Chrome Galactic Alliance Dominion of Malastare Hex

[Jacen Voidstalker]

You will ride eternal, shiny and chrome​

Intro

Malastare. Already a wasteland for years, strange storms and spacetime rifts similar to those that opened up during the Netherworld have virtually cut the planet off from the outside galaxy for months. Major nations protected their own fuel reserves, yet a series of battles and Bando Gora raids left the major fuel stations as raging infernos. All across the world the night sky is lit up by burning fuel reservoirs and methane lakes. Civilisation has all but broken down. In the vast wastelands gangs fight for the last of the fuel, hopeful that they can scrounge enough to escape.

Then the small rifts appeared. Individuals from across the galaxy found themselves appearing in the wasteland. Hounded by the gangs for slaves and with no law enforcement in sight. Even the Force refuses to come to the aid of those who need it. How will your character react being dumped in this wasteland ruled by gangs? Will they do whatever is required just to survive?

In the Dread Plains a group of mechanics have almost finished restoring a shuttle. However, they don’t have enough fuel to escape. Their agreement with the gangs: the gang that brings them enough fuel gets to leave the world with them.

Choose your fate. Join a gang, fight for the last of the resources and be the first to escape.

Information
OOC Thread: http://starwarsrp.net/topic/87157-chrome-mad-max-malastare-mini-event/
Gang List: http://starwarsrp.net/topic/87091-looking-for-gangs-shiny-and-chrome/
Objective 1: Gang Wars. Join a mini campaign to be the gang that grabs the fuel and escapes the wastelands
Objective 2: Pod Race. In what remains of civilisation on Malastare a massive podrace is about to begin. Join the race and earn the loot.
Objective 3: Do you own thing.


Objective 1: Gang Wars.
Info: Questions regarding Objective 1 to myself or [member="Astarii Saren"]
The Skakoan mechanics have nearly finished preparing a shuttle they believe can break free from Malastare. Several gangs: Rogue-X, Da Krimzon Kult and the Eviscars are headed for the burning fields the largest fuel refinery in the area. A mile around the refinery is covered in a thick, black smog. Visibility is limited and covering nose, mouth and eyes is almost necessary. The Judicars, who used to govern access to the site have been deposed by a gang of Bando Gora raiders. The gangs approaching might join up to eliminate the Bando Gora and share the spoils (or backstab each other) or work for themselves for a greater risk, but potentially greater reward.

Spoiler: location

Barter Town
Gangs leave their vehicles and heavy weapons on the way in. Supposedly neutral ground, but this generally means “Don’t let your fights spill over too much or else”. The last gang to conduct an organised raid on other one within these walls vanished from existence within a week.

Blaming Fields

Shuttle Building Site

 

[Davon Karr]

Objective 1
Approaching Burning Fields
[member="Elijah Rekali"] [member="Lok Munin"]

The Eviscars had come to a halt on a ridge several miles from the Burning Fields. Davon sat on one of the footplates that ran along the edges of their skiffs. As he pulled open his flask and took a few careful sips of water, he reflected that he should have chosen the side out of the sunlight. All of their skiffs had these footplates. When they closed with other vehicles the dugs in particular leapt off them to board the enemy.

“There’s our scout!” someone called. Davon jumped down from the skiff and pulled his lever-action scatter blaster from his thigh. A few weeks ago a Bando Gora raider had killed one of their scouts in a trap. One of their fanatics had strapped some rudimentary explosives to himself and flown back into the Eviscar camp.

But even his aging eyes could recognise Skant. The youngster brought his bike to a halt. “It’s as we thought. We’ve got Rogues flying in from the south and that dirt cloud is Krimson Kult driving in from the north.

Detritus Skrell leapt down from his dais. His own skiff was covered in the brightest scarlet flags, spikes adorned his vehicle, full with the skulls of their enemies. “Good!” he called. “More vehicles for the host!” He pulled his great scimitar from his back and held it aloft. Wearily, Davon copied the gesture with his beskad. “Pick us a path and onwards to the Burning Fields!”

Their leader was mad, though not as much as he seemed. The massive gran would never show any signs of fear or even caution in front of the whole host. Seemingly bored with proceedings Detritus returned to his vehicle. Davon headed for his own skiff. He drove the vessel which led the main host after the scouts. He cursed whatever force had dumped him on this wasteland and forced him to do unsavoury things for appalling people just to survive. At least there were some mandalorians in the crew, as lost as he was.

