Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Public Tell your Fortune, Visions and Dreams (open for drop-ins and passers-by)

Tatooine, one of his final stops before he venture far out from this galaxy.

The barren world connected right off of the path from the Corellian Run, which would lead his out towards the Rishi Maze. He had been meaning to take the trip for a while now, but no time has felt right. That was until now.

But something had called the young Jedi here. As he walked through the marketplace was quiet for the most part, except for a large figure tucked away in a stall. There was a strong force presence that came from the creature. One that called out toward him.

There was nothing better to do in the middle of the night on Tatooine, so the Jedi decided this was worth a visit.

Fortunes, visions, and dreams, only for fifty credits. The force and him didn’t exactly get along all the time, so maybe this person could help clear away some of his troubles.

“Well, I have a question for you, if you would be able to answer it.”

The Knight pulled fifty credits and set them down in front of himself. Hopefully this was worth it.

“I never had the chance to meet my parents, as I was much to young when they were killed. So here is my question: who were they, and is it true that they ventured across the universe?”

Velok Brokentusk Velok Brokentusk
 
Lifelong Nerd, Roleplayer, Writer and Philosopher
Velok Brokentusk Velok Brokentusk

The Bothan grunted as her dilated eyes shifted once more over the Whiphid's gargantuan form, and the pain, to say nothing of the watering that was beginning to blur her vision, finally forced the gawky girl to close her eyes; one hand removing her glasses between thumb and forefinger, even as the snorting porcine protectively placed his free hand on the lanky Bothan's comically smaller shoulder, squeezing her reassuringly even as his fiery, intense orange eyes fixed on the Whiphid calmly, the heavy blaster held before his chest, at the ready if necessary.

Exhaling a slow, deep breath even as she slipped her glasses back into place, though she kept her eyes closed, the Bothan girl steepled her hands beneath her chin, blindly lowering her bearded chin down, elbows resting on the kiosk's table between two less intense, non-vision-producing forms of incense, both of which stank worse then a Dianoga with Selonian-flavored farts (ha ha...). Keeping her eyes closed even as Quavrr grumbled a warning growl at the Whiphid from deep in his barrel-shaped chest, the Bothan began to speak naught but a moment later, "Your family was very creative with names, apparently..." Without waiting for a reply, the teen continued, "I don't know how much longer we may keep in contact, but, for now and assuming Quavrr doesn't try to make you into an exotic set of clothes and use your entrails to make condoms to sell in our morality-starved galaxy," With her eyes still closed, the Bothan braced her head with either hand, then twisted to and fro sharply to crack her neck, ears shivering with delight and fur rippling out beneath her cloak and clothing, along her spine, in pleasure, " Ahhhh.... Better... You can call me Riskyr, and I'm something of a scholar on the Force, even if you're a fool to seemingly not pick a side..."

The Bothan closed her eyes to offset the pain of the dilation of her pupils again, even as Quavrr crossed his arms over his chest in that odd at-the-ready stance of his, glowering rather distastefully at the Whiphid as the Bothan signaled with two fingers for the Gamorrean to stand down, "Murderer, huh?... What do you mean?"

The Bothan was beginning to feel nervous, and she unfolded her legs, letting them dangle down from the stool, ready to run if the situation should turn dour in any capacity. Quavrr's hand lowered again, grasping at the Bothan's hip, only to shift around her stomach, in case he needed to throw her abruptly out of harm's way...

"Words, huh?... Should I be scared?..."
 
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“I never had the chance to meet my parents, as I was much to young when they were killed. So here is my question: who were they, and is it true that they ventured across the universe?”



h1GO3lH.png



"Serious business, friend. Let's see what we can see."

Velok plopped a bag of incense and herbological whatnots beside the brazier. He began mixing something special, grinding it in a stone mortar and pestle.

A generous pinch of the new mixture filled the booth with eye-watering smoke. The visions came on strong: a pair of Outer Rim prospectors, mapmakers, professional scouts.

"You spent days on that ship with them after the pirates came," he said absently. "Your connection to them is stronger than your scarred mind can admit. That makes our endeavour easier. Ah, here we are. Here we are...Meris and Jore Dainlei, of the good ship Blue Batross. Wardens of the Sky, a secret wandering Force tradition. They looked forward to teaching you. Greatly."
 
The hank smelled of a few Dantooine-thyme derived spices and a somewhat rarity on Tatooine; a citrus after-scent of sprite lemon. Cato speared it through with his tanto, promptly devoured it in a handful of heavy chews and a fast swig of brackish, staid water sloshing inside a canteen hung from his hip. The meat dulled the edge of his hunger; brought back something more concise and controlled to his faculties, sharper alacrity to his focus.

