Battle of Mundas (Triko)

[Velok the Younger]

@[member="Triko"]

Mundas was a grody little world, too loud and insignificant to bother incorporating. But when its leaders called, the local regional hegemon answered. That was more or less how Fringe did business, on the 'pay it forward' school of regional dominance.

Today's monster of the day? A rogue Killik hive, its mind(s) warped by some kind of interesting psychotropic fungus, its fleet bolstered by the vessels of a former Ebruchi warband. Enough to pose a threat to regional security. As a result, the Fringe Confederation had decided to field-test some new toys.

A Sekairo-class stealth transport slipped through a pretty good-sized fleet battle and came to an abrupt stop right beside the shielded enemy flagship. Three specks drifted out as the stealth transport turned around.

One was an intruder missile. It slammed into the shutter shields, creating a brief hole.

One was a space-suited Rave Merrill, lightsabre igniting to claw her way through the flagship's armor.

One was a jawa.

 

[Triko]

This jawa was one Triko, a quaint, soft spoken man/alien/nutter who was here on account that he needed something to do.

For the occasion he'd brought along a special treat, almost as if to impress the strange woman he was with.

Said treat was a flamethrower; fire tended to kill most things quite well, and there was probably a lot of killing to be done here. There always was where he was concerned, time had shown. For example, that very morning he had opted to eat a cake for breakfast, visiting a nearby spacestation to acquire said baked goods. This'd gone very badly wrong when he accidentally shot someone, sparked a gang war and murdered fifteen people who may or may not have been bystanders- he'd been unable to tell for the fires that'd consumed the entire station thanks to a stray missile.

All in all, it'd not been a great morning as of yet.

@[member="Rave Merrill"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

@[member="Triko"]

If the civilized and erudite Jawa had discussed his predilections with Rave Merrill, he would have found her surprisingly accommodating. Not about the mass murder part, per se, but she would have shared his taste for pyrotechnics and also cake. She had won her last duel using a piece of cake (as one of three painstaking traps which she had triggered simultaneously by using a single Initiate-level Witch spell). Yes, Rave Merrill appreciated a good piece of cake.

Magnetized boots adhered her to the hull as the momentary shield gap closed overhead. A point-defense weapon turned to examine them quizzically, and she threw her lightsabre sidelong. The point-defense emplacement vanished in a puff of existential confusion and shrapnel. Recalling the sabre to her hand and igniting its mate, Rave set her feet. She slashed down in parallel, then slowly turned until an uneven cone of durasteel popped free in a torrent of cold air and instant snow.

She gestured to the gap while placing a hand on top of the slowly departing steel cone.

 

[Triko]

Without a word, Triko pulled the flamethrower over his shoulder and into his hands, gripping the snaking mess of tubes and dangerous-looking things as tightly as he could before leaping out of the ship and sailing in a strangely graceful fashion for the hole Rave'd so kindly left him.

It'd have been a plus if he'd been wearing some kind of spacesuit, but he'd never been informed of such a requirement. The woman'd just abducted him, if he remembered correctly. Or maybe she'd taken him here after a passionate night, or she'd hired him for money.

Maybe all three.

Or maybe not- what was important is that he started freezing, melting and suffocating all at once while he shot into the other ship, his vision turning red then grey then an interesting shade of black as he clattered onto the deck.

@[member="Rave Merrill"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

Rave stepped in after the jawa pulled his cold-shirt crossing, and the ship's artificial gravity field caught her and pulled her down to the deck. The hot edge glanced off her Mark IF exoskeleton. She landed unusually hard, right beside Triko, and reached up to pull the cone down after them with the Force.

That didn't actually go so well. Just outside the grav field, the only non-Raveish force being exerted on the cone was air pressure. So the plug froze back in at an odd angle, and Rave was compelled to let go of it and refocus when a trio of Killiks wandered in. Followed by about two dozen of their closest friends.

She kicked up the rocket launcher, snagged it in midair, and fired. A Kubazi smorgasbord coated the walls. (See, that's funny if you know that Kubaz eat insectoid species, even sentient ones.)

"Get up," she said, nudging the jawa with her armored toe. "We have nukes to steal. Nukes that shoot lasers."

 

[Triko]

Triko rose with a heavy crunch as the layer of ice that had formed around him shattered, leaving a white mist that spiraled out around him.
With a groan he picked his flamethrower up, shook the ice from that too, and then steadied himself as to avoid toppling over- the weapon was longer than he was tall, and almost as heavy. The next issue to attend to was his inability to see.
"Triko have problem," He turned to what he hoped was the human. "He blind right now." Slowly his vision seemed to be returning, but at present everything was a similar shade of grey.

Fortunately, flamethrowers didn't require a lot of aiming.

@[member="Rave Merrill"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

@[member="Triko"] OOC/ You have 666 posts. Auspicious.

IC/ "Oh, I can fix that..."

The rocket launcher fired again, jamming a passageway with Killik dead, and Rave grabbed Triko by the top of his head. She spat something evil in the language of the Sith and the more universal language of phlegm. Immense but somewhat brief pain characterized her use of Sith magic to fix what ailed him. She shuddered, a little bit drained, and tossed him his rocket launcher.

