Private Misship

[Troy]

Location: Orvax IV
Tag: Matthew of Valendale

As Troy’s senses came back to him he found his body aching and his wrists bound together by shackles. He leaned himself up off the hard metallic floor and found himself in a jostling metal box with a flickering light overhead. Around him were many other people packed inside. Others around him seemed to also be waking up.

“Hey you, you’re finally awake.” Said an accented voice to his flank. Troy looked over to see a bearded fair skinned man in a ragged jumpsuit. It was then that he saw everyone else was wearing the same thing including himself. “You’re probably wondering where you are, I heard the guards say we’re on Orvax IV…”
​

. . .​

Troy made a blunder, a rather big one too. He risked a lot to get to this point and things had not played out like he planned. It all started with him causing problems on the Smuggler’s Moon deep in Hutt Space. Intentionally stepping on some big toes to get some attention and earn the ire of some disruptive people. Letting himself get captured when a duo of bounty hunters caught up to him. His punishment was to be sold off into slavery. Just like he wanted.

The Arkanian had been bouncing around the stars for too long and getting nowhere. Most of the slavers he came across didn’t keep good records. It was hard to gather information out of them. He never had much talent in telepathy. If he did he wouldn’t hesitate to violate their wicked minds to get the kind of information he was after. He might have a better time thoroughly learning the institution of galactic slavery and the possible fate of his family if he let himself become a victim of it.

Additionally Troy’s plan had grown rather intricate and even convoluted. Requiring him to be brought to the slave markets of Zygeria. Unfortunately for Troy it was not Zygeria he was brought to but instead the other bustling slave market of Orvax IV.
​

. . .​

It wasn’t very long until the jostling metal cage he found himself in ceased its motions. A few moments later one of its far walls lowered into a ramp where he and everyone else stuck inside were herded out. Troy was forced to squint harshly from the sun’s bright and hot rays overwhelming his pupiless eyes. He walked down the ramp into the rather hectic hustle and bustle of the capital city’s lower level slave market. It was a bit much considering he was still sore, groggy and hungover from whatever type of tranquilizer he was subjected to.​

 

[Braze]

...

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: Troy
​

A tremor passed through the crowd before anyone understood why. The market's noise dragged on in its usual rhythm, hawkers barking figures, shock prods whining, the dull shuffle of feet that had long ago forgotten where they were meant to walk.

An odd sort of quiet fell across the crowd as it hushed... Faces tipped upward and hands rose to shield eyes. Four immense silhouettes crossed the sky as silhouettes of their wings carved great arcs through the glare. Dust stirred along the avenues and banners snapped against their poles as gusts of wind swept through the streets.

The guards had noticed a little too late.

Harness chains rang out, clinking, as plated tails cut through the air with the weight of falling gates. The beasts descended in a controlled spiral, armored hides gleaming, riders poised high in their saddles with cloaks pulled tight and lances angled down.

Terrified screams rang out and people scattered. A baton clattered and skidded across stone. One overseer tried to shout orders, but it thinned into nothing as a shadow rolled over him.

The first drake reached down, jaws parting like drawn blades, aiming for the cluster of uniforms near the ramp. Another swept low, talons extended, intent written in the tilt of its body. A third banked toward the tower where the prods crackled, its rider guiding the turn with a hard pull and a lifted knee.

Wild winds hammered the marketplace. Crates burst open and spilled their contents; chains whipped and rang; the crowd folded in on itself, then tore apart as hope found the narrowest paths between fear as people scattered in the chaos and bloodshed that followed...

Around Troy the impossible continued to descend, coming closer as they started to land one by one, each enormous beast wreaking havoc on the slave traders.

The riders disembarked and cut down any foolish enough to try and remain as their mounts continued to devour and crush them with overwhelming force.

As for the slaves, however, they remained relatively unharmed as the armored individuals set to work breaking binds.

 

[Roten]

Orvax IV
Tags: Matthew of Valendale , Ko Vuto

Kiba no Shimai​

The first drake reached down, jaws parting like drawn blades, aiming for the cluster of uniforms near the ramp. Another swept low, talons extended, intent written in the tilt of its body. A third banked toward the tower where the prods crackled, its rider guiding the turn with a hard pull and a lifted knee.

