Post 2 of 20
Location: Bilgewater
Objective: B - Disrupt slave trade / Proselytize the slaves
The Amphistaff shot through the air, quickly bridging the gap between the landing pad and where the slaves waited to be loaded onto cargo ships.
Durasteel came apart, sheared through effortlessly as the serpent coiled and uncoiled itself -- passing in and around the line of indentured serfs, their chains falling around their feet in pieces as their bondage was shattered by the Yuuzhan Vong biot.
Back on the landing pad, the young witch-boy was doing his best Jedi impression. Having been introduced to the Force by a Sith Lord, the former Acolyte was little more than a novice with the lightsaber. The only thing that his master had taught him had been the Shien variant of Form V, and that just in case the boy needed to deflect blaster fire while getting away after a successful assassination. Nothing in Boo's training anticipated a stand-and-fight approach. He was taught to be a Sith Assassin, not an apprentice. Force Stealth and shadows were his weapons, with the goal being to end a fight before it had even begun.
So, this kind of direct approach was a little outside of his comfort zone.
The flurry of blaster bolts from the different battle droids came him no shortage of material to use for Shien; absorbing, deflecting, and re-directing the shots in a fluid series of sweeps and orbits of the lightsaber burning in the youth's hands. A droid cargo loader exploded, as the witch-boy angled a shot at it's retreating backside. Two more security droids erupted in sparks and flames, as blaster bolts seemed to sail in all directions around the landing pad.
A battle droid raised a blaster for a shot at the boy, only to be cleaved in two as the red blade came down in a simple execution of the most basic of lightsaber velocities. As the boy's blade was buried into the durasteel frame, a dock hand came up with a cheap blaster pistol aimed at the child's head. The hair stood up on the back of the youngling's head, as he turned in time to see the barrel of a blaster.
The Amphistaff landed at the youngling's feet, coiling as it reared back it's open maw. A viscous fluid shot from out of the serpent's mouth, splattering across the man's face.
The slaver's shot went wild, as his body convulsed from the poison seeping in through his eyes and skin. Looking from the blinded man to the snake at his feet, the youth pulled the red blade out from the glowing, melted body of the droid. Flipping the lightsaber around so that he held it in a reverse grip, the boy bent down to retrieve the Amphistaff with his free hand. As the snake slithered up to coil about the youth's shoulders, the boy turned sharply to face the slaves.
As he did, he casually impaled the blinded slaver on the blade of his lightsaber.
Pulling his arm forward, the boy freed the slaver from the pain and eventual death from the Amphistaff's venom. Shutting down the weapon, the boy returned the lightsaber to his belt as he looked over at the confused and terrified former slaves standing there -- as though uncertain whether they now faced their savior or their own personal devil.
"The god of the Pius Dei gave you up as slaves," the young Pantoran declared, as he walked toward the cluster of now freed slaves. More than a couple took a step back away from the approaching child. Pausing, the boy held out his hands, inviting the assembly to look at the fact that they no longer wore chains. "The gods of the Primeval offer you freedom."
That message got more than a few of them talking.
The Primeval? Weren't they like the Sith? Why would the villains of the cosmos come to deliver them from evil?
"Believe in the Creations of Sargon," the child intoned, as his foot lashed out. Popping a blaster carbine out from the dead grip of a destroyed droid, the youngling kicked the weapon up so that he could grab it and hold it aloft. "But faith without works is meaningless."
With that said, the boy stepped forward to push the blaster rifle into the arms of an older man standing in the midst of the slaves. The man looked at the boy, then at the rifle, and immediately seemed to grasp it's significance. Younger men were already moving to gather up weapons that had become discarded across the landing zone.
"Worship with me," the Pantoran invited warmly, as his amber eyes lit up with unrestrained bloodlust.