Her own weapon of choice was an SRR double-barrelled assault rifle, one part heavy blaster repeater and one part Ssi-Ruuvi paralysis beam. She saved the latter for close range; it had the doubly useful property of ignoring both shields and armor. Killiks fell by the bushel as she pushed her way toward the place where scans indicated a major warhead bay.

 

[Triko]

In a flash his vision returned, and he also felt a craving for chocolate biscuits. This was followed by a great hunk of metal flying in his direction courtesy of Rave, which he promptly dodged before regretting it the instant later.

As the rockets fired off in all directions, the human was already sprinting away, shooting everything in sight- Triko opted to follow suit, running with his trademark athleticism to charge alongside his unlikely companion. As he swerved in front, he took care to issue a warning.
"Get back or Rave die horribly!" His words trailed off into obscurity when he let loose with the flamethrower.
"Utini!" He shrieked with all the fury of a roaring krayt dragon, and a swirling torrent of blood red flame filled the world in front of him, consuming the beasts in front of him and reducing them into spindly silhouettes flailing about behind the infernous screen.

Slowly he stepped forth, wailing with endless glee.

@[member="Rave Merrill"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

@[member="Triko"]

Getting back seemed less than ideal, as it involved increased proximity to the muzzle of that flamethrower. With some aplomb, she dove into a side passage. The flamethrower nommed oxygen voraciously, calling insect-scented wind through the Killik halls. A handful of Killiks took the brunt of Rave's assault rifle, but the main body of them was busily dying under Triko's flamethrower. Some cultures roasted ants or boiled locusts with butter. The smell of napalmed Killiks was oddly appetizing.

But then again, you didn't become an alchemist without turning a little freaky.

Rather than calm him down -- not that she could if she tried -- she just waited in the side tunnel and let him do his thing, to clear them both a path.

 

[Triko]

With a splutter reminiscent of a man choking to death on some chocolate biscuits, (chocolate biscuits were the first thing that came to his mind) the flamethrower died.

What didn't stop dying was the aliens.

He sprinted forwards into the still-raging flames, batting down creatures that glowed in the pulsing red light with the fuel tank of the flamethrower; a monstrous thing lunged for him and fell back missing half it's skull, while another sort of crumbled into bloody chunks when he brought the black steel down upon its head.

In his fury, he'd failed to notice the fact that he was ablaze, bleeding from all sides and close to breaking a few limbs, but none of this mattered seeing as he'd just thrown the weapon into the crowd and been met with a general response of, well, death.

When the hordes surged forwards once more, he unsheathed a machete in his left hand and drew a blaster with his right.

@[member="Rave Merrill"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

@[member="Triko"]
Now, and only now, did it seem a propos to get in there and get to work. The assault rifle clicked empty, and Rave drew her lightsabres. No machete, but they'd do.

In combat she prized mobility, and the flamethrower had more or less opened her up some room to get mobile, despite her powered exoskeleton. Blue lightsabres flickered and chopped around the Nightsister as she quickstepped her way down the toasty hall, doing her best not to slip on ichor. Thankfully, burnt ichor gave more traction than the opposite.

Faster than expected, they came to a large door marked with the Killik scent-tracer for 'armaments.' Rave's nose did not speak Killik, but the scans had given her a pretty good idea of what to look for. She carved the blast door out of its hinges-

To reveal a rather large room full of rather large warheads. And the repulsorsleds to move them. Some of the warheads were even on repulsorsleds.

"Nukes that shoot lasers."

 

[Triko]

Triko's glowing orange eyes lit up- more than usual, anyway.

A whole room, full of nuclear weaponry. This presented a unique opportunity for him. He left the woman walk forwards for a few steps, and then made his move.

Silently and swiftly he slid behind Rave.

Then he shoved the barrel of his blaster into her spine and brought his machete around her throat.

"Rave, no struggle. Triko shoot faster than you move." He whispered.

"Triko does not miss."

@[member="Rave Merrill"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

@[member="Triko"]

She froze. It took her a long moment to get her mind in any kind of state to focus, such was the fury which consumed her. So fury. Much nightsister. A telekinetic grip on both the trigger and the machete could do it, but all such cogitations were thoroughly derailed by the question of how he could reach high enough to get the machete to her throat. She wasn't that short.

"Easy there." She deactivated her lightsabres. "You lookin' for something in particular?"

 

[Triko]

Because the Lazywritington constant wasn't in effect here, Triko found that his blade wasn't going to reach her throat. In response, he placed it just above her stomach, metal glinting with each subtle waver of the tip.

"Rave is thinking about how to get away." He grinned. "Every second Triko spends talking, she considers how to save herself."

"Rave no sleep well. Rave killed lots of people, Triko thinks." He pushed the barrel further forwards. "Triko no sleep well either." With that, he brought the blade closer. "When someone no kill, death a stranger to them. Death is close friend to me and you, yes? When someone not scared of death, there nothing to lose. You have nothing to lose, Triko thinks." His grin widened, though she could not see it.

