Hunting Crew (ORC SPACE)(OPEN)

[RC 212]

Out Back Territory
Port Dameron

Months of Hyperspace jumps and repairing relay beacons on the First Order border had taken a toll on the SS Walden. How the young Pilot had even kept her flying, was beyond her, but Aeveri was resourceful. A quick hop and she was at Dameron, her home port.

Currently leaning back in a bar, enjoying a game of dice with two other mercenary looking folks, and a bottle of wine in her left hand.

Once a former Pilot for the Empire, she was aware there were some that might be hunting her out here. But she was hunting folks of a different type. Crew for odd jobs around the black. Nothing too big nor small, to rich nor too cheap. She'd take any crew and any job if it meant she could just keep on flying.

She had adds up for crew everywhere.

"Twenty two. Bust."

The game? Twenty two, you roll six dice three times. You go over, you lose. You get too far under, you lose.

She picked up the dice.

"I'll bet, plus thirty."

"I'll take it," One of them replied.

She grinned.

"Alright, here goes boys."

 

[Dravis Rosilla]

PORT DAMERON​

​

Barney had come upon a stroke of bad luck.

Who knew that a deserter of the Galactic Alliance's navy would have trouble finding a job, and ducking authorities of said navy? Who knew a poor drug-addict would get over his head in debt, and piss off his fair share of cartels? Certainly not Barney.

He also wasn't certain that he cared all that much.

Deathstick wedged firmly in his mouth, and a bottle of wine in his hand, the Zeltron boy sauntered through the bar, looking for a good time. He hiked up his jacket, making sure to cover the sides of his neck, and not much else. His bright pink skin shone through the cantina, almost uncomfortable to the eye.

Barney passed a healthy amount of sad-looking people drinking away their problems, and tutted disapprovingly, running a rosy hand through his red hair. Was no one here happy? That's how it often seemed in ORC space. The hot-shots had all the fun, and the common folk toiled away.

Luckily, Mr. Harou was a hot-shot.

Finally, the Zeltron spied a game of some sort, and his eyes lit up. He made a beeline for the table, sliding into one of the booths, bumping the one at the end.

"What're we playing?" Barney sent a wicked grin across the table, staring greedily at the dice ahead. "Ah, never mind, I don't care. Deal me in."

He pulled his deathstick from his lips, twirling it around his fingers dexterously. This would be fun.

- [member="Aeveri Proudmoore"] -​

 

[Gatz Duolingo]

Port Dameron​

​

The deal had gone over too well.

Five crates of thermal detonators, two crates of illegally modified DL-44 blasters, and a container of stolen spice tended to attract the wrong kind of attention. And yet, Gatz Duolingo had not been bothered once on the trip from Nar Shaddaa. No one had so much as scanned his ship.

He'd even gotten paid what had been promised to him.

Most smugglers, Gatz knew, would be celebrating their luck. Yet Gatz only felt trepidation. Something just felt... off. And rarely were his "feelings" wrong. Gatz's brief stint at the Jedi Academy had opened his mind to an extra sense, and it was going off like an alarm.

Still, there wasn't much he could do until R4 finished patching the fuel lines, so, he'd settled for a stay at the bar. He hoped it would take his mind off the impending doom he was almost certain was coming, but the Corellian Rum he swallowed down did no such thing.

Maybe a game or two would.

"Make that two," Gatz spoke, as he pulled up a seat for himself.

[member="Aeveri Proudmoore"]​

 

[Thrandis Jorin]

Port Dameron​

​

One could make a profit off of fear in the ranks of their allies, twist it to their advantage, but outright theft? That just caused problems. Bringing the pistol to bear he squeezed the trigger thrice, the weapon kicking lightly against his grip as the last of the ambitious thieves danced to the rhythm of impacting projectiles. The rounds would explode milliseconds after entry, tearing apart the innards of the zabrak before he could even scream.

No casings fell to the ground, the weapon was caseless as per his request. Any detective would have a hard time finding much in terms of evidence, his entire kit was built around that purpose after all. Though it wasn't as if they'd actually get anywhere, even if he'd left casings. The dingy room was stained with various shades of blood belonging to the three corpses strewn across the floor. They'd stolen a massive amount of information from the Hutt's, information they had intended to sell to a multitude of interested parties. Scooping up the datapad containing the sensitive information he sighed.

Thrandis' masters wouldn't allow the information to get anywhere.

Feth he hated that term.

