Uɴᴅᴇʀᴡᴏʀʟᴅ Cᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ
Karkosuchus was laying low after that messy brawl with the Mandalorian warriors of Breshig
Saram Kote
back on the salvage station. He wasn't scared of them hunting him down, but dealing with their tracking chips and endless grudges was more of a headache than it was worth. He had already been paid by the Mahporeem Remnant, and the credits spent just fine no matter who was complaining about it.
He stepped out of his shelter into the thick air of Somov Rit, taking a deep breath. The rotting odor from the surrounding swamps filled his nose bringing a faint satisfied grin to his mouth as it tasted like home. He pushed the creaky door to his manky hut shut and strolled into the middle of the muddy yard where his entertainment was waiting.
Just a few days back, a young Rodian Padawan had made the mistake of crossing his path. Instead of making a quick meal out of the kid, Karkosuchus had jammed the Jedi-in-training inside a heavy, reinforced wooden ball. He had set his yellow eyes on a cluster of hollowed-out log pins at the far end of the clearing, lined up his shot, and gave the wooden sphere a hard kick with his foot.
The ball went down the muddy runway, slamming directly into the pins for a clean strike. The muffled screams from inside the rolling sphere made Karkosuchus throw his head back and laugh at inflicting such torment.
A short distance away on a flat stone, his transponder sat blinking in the mud. He had set it to broadcast a old New Jedi Order distress frequency over an hour ago, using the bait to draw in whatever bleeding-heart rescue squad
Braze
happened to be monitoring the sector
Saram Kote
back on the salvage station. He wasn't scared of them hunting him down, but dealing with their tracking chips and endless grudges was more of a headache than it was worth. He had already been paid by the Mahporeem Remnant, and the credits spent just fine no matter who was complaining about it.He stepped out of his shelter into the thick air of Somov Rit, taking a deep breath. The rotting odor from the surrounding swamps filled his nose bringing a faint satisfied grin to his mouth as it tasted like home. He pushed the creaky door to his manky hut shut and strolled into the middle of the muddy yard where his entertainment was waiting.
Just a few days back, a young Rodian Padawan had made the mistake of crossing his path. Instead of making a quick meal out of the kid, Karkosuchus had jammed the Jedi-in-training inside a heavy, reinforced wooden ball. He had set his yellow eyes on a cluster of hollowed-out log pins at the far end of the clearing, lined up his shot, and gave the wooden sphere a hard kick with his foot.
The ball went down the muddy runway, slamming directly into the pins for a clean strike. The muffled screams from inside the rolling sphere made Karkosuchus throw his head back and laugh at inflicting such torment.
A short distance away on a flat stone, his transponder sat blinking in the mud. He had set it to broadcast a old New Jedi Order distress frequency over an hour ago, using the bait to draw in whatever bleeding-heart rescue squad
Braze
happened to be monitoring the sector
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