"Staabi," Cato murmured, voice a gurgle from food and drink. He wiped his tanto clean in the cloth of his elbow, replaced it in its waiting scabbard. "...Old song out of the Core, goes something like 'Same black line that was drawn on you, was drawn on me.' I've been chasing things, all my life. Since I was a boy, Diviner, I've been after things I thought would make this life a little more... complete. At least, give me closure. Now it's like all my waking moments are haunted. I can't get ghosts out of my head and no matter where I turn, it feels like every ancestor is bearing down on me with the weight of so much shame. "

He breathed, held it deeply, motes of starlight playing off the glare of his T-bar visor. "...I just wanna know if I'll get my honour back?"
 
Nerd Wizard Nerd Wizard

Velok looked back and forth between Riskyr and the loyal Gamorrean. He weighed his words carefully.

And then the weighing and the words passed to someone else entirely.

He sat up straight under control of a long-dead Surgeon by the name of Suture.

"When he saysz murrderr, he meansz murrderr. He szlaughterred me forr hisz own gain afterr we mated. He hoped to szteal what made me unique. Forr hisz szinsz hisz grrandfatherr currszed him with the doom of Ultaht, the lonely exile."
 
Avalore drifted past the stall, her lifeless gaze double taking on the sign and the practitioner behind the table. She paused, her beady eyes holding his in consideration.

A self-conscious gaze was cast over both shoulders before the decision was made and she approached. As innocent as this was, it felt distinctly childish for her to engage in street-magic affairs. She didn't want Ashin to know. She checked her back again before sitting down and reading the smaller print of the sign.

Fortune Visions, 50 uc.

She provided the coinage, bony fingers sliding over the precious portion of her allowance. She didn't release the credit until she knew what she wanted to say, several pain-staking moments were spent searching for the question that burned the deepest.

"...Will I ever be good enough?"

Velok Brokentusk Velok Brokentusk
 
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Lifelong Nerd, Roleplayer, Writer and Philosopher
Velok Brokentusk Velok Brokentusk

Riskyr was somewhat transfixed as the Whiphid convulsed once, and she took a short movement to press a button on the bracer computer on her right wrist, an ear twitching even as a differing voice echoed forth from the Whiphid that she had encountered, strangely-accented and tinged with despair, regret and the distinct pangs of emotional agony. Behind the Bothan, the Gamorrean snorted suspiciously, mumbling his doubts as to the wisdom of Risk's "...keeping her foolhardy ass planted there...", as he bluntly put it, as the... Presence, finished it's short summary of events.

Scratching at her exposed wrist even as she silently resolved to study the recording of the exchange when she was more awake, the Bothan steepled her fingers before her, even as the glowering, fiery-eyed Gamorrean leveled his blaster at the Whiphid and... Whatever it was that had possessed it. Risk silently, mentally perused a lifetime's worth of the lore that she had long since sacrificed her social life to, recalling countless legends of alien, primitive "demons" - Dark Force users, in reality - and general tales of Darksiders attempting many acts that most considered to be unnatural... While this occurrence seemed unlikely, it certainly may not, indeed, have been outside the realm of possibility, given the extent of the Dark Side's potential and sick, immoral perverseness...

Calmly and perhaps foolishly, even as the pseudo-stoic Gamorrean kept his heavy blaster leveled at the Whiphid, to the shock of a passing LOM series protocol droid, which squealed in an exaggerated, feminine tone, Riskyr massaged the sides of her muzzle even as her pained eyes struggled to keep focused on the massive blurred outline that was the Whiphid, "Uh... Broken One... Can anything be done to..." The Bothan paused, then slipped her glasses off and, very calmly, did her best to clean them with the hem of her travel cloak, "...To remedy this, via the intercession of the Force's positive side, do you think?" This was turning into a rush of unexpected fortune and knowledge, to boot, even if Quavrr was shaking like a Ronto crapping duracrete behind her, even as he did his best to put on a brave front, while the Bothan's bracer computer continued faithfully recording...

Fitting:

(Also, awesome work with the Whiphid lore, by the way. Impressive, and the more primitive Force traditions could use some good expansion, indeed.)
 