“Lok, Elijah!” Davon called as he searched through a case under the controls for his googles and a greased cloth to cover his mouth and nose. “Do we head straight for the fields, or try and deal with one of the gangs on the way?”

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Objective: 1
Approaching Burning Fields

Everything here was makeshift, compromised, and at the root of it - essential for survival. They’d crashed here several weeks ago in pursuit of legend, and legend had found them. They now camped with legend, adjusting to the harsh climate that the planet offered. The climate wasn’t restricted to the raging weather - but to the local culture as well. Torque Catcher was a good guide, but it turned out that the collection of pilots were more useful than he. After all, their beacons worked and his hardly did. What’s more, people were expecting the squadron back. And with their pocket of Aces in the holes gone for a stretched period of time, their first line of aerial defence was going to be noticeable. Especially to Admiral Tevv. They had faith, it was just patience that Loske was struggling with. Plus, with Torque Catcher’s shame on his heels (of which he hadn’t entirely explained) - Pixelito was out of the question. Any sort of city would recognize him, and hail fury that they weren’t prepared to defend against. The Dugs were vicious.

Still though, despite this tribulation no major injuries had been suffered by the team - which spoke to their abilities. Despite nature’s worst, they were all in good enough shape to get back on the horse, so to speak. Every one of them were working together, still, without any irritations to report. The talents being showcased here and there throughout the weeks. It was cool to experience and be a part of; it almost gave Loske that desired sense of belonging and family she so actively pined for. Even if it was with a bunch of riff raff.

Both arms were folded over the handles of her speeder, perched forward with a push from her tippy toes the balance of the bike mostly was between her thighs as it hovered just above the ground with a gentle purr.

Goggles lifted to sneak her knuckle beneath and rub her upper cheek free of the dirt that had lodged in there. Tearing through the forests meant that a lot of debris got lifted and splattered over the team. Finally, they’d made it to the cusp of one of the stretching tree lines and were now facing a barren stretch of dirt. This was, so Torque Catcher said, where they would be able to five finger discount some more fuel for their crusades and scouting.

With the naked eye, the teenager couldn’t see any of these promised fuel storages, and with a downward glance, couldn’t see anything on her spiralling radar. The only thing she could see up ahead was black.

A lot.
Of.
Black.

But some other very mobile little dots were slowly creeping into the sweeping needle of her radial screen, and she licked her thumb to wipe away some of the clinging mud on the visual, ensuring that the blips were indeed something to report - and not a poor reflection of her housekeeping.

With a backward glance, she rested a palm on the back of her seat and passed the curiosity on to her comrades: “Hey, you guys picking something up on your radars?"

[member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Berric Kelso"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Encouragement Gets"] | [member="Alexandra Russo"] | [member="Triam Akovin"] | [member="Lucius Varad"]

 

[Sal Katarn]

Objective 3
[SIZE=14.666666666666666px][member="Vehanv Kiva"] | [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]Dodj was every bit what you might expect from a town that sprang up in the middle of the great fuel rush of ‘44. A haphazard collection of shanty constructions thrown up to support the influx of black gold seekers - a magpie crowd of fortune cravers rushing out to make their fortunes. The surrounding forests were leveled in search of fuel. Drills constructed in the wasteland. The search continued, further on into what had once been virgin wilderness. Now all ripped bare to its dusty bones. Dodj had become a waypoint more than anything. A stopping zone to rest, refit and refuel. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]Keen entrepreneurs took up residence in Dodj, offering passersby a carnival of pleasure and supplies at outrageous sums. Gambling dens, ladies of the night, general stores and saloons all made a killing. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]Desperate, bright-eyed hopefuls streamed in one way, broken dreams and shattered lives tumbled out the other. Some crippled remnants of forlorn hope wound up staying in Dodj, like errant flotsam stranded on shore in a storm. Too broke to leave. They hung around the saloons and alleys, dejected shadows foretelling travelers what was to come.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]No one paid them any mind, ‘less they got in the way. Deafened by passion. Blinded by greed. Amid the whores, black gold and cards, life was cheapest of all. They’d make you pay to stay in Dodj, but they’d bury you for free. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]Most of the time, leastways. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]The Dusty Dram was one of three saloons in town. Inside, an irreputable class of clientele lay seated at tables, or lounged at the bar. Most caked in layers of grime, as the name implied. All of them armed, in some fashion or another. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]A man with bronzed skin and unkempt hair the color of dirty brass sat at a corner table by himself, playing a game of cards. A long rifle stood propped up against the wall behind him and he wore a brace of pistols on his hips. Looked like he had armor underneath a stained white henley, but that weren’t unusual neither.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]The Dug bartender had come round to ask him if he wanted anythin’ to drink. The man said, “Whiskey.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]A friendly fellow, the Dug asked him what he was doing in town. The man said, “Waitin’.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]His incursions of small talk thoroughly routed, the Dug had gone back behind the bar to sulk some. The man didn’t seem to care. Just kept playin’ with them cards. Flip flip flip. Flip flip flip. Pause. Grunt. Flip flip.[/SIZE]

