The Silver Hawk Knight
"Don't make me chase you!" Pylon yelled as the Zabrak male flipped the bar table that separated them, and inevitably ran out the back door of the canteena. Pylon cursed inside his helmet before vaulting over the newly created obstacle, and out into the harsh Iridonian sun. His ultrachrome boots pounding hard on the red dirt road, through the city streets, hot on the trail of his bounty. The orange skinned Zabrak running like a mad man for his life, went by the name of Skurch...something or other, and was wanted for drug smuggling on several systems, racking up a rather impressive bounty for such a common crime.
At least impressive enough to get The Silver Hawk on his scent.
It didn't take Pylon long to track the mark back to his home planet, and from there it was as simple as breaking the right digits on the right people in the right places. Location mattered, for this sort of thing. After a few fingers and a couple of identical Iridonia dwellings, Zerga found his target trying to unload the rest of his stash at a local bar. Typical move for an insect. They retreat to their hives, and try to distribute their ill-gotten gains.
As the chase through the streets began, Skurch tried to simply outrun his Mandalorian pursuer. Not a bad call, considering most Mando Bounty Hunters relied on their heavy beskar'gam armor, making running difficult. For most. What the ill prepared Zabrak hadn't counted on, was Pylon's own custom, Ultrachrome composite armor, a much lighter material, fitted to him in a hardened bodysuit. The custom gear made it much easier for Pylon to glide across the ground, quickly gaining on his prey. A simple feat, even without the Force.
What else the Zabrak was likely counting on, was the fact that his Bounty was real specific that he was wanted alive in order to stand trial. Apparently, not being guilty enough meant that Bounty Hunters, such as Zerga, couldn't use lethal force when apprehending their targets. This would be Skurch's second mistake, as to thinking that meant a damn to Pylon.
As Skurch rounded a corner, catching the silver clad warrior hot on his trail in his peripherals, he panicked and grabbed the nearest woman to him, tossing her behind him in attempt to have her collide with his pursuer. This would be his final mistake, endangering citizens. Pylon lowered his head and opened his arms, wrapping them around the Zabrak woman, pivoting on his feet to carry his momentum, spinning around the woman and letting her pass by him harmlessly.
"I gotta take this guy out before he hurts someone! Or worse, gets away!" he thought, reaching into a small holster on his kama, pulling out a small, oddly shaped flat device. With a quick flick of his wrist, the oversized handle folded out into a wide V, with one of the edges humming to life as it vibrated to ultrahigh frequencies. The strange "vibro-rang" was cocked back behind Pylon's head before being flung forward with blinding speed, arcing from his hand to collide directly on the side of the Zabrak's face, knocking him forward and sending several chunks of horn fragments (and possibly teeth) clattering to the ground, falling directly into a street vendor selling grilled sticks of unidentifiable meat.
"Ohhh! That's gotta hurt!" Pylon mocked in a cheery tone, catching up to his quarry easily as he attempted to recover from the definite concussion, writhing in pain as several of the wooden kebab stakes skewered and pierced all over his body, like an unfortunate animal that ran face first into a cactus plant. After a slide along the ground to slow him down, Pylon grabbed onto Skurch and forced the male onto his belly, folding his arms roughly behind his back, and digging a hard, sharp edge of his ultrachrome shin plate into the man's spine, causing him to scream even more in agony.
"AAUGH!!! ENOUGH! I SURRENDER! STOP! STOP! i GIVE!" Skurch cried, writhing under the Mandalorian's knee, howling in pain like an animal about to be delivered the killing blow. Oddly, bright orange colored blood dripped down his face, and several of his cranial horns had been chipped off at odd angles. "Fierfek. That Vibro-rang really rung his bell! I'll have to make more of those!" he thought as he ripped a long line of fibercord from his right gauntlet, wrapping it around his target's wrists and ankles like he was a wild banthaa.