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"Staabi," Cato murmured, voice a gurgle from food and drink. He wiped his tanto clean in the cloth of his elbow, replaced it in its waiting scabbard. "...Old song out of the Core, goes something like 'Same black line that was drawn on you, was drawn on me.' I've been chasing things, all my life. Since I was a boy, Diviner, I've been after things I thought would make this life a little more... complete. At least, give me closure. Now it's like all my waking moments are haunted. I can't get ghosts out of my head and no matter where I turn, it feels like every ancestor is bearing down on me with the weight of so much shame. "

He breathed, held it deeply, motes of starlight playing off the glare of his T-bar visor. "...I just wanna know if I'll get my honour back?"

Velok's face tightened. He weighed the odds of a genuine request against the chance this Mando was playing games.

"What you describe is exactly how I feel. I don't know whether you're intentionally describing my life. But let's see what we shall see."

This time, a scrap of meat went on the burner with the visionary incense. He'd mixed a batch of unusually strong incense earlier tonight, and he opted for that one.

Pg3zSed.png

"Is that a mask? A knife?"
 
Nerd Wizard Nerd Wizard

Possessed Velok shivered.

"Exorrciszm isz no merrcy. The Forrce annihilatesz all beingsz into itszelf afterr death. Why accelerrate that disszolution forr thosze few who find a way to rremain? And you may not szee exorrciszm asz annihilation, but oh, it isz. Nobody endurresz forreverr in the Netherrworrld of the Forrcze. Everryone dissolvesz. Szo szhould you learrn a way to brreak my grrip on the edge of fate'sz cliff, I szuggeszt you avoid consziderring it a merrcy."
 
Cord was not necessarily enthused with the action item of Make Love with the ghost and find a new truth, though he kept the knowledge in his back pocket. How did a human male make love to a vratix ghost? Worse yet, what cleaning was required afterwards? Cord could have left afterwards, but he somewhat enjoyed the show that the Whiphid put on. Then came Mando. Conversation began with dinner, then took a somewhat serious tone. Cord decided to walk to the two of them, that was Velok Brokentusk Velok Brokentusk and Cato Fett Cato Fett .

"You both look like you could use a drink after that one." Cord said and pulled out a trio of shot glasses. "And luckily for y'all, I just happen to have some rye." He pulled out a flask and poured the three of them each a drink.

"To redeeming lost honor and ghost karking." Cord said, then took a shot.
 
"Will I ever be good enough?"

<Will I ever be whole and untainted?>

Velok looked back and forth between the two young people.

"A shared vision, then. Let us see what we shall see."

nZMUV1Z.png

"A living gate in a bright field. I see no limitation, only change and shelter. But are you the recipient, or are you what grows to shelter others?"




"What ho good lad." The Tiss'shar would gret the Whiphid before handing his fifty Uck. "I'm here for the odd stock tip. Will HKDI continue to the moon today, or come crashing to the Nether, what what?"
"I see a vision of a stock ticker," said Velok portentously, "and a weeping CEO."

He tucked away the hidden datapad he'd glanced at.
 
Lifelong Nerd, Roleplayer, Writer and Philosopher
Velok Brokentusk Velok Brokentusk

The lithe Bothan shuddered due to more then the chill in the Tatooine air as she carefully got to her feet, her boots trailing the sand even as Quavrr moved at her side, keeping his heavy blaster trained on the occasionally-twitching form of the gargantuan creature, his eyes unfocused even as his visage tilted back uselessly towards the kiosk's canopy.

Riskyr grunted and shuddered again, the fur along her shoulders, neck and spinal column flaring outwards as the nervous Bothan kept her arm extended so that her bracer computer could continue to clearly record this most unusual and alien encounter for later research and classification.

"O Wrathful One," It always seemed cooler in the holonovels, but now it seemed kind of dumb, "Be there any way that the foul and murderous mortal shell that you share... Uhh... Be there any way that the broken and foolish mind of his might atone for his... Horny-induced... Hell-bent murderous fury?"

At the Bothan's side, Quavrr pressed his single-tusked face into his burn-scarred hand and sighed... "Fool..."
 
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Avalore Avalore Velok Brokentusk Velok Brokentusk

<Wait, I'm not with—>

But it was too late. The fortune teller had already made the connection between him and the unknown waif, and so they shared a vision of a tree that provided shelter.

It was indeed vague. Kai hardly had a chance to ponder it before the girl clipped his shoulder with hers as she left, obviously annoyed, taking her money with her. He turned back to the fortune teller.

<I wasn't with her. I need another, separate fortune. One that belongs only to me.> He even added more money to the pile, payment for a second try.
 
Velok's face tightened. He weighed the odds of a genuine request against the chance this Mando was playing games.