Wild winds hammered the marketplace. Crates burst open and spilled their contents; chains whipped and rang; the crowd folded in on itself, then tore apart as hope found the narrowest paths between fear as people scattered in the chaos and bloodshed that followed...

"Holy chit..." Roten muttered, his imagination briefly flooding with what it would be like to be on the other end of the talons. "This seems a bit overkill... but I guess they probably deserve it."

He felt something inside his heart he hadn't expecting, riding into battle with Matthew to tear this place to the ground. It was similar to raiding, like his past life, but he carried no guilt with him. Things were clear. These people deserved to be torn to shreds. And the slaves... did he feel sympathy for them? Maybe it was because they were stripped of the chance to fight back. A warrior shouldn't be in chains...

They should be given the dignity to fight to their last breath.

Roten stood up on the back of the drake and drew his blades, letting out an exhale as he gazed out into the hell below.

"So, we got a specific target in mind?" he asked of his master. "I can find the ring leader and run him through for you, Boss."

 

[Troy]

Location: Orvax IV
Tag: Matthew of Valendale | Roten

“What in oblivion is that!?” Shouted one of the many voices lost in the chaos of the crowd. Troy wasn’t even sure if he was dreaming under the influence or not. But all his senses suggested that this was no dream or nightmare.

Colossal beasts descended into the market creating carnage. Preventing himself form becoming a casualty became his top priority as he tried to keep track of what was happening and keep his cool. Were these dragon riders raiders, was there some local conflict or war he was unaware of. The why behind didn’t quite matter to him as much as how he was gonna get through this.

Letting his hands remain bound wasn’t gonna help him. With ease he broke the linkage of his shackles through The Force, freeing up his arms and hands. But without a moment to spare one of the dragon’s powerful limbs smashed into a landspeeder. Causing the vehicle to begin tumbling violently towards Troy and those around him.

Forcing his eyes to open more and endure the blinding heat of this world he held up his clawed hand. Just before it could make impact with his body it collided with an invisible barrier Troy erected in front of himself. Shielding the arkanian and those adjacent to himself needing to reveal his hand prematurely given the situation. Some of the slaves were astonished that such a capable individual was hidden among them.

“A-Are these dragons, like from legends…” One asked, fearful of their imposing presence.

“Legends don’t destroy cities…” Troy replied, still not sure if the beasts and those they brought with them were a threat to them or not. A consideration flashed through his neurons. Bringing with it a confident smirk. Perhaps it was no mistake that he was brought to Orvax IV instead of Zygeria. True coincidences were quite rare in this universe. He could roll with what fate has dealt him this day. ​

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

"So, we got a specific target in mind?" he asked of his master. "I can find the ring leader and run him through for you, Boss."

"Our main goal is to set the prisoners free," Matthew stated simply. "Cut down those who stand in your way," Matthew instructed as the silver dragon touched down, tending to a small batch of foolish guards who thought to release fire on the armored dragon. He dismounted, joining the fray, cutting down those who remained to try and fight off the sudden incursion as a transport ship hovered above, looking for clearance and safety to join them. Little by little, the dragons and riders were clearing the promenade and securing a landing zone.

Matthew towered over most and certainly stood out among the rider's who dismounted. Large shimmering feathered wings and a blood red cloak made him stand out as a target for those few who remained amidst the carnage. It seemed each rider and dragon worked in tandem almost as if they knew what each other was thinking and seeing as they cut through resistance with terrifying efficiency.
Troy Roten

 

[Roten]

Orvax IV
Tags: Matthew of Valendale , Troy

Kiba no Shimai​

"Our main goal is to set the prisoners free," Matthew stated simply. "Cut down those who stand in your way,"

"Say less."

Roten leapt off before the dragon even touched down, his blades reared and ready before him as they plunged into the first unfortunate slaver that stood in their path. In an instant he became a hurricane of death, a flurry of blades that bobbed and weaved through the ranks of those foolish enough to stand in the path of the onslaught that the lizards on high were to bring. And then, just as he had gotten reared up and going, he stopped. He was looming over a young woman, a teen at most. Only a child, perhaps not any older than he had been when Kalrath first noticed his Force sensitivity. Blue skinned, Pantoran maybe? Aruzan? It didn't really matter. One look at his blood-soaked blades and she was sobbing hysterically, babbling out words in Huttese he didn't understand.