The assassin would leave the room without a sound, shutting the door behind him as he quickly left the area. The pistol and then destroyed datapad were jettisoned out the nearest airlock, and Thrandis made his way into the bar. He had a day before exfil, he'd have to pass the time in a somewhat inconspicuous manner. Murder wasn't uncommon in places like this, and the triple homicide wouldn't raise too much of a ruckus.

So the scarred man needed only not outright admit to gunning down the thieves and he would be golden. "Corellian Ale." He said to the bartender gruffly, who complied after rolling their eyes at him. He'd need something stronger soon. Only strong spirits banished the ghosts of his sins.

[member="Gatz Duolingo"] | [member="Barnabas Harou"] | [member="Aeveri Proudmoore"]​

 

[Ay Ge]

This was as far as she would go for now, constantly zipping around the galaxy had been going well, so far, but there was no way she would be going into First Order space anytime soon. Was she scared, not in the slightest, Ay felt no emotion, well more say, could not feel emotion, almost if that part of her brain had been silenced, prevented from making a sound. Almost gagged by what ever means necessary to prevent her from questioning her missions.

No, the reason for not going any further was from a practical stand point. If the First Order found out about her existence they would undoubtedly seek to ad her to their own ranks, forcing her to go back into the life of nothing but a tool to be used and shoved in a dark draw until needed again.

For now continue what she had been doing for the last few weeks, land seek shelter food and leave within a day, using what methods are necessary to do so, with in the law, and then not, no lethal force, but if necessary do so. Rinse and repeat until she found something better to do, though unfortunately killing was all the young woman was good at, though out here in the outback their where plenty looking for said skill, hopefully.

Ay silently walked into the bar, her sheathed vibro sword and cybernetic arm augmentations visible for everyone to see, some may have tried to hide this, but no one that had seen Ay before last month had lived to tell about it. For all intense and purposes knowledge of her past and existence was unknown to the galaxy, unless her former owners or some third party had leaked information. Ay observed the bar, looking for any means to earn the so desired credits that made life in this galaxy possible, her crimson eyes falling on a group of people playing around with a dice.

"observation, gambling, possibility for earning without need of breaking the law...", Ay quickly made a straight line to the table, looking over its occupants with her usual blank stare, "Question, may I know the rules of this game and its requirements to join".

[member="Gatz Duolingo"] l [member="Thrandis Jorin"] l [member="Barnabas Harou"] l [member="Aeveri Proudmoore"]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Barnabas Harou"]

"Twenty two. Put some creds down so I can take em!" She shoved the dice over to the young Zeltron, amused.

[member="Gatz Duolingo"]

"Well same thing darlin, make it another bet. The closer you roll to twenty two without going over, the better your odds. I'm putting down thirty creds. Match to stay in the pot."

She slapped a bunch of creds down, took a slug of her wine and leaned back into the chair, little blue dress with the black corset, ruffling in the breeze of the O2 scrubbers.

[member="Ay Ge"]

Another lady came over.

"Same offer hun." She replied cheerily.

[member="Thrandis Jorin"]

As she worked she sized them up with her seasoned spacers eyes. One or two of them looked pretty dangerous. She liked that, she could use that to her advantage. The new guy that walked in from the cold black also caught her attention. Her brown orbs flickered him a look as if an invitation.

Then she shoved the dice over to the group.

"You go first, guests before regulars in this joint....... Hey so uh.....you guys lookin' for a job by the way?"

 

[Bjorn Heartholm]

How Bjorn had ended up in such a foreign place by himself was a question even to him. After leaving the Sith Empire, he wandered, searching for people loyal to a fault, people who might aid him in the future. But here, peoples' loyalty lied within money, or nowhere at all. With his father's broadsword sheathed firmly upon his back, partially obscured by his usual attire of a fur-cloak, Bjorn made his way into the bar of the strange port, its atmosphere so different, so trivial from his usual expectations, a place that seemed so very far away now.

A slight hum filled Bjorn's mind as he took a seat at the bar, a low drone that itched at the foreground of his head. It was enough to drive a lesser person mad, but the gruf man had groan accustomed to the platitudes of the sith, no drone would affect him so. Bjorn glanced briefly at the bartender, a squat Rodian, before asking for an ale and proceeding to observe his surroundings.