"What you describe is exactly how I feel. I don't know whether you're intentionally describing my life. But let's see what we shall see."

This time, a scrap of meat went on the burner with the visionary incense. He'd mixed a batch of unusually strong incense earlier tonight, and he opted for that one.


Pg3zSed.png

"Is that a mask? A knife?"

Gritty musk wafted up behind his face-plate. Cato blinked, inhaled deeply through his nose, drawing the semi-hallucinatory aromatics deep down past his belly. For a beat, the shadowed stall, it's mountainous purveyor, sulky Mos Espa street lamps beyond appeared ordinary, a handful of heat-cooked chimneys weeping thin clouds of burning coal-dung.

And then a quicksilver flash of mercury light inside his eyes. Dilation, of time and perception, his vision locked into a kind of visceral daydream. Grey plaster walls flaking, the paint chips floating upward to strike an unseen ceiling and dissolve, violet petals winking in-and-out like butterfly wings. Hovering just before him, out of tempting reach, was a roiling thing of metal. A floating knot of iridescent chrome, like a serpentine skull cleft through with innumerable and nauseating defects, the facial makeup reforming. Trying to right itself. But fundamentally flawed, oily with the kind of metallic sheen Cato noted was a popular effect on gun-slides, a rippling contortion with the mouth and jaw crooked, the eyes filled with slithering boughs of steel-scales. Until the mask was an almost 'unthing', just a vague approximation of what a mask might look like.

Out the corner of his vision hovered a dislocated hand (he thought it was a hand) clutching tightly round a short-handled dirk. He could smell the tang of the blade-steel. With his exhale, the vision dispersed and vanished save for brief fractal stars that blinked and petered out of his gaze. Cato stammered over his tongue, reaching up under his helm to pinch the skin of his nose.

"I..." He said. "...I don't know."

He snagged the spare shot glass Cord### Cord### had gallantly proffered and downed the mouthful of hard-edged rye. Heat briefly warmed the meat behind his nose. Cato snatched an uck-voucher from a belt-pouch, another fifty-credit voucher, and thumbed it onto Cord's gloved palm. "Appreciated. I'll be going."

Velok Brokentusk Velok Brokentusk
 
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Senari stood across the narrow market street, leaning against the outer wall of what looked—and smelled—like some sort of speakeasy, while waiting for Kai to finish up with the fortune teller, though his eyes followed the displeased girl for a moment as she stalked off. "Much anger in that one," he mused to himself, turning his eyes back to Kai and the Wiphid.

Kai Bamarri Kai Bamarri Velok Brokentusk Velok Brokentusk
 

Talyr Ivaakren

Guest
T
(I don't think this is my best work, as it's late, I'm laden with Christmas wine and I am as sleepy as can be, but I hope this post is enjoyable enough, everyone. I tend to get nitpicky and fussy over my work the more tired I get... Merry Christmas Eve and you all enjoy opening presents tomorrow. Goodnight and we'll play more ASAP... I hope I don't regret engaging in the same RP with two characters now. x.x )

The Devaronian looked awfully comical with his own dagger sticking out of his chest in the silvery, dream-like Tatooine moonlight.

At least, that's what Talyr Ivaakren thought to herself as she emerged from that same alley's shadows just beyond where the Devaronian had been set upon in a failed attempt to waylay a Hutt slave, just beyond the red-eyed Selonian's unorthodox sleeping arrangement behind a dumpster inside of a broken, hollow and apparently forgotten pipe that had served to pleasantly insulate the Selonian vagabond and nameless vigilante, at least, it had until the shouts of the Weequay child, the cursing of several Aqualish that had noticed the attempted bully and the subsequent struggle that had ensued had proved noisy enough to make the blue-gray alien jut her lanky, petite torso outside of her comfortable pipe to survey the area to determine just what the hell was going on in the dead of an otherwise mildly comfortable night, even if it was a bit chilly.

The two four-eyed Aqualish (Talyr couldn't exactly recall what that subspecies was called) and one webbed-fingered variant that was bulkier then the other two had wrested the squalling, trembling and rather pudgy Weequay (in clothes much too big for him) away from his would-be abductor. Talyr felt her lithe, though athletic body tense, muscles coiling as she contemplated slipping through the shadows to tackle the Devaronian directly from behind and aid the Aqualish directly, now that it was apparent that the Weequay wanted nothing to do with the green-skinned, horned alien. Fin-Hand had snarled from his throat as he had cradled the bawling child, even as the Devaronian had begun to draw forth and aim a pistol, his unbroken horn (the other missing) glinting silver in the moonlight as he began to aim... Briefly fumbling with her own blaster, the brown-haired, nervous Selonian had just silently unholstered the pistol when the fight ended as swiftly as it had began.