"Ugh! Lay off Mando-scum! That's too tight!" Skurch hissed, before yelping loudly as Pylon forced his head down into the dirt.
"Oh shove it! I told you not to make me chase you! Now look at you! Tied and skewered up like a juicy hunk of...." Zerga trailed off at he took a closer look at the bits of grilled meat hanging to the side of Skurch's face. "Um...Whatever it is you people eat." He summed up dismissively.
After his target was properly secured, Pylon went through the regular protocol of searching him for weapons. A quick pat down was more then enough to pull out several blades, bags of glitterdust, and an illegally modified blaster tucked into the male's tunic. "Ohh, what have we got here? Goody bags! You brought enough for me, my wife, and half the dancing girl's we plan to share it with!" Pylon chuckled as he tucked the bags into one of the various pouches on his belt, followed by the confiscated weapons.
Inside the protected and climate controlled sanctum of his helmet, Pylon breathed deeply on the cooled air supply, struggling to catch his breath. He was thankful for the luxuries of his armor, though the strain of strenuous physical actions without aid of the Force did sometimes get to him. He would have to keep that in mind next time he had to take chase, and sacrifice his pride a little and call upon his innate gift.
"Come on man, at least pull these kriffing sticks out of my face!" Skurch cried, once again squirming around in protest.
"What, you're face didn't already look like that? I thought that was some tribal thing you Iridnonians did. But forgive me, I'm just some ignorant Mando scum. I don't know much about inferior warrior cultures." Pylon spat back, pushing harder into his captive's back until he heard a loud pop, followed by a low, guttural moan of pain.
Pylon finally pushed himself up to a knee, then rose with a heavy boot firmly implanted in the Zabrak's lower spine, directly on his hands. With a quick click of his teeth, Pylon opened a private Comlink channel to Kara, who was flying in low orbit, awaiting his call. "Alright, Kara, i got the chakaar. Bring the ship around to my coordinates. And hurry, i think i may have ticked off the locals." He explained, reaching to the sword on his back as he noticed the growing crowd of Iridonians gathering around him, each with a face of rage and disgust.
"What? Is it something I said?" He asked dryly, realizing exactly where this was going as he slowly drew his long, single edged blade from it's pivoted, hard sheath.
[member="Darth Ferus"]
At least impressive enough to get The Silver Hawk on his scent.
It didn't take Pylon long to track the mark back to his home planet, and from there it was as simple as breaking the right digits on the right people in the right places. Location mattered, for this sort of thing. After a few fingers and a couple of identical Iridonia dwellings, Zerga found his target trying to unload the rest of his stash at a local bar. Typical move for an insect. They retreat to their hives, and try to distribute their ill-gotten gains.
As the chase through the streets began, Skurch tried to simply outrun his Mandalorian pursuer. Not a bad call, considering most Mando Bounty Hunters relied on their heavy beskar'gam armor, making running difficult. For most. What the ill prepared Zabrak hadn't counted on, was Pylon's own custom, Ultrachrome composite armor, a much lighter material, fitted to him in a hardened bodysuit. The custom gear made it much easier for Pylon to glide across the ground, quickly gaining on his prey. A simple feat, even without the Force.
What else the Zabrak was likely counting on, was the fact that his Bounty was real specific that he was wanted alive in order to stand trial. Apparently, not being guilty enough meant that Bounty Hunters, such as Zerga, couldn't use lethal force when apprehending their targets. This would be Skurch's second mistake, as to thinking that meant a damn to Pylon.
As Skurch rounded a corner, catching the silver clad warrior hot on his trail in his peripherals, he panicked and grabbed the nearest woman to him, tossing her behind him in attempt to have her collide with his pursuer. This would be his final mistake, endangering citizens. Pylon lowered his head and opened his arms, wrapping them around the Zabrak woman, pivoting on his feet to carry his momentum, spinning around the woman and letting her pass by him harmlessly.