It seemed as though a game had started to garner interest with the crowd, everyone huddled around the table watching with intent as they gambled their last credits away. While it seemed only a few months ago that Bjorn had been completely isolated from the entire galaxy, confined to a life of primitive exposure, in that short while, his old master had taught him much about the ever changing universe, and how to fit in and adapt to it all. Bjorn continued to observe the game from afar with mild interest, waiting for his alcohol whilst he judged the moral characters of those involved.

| [member="Aeveri Proudmoore"] | [member="Ay Ge"] | [member="Thrandis Jorin"] | [member="Gatz Duolingo"] | [member="Barnabas Harou"] |

 

[Gatz Duolingo]

The newcomer, or rather, the girl who joined the table almost immediately after him, sent chills down his spine. Maybe it was her neutral gaze, or her... robotic way of speaking, but Gatz found himself unnerved by the woman and her sword. Still, she didn't seem to be a threat, just a woman looking to make a few creds. And Gatz could live with taking the chance of losing a few to her.

No, the only person that really worried him was the larger man that had entered, and sat at the bar. His gaze was leveled on the game. Perhaps he really was just interested in watching someone lose money, but Gatz couldn't help but feel wary of him. The guy had a sword strapped to his back, after all. Gatz was sure he could get off a shot before the man reached him, should he make himself a threat, but he really hoped it wouldn't come down to that.

"Thirty? High rolling already, I see. I'll match that, sure," Gatz spoke with a humorous tone, as if deflecting his own paranoia.

Reaching into a pocket on the inside of his jacket, Gatz pulled out the correct amount of credits, and tossed them onto the table haphazardly.

"So, uh," Gatz started to address the woman with the cybernetic arm, "I don't suppose I need to worry about you pulling that sword on me, once I take your credits, do I?"

A joke. A stupid one, sure, but Gatz was always one to lighten the mood by spewing nonsense.

The mention of some work perked his ears. Though he had no desire to take on any new jobs, and instead just wanted out of the port as soon as possible, Gatz couldn't help but be curious.

"What kind of "job" are we talking about?"

[member="Aeveri Proudmoore"] | [member="Ay Ge"] | [member="Barnabas Harou"] | [member="Bjorn Heartholm"] | [member="Thrandis Jorin"]​

 

[Dravis Rosilla]

Barney smiled joyfully at [member="Aeveri Proudmoore"] as she detailed the game, before putting his deathstick back in his mouth. He'd played 22 before, it was a treasured memory of his adolescence, betting small things like candy and free kisses.

"Oh, you're on." Barney chuckled, slapping down a hodgepodge of credits. He took the dice given to him, pressed his lips to his hand for good luck, and let the tides of fate take him where it will.

They landed a two and a one.

The Zeltron did not seem the least bit discouraged as he took a sip from his own bottle, leaning back nonchalantly. "Three. Slow and steady, boys."

Barney nodded to [member="Gatz Duolingo"] and [member="Ay Ge"] met them at the table, sizing them up as a kid might look into a toy store. The former looked like an experienced spacer, the latter seemed strangely monotonous. Maybe they were experiencing some space lag.

When Aeveri offered a job, Barney couldn't help but send a sly grin her way, looking sideways at Gatz as he replied. He propped his boots onto the table, nudging his wine to the side. "I'm with him," the Zeltron said, puffing his deathstick. "Last time I took a job blind, I had to dance for a Hutt." Barney laughed, but left the validity of his statement ambiguous.

He pushed the dice to the next person, debating whether to trash his deathstick or his bottle.

- [member="Bjorn Heartholm"] - [member="Thrandis Jorin"] -​

 

[RC 212]

[member="Ay Ge"] [member="Barnabas Harou"] [member="Gatz Duolingo"] [member="Ay Ge"][member="Thrandis Jorin"]

"That's easy money. No high rollers here buddy. This is poor folks space."

It was true. The Walden was nothing special, just an old washed up Jast 1 Freighter. But it was her home. All she wanted was to keep it flying and keep her freedom. If that meant she crossed the law from time to time, so be it.

"Nothing too cheap. I take any job, as long as it pays. My crew will naturally get a cut, and If I like you, I can offer you permanent berth aboard the Walden."

She watched the dice roll.

"Slow rolling eh?"

Then took a sip of her wine.

"If any of you folks are looking to run, the Waldens your ship."

 

[Ay Ge]

Ay neatly sat down in one of the spare chairs as she ran through the games rules in her head, "I understand, proceed". Reaching into her dresses produced she produced 20 credits, placing them on the table as the game started giving everyone a quick rundown stare, observing their movements, facial features and trying to determine their profession. 'Female, human, flight suit, possibility of being a captain or pilot, high, threat level, medium... male, pink hair, different skin colour, highly likely to be a zeltron, known for the pheromone ability, threat level, medium. male, human, more observation needed, threat level, low for now'.