 

[Nia Siroc]

Objective 1
Near the Burning Fields
[member="Davon Karr"] @Elijah Relkali [member="Lok Munin"]

Nia was one of the last to hop down off of the skiff, following slowly behind the towering Davon Karr. She was both the youngest and smallest of the Eviscars. The newest too, having only joined the group mere days ago. As to how she'd come to be here...the truth really was stranger than fiction.

She had been on Sullust, walking down a corridor from the library when she'd turned a corner and found a blighted land before her. So surprised was she that she hadn't thought to turn back before it was too late. By the time she'd turned around, an empty and cracked plain had replaced the hallway. Only her training kept Nia from blind panic when she realized that she was stuck here.

Some time later, travelling in the heat of the wastes had found the apprentice parched and with cracked lips. Having brought no rations, the girl had only the clothes on her back and her lightsaber. When she happened upon a small canyon with a trickle of water, she'd blindly scrambled to drink what she could. On her hands and knees, Nia drank without knowing that several men had closed in behind her.

In her time as an apprentice, the young human had come to depend upon her extra senses. So stunned by her sudden appearance here, Nia hadn't noticed the absence of her sixth sense. So she found herself surrounded, heart seeming to stop when she heard the deliberate scuff of a boot behind her. Then came the biggest shock of all: the Force would not come when she opened herself.

And so, Nia found herself staring up into the face of perhaps the largest human male she'd yet seen. That had been days ago, and for whatever reason, the hulking man hadn't killed her. So she'd come to follow the gang he led, the Eviscars. The intermediate time had been something of a blur with Nia trying and failing again to find the Force.

Now she looked between the elder members, listening for their next actions. They were on Malastare, she had learned, and the Eviscars knew the probable location of the fuel needed to get them off of the wasted planet. They'd found a shuttle and a pilot and were now before the Burning Plains and on the way in. She'd also learned that there were other gangs with the very same idea.

It would come to a fight, she knew. Her own weapon, a lightsaber, she had managed to keep hidden. Her plain clothes could pass for just another nobody but the hilt would be a dead giveaway. Not every being held love for the New Jedi Order and the Galactic Alliance.

So they'd given her an old and battered sword that had replaced the hilt on her hip. The durasteel hilt had been hidden among her garments. It really had been a strange thing, the young woman thought, that they hadn't pressed her very hard about who she was or where she came from. At the time, she'd been overjoyed to simply not be killed.

Now wasn't the time to think about that, Nia reminded herself. The scouts had found members of rival gangs and that surely meant fighting. Her hand reflexively squeezed on the unfamiliar hilt with it's rough cloth-wrapped hilt. Her heart was thundering again; she didn't know if she could fight without the Force....

 

[Lok Xiangu]

Objective: One
Burning Fields

Now how did he ended up on this godforsaken planet? He knew it wasn't his adopted father because there was no logic in dump in your own kid in some wasteland with a bunch of outlaws and gangsters. Lok could only assume that some pirate drugged him, kidnapped him, and tossed him out on this desolated world and watch for their own entertainment. At least he had a Czerka Machine Pistol, a bat made of wroshyr wood with Mandalorian Steel barbed wire which he named "Ally", and two comrades that belong to the same culture they were born with or adopted. With the weapons and the known friends he currently has he was sure that he was going to make it out of this wasteland with his two other brothers-in-arms, or at least every bit of it.

And who wouldn't give any hospitality to these three Mandos? Sure, they didn't had their armor or were heavily armed, but their skills and tactics were more than enough to be in the ranks of the Eviscars.