"Aw chit," he murmered.

The Bursantian grabbed the nearest slaver corpse to use as a shield, stowing his blades away. He reached out a clawed hand, which caused the girl to flinch back, but her eyes widened when she realized that her shackles had popped open. Roten pulled a personal energy shield off of the dead slaver guard and handed it to her, pointing back to the dragons. His message would be very clear, but in the hopes that she might know some basic he spoke in very plain, simple words.

"That way," he ordered. "Got it, kid?"

The blue teen nodded, turning on the shield before she scrambled to her feet and ran off towards the safety of those that had come to free the captives of this place. Roten stood in place for a moment, letting out a sigh.

No time to linger.

Roten threw the corpse of the guard at his allies and drew his blade again.

 

[Troy]

Location: Orvax IV
Tag: Matthew of Valendale | Roten

Troy was still unsure if these newcomers were ‘good guys’ or not. For all he knew they were just rival slavers ambushing the traffickers here on Orvax. Effectively pulling off a large scale smash and grab of the market here. The only thing he knows is that the locals aren’t on his side.

The arkanian began to notice some of the remaining guards trying to regroup some and not get killed off in the chaos. Not wanting them to reorganize in any way Troy approached. They were too busy with the dragons and their riders to notice the single Arkanian. There were about a dozen of them, and once they raised their weapons Troy did the same.

Focusing on their blasters he yanked his hand back and summoned their weapons to himself, and out of their hands. Turning their arsenal into his own as they floated towards his sides and aimed back at them. Troy was ready to open fire on them but hesitated. They were unarmed now, not a threat and demoralized thoroughly.

However, a few others approached from behind. Cautiously raising their weapons towards Troy’s back. Sensing the danger through The Force the various blasters floating around him rapidly flipped around and opened fire. Acting as a one man firing squad against the guards he tried to get the drop on him.

Letting out a disappointed sight Troy gathered all the floating weapons together before clenching his fist and crushing them all into a single solid mass. Finally he turned his attention to the dragon riders. ​

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: Troy Roten ​

A transport landed once the way was cleared riders focused on freeing slaves by breaking binds and ushering them to the transport ships whilst the mounts kept and held the perimeter line with fierce claws and gnashing jaws alike.

Matthew paused long enough to witness the Arkanian's display. A faint smile graced his features. "Excellent work," he called across the din, voice carrying cleanly through the field of battle. His eyes swept the field in a single practiced measure; two riders received sharp, efficient gestures and wheeled their mounts toward regrouping guards near the east colonnade. Orders followed in clipped precision before his attention shifted again searching for Roten.

The market did not empty as cleanly as it should have. Amid the smoke and scattering bodies, one figure remained near the ramp tower who stood tall, and immaculate despite the chaos, coat trimmed in gold thread now dusted with ash. His hand fisted in the back of a small tunic. He dragged a child forward, shock collar humming faintly against a thin throat. The other hand held a compact device; his thumb rested comfortably on its recessed switch. A series of dull red lights blinked to life along the understructure beneath the promenade. Somewhere below, beneath the holding pens not yet emptied, something heavy armed itself with a low mechanical whine.

His gaze fixed on Roten with clinical interest as screams and wingbeats tore the sky behind him. "Explosives under the pens," he called evenly. "Linked to my pulse. If I die, they detonate. Hundreds still caged below." The child whimpered as the collar gave a warning crackle; the overseer did not even look down. His eyes remained on the blood along Roten's blades. "You look like you enjoy this," he added, voice almost conversational. "Come on then! Be the monster!"

---

Across the promenade, half-obscured by drifting dust and fleeing bodies, a Zygerian stood perfectly still bearing no real armor, nor any weapons drawn. He stood as if he were observing a performance rather than surviving an assault. His golden eyes snapped to Troy with unsettling precision, pupils narrowing in recognition. The handler's head tilted slightly, feline ears angling forward as if catching a distant sound only he could hear.

The Force brushed Troy's thoughts, light at first, exploratory. Then deliberate as a cool presence pressed against his mind, testing edges, and mapping structure. Amusement sparked across the Zygerian's expression.