Said last person seemed to speak up, dressing her personally as the game started, seemingly trying to make a humorous remark, 'added trait to individual number 3, funny'. She turned her head to fully face the blonde hair man, "Humour, you attempt at being funny has been noted... answer, I do not intend to cause any physical harm if I lose". With said question out of the way Ay turned attention back to the game, as if the following conversation had not even happened, keeping a very straight posture, hands on lap.

She glanced over to the Zeltron and he enthusiastically went about the game, 'note individual 2, new trait, confident and risk taking', her red eyes continued to keep focuses on the dice as the rolled along the table, observing the numbers that came up, the total forming a 3. 'Method of playing the game noted, upon turn check to determine if dice is weighted. possibility of individual 1 being a cheat... very high'. Her attention was borough away from the game at the mention of a possible job on hand, "Job, in context noun, a task or piece of work rewarded with payment, query, I to would like to know the specifics of said task".

While waiting for a response she overheard the zeltrons mention of dancing for a Hutt, "Joke, zeltron, is not your race rather good at that form of entertainment, also judging from outfit I believe that you" *making air quotation marks* "Bat for The Other Team". She let the joke hang in the air for a moment before truing back to the potential employer, "Statment, I am guessing you are a free lancer of sorts"?

[member="Aeveri Proudmoore"] l [member="Barnabas Harou"] l [member="Gatz Duolingo"] l [member="Bjorn Heartholm"] l [member="Thrandis Jorin"]

 

[Dravis Rosilla]

"Ah, a ship!" Barney grinned ear-to-ear, feet still rested on the table between himself and [member="Aeveri Proudmoore"]. "I like those. Used to be a starfighter pilot myself. Man, those modern X-Wings can really move, once you get used to the touchy controls." The Zeltron mimed being in the cockpit of a fighter, taking a sharp right into a tailspin.

Then, with a measured sincerity, "If you're offering, I'd be happy to fill a spot on your crew. I'm pretty handy with a hydrospanner." Barnabas Harou had more on his resume than 'handy with a hydrospanner', but he enjoyed being coy. He'd had enough dry conversations with the Alliance, and needed something a little less formal.

Perhaps working as a mechanic on-board a smuggler's ship would fit him better.

Barney let his eyes sweep over [member="Ay Ge"], taking her in with a carelessness only he could pull off. "You want specifics? You aren't getting any here, sister. Welcome to Wild Space." Her more personal query was taken with a light chuckle, and a playful smirk.

"I wouldn't know. Never did play sports as a kid."

Barney stuck his deathstick back into his mouth, puffing it with reckless abandon.

- [member="Gatz Duolingo"] - [member="Bjorn Heartholm"] - [member="Thrandis Jorin"] - ​

 

[Bjorn Heartholm]

Hmm.

Bjorn's mind was wrapping around the prospect of the conversation that was now taking place over at the table, deciding that now was the opportune moment for him to join. Finishing the remnants of the ale that had been placed in front of him, he stood from his stool, slowly parading over to the group of interesting individuals whom he'd been observing. Their conversation had become one of work, and it seemed as if they were forming a crew of some sorts.

"My name is Bjorn Heartholm, and I understand you are searching for aid at the present." He was blunt, too blunt, but coversing with outsiders had never been his strong point. "I am willing to lend you this aid in return for your own aid one day should I need it." His eyes were narrowed directly at the woman who'd been seeking crew, but his request was aimed at everyone at the table. Bjorn stood there, stubborn and unwavering as he shifted his glance across the entirety of the table and the strangers who sat across it.

"Do you accept my offer?"

| [member="Aeveri Proudmoore"] | [member="Barnabas Harou"] | [member="Ay Ge"] | [member="Gatz Duolingo"] | [member="Thrandis Jorin"] |

 

[Gatz Duolingo]

Gatz had (begrudgingly) been interested in the prospect of work, until it was mentioned that said work would involve boarding someone else's ship. Gatz didn't fly in any ship but his own, and always in the same seat: the pilot's chair. He wasn't about to hop on someone else's vessel, especially if he didn't know them. And besides, what ship could compare to his Shooting Star?

He reached for the dice.

"I appreciate the offer, but the only ship I fly in is my own. Any craft that's not piloted by me, might as well be a liability to me."