With a bandana that covered his mouth and nose, and goggles that protected his eyes he stood at the bow of Davon's skiff. They came to a halt as they found the scouts that they were pursuing. Not only did they find the Bando Gora scouts, but also other gangs that wee coming from the north and the south. "I say we budge heads with one of the other gangs on the way, vod! The less, the merrier," the youngster replied back to Davon whom he saw as the leader of him and Elijah.

[member="Davon Karr"] [member="Nia Siroc"] [member="Elijah Rekali"]

 

[Alexandra Porte]

Objective 1
Approaching Burning Fields
[member="Asmus Janes"] [member="Berric Kelso"] [member="Choli Vyn"] [member="Encouragement Gets"] [member="Triam Akovin"] [member="Lucius Varad"] [member="Loske Matson"]

Alleycat's landing on this Force-forsaken planet hadn't been the prettiest due the extreme nature of it, but the seasoned Rogue had been able to keep her snubfighter intact during the hard touch down. If only the Taanab's spine felt as much. She so needed a good back cracking right now, and riding all hunched over on the speeder bike wasn't helping any either.

When the Rogues stopped for a moment to regroup and recon the area, Russo popped another two analgesic pills and downed them with a sip of water from her canteen, then grabbed a pair of electobinoculars from the bike's small saddle bag to take a look ahead. It was hard to see through the blackness before them so she flipped over to the thermal setting.

"Definitely got multiple heat signatures moving fast about 10 clicks out. Should we meet n greet or go around to get to our destination?" Alex said, then offered the hand-held device to whomever in the group that wanted to take a gander.

 

[Davon Karr]

[member="Lok Munin"] [member="Nia Siroc"]

"And more vehicles for us!" someone added to Lok. Davon wasted no time; he saw which way the wind was going. He jumped up onto the platform and them very carefully chambered between the spikes and to his station. The Eviscars skiffs were covered in blades. Hard for an enemy to board, but you could cut yourself to shreds if you rushed to the controls.

The skiff was driven from a station at the rear. At the nose was a heavy spear gun that could also fire a harpoon I'd they wanted to latch on. Davon flicked three switches and the skiff hummed to life. As it warmed up he reached under his console. He unclipped a small metal container. Seven rounds, that was all he had spare. He checked his compact scattergun. Three more rounds. He pulled the lever arch to put one in the chamber and loaded to more. Nine in total. He holstered it on his thigh. Under the console was strapped a holdout blaster with two shots. Good for firing whilst keeping one hand on the wheel.

After that, it was blades only.

"Nia!" he called as the engines whined. They were the lead vehicle. It wasn't for the scouts to pick direction. "Signal the rest. We head north for the Kult."

At the back of each vehicle was a mounting point for colorful flags. That was how they signalled each other before and during battle. Green flags for direction, yellow orange and red for different aggressive intentions. Red was always accompanied by a cheer. Boarding actions.

 

[Asmus Janes]

[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Berric Kelso"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Encouragement Gets"] | [member="Alexandra Russo"] | [member="Triam Akovin"] | [member="Lucius Varad"]

Asmus' swoop thrummed as the levelled back out. He'd circled round the group and given it a boost to get off the ground for a better look. Bringing the bike to a halt he pulled the rags from over his mouth and nose, but left his goggles in place.

"Red flags!" he called.

"Eviscars!" Torque, previously Rogue One, called.

"I also saw dirt being kicked up even further north. Wheeled vehicles, maybe bando gora reinforcements. I say we head to the fields and take what we can quickly."

 

[Republic Engineering]

Objective: One - Refinery Clash
Location: The Salt-flats (North of the Burning Fields.)
Allies: None at Present, @Astarii Saren - Enslaved and Crucified.
​Enemies: Unknown (At Present. POV reflecting the Dust Cloud.)

Speed and laughter had accompanied the obsidian cloud as it rolled across the barren wasteland of Malastare. Mechanized steeds of iron, clad in the stolen flesh of their Star-fallen home, stormed across the sands in the hopes of reaching the refinery first - before others that were reportedly nearby had staked their claim. The Kaptain let a greasy smile eclipsed his porcine lips. Let the Kult hope for as long as they wish; the others won't allow them to set foot upon that supposedly sacred land. It was of little concern. He accepted that Death would come for them long before the Kult had been founded upon these ashen roads, the fact that he survived this long was a testament was as surprising to him as it was to many others. Not for a lack of trying, however, Gamorrean's were known for their tribal wars and clan-like affairs. The strongest amongst them were worthy, and the weakest were slain for nourishment. It was the way of life upon their birth world, and such would be the case upon this wasteland of a world. Thoughts of his previous life were not uncommon, but as the days dragged on ever longer and as the source of food and fuel dwindled more with each passing day, they became an amusing distraction. At least in his head, he was able to feast.

