Priest Alor
Location: Outer Rim – Desolate moon near a failed mining colony
Tags:
Veyra Priest
The wind howled across the blasted surface of the moon. Dry, thin, sharp with ash and mineral dust. The wreckage of an old ore hauler smoldered in the distance, black smoke rising against the amber sky. The Dustbowl of a moon was used for many years as a location for dumping. Stolen vehicles, cargo and the like had been taken time and time again. I was here for the purpose of a job. A shipment had gone missing and its beacon was still active. I had been sent after such in hopes to retrieve the cargo, or at least apprehend those who were responsible.
I lay prone over the top of a mesa. My nogs held up to the T-visor as I looked through them down into the valley. Row upon row of cargo containers, personal sized freighters, even a couple starfighters here and there, littered the sands. Over time, these vehicles were covered in dust and debris. The winds slowly covering them up to be taken beneath the earthen waves of sand. What was unique, is that all the things out here didn't rust. It was dry. The twin suns up in the sky keeping any kind of moisture out of the air. Cooking any form of water and traveled up to the poles of the planet. Which is why most people who lived or worked outside of the poles, were typically out here for ill intentions.
My scanner was reading over the vessels. Reading the tags and seeing that some were fairly resent, and others had been here for years now. Still considered missing on the directory saved onto my HUD. The nogs played over the wastelands until I could see a single speeder racing towards the valley. While no one could see it, my brow furrowed underneath the helmet. With haste I dropped the Nogs to my side and pulled out my sniper rifle. The weapon was brought to be resting on the bipod. Laying prone with legs spread apart to provide balance to my firing position. Adjusting quickly the distance between the scope and the valley, it zeroed itself. The scope focused upon the lone speeder. I could not quite tell if it was robes, or a cloak they wore. But the lack of armor perplexed me. Typically sealed armor was almost required to deal with the extensive heat and oppressive sun that beat down upon the land. This person had almost none to speak of.
I watched as they kept looking over their shoulder. Something was going down. They started to reach the valley when all of a sudden, bolts of plasma and blaster origin flew past her. Slamming into ships and cargo containers. They took evasive maneuvers as my scope changed targets. A host of Speeder bikes and land speeders were racing after this person. Firing all manner of small arms fire, and even some from the bikes themselves. Clearly, this person was running from some marauders of the sands. But was this person a turn coat to the marauders? were they just someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time?
I brought my scope back to the individual in question. They had now been in the maze of cargo containers and ships. Taking a fortified position. Clearly wanting to turn the tables on the marauders. Well, I knew I had a choice here. Even as the group of marauders got off of their speeders and started to filter through looking for who I could now see was some kind of female. Darker skin tone, and wearing robes. It was clear, the way her clothing was, she was not some regular bandit. If she was one.
The rifle changed angles. Moving to rest and be set. My hand holding down the trigger, almost to the snap point of when the release would fire the bolt. My off hand holding the buttstock into the pocket of my shoulder. The bipod holding the barrel up just enough for me to shoot across the distance. Even from here, they wouldn't hear the sound of the rifle going off. Just a sudden thunk as a disruptor bolt slammed into one of their comrades and fell over. His body becoming ash and dust from the strike. I recharged the bolt on the rifle. Hearing it wine by powering up the gasses in the weapon. And firing again. Smacking a second bandit.
If this woman was worth something to them, then maybe I could help her escape this. At least maybe catch her myself and turn her in for a bounty. Either way, this day was going to be quite the shake up from just me searching for missing cargo.
Tags:
Veyra Priest
The wind howled across the blasted surface of the moon. Dry, thin, sharp with ash and mineral dust. The wreckage of an old ore hauler smoldered in the distance, black smoke rising against the amber sky. The Dustbowl of a moon was used for many years as a location for dumping. Stolen vehicles, cargo and the like had been taken time and time again. I was here for the purpose of a job. A shipment had gone missing and its beacon was still active. I had been sent after such in hopes to retrieve the cargo, or at least apprehend those who were responsible.
I lay prone over the top of a mesa. My nogs held up to the T-visor as I looked through them down into the valley. Row upon row of cargo containers, personal sized freighters, even a couple starfighters here and there, littered the sands. Over time, these vehicles were covered in dust and debris. The winds slowly covering them up to be taken beneath the earthen waves of sand. What was unique, is that all the things out here didn't rust. It was dry. The twin suns up in the sky keeping any kind of moisture out of the air. Cooking any form of water and traveled up to the poles of the planet. Which is why most people who lived or worked outside of the poles, were typically out here for ill intentions.
My scanner was reading over the vessels. Reading the tags and seeing that some were fairly resent, and others had been here for years now. Still considered missing on the directory saved onto my HUD. The nogs played over the wastelands until I could see a single speeder racing towards the valley. While no one could see it, my brow furrowed underneath the helmet. With haste I dropped the Nogs to my side and pulled out my sniper rifle. The weapon was brought to be resting on the bipod. Laying prone with legs spread apart to provide balance to my firing position. Adjusting quickly the distance between the scope and the valley, it zeroed itself. The scope focused upon the lone speeder. I could not quite tell if it was robes, or a cloak they wore. But the lack of armor perplexed me. Typically sealed armor was almost required to deal with the extensive heat and oppressive sun that beat down upon the land. This person had almost none to speak of.
I watched as they kept looking over their shoulder. Something was going down. They started to reach the valley when all of a sudden, bolts of plasma and blaster origin flew past her. Slamming into ships and cargo containers. They took evasive maneuvers as my scope changed targets. A host of Speeder bikes and land speeders were racing after this person. Firing all manner of small arms fire, and even some from the bikes themselves. Clearly, this person was running from some marauders of the sands. But was this person a turn coat to the marauders? were they just someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time?
I brought my scope back to the individual in question. They had now been in the maze of cargo containers and ships. Taking a fortified position. Clearly wanting to turn the tables on the marauders. Well, I knew I had a choice here. Even as the group of marauders got off of their speeders and started to filter through looking for who I could now see was some kind of female. Darker skin tone, and wearing robes. It was clear, the way her clothing was, she was not some regular bandit. If she was one.
The rifle changed angles. Moving to rest and be set. My hand holding down the trigger, almost to the snap point of when the release would fire the bolt. My off hand holding the buttstock into the pocket of my shoulder. The bipod holding the barrel up just enough for me to shoot across the distance. Even from here, they wouldn't hear the sound of the rifle going off. Just a sudden thunk as a disruptor bolt slammed into one of their comrades and fell over. His body becoming ash and dust from the strike. I recharged the bolt on the rifle. Hearing it wine by powering up the gasses in the weapon. And firing again. Smacking a second bandit.
If this woman was worth something to them, then maybe I could help her escape this. At least maybe catch her myself and turn her in for a bounty. Either way, this day was going to be quite the shake up from just me searching for missing cargo.