It might have been a bit rude of him to say, but that was how he felt. The safest hands were his own, and he wasn't about to change his view on that anytime soon. Gatz turned his head down to the table, to see the tally of the dice he had rolled while speaking. Upon a quick inspection, the tally came to eight, in the way of two fours.

Gatz passed the dice over to [member="Ay Ge"], raising an eyebrow as she reassured him that she wouldn't resort to violence. Well, that was good. Gatz really didn't want to mess with that vibrosword.

"Anyways, I'm headed home to Naboo after this. I probably wouldn't have time to take something on."

A half truth. Gatz had the time, as he hadn't lined up another job yet, but he was itching to get out of this port as soon as possible. The casual conversation of the table had done nothing to ease the paranoia rampant within his mind. And that paranoia only kicked itself up a notch, as the big man at the bar suddenly stood and began to approach the table. Gatz's hand trailed down to his thigh, as discreetly as possible, and rested on the grip of his blaster. He made sure to keep his face neutral; pretending to be interested in the conversation of the table as the man drew near.

He had to fight the urge to sigh in relief, as the man began to speak. Five words in, and Gatz already felt his tension ease. Despite his intimidating build, the guy seemed to just be another mercenary. Though, working for favors was far more ominous than working for credits.

"You have any sort of aid in mind, big guy?" Gatz spoke to the newcomer, if only to make conversation.

[member="Aeveri Proudmoore"] | [member="Bjorn Heartholm"] | [member="Barnabas Harou"] | [member="Ay Ge"]​

 

[RC 212]

[member="Ay Ge"]

"You could say that," She replied, with a smirk.

[member="Barnabas Harou"]

She smiled at the Zeltrons remark. She could fly well, but she was not exactly a jack of all trades. A mechanic on the SS Walden would be awesome. Someone to keep the old bird running!

"Definitely. You're in dude."

She watched the roll, impressed. Then the dice passed to the next person.

[member="Bjorn Heartholm"]

The newcomer looked back water. She guessed Exorcron? That was as far from civilization as a soul could get. She liked that though. Fire and veracity, clothing made by hand it looked like. He'd make a good fighter she was sure.

"Sure thing. You down to fly with us?"

[member="Gatz Duolingo"]

She turned her attention to Gatz as he spoke.

"Well Captains can always keep in contact. Here's my holo number. Hit me up if you need extra hands on a job."

 

[Dravis Rosilla]

Barney frowned for but a moment as [member="Gatz Duolingo"] rolled his dice, but quickly smiled again as he saw the results. Slow and steady perhaps wasn't the best in this game.

Whatever. I can kiss thirty credits goodbye, no problem.

He really couldn't. Not at the rate he was spending credits. Another reason he needed this job.

"Thank you, sir," he murmured, letting the words sneak through his smirk. He ran his rosy hand through his hair, letting his eyes dart to [member="Aeveri Proudmoore"]. "Now, what can I call you, besides, y'know, 'Sir'? 'Mi'lady'?" He let a kriff-eating grin take over his features. "'Supreme Overlord', maybe?"

Barney's smile faltered.

The Zeltron felt Gatz' fear before he saw the reason, his racial empathic abilities reading the other smuggler's mood. He turned slowly, looking around to see a large man, [member="Bjorn Heartholm"], approach the game. He could tell others at the table felt a bit of aversion at seeing this monster of a merc approach, so Barnabas decided to do what he did best.

Lighten the mood.

Barney began to release his Zeltron pheromones into the air, using them to try to calm everyone down, and make people happy. He removed his deathstick, flicking it to the side as he drank his last sip of wine. He didn't seem affected at all by the alcohol as he leaned back into his seat, taking in the situation.

"Favor? Are we offering favors now?" Barnabas took out a holopad, keying through it in no hurry. "I'm sure that would make this game far more interesting."

- [member="Ay Ge"] - ​

 

[Preliat Mantis]

[member="Thrandis Jorin"] was joined at the bar by a young man, dressed in innocuous, spacer clothing. The only eyebrow raising attribute were the armored forearms and the gauntlets that protected the back of his hands, but then again, in this part of space, people were blast vests or small bits of armor weren't entirely uncommon in this part of the galaxy. In reality, he was a Jedi on a mission that took him to the darker parts of the galaxy. He was on his own, alone and unafraid with no help, no backup. Nothing but the lightsaber tucked in his jacket to keep himself safe.

The padawan looked over at the man. The force flew darkly around him, but not in the same capacity as others. He was a killer, or had just killed. The young man wasn't well versed enough in reading the force to understand what he had done, or how recently it was. He just knew he was dangerous. Fel got a similar drink, a disgusting concoction that clouded his mind. He sipped at it slowly.