"We have wager, Rave and Triko. For fun. If Rave survive shot, she show that Rave have something to lose. Death no want her. Triko make fair though. He shoot self, and if he no die, then he have something to lose, then he wrong, leave Rave alone."

"Then Rave take what Rave wants, Triko thinks."

@[member="Rave Merrill"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

@[member="Triko"]

Hands frozen in the air, deactivated lightsabre in each. Muzzle in the small of her back. Blade to her throat. Tentative Force grip ready to engage with the machete or the blaster. Warheads everywhere. Sith spell on her lips, though it'd wipe her out and she'd only get one shot. "Maybe it's the aerosolized Killik guts, but fethed if you aren't starting to make sense of some things I've half wondered since I started this particular life.

"I'm right there with ya. You've got a deal. Shoot me."

 

[Triko]

Triko's smile grew even broader. "Rave is ready, Triko thinks."

With that, he pulled the trigger.

A fiery orange light was cast upon Rave's back, and a deadly crimson blaster bolt shot forth with a shrill scream.

What would happen next, Triko was not fated to know.

@[member="Rave Merrill"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

@[member="Triko"]

Nobody respected blasters these days. Blaster bolts were for dodging, or effortless blocking en masse. Everyone knew slugthrowers, shatterguns, disruptors, sonics, pocket mass drivers were 'better.'

Those people had never taken a blaster pistol to the right kidney. Maybe it was an alchemist's familiarity with anatomy, maybe it was imagination, but her mind's eye gave her a terribly clear picture of the compressed plasma bolt punching through a gap in her armor and angling up into her gut from behind. She fell to armored knees, pain clouding all grasp on the Force. Her lightsabres rolled across the deck; her armored palms struck flat durasteel, and her helmet nearly struck a warhead.

The Mark IF flooded her system with kolcta. But that would take a minute, and in the meantime, she was helpless.

 

[Triko]

"Does Rave die?" He cocked his head to one side inquisitively. "Triko keep wager, Rave no worry."

The jawa pulled the blaster away and lifted it to his head, feeling the warmth of the last shot eminating from the barrel as it pressed against his temple.

"Triko know he ready. He shoot where it matter."

He slid his finger past the trigger guard and looked down onto the woman. He wondered if this was the last creature he'd ever see. That thought was strange- he'd never considered such a thing in all his years. He wondered if 'matter' was the last word he'd ever say, and if cake was the last thing he'd ever eat. Maybe. And all these thoughts swirled around Triko's mind for a few seconds until he felt something strange.

He felt scared.

Triko didn't like being scared. He'd never been scared. But, as he held the blaster to his temple, staring down upon the woman as she lay sprawled across the floor, he was truly afraid.

Fear was the last thing Triko felt, fear for his life, for his death, for all those he'd killed as they felt this very same thing in their final moments, as he pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was the last thing he heard, and then all was darkness, just as it had been in the beginning.

@[member="Rave Merrill"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

@[member="Triko"]

Distant insectoid footfalls strongly suggested that the Killiks were on their way again. Getting out of here alone, and with the warheads, started to seem...improbable.

But that jawa was pretty indisputably dead. Maybe. Down for the count, anyway, bleeding all over the warheads they'd come here to claim.

Feth it.

Her voice rose in a scream, an incantation, the same as she'd used on his eyesight but more so. The same kind of thing the spirit of Freedon Nadd had used to fix Exar Kun after being crushed. Literally crushed. Pure Sith Magic, as powerful as it got, straight from Sirella Valkner's mastery of the Telos Holocron.

Then she crawled over to Triko, popped a valve in her suit, and filled the hole in his head with the grade of kolcta that could regrow limbs.

Slowly, painfully, she stood. Her lightsabres trembled on the deck, then flew back to her armored hands. One clipped to her belt, the other ignited, and she reached back to touch the place where the kolcta tank was beginning its work on her lower back.

"And that is how you take someone down with a suicide pact. Give me a sign if you're alive. If not..."

The Killiks stampeded past the obviously lightsabred door.

Apparently the ship was being evacuated.

 

[Triko]

Triko did give a sign, if coughing up a river of phlegm-infused blood counted. Claws dug into the ground as he pushed himself to his knees, skittering and squealing as they tore away silver dust. He rose slowly, leaning slightly to one side as his right arm swung limp, the machete gripped impossibly tight in his left. In an almost mechanical fashion his head snapped to look at Rave, and he moved forwards in strange, stuttering motions before gripping her by the arm.

"Rave." He grunted, hoarse and low. Then he dropped the machete, a cold clatter sounding its collision with the floor. "Rave."

In a slow, deliberate motion he drew back his hood. His face was gaunt, the flesh grey like that of a corpse, bloody and completely covered in scars. The other details were unimportant, save for the fact that he stared Rave dead in the eyes.

He did not break away, he only stared, leaving time for her to examine every detail of his features as the liquid dripped from the hole in his head and blood dribbled from his maw.

"Rave."

@[member="Rave Merrill"]