Clearing his mind with a spittle-flecked snarl, Redfinga turned his ebony gaze towards the crucified figure of the woman behind him. They found her wandering the dunes some days ago, her Sky-bird meeting the same fate as their home - swallowed whole by this madness. The woman had fought like a Demon, slaying dozens of able-bodied men with a small pistol that spat the Godsfire. Only when it ran dry was she been taken into custody, and strapped to the mighty iron pole behind his wheeled Throne. Some believed this Witch was a blessing of good fortune, as her star-chariot had blessed them with fresh food and fuel - though they were more appreciative of the latter due to how fast their landships sailed that day. Such a boon was long since spent, but like the memories of home, they would be cherished until they walked through the Chrome doors of the Afterlife.

Now, back in the present-tense, with their tires screeching across the sands, Kaptain Redfinga removed himself from the comfort of his Throne and stalked the riveted plates of his ramshackle deck, letting his panoply of war click across the surface of his bulky armor, as his obsidian orbs turned to the smog-choked horizon. They couldn't see much through the marriage of disturbed earth and blackened fumes, but that mattered little. There would be others that would come for the refinery, and it was unlikely that they'd be able to determine the Kult's numbers. That might dissuade anyone from foolishly branching away from the sacred station in the hopes of denying them of their prize, and reaping a deadly toll on their concealed numbers. His porcine smile remained at the prospect of a fight and grew ever wider as his thickened emerald fingers withdrew his knapped Battleaxe from its flesh-bound holster.

Fanning his fingers across the breadth of the cloth wrapped haft, the Kaptain lifted his weapon towards the skies. With this deed, he could feel the eyes of many Kultists fall on him, eager to hear what their Boss had to say while the others continued onwards, steering them towards the distant facility. As Redfinga held his weapon above his head, one of the lesser creatures in the Gang came forward and bequeathed a small corded device. It was the transmitter module from the Crimson Zephyr that had been salvaged, and before the Giggledust Madness had taken hold, followed swiftly thereafter by the Outbreak of delicious Cannibalism, they had installed it upon his mighty war-rig. Forcibly snatching the unit from the mewling wretch, the hulking Gamorrean brought its soot-stained surface to his spit-flecked lips.

"Everfing on dis wasteland is mine. Everyfing I see is mine too. Even the da uuver bits I don't see. Let's 'how dese Humies wot we can do, and stick 'em wit da pointy end. Dat fuel is for da Boyz, hack 'em all to bits!"

They roared in staggered uniform, as others laughed and snorted a portion of their rationed Gigglespice. Axes were brandished, and deadly spears were hefted. The aura of Death clung around them all, and under the watchful gaze of their Boss, they'd die gloriously in the quest for snatching just another liter of Mitro-boosted fuel. With the intrusive heat of the nearby star scorching the earth, each of the Kultists bathed their emerald skin in the watered down crimson paint they had stolen from their crashed vessel. It was their belief that, like the ship that had ferried them across the stars, if they too were adorned in Crimson, they would reach new and dizzying heights of speed. Thus, with the enamel flaking from their salt-baked flesh, they roared ever louder - shaking the very soil beneath hem as they surged forwards. Death awaited them, and they charged gladly into their arms.

All in all, Today was going to be a lovely day.

 

[Nia Siroc]

[member="Davon Karr"] [member="Lok Munin"]

It would seem a fight was in the cards today. Nia hadn't expected any other outcome as the Eviscars seemed to cherish combat. For her, there wasn't much choice in the matter. Karr had explained the situation in succinct, profanity-laced detail.

Mounting the lead skiff once again, she saw the eagerness in the eyes of the others. It chilled her, that look, like a starving wolf with all their feral intensity. She didn't need the Force to tell her the Dark Side was at play here. Picking up the red flag, she pointed north and a deafening cheer rose.

As the skiffs began to move forward, she told herself to stop being foolish. This wasn't a place for antiquated Jedi morals; if they didn't get the fuel, they'd all die here. Nia couldn't help but feel like it was still wrong as one hand gripped her vibrosword hilt while the other had a firm hold on the roll cage, feet splayed for balance. If the other gang members didn't eventually kill her, the wastes of Malastare certainly would.