"Well now," his voice carried cleanly through the chaos without being raised. "You're not cargo." He only watched Troy… as if something far more valuable than a slave market had just revealed itself.

 

[Roten]

Orvax IV
Tags: Matthew of Valendale , Troy

Kiba no Shimai​

Roten was stopped in his path by a man dressed in immaculate clothes, something that once again slowed his path of carnage. He stood still and listened to the words of the individual.

His gaze fixed on Roten with clinical interest as screams and wingbeats tore the sky behind him. "Explosives under the pens," he called evenly. "Linked to my pulse. If I die, they detonate. Hundreds still caged below." The child whimpered as the collar gave a warning crackle; the overseer did not even look down. His eyes remained on the blood along Roten's blades. "You look like you enjoy this," he added, voice almost conversational. "Come on then! Be the monster!"

"Monster, huh?" Roten bristled. He felt the anger boiling up inside him at the taunts. "Fine then... you won't die. I'm just gonna make this hurt real bad."

Roten let the ancient words that Kalrath had taught him slip his lips. The words that brought cold and ice forth from the moisture in the air. He remembered what Kalrath had told him about slaves, something that determined early on how much he hated the old bag. Roten found it frustrating that Kalrath used slaves. His own kind, the Twi'lek, had been subject to slavery for thousands of years, not given the chance to die with honor in battle. The ancient Sith Lord said it was natural. Honor was for the weak, and warriors were fools. There was only you and those you used. Death in combat was failure, and thus worthless. He hated those words.

Ice formed in a solid chunk around the man's legs, locking him in place. Then Roten mustered up his strength and used a force push, directed solely at the slaver. The impact would hit his chest, but his legs would not be allowed to move. He would fall back with enough velocity that his knees popped out of their sockets, rendering him immobile. With a snarl, Roten popped onto his communicator.

The Bursantian spoke a second string of runes, this time to freeze the trigger in his hands in time. Stasis. It would be locked in time for a moment.

<Slaves below have bomb collars,> he relayed. <Captured a guy who says his pulse is linked to them, if he dies they all blow. I need EMP chit or something over here.>

Cause clearly the lone EMP grenade he had in his pack for emergencies wasn't going to cut it. Not for that many.

 

[Troy]

Location: Orvax IV
Tag: Matthew of Valendale | Roten

Troy’s white eyes narrowed some at the winged man's comment. They had the look of authority and importance among the attackers here. As of now he didn’t feel entirely threatened by them, but he couldn’t say he felt safe either. If they were of good nature then he could come to learn to appreciate their blunt approach combating villainly here.

However, his attention was stolen by another. Looking out towards a Zygerian. Who wouldn’t look too out of place here in the slave market if they hadn’t seemed so calm and collected despite the mayhem. Troy felt his psyche being pried slightly by the feline man. "Like what you see, huh?"

Quickly Troy knew that they were not to be trifled with and would spring into action. Going straight on to the offensive he launched himself up with The Force and down onto the Zygerian like a mortar.

The impact kicked up an obscuring cloud of dust around the two of them. It wasn’t much of a problem for Troy though as he saw through the infrared spectrum. Pulling his hand back he gathered pressure and potential energy in The Force. Once he was ready to unleash it the Zygerian tried to meet it strength for strength. As their force pushes collide it instantly pushes all the dust away from the two of them. In a moment the two were stuck in a contest of might with the feline on the backfoot. Struggling to hold up to the Arkarnian warrior. With a pleased grin Troy kicked it into high gear before mustering up more energy to finally blast the Zygerian away onto the ground as his own body slid back still up on his feet. ​

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

Roten Troy

The man looked down, startled by the sudden surge of ice locking around his legs, as though the ground had risen to claim him. It formed all at once, mercilessly snaking it's way up, climbing from boot to knee in moments. For a brief breath the slaver simply stared, struggling to understand how motion had been taken from him so completely.

That single lapse was enough for Roten to enact his attack.

The young hostage screamed and tore herself backward, his grip slipping away as frost thickened and sealed fabric to flesh. The slaver had tried to steady himself to no avail. His footing and legs no longer answered; the cold had turned weight into liability. Ice swallowed his lower half, tightening around him holding him fast to the spot.