The Devaronian's pistol had only just stopped moving when one of the smaller four-eyed Aqualish, a stout-looking female, removed Hornhead's own black-bladed dagger from its holster, driving the exotic-looking blade upwards in a smooth, flowing motion, at a diagonal angle, directly into the flesh just beneath the Devaronian's sternum. Fin-Hand hugged the Weequay to his torso, using one hand to keep the child's eyes averted as he and the male Four Eye made their way beyond the alley's maw; they knew that the fight had been won, even as the Horned Green Skin's blaster fell from pained, trembling fingers naught but a moment after he had drawn it, his back striking the sand-encrusted, ghost-colored building in the silver moonlight. With a brutal, victorious laugh, the stout she-Aqualish turned on a thick heel, then set of at a brisk jog, where already the crying little Weequay's sobbing could be heard receding into the distance.

Having already replaced her pistol at her side even as her sinuous, weasel-like form emerged into the bright full moon's sheen, which gave her normally blue-gray fur an exotic, beautiful silver glow, the lithe and boyish Selonian used a free hand to idly scratch one side of her furred neck as she approached the fallen, gasping and pained Hornhead, a swift upwards kick connecting with his chin before he even had the chance to begin to look at her, though his raised head indicated that he heard her approach, even as it gave her rapid foot the perfect angle at which to strike him unconscious. Surely, the monster deserved it... After all, there was no place in the galaxy where the kidnapping of younglings would have been granted any sort of leeway - some things were just never right.

It was with such thoughts circling her mind that the Selonian proceeded to deftly and with practiced ease sift her dexterous little hands in and out of Hornhead's every pocket, producing a few hundred easy credits for her to put to more morally upright uses, several unused ammo cartridges, a small package of odd, granular purple spice that could be traded to a non-addict or burnt to prevent its spreading entirely, and the blaster pistol itself, which could easily be sold here in the Outer Rim. All-in-all, the opportunity had provided Talyr with a decent haul, and a perfect way via which she could begin tomorrow properly, starting with a decent breakfast before selling the unwanted blaster.

However, there was now the matter of being unable to sleep due to the small rush of adrenaline that was still pumping through the Selonian's blood - further rest, for now, was out of the question, and the lanky alien now had no idea just what she was going to do in order to pass the time...

Her lidded red eyes scanning to and fro over the many torchlit, electronically-powered or droid-lighted stalls, kiosks and food vendors for tourists and feeling the beginnings of wanderlust tugging at her heart and mind, one of the galaxy's biggest failures recalled a certain kiosk that might make for a good use of the money that evil had provided her...

* * *

The Selonian appeared off to the Whiphid's eyes, seemingly the pure and dialectical opposite to his own gargantuan, musclebound form, with her thin, dexterous and long limbs, a boyishly-thin, demure and skinny torso that only barely contained anything along the line of proper feminine curves, a scraggly-furred, unkempt tail and her short head of dark hair (in the night, one couldn't tell the exact shade); even the Selonian's clothing was off, with a leather jacket much too large over her thin frame, comically-loose pants that threatened to bestow upon their owner the ability to moon Tatooine's moon (ha ha...), seeming to barely attain purchase over the ferret-alien's bony hips, and a loose t-shirt that easily concealed a good deal of the Selonian's femininity beneath the dark green, unadorned fabric. Indeed, the Selonian, with sand falling from her tail as it swayed to one side, failed to notice the downward tug of her pants on one side as she placed those thin hands into her breeches' pockets, the hem of her undergarment's waistband visible on one side to the Whiphid's appraising gaze, even as anyone viewing the vagabond from behind would have been able to see just as much, if not more then the supposed fortune teller. At times, Talyr was one of the galaxy's more prominent examples of what one could expect incompetence of the female variety to look like.

"So, I can ask anything I want, right?" The dark-haired Selonian smiled in an odd, left-sided manner, her unusual red eyes bright as one hand reached beneath the seat of her pants to scratch her scrawny backside, the same hand tugging her loose pants up into place once more as she awkwardly began to massage her tailbase, softly belching into the air as she awaited the Whiphid's response.
 

Neeld Lonpeesh

Guest
N
The Rodian coughed into his hand as he produced a small amount of credits, setting them on the table, before coughing again.
"I'm gonna ask a pretty straight question, man. Am I gonna get offa' this rock alive?"
 

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