His presence was masked in the force, something he was becoming adept at. He turned his head and eyed [member="Bjorn Heartholm"], and the others with him, [member="Barnabas Harou"], [member="Aeveri Proudmoore"], and [member="Gatz Duolingo"], playing a game or socializing. Something along those lines, but he didn't want to get too suspicious. He was here to investigate the rising darkness, and become a better Jedi through action. Jedi who studied books intently were not wrong, it was not his line of work. He was intent on becoming an active Jedi, someone who made a difference through action. He leaned his head into his hand, and ran a hand over his buzzed head, before turning back to the bartender and getting a virgin drink, something to dilute whatever the hell was currently in his system.

 

[Ay Ge]

Ay gave the zeltron a blank stare, not offering a reply, simply turning her focus back to the game as [member="Gatz Duolingo"] took his turn to role, politely taking to dice in two hands after he finished rolling. noting his following comment, 'individuals home planet is Naboo'. Perhaps that information would come in handy someday, but who really knew, it was out of habit.

Taking the dice, she rolled then around her hands for a few moments before releasing them onto the table, a five and two coming up, making 7, not bad, but to enough in her mind. She did not have a whole lot of money, and losing to much would put her in a tight spot, and working out of debt was not really a situation she wanted to get in, if staying to long in one spot, her former owners might catch onto her trail.

Her thoughts were interrupted as a new person approached the table offering services, and in return a favour when needed, and interesting way of dealing, but at the same time risky if said person had less then legal or noble intent when calling in said favour, and Ay did not like owing people anything. "Statement, I would prefer to know more about your person before accepting anything myself, I do not like to be in debt to some stranger".

She was wondering if they even needed this guy, but with the other human saying he could not join, and herself wondering what exactly the Zeltron was good at, they may not have a choice in the matter, though before anything she would have to find out what "Supreme Over Lord" had in mind for her own task anyways. "Question, Miss, what type of job did you have in mind anyways".

[member="Barnabas Harou"] l [member="Aeveri Proudmoore"] l [member="Gatz Duolingo"] l [member="Bjorn Heartholm"] l [member="Thrandis Jorin"] l [member="Fel Drisk"]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Barnabas Harou"] [member="Fel Drisk"] [member="Ay Ge"]

She let them interact freely. To Barnabas she smirked. She was no overlord or supreme commander. Just a vagrant woman with a ship and some guns. And the knack to do whatever it took to put food on the table and fuel in the tank.

"Just Call me Captain."

When Ay asked her the next question she was off and her brows furrowed a bit.

"Whatever we get. I only have one rule, which is don't shoot first. Other than that I'll take pretty much any job. Long as it pays good and keeps my ship in the black."

 

[Thrandis Jorin]

Thrandis brushed off the offer to play with a wave of his hand, and didn't so much as turn his head at the offer of a job. He had his work, it was all he had in fact. The remark [member="Gatz Duolingo"] made about Naboo caught his attention however, it drew his thoughts to the Jorin household where his mother and father no doubt spent each day consumed in sorrow. One son, a hero of the Republic, was dead and gone, and the other, a loyal soldier of the Protectorate was just the same. Both their boys were dead to them, to the galaxy as a whole, only clones of the former gave them any comfort. And they were all mostly gone too.

He'd thought about going home, just running away after he was rescued, flinging his arms around his parents and sobbing, finally free of the nightmare, finally home. But he wasn't their son anymore, and the nightmare he'd been living, the one which had only gotten darker now that he was free of the glasslands, had become all consuming. He was home, among the corpses and the screams he was home. He could never go home, not to Naboo.

[member="Fel Drisk"] snapped him from his thoughts, leading him to quickly take another swig of his ale. Looking to the man briefly, Jorin studied him, and found nothing out of the ordinary for the area. And that was what alarmed him. Everyone else in the bar seemed to have some sort of quirk, something that set them apart from the other. Some were more obvious, like [member="Ay Ge"] who was talking like some old droid, others were less easy to pick up on, such as [member="Aeveri Proudmoore"] with her moralistic 'do not shoot first' policy.

"Girl's gonna get killed if she isn't willing to pull the trigger." He remarked quietly to Fel, taking a swig of his drink as the other patrons of the establishment continued to talk business.

​

[member="Barnabas Harou"] | [member="Bjorn Heartholm"]​