"I gotta take this guy out before he hurts someone! Or worse, gets away!" he thought, reaching into a small holster on his kama, pulling out a small, oddly shaped flat device. With a quick flick of his wrist, the oversized handle folded out into a wide V, with one of the edges humming to life as it vibrated to ultrahigh frequencies. The strange "vibro-rang" was cocked back behind Pylon's head before being flung forward with blinding speed, arcing from his hand to collide directly on the side of the Zabrak's face, knocking him forward and sending several chunks of horn fragments (and possibly teeth) clattering to the ground, falling directly into a street vendor selling grilled sticks of unidentifiable meat.
"Ohhh! That's gotta hurt!" Pylon mocked in a cheery tone, catching up to his quarry easily as he attempted to recover from the definite concussion, writhing in pain as several of the wooden kebab stakes skewered and pierced all over his body, like an unfortunate animal that ran face first into a cactus plant. After a slide along the ground to slow him down, Pylon grabbed onto Skurch and forced the male onto his belly, folding his arms roughly behind his back, and digging a hard, sharp edge of his ultrachrome shin plate into the man's spine, causing him to scream even more in agony.
"AAUGH!!! ENOUGH! I SURRENDER! STOP! STOP! i GIVE!" Skurch cried, writhing under the Mandalorian's knee, howling in pain like an animal about to be delivered the killing blow. Oddly, bright orange colored blood dripped down his face, and several of his cranial horns had been chipped off at odd angles. "Fierfek. That Vibro-rang really rung his bell! I'll have to make more of those!" he thought as he ripped a long line of fibercord from his right gauntlet, wrapping it around his target's wrists and ankles like he was a wild banthaa.
"Ugh! Lay off Mando-scum! That's too tight!" Skurch hissed, before yelping loudly as Pylon forced his head down into the dirt.
"Oh shove it! I told you not to make me chase you! Now look at you! Tied and skewered up like a juicy hunk of...." Zerga trailed off at he took a closer look at the bits of grilled meat hanging to the side of Skurch's face. "Um...Whatever it is you people eat." He summed up dismissively.
After his target was properly secured, Pylon went through the regular protocol of searching him for weapons. A quick pat down was more then enough to pull out several blades, bags of glitterdust, and an illegally modified blaster tucked into the male's tunic. "Ohh, what have we got here? Goody bags! You brought enough for me, my wife, and half the dancing girl's we plan to share it with!" Pylon chuckled as he tucked the bags into one of the various pouches on his belt, followed by the confiscated weapons.
Inside the protected and climate controlled sanctum of his helmet, Pylon breathed deeply on the cooled air supply, struggling to catch his breath. He was thankful for the luxuries of his armor, though the strain of strenuous physical actions without aid of the Force did sometimes get to him. He would have to keep that in mind next time he had to take chase, and sacrifice his pride a little and call upon his innate gift.
"Come on man, at least pull these kriffing sticks out of my face!" Skurch cried, once again squirming around in protest.
"What, you're face didn't already look like that? I thought that was some tribal thing you Iridnonians did. But forgive me, I'm just some ignorant Mando scum. I don't know much about inferior warrior cultures." Pylon spat back, pushing harder into his captive's back until he heard a loud pop, followed by a low, guttural moan of pain.
Pylon finally pushed himself up to a knee, then rose with a heavy boot firmly implanted in the Zabrak's lower spine, directly on his hands. With a quick click of his teeth, Pylon opened a private Comlink channel to Kara, who was flying in low orbit, awaiting his call. "Alright, Kara, i got the chakaar. Bring the ship around to my coordinates. And hurry, i think i may have ticked off the locals." He explained, reaching to the sword on his back as he noticed the growing crowd of Iridonians gathering around him, each with a face of rage and disgust.
"What? Is it something I said?" He asked dryly, realizing exactly where this was going as he slowly drew his long, single edged blade from it's pivoted, hard sheath.
[member="Darth Ferus"]