Against the dust and dirt, she'd drawn a bandana over her mouth and a pair of tinted goggled over her eyes. Her tunic and trousers were already showing hard travel stains and she was glad that her robes had been left behind on Sullust. The sun was merciless on worlds without trees or much vegetation. If her family had come from a world like this, long ago to tropical Lamaredd, she could better understand why.

A place like this made beings turn on one another in a flash if things went wrong. They banded together only for survival, having no real friends and only respecting strength. Her, they'd accepted only because Davon Karr had seen something in her eyes. Otherwise, she knew she might well be dead or worse.

Without the Force to aid her, she was just a slightly built eighteen year old who vaguely resembled a boy of thirteen or fourteen. For all her time spent training, here she was back at square one. But Karr had simply regarded her with a looked that weighed and measured on the first day. She couldn't help but have a sense of grudging respect for the towering man.

Ahead in the distance, the Krimson Kult awaited. You couldn't miss them on the almost level ground, seeing their forms shimmer in the heat. Her heart thundered in her ears, but she drew in a steadying breath, seeking calm. It had to be done because she needed to get out of this place.

 

[Lok Xiangu]

Objective: One
Burning Fields
[2/25]

A smirk was on his concealed mouth as Davon agreed to the decision of the youngster. Finally something to lighten up his stay on this wasteland. There was pity in the Mandalorian as the only way to get off of Malastare, in the short run, was to compete viciously with the neighboring gangs; however, he would do almost anything in order to go back to his normal life along with Davon.

The men cheered when the green flags directed them north to the Kult, but the only reason that they cheered was because of the bright, crimson flags waved with pride told them that they were about to board the Kult. Lok didn't join the harmony, but he would take this time to check his gear before combat. He only had one cartridge worth of slugs for his Czerka Machine Pistol which was twenty rounds. That really wasn't enough for a pistol that was a three burst round when the trigger was pulled. There was no room for wasted ammunition. The youngster would make sure that every slug counted because once he exhausted the ammo for his pistol he would have to rely on his bat.

"Faster, Davon," the Explorer shouted to his elder with enthusiasm which wasn't really an order. The men cheered which boosted their morale when they heard the spirit of the Munin boy. "No brakes on this train!"

[member="Nia Siroc"] [member="Davon Karr"]

 

[Davon Karr]

[member="Astarii Saren"] [member="Nia Siroc"] [member="Lok Munin"]

The great black plumes approached fast. To Davon it seemed as if they were riding into the end of the world. But they weren't angled straight for the smoke. Davon checked his goggles and pushed the throttle all the way. It wouldn't do for the lead skiff to approach a battle slowly.

The clouds of dust quickly resolved to vehicles. Soon he heard the roar of their engines. Then their guttural cries as they saw the Eviscars angling in.

Davon watched their vehicles carefully. He noted one repeater, but given that it wasn't firing it likely meant they had no power. One of the dugs was acting spotter, calling out which were front, rear and four wheel drive. Very important for which you wanted to steal and where to come in with the harpoon.

"We're going for that." Davon raised one arm from the wheel and posted towards the massive truck moving in the right flank, nearest them. If they could take the heavy tanker, they could bring even more fuel back from the Burning Fields.

The dugs, ferocious boarders, moved to the left side and armed up. Brave little bastards they were. Good at moving quickly across a platform as it veered through the wasteland. Two spears came out and stuck fast in the armour plating.

A Krimson biker moved behind them and drew a pistol. Davon pulled back the throttle and then veered hard. There was a squeal as the gamorrean was eviscerated by the scythes under the skiff.

 

[Vehanv Kiva]

Objective 3:

This is where humans tended to make fools of themselves.

While Vehanv was a near-human herself, she seemed to think of herself as otherworldly. Which could make sense, due to her stretch of time in hibernation. Since being awoken by [member="Darth Isolda"], her time in this galaxy had been next to useless. A time spent dedicating to finding her army - the one that the One Sith actively commanded. However, getting near the Eye of the Dark Lord proved more difficult than she’d originally surmised. And what did Malastare have to do with anything?

