Old Tales, New Adventures (Sith will be Shot on the Spot)

[Tanith Alde]

He was a Lance Corporal now, exciting stuff. He actually had stripes pinned to his shoulder now, and he was wearing them proudly in the bar. He had some kind of Ale in his hand, he wasn't sure it. It was only the 3rd drink he'd had in his life. Currently he was with some mates from his unit, telling stories.

"You know...since I joined this army, I've heard EVERY joke about Mining Ore, Sheep, and Choirs and they're all bloody boring... I had a simple choice see, The Pit, like my Da...or join the Army. My uncles died in that Pit...so now I blow things up for a living, very satisfying work....I don't hold well with this Republic though. They set the specials on my Da and his mates during the strikes.....all they wanted was decent wages.....I'm from the colonies ya see...That means I have to put up with some clueless, spineless core worlder ordering me about....."

 

[Isar]

An Ewok wandered in and sat on a bar stool across from the boisterous soldier boys.

He wore nothing but a headdress and a necklace of bone fetishes. In one paw he clutched a stylus and a wax doll, in the other he held nothing. The empty paw extended toward the barkeep.

"Ale," squeaked the savage, slamming his paw down on the bar top with a solid thunk.

[member="Sean Ailín"]

 

[Armand Temi]

And a Verpne followed them with a super apologetic look at the Ewok.

There are some galaxy laws you are breaking, the Verpine lawyer said, quite sure of the laws. And because there was some bad behavior on the part of this writer.

But the Verpine was super, super apologic towards the Ewok and wanted him to forgive him.

@Sean Aliin [member="Warok the Defiler"]

 

[Tanith Alde]

[member="Warok the Defiler"] [member="Dorskit Wolf"]

"Allright Allright nows all good ye, but..."

Sean paused, looking up. Someone was causing a ruckus at the bar but, it was hardly any of his business. Some of the lads glared over at the two.

"Oy, everything good over there?"

He called out. His voice wasn't affected by the alcohol yet, but his attitude certainly was

 

[Isar]

Warok stared at the drunk attorney and waved a paw, exerting his willpower on the creature's mind. Laws? Laws did not apply to the Necromancer of Ziost.

"You don't want to tell me any laws. Go home-"

A loud voice cut through the air. Turning, Warok glared at the soldier who had interrupted him. Flames seemed to spring up in the Ewok's tar black eyes. Flames that burned with hate.

"Be. Silent."

[member="Dorskit Wolf"]e | [member="Sean Ailín"]

 

[Armand Temi]

.

 

[Tanith Alde]

[member="Dorskit Wolf"] [member="Warok the Defiler"]

Sean was quite easily hit by the wave of hatred radiating outward from the bear esque thing.

The sheer Intensity of this small creature's hate was enough to knock Sean backwards, causing him to spill his drink all over himself, to raccous laughter of his comrades in arms

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="Dorskit Wolf"] [member="Sean Ailín"] [member="Warok the Defiler"]

Apparently, this was one of those days. The kind where unusual, ill-fitting components came together in a Rube-Goldberg machine of impending violence. In the shadows of a corner booth, Tom Page slipped his hand under the table and unsnapped the clasp of his holster. He drew the heavy blaster and laid it along his thigh. So far, though, he didn't aim it at anything. Just being careful is all. Bug in a suit, drunk soldier, high-intensity Ewok, and a general sense of things going on at a level he didn't much want to fathom. As if their presence, their attitudes, the bug's sudden silence, all of it had significance for which he didn't feel like grasping.

He eyed the half-full mug of lum on the corner booth's table -- he was sitting alone -- and took another swig. No harm being just another patron unless and until someone did something precipitous.

 

[Isar]

The lancing stare appeared to physically affect the soldier who had spoken out of turn. This pleased Warok. He would tolerate the man's continued existence, for now.

The Verpine though, he was in sore danger of spontaneous combustion.

The convergence of presences, of auras, of intents all came from a dimension unseen by mere mortals. But Warok could see it. Oh yes, he looked into that spirit world and saw the true meaning behind such seemingly innocuous events; the real threats that lurked in the shadows.

If they challenged him they would be annihilated, flesh boiled from their bodies, and Warok would add their bones to his host. Those who would not kneel in life would forever serve him in undeath.

"Now..." he turned and looked at the barkeep, tar fire still smoldering in his eyes, "Give me the ale."

[member="Tomsen Page"] | [member="Sean Ailín"] | [member="Dorskit Wolf"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="Warok the Defiler"]

Dead silence from the bug and the grunt. Matter of fact, Tom lost sight of them entirely. He did not, however, lose sight of the Ewok. When it became clear that no fight was coming and the furball only wanted a drink, Tom shuffled out of his booth.

