forwards and then again backwards and everything went black.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Two Hours Later...
(Did a Little Timeskip, hope you don't mind.)

Galaar came to face down on a flipped over medical table. Lucky for him, his armor shielded him from most of the jarring crash... Really all he felt was a heavy pain in his ribs and massive headache. The armored body rolled onto his side and grunted; his hand instantly grabbing and arming his DC-17m again. Everything was a haze since the moment they entered the Med-Bay, this diplomatic mission had certainly go horribly awry. Next to him lay a still, bloodied body of a diplomatic. His strill, thankfully had survived the impact and was rumbling pitifully next to him.

"Anyone alive? Oi! Chakaar! Anyone?" The clone groaned out through the speakers of his helmet, standing up slowly. He looked from form to form, some were moving, some where not. "Su cuy'gar?"

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

"Anyone alive? Oi! Chakaar! Anyone?” Came hazy words through the sounds of hissing and dripping and groaning metal. Vision seemed to fade in and out, multiple times from merged colours with flecks of blues, greens, and a lot of red to black. "Su cuy'gar?"
“Me…” His mind had tried to say the words just like it always had, he did not have to specifically think about how the sounds were formed or how he needed to pronounce the letters. It should have come naturally, if it were not a mumble. Truly his mind had not head recovered from the crash and was, hopefully, readjusting to the new situation. The masses of stimuli coming in from the tastebuds, the nostrils, the ear canals and the irises were somewhat too much for a moment. He tried again.
“Me, I-I’m alive.” He managed, more clearly, but groggy. It was like waking up after a very long sleep, with throat not yet clear and eyes still laden with sleep. Hopefully someone could have heard that second one, though.

When clarity was restored, Voroll looked around. He was either not in the same place or everything that he saw before going black was now in another location entirely – which was not out of the ordinary for a crashed ship. Sparks flickered from light fittings and hoses, either filled with gas or liquids, hissed and dripped. He saw a body near him, unmoving, neck twisted at an awkward angle. Yet he could not place the being until he stood up and gathered his bearings.
He had been flung from the cabinets, which had toppled to the floor, to the other side of the room and apparently onto a dead Imperial Knight, with a fizzing droid under that. The younger Cadet, who was near-enough the same age as Voroll, rested near the small group, with his arm twisted but cradling it; head lulling.

As he moved to determine the state of the young Imperial, his vision hued red, then went black again. He rubbed his eyes and found blood smudged across his thumb.
“Oh chit,” he muttered, looking for something reflective to check himself over.

@[member="Galaar CC-252"]