Vehanv would need a lot of fuel to power a ship full of ancient Sith warriors. She wouldn’t let her men down by being unprepared. Though, she was rather unaccustomed to the new age traditions. People seemed far to obsessed with bargaining and small talk - of which she usually lost her patience and they lost their…well. Whatever she felt like taking. Tongues were usually the most appropriate. She’d been informed of a potential contract though, and through the cowardice and fervent whispers of grace, she’d got a name and a supposed position. She’d let them survive the conversation

Which is why here, where humans made fools of themselves, was the best place to have someone make a mistaken promise for her. Those that were brave enough to contend with the silent, hunched warlock looking woman. She was tall for a female, and muscular. A warrior bred for the single purpose of domination with a brooding darkness that painted an eternal scowl on her otherwise striking features; those that could be seen against her deep quukufs. She liked the heavy feeling of Dodj, but that was about it. To see so many weaklings in a single place was somewhat empowering, but also brought a healthy curl of disgust to her chapped lips.

The grime was almost amplified outside the haggard bar, and she gave the doors a push open with a wave of her telekinetic fingers. As if she’d touch the filth that these Dug persons and whatever other slop that roamed around here wiped their slimy hands on.

The room was appraised rather quickly through her training. It didn’t take long to assess the exits, the potential threats, the scums, etcetera. Most were measured up as measles, save for one that could have been filed as a potential threat. Serendipitously, this potential threat spoke gruffly enough for her hypersensitive ears to pick up on. Looking at the time, and the (ugh) location, this must be the contractor. Get her some fuel, they would. Or something.

Inhaling through her teeth, she stepped forward into the slummy bar, most purposely averting their gaze from the presumed feminine form of the Kiffar warrior.

There was just enough time between the beat of [member="Sal Katarn"]’s last sentence and her first; “What for?” to not be too awkward.

 

[Nia Siroc]

[member="Lok Munin"] [member="Davon Karr"]
Post 3/25
The Burning Fields

Looking towards what Davon had pointed to, Nia found herself wondering as to the vehicle's origins. Had it ever been a speeder or a swoop or anything remotely normal? Part of her doubted that. Whatever it was, it was huge and encased in a great deal of armor plating.

Whilst Lok Munin cried for more speed, Nia would've suggested a more cautious approach. Perhaps surprise rather than a head-on collision. But she was the newest and lowest of the Eviscars, she reminded herself. For all of his surprising intelligence, Karr still seemed to prefer the straightest line.

But straight lines didn't occur naturally, an apt metaphor for how life seemed to twist randomly. Such as hers had in ending up here in some way she couldn't understand. It had to have been some preternatural thing within the Force itself; she couldn't conclude anything else. Then again, if it was the Force, why couldn't she call on it here.

 

[Sal Katarn]

Dodj City,
The Dusty Dram

Sniffing, and rubbing the back of a hand under his nose, Sal contemplated which to play next. Staves or flasks? Flasks. Seemed appropriate given the locale.

"What for?"

"Hm," Sal grunted, head swiveling slowly toward the speaker.

It was the tall, red-eyed woman he'd seen enter through the double doors earlier. Busy ignoring the barkeep, he'd barely looked up from his cards. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen her touch those doors when they swung open had he? Hm.

The man leaned back, amber gaze fixed on her. One arm lay on the table's edge, a card still in hand. The other drifted down to rest on his thigh. His right hand. Incidentally, it was also his gun hand.

Those that survived Dodj had a number of traits. Affability wasn't one of 'em. The barkeep won't last the month. She didn't have the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed look of a new fortune hunter neither. Left only a couple other reasons why she'd strike up a conversation with him. Sal didn't favor any of 'em too highly.

"Business," he rasped tersely, voice ragged, like his vocal cords'd been rubbed raw with a sheet of sandpaper.

[member="Vehanv Kiva"]

 

[Choli Vyn]

Objective: 1
Approaching Burning Fields
[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Berric Kelso"] | Choli Vyn | [member="Encouragement Gets"] | [member="Alexandra Russo"] | [member="Triam Akovin"] | [member="Lucius Varad"]

---

Eviscars?!

"Well frak!" Choli's androgynous voice would cut through from the voice modulator breathing mask she wore under the swaths of fabric around her head, face and neck. The rumble of her speeder bike vibrated through her, and her gloves would flex upon the handles. The bulk of Rogue One's speeders and such were all made from the remnants of their X-wings, with Choli and the other black thumbs in the squadron giving a helping hand.

Now they had their work cut out for them.