"Better give the man that ale, friend," he said. "And one for me." The barkeep produced two ales and scuttled off faster than a debate team gasping its way through a rhythmless rap. Tom snagged the new mug and took a stool off to the Ewok's right, with a couple of empty ones between them. "Much obliged," he said to the barkeep's retreating back, then took a swig and turned to the Ewok.

"So you're the one with the secret of making drunk Rerpublic folks shut up. Sort of a growth industry."

 

[Isar]

A slow, sidelong glance swept the human up and down. Abruptly, the Ewok turned on his stool to face the fellow full frontal and flashed a chubby grin filled with blocky teeth.

"Secret? No secret. Ash heaps only whisper in the wind," the Endorian squeaked. He grasped the ale cup in both hands and took a massive slurp, then smacked his lips with satisfaction. Foam matted to the fur around his mouth.

It had been many moons since Warok last conversed with the living for any length of time. Perhaps this would relieve the acute onset of chronic boredom that so often plagued him away from Ziost.

"I am War-ock," the Necromancer reached forward to prod the human's arm with one paw. He nearly slipped off the stool in the process. Adorably round ears wiggled agitatedly. "What are you?"

[member="Tomsen Page"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="Warok the Defiler"]

"Human." Tom glanced around. "So far as I've got much in common with the sheeple." He took a long swig and wiped his mouth, then set down the mug. "Tomsen Page. Tom, to my friends."

He should have felt ill at ease, or ridiculous. The introduction should have felt contrived, feigning normalcy to a probably-abnormal individual. In the end, he just didn't care all that much for differences, or weirdness, or most kinds of danger. Wasn't a courage thing; more like dissociation, he figured. He shrugged.

"So you know I gotta ask what brings you out this way, and where you picked up Basic. I'm betting you get asked it a lot, but I'm betting it's a shavvit of a story."

 

[Isar]

"I spoke to the spirits," he began seriously, "And they an-ha-ha-ha."

The Ewok broke into a fit of giggles that soon resolved in him smiling cheekily while scratching at an arm. Large tufts of hair came free. Closer inspection of the Ewok's fur revealed it to be... patchy.

Normally he didn't get asked questions. This was strange. People usually either patted his head and oohed and awed, or else shied back in terror and disgust.

"The shamans sent me away on an iron bird. I taught myself to read with a holocube. It is not so hard. I am here because it is warmer than Ziost... and Ziost does not have ale."

He quaffed down half the mug, then smacked his lips.

"You, Human Tom, why are you here?"

[member="Tomsen Page"]

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="Warok the Defiler"]

So the Ewok had a skin condition and a weird sense of humour. Neither quality was totally out of place in a Republic groundpounder bar.

"Ziost. Feth, that's a rough spot from what I hear. Cold as Hoth and twice as mean, plus you've got them Sanctum types crawling all over the, what's it called, Stygian Caldera. You know they monitor hyperspace passage? It's true. Buddy of mine got pulled over for doing point-five past lightspeed in a two-point-oh zone or something like that. He had the ship rigged to run real quiet, right? Got some Arakyd Nightshadow, thrust trace dampers, the works. But none of that makes a crapton of difference to hyperspace spotters. Guess he stumbled over some non-mass beam and bam." Tom slapped the bartop. "Silver Jedi all over his face."

He took another long drink. "Me, I'm here because I'm on my way somewhere else, and this was a decent rest stop. Got a drink, thought about getting in a fight, decided not to shoot that drunk grunt that was stumbling around in your general direction."

 

[Isar]

The warlock's eyes began to glaze over at the spacer talk, full of esoteric words known only to those who piloted starcraft for a living. Warok did not understand such talk, nor did he care to learn. The means of transporting oneself from point A to point B was insignificant compared to the power of the Dark Side.

One sentence did catch his attention, however... Silver Jedi. The spacer said the two words in an annoyed fashion, as if the Silver Jedi were some pestilence plaguing the hyper lanes. Warok agreed. They were a blight on his realm of Ziost as well, always adventuring into places better left alone.

Warok grunted. "You speak plainly, Human Tom. I have decided that I like you. Here," he fished around in a large pouch at his belt, pulling out a peculiar clay doll. "I grant you this boon. In time of need, call upon the spirit of the Golem."

Hopping down from the stool, Warok tossed a cred chit on the counter and began to walk away. "Good hunting, Human Tom."

[member="Tomsen Page"]