He wobbled, balance failing him in small, panicked adjustments as he flailed. Then a sharp crack split the air. His knees twisted at an angle they were never meant to test, and a deeper fracture threatened beneath the surface as flash-frozen limbs strained against trapped momentum and solid ice. The sound of a sickening crack eminated from his calves; it was brittle and wrong as it echoed trough the air. The slaver fell t teh ground beside his own mangled legs. Strangled cries followed after the fall as a pool of crimson started to form around his body.

The trigger had been caught in stasis, and the girl was no longer within his grasp, but the slaver now lay bleeding out a an alarming rate.

<Slaves below have bomb collars,> he relayed. <Captured a guy who says his pulse is linked to them, if he dies they all blow. I need EMP chit or something over here.>

Roten’s transmission snapped off into open channel static as a new frequency cut through.

“Lord Matthew, this is the Exonerator.”

Vesperes called over the coms wasting no time.

“We have visual and thermal on Roten’s position. Multiple life forms clustered within a tight grid. One biometric anchor is fluctuating... I can level the EMP array on their position. The cone will cover the slave cluster precisely....

If I fire, all powered systems, and ground communications within the envelope will fail. You will lose contact with orbital overwatch. Recovery will not be immediate. Your transport and men are still inside the projected radius....I await your orders.”

Blasterfire cracked close to Matthew’s position as a dragon’s roar bled through the initial transmission.

“Understood, Exonerator. You will not fire while my transport sits in your cone. Bannerfall; You are inside the projected suppression radius. You have two minutes at most. Lift now and clear the grid at full burn.”

A pause came over the static as an engine whine could be heard rising faintly through background noise.

“Do not wait for full boarding confirmation. You will clear that envelope.”

“Exonerator, My knights can fight without their systems, We will hold position blind. We accept loss of comms with overwatch. Once the transport is clear, you fire without hesitation. All units. Prepare for total systems failure.”

A cluster of slavers had caught sight of Troy as he drove the Zygerian back. They broke from cover with hungry focus, rifles rising in practiced unison, red bolts already carving lines through the smoke toward his exposed flank eager to get recompense against the raiders presuing he'd been one of them and presented a much less armoured target. Their aim had marked him as the greater threat.

Matthew stepped in behind him without a word as an energy shield flared to life from his bracer, a curved plane of luminous force bracing Troy's back as blasterfire crashed against it in sharp bursts of light. The impacts rolled across the barrier in rippling flashes, each strike absorbed and turned aside before it could reach the Arkarnian.

"Eyes forward, you're doing well young warrior. I'll carry the rest." Matthew said, calmly amid the chaos.

A vast silver dragon swept low over the market square, wings beating dust and embers into spiraling currents. Its jaws snapped with sudden vorocity toward one of the advancing slavers, forcing the others to scatter and break their firing line.

Matthew did not hesitate as the shield held as he advanced a step, then another, angling his body to keep Troy's back covered. He held a broad-sword style of saber blade made of a resplendant golden-white energy. He closed the distance on a second slaver, guiding the luminous edge into the engagement, deliberately guarding Troy's rear while the battle tightened around them.

 

[Roten]

Orvax IV
Tags: Matthew of Valendale , Troy

Kiba no Shimai​

The slaver fell to the ground beside his own mangled legs. Strangled cries followed after the fall as a pool of crimson started to form around his body.

The trigger had been caught in stasis, and the girl was no longer within his grasp, but the slaver now lay bleeding out a an alarming rate.

Roten calmly leaned down and picked up the trigger, grasping it tight in his hand to ensure it did not go off. He spoke to the slave girl in a commanding, though softer tone.

"Find cover, kid," he told them, hoping they'd scamper off. "You'll be out of here real soon. Promise."

From there he turned his direction back to the now dismembered slaver. More runes slipped his tongue, forming up more ice that enveloped and encased where he was rapidly bleeding out, slowing the process ten-fold. A cold exhale escaped his mouth, which then formed up into a soft smirk.

"You don't get to die that easily, bub," Roten told the man. "We still need that pulse of yours for a little longer. That means we get to take this nice and slow."

Roten crouched down and looked the man in his eyes, his own voids of red with no pupils to latch onto.

"You afraid of dying?"