"We got the speed." she told him, turning towards Asmus and Loske. "We can get a head tail easy." she added.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

[member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Alexandra Russo"] | [member="Berric Kelso"] | [member="Encouragement Gets"] | [member="Lucius"] Vard

Light eyes wandered from the scoundrel, to scavenger, to survivor. She rested with her view looking directly at the original Rogue One, establishing him to make the final call. Until then, she remained perched on her speeder and pulled her goggles back down over her eyes presumptuously. She was still wearing her helmet as it came. Covered her mouth, eyes, the whole shebang.

Torque Catcher's engine revved, as he scooted to create the arrowhead of the Rogue group. "Those fuel stores will get plagued by mass unfriendlies far more armoured than ourselves. You're all right. Our primary advantage is speed - one we've got to use immediately."
His heel dropped, and the gears of his speeder shifted "Let's get going."

 

[Vehanv Kiva]

People shuffled about the tavern, picking up little mites on their heels from the infested set up of the place. Make-shift and sanitation were hardly in the same sentence, and this place was no exception.

His manner of conversation mirrored her own. Kiva had never been known for wasting breath or speaking too much, she’d always been a leader of action. Her army responded little to words and replied moreso to strength. He seemed receptive though, in the sense that he gave his attention, and enough attention to think her worth a possible flinch of self preservation. The body language of the selfish was easily read, and she afforded a lift of her chin, looking more down her nose at him. Amazonian in stature naturally, this only elevated her intimidating presence, a technique she liked to use in the face of nobles. The so-called-Sheyfs of her time.

An unscrupulous curl pulled the corner of her dark lips upward, hardly crinkling her equally dark features. He was poised to go to arms in the flicker of a second; a remarkable trait that she found many men to boast, and few able to execute.

“You’re a contractor.” She said, almost pointedly - leaving only a sliver of intonation to suggest she had a question about his line of work.

“You any good?” Challenge? Genuine inquiry?

Kind of depended if he was any good or not, didn’t it.

[member="Sal Katarn"]

 

[Cameron Centurion]

Dodj City
The Dusty Dram

From a corner booth, a dark stranger was all but ignorant of the happenings inside the musty cantina. A drink sat before him, but it remained untouched. It had been several years now since the Sith Lord had cared much for alcohol. He supposed that after centuries of sampling just about all the galaxy had to offer, he had come to the conclusion that it just never had the desired effect anymore.

The hood of the figures dark blue and gray cloak obscured his face entirely, and his signature silver-green eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids as the Sith Lord sat in silent meditation. It was in that meditative state that he...felt a familiar presence. It was not the type of recognition that typically accompanied immediate understanding of to whom the presence belonged. Instead it was as if someone from afar had called his name, and he'd only barely heard it. It felt much like a faint brush of air against the hair follicles of his neck.

Deja Vu...

With a slow, steady exhale, Cameron opened his eyes and slowly began scanning the crowd. The patronage of The Dusty Dram was...diverse but not in the interesting way. There were beings of all shapes, sizes, and colors, but they all shared a rather common degree of...he couldn't even put it into words.

As the Sith Lord continued his scan, he noted one seemingly obvious exception. The tall figure of [member="Vehanv Kiva"] was facing away from the Sith Lord, but there was something about her posture that indicated she was not exactly a regular. More specifically, it indicated she didn't care that everyone else was aware she was not one of them. The man, [member="Sal Katarn"], to whom she spoke was a bit of a different story. He acted the part. Perhaps this was something of a more natural environment for him.

A flinch of emotion from Vehanv sent yet another familiar pulse through the Force, forcing Cameron's eyes to lock on to her figure. He did not recognize the woman just yet, but something about the general quality of her existence in the Force hearkened back to an ancient time in his life. A time when he was just coming into his power fully...shortly before he sent his own master to be one with the Force.

And, coincidentally, several decades before he merged his master's spirit into an amulet he kept locked up in one of his facilities on Corstris.

Allowing the full weight of his presence to practically explode into the tendrils of the Force drifting through and around the cantina, the Sith Lord pressed himself into Vehanv's mind with no accounting for finesse or safety on her part. It was like driving a sledgehammer into a concrete wall with the same force as most sublight engines at full power.

Who...are you...?

Cameron did not so much as flinch as his deep voice reverberated through the Force and directly into the woman's brain. As it did so, the Sith Lord manipulated the Force to assault whatever mental barriers she had, attempting to rip any information he could from her mind that might uncover a clue. Vehanv's comfort in the process was one hundred